Showing posts with label 1940. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1940. Show all posts

Thursday, August 14, 2014

The Philadelphia Story



The Philadelphia Story
1940
Director: George Cukor
Starring: Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, James Stewart

While I make it no secret that MGM musicals were the movies of my youth, they were, for the most part, the only classic Hollywood movies I saw. When I first went through the pages of 1001 Movies, making note of which films I had already seen, I was truly shocked to realize just how few classic films I had already seen.  But one of the few classic films I had already seen prior to embarking on my cinematic journey was The Philadelphia Story. My parents introduced me to this one at a young age, and frankly, it only gets better as I get older.


Tracy Lord (Hepburn) is a New England wealthy socialite about to embark on her second marriage to the bland and blustery George. Naturally, there is no better time for her first husband, C.K. Dexter Haven (Grant), to make an appearance at the family compound. Turns out, though, that Dex has good reason to turn up, as he is actually trying to head off at the pass a sniveling paparazzi journalist who wants to unearth some sordid family secrets about the Lord clan. Reporter ‘Mike’ Macauley Conner (Stewart) and photographer Liz Imbrie (Ruth Hussey) are strong-armed into covering the wedding against their wishes.  Things get complicated as all these people around her turn Tracy’s normal, even-keeled emotional life on its head.

How on earth am I supposed to talk about the verbal perfection that is the dialogue and its delivery in this movie? How unbelievably quotable is every other line that comes out of someone’s mouth? It’s clear that this was a stage play first because of the sheer import that is placed on the specific phrasing of the lines, along with how much they are allowed to shine. This is not a film that shines due to fancy camerawork or flashy special effects, or even on a genius conceit. No, it’s the dialogue that is pitch perfect and painfully brilliant. When you aren’t howling with laughter over Dinah’s pronunciation of “innuendo” or snorting over Mike crank calling as the Voice of Doom, you’re feeling Tracy start to come across at the seams as she hears again and again language of statues and goddesses and ice queens. In my opinion, The Philadelphia Story is easily one of the most quotable films of all time.


When I was younger, it was the broad comedy, found mostly in the dialogue, which I loved in The Philadelphia Story, and it was why I liked the film. But as I got older and I inevitably kept revisiting the movie, I slowly began to understand something more. I really, truly enjoy watching Tracy’s journey from well-meaning but somewhat blind and insulated pride to a more open, more understanding, and definitely happier woman. I didn’t understand Tracy’s story when I was a child; it’s a subtler journey than one typically sees in film, as it’s not as simplistic as “she starts evil and is shown the error of her ways.” No, she somehow manages to start the heroine and end the heroine. But that’s precisely why I like it so much, why I like HER so much.

I identify with Tracy Lord, which maybe isn’t entirely a good thing to admit. But I do. I like her strength throughout the entire film. She starts out as strong but stubborn, and she ends strong as well. I think it takes a lot of guts for her to confront her faults and try to come to terms with them, to admit that she might be making a mistake for marrying someone like George, and for admitting that she has things to learn. She makes mistakes throughout the film, gets sloppily drunk, and generally throws everything into disarray. She isn’t perfect. And you know what? I love that. It’s refreshing. Hers is the sort of character I haven’t seen out of Hollywood in quite some time. Hepburn pulls off the role with aplomb, and it’s easy to see why this is the film that convinced the American public at large to forgive her for… whatever it was they had accused her of. I love the remake of The Philadelphia Story, but damn, it’s hard to one-up how perfectly Hepburn pulls off Tracy Lord.


But the character of Tracy Lord and Hepburn’s performance would not be nearly as interesting if she weren’t surrounded by two equally wonderful roles performed by two equally amazing actors, Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart. Dexter and Macauley represent choices Tracy can make as she approaches her wedding. Watching Macauley set her free throughout their drunken revels is brilliant. While I would be hard-pressed to call this Jimmy Stewart’s most impressive film performance (it is the only one for which he won an Oscar), it is certainly a fine performance and it is easy to see why the Academy saw fit to recognize it. He is not simply the drunken fool, but full of heart as well, and not afraid to call shenanigans when he sees them. But really, Cary Grant’s Dexter just ties everything together. I absolutely adore Cary Grant, but I do feel like he tends to play different aspects of his celebrity persona in most of his films. His C.K. Dexter Haven, though, is reserved and hard in a way that one doesn’t expect from Cary Grant. He is unsettlingly stoic. And yet Grant has to convince us that Dexter really loves Tracy, that he never stopped loving her despite divorcing her, and that he loves her while being unafraid to speak the truth to her.  Convince us he does, through several sometimes small, sometimes not so small gestures throughout the movie. How he hides the bracelet, how he hits Macauley first, how he stays out of her way when she asks him to at the party, how he doesn’t judge her too harshly, how he is all too willing to save Tracy’s family from incendiary press, and finally, how he tries to help her save face at her botched wedding.  Grant doesn’t try to make Dexter perfect, but he does make him perfect for Tracy. He is wonderful in this role, and I easily think it’s one of his best.

