Oliver! (1968)

In Victorian‑era England, in the drab parish town of Dunstable, a gray morning light seeps through high, filthy windows into a cavernous workhouse dining hall. Barefoot boys in shapeless, colorless uniforms march in rigid lines, the echo of their steps swallowed by stone walls. The air smells of boiled grain and disinfectant. At the far end, a copper cauldron of thin gruel steams faintly, attended by stern figures in black and brown.

Among the boys is small, fair‑haired Oliver Twist, his eyes too large in his pale face, his clothes hanging from his thin shoulders. He shuffles forward with the others, clutching a metal bowl, stomach gnawing with a hunger so constant it has become a dull ache. Ladles splash a meager spoonful of gray gruel into each bowl. The line curves away to the long wooden tables, where the boys sit in silence and eat what little they have, scraping the bottoms with desperate care.

In a separate room, separated by walls and status, the wealthy governors of the workhouse prepare to enjoy a rich spread. The contrast is stark: silver dishes and roasted meats for the men who rule, watery gruel for the children they control. In the dining hall, the boys whisper, eyes flickering to one another. Hunger is stronger today than fear. They draw lots--bits of straw clutched in nervous fingers--to decide who will risk asking for more. The tangled, shortest straw ends up in Oliver's hand. The decision is made.

Oliver's heart pounds, but the grumbling of his stomach and the expectant, desperate stares of the other boys push him up from the bench. He rises, bowl in hand, and walks the long distance across the hall toward the adults at the head. Mr. Bumble, the beadle, stands there in his imposing official coat and hat, a stout man with a florid face and a voice that loves to boom. Beside him, the Widow Corney, gaunt and sharp‑eyed, oversees the room with grim satisfaction.

Oliver stops in front of them. The hall seems to hold its breath. He lifts his bowl, hands trembling slightly, and speaks in a clear, small voice that cuts through the silence: "Please, sir, I want some more."

For a second, there is only stunned quiet. Then outrage erupts. Bumble's mouth falls open. His face turns crimson. "More?" he roars, as though the word itself is a crime. Widow Corney gasps, scandalized. The other adults mutter about ingratitude, rebellion. To them, this is not a child asking for food; it is a challenge to the order that keeps them in power.

Bumble grabs Oliver by the arm, fingers digging into the thin flesh, shaking him as he bellows about insolence and wickedness. He drags the terrified boy from the hall, Oliver's bowl clattering to the floor, and hauls him through corridors to the office where the governors assemble. In their wood‑paneled room, amid ledgers and quills, they listen to Bumble's account of the boy's audacity and decide, with cold efficiency, that Oliver is to be rid of. They will offer him as an apprentice to anyone willing to take him, for a small fee to the parish.

Soon after, Mr. Bumble parades Oliver through the streets of Dunstable like livestock at market. The town is a cluster of cobbled streets, small shops, and modest houses. Bumble strides ahead, singing his own self‑aggrandizing advertisement--"Boy for sale!"--turning Oliver's life into a sales pitch, describing him as troublesome and unwanted. Oliver trudges behind, shivering, seeing the town he has never really known, his fate reduced to the price someone might pay.

A buyer appears in the form of Mr. Sowerberry, an undertaker with a thin, solemn face, dressed perpetually in black. He peers at Oliver with a professional eye, measuring his smallness and pallor. "He'll do nicely as a mute," he decides--someone to walk silently behind coffins, looking appropriately mournful. Money changes hands. Oliver is no longer the parish's responsibility; he is the Sowerberrys' property.

At the undertaker's premises, Oliver meets Mrs. Sowerberry, a hard, domineering woman whose mouth seems permanently set in a sneer. She looks him over with contempt, seeing not a boy but cheap labor. In the cramped kitchen, she begrudgingly feeds him and assigns chores. The house smells of wood shavings and varnish, but also of death: coffins in various stages of completion fill the workshop, mourning clothes hang on pegs, and the air is heavy with the solemn business of funerals.

Oliver's work begins quickly. He is dressed in dark, ill‑fitting clothes and made to walk as a funeral mute behind coffins, tiny and wan in the grim procession. Nights he returns to the undertaker's home, where warmth is scarce and affection nonexistent. In this small world he meets the other apprentice, Noah Claypole, a lanky older boy with a cruel streak, and Charlotte, the giggling maid who aligns herself with Noah. Noah immediately asserts his dominance, taunting Oliver, mocking his origins. Charlotte encourages him, laughing at Oliver's expense.

