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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