A smile for Paul McGrath - Eight delightful scenes from the Finding Jack Charlton film
Finding Jack Charlton - smiling at Paul McGrath
Gabriel Clarke’s film is a masterpiece.
Broadcast on television for the first time last night, on Virgin Media One, it cannot have left a dry eye in a single Irish home that caught it.
Tonight, Jack’s original homeland will doubtless be just as sodden with tears when it airs on BBC Two at 9pm.
There can be few documentaries that have better captured a person’s soul.
The tears weren’t all of sadness. There was a heartbreaking element, of course, to a show that portrayed Jack’s decline with dementia in the final year of his life.
It’s so poignant that the man who gave two nations so many happy, defining memories should be robbed of those treasures himself.
But you couldn’t stay sad during Finding Jack Charlton. Anyone who lived through a miraculous, magical time in Irish life was transported back. And amazingly, for ground so well-trodden, it allowed us look on from angles we’d never seen before.
And in Jack’s wife Pat and son John and the Charlton grandkids, we could take comfort in seeing how Jack was surrounded by love to the very end of a life truly lived to the full.
The whole thing was a joy but here are a few personal highlights from a special film.
Toughest to watch are Big Jack’s blank looks, as Pat explains that he’s not quite the real Jack any more.
The most poignant moment comes when Pat says to him: "They love you don't they, the Irish?" and Jack replies, "I don't know.”
Pat tells us that if Jack saw a picture now of England ‘66 hero Geoff Hurst he wouldn’t recognise him, though he’d know Hurst if they met.
Then we see Jack watch some footage of Ireland’s 1990 qualifying campaign and a key figure appears on his laptop screen.
“Paul McGrath,” he says, and Jack’s smile to camera must be among the most beautiful ever captured on film.
The sections of the film with McGrath, where he discusses his problems and the forbearance shown him by Jack, are brilliantly handled. Paul’s love for his old gaffer is evident.
There’s a cameo from Victor Burke, age 11, who will go on to play Wayne Molloy in Fair City. The youngster gets to interview Jack in Lansdowne Road and immediately sticks him with a six-marker: “What do you think of the English press saying you’re a bunch of mercenaries playing for money because most of you come from England, Scotland and Wales?”
Startled, for sure, Jack’s answer is perfect. “The players don’t come for the money, they come because they want to play. They’ve got relatives who were born here in the Republic. And you’ve always exported people, it’s nice for them to come back and help you out now and again.”
Beating England at Euro ‘88 clearly meant a lot to Jack. He admits his snubbing by the England FA cut deep — he once applied for the England job but didn’t get a reply. So there’s immense satisfaction as well as easy bonhomie when England boss — poor old Bobby Robson — flops down beside Jack for the post-match press duties after Stuttgart.
"Bob, son, sorry about that.”
Could there be a better line to sum up the ebullience of Ireland physio and glue in the camp, Mick Byrne?
Enjoying the reception on the team bus back in Dublin after Euro ‘88, Mick alerts Niall Quinn to an important local landmark.
“I was baptised in that church there, Niall. A brilliant day.”
There were ‘real football people’ in Ireland long before Big Jack, but it was still important to acknowledge his role in accelerating the growth of the game here.
There is great footage of Jack at Donegal club Keadue Rovers, mentioning his pride when he drives through Ireland and sees “football fields with proper goals.” And he still has an impressive stepover in his locker when showing the local kids how it is done.
Without getting bogged down in the details, the film makes it clear Jack’s relationship with his brother Bobby has always been strained and often fractured.
So when the two are sat together for a TV interview at Italia ‘90, in the days between Ireland’s win over Romania and the quarter-final with Italy, Bobby’s words for his older brother resonate as something the brothers didn’t hear enough from each other.
“I’m reluctant to say this really, for fear of embarrassing him, but I’m very proud.”
Jack’s smile says a lot, and 30 years on, Jack’s son John makes the importance of that moment plain.
“Fantastic. That must have been one of the happiest days they’ve ever had together.”
What foresight by the family to collect all the handwritten notes Jack kept, his little mottos and guiding phrases.
As John put it, “hundreds of notes on players, teams, family and tactics.”
And what a remarkable installation the film made from those words to live by.
And the perfect encapsulation of how we came to know him:
“Be a dictator, but be a nice one.”
Whoever had the camera (Frank Stapleton, maybe? Somebody called Frank is told what he can do with his camera at one stage), there is some marvellous rare footage from inside the Ireland camps.
The famed camaraderie in that group is perfectly captured even in the quiet lull of defeat back at the team hotel following World Cup exit at Schillaci’s feet.
Quietly at first, then raucous, songs lift the spirits at the end of a historic journey, Chris de Burgh at the heart of it, for some reason. Jack even sings his party piece — that Toon favourite, Blaydon Races.
Later, he is captured at his home, in the final months of his life, singing it one more time.
His mind ransacked cruelly, his soul intact.
CONNECT WITH US TODAY
Be the first to know the latest news and updates
