Bonnie Scotland (1935)

Laurel and Hardy come to Scotland to collect an inheritance and through a series of misunderstandings find themselves enlisted in the Scottish regiment of the British Army and sent off to India. This one contains at least three classic scenes: Hardy's sneezing fit at the bottom of a lake that leaves it completely dry, the Boys cooking a fish in their hotel room ("it shrizzled"), and their dancing to "The Hundred Pipers" while sweeping up trash, much to the ire of Sergeant James Finlayson.

Professor Beware (1938)

Of the major silent film comedians, Harold Lloyd's transition to sound was in some ways the most seamless. Whereas Chaplin continued making silents throughout the 1930s, and Keaton was assigned by MGM to a series of increasingly uncharacteristic (albeit financially successful) farce comedies, Lloyd took something of a middle-ground approach, gradually adapting his character and scripts to better suit changing tastes in screen humor, without sacrificing the best qualities of his silent work. This approach resulted in such superb films as The Cat's-Paw and The Milky Way, both of which demonstrated that Lloyd still had what it took to remain a top comedy star in the '30s.

Professor Beware was Lloyd's final independently-produced feature, and marked his retirement from film acting (with the exception of his return in Preston Sturges' nostalgic The Sin of Harold Diddlebock a decade later). Lloyd plays Dean Lambert, a timid Egyptologist who becomes convinced he is the victim of an ancient curse, and sets off on a cross-country chase from Los Angeles to New York in order to join an expedition departing to Egypt, where he hopes to find the missing tablet that will remove the curse.

This picaresque plot provides an excuse for lots of fun if loosely-connected sequences built around the professor's misadventures on his cross-country journey, peppered with a colorful cast of character actors such as Raymond Walburn, Lionel Stander, William Frawley, Thurston Hall, Cora Witherspoon, Sterling Holloway, and many other familiar faces. There is also a pleasant romantic plot involving Harold and a young heiress (Phyllis Welch) on the run that, as others have pointed out, bears more than a passing resemblance to It Happened One Night.

Often cited as a highlight of the film is the extended chase scene in which Lloyd and his traveling hobo companions (Raymond Walburn and Lionel Stander) have to keep running along the top of a moving train headed toward a low tunnel. Perhaps in 1938, when there was such a dearth of good visual comedy on the screen, this sequence would have seemed like a welcome throwback to the best of silent comedy, but seen today, it feels rather clumsy and is marred by the overuse of unconvincing back-projection.

Much more satisfying is the action-packed climax, in which a newly-invigorated Harold finds the courage to rescue the heiress from her father's yacht. The scene is like a throwback to the ending of his silent comedies such as For Heaven's Sake and Speedy. Harold rounds up a gang of various tough guys by taunting them and egging them on to give chase, which they do -- following him right on to the yacht and unwittingly acting as Harold's personal army as they engage in an all-out brawl with the yacht's crew. It's a well-timed and expertly-constructed sequence that demonstrates Lloyd's still-considerable skills for physical comedy even at this late point in his career.

Other highlights include a sequence with Harold hiding a stolen chicken under his coat and being forced to engage in some amateur ventriloquism to assuage the sheriff's suspicions, and a memorable sight gag of a frost-bitten Harold emerging from a refrigerated train car in which he has just spent the past several hours traveling across the state.

Overall, however, Professor Beware is far from Lloyd's best work. Too often the pacing lags between set-pieces, some scenes (particularly the clothes-changing sequence with William Frawley) go on too long, and Lloyd himself is just a bit long-in-the-tooth to be playing the overeager young professor getting worked up over superstitions around an ancient curse. But it's hard to dislike the pleasant, silly humor of it all, and there are still enough flashes of brilliance, particularly in the exciting climax, to make it a worthwhile and enjoyable effort from a master comedian.

Thoughts on SULLIVAN'S TRAVELS and Preston Sturges

Seen: Sat., Feb. 20, 2016, Loew's Jersey (Jersey City), 35mm

It finally occurred to me why I fail to respond positively to this film, and to Sturges' work in general: it's marked by a self-conscious cleverness that I find ultimately distracting. I'd been considering this idea for some time, but it really crystallized after viewing SULLIVAN on a double bill with Capra's ARSENIC AND OLD LACE, which -- I should point out -- I was also disappointed by but for different reasons, reasons that became apparent in comparing Capra's approach to Sturges'. However uneven ARSENIC might be in its tone, it certainly demonstrates a consistency of style in Capra's direction, which is typically effective.

With Sturges, I am always aware of his technique showing. In SULLIVAN I see this with erratic stylistic approach to the "dramatic" scenes, as if the director is proving his seriousness through self-consciously "artistic" (and disorienting) camera angles and filters -- as in the courtroom scene -- or the heavy-handed juxtaposition of the prisoners and the church congregation in a later scene, finally reaching a fever-pitch during the hallucinatory montage of laughing faces during the Disney cartoon.

It would be tempting to view these as temporary lapses in style due to the director working in unfamiliar territory, except that the same heaviness is apparent throughout even the comic scenes, which becomes even more apparent in comparison with the work of other filmmakers. Sturges' handling of dialogue, for example, strikes me as a case of a screenwriter in love with his own words, failing to achieve any particular sense of rhythm or poetry, as Lubitsch or Hawks say, were able to. Nor does his staging of physical comedy achieve the graceful, deceptive ease of McCarey or Capra, feeling rather too obviously constructed as opposed to rising organically out of the situations (see, for example, the rather forced way in which Sturges gets his characters to fall into a swimming pool).

