When it comes to classic comedy, there are a few names that evoke a particular level of esteem and respect, either through their dominance in the industry, or the pedigree that has come to be associated with them. Ealing Studios had a reputation for producing some of the finest comedies to ever come out of Great Britain, simple but effective works that had straightforward stories, but some of the most interesting stylistic approaches ever seen in mainstream cinema. There were many fantastic films produced by the studio, but the jewel at the heart of Ealing certainly must be The Ladykillers, a film that combined everything that made the studio such a remarkable incubator for incredible talent, as well as having a revolutionary spirit that was far ahead of its time, still being refreshing and shocking by modern standards (hence the ill-fated remake that tried to recapture the same spark, but failed dismally). One of the darkest comedies of the 1950s, and a work of profound genius, what director Alexander Mackendrick managed to do, alongside screenwriter William Rose (whose writing is absolutely impeccable, and is perhaps the aspect of the film that warrants the most praise, since it ties everything together quite beautifully) is truly spellbinding, a remarkable achievement in character-driven humour that never takes itself too seriously, but also doesn’t waver in asserting its dominance over a genre that had often remained too safe in abiding by conventions. Ealing Studios set out to break every rule imaginable, and managed to do it with poise, humour and darkly comical brilliance that is all reflected quite beautifully in this incredibly strange, but oddly hypnotic, voyage into the mind of psychopaths.

The premise is remarkably simple, enough to have inspired countless other dark comedies that employed a similar thematic approach – a group of criminals, led by a mercilessly brilliant mastermind, wrangles their way into the home (and life) of an innocent bystander, the exact antithesis of the kind of person most would expect to be associated with hardened criminals, but eventually inadvertently finds their way into the plot, from which escape is futile, since the consequences can sometimes be deadly. Only Ealing Studios, with their happy-go-lucky cynicism, could’ve so proudly put out a film that not only focuses on such dark material, but advertises it quite openly, as evident in the title, which gives us a glimpse to the grotesque humour we can expect from Mackendrick, a director who had been hired by Ealing previously to bring to life a couple of their more endearing (but no less cutting-edge) comedies, such as Whisky Galore! and The Man in the White Suit, which may have been revolutionary in their own way, but were not nearly as risky as The Ladykillers, which saw a considerable change of pace for nearly everyone involved, with the exception of Alec Guinness, who had a penchant for playing characters that were either indicative or adjacent to unhinged psychopathy. This is the charm of a film like The Ladykillers – not only is it such a delightfully irreverent romp through different social strata of post-war Britain, it manages to be quite rebellious in how it presents these themes, without becoming too overtly serious about them, instead carrying with it a sense of potent, darkly comical sarcasm that never abates, not even when we have the expected happy ending – even a film like this can’t abide by having the villains triumph, after all.

Sir Alec Guinness had a penchant for playing miscreants and oddballs, almost to the point where even his more straightforward dramatic work had a sense of peculiarity underpinning it. Watching his performance in The Ladykillers, it’s certainly difficult to argue with the idea that he was one of the finest actors to work in the medium – in an industry consumed by a particular idea of what a leading man should be, as well as an era where major stars had to meet a certain criteria to be successful, Guinness defied the odds and was quintessentially himself in every performance. He brought a distinct set of eccentricities to all of his work, and made some daring choices that would derail an actor with even slightly less confidence than he possessed. His performance as the deceptively brilliant Professor Marcus is a masterclass in putting together an unforgettable villain – his gangling physicality and particular choices in appearance (including a set of large prosthetic teeth), intertwine with his delightfully eccentric persona, creating a vivid and hilariously sinister antagonist who we simply can’t avoid loving, even if his actions are absolutely deplorable. A lesser actor would’ve definitely made Marcus a lot more likeable and relatable, in an effort to avoid creating a truly despicable character. Guinness not only succumbs to the pure malice of the character, but appears to be celebrating his evil, which makes for an eye-catching villain whose demise, while earned, does come as a bit of a disappointment, if only because the extent to which the actor was willing to take him was profoundly fascinating. The Ladykillers has a large cast, including some iconic actors (with this being one of the first major appearances by comedic legend Peter Sellers), but none of them seems to be able to match Guinness on any level – but judging by the reverence they have for him, and their willingness to move out of his way throughout the film, it’s clear no one necessarily wanted to dare upstage him.

However, as much as The Ladykillers may be defined by Guinness’ iconic performance, the film doesn’t only serve to focus on him, instead finding a balance between the eccentric lead, the rest of the cast (which also included Katie Johnson as one of the most terminally delightful old biddies ever put on film) and the overarching story, which is a lot more complex than a brief, surface-level summary could convey. This film is essentially focused on a quintet of career criminals not only pulling off a successful heist with the unknowing assistance of an innocent old woman, but also convincing her to the legality of their actions once the truth is accidentally revealed. The heist at the centre of The Ladykillers is thrilling, but it’s far from the centrepiece, and occurs quite early on, quite an unexpected twist from similar films, in which such a scene would be the peak of the story. Mackendrick and Rose are far more interested in the inner workings of the dynamic they’ve created. Through centralizing a character normally relegated to the margins of such stories, and essentially filtering the plot through her perspective (to the point where Johnson is the de facto lead of the film), The Ladykillers finds a unique angle, and creates a vivid, hilarious demonstration of a crime gone horribly wrong. It may be extremely unrealistic, and perhaps even outright absurd, but it serves a pivotal function, and helps curate a very peculiar tonal balance that finds the comedy that is inherent in these situations, contrasting it with an actually horrifying narrative about the consequences of being involved in a crime, even if only by mere, inadvertent association. The third act of the film, where the villains go about trying to meet the expectations of the title, is actually quite horrifying, but it never feels anything less than enthralling, since Mackendrick prevents any semblance of discomfort – and when dealing with a literal plot to violently murder an old lady, making it so captivating seems almost inappropriate. Although, in all fairness, The Ladykillers was never going to be a film that paid much attention to subtletly.

From the first moment, we’re immersed into this wonderfully deranged world, invited to get lost in this hellish version of London, where criminals are colourful, police are incompetent and the only seemingly sane person is an octogenarian who has a tendency for conflating reality with her delightfully strange delusions. We know almost immediately that we’re in good hands, and that we are going to witness something special – Mackendrick was a skilled filmmaker, and an even more brilliant storyteller, and his collaboration with Rose (who apparently conceived of this entire film in a dream, which is a wonderful detail that makes perfect sense, considering the peculiar nature of this film), yielded incredible results. It is quite rightly a classic of 1950s comedy, especially since it meets all the requirements to become iconic – it has a strong script that isn’t only chock-full of quotable one-liners, but also pays attention to the foundational detail, never once being derailed by inconsistent logic or continuity errors. The performances are remarkable, especially the terrifying one given by Alec Guinness, and his henchmen, who are a combination of disturbing and hilariously bizarre, which only contributes to the idiosyncratic charms of the film. However, what really makes The Ladykillers so compelling is how it takes all these components, and turns it into a wildly inventive dark comedy, a deranged story of crime and punishment, and the consequences that befall anyone who dares to step beyond the status quo. It’s a truly delightful film, and one that has only improved with time, since the decades since its release has shown not only the remarkable staying power of this particular story, but also the immense impact it had on the world of comedy, helping lay the groundwork for some truly demented projects that were to follow in subsequent years, defining an entire sub-genre all on its own, and for good reason, since you don’t make a film as daring as The Ladykillers and not expect it to become something of a sensation.