Rent The Ladykillers (1955)

Gloriously Grim - The Ladykillers review by griggs

An absolute gem from Ealing Studios, The Ladykillers is a film I never tire of — a perfect portrait of Britain smiling sweetly as the walls cave in. Alec Guinness leads a gloriously decaying gang — Katie Johnson, Peter Sellers, Cecil Parker, Herbert Lom and Danny Green — in a story about hopeless criminals who can’t even outwit a little old lady with a parrot and a broken bannister.

For all its exquisite comedy, the truth is that The Ladykillers is a deeply reactionary, conservative film, almost a moral panic about Britain's decay during the rampant modernisation and reconstruction after World War Two.

Guinness, all deathly grins and crumbling teeth, floats through the film like a ghost who never quite got the hint. Still wet behind the ears, Sellers slouches about in teddy boy gear, the very picture of Britain’s terror of its own youth: all noise, no direction. One-Round, the ex-boxer, lumbers on as the forgotten working man. Lom’s character embodies that quiet, tight-lipped fear of the foreigner at the door. Meanwhile, the Major — medals polished, spine gone soft — stands as a mournful reminder that the aristocracy has long since checked out, leaving only the bill behind.

The real Britain is the house itself: a rotting Victorian monument collapsing gently into the railway lines, politely ignored by everyone until the final crash. Mackendrick’s direction is masterful: cheerfully musical, careful manners, murder politely arranged in the back room — all the things that made Britain great, now slightly moth-eaten and quietly sinking.

There’s a warning about outdated attitudes, but really, The Ladykillers is one long warning: a blackly funny obituary for a nation busily papering over the cracks, inviting the neighbours round for tea, and pretending the ceiling isn’t about to fall in.

It’s no doubt why the Coen Brothers’ remake fell so miserably flat: the comedy was still there, but stripped of the original’s brittle British sensibilities and its crumbling postwar backbone, all that remained was a harmless, weightless caper.

It’s glorious, grim, and somehow, every time, it feels like coming home — if home were a condemned building run by lunatics.

Dark Comedy. - The Ladykillers review by Steve

Quintessentially English black comedy which is elevated by a sublime comic performance from Alec Guinness as the mastermind of a gang of crooks, and the inspired casting of Katie Johnson as the little old lady who foils them. The dangerous heavies rent a room in her gloomy chambers where they pretend to rehearse a string minuet, while they plot a heist.

And they would have got away with it, if not for her meddling. The film eventually becomes a morality tale as they meet their demise at each others hands, leaving the law abiding landlady with the swag. Guinness clearly draws on the screen persona of Alastair Sim, who was originally cast as the Professor. It's a stunning transformation.

With his bloodless complexion and sickly eyes, he looks sketched from German expressionism, like the lopsided house, skewed by the blitz. The streets are dark, painted in soot. His mob (including Peter Sellers, Herbert Lom and Cecil Parker) are all exaggerated caricatures. Danny Green is the best, playing an idiot heavy.

It's a gothic comedy. Most of the humour comes from contrasting the London of genteel, distracted widows and kindly police with the desperate, ill-fated lawbreakers. It's not hilarious, but it creates an aura of dry incongruity which fills the sombre Technicolor darkness. It's the last great Ealing comedy, and one of the most loved British films.