Two Way Stretch Review (StudioCanal Vintage Classics)

To celebrate the centenary of comedy icon Peter Sellers, StudioCanal are releasing two of his lesser celebrated works, the sharply satirical Heavens Above and this delightful prison caper, Two Way Stretch. In the early sixties, Sellers was on the cusp of international stardom – he was yet to break through with The Pink Panther and Dr. Strangelove, and instead played the lead in a string of comedies produced by British Lion Films, playing a range of roguish characters.

The standout of the bunch is arguably I’m All Right Jack, but Two Way Stretch was the first one I saw, and it holds a special place for me. A vital link between the subversive charm of Ealing Studios and the more gaudy contemporary comedies that followed, it showcases a cast of British comedy stalwarts and left its fingerprints on subsequent works as varied as The Italian Job and Porridge.

Sellers stars as Dodger Lane, a suave and conniving bank robber who has transformed his prison cell into a swanky luxury suite. Thanks to a resourceful network of criminal contacts and an oblivious prison governor (played with affable cluelessness by Maurice Denham), Lane enjoys home comforts behind bars, such as whiskey, cooked breakfasts and even a pet cat called Strangeways. Sharing his cell are two loyal accomplices: the tough-as-nails Jelly Knight (David Lodge) and hapless pickpocket Lenny the Dip (a pitch-perfect Bernard Cribbins). As their release date approaches, Dodger is approached by shady conman Soapy Stevens (Wilfrid Hyde-White), who proposes an audacious scheme: break out of prison to commit a robbery, then break back in just in time to be released. Complicating the plan is the arrival of new, authoritarian prison guard Crout (Lionel Jeffries) who is familiar with Lane’s nature and has no intention of letting anything slide.

It’s surprising that Sellers, who’s now synonymous with scene-stealing comic turns, gives such a low-key, restrained performance here. He’s a lot more natural and subdued than you might expect, and yet this works to the film’s benefit. Rather than a star vehicle, it becomes an ensemble, with Sellers, Cribbins and Lodge enjoying an easy chemistry that means that even when the jokes fail to land, there are laughs to be found in throwaway moments. It’s the world-building of the prison that resonates most today, rather than the gang’s numerous escape attempts.

Sellers’ most enjoyable moments come when Dodger is putting on a front – charming the governor, deceiving authority, pretending to be someone he isn’t. He seemed much more comfortable in The Wrong Arm Of The Law a few years later, where he was able to play the cocksure thief but also utilise his knack for mimicry in the form of his flamboyant alter ego. In Two Way Stretch, it almost feels like Sellers would have been better suited to Soapy’s role, which includes a variety of disguises and accents. Hyde-White is a charming presence, but versatile he is not. He only ever really played Wilfrid Hyde-White. Playing a conman who has to don a range of disguises is much more in Sellers’ oeuvre.

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Notoriously insecure and highly competitive, Sellers reportedly felt upstaged by both Cribbins and Jeffries during production – and this insecurity wasn’t entirely misplaced, especially since Jeffries was never better than he was here. With his cap pulled down over his eyes, meticulous uniform and rigid posture, he’s a parody of fascistic officiousness – barking orders at guards and inmates alike (“Silence when you’re talking to me!“). He’s self-important and utterly humourless, and yet the fact that he keeps failing makes him oddly sympathetic. It’s easy to see why Sellers felt threatened by him – and perhaps why he gravitated towards more vulnerable characters in later films like The Party and The Pink Panther, where he could mine pathos from playing the underdog. Jeffries is brilliant though, and dominates the film’s standout scene: the hilariously mistimed quarry explosion (“What’s the matter with you lot then? Frightened of a little bang?”).

Director Robert Day brings an assured hand to the pacing and tone. Having previously helmed The Green Man with Alastair Sim and George Cole, and later the Tony Hancock vehicle The Rebel, Day demonstrates a knack for balancing slapstick with character-driven humour. The film is brimming with familiar faces from the British comedy circuit: Warren Mitchell as a supercillious convict moonlighting as a tailor, Liz Fraser as Dodger’s glamorous girlfriend, and best of all, Irene Handl as Lenny’s mother – a perennial presence in comedies from this era who steals every scene she’s in, smuggling tools into the prison with glee and berating her son for his lack of ambition (in escaping).

The influence of Two Way Stretch is undeniable. It sits squarely in the lineage of The Lavender Hill Mob and the tradition of loveable criminals, but its more farcical plot, ensemble structure (and raunchy moments) anticipate the tonal shift of sixties comedy. There’s more than a little bit of Charlie Croker from The Italian Job in Dodger’s characterisation, and the entire plot is like the inverse of that film, where the mastermind is in prison, and the rest of the gang are on the outside. It even ends on an open-ended note, with the crooks planning how to retrieve the diamonds—a precursor to the cheeky ambiguity that British comedies would later embrace.

Perhaps the most direct descendant of Two Way Stretch, however, is Porridge. It’s hard to imagine writers Dick Clement and Ian LeFrenais weren’t familiar with Robert Day’s film when they first conceived of their iconic sitcom, so close are the characters. While there are clear comparisons to be drawn between many of the key characters, the most clear similarity is in the dynamic between Sellers and Jeffries, which closely parallels that of Fletcher and Mr Mackay. Even Maurice Denham would later appear in Porridge as a disgraced judge turned inmate – a nod, perhaps, to his role here. Although Porridge leaned more on small-scale victories and realism, the tone, setting, and gentle subversion of authority all trace back to Two Way Stretch.

In the end, Two Way Stretch occupies a curious but quietly significant place in the evolution of British screen comedy. It might not be Sellers at full tilt, but it captures a moment just before his superstardom, when he was still finding his range. Modest in scale but rich in character and comic invention, the film stands as a modest yet enduring classic. Its influence, while perhaps accidental, can be felt across decades of British comedy, proving that even the most playful farces can leave a lasting mark.

Special Features

A respectable but not groundbreaking selection of extras, including a not-very enlightening commentary from comedy historians Gemma Ross and Robert Ross, and two newly filmed featurettes on Peter Sellers and his role in the film.

On Blu-Ray on 4th August / Peter Sellers, Lionel Jeffries, Wilfrid Hyde-White, Bernard Cribbins, David Lodge / Dir. Robert Day / StudioCanal / U

In Character: The Films of Peter Sellers runs from 2-30 August at the BFI Southbank.

A Box Set of Peter Sellers’ films will be available in November.