Days pass in this bleak routine. Oliver endures the taunts, the slaps, the meager food and cold looks, until one day Noah finds the cruelty that cuts deepest. In the kitchen, with Mrs. Sowerberry nearby, Noah sneers about Oliver's deceased mother, implying she was of low morals, calling her names that make Oliver's face flush with shame and rage. Something snaps in the usually passive boy. He launches himself at Noah, shrieking with fury, fists flying. Noah, taken by surprise, falls back, howling, and then exaggerates his injuries, screaming for help as though he is being murdered.

Mrs. Sowerberry rushes in, followed by Mr. Sowerberry. They see Oliver struggling like a trapped animal, see Noah's theatrically wounded state, and draw the obvious, biased conclusion. Oliver is beaten back, scolded, and dragged down to the cellar as punishment. The door slams behind him and is bolted. The cellar is dark, damp, and smells of earth and wood. Oliver, panting and bruised, leans against the door, then slides down to the floor, his anger dissolving into sobs.

When the storm of emotion passes, he becomes aware of a draft against his cheek. Eyes adjusting to the gloom, he sees a small window high on the wall, covered by a metal grate. He crawls to it and pushes. To his amazement, the grate shifts. It is unlocked. The world outside is just beyond that opening: a patch of sky, a sliver of freedom. Oliver's heart starts pounding with a new rhythm--hope.

He waits until the house above is quiet. Then he drags a crate beneath the window, climbs, and shoves the grate aside. The night air floods in, cool and strange. He squeezes his thin body through the gap, scraping his arms, and tumbles out into the yard. Without looking back, Oliver runs. Away from the undertaker's shop, away from the coffins and insults, away from Dunstable. He runs until his legs burn and his lungs ache, guided by the idea of London--a place he has only heard of in whispers, where there might be opportunity, maybe even kindness.

The next days blur into a long, desperate journey. Oliver travels on foot along country roads, hedgerows on either side, passing milestones he cannot read, begging a ride when he can. At one point he clambers onto the back of a passing carriage just long enough to gain a few precious miles. Fields and villages slip by, the sky changing from gray to blue and back again. He sleeps where he can, eats when someone takes pity. His shoes wear thin, then through; his feet blister and bleed. But London draws him on like a promise.

By the time he reaches the city, Oliver is exhausted and filthy, his clothes torn, his face streaked with dirt. London is a shock: crowded, noisy, alive with chaos. The streets teem with carts, vendors cry their wares, smoke rises in a constant haze. Tall buildings lean over narrow alleys, and the crush of humanity presses from all sides. The smell is a potent mix of coal smoke, sewage, and cooking food.

On one of these bustling streets, as Oliver stumbles, dizzy with hunger, a boy about his age appears in front of him, as if conjured from the crowd. He is cocky and lively, dressed in mismatched, slightly flashy rags--too large hat, jaunty scarf, a coat with deep pockets. He looks Oliver up and down with quick, appraising eyes.

"You look 'ungry," the boy remarks cheerfully. "Where you from?"

"Dunstable, sir," Oliver replies timidly. "I've walked all the way."

The boy laughs. "Dunstable, eh? Name's Jack Dawkins. But they calls me the Artful Dodger." He tips his hat with a flourish. Oliver, naive and grateful for any attention, smiles faintly.

Dodger, sensing easy prey and an eager recruit, slings an arm around Oliver's shoulders and leads him through the warren of London streets. As they walk, Dodger chats away, painting their destination as a place of warmth and food and friendship. "Consider yourself at 'ome," he croons, selling the idea of belonging. Oliver, starved for both food and affection, soaks it in.

Dodger guides him into a dilapidated building in a slum district--Fagin's den. Inside, the main room is crowded with mattresses, rags, and a ragtag group of boys of various ages, all rough‑looking but energetic. The air is thick with smoke and the smell of unwashed bodies. At the center of this chaotic nest sits Fagin, an elderly man with a sly, lined face and sharp eyes that miss nothing. His clothes, though shabby, have a hint of flamboyance, and his fingers are adorned with the odd ring.

Dodger proudly presents Oliver. Fagin rises, spreading his arms in a mock‑benevolent gesture. "You're welcome, my dear, you're welcome," he says, his voice oozing avuncular charm. He fusses over Oliver, offers him food, and assures him he has found friends at last. The boys crowd around, curious, joking. Oliver, overwhelmed but relieved, begins to believe he has indeed found a sort of family.