The sharp, almost bipolar contrast in tone of SULLIVAN'S TRAVELS magnifies these issues, but I think they are apparent throughout Sturges' filmography. With Sturges, I am too often aware of the clever screenwriter "behind the curtain".

She's Funny That Way (2014)

A deliberately old-fashioned throwback to the heyday of screwball comedies, Peter Bogdanovich's latest film is a heartfelt and charming farce, even if the humor misses more than it hits. The premise involves a prominent theater director (Owen Wilson), in New York to direct his latest play, who spends the night with a Brooklyn call-girl (Imogen Poots) and pays her $30,000 if she promises to quit her job and pursue her dreams instead. It turns out her dreams involve being an actress, and she auditions for the play that Wilson just happens to be directing. Turns out she's great, and the rest of the cast pressure Wilson into giving her the part. Needless to say, this complicates things greatly, especially since the play stars the director's wife (whom the leading man also harbors a long-lasting romantic desire for). This being a farce, the zany cast of characters all intersect at inopportune moments, leading to much comic confusion and mishaps, but of course, all is set right in the end.

Bogdanovich obviously has a real love for the models that he's working from here, and peppers the script (co-written by Louise Stratten) with references to many of Hollywood's great romantic comedies (most notably Lubitsch's Cluny Brown, which provides the film with its running joke about the line "squirrels to the nuts"). He works with a splendid cast here, headed by Owen Wilson, Imogen Poots, Jennifer Aniston, Kathryn Hahn, Rhys Ifans, Will Forte, Austin Pendleton, Illeana Douglas, and Cybill Shepherd and Richard Lewis, who are especially funny as the aspiring actress's bickering, working-class parents.

Most of the reviews I have read dwell on the fact that the film is old-fashioned. The comedy is old-fashioned, certainly, though not always in the way Bogdanovich may have intended. It was evidently originally conceived as a vehicle for John Ritter in the 1990s, and feels very much like the kind of mid-budget Indie comedy that might have been made at that time. Still, there's an undeniable charm about it that works, thanks to the sheer fun that the cast seems to be having. There are not really any surprises here, sure, and it is unlikely to be remembered as one of Bogdanovich's better films, but it's an affectionate tribute to the fine comedies from Hollywood's golden age, made by a filmmaker (one of our greatest) who clearly loves those films.

1941 (1979)

A rare comic effort from Steven Spielberg, 1941 is also one of the director's rare misfires. A big, loud spectacle that recalls an earlier generation of comedy epics like It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World and The Great Race, 1941 unevenly combines the broad physical gags of those films with the equally broad satire of wartime paranoia in films such as The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming! The premise involves a Japanese sub that surfaces off the coast of California shortly after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, inspiring mass hysteria among the citizens.

The ensemble cast includes such names as Tim Matheson and Nancy Allen as the nominal romantic leads whose amorous escapades in a runaway airplane over Los Angeles precipitate a hysterical reaction from the military and townspeople, John Belushi as crazed fighter pilot Wild Bill Kelso, Dan Aykroyd as no-nonsense Sgt. Frank Tree, Ned Beatty as a meek family man whose backyard is commandeered as the site of anti-aircraft gun, Lorraine Gary as his long-suffering wife, Toshiro Mifune as the Japanese sub commander, Christopher Lee as the German officer, Murray Hamilton and Eddie Deezen as a couple of goofy civilians put on guard duty atop a Ferris wheel, Slim Pickens as the unsuspecting hick who discovers the Japanese sub, and in one of the film's most inspired bits of casting, Robert Stack as Major General Stilwell, who would rather take care of more important business like watching Disney's Dumbo than deal with distractions such as the pending invasion of Los Angeles and riots in the streets. As with his performance in the following year's Airplane!, Stack's stoical, straight man characterization is the perfect complement to the zany goings-on around him.

Unfortunately, none of the performers are ever really on-screen long enough, or given enough to do individually, to make much of an impression. Because of the structure of the script -- by Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale (who also wrote the story along with John Milius) -- the zany situations piled on top of one another don't add up to much of anything, since the escalating comic chaos is never given much of a chance to build naturally. Instead, it's one forced, manic set-piece after another, with gratuitous slapstick violence that eventually just begins to drag the pace down and feel repetitive. The plane chase scenes through LA are undoubtedly impressively-staged, and are a remarkable achievement for their scale and execution. But as comedy, it quickly begins to feel like overkill.

Spielberg's direction feels unsure and even uncomfortable working with the broad comedy material, which was certainly never his forte in any case. It's difficult to pinpoint just where his direction goes wrong here, but perhaps it is simply too heavy-handed, which works against the lightning-paced cartoon antics called for by the script and even dilutes the effectiveness of the satire due to the total lack of subtlety. John Landis, or the team of Jim Abrahams and David and Jerry Zucker, would have been ideal choices for this material, since they could have perhaps reigned in some of the more extravagant excesses that tend to swamp the comedy (even the non-stop parade of sight gags in Airplane! are handled in such a way that the viewer is rewarded for paying attention to the kinds of small jokes which are virtually non-existent here).