Lovely dialogue, well-formed and interesting adult characters, actors who fully inhabit their roles, and a rollicking comedy with a happy ending. Really, it shouldn’t take anyone by surprise that I have loved this movie ever since I saw it and I will continue to love it for the rest of my life.


Arbitrary Rating: 10/10. Duh.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Rebecca




Rebecca
Director: Alfred Hitchcock
Starring: Joan Fontaine, Laurence Olivier, Judith Anderson
1940

The only film of Hitchcock’s that the Oscars saw fit to recognize, Rebecca is certainly one of Hitchcock’s strongest works.  Not quite up to his true genius of the decades to come, however, and it is really such a shame that the Academy only recognized this, and not more layered and phenomenal films like Rear Window.

Joan Fontaine plays a young, timid, shy ladies’ companion vacationing with her brusque and societal leech of an employer, Mrs. Van Hopper.  While in Monaco, she meets Maxim de Winter (Olivier), a tortured widower seemingly trying to forget the drowning death of his much beloved wife, Rebecca.  The two fall in love and marry quickly, then Maxim takes her back to Manderley, his expansive estate back in England, where she soon realizes the strange hold that the first Mrs. de Winter seems to still have over both the house and all the servants, staff, and indeed, her husband.

It’s funny – this is a scary film.  Sort of.  It’s Hitchcock, to be sure, and immensely suspenseful, but in a very untraditional manner.  It’s practically a period piece, even though it was set during current times.  Manderley is such a character in the film, it makes the entire film feel as if it came from a different era.  There’s a dreamy quality that emanates from this strange estate, a feeling established in the opening shot of the film which, indeed, is revealed to be a dream sequence through a voiceover.  The house is immense, hollow, expansive, and of another era.  It’s easy to see how it could get inside your head, start playing games with you.


As if the house itself wasn’t bad enough, there’s Mrs. Danvers (Anderson), the housekeeper.  Brrr – this is not someone I’d want hovering around while I’m living in a joint!  Cold and imperious from the first, she utterly dominates everything and everyone around her.  It’s revealed that she was devoted to her first mistress, Rebecca.  It’s not difficult to extend this devotion to more of an infatuation, or even obsession.  Mrs. Danvers, with her no-nonsense bun and perfectly straight shoulders, seems just the sort of person who could easily flirt with the edge of insanity.  Anderson plays the role to the hilt as well, spewing thinly disguised insults and manipulations from her very first entrance.



The intimidating Mrs. Danvers and the cavernous Manderley play host to The Second Mrs. de Winter, Joan Fontaine’s character.  Fascinatingly, she is not given a name.  I’m certain that Mrs. Van Hopper introduces her once to Maxim de Winter at the beginning of the film, but that is the only time she’s given a name, and even then I’m not so sure.  Even IMDB lists her character as “The Second Mrs. de Winter.”  Her identity itself is tied up in being the Second Wife After Rebecca.  Once she arrives at Manderley, she is constantly haunted by the shadow of the first, indominatable mistress.  Fontaine plays her role as a baby foal trying to walk for the first time.  All breathlessness and wobbly knees, here is a woman who is very much in love with her new husband, but extraordinarily out of her element in this new environment.  She was not raised in society, nor does she does not know how to fit into society, a fact that Mrs. Danvers is all too aware of, as well as something that only prompts disgust from the staunch housekeeper. 