In the days that follow, Oliver learns the rhythms of Fagin's household. They sleep in a heap on makeshift beds, share rough meals at a battered table, and spend much of their time with Fagin in the main room or around his private stash spots. At first, Fagin shows Oliver what appear to be wallets and handkerchiefs they are "making" or "cleaning." He opens boxes and drawers full of fine handkerchiefs, watches, jewelry, and coins, always with an eye for hiding the best pieces away under floorboards or in secret nooks. His whispery voice slips into song as he instructs the boys in the "art" of survival, explaining how to "pick a pocket or two" as if it were a clever game, not a crime.

Oliver watches, confused but fascinated, as Dodger and the others practice slipping their hands into pockets, removing wallets without a flicker. Fagin's instructions are theatrical and funny, the boys' laughter infectious. For a while Oliver doesn't fully grasp what is happening. But eventually, out in the streets, it becomes terribly clear.

One morning, Fagin sends the boys out "to work," pairing Oliver with Dodger and a boy named Charley Bates. The trio set off through the crowded markets and streets. Oliver still thinks they might be running errands or selling something. They stop near a street bookstall, where an older gentleman in a fine coat, Mr. Brownlow, is absorbed in inspecting books. His wallet protrudes slightly from his pocket, a tempting target.

Dodger nudges Charley and nods toward the wallet. Oliver stands nearby, unaware, as Dodger's hand snakes out, deft and quick, lifting the wallet with barely a twitch. Charley and Dodger exchange a look and then bolt. Oliver, startled, hesitates. Mr. Brownlow pats his pocket, finds the wallet gone, and looks up just in time to see the boys fleeing. Oliver, panicking and not understanding what to do, takes a step back instead of running. To the onlookers, it is obvious: the pale boy standing there must be the thief.

A shout goes up. Men lunge toward him. Oliver runs, but too late. The crowd is faster, angry, determined to see justice done. They chase him down the street and tackle him, dragging him, crying and insisting he didn't do it, to the nearest magistrate's court.

The next day, Oliver stands shaking before the magistrate, a small, terrified figure in the dock. The courtroom is cramped, with a bench for the magistrate, seats for the public, and a desk where Mr. Brownlow stands, stern but troubled. Oliver, too frightened and ashamed to say much, can only repeat weakly that he did not steal the wallet. The magistrate, impatient and unsympathetic, is ready to brand him a liar and a thief, to send him to prison or worse.

Then Mr. Jessop, the bookstall owner, steps forward. He testifies that he saw everything: it was not Oliver who took the wallet, but another boy, and Oliver didn't run because he was innocent. The magistrate grumbles but cannot ignore the evidence. The charge is dismissed. Oliver sways, his ordeal having drained him. Mr. Brownlow, horrified at how close he came to ruining an innocent child's life, feels a surge of guilt and compassion. He volunteers to take Oliver home to recover.

Thus Oliver arrives at Mr. Brownlow's house, a comfortable townhouse in a respectable London district, likely Bloomsbury. The entry hall is polished wood and warm light, with a kindly housekeeper, Mrs. Bedwin, greeting him with genuine concern. Oliver is given a bed in a clean, cozy bedroom, where from the window he can watch street vendors calling out their goods below. He is bathed, dressed in good clothes--a smart suit, proper shoes, a hat. The transformation is astonishing. For the first time in his life, Oliver feels pampered, cared for, safe.

Mr. Brownlow visits him in the sitting room, speaking gently, curious about the boy's past. Oliver knows little: he was born in a workhouse, his mother dead, his father unknown. Brownlow studies Oliver's face, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. Something about the boy's eyes, his expression, stirs a memory. He is reminded of his niece--Emily in some tellings--who died tragically young. He begins to suspect there might be a deeper connection, but he needs proof.

Meanwhile, back in the slums, Fagin is in a fury. Dodger and the boys have returned without Oliver, reporting his arrest. Fagin paces his den, wringing his hands, terrified that Oliver, now in respectable hands, will reveal details of the hideout, the stolen goods, the faces of the boys. To Fagin, Oliver has become a liability. He needs the boy back under his control.

He turns to his associate, Bill Sikes, a hulking, menacing burglar whose mere presence darkens a room. Sikes's girlfriend, Nancy, moves in his orbit like a wounded star--vibrant and warm, yet battered and sad. Fagin and Sikes discuss the problem of Oliver. Fagin, sly, hints that if Oliver remains with Mr. Brownlow, the entire operation could be exposed. Sikes, suspicious and violent by nature, agrees that the boy must be retrieved, by force if necessary.

Nancy is drawn into the scheme. She knows Oliver--his gentleness, his bewildered innocence--and feels a protective affection toward him. Yet she is bound to Sikes by a twisted, painful loyalty. Fagin and Sikes pressure her, manipulate her love and fear, until she reluctantly agrees to help capture Oliver if the chance arises.

