The Carry On film series is a beloved British institution for anyone over a certain age, and is notable for featuring the most entries of any British film series, with a total of thirty-one movies, including the compilation film That's Carry On! (Remarkably, all thirty-one films shared the same producer (Peter Rogers) and director (Gerald Thomas)). It's hardly surprising then that over the course of Carry On's thirty-four year history, encompassing not only the films but also four TV Christmas specials and a television series, the quality was somewhat variable. It is generally agreed however that the sixteenth film - 1968's Carry On Up the Khyber - is the best of series.
Carry On Up the Khyber ("or The British Position in India", as the opening titles inform us) was written by semi-regular Carry On script writer Talbot Rothwell and boasts the usual mix of innuendo, slapstick and toilet humour that the series was famous for, whilst at the same time casting a satirical eye over the by then defunct British Raj. In keeping with audience expectations, everyone has silly names, and there are numerous visual puns such as the GB sticky on the back of an elephant. The entire future of the British Raj is threatened by the discovery that a member of the kilt-wearing 3rd Foot and Mouth Regiment is wearing underpants, a ludicrous idea that works because Rothwell handles the comic logic of the frequently absurd plot with impressive internal consistency. There are moments of absurdity, notably when the Fakir helps the British party escape; the Fakir also prompts the risqué line "Fakir... off!" Like most Carry On films, the humour is from a different time, when cross-dressing men and double entendres veered dangerously close to shocking in the minds of the British public. It is undeniably dated, and yet in spite of all that, it remains frequently very funny, due to the relentless onslaught of gags.
There are aspects of Carry On Up the Khyber that now look highly questionable: Kenneth Williams and Bernard Bresslaw are both blacked up and adopt outrageous accents as the Khasi of Kalabar and Bungdit Din, which dates the film more than anything else. There is outrageous racial stereotyping throughout, with examples including the head nodding/shaking routine and the depiction of Indian and Afghan men as superstitious barbarians who keep harems of beautiful young women and who behead their enemies (this now looks like the single most tasteless aspect of the film, although at the time it was made the double entendres were probably more controversial to the British public). There is never a sense of malice however: racial stereotyping is equally applied to the British, who are lampooned as stiff-upper lipped and sexually repressed, their backbones weakening in the presence of buxom women and naked flesh.
The cast consists largely of the usual suspects, including Williams and Bresslaw and also Sid James, Charles Hawtry, Joan Sims, Peter Butterworth, and Terry Scott. This ensemble of seasoned comic performances all display perfect comic timing, with the exception of Roy Castle, who plays the straight man as Captain Keene. In the face of stiff competition, Butterworth almost steals the show as a lecherous missionary, Brother Belcher.
Gerald Thomas's reputation rests almost entirely on the Carry On films, and although he is ever likely to appear on anyone's list of favourite directors, the fact that he made a career mostly out of these films is obvious throughout. This is a world halfway between Music Hall and pantomime, in which part of Snowdonia doubles unconvincingly for the Khyber Pass, the whole thing having an air of unreality reflected in the theatrical costumes and sets. And yet Thomas clearly knows exactly what he is doing, handling his large and famously difficult cast well, using speeded-up footage to accentuate some of the slapstick sequences, and handling technically challenging effects such as the Fakir's ladder. The final assault on the Residency, involving dozens of extras, explosions and collapsing sets, is very impressively staged, demonstrating a real knack for physical comedy and controlled chaos.
The entire Carry On series feels like a relic from the past: it is fundamentally dated in almost every respect. It retains a loyal following however simply because most of the films are still funny and Carry On Up the Khyber remains one of the funniest.