Carry On Up the Khyber (1968) - film review

1895, the height of the British Raj in India.  The Khyber Pass, gateway to the East, is guarded by the 3rd Foot and Mouth Regiment of her Majesty Queen Victoria, who has been on the throne longer than anyone can remember (thanks to the kebabs).  The locals, including the scheming Randy Lal, the Khasi of Khalabar, resent the British occupation and dream of driving them from their country.  Why don’t they, you may ask?  The answer is simple.  The locals are terrified of the British soldiers, nicknamed the Devils in Skirts, not because they are fierce warriors but because they wear nothing under their kilts.  Then, one day, the Burpa chief Bungdit Din learns the truth.  The British wear underpants under their kilts!  When the natives hear of this they will rise up and sweep the infidels from their country.  Naturally, the Khasi is delighted by this news, but Sir Sidney Ruff-Diamond, the governor of Khalabar, is appalled.  Not only could this mark the beginning of the end of the British Empire but he would lose his cushy job and all the perks that go with it.  One perk he hadn’t counted on losing is Lady Ruff-Diamond, who has fallen for the charms of Randy Lal.  She is sure the Khasi will give her anything she desires if she gives him a photograph she has taken, one which shows every man in the regiment to be wearing underpants under his kilt.  Unfortunately, the Khasi is strangely immune to Lady Ruff-Diamond’s charms.   Yet he intends to relieve her of the incriminating photograph and use it to excite the merciless Afghan warriors into rising up against the British.  Will he succeed or will the British stiff upper lip prevail..?

For their sixteenth riotous offering of dirty double entendres, madcap mirth and saucy seaside postcard humour, the Carry On team are at their zenith.  Up the Khyber not only marks the absolute highpoint in the best-loved of British film series but stands as an all-time classic of British cinema, one of the few films in the series that have stood the test of time and hold up to critical scrutiny.   Most of the regulars are here – Sid James, Kenneth Williams, Charles Hawtrey, Joan Sims and Bernard Bresslaw – all at their comedic best, all clearly having the time of their lives, and all earning a pittance for their efforts.

In common with many of the later Carry Ons, Up the Khyber takes its inspiration from another familiar genre of cinema, this time the films depicting British colonialism in the 19th Century, exemplified by Wee Willie Winkie (1937), The Drum (1938), The Four Feathers (1939) and Gunga Din (1939).  The nature of the subject matter and the highly parodied portrayal of native Indians in this film has resulted in it frequently being branded racist, although, viewed today, it is no less politically incorrect than any of the other Carry On films.  If anything, the film is an attack on British pomposity and primness.

Despite being made on a shoestring budget, Up the Khyber feels like a lavish period production, with ornate sets and costumes, impressive action sequences and, for once, a script which looks as if it might have been written in more than one afternoon.  Amidst the predictable low humour and camp silliness there is some genuinely inspired comedy which has earned the film its classic status.  Of course, the pièce de résistance is the dinner party sequence, which has a Buñuelesque edge to it.  The film parodies the British elite’s obsession with etiquette and effectively symbolises the disintegration of the British Empire and the diminution of Britain’s place in the world subsequently.  The complacent Brits carry on as usual whilst the world around them changes, falls apart, and ultimately rips the imperial carpet from under their smug little feet.  But, just when all appears lost, British ingenuity and balls save the day.   What a Carry On.

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