In Brownlow's house, days pass peacefully. Oliver regains strength, his cheeks filling out, his eyes brightening. Brownlow grows increasingly fond of him. Wanting to know more about the boy's origins, he writes a formal letter to the parish authorities responsible for Oliver's early life, inquiring about the boy's mother and family. This letter finds its way back to Dunstable, to Mr. Bumble and the woman who is now Mrs. Bumble--formerly the Widow Corney, now Bumble's grumbling, domineering wife.

Summoned to London by the letter, Mr. and Mrs. Bumble arrive at Brownlow's house. In the sitting room, surrounded by tasteful furnishings, the coarse couple relate what little they know. From their documents and recollections, Brownlow pieces it together: Oliver's mother, the mysterious woman who died in childbirth in the workhouse, was his own niece. This revelation hits him with the force of fate. Oliver is not just any orphan; he is family. Legally and emotionally, Oliver becomes the rightful heir to the Brownlow fortune, the continuation of the family line that seemed extinguished.

While Brownlow is discovering this truth, Oliver's new safety is already under threat. Fagin and Sikes have set their plans in motion. One day, Brownlow, trusting the boy and wanting to foster his independence, sends Oliver out on a simple errand, perhaps to return some books or pay a bill. Oliver steps out onto the bright London street alone, dressed in his fine new clothes, unaware that danger lurks nearby.

Nancy and her young companion Bet are watching. Torn between her promise to help Sikes and her love for Oliver, Nancy's face is tense, eyes brimming with conflict. But the fear of Sikes and the code of the underworld press down on her. When Oliver passes, she moves quickly. "Oliver!" she calls, her tone deceptively friendly. Before he can react, rough hands seize him. She drags him, struggling and bewildered, away from the respectable streets and back toward the filth and shadows of Fagin's district.

Oliver is dragged into Fagin's den, his smart clothes now dirty and rumpled. Fagin greets him with a mix of false joviality and barely concealed anger. He scolds Oliver for daring to leave the "family," insists he belongs here, among the boys and the stolen goods. Oliver is terrified. The gap between Brownlow's warmth and this cramped, smoky room is unbearable. Nancy, watching his distress, feels her guilt growing heavier.

The tension ratchets higher. Fagin knows time is running out. Sikes views Oliver as both a useful tool and a dangerous witness. When word of an opportunity for a lucrative burglary reaches them, Sikes sees an immediate use for the boy. One night, he decides: Oliver will be part of the job. Nancy protests, furious and frightened. "He's just a child!" she pleads, her voice cracking. Sikes's response is a brutal threat; he will not be challenged. Nancy, cowed by years of abuse, falls silent, tears streaking her face.

Under cover of darkness, Sikes drags Oliver from the den, across the city toward a more rural or suburban house--a respectable home with a high wall and a back entrance. The plan is simple and cruel: Oliver is small and nimble; he will be forced to climb the wall, slip in through a window, and open the door from inside. Sikes will follow and loot the house. Oliver is sick with fear. "Please, Mr. Sikes, don't make me do it," he begs. Sikes silences him with a growl and a cuff.

At the targeted house, in the breathless silence of late night, Sikes hoists Oliver up to the wall. The boy clambers over, scraped and trembling, drops into the garden, and creeps to the door. His hands shake as he reaches for the latch. Inside, the house sleeps, unaware. Oliver's foot catches on something; he stumbles, knocks over an object. The resulting clatter shatters the silence.

Lights flare within. Voices shout. A man cries, "Who's there?" Panic surges through Oliver. Sikes curses under his breath. The household, fully alerted, rushes to the scene. A gunshot rings out into the night. In the confusion, Oliver is hit or knocked to the ground, stunned, pain and shock overwhelming him. Sikes barrels in long enough to grab the boy, hauling his limp body away before they can be seized. The burglary has failed, and Oliver's life has come dangerously close to ending in a stranger's hallway.

With the job bungled and the risk immense, Sikes flees back toward the criminal haunts, dragging a dazed Oliver. Eventually, they reach a rough public house, a smoky tavern where Sikes often drinks and broods. Nancy is there, anxiety etched into every line of her body. When Sikes storms in with the injured boy, she rushes to Oliver's side, horrified by his condition. Her protective instinct intensifies; this child will die if she does nothing.

That night, Nancy's inner conflict boils over. In the corner of the pub or in a nearby street, she pours her heart out, singing of her love for Sikes and the hold he has over her, even as she recognizes he is destroying her. "As long as he needs me," she tells herself in tortured justification, yet somewhere in that song is a resolve: she must do one thing that is right, even if it costs her everything.

