THE LAVENDER HILL MOB: Blu-ray (Ealing Studios, 1951) Kino Lorber

A thoroughly riotous, exceptionally witty, and occasionally cheeky farce in the best British vein, and with very few – if any – equals; director, Charles Crichton’s The Lavender Hill Mob (1951) is a gloriously madcap romp through the streets, byways and back alleys of London, with cinema’s chameleon, Alec Guinness and middle-age bon vivant, Stanley Holloway as our unlikely masters of ceremony in this thoroughly bungled and awkward foray into the crime of the century. Guinness is a near-penniless bank clerk, responsible for gold bullion shipments, and, begrudgingly lower middle class, until he stumbles upon the prospect of making off with a mint right under the noses of Scotland Yard. Of Guinness – the actor – it was once stated he appears, at first, to completely disappear into the background, with an unprepossessing face, but a personality that steadily emerges as far more intriguingly complex than initially assumed. Indeed, the ever-modest and congenial Guinness would likely agree more with the first half of this erroneous assessment of his formidable talents – one of only three British actors (along with Laurence Olivier and John Gielgud) to graduate from formal Shakespearean theater to bona fide block-buster film-making in Britain, and later, abroad after WWII. The Lavender Hill Mob affords both actors the great good fortune of a superior screenplay by T. E. B. Clarke, swift direction from Crichton, and all the producing chutzpah of Michael Balcon – then, Ealing Studio’s éminence grise.
In Guinness, however, we find not only one of the most unique, but equally extraordinary talents of the 20th century; adept at comedy and drama, and, assuaging into roles as awe-inspiringly diverse as that of a British Colonel (The Bridge on the River Kwai, 1957) an Arab prince (Lawrence of Arabia, 1962), Russian General (Doctor Zhivago, 1965), and an intergalactic mystic and retired knight (Star Wars, 1977). Blessed with an immediately recognizable voice, and that illusive ‘star’ quality that quietly sneaks up from behind on the first-time viewer (ergo, we suddenly realize we are in the presence of greatness), Guinness’ strengths as a classically-trained actor far outweigh his common-place physical features. He reeks of genius and perhaps, a sly-born charm. His Best Actor Oscar for Kwai, a knighthood from the Queen in 1959, and a ‘star’ on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame one year later seem grotesquely inadequate tributes for a man who could as easily step into the shoes of a common criminal in movies like The Ladykillers (and elsewhere), or the demigod persona of Adolf Hitler (The Last Ten Days, 1973), as assume the nobler mantle of a cast-off love interest (1956’s The Swan), or brainwashed priest (1955’s The Prisoner). No, Alec Guinness has played everything – and every last bit of it, brought to a simmer of pure perfection. The Lavender Hill Mob does not particularly strain Guinness’ acting chops, but nevertheless allows him the divine wiggle room to forge the relatively nondescript and featherweight, Henry Holland into a deceptively textured and devious schemer of schemes, who convincingly marks his passion to rise above his impossibly lower-middle-class standards and enjoy the lifestyle that only a criminal act can afford him.  
And in The Lavender Hill Mob, Guinness has, perhaps, the most perfectly devised straight man ever achieved on celluloid: Stanley Holloway, as the bemused and suckered-in lover of cheaply made and very bad art – Alfred Pendlebury. Like Guinness, Holloway was a stage actor come to the movies second best; an extraordinary humorist, poet and monologist, to achieve ever-lasting mortality on the stage as the common dustman, Alfred P. Doolittle in My Fair Lady (a role he would later, brilliantly reprise in George Cukor’s 1964 film version). Renowned for his split-second comic timing, Holloway’s presence in The Lavender Hill Mob is a riotously struggling Bud Abbott to Guinness’ bumbling Lou Costello. His career begun primarily as, of all things, a singer, Holloway’s skills as an actor and reciter of comedy soon became his stock-in-trade. And, in point of fact, these are the gifts he brings to this portrait of ‘the guy on the side’ – just a cog in Henry’s big wheel; a follower, left behind when the chips are down and made to face the music after Henry’s successful vanishing act and escape to South America. The sheer joy in The Lavender Hill Mob has, arguably, never been equaled in British cinema; Holloway and Guinness, confidently sparking off each other’s creative strengths and genius to create a superb pair of failed criminals on the cusp of getting their just desserts.