As one of our greatest filmmakers, even a lesser Spielberg effort like 1941 is still of interest, if only for an example of the director working outside his comfort zone, exploring new material and trying something different. Even if the result is ultimately a failure, it is an interesting failure.

Wet Hot American Summer (2001)

This homage to the subgenre of 1980s "summer camp" movies is a mild but amusing comedy mainly of interest for the talents involved. The talented cast of comedians (Janeane Garafolo, David Hyde Pierce, Michael Ian Black, Michael Showalter, Paul Rudd, Amy Poehler, and Molly Shannon, among others) bring a certain irreverent charm and energy to the film that elevates it beyond its predictable and silly subject matter, which we've seen a thousand times before (though, that's really the point). Fans of movies like PORKY'S and MEATBALLS will probably enjoy the good-natured sending-up of the familiar conventions and stock characters, but there's not really enough solid laughs here to recommend it to general audiences.

Sullivan's Travels (1941)

Probably Preston Sturges' best-known film, though not necessarily the funniest or finest comedy he made during his brilliant streak of hits at Paramount from 1940-44. Engagingly acted by Joel McCrea and Veronica Lake, ably supported by Sturges' famous stock company of expert character actors, the film is at times quite uneven in tone, veering between fast-paced satirical farce and surprisingly dark moments of violence and grim social realism for a comedy.

The dramatic scenes make for some of the most self-consciously stylized moments in all of Sturges' filmography, particularly the courtroom sequence, in which McCrea is swiftly sentenced to a prison term while in a dazed and confused state, and the sequence in the Southern black church, where the chain gang inmates have been invited to join the congregation for a movie night, and the entire audience breaks down laughing hysterically at a Disney cartoon.

Where the film becomes problematic is in the heavy-handedness and contradiction of its message, that laughter is the most important thing of all to those who have nothing else ("It isn't much, but it's better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan," McCrea intones somberly at the film's conclusion). Sturges' point seems to be a bit more complex than that, and he offers as much an indictment of self-righteous Hollywood types who want to change the world instead of producing entertainment. But if Sturges' personal philosophy is indeed that laughter is the best medicine, and that Hollywood should stick to entertaining the masses rather than delivering a message, then his explicit dealing with that message here can't help but seem a bit hypocritical.

Cecil B. Demented (2000)

Very funny satire from John Waters skewering both the shallowness of Hollywood and the clichéd pretensions of guerilla/underground filmmakers. The premise involves a group of "cinema terrorists" called The Sprocket Holes who kidnap an A-list Hollywood movie star and force her to perform in their underground film, in which they rage against the Hollywood machine.

The satire here is more on-point and biting than in Waters' rather genial and tepid kidding of the New York art world in PECKER. Its characters are also less sweet and good-natured, but they're also a lot more fun to spend time with. Cecil B. Demented, the self-proclaimed "ultimate auteur", is played by Stephen Dorff in an incredible tour-de-force performance that never misses a beat, and he plays the part with the perfect amount of conviction, which makes the wildly over-the-top dialogue he's given all the funnier. He's supported by a fine cast including Alicia Witt, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Adrian Grenier, and many others who are given highly eccentric, richly-defined characters that they can really sink their teeth into. Melanie Griffith does a splendid job in her caricature of the self-centered, spoiled movie star, and convincingly portrays her transformation to cult celebrity when she realizes her career is quickly fading. Griffith really gets into the spirit of the absurd proceedings, and it is her performance that holds the film together.

Waters certainly seems to identify with Cecil and his merry band of cinematic misfits (they have the names of directors such as Warhol, Kenneth Anger, William Castle, and others tattooed on themselves), but he also presents them as ludicrously misguided in their crusade against Hollywood, such as the moment when Cecil admonishes his crew not to sully their talents with financial success, their taking vows of "celibacy for celluloid" until the film is finished, and their rather limp, pathetic climactic showdown against the police and moviegoers at the Bengies' Drive-in, in which the remaining members of the gang celebrate the wrap of their film by immediately having sex in front of the stunned crowd. Waters seems to be taking digs at those who take the idea of cinematic revolution a little too seriously.

Waters gets in some great digs at the local film scene, too, especially in the scenes with Cecil and his gang kidnapping Griffith at a fundraiser event being held at the Senator Theater, infiltrating a Maryland Film Commission luncheon at Harborplace, and creating chaos on the set of a fictional filmed-in-Baltimore FORREST GUMP sequel ("Gump Again") starring Kevin Nealon. It's also a lot of fun to see the various local movie theaters, especially the old Hippodrome in its pre-restoration phase. The satire of the movie business circa 2000 is understandably rather dated now (though the jokes about idiotic remakes and ill-conceived high concept pictures are just as relevant as ever), but it also serves as an interesting time capsule of that moment in the late 90s and early 2000s when there was a resurgence of interest in underground/DIY filmmaking.

While it doesn't rank with Waters' best work, it's still a great deal of fun, helped immeasurably by the excellent performances of Griffith and Dorff, mixed together with the outrageous charm of Waters' comic sensibility, and holds up as perhaps the best of his post-SERIAL MOM movies.

