There are many ways to describe the legendary Billy Wilder, but perhaps the most simple explanation of why he is such a hero to many artists, is that he was the definition of a reliable filmmaker, the gold-standard in both writing and directing, and someone whose prolific career saw him produce many absolute masterpieces, some of which are considered amongst the greatest films ever made. An evergreen presence, from the Golden Age of Hollywood through to the 1980s, Wilder was consistently brilliant, even at his most simple. One of his more understated qualities that isn’t often spoken about is his ability to take a middling text, or an unconvincing story, and turn it into a masterpiece – and when he set out to adapt Stalag 17, the tepidly-received play by former prisoners-of-war Donald Bevan and Edmund Trzcinski, he had his work cut out for him, since this was not a major sensation, nor was it a story that easily lent itself to the cinematic format, especially with its labyrinthine structure and often convoluted manner of storytelling, a result of over a dozen unique characters being woven into its narrative fabric. Wilder was never someone to refuse a challenge, and his version of Stalag 17, while not only being the definitive version of the play (which is mostly forgotten now, the film taking its place in the culture), but one of the most enduring films of the 1950s, a deft and fascinating dark comedy that dares to invite us to laugh at one of the most grim subjects in 20th-century history, the Second World War – and if anyone was going to find a way to manoeuvre this story into the form of a truly outrageous satire that never fails to entertain, it would be Wilder, who remains one of the most exceptional creative voices when it came to finding the perfect balance between tone, structure and intention, as made abundantly clear throughout this wonderful film.

When he set out to adapt the play by Bevan and Trzcinski (which does deserve credit for being one of the pioneering works of literature that gave firsthand insights into the experiences of being a prisoner-of-war), Wilder and co-screenwriter Edwin Blum had something of a challenge ahead of them. The war genre was not at a loss for content, especially not at the time, when studios were inundated with ideas for new works, especially since the Second World War had been over for nearly a decade, allowing for many filmmakers to feel comfortable enough revisiting this period for the sake of entertainment. Naturally, everything Wilder did was executed with his trademark combination of total dedication, precise directorial vision, exceptional wit and a clear intention, which is embedded in every frame of Stalag 17, a film that never once takes for granted the popularity of the genre. The way Wilder directed all of his films was through the method of assuming this was an entirely new genre – even when he knew this would just be another entry into a popular category of filmmaking, his intention was never to rest on either his laurels, or those of the predecessors that made the genre so popular. It gives the film a particularly striking appearance, and allows the story to feel refreshing and unique, even when we know we can find similar premises on either side of the film. Stalag 17 is built on a spark of unhinged creativity that the director consistently demonstrated, to the point where something as well-treaded as a war drama is repurposed into an entirely original satire, with numerous unexpected moments that keep the viewer engaged, even when it is overtly clear where it’s heading. It’s the sign of a good director to be able to make something entirely unique, but an even better one when they can produce something that follows some conventional patterns, while still taking us by surprise.

Stalag 17 has many components that work in its favour, but nothing defines this film more and proves its success than its ensemble, which stands as one of the best of the era. While it may not be populated by the biggest stars of the period, the film does have a few familiar faces, as well as a variety of newcomers, all of which orbit around the central performance given by William Holden, who may not be the sole focus of the film (intentionally blending into the background as part of his character’s role in the story), but is the anchor, both in terms of plot progression and emotional content. Holden makes use of his gruff charisma and ability to play a character who is simultaneously endearing and repulsive, and brings J.J. Sefton to life in a way that immediately makes him a very original protagonist, a man whose allegiance not even the audience can figure out until the very end, but who we can’t help but love, especially since his no-nonsense personality stands in stark contrast to the more flowery personalities that surround him. Outside of Holden, it’s difficult to talk about all the standouts in the film, since so many of them have wonderful moments. Iconic film director Otto Preminger is absolutely hilarious as the prison camp’s ruthless but eccentric commandant, and Sig Ruman is just as funny as one of his henchmen, a lower-tier officer who tends to be a bit too friendly with the people he’s supposed to be terrorizing. Amongst the more valiant characters in the film are those portrayed by Don Taylor, Robert Strauss and Richard Erdman, who are all just as interesting, despite being somewhat underwritten in traditional terms. The entire cast is fantastic, and without each one of these actors putting in the effort to bring these characters to life, it’s not likely that the film would’ve been even close to as compelling.

