While it may not be universally agreed upon, it is generally accepted (usually begrudgingly) that society is built on a steady order, where everyone has their place and is required to stay within it to allow for everything to run as smoothly as possible – but like everything, even this well-maintained order sometimes shifts and becomes corrupt, which can throw standards into disarray. This is the foundation of The Admirable Crichton (alternatively known as Paradise Lagoon, a far less descriptive title but one used to showcase the exotic locations in which it takes place), in which Lewis Gilbert writes and directs an adaptation of the play of the same title by J.M. Barrie, which focuses on the experiences of a small group of castaways on an island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, consisting of a family of aristocrats who find themselves on the island after they are forced to abandon their yacht, as well as two of their servants, namely the “tweeny” who has always been invisible, and the titular Crichton, their long-serving, pernickety butler who will do anything to appease his employers and maintain order – but their experiences on the island quickly begin to shift their dynamic as they become increasingly more reliant on each other than ever before. A hilarious and off-the-wall film that represents some of the veteran Gilbert’s most polished and fascinating filmmaking, as both as a visual stylist and narrative storyteller, The Admirable Crichton is one of the most nuanced comedies of an era in which British cinema was undergoing major shifts, with their works of humour often pushing boundaries in ways that were subtle but revolutionary, and while it is as traditional as it could be based on the structure and overall intention, this film manages to be one of the most captivating of its era, and one that is as fresh and invigorating today as it was several decades ago.

While he may be known primarily for his magnum opus, the timeless Peter Pan, Barrie had a long career as a playwright and novelist that allowed him to tell several different stories, many of them sharp, witty comedies that represent the dominant perceptions of Great Britain at a very particular time in its past. The Admirable Crichton is as delightful in execution as it is in theory – a remarkably captivating comedy with a strong sense of humour and a lot of nuances that extend far beyond its seemingly slight surface. It takes the form of a hilarious romp that takes a very simple approach – a group of snobby aristocrats are marooned on an island, their salvation coming in the form of their butler, who they treated as inferior and merely their servant, even though he is the only person with the necessary skills to ensure their survival, which shifts their dynamic and allows for many humorous scenarios to ensue. It’s a structure that is incredible straightforward, and is quintessential of British theatre and film in the first half of the 20th century, where many comedies-of-error about eccentric characters in ridiculous and sometimes even perilous situations (whether its their reputation, wealth or lives at risk) were produced – audiences usually found value in these stories regardless of the form they took – working-class viewers were able to laugh at the ridiculous grandstanding of the people who viewed themselves as superior, while the wealthy could wholeheartedly chuckle, secure in the knowledge that they are not quite as bad as the characters seen on screen, even if this was not always the case. Audiences generally respond well to stories that are familiar but not entirely relatable to their own experience, especially when it comes to satirical comedies that lampoon a particular portion of society, which is exactly what Gilbert set out to do when he chose to adapt Barrie’s tremendous play.

However, we should not look at The Admirable Crichton as only a mindless comedy without any substance, especially since there is something much deeper beneath the surface, and it doesn’t take long for the viewer to realise what this film is really aiming to convey. Perhaps its lighthearted, effervescent tone, and its structure as a classic comedy-of-errors may mislead us into believing it to be far lighter than it is; the film is quite a brutal class satire, one that goes for the jugular in perhaps the most vicious way, which is to present it as an outrageous, wacky piece of slapstick comedy that carries immense weight beneath the surface. There comes a point midway through the film with the dynamic immediately switches and we find the structure that was seemingly infallible between these characters being turned entirely on its head, which not only comes as a surprise to those who did not see where the story was heading (since it does hide its intentions quite well), but also refreshes the overall concept that drives the film, which is to be a stark examination of social hierarchy, and how it is both arbitrary and quite outdated to have any kind of system that is built on placing one person above another in an effort to create division. For a film produced in 1957, where this kind of mentality was still quite prevalent (even today we find stately homes and manors that employ armies of servants to be at the beck-and-call of their superiors), the film serves to be quite revealing, and considering Gilbert seemed to be more aligned with the working-class (as shown in some of his major works, such as Alfie and Educating Rita), its fascinating to see his line of thinking reflected in this adaptation, which manages to be even more scathing than Barrie’s already provocative text, developing on several ideas with elegance and integrity, as well as profound humour that immediately elevates the narrative.

The character of Crichton is one of the great literary creations of the 20th century – an elegant man who has dedicated his life to the service of his employers, only to find that a crisis allows him to take on a position very similar to those to whom he pledged a life of unbreakable service. The part could have been played by many actors, each one bringing their own unique perspective on the character – but it ultimately falls to Kenneth More to bring the character to life, and he delivers a truly spellbinding, unforgettable performance that is rich, evocative and wickedly funny, being the perfect amalgamation of hilarity and melodrama, the two working in tandem particularly in the development of this character. It’s a wonderful performance from an actor who is barely spoken about in modern cinema, despite a strong body of work that showcases his exceptional gifts and ability to handle both sides of whatever character is tasked with playing. The rest of the cast is also very good, but they logically struggle to match More in terms of scope of their performances – Diane Cilento is a delight as Crichton’s intended wife, while Sally Ann Howes, Mercy Haystead and Miranda Connell are the spoiled three daughters who crave the finer aspects of life, and begin to fall apart when they won’t get it, which is why their father (played by the incredible Cecil Parker) feels such an overwhelming burden and insists on improving his relationship with his employees, even if it is through performative activism, such as hosting a high tea for all the staff, only to plot a lavish journey around the world while in their presence. A cast like the one in The Admirable Crichton is only going to be as good as the weakest link, and almost no one is anywhere close to poor throughout this film; every actor plays their part with panache and elegance, bringing a distinct energy to the film.

At a glance, The Admirable Crichton does not stand out as some immensely promising piece of cinema – it’s one of those films that take place in exotic locations and use distance from more common locales as a way to build on a story, and we’ve certainly seen our fair share of narratives that put the rich and influential in precarious situations. It is not a major film for many reasons, but yet there is still something so intriguing about how the director cobbles together a few fascinating ideas that transforms the narrative into something much deeper, even if it never seems to be intent on taking itself too seriously. There are layers of complexity that underpin the film, which is especially important when we notice how few of them are utilised, with the story being more likely to allow more comedic scenarios through making it clear that it wanted to primarily have fun more than anything else. It’s a peculiar little film, but one that is entirely worth our time – the locations are gorgeous (even if some of the green screen used at different points had aged poorly), and the writing is sharp and concise. It never overstays its 95-minute running time, and the entire project is one that is never a victim of its absurdities, but rather willing to decode exactly what it means to exist at different rungs of the social ladder, and how perilous it can be to switch them, for both parties involved. It’s a wonderful, steadfast comedy with a lot of heart and soul, which is more than sufficient for such a simple, straightforward narrative.