Up in Smoke (1978)

Cheech & Chong's first screen vehicle is a loose and episodic affair, but one with plenty of laughs for those who enjoy their distinct brand of comedy. It was wisely decided to translate their humor to the screen with little interference or changes to their characters or comedy style (not surprising, as Cheech and Chong wrote the script). The direction by Lou Adler -- who produced the team's comedy records -- is unobtrusive and generally effective enough, though it's perhaps a little too loose at times, with some scenes going on a little past their worth and dragging the pace a little. For the most part, though, the sprawling and ambling structure works -- it's certainly in keeping with the burnt-out, anything-goes nature of the comedy. Among the supporting cast, Stacy Keach does a fine job as the hot tempered, wildly exasperated narcotics officer on the trail of a massive pot smuggling operation, and Strother Martin and Edie Adams have a brief but memorable turn as Chong's parents. All in all, it's infectious, silly, good-natured fun, extremely vulgar but never mean-spirited, and almost certainly the best and funniest of the Cheech and Chong comedies.

Annie Hall (1977)

Woody Allen's masterpiece. Funny, poignant, bittersweet and often painfully honest, it represents the summation of everything Allen had learned as both performer and filmmaker in the previous decade. The unique cinematic structure, part New Wave and part standup comedy routine, plays like a masterful jazz riff on a theme. Co-written by Allen and Marshall Brickman, the script is tightly-packed with enough gags and one-liners for several films. Allen and Keaton were never better, and they are ably supported by a fine ensemble cast (especially Carol Kane, Shelley Duvall, Colleen Dewhurst and Christopher Walken) that make each of their characters unique and well-defined even in their limited screen time.

One appreciates more than ever the value that Allen's collaborators, particularly editor Ralph Rosenblum and cameraman Gordon Willis, brought to the project. Willis' cinematography here ranks with the very best work he ever did, because it is so deceptively simple, unlike the later MANHATTAN or STARDUST MEMORIES, which dazzle with their shimmering black-and-white images. His work here need only be compared with the photography in Allen's recent efforts, which is too often strikingly flat and bland, in order to really appreciate what Willis brought to the table. The editing is equally masterful in its way, never allowing scenes to linger needlessly past their natural ending point, an essential contribution given the riff-like structure Allen is working in here.

It's a pity Allen did not continue to develop this cinematic style further. His following films would become either more stylistically subdued (HANNAH AND HER SISTERS), or, too often, self-consciously derivative (STARDUST MEMORIES, ZELIG). In ANNIE HALL, he struck the perfect balance between his earlier nightclub- and standup-infused structure, and a greater formal sophistication that marked his best mature work, and placed him firmly in the pantheon of the great screen comedians.

Le Roi des Champs-Elysees (1934)

Following the disastrous and crushing end of his association with MGM in 1933, Buster Keaton appeared in this film in France for producer Seymour Nebenzal. On the surface, it might seem that such a project -- a Hollywood star, on hard times, accepting work in a foreign picture -- would be a step down for a star of Keaton's magnitude. For even following his period of fertile creative independence during the 1920s, his talking films for MGM -- while certainly a far cry from the brilliant work he'd been doing just years earlier -- still did well at the box office. Audiences had not forgotten his immense talents, even if studio executives seemed to. But there were Keaton's personal and professional problems behind the scenes that really came to a head in 1933, contributing to his swift downfall and acrimonious departure from MGM, which must have made his fall from grace seem all the more devastating, then.

But Keaton was very much what the entertainment industry now calls a "survivor". Where others might see a comedown, Keaton saw opportunity. Le Roi des Champs-Elysees is, at its best, a whimsical, visual comedy that contains much of the old Keaton magic. It is the tale of a hapless young man, Buster Garner, who lives with his mother and bounces from job to job trying to make something of himself. His most recent endeavor involves posing as a millionaire, in top hat and tails, and walking down the Champs-Elysees passing out bills of money that are actually coupons for a large company. However, when he accidentally gives away a stack of five million francs  -- set aside to cover the company's debts -- he is quickly fired. In the process of passing out the money, he has inadvertently saved a young woman from eviction, for which she is eternally grateful. Her sudden appearance at an outdoor cafe, where Buster has planned to consume poison in order to put an end to his failures, rejuvenates Buster's will to live, and he sets out to make good. As in most of Keaton's films, the girl is merely a plot device, their "romance" another goal that he works toward accomplishing throughout the film. Though the circumstances of their meeting and subsequent encounter at the cafe are played with a degree of pathos and sympathy uncharacteristic of Keaton, their remaining scenes underline the arbitrary nature of the relationship, as there seems to be little doubt (and therefore little dramatic tension) over the fact that Buster has already earned the girl's affection (their first kiss even causes Buster to display one of his very rare on-screen smiles!)

Fortunately for Buster, his mother works as a prompter in a local theater, and gets him a job in the company as a bit player in a prison drama. This leads to another set of complications, however, as Buster is the exact double of crime boss Jim La Balafre (Keaton, in a dual role), who has just escaped from jail and is waiting near the theater to be picked up by his old gang. Predictably, the two get switched, and Buster finds himself trapped in Jim's elaborate hideout. The last half of the film deals with the clever mix-ups and confusions that the appearance of the exact doubles cause for the gangster's moll and henchmen. When Jim finally discovers the inconvenient doppelganger, Buster has to escape with his life intact, and make it back to the theater in time to deliver his line in the play.