What makes Stalag 17 so successful is how human it feels – despite the very stylish tone, and the specifications of the genre in which it appears, this isn’t a film that fits perfectly with others from this period. In a time when war was a subject that lent itself to bold cinematic excursions, Wilder decided to go the opposite direction, producing something small and intimate, a film where bravery and valiance isn’t shown on the battlefield in broad strokes of bold filmmaking, but instead in decrepit barracks and the mud-covered prison campgrounds. This doesn’t necessarily preclude the film from being an exciting and captivating piece of storytelling – as we saw in subsequent decades (in both film and on television), prison camps are oddly fertile ground for compelling stories, with The Great Escape (inarguably one of the greatest war films ever produced) and Hogan’s Heroes, amongst many others, owing a considerable debt to Stalag 17 for showing that these small-scale settings can easily be used in interesting ways. Additionally, while it may not have been the primary intention, this film also allowed for a movement towards vaguely realistic depictions of the war experience to be filtered through a more comedic lens. While not necessarily a very funny film, since it does touch on some serious subject matter (and understandably never veers towards being insensitive), Stalag 17 is a satire that perpetually punches upwards, taking aim not at the tragic victims of the war, but rather the perpetrators, who are shown here to exist somewhere between idiotic and grotesque, maniacal villains that incite delightful mockery, rather than outright hatred. It’s an interesting approach, and while there is an alternative version of this film somewhere at the conceptual level that played it completely straight, Stalag 17 benefits most from how it manages to find comedy in a bad situation.

Considering all the directions it could’ve gone based on this premise, we have to give credit to Wilder for breaking from tradition and presenting us with a film that feels genuinely insightful, even at its most eccentric. Regardless of how darkly comical it may be, there is always a method to the madness, and the director ensures that every frame is positively brimming with something substantial. A great deal of the success of the film comes not only on behalf of the cast (who anchor the film), but also one the technical level, with the directorial flourishes and other visual details adding so much nuance to the proceedings and helping define this film as something deeply interesting and endlessly captivating. Ernest Laszlo serves as director of photography, and while he may not have been behind the camera on too many iconic films by this point (mainly being restricted to film noir and some small-scale genre films), his work here hints at some very deep talents, which explains why he would go on to helm the cinematography on gorgeously-shot films such as Kiss Me Deadly and Judgment at Nuremberg. Working with Wilder, Laszlo brings out the intimate details in the film, shooting the scenes as if this was a large-scale war epic, despite it being confined to a relatively small space – and the camera work is absolutely impeccable, the use of light and shadows creating an unsettling but stunning effect that services the intriguing nature of the film around it. Even on the musical level (which is something that Wilder also ensured he captured perfectly throughout his career), Stalag 17 is worth noting – the recurring use of  “When Johnny Comes Marching Home”, whether through being worked into the score or overtly performed by characters in a few key moments, creates an unsettling but enthralling sense of mystery that not only contributes to the war theme, but also ties the film together to a series of very human concepts relating to camaraderie and companionship, which grounds the film.

Stalag 17 is a film that is built on layers of dedicated work, all of it originating from a deep and unflinching sense of honesty brought on by the filmmakers, who do everything they can to create a world where some very bleak situations are repurposed through the lens of a darkly comical satire, which doesn’t only allow us the chance to laugh at these ridiculous characters, but also see a different side of the war, where the most grotesque villains and valiant heroes come into conflict, with hilarious results for the most part (since the film doesn’t often veer towards being all that disconcerting, keeping a sense of humour most of the time). However, Wilder is not afraid to introduce darker subject matter, and throughout the film, he seems to be actively engaging with the concept of a war film, stripping apart the layers of humour until all we have left is the brutal, honest truth. It makes for a wildly captivating, and always very entertaining, piece of stylish filmmaking, but one that has a real grit at the core. It gradually dismantles expectations, and grows into a wonderfully unique glimpse into the mentalities that come about in times of war, something that most of us mercifully can’t attest to having firsthand experiences of, but can glean some really insightful understanding of the experience through the eyes of those who did, as evident by the original playwrights who lent us their stories in the form of this fascinating character study. Filled with humour and pathos, and told with the kind of precision that is almost expected from Wilder, Stalag 17 is absolutely terrific, and a worthwhile entry into arguably one of the greatest directorial careers of its time, one that consistently defined what great filmmaking can be when done right.