Michael Caine in ’68, well-muscled.
What can you say; a blonde God on the screen.
A cat-burglar, the role playing, we’re told,
in Deadfall. In lead, he has to be seen.
He’s tanned and tuned-up in the Spanish sun.
Youthful, he climbs the walls and steals the safe.
Love problems, difficult to overcome,
with wife of accomplice. She is the bait.
Husband, who later, preposterously,
admits to being her father, is gay.
But Caine gets caught up emotionally,
and goes to rob, for reason I can’t say.
As escaping, she arrives, and he’s shot.
Film’s not great, but Michael Caine’s what it’s got.