This plot has echoes of a number of Keaton's earlier films. The whole case of Buster being mistaken for a criminal formed the plot of his 1921 two-reeler The Goat. The criminal element also recalls the gangsters and crooks in his earlier two-reelers The High Sign and The Haunted House, as well as the features Sherlock Jr. and Spite Marriage. Indeed, with its elaborate passageways, trapdoors and revolving walls, the criminal lair here is strongly reminiscent of the similar contraptions in the gang's hideout from The High Sign. Keaton demonstrates his remarkable physical skill and timing in these scenes, proving that he had not lost the dexterity that he had used to such astonishing effect in his silent classics, and which had only been too rarely allowed to show itself in his MGM talkies. There is also some really impressive trick photography, too, with the two Busters appearing in the same frame. It is far more sophisticated than similar split-screen effects used in Hollywood films of the time, enhanced by expert editing, and more than once I had to pause and re-watch a certain shot to try and figure out how it was accomplished.

The film also gives Keaton a chance to demonstrate what a really fine actor he was. In essaying a dual role, he gets the chance to play both his usual characterization of the aimless young man, slightly befuddled by the world around him but always able to resourcefully adapt to the obstacles the universe puts in his way, and an uncharacteristically tough "heavy" role of the crime boss. In this latter role, Keaton achieves a striking balance in making the character both genuinely menacing but also funny, such as the moment he runs and clips his head on a rising gate, knocking him flat on his back -- an impressive bit of slapstick played with Keaton's typical flourish.

As "Buster", Keaton's character is a bit older and slower than his screen incarnation of a decade earlier, but still possesses the grace and poetic movement that defined his character. He certainly appears to be in better condition here than he had in his past couple MGM films, though his face is visibly aged and worn. He still moves with the youthful zeal and energy, though, which makes his portrayal of the bumbling boob funny rather than pathetic. Interestingly, because his lines are dubbed by a French actor, there is a disconnect between Keaton's body and his voice. This has the effect of showing how superfluous speech really is in Keaton's comedy, and distancing the audience from the unfamiliar voice while simultaneously focusing our attention on his inimitable physicality. The dubbing can be distracting at times but because so much of the performance is purely physical, it scarcely matters.

There are some wonderful moments taking place behind the scenes in the theater, including Buster getting caught on a set that rises to the top of the stage, swinging across the stage on a rope and disrupting the act, and the final on-stage melee between Buster and the gangsters, all of which recall the backstage antics of his earlier shorts The Playhouse and Daydreams, as well as his MGM features Spite Marriage and Speak Easily, both of which involve Buster inadvertently wrecking a show.

The best scenes, however, take place in the very opening of the film, in which Buster parades down the Champs-Elysees, dressed as a millionaire, throwing away wads of cash. His movements, not to mention the behavior of throwing away money, immediately create a funny contrast with his the station and status implied by his fancy costume. It is just that: a costume. We immediately wonder who this empty-headed millionaire really is. Keaton's appearance and behavior immediately bring to mind his turns as wealthy idlers in films such as The Saphead, The Navigator, and Battling Butler, where he drew a sharp, comic contrast between the character's apparent stupidity and helplessness, and the resourcefulness and cleverness with which he triumphed over adversity when confronted with it for the first time. Here, however, it soon becomes apparent that Buster is no millionaire, he's simply playing one for the sake of a publicity campaign. Like his theatrical role, and like his being mistaken for the crime boss, it is just another part he must play.

Ultimately, this is a comedy of identity, or rather multiple identities, with Buster forced to play many roles and succeed at each one in order to achieve success.

Book Review: "The Marx Brothers: Their World of Comedy" by Allen Eyles

I was first introduced to Allen Eyles' writing on the Marx Bros. with his book "The Complete Films of the Marx Bros.", one of the late entries in Citadel's "Films of" series. His book was more involved than most in that series, providing in-depth analysis of each of the Marx Bros. films (rather than just the customary credits, synopses, and reviews as so many others did). I was delighted to learn that Eyles had written an earlier book on the team, which I finally tracked down a copy of a couple months ago at my local used bookstore.

"The Marx Brothers: Their World of Comedy" takes a quite similar approach as "The Complete Films of the Marx Bros." in providing critical analyses of each of their movies from THE COCOANUTS (1929) through LOVE HAPPY (1949), and indeed some of the sections of this book seem to have been adapted into the entries on the films in the later book. However, the level of analysis is, overall, deeper here, as Eyles thoughtfully examines the routines and gags of each film, providing real insight into the team's humor and how it works without getting lost in the mire of trying to explain why it's funny.

Eyles deserves much credit for giving equal attention to all of the films, not just the acclaimed classics like DUCK SOUP and A NIGHT AT THE OPERA, but also such lesser efforts as ROOM SERVICE and LOVE HAPPY. In his analysis of the former, Eyles is especially interested in detailing the differences between the film and the stage play on which it was based, as well as examining where the film falls short as a Marx Bros. vehicle. And in writing on the latter film, he offers a nice appreciation of how the film serves as a showcase for Harpo's talents, despite its other shortcomings.

Even when I found myself disagreeing with Eyles (for example, he really likes THE COCOANUTS, and considers its comedy scenes, when taken as a whole, superior to those in ANIMAL CRACKERS, which I consider to be one of the very strongest comdies), I am still drawn in by his superb writing and commentary that allow me to look at these old favorite films, which I've seen countless times, in a fresh light.