She makes a decision. Leaving the pub behind, Nancy steals through London's dark streets, the river glinting under lantern light, her shawl pulled tight against the chill. She goes to Mr. Brownlow's house, risking discovery and reprisal. When she knocks, Mrs. Bedwin answers, startled by the disheveled young woman on the doorstep. Nancy begs to see Brownlow, insisting she has vital information about Oliver.

In the sitting room, under the warm lamp glow, she stands before Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin, trembling but determined. She confesses that she helped snatch Oliver from this house, that she dragged him back to Fagin, and that the boy has been forced into crime against his will. She speaks quickly, as if afraid she will lose her nerve. Brownlow listens, his face grave. He asks for names, addresses, anything that might help him bring the criminals to justice.

But here Nancy's conflicted loyalties reassert themselves. She cannot bring herself to betray Sikes and Fagin fully. She refuses to give their names or the exact location of the hideout. She will help Oliver, but she cannot sign the death warrant of the man she loves and the man who has been, in his twisted way, her protector. Instead, she offers a compromise: if Brownlow will trust her, she will bring Oliver to him that very night, at London Bridge. It is a public place, neutral territory. "Be there," she pleads. "If you care for the boy, be there."

Brownlow agrees, his hope rekindled. He and Mrs. Bedwin prepare for the rendezvous.

Back in the underworld, however, danger coils. Fagin, always watchful, grows suspicious of Nancy's absences and agitation. He senses betrayal in the air. Through hints, overheard fragments, or simple paranoia, he suspects she has been talking to someone outside their circle. He may have her followed, or he may confront her with insinuations. Either way, the information reaches Bill Sikes: Nancy might be plotting against them.

Sikes's reaction is volcanic. To him, loyalty is everything--and loyalty equals obedience. The idea that Nancy could go behind his back fills him with murderous rage. When he hears she has been seen near Brownlow's house, his suspicions solidify into certainty. He resolves to watch her, to catch her betrayal in the act.

At the pub, Oliver remains under Sikes's control, frightened and subdued. Nancy, heart hammering, knows she must move now, before Sikes realizes the full extent of her plan. She waits for her moment, then maneuvers to get Oliver out of Sikes's sight. She takes his hand, whispering urgently, and leads him into the night. "Trust me," she tells him. "I'm going to take you to a gentleman who will keep you safe, I swear it."

Together they hurry through dark streets, moving toward London Bridge. The river glimmers beneath the arches, the vast stone structure looming ahead. The clock somewhere in the city marks the late hour, but time, as always in this story, remains unnamed, measured instead in heartbeats and breaths. Nancy clutches Oliver's hand so tightly he can feel the tremor in her fingers.

But Sikes has not been idle. Either warned by Fagin or having trailed them himself, he tracks Nancy through the labyrinth of streets, his dog Bullseye padding at his heels, his eyes burning with suspicion. As Nancy and Oliver near the appointed meeting point, just short of London Bridge, Sikes emerges from the shadows. His figure fills the narrow space, blocking their path, his face a mask of fury.

Nancy gasps, instinctively pushing Oliver behind her. "Bill," she says, voice shaking, "I was only trying to--"

"To what?" Sikes snarls, stepping closer. "To give 'im up? To bring the coppers down on us?" His hand clenches into a fist. Oliver cowers behind her, heart pounding.

Nancy tries to explain, words tumbling. She insists she has been loyal, that she loves him, that she only meant to save the boy's life, not betray Sikes himself. "I'd never turn on you, Bill, never," she cries. "It's the boy I'm thinking of."

But Sikes's mind is closed. In his world, any act of mercy toward the enemy is treachery. Jealousy, paranoia, and possessiveness twist inside him. The fact that she has dared to act without his permission is unforgivable.

The confrontation escalates. Nancy pleads, sobbing, interposing her body between Sikes and Oliver. "If you must hurt someone, hurt me," she begs. "Leave the child be." Her words, her tears, her declarations of love--none of it reaches the place in Sikes that might have mercy.

In a surge of blind rage, Sikes attacks her. The film does not linger on the gruesome details; the violence is partly obscured by camera angles and shadows. But the impact is unmistakable: he beats Nancy savagely, blows thudding into flesh, her cries cut short. Oliver screams, powerless, as the woman who tried to save him is struck again and again. When Sikes is done, Nancy lies still, lifeless, crumpled near the river steps by the bridge area, her young life ended by the man she loved.