Screenwriter, Clarke claims to have come up with the plot - a clerk robbing his own bank - while doing research for the jewel heist caper, Pool of London (1951). Consulting with the Bank of England on the best possible way to commit such a crime, Clarke decided that gold bullion, melted down and recast as innocuous-looking Eiffel Tower souvenirs would do quite nicely. Splitting the shoot between London and Paris, the various ‘home base’ locations used during the penultimate chase through the streets of the capital, including Notting Hill, Cheapside and Queen Victoria Street, illustrated how WWII, then some 6 years in the nation’s rearview, nevertheless remained indelibly etched into the city’s landscape.  The special effect used to simulate Holland and Pendlebury’s rapid descend from the Eiffel Tower prefigures Hitchcock’s use of a similar telephoto zoom, partial ‘full scale’ set, and, rear-projection technique used in Vertigo, made almost a full 7 years later. For all its technical wizardry, The Lavender Hill Mob remains most deeply heartfelt in the public’s consciousness as a daft and delightful comedy/caper, begun in earnest with a prologue inside a posh hotel in Rio de Janeiro. There, the meek and mild, Henry Holland is seen enjoying the pleasures of an affluent life with a fellow unnamed Briton. Aside: watch for a then virtually unknown Audrey Hepburn, a model, about to appear in London’s West End production of Gigi, as Chiquita - one of Holland’s fair-weather admirers. She enters, offering a bit of cordial affection and a polite kiss before, just as casually, walking out of frame. Reportedly, upon viewing the rushes, Guinness informed his director, “Whether she can act or not, we’ve just seen ourselves a star!”
Asked by the unnamed cohort to regale him with his daring exploits back home, Holland embarks upon a brief summary of the past several months that have led to this moment. We regress in flashback to a modest rented flat in Lavender Hill run by the bird-like and spinsterish Miss Evesham (Edie Martin); Holland, an unambitious, if fussbudgety, London bank clerk in charge of gold bullion deliveries – an unassuming post he has managed for the last twenty years. His reputation for acute micromanagement and nervous suspicions regarding any car following the bullion van for more than a block or two, suggests a fastidious ‘company man’; an attribute not lost on his boss, Mr. Turner (Ronald Adam) who seeks to promote from within. Alas, Turner’s timing could not be worse, as Holland has practically decided to hold up his own establishment and make off with a half-million in gold, fully aware that bullion is virtually worthless unless one can devise a suitable means to smuggle it out of the country. But all that was before the arrival of a new lodger to his boarding house; the ‘artiste’ – Alfred Pendlebury. You see, Pendlebury owns a foundry that makes souvenirs sold in many resorts around the world. Taking notice of the parallel method by which foundry gold is made into ingots, Holland suggests a collaborative effort: a heist, for which the stolen bullion will be transformed into Eiffel Tower paperweights peddled in Paris. As both Holland and Pendlebury have thus far led exemplary lives, no one would suspect them as the masterminds behind such a brazen crime. It’s perfect…well, almost…or rather…sort of. Actually, not at all – especially since Holland is about to be transferred to a better position in his bank.
Hurrying to Pendlebury’s foundry at night, the pair intercept two petty criminals; one, Lackery Wood (Sidney James) attempting to crack Pendlebury’s office safe, the other, Shorty Fisher (Alfie Bass) having answered Holland’s call for ‘hired help’. The plan is thus: for Wood and Fisher to commit the initial hijacking, driving their getaway car to an abandoned warehouse where the gold will be loaded into one of Pendlebury’s delivery vans. Holland feigns having been assaulted, bound and gagged, but nearly drowns himself, after he stumbles over the edge of the pier, rescued at the last possible moment by a pair of officers who have tailed Fisher and Wood to the location too late to save the gold. Escorting Holland to police headquarters for his statement, inadvertently he is brought face to face with Pendlebury, who, in order to stage a diversion for the initial heist to occur, incurred the displeasure of a street vendor, Clayton (Sydney Tafler), now determined to press charges. Mistaking the man’s intentions, Pendlebury is on the cusp of making a full confession when officers carry in the bedraggled Holland. Through a gracious whim of fate, Clayton drops his charges against Pendlebury before he can confess to the real crime, and thus – their cover and crime remain unknown.  With virtually no clues, and Holland, pretending to have been blindfolded during the heist, the police find themselves running around in circles. Meanwhile, Holland, Lackery and Shorty get busy melting the gold in Pendlebury's foundry. Repackaged as miniature Eiffel Towers, the consignment is exported to Paris with Pendlebury and Holland promising to pay Shorty and Lackery their cut from the profits derived from its ‘black market’ sale.