Some readers may find Eyles' writing style a bit dry or clinical in talking about this madcap comedy team, but the seriousness of his approach is certainly warranted given the brilliant insights he reveals about their work. He avoids a straightforward research approach, which may disappoint readers looking for facts about the performers or production histories behind the films. However, with his thoughtful and interesting analysis of these rich and delightful comedies, the book stands as one of the essential works on the Marx Bros.

Book Review: "The Comic Mind" by Gerald Mast

An excellent survey of screen comedy, from the earliest turn-of-the-century filmed comedy sketches through the films of the 1960s. Mast is less interested in a purely historical survey of names, facts and dates, instead undertaking a thorough and insightful critical analysis of key comedy performers, filmmakers and styles. The emphasis here is on comic film artists who did used the medium in unique ways or exerted some level of creative influence and control over their films. Thus there are no chapters on performers like Abbott and Costello, Bob Hope or Wheeler and Woolsey, for example.

The geniuses of silent comedy are well-covered here, with individual chapters on the great clown-filmmakers Chaplin, Keaton, Lloyd and Langdon. While some silent comedy aficionados might see the emphasis on these four giants as limiting and redundant, Mast provides deep insight into their work, and is primarily interested discussing these comic artists in terms of their distinctive cinematic styles. Mast does look briefly at other distinctive film clowns like Douglas Fairbanks, Charley Chase and Larry Semon who made their mark on the medium. There are also discussions of the "fun factories" of such comedy producers and visionaries as Mack Sennett, Hal Roach and Al Christie.

The chapters on silent comedy rank alongside Walter Kerr's "The Silent Clowns" and James Agee's essay "Comedy's Greatest Era" as one of the finest critical surveys of that period. Mast is perhaps less eloquent than either Kerr and Agee in his descriptions of the clowns and their personalities, but he is highly perceptive in describing what makes the films of Chaplin, Keaton, Lloyd and Langdon both incredibly funny and deeply profound.

Moving on to the sound era, Mast provides a thoughtful analysis of the principles of sound comedy before moving on to such masters of the form as Ernst Lubitsch, Rene Clair and Jean Renoir. He presents an interesting contrast in how Lubitsch and Clair use sound and image together in different but equally effective ways, and provides some much-welcome insight into Renoir's often-overlooked gifts for comedy. Mast then discusses three main modes of screen comedy in the sound era. First is the Dialogue tradition, represented by the great writer-directors like Leo McCarey, Preston Sturges and Billy Wilder. Mast also examines how directors such as Capra and Hawks imposed their distinctive directorial styles on writer- and script-dominated comedies.

Next is the Clown tradition, which examines how the distinctive personalities of performers such as W.C. Fields and the Marx Bros. shaped their films. Mast's observations on the Marx Bros. are particularly astute, differentiating between the invisible, intentionally artless filmic style they achieved under skillful craftsmen like Norman McLeod and Leo McCarey in their final three Paramount films, and the uninspired and clunky theatrical approach of their first two films for the studio. It's easy to mistake the plain and unassuming style of films like MONKEY BUSINESS, HORSE FEATHERS and DUCK SOUP for a lack of cinematic imagination, but it is in fact perfectly suited to what the Marx Bros. and their directors worked so hard to achieve. For example, a deliberately elegant style would be at odds with the roughness and anarchy of the humor of these films. Similarly, he argues that the more showy style of their first two MGM films essentially works against their comedy.

It is worth noting here that unlike the silent comedians discussed earlier, who were often heavily involved in the direction, writing and producing of their own pictures, these sound comedians rarely had such clear, direct creative control over their films due to hierarchical differences under the studio system. Thus, the films of clowns like W.C. Fields and the Marx Bros. have posed a special problem for critics (especially those trained in the auteurist approach) in determining the ways in which the performer could exert their personality on the film style even when they were not credited with the script or direction (although Fields wrote the stories for a number of his films under his variety of comic pseudonyms, and Mast takes the unique stance that Fields' films for Universal -- rather than Paramount -- represent his greatest and freest work since he was given greater independence in writing the screenplays). Mast does an admirable job of dealing with these films in terms of how the comedians were able to exercise varying degrees of creative control, both through their choice in collaborators and through shaping the cinematic style to suit their comic persona.

Finally, in the Ironic tradition, Mast discusses a select sampling of comedies -- including Max Ophuls' LA RONDE, Ingmar Bergman's SMILES OF A SUMMER NIGHT, and Stanley Kubrick's DOCTOR STRANGELOVE -- and how they work to subvert expectations and provide humor through their ironic comment on human behavior. Mast concludes the book with a thoughtful consideration of comedy's importance within the arts.

"The Comic Mind" is a thorough and perceptive survey of film comedy, and is certainly essential reading for anyone with an interest in the subject.

Reference:
Mast, Gerald. The Comic Mind: Comedy and the Movies. Indianapolis and New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company Inc., 1974.

Luke's Movie Muddle (1916)

Typically rough, knockabout early Harold Lloyd "Lonesome Luke" one-reeler, with Luke running a movie house. The cinema setting provides a fun backdrop for the comedy, with Luke finding time to flirt with his pretty female customers while interacting with a parade of eccentric moviegoers who cause him no end of trouble.