Nancy's death is the darkest point of the story, a brutal proof of how lethal Sikes's brutality and the criminal world truly are. She dies in a cold, open space, not far from where salvation might have been waiting, her sacrifice incomplete yet profound.

Sikes stands over her, chest heaving, the reality of what he has done pressing in. He has killed Nancy. He has spilled the blood of someone from his own circle, someone bound to him by years of shared hardship. He grabs Oliver, roughly, needing a hostage, a bargaining chip, a semblance of control in the chaos he has created. There is no time to mourn. He flees into the night, dragging the traumatized boy with him.

News of Nancy's murder spreads quickly through the underworld and beyond. Witnesses may have seen the altercation; Nancy's absence is immediately noted in their circles. Soon the word "murder" is on many tongues, and Sikes's name is spoken with a mix of fear and condemnation. Bullseye, spooked by the violence, runs off, his distinctive markings making him recognizable. People who know the dog point him out, and the animal inadvertently becomes a guide. Police and outraged citizens, including Mr. Brownlow, follow Bullseye through the streets, the dog leading them toward Fagin's district, toward Sikes's haunts.

Sikes, desperate and enraged, rushes to Fagin's den with Oliver in tow. He bursts in, nearly knocking boys aside, demanding money, supplies, anything that can help him escape. His presence is like a storm. Fagin, already on edge, flutters around him, trying to placate and protect himself. In his agitation, Sikes blurts out the unvarnished truth: he has killed Nancy. The words hang in the air.

The reaction is immediate. Even among thieves and fences, murder of one of their own--especially someone like Nancy--is a line crossed. Shock ripples through the gang. Faces go pale. Some boys, suddenly seeing Sikes as a monster beyond their usual devils, shrink back. Fagin himself flinches, scared not only of the man in front of him but of what the authorities will do once they learn of this new, grievous crime.

Outside, the noise of the city is changing. Shouts, the clatter of many feet, the barked orders of police officers: a mob is forming. Guided by Bullseye, by rumor, by rage over Nancy's death, they are converging on Fagin's lair. The streets surrounding the den fill with people--ordinary citizens who have had enough of burglars and murderers, and police officers whose job it is to bring them to justice. The atmosphere is charged, tense, on the brink of explosion.

Inside, fear grips Fagin's household. The boys sense danger and begin scrambling to gather what little they own. Fagin rushes to his secret stash spots, frantically trying to scoop up the valuables he has hoarded over the years--rings, watches, coins, trinkets. The room becomes a chaos of grabbing hands and shouted instructions. Sikes, seeing the tightening circle outside, knows he has to move now.

He seizes Oliver, yanking him into a chokehold, using the boy's small body as a shield. "You come near me, and the boy gets it," his posture threatens as he shoves toward the exit. Fagin and the others shrink away, unable to stop him. Sikes pushes out into the alleys, dragging Oliver, as the crowd and policemen catch sight of them and give chase.

At the same time, Fagin's attempt to salvage his fortune crumbles. In the frantic evacuation, as he stumbles through the filthy yard or street outside, some of the stolen treasures slip from his grasp and fall into the mud. He scrabbles after them on hands and knees, but the thick muck swallows rings and coins alike. The symbols of his lifetime of petty greed sink out of reach, lost forever. His criminal empire is disintegrating not in a blaze of glory, but in a pathetic scramble for trinkets.

The chase after Sikes intensifies. He pulls Oliver along like a rag doll, the boy stumbling, terrified, tears streaking his face. They cut through narrow alleys, climb rickety staircases, and finally burst out onto the rooftops of the buildings near Fagin's district. Below them, the mob and the police swarm, shouting, pointing. Some officers run to adjacent buildings, scrambling up stairs and ladders to gain vantage points.

On the rooftops, the world narrows to precarious ledges, crumbling chimneys, and yawning gaps between structures. The wind tugs at coats and hair, carrying the roar of the crowd upward. Sikes drags Oliver to the edge of a roof, positioning him as a barrier. He brandishes a weapon--a pistol or a club, depending on the staging--and snarls at the policemen who emerge on nearby rooftops. "Stay back!" his stance declares. "Touch me and the boy dies."

The officers hesitate. They can see the fear in Oliver's eyes, the instability of Sikes's stance on the uneven tiles, the danger of any wrong move. Down below, Mr. Brownlow watches in anguish, calling out Oliver's name, urging the officers to be careful. Oliver is shaking, cheeks wet, barely able to stand.

Time stretches. Sikes, cornered and desperate, looks for a way out. He considers leaping from one roof to another, hauling Oliver with him. The drop between is fatal if he misjudges. The policemen ready themselves. One officer--an unnamed marksman--raises his gun, sighting along the barrel, waiting for a sliver of opportunity.

