Watching this again, I couldn’t help wondering: is The Ladykillers Ealing’s most famous
film? In academic circles, it is probably one of the most cited – with debates
ranging over what aspect of British society it is satirising, what larger contemporary
issues it might be addressing, or simply hailing the directorial work of
Alexander Mackendrick – and, in popular circles, it ranks alongside the other
Alec Guinness comedies Kind Hearts and
Coronets (1949), The Lavender Hill Mob
(1951) and The Man in the White Suit
(1951) and Ealing dramas The Blue Lamp
(1950) and The Cruel Sea (1953). In
the last decade, a case for The Ladykillers
as the most well known Ealing film has only increased, with the unfortunate Tom
Hanks-Coen Brothers remake in 2004 and the recent theatrical adaptation by
Graham Linehan. At some level, it may be that this simple tale of five crooks and
the little old lady who is unwittingly drawn into their robbery, is what people
think of when it comes to Ealing Studios.
As a film, The
Ladykillers confirms and challenges much of the ‘Ealing-esque’ character
identified in several of these blog posts: conformity and community are here,
black comedy is woven throughout, ensemble cast performance is crucial, location
filming is crucial to the setting and narrative and there is a moral dimension
to the denouement. Yet, again in common with some of the Ealing films, it can
also be frustratingly abrupt and incoherent: Professor Marcus’ (Alec Guinness)
descent into madness is signposted at several occasions, but his abrupt switch from
controlled venom to outright homicide in the final moments can feel contrived;
while the different performance styles do threaten to undermine the film (not
least Frankie Howerd’s barrow boy, a moment that feels badly improvised, incoherent
and overplayed by director and cast).
That the film still works is, in part, due to that
collision of styles and ideas: Guinness’ gothic and twisted (mentally and
physically) Professor may be the most mannered performance, but it works because
it bounces off solid work from the rest of the gang of crooks: Claude / Major
Courtney (Cecil Parker), Harry / Mr Robinson (Peter Sellers) and One Round / Mr
Lawson (Danny Green). The fifth member, Louis / Mr Harvey (Herbert Lom), is different
again: not full of twitchy movement and vocal tricks like Guinness, but an
affectionate homage to American gangster types, stiff and unyielding, sardonic
and aloof, always with one eye on the money and the door. And set against them
all is Mrs Wilberforce (Katie Johnson), fussy and dotty and not remotely
endearing, remnant of a lost age in so many ways (her house, adrift at the end
of the street; her memories of Queen Victoria dying; her belief in what’s morally
right). The collision of these six performances and these six characters – and arguably,
the seventh, the lopsided house they inhabit for much of the film – coheres
even when individual moments feel uncertain.
It also doesn’t hurt that the film looks fantastic, with
Mackendrick and director of photography Otto Heller creating an off-kilter
world that is one step removed from our own. The film plays with colour, offering
garish purple-blues colours when Guinness first appears (and then, later, in
the night-time scenes as the gang plan to kill Mrs W), and emphasising communication
technologies of phone boxes and trains with splashes of red. This is a world similar
to our own, but separate – much like Mrs Wilberforce herself. Barr describes
the film as containing a small village atmosphere, but that village arguably owes
as much to horror traditions as it does to Ealing community, with the
Wilberforce house a misshapen castle out of time and out of place at the end of
its long narrow cul-de-sac, a potential monstrous location best avoided. Although
she may think she is, Mrs Wilberforce is never at the centre of this community –
the film depicts her as much of an intruder into these social spaces as the
gang, distracting the police (who are politely dismissive of everything she
says, with Jack Warner notably playing up to – and satirising – his reliable
police presence as the superintendent who ushers her quickly back out into the
street) and causing chaos in the streets. Mrs W may be the closest the film
comes to a moral centre, but the film encourages audiences to see that morality
as skewed and uncertain as the gang’s criminal perspective.
Despite all this playful and blackly comic misdirection, The Ladykillers still works as a broader
comedy: the film never misses an opportunity to stress their childish behaviour
(fighting and climbing over each other to get into a phone box) and the slapstick
of the gang’s inept failure to capture a parrot presages their incompetence when
it comes to killing Mrs W. Performances capture small comic touches that bring the
characters to life: Lom handling his violin case like it contains a machine gun
(and holding his violin like he’s about to clobber someone with it); Guinness’
impatient tug at his scarf every time Mrs W treads on it; Sellers’ unhappy expression
when faced with killing Mrs W; Green hopping around the room, legs wedged in a
broken chair; Parker, bouncing off the walls of a phone box as Mrs W seems set
to undermine their plans. Different comic styles, modes of performance, and narrative
elements all collide in The Ladykillers
and, often despite themselves, create a film that remains compelling and
enjoyable.
[The Ladykillers
is released on DVD by Studio Canal. See www.studiocanal.co.uk
for more details]
No comments:
Post a Comment