Alfie

In his younger years it would be fair to say that Michael Caine was typecast as a rough-and-ready Cockney. Whether that was agent Harry Palmer in The Ipcress File or the efficacious Charlie Croker in The Italian Job, Caine became Britain's greatest self parody of a bygone era.

In Alfie, Caine plays the eponymous character, a womanising lad-about-town who cares more about with who he'll be sleeping with than where he'll be sleeping that evening. The ladies - and there are more than a few - are often discarded as, literal, objects of desire, but as Alfie comes to learn, actions will eventually have consequences.

When watched through a contemporary lens, there is something both creepy and despicable about Alfie - if any modern man ...

Michael Caine is a bit too convincing as the sleazy, London man-about-town who only cares about having a beautiful girl on his arm (and in his bed). It isn't so much that he's a misogynist, more that sees women in only one linear fashion and as he has no use for them - or anyone else, for that matter, unless it is for his own immediate gratification. The narrative of the film takes us on his slow journey of self-realisation; he starts to comprehend the shallowness of his existence and embarks on his own yellow brick road to maturity. There are some great supporting contributions from Shelley Winters and Denholm Elliott and a cast of glamorous 1960s British models to lend credence to his hedonistic lifestyle. It is hard to watch 50-odd years...