As Sikes moves, shifting his grip or stepping toward the edge, the moment comes. The marksman fires. The crack of the shot slices through the air. The bullet hits Sikes. For an instant, his body jerks, his face contorts in shock. His grip on Oliver loosens. Then he falls, arms flailing, tumbling from the rooftop down into the chaos below. He hits the ground hard, and his story ends there--killed by a police marksman while trying to escape, his reign of terror over, his murder of Nancy unavenged except by fate and the law.

Oliver, released from Sikes's grasp at the crucial moment, is snatched back by an officer or a brave bystander, pulled to safety away from the edge. He collapses into strong arms, sobbing, his slender frame shaking with relief and exhaustion. The crowd below surges, some people peering at Sikes's broken body, others turning away. Bullseye, the loyal dog, howls and cowers.

Mr. Brownlow pushes forward, his face lined with worry. When he reaches Oliver, he gathers the boy into his arms. The embrace is both fierce and gentle, the culmination of his growing paternal love and the knowledge that this child is his blood. Oliver clings to him, burying his face in Brownlow's chest, the scent of clean linen and safety replacing the stench of fear.

The immediate danger passes. The mob, their bloodlust partially satisfied by Sikes's fall, begins to disperse under police direction. Officers swarm through the area, rounding up stragglers from Fagin's gang, taking statements, securing the scene. The underworld that has held Oliver in its grip is shattered, its most violent figure dead, its mastermind stripped of all his carefully hidden wealth.

Somewhere nearby, Fagin is left effectively alone. His den is emptying, his boys scattered to the winds. His secret treasures have sunk into the mud. The life he built on teaching children to steal has crumbled. In some versions of the story, he wanders away into the fog, perhaps with the Artful Dodger at his side, both reduced to petty, small‑time thievery, their grander schemes gone. In the film, Fagin is shown in the muck, trying to salvage a few coins, then slinking off into the labyrinth of London, a diminished figure whose future promises only loneliness and diminishing returns.

For Oliver, the future is entirely different. With Sikes dead and Fagin neutralized, there is no one left who claims him as property or tool. Mr. Brownlow, now fully aware of Oliver's true parentage--that the boy's mother was his niece and that Oliver is the rightful heir to the Brownlow name and estate--takes formal responsibility for him. Oliver, once an anonymous workhouse orphan, is transformed into a legitimate member of a respectable family.

The final scenes are suffused with a gentler light. The slums of Fagin's neighborhood recede behind them as Oliver walks beside Mr. Brownlow, with Mrs. Bedwin perhaps following, carrying a bundle or fussing kindly. They move away from the squalor and smoke, toward wider, cleaner streets and the solid, inviting façade of Brownlow's home. Oliver's posture is different now--still small, still shy, but no longer stooped under the weight of hunger and fear. He walks into a future where he will be fed, educated, and loved.

There is no announced calendar date, no clock chiming the exact hour of his redemption. Time in this story is measured in transformations: from workhouse to undertaker's cellar, from London's alleys to Brownlow's parlor, from Fagin's den to the rooftop where Bill Sikes falls to his death. Nancy lies dead by the river, killed by Sikes in a fit of violent rage; Sikes lies dead after a police marksman's bullet sends him plunging from the rooftops. Their deaths mark the terrible cost of the world Oliver escapes.

As the camera of memory pulls back, the last image is of Oliver Twist, orphan no more, walking away from the darkness of Victorian London's underbelly toward the safety of Mr. Brownlow's house, the Brownlow name, and a life that--after all that has happened--can finally be called his own.

In the ending of the movie "Oliver!" produced in 1968, Oliver Twist is finally rescued from the clutches of Fagin and Bill Sikes. After a dramatic confrontation, Sikes meets his demise, and Oliver is taken in by Mr. Brownlow, who adopts him and provides him with a loving home. The film concludes with a sense of hope and redemption as Oliver finds a family and a brighter future.

Now, let's delve into the ending in a more detailed, chronological narrative.

As the climax of the story unfolds, the scene shifts to a dark and stormy night in London. Bill Sikes, desperate and frantic, is on the run after committing a robbery that has gone horribly wrong. He is filled with rage and paranoia, believing that he is being pursued. In his frantic state, he returns to Fagin's hideout, where he finds Oliver, who has been captured and is being held against his will. Sikes, in a fit of anger, decides to use Oliver as a shield, believing that he can escape the authorities by taking the boy with him.

