"How do you expect to win the war with an army of clowns?"
Billy Wilder's films often navigate a tightrope between comedy and drama. Stalag 17 (1953) is an especially awkward example. This POW flick works in its serious moments but is undercut by awful comic relief.During World War II, Germany's Stalag 17 holds captured American airmen. Sergeant Sefton (William Holden) barters with guards and fellow prisoners alike, amassing a collection of consumer goods. His colleagues pay little notice until two prisoners die trying to escape, and Sefton bets against them. The barracks boss (Richard Erdman) suspects a stool pigeon, an impression reinforced with the guards confiscate a radio and arrest Lieutenant Dunbar (Don Taylor) for sabotage. Sefton's days are numbered unless he can uncover the real informant.
Most of Stalag 17 works well. Working off a play by Donald Bevan and Edmund Trzcinski, Wilder and cowriter Edwin Blum mix everyday barrack life with detective drama. The plot's well-constructed: like Five Graves to Cairo, it hinges on a twist cleverly hidden in plain sight. Sefton makes a very Hollywood antihero, a crafty cynic who ultimately does the right thing. But ultimately, even his altruism comes qualified with self-interest. The other prisoners mix base concerns (Russian women and Red Cross packages) with crass defiance.
Wilder's assured direction sells Stalag. The opening scene deftly mixes suspense with sardonic humor as the prisoners prepare their escape. Ernest Laszlo's brilliant photography conveys stylish claustrophobia, mixing long takes with endless shots of Sefton backgrounded by prisoners in deep focus. Wilder's set pieces work, especially the Christmas Party where Sefton uncovers the real culprit. In this scene, Wilder deftly off-sets foreground silliness with a dramatic vignette.
But Stalag rarely balances its tones so effectively. Robert Strauss and Harry Lambeck ruin countless scenes with their Two Stooges doubles-act. Their bumptious mugging extends through an overlong gag with female Russian prisoners, resembling a similar (tragic) scene in Three Came Home. They also indulge a terrible drag scene, a grade school rehearsal for Some Like it Hot. Other running gags like a squeaky-voiced mailman and Bagradian's (Jay Lawrence) celebrity impressions grow similarly thin.
William Holden provides his trademark snark and world-weariness. He's in top form, though one can't help viewing his Oscar as a "make-up" for Sunset Blvd. Neville Brand (The Tin Star) does creditable work as the prison heavy, with Peter Graves and Richard Erdman in other key roles. Commandant Otto Preminger makes an intimidating villain; Sig Ruman's bumptious Sergeant Schulz was stolen wholesale for TV's Hogan Heroes.
One understands Stalag 17's formidable reputation; the direction, plotting and (most of) the acting scream classic. Yet the awkward tone and clownish comic relief prove an inoperable tumor. Wilder excelled at acid wit, not stupid slapstick. Surfeited with the latter, Stalag 17 is a frustrating misfire.
