The dawn of 1777 has just passed, and America (or rather, the Thirteen Colonies) has just signed the Declaration of Independence that would emancipate them from Great Britain, bringing their decision to become their own self-sufficient entity to the fore, a cause many are willing to fight for. However, not everyone is particularly pleased about this development, as made evident by the influx of British troops into all corners of the newly-found United States – they’re led by the charismatic but psychopathic General John Burgoyne (Laurence Olivier), who asserts his power on anyone foolish enough to be persuaded by his tricks. Someone who has evaded the general is Dick Dudgeon (Kirk Douglas), an equally charming rapscallion who consistently navigates his way out of the most challenging situations, normally involving those looking to capture him for his various misdemeanours, which are really his only means of survival. His father has recently been executed for reasons made unclear, which draws the attention of the local priest, Reverend Anthony Anderson (Burt Lancaster), a mild-mannered vicar who lives a simple life, and prefers to just abide by the rules, to the point where the insistence of the general to display the dead man’s body in the town square as a means to set an example and dissuade imitators and rebels, actually causes him to become something of a revolutionary himself. His paths cross with the deceased’s son, who takes a shine to Anderson and his milquetoast wife, Judith (Janette Scott), who is repulsed by the career criminal who she has to endure due to her husband’s insistence on keeping the community safe – and when Dick steals his father’s body and asks Anderson to give him a decent burial, General Burgoyne immediately sets his sights on the men who appear to be the ones derailing his plans and questioning his authority, and is willing to go to all lengths to stay in control.

The story of a conflicted reverend and a maniacal criminal fighting for independence in an era of great social and political unease, set to the backdrop of one of history’s most violent conflicts, barely seems like something worth laughing about – yet, Guy Hamilton managed to effectively transform George Bernard Shaw’s biting satire into one of the funniest films of its era. The Devil’s Disciple is nothing to scoff at, despite being quite obscure by modern standards, not ageing particularly well, which is cause for concern when you have three of the most magnetic actors of the era occupying the major roles. However, there is always time for a reappraisal, and it’s not difficult to see the discourse around this film shifting to show it as something of a lost classic, a work that compensates for its smaller scale through a devil-may-care attitude that makes for such thoroughly riveting viewing, and a labyrinthine plot that is delivered with such nuance and elegance, it’s bizarre to consider the sheer amount of historical context went into the creation of this story. Shaw was someone who possessed the enviable quality of being both a master of social matters and language, which has made his work both timely and timeless, and allowed many different interpretations of it over the years. Naturally, The Devil’s Disciple is neither his most acclaimed work, or the one that is mostly associated with his long and storied literary career – but it is certainly one of his most fascinating, and despite its relative obscurity, it has been made into quite a marvellous film that captures the wit and candour of Shaw’s style, combining it with the rousing patriotism of mid-century war films, creating something singularly unforgettable, and absolutely worth seeking out and elevating far beyond the ambivalent shrug this film met upon its original release.

One doesn’t simply cast the formidable trio of Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas and Laurence Olivier and not anticipate enormously successful results. Lancaster and Douglas in particular were a strong duo, and The Devil’s Disciple was the third of a total of seven collaborations between the two – their wildly different energies and physicalities made them a symbiotic pair, and they successfully traversed many genres, demonstrating their impeccable chemistry and deft ability to work with any material. This film in particular allows them to play off some of their unique qualities – Douglas is a madcap eccentric with an endless supply of wisecracks and an acerbic wit that could get him out of the most difficult situations, while Lancaster is the regal, elegant everyman who has a strong head on his shoulders, and a firm understanding of the moral grounding every self-respecting individual must have. The film does gradually deconstruct some of their more notable qualities, playfully manipulating them in a way that does show them in a slightly different light, without entirely abandoning their most interesting elements. Their work together is strong, and they tend to bring out the best in each other, which is only buttressed by the presence of Olivier, who is absolutely delightful as the villain. A master of language and the art of acting, Olivier was an intimidating force, but of the subset of unimpeachable deities of acting, he was the one that showed himself to be the most willing to play on his own image, poking fun at himself without verging on self-parody. The Devil’s Disciple has him at his most camp (for the time at least), joyfully disseminating his evil into the world around him, while not being maniacal enough to fully lose all sense of logic. The role is relatively small, being relegated to a handful of scenes – but each one makes an impact, and once he finally manages to interact with the two leads of the film in the final stages, The Devil’s Disciple reaches the moment of beautiful collision, three different styles of acting converging into an unforgettable set of characters that carry this story entirely.

Based on a purely formal analysis, The Devil’s Disciple is a fascinating work in both form and content – a satirical comedy centring on two wildly different individuals who find their lives intertwining as a result of becoming inadvertently involved in a war neither of them are all that interested in fighting, nor particularly invested in the outcome. Not quite a war story in the traditional sense, the film instead uses the War of Independence as a backdrop, a means for the film to radically redefine what it means to explore socio-political conflict cinematically – and blending comedy, action and even some overtures of romance, The Devil’s Disciple has a strong sense of direction that dips into a number of genres, which are explored with a gracefulness that would normally lead to believe it would become muddled in its own endeavour to be as wide-ranging as possible. Not necessarily someone who was known as a particularly notable filmmaker, Hamiltonis doing some really interesting work here, deconstructing the form as a whole, without being too rambunctious about his efforts to tell this story. Inarguably, he does leave much of Shaw’s original text relatively untouched, instead expanding the world of the story, and allowing it to be a film that can traverse far more than a simple stage production would be able to achieve. This doesn’t immediately make for a great film, but rather it’s the start of what is to become a vibrant, hilarious satirical comedy that takes itself seriously enough to make an impression, but is also willing to have a great deal of fun alongside the more grave proceedings that are found throughout – some discussions are absolutely inevitable when it comes to looking at this era in American history (not to mention the real-world events that were occurring around the time, where tensions and the idea of being un-American were at an all-time high), but through a spirited approach to challenging material, Hamilton and his cast pull it off splendidly.

There’s a renegade charm to this film that simply shouldn’t be underestimated. In terms of its general sensibilities, it doesn’t seem particularly striking – it is only a few paces removed from a by-the-numbers western (especially those that used real-world events such as a war as a contextual background), and the premise isn’t one that immediately jumps out as being particularly noteworthy, since we’ve seen similarly-themed films countless times before. However, where The Devil’s Disciple deviates is in the more understated qualities that don’t tend to be mentioned in broader discussions. It dares to be a broad comedy about very serious matters, infusing a well-needed sense of levity to an otherwise dire premise that great benefits from a more effervescent approach. It’s not particularly revolutionary filmmaking – pardon the pun – but it’s a solid effort that has a lot more merits than it does shortcomings, with the strong storyline, a unique method of employing a much-needed sense of humour, and a plethora of very strong performances, all go towards making The Devil’s Disciple as worthwhile endeavour that has sadly become lost in the shuffle – it rarely (if ever) comes up in discussions of the work of any of its stars, and what could’ve been a great breakthrough moment for a director like Hamilton failed to leave much of an impression. Perhaps it’s ahead of its time, or simply just too steadfast in its intentions for its own good, but The Devil’s Disciple is a terrific film, and one absolutely worth seeking out.