The tension escalates as Sikes drags Oliver through the streets, the rain pouring down, creating a grim atmosphere. The townspeople, alerted by the commotion, begin to gather, and the sound of approaching police can be heard in the distance. Sikes, in a moment of desperation, pushes Oliver away, causing the boy to stumble and fall. In a fit of rage, Sikes lashes out, and in a tragic turn of events, he accidentally hangs himself while trying to escape. The scene is harrowing, with the camera capturing the horror on Oliver's face as he witnesses the violent end of Sikes.

With Sikes gone, the police arrive and take control of the situation. Oliver, shaken but unharmed, is rescued from the chaos. Mr. Brownlow, who has been searching for Oliver throughout the film, arrives just in time to see the boy. He rushes to Oliver, enveloping him in a warm embrace, filled with relief and joy. The bond between them is palpable, as Mr. Brownlow reassures Oliver that he is safe now.

The final scenes transition to a brighter setting, where Oliver is welcomed into Mr. Brownlow's home. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, contrasting sharply with the darkness of his previous life. Mr. Brownlow introduces Oliver to his new family, including the kind-hearted Rose, who immediately takes a liking to him. The joy and love in the room are evident, as Oliver begins to feel a sense of belonging for the first time.

As the film draws to a close, the camera pans out, showing Oliver playing happily with other children in the garden, laughter filling the air. The final moments are filled with a sense of hope and renewal, as Oliver's journey from hardship to happiness is complete. The screen fades to black, leaving the audience with a feeling of optimism for Oliver's future.

In summary, the fates of the main characters are as follows: Oliver Twist finds a loving home with Mr. Brownlow and Rose, escaping the horrors of his past. Bill Sikes meets a tragic end, consumed by his own violence and desperation. Fagin, left alone and abandoned, faces the consequences of his actions, while Mr. Brownlow emerges as a figure of compassion and redemption, having saved Oliver from a life of misery. The film concludes with a powerful message about the importance of love, family, and the possibility of a brighter future.

The movie "Oliver!" produced in 1968 does not have a post-credit scene. The film concludes with a final musical number, "As Long As He Needs Me," which features Nancy's emotional farewell and the resolution of Oliver's journey. After this, the credits roll without any additional scenes or content following them. The focus remains on the story's conclusion and the characters' fates as they are wrapped up in the final moments of the film.

Oliver Twist, a young orphan, is driven by desperation and a longing for freedom. After enduring harsh treatment and witnessing the cruelty of the workhouse, particularly when he famously asks for more food, he decides to escape in search of a better life.

Oliver meets the Artful Dodger shortly after he arrives in London. The Dodger, a street-smart boy, recognizes Oliver's vulnerability and takes him under his wing, leading him to Fagin's den, where he introduces him to a world of pickpocketing and crime.

Fagin serves as a manipulative mentor figure to Oliver, introducing him to a gang of child thieves. He is both a father figure and a villain, exploiting the boys' need for belonging while teaching them the art of thievery, all while maintaining a facade of care.

Nancy experiences a deep internal conflict as she grapples with her loyalty to Bill Sikes, a violent criminal, and her compassion for Oliver. She is torn between her love for Sikes and her desire to protect Oliver, ultimately leading her to make a tragic choice to help the boy escape.

Bill Sikes is portrayed as a brutal and menacing figure, representing the darker side of London's underbelly. His violent nature is evident in his interactions with Nancy and his ruthless behavior towards others, showcasing the dangers that Oliver faces in the criminal world.

The movie "Oliver!" produced in 1968 is generally considered family-friendly, but it does contain some scenes and themes that may be potentially objectionable or upsetting for children or sensitive viewers. Here are a few aspects to be aware of:

1. Orphanage Conditions: The film opens with Oliver Twist living in a grim orphanage where children are mistreated and neglected. The harsh treatment and the somber atmosphere may be distressing.

2. Abuse and Violence: There are scenes depicting physical abuse, particularly towards children. For example, the character Mr. Bumble, the workhouse master, is shown to be cruel and authoritarian.

3. Crime and Criminal Activity: The story involves themes of theft and pickpocketing, as Oliver becomes involved with a gang of juvenile delinquents. This may raise concerns about the portrayal of crime.

4. Death and Loss: The film touches on themes of loss and death, particularly in relation to Oliver's mother and the fate of other characters, which could be upsetting for younger viewers.

5. Dark Themes: The overall tone of the film includes elements of despair, poverty, and social injustice, which may be heavy for some children to process.

While these elements are integral to the story's themes of resilience and hope, they may require parental guidance for younger audiences.