Monday, ITV4, 10:00pm
The 1990 film The Krays offers a gritty, blood-streaked portrait of London’s infamous gangster twins, Ronnie and Reggie Kray, whose iron grip on the East End in the 1960s turned them into folk heroes for some and nightmares for many. Directed by Peter Medak, the film trades in both stark violence and psychological depth, exploring the twins’ bond and their chilling rise to power. The casting of real-life twins Martin and Gary Kemp (of Spandau Ballet fame) was a stroke of either genius or madness, depending on your tolerance for retro glam-rock bleeding into cinematic menace. It worked remarkably well, lending the film a strangely authentic, lived-in quality.
For a tale of crime and consequence, you need a soundtrack that doesn’t just hum in the background but breathes menace into every shadow. Enter composer Michael Kamen, whose score for The Krays is a moody, orchestral masterclass, dripping with tension and tragedy. Kamen’s ability to balance emotional fragility with sinister undertones is crucial here, painting the twins not merely as ruthless but as deeply damaged. The cello, that most mournful of instruments, takes centre stage, underscoring the film’s darker psychological beats. It’s not all doom and gloom—there’s a thread of elegance woven into the arrangements, a nod perhaps to the Krays’ paradoxical craving for respectability amid their brutal reign.
For soundtrack collectors, The Krays score is a bit of a hidden gem. While it never achieved the notoriety of Kamen’s other works (he also scored Die Hard and Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves), it’s a fascinating piece of his oeuvre that rewards rediscovery. Unfortunately, the original release has been tricky to track down, a situation that cries out for a deluxe reissue. Much like the Krays themselves, the score is an enigmatic piece of British history—equal parts chilling and oddly charismatic. If nothing else, it’s worth a listen to understand how music can underscore the complexities of crime, loyalty, and moral decay.
- Paul Allen