How does a filmmaker respond to a major disappointment, despite believing their most recent work is undeserving of such treatment? For William Friedkin, the fact that Sorcerer did not live up to its expectations at the box office revealed more about the times than the quality of his work. In his memoir, he mentions the overwhelming success of Star Wars as a major factor, but more so what Star Wars, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Rocky, and other recent hits represented: “pure fantasy with clearly defined heroes and villains had changed audiences’ tastes.” It’s difficult to understand this today, when fantasies are just about the only kind of pictures made, but by 1977 many audiences resisted downbeat, realistic stories about men and their problems. Unfortunately for Friedkin, Sorcerer fell into this category, despite being a sensational example of its kind.

Friedkin’s response was to simply find another gig, regardless of how he was perceived by the filmmaking community. After another director dropped out, a script about the famous 1950 Brink’s robbery in Boston came his way. Friedkin had his Sorcerer screenwriter, Walon Green, do a complete rewrite, and the result is somewhat of a mixed bag, with the elements for a raucous caper comedy in place but to no larger point. The movie is about what it’s about, nothing more. With a major-named cast including Peter Falk, Peter Boyle, Paul Sorvino, Warren Oates and even Gena Rowlands, there is more than enough talent onscreen to carry the material, but it all feels disjointed and misshapen.

The story follows small-time thief Tony Pino (Peter Falk) as he attempts big-time robberies with little to no resources or advanced knowledge. The result, as shown in the lackluster opening sequence, is that he is jailed for several months and then released on what must be the easiest parole in US history. While attempting to go straight until he can get another heist together, Pino stumbles upon information regarding the Brink’s Company’s almost complete lack of security. Irony begets irony, and so the most famous security company in the world is robbed by five otherwise incompetent small-time crooks. Again, while the plot appears to provide plenty of opportunity for a great comedy, little humor is derived from Pino and his crew. His dim-witted brother-in-law (Allen Garfield) is played for laughs but is more obnoxious than funny, and the rest of the crew are thinly drawn, with nothing substantial to bring to the drama.

The one unique element of The Brinks’ Job is its refusal to rely on the big heist for its climactic moment. Rather, the heist happens near the middle of the picture, and the rest focuses on the criminals cracking under pressure as they attempt to hide the mammoth crime they have committed. Naturally, justice prevails, but what is the movie’s attitude towards these events? Does Friedkin have any opinion on Tony or his cohorts? Are they justified in knocking off a big company that is basically scamming people into trusting them for securing their finances? So many questions are raised and then ignored up to the final scene in which, inexplicably, Tony is hailed as a hero by the crowd that watches him get hauled off to prison. Is this historically accurate, or is that moment representative of the movie’s attitude toward crime? Little is known and even less is explained. In his memoir, Friedkin acknowledged that The Brink’s Job was a movie that strayed far from his original vision. It’s difficult to imagine what that vision initially was.