Snub Pollard -- Lloyd's frequent co-star in these early comedies and later a star in his own right -- lends fine comic support as the projectionist, and there is a clever moment when Pollard furiously overcranks the projector, causing the film-within-the-film to race by breathlessly. Generally, though, the gags feel routine and uninspired, showing no real flashes of the brilliant construction that would mark Lloyd's mature work. Lloyd was cranking these comedies out at a staggering rate while still learning the craft and developing his character. He was still basically aping Chaplin at this stage of his career; despite superficial differences (a split mustache, a loose-fitting jacket), many of the mannerisms and gestures are reminiscent of Chaplin. It would be another year or so before he'd find the character that was to become his trademark, and another year or two after that before he really found his style as both a performer and filmmaker. Early shorts like this provided Lloyd with his training ground, and can still hold surprises in their fast-and-furious gagging.

Six of a Kind (1934)

Delightfully zany, madcap comedy that serves as a vehicle for no less than six fine comic talents, the charming domestic comedy of Charlie Ruggles and Mary Boland, the verbal nonsense of George Burns and Gracie Allen, and the great character humor of W.C. Fields and Alison Skipworth. For its freewheeling, loose 62 minute running time, the plot is actually rather complicated: Bank clerk Ruggles and his wife Boland are setting off by car on their second honeymoon, and have advertised for another couple to travel with them to help share expenses. To their horror, they get stuck with Burns and Allen, who intend on riding with them all the way to California and proceed to turn the trip into a nightmare. Meanwhile, a fellow bank clerk has stolen a small fortune and smuggled it out of the bank in Ruggles' suitcase, and follows the couple on their journey in pursuit of the loot. The characters and situations all run into one another in a small-town hotel, run by Alison Skipworth and watched over by W.C. Fields as Sheriff "Honest John" Hoxley.

This fast-paced road comedy is directed with characteristic skill by the great Leo McCarey. It's the kind of leisurely--paced comedy where the plot can be put on hold for several minutes at a time while W.C. Fields regales long-time stooge Tammany Young with his rambling story of how he came to be known as "Honest John" (due to his returning a man's lost glass eye), or while Gracie Allen explains to George Burns that her niece has three feet (since she last saw her, she grew another foot). Rather than distracting from the plot, these isolated sequences provide some of the film's biggest highlights. Even with these interludes, the pace and energy never lag thanks to McCarey's expert direction, and when the routines are this good, who cares about the story?

Although he doesn't appear till nearly the last third of the film's running time, Fields very nearly steals the picture. This film was made during the height of his creative powers at Paramount, when he was alternating between his own series of starring vehicles, and appearances in ensemble comedies in which he shared the stage with other fine talents. His assured performance provides so many really funny moments, many of which appear to have been improvised or at least suggested by Fields, that he becomes the most interesting part of the film to watch. It's a tribute to the Great Man's talents that he was able to find so much to do with this role, which amounts to little more than a supporting part, and to inject so many memorable bits of business into his scenes.

Man on the Flying Trapeze (1935)

MAN ON THE FLYING TRAPEZE is a masterpiece of construction and a comic study in frustration that must rank among the very finest of W.C. Fields' screen vehicles, produced at the height of his creative powers at Paramount in 1935. Fields plays Ambrose Wolfinger, a henpecked family man whose only desire is to take the afternoon off work (for the first time in 25 years) to attend a wrestling match for which he's scrimped and saved to buy a front row ticket. What begins as a white lie to get out of the office for the afternoon quickly snowballs into total chaos, bringing Ambrose's world crashing down around him. Aside from possibly IT'S A GIFT, this is Fields' most minimal comedy in terms of plot. The simple set-up -- based on a story by Fields and his good friend Sam Hardy -- provides an endless parade of indignities, frustrations, setbacks and humiliations, which make the well-fulfillment ending -- when the worm finally turns and Fields' antagonists get their comeuppance -- all the more satisfying.

It is perhaps only less successful than IT'S A GIFT in its use of larger-scale gags, such as Fields chasing a tire down the street and across a train trestle (a sequenced either aided or marred, depending on your perspective, by patently phony back projection), which lack the poetic simplicity of the sleeping porch sequence or the shaving scene in the earlier film. The best moments are the smallest: Fields wracking up four parking tickets in quick succession, his interaction with his hostile family at the breakfast table, and his seemingly endless preparation for bedtime. But Fields and director Clyde Bruckman so expertly escalate the events into a comic crescendo that they take on a kind of epic quality. The deliberate pacing allows the frustration produced by the situations to simmer below the surface, brewing uneasily like the calm before a storm.

Fields is also greatly supported by a fine ensemble cast that deserves special mention: Kathleen Howard as his shrewish wife, Mary Brian as his sympathetic daughter, Vera Lewis as his harridan of a mother-in-law, and Grady Sutton as his lazy, oafish brother-in-law, all of whom contribute immeasurably to the film with their fine performances. One can see, too, the affection Fields clearly had even for writing minor characters and giving expert character actors the opportunity to flesh them out and turn them into memorable roles in their own right, such as Oscar Apfel as the blustering boss, Lucien Littlefield as the toadying manager, Lew Kelly as the weary beat cop, and Walter Brennan and Tammany Young as a couple of bumbling burglars. There was no such thing as a small part in a W.C. Fields comedy.