Having already sent a memo ahead, ordering the vendor in Paris not to sell the merchandise, presumably ‘tainted’ in the smelting process, this plan for the gold’s recovery goes awry due to the language barrier and miscommunication. The vendor (Ann Heffernan) instead has already sold the consignment to a group of British school girls on holiday from their private preparatory school. Pendlebury and Holland, since having rechristened themselves as ‘Al’ and ‘Dutch’ are horrified to learn of the mix-up, and pursue their treasures to the dock, only to encounter too much bureaucracy at customs inspection, delaying their ability to successfully board the Channel ferry back to Canterbury. As the entire plan will be ruined if even a single tower is found to be made of actual gold, Holland and Pendlebury seek to bribe the school girls with replacement souvenirs, plus a ten-pound note for their troubles. But one of the girls, June Edwards (Alanna Boyce) staunchly refuses to give up her prized statue – a present, as luck would have it, for a constable she admires. Unable to pry the miniature from her hands, Holland and Pendleton helplessly observe as the gift is accepted by the officer who is attending an exhibition on police history and methods at Hendon Police College.  Fate intervenes again: Inspector Farrow (John Gregson) who has been investigating the heist, also attending these exercises, and, spying Holland, whom he has grown suspicious of, now begins to make the connection between him and June’s bequest of the Eiffel Tower to her elder sweetheart. Seizing the statue and testing it at one of the exhibition booths, determines it is, indeed, made of solid gold.
Farrow calls out the guards to apprehend Holland and Pendlebury. Miraculously, they make a daring escape through the pavilion, navigating their way between kiosks and getting lost in the crowds, before making off with a stolen police cruiser. In hot pursuit, Holland uses the police band radio to redirect the other police cars in search of them. Coming to a police roadblock, their cruiser picks up radio signals from a nearby driver playing ‘Old MacDonald’. Alas, by the time their cruiser approaches the governing officer in charge of the blockade, it picks up the police band once again. Realizing the car in question is actually right in front of him, the officer seizes Pendlebury through the open passenger window. Pendlebury urges Holland to flee and save himself. Very reluctantly, Holland escapes on foot, momentarily pursued into the Underground by officers, but once again narrowly avoiding capture by blending into the crowd of regular patrons. We return to the South American hotel; Holland, now enjoying a cigar, and, explaining to his fellow Briton how he made his way to Rio with six of the gold Eiffel Towers, worth approximately £25,000, just enough to keep him in style for one whole year. The men casually encounter the British Ambassador (Michael Trubshawe) who promises to meet up with Holland later in the evening. But only a few moments later, the unnamed Briton encourages Holland to accompany him. We take notice of the handcuffs joining the men together and realize Holland has not escaped his just desserts – taken by the arm, presumably back to Britain to face trial for his thievery.
The Lavender Hill Mob may not be the most high-born and intellectually stimulating comedy to ever emerge from Ealing Studios, but it is certainly one of the most delightfully joyous and ribald ones, riffing on the old adage ‘crime doesn’t pay.’ The joke is on the audience, as The Lavender Hill Mob pays off handsomely in laughs and the sheer spectacle of observing these two novice criminals repeatedly fumble their seemingly fool-proof crime of the century. Guinness and Holloway are seasoned pros, their symbiosis as good friends off the screen transferring to great performances on. We celebrate the characters’ obtuse cooperation with a genuine affinity for these two well-cured hams. And the boys are doing far more than merely playing either as derivatives of themselves or to type. It is a sincere pleasure to witness so perfect a melding between star and character; the joy derived herein, simply timeless and wonderful beyond all expectation. The invention and economy with which Charles Crichton carries off this ‘lamb bites wolf’ scenario is deceptively simple, yet, upon further inspection, meticulously timed down to the last detail and paced with the continuity and passion of a director who truly knows his craft.  The Lavender Hill Mob is only featherweight fodder on the surface; a movie, where we are all left with a tremendous wanting for more in the end. 
The Lavender Hill Mob arrives state’s side via Kino Lorber nearly three full years after StudioCanal released its Blu-ray in the U.K. – incorrectly labeled ‘region B’ but actually ‘region free’. As Kino has an arrangement with StudioCanal, one finds these transfers virtually identical. The quality of this B&W transfer fairs considerably better than the previously reviewed Blu of Kind Hearts and Coronets with a more refined gray scale, ample amounts of fine detail, and only the occasional age-related artifact and digital anomaly to appear. The image has had some DNR applied, as grain levels are homogenized, yielding a relatively smooth presentation without that added ‘filmic’ quality. What’s here is most definitely watchable, and better than average, if not exactly hitting the bull’s eye to perfection. The DTS mono audio has been amply provided for, and sounds solid and clean. We get an intermittent audio commentary from Jeremy Arnold, a very brief introduction from Martin Scorsese, and, an interview with screenwriter, T.E.B. Clarke, plus an audio-only interview with Charles Crichton. It should be noted all of these extras were readily available on StudioCanal’s Euro-release from 2011. So, short story here is consider Kino’s a ‘reissue’ of sorts and skip if you already own the aforementioned U.K. release. Otherwise, The Lavender Hill Mob on Blu from either distributor comes very highly recommended for content, and, basically recommended for its video quality herein.  Great stuff! You are in for a treat!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
4
EXTRAS
3.5

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