MAN ON THE FLYING TRAPEZE was a remake of Fields' earlier silent comedy, RUNNING WILD (1927), and a comparison between the two films reveals the developments he had made with his screen character in the intervening decade. His Elmer Finch in the earlier film lacks the depth of Ambrose Wolfinger, and Elmer's transformation from lamb to lion is brought about artificially through hypnosis, whereas Ambrose finds the courage to assert himself due to the onslaught of indignities he has suffered over the course of the film. As a result, Elmer's ferocious turn of character, in which he is hypnotized to believe he is a lion, feels forced because it is so out of proportion to what has come before, and also has the effect of making his character unsympathetic. Significantly, Ambrose's climactic outburst of anger only occurs when his daughter's well-being is threatened, rather than his own, revealing a paternal, protective instinct that enhances the humanity of his character as well as justifying his outrage.

Along with IT'S A GIFT and THE BANK DICK, MAN ON THE FLYING TRAPEZE stands as one of the greatest of all W.C. Fields' comedies.

The Trip to Italy (2014)

This sequel to 2010's THE TRIP follows Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon as they embark on another all-expenses-paid tour to write restaurant reviews, this time through major tourist destinations in Italy. It's pleasant enough -- though at 108 minutes rather overlong -- with Michael Winterbottom's direction nicely showcasing the beautiful scenery, but overall it feels like a rehash of the material from the earlier film, particularly with Coogan and Brydon's celebrity impressions. Part comedy and part travelogue, it's often amusing and occasionally laugh-out-loud funny, though infused with a sometimes melancholy and reflective tone on such topics as family, aging, and success that adds a poignant undertone to the humor.

The Shop Around the Corner (1940)

A gentler, warmer Lubitsch comedy, this must rank as one of his very finest films, and is certainly one of his most beloved, enduring classics. What struck me most in viewing it this time is how creatively Lubitsch uses the screen space; though set largely inside the shop, it never feels claustrophobic or stagy, instead kept visually interesting by Lubitsch's endless cinematic invention and especially adroit (but subtle) editing. Lubitsch also gets a wonderfully understated and low-key performance from Stewart, in what is perhaps his finest comedic turn. A film I admire more each time I see it.

Babes in Toyland (aka March of the Wooden Soldiers, 1934)

Charming Laurel and Hardy classic that always makes for fun viewing around this time of the year. The second of their three operettas (coming between THE DEVIL'S BROTHER and THE BOHEMIAN GIRL), it's a little different than the other two in that there are fewer isolated comedy routines and it's less obviously a "Laurel and Hardy vehicle", but the boys are fully integrated into the story, and as a result, it stands as a really fine adaptation of the Victor Herbert operetta, albeit tailored for the team's characters.

I've seen the film more times than I can count, but I am repeatedly struck by just how well it holds up. The musical comedy plotting works quite well here. The songs are all pleasant enough, and there's scarcely a wasted moment (only the "Castle in Spain" number, occurring after the hilarious sham marriage scene, feels like it could be trimmed with little consequence), and each scene builds quite well to the thrilling climax. The finale, with the stop-motion wooden soldiers marching out of the toy shop, is a tour-de-force of special effects that hold up better than those in the Disney remake.

Part of what makes this film so special is its first-rate supporting cast, especially Henry Brandon as the villainous Barnaby. Brandon was clearly having a ball playing the dastardly villain, and he is the perfect foil for Laurel and Hardy -- managing to play the role with both a sense of genuine menace as well as over-the-top fun. Charlotte Henry and Felix Knight are appealing enough as the romantic leads that we genuinely care about the boys' efforts to help them. William Burress, as the toymaker, has a couple of great scenes with the boys that rank among the funniest in the film.

It's a wonder that the film is such a light, fun affair, given the tumultuous production problems behind the scenes. There were fierce creative differences between Hal Roach and Stan Laurel over this film, but the end result is one of the most beloved, enduring classics that Laurel and Hardy ever made.

The Out-of-Towners (1999)

An absolutely awful film. It was hard to justify spending 90 minutes on this crap when there are so many other films to watch. 15 minutes in I was ready to turn it off, but figured I should stick it out if I was going to write it up. I disliked it instantly from the opening scene, which uses John Lennon's "Just Like Starting Over" for cheap effect -- something the film has not earned the right to do. It only gets worse from there.

Painfully stupid, predictable, broad, annoyingly overscored (with wall-to-wall orchestrations in typical '90s fashion), awkwardly directed and edited, and not a single laugh in the whole piece. You know it's bad when comic "highlights" include crashing a car into a Chinatown fish market and being chased through the streets by a mad dog.

Despite the credit that reads "based on the screenplay by Neil Simon", this version borrows only the basic plot of his 1970 script. The premise of the fish-out-of-water Midwesterners lost in big, scary New York worked better in the original, with the gritty, naturalistic setting providing an effective backdrop. Here, in 1990s Disneyland NYC, the contrast falls flat, and lacks the bite of the earlier film. Saddest of all is the incredible waste of talent involved -- the usually great Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn are unfunny and unlikable here, overplaying the badly-written dialogue and slapstick. Even John Cleese, as a snobby hotel manager, is wasted in his role. A forgettable mess of a comedy that is most definitely not recommended.