Fontaine’s character is simply no match for her new world.  As if the house and the creepy Mrs. Danvers weren’t enough for this poor girl (and she really is only a girl) to contend with, soon her husband starts behaving oddly as well.   Laurence Olivier – always a force of nature – is phenomenal as the brooding and mysterious Maxim de Winter.  When we meet him in Monaco, he seems more bemused by Joan Fontaine than in love with her, which makes his very sudden marriage proposal somewhat confusing.  Then, once he’s married her and brought her back to Manderley, he starts to fall into tempers, become withdrawn, or flies off the handle at the tiniest mistake.  Really, what has this poor girl gotten into?  Is Rebecca really that a strong a force that she controls the housekeeper, the house, and her husband, all from beyond the grave?  Well, it certainly seems so, but Rebecca has some tricks up her sleeve yet.



Hitchcock photographs the film brilliantly.  Reminiscent of Otto Preminger (I was forcibly reminded of Laura several times during the course of the film even though I know Rebecca came first), there is a romantic gothic sensibility to the photography here, fitting for the novelist Daphne du Maurier’s work.  We get long lingering shots of the house, showing the caverns of each room, the high ceilings, the long staircases in beautiful shimmery black and white.  The cinematography draws out the mystery, making gauzy window curtains seem as though they may contain a ghost.

There is a central mystery to Rebecca, but unraveling it here for you makes it no fun.  There is a quiet beauty, something very unostentatious about this film.  And really, it’s very creepy, but for very different reasons than any other traditional horror or suspense film.

Arbitrary Rating: 9/10



Sunday, April 28, 2013

Fantasia




Fantasia
1940
Producer: Walt Disney
Starring: Leopold Stokowski, Disney animators

Fantasia is wholly unlike any other movie out there, excepting, of course, Fantasia 2000.  Its entire premise is completely different from a typical film.  It is about music.  Any sort of narrative in the film is derived entirely from the music, and not the other way around.  Any sort of image in the film is derived from the music, not the other way around.  The music was not implemented after the fact, meant to accompany what had already been committed to screen; the music came first, and the screen came second.  This is avant-garde filmmaking, but made by Walt Disney, of all people.  We tend not to think of Fantasia as experimental because it comes with the Disney tag, but you better believe this is out there in terms of basic structural design. 

Because this is a movie entirely about music, and classical music no less, most of my review is going to focus on just that.  I am a classical musician.  I have decades of experience performing in groups, and I listen almost exclusively to classical music of one type or another. 

In case you want to skip to the punchline, I’ll say this right now: I love Fantasia.  Why?  Because it’s entirely and exclusively about the music that I adore.  How awesome is that?

  
There are seven distinct pieces of music in Fantasia, and given that the entire film is “about” them, in a sense, I am going to discuss each one.  We have J.S. Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor (which I’ve played), selections from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker ballet (which I’ve played), Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring, Beethoven’s entire Symphony No. 6 (played it), Ponchielli’s Dance of the Hours, and Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain (played it) smashed together with Schubert’s Ave Maria.  I’m going to discuss each one because you have to consider this film.  These distinct seven pieces were chosen from all of classical music to BE Fantasia.  They were not picked because they would make a good soundtrack accompaniment to whatever action Disney had already put to film; they were chosen FIRST, and THEN Disney created images to match.

We start with Bach’s Toccata and Fugue.  It’s the only baroque selection of music in the film, but it’s fitting to open the piece.  Baroque was one of the earliest styles of classical music.  In my head, I call it a very “up and down” style of classical music, in that the focus is mostly on music theory and technique, and not on evocation of emotion or even imagery.  Now, I’m sure some will argue that last point, but really, when you compare baroque to romanticism, there IS no comparison about which style is more emotive.  Given that, of all the styles of music, I find baroque to be LEAST emotional, I also think it’s incredibly fitting that in Fantasia, this is the one piece that is the most abstract in terms of the animation.  There are no recognizable characters, let alone anything resembling a story.  It is purely impressionistic, which is dead on, spot on perfect for a baroque piece.  The picking of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue is a fine representation of baroque music, and one that audiences at the time would have been familiar with.  The iconic work had already been used in horror films (starting with The Black Cat in 1934).

The next selections are pieces from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker ballet.  Now, in order to explain why this is an interesting selection, I have to give you some history about the Nutcracker ballet.  Nowadays, everyone is familiar with the Nutcracker.  It’s a Christmas staple, performed in every major city in December, and in many more small towns as well.  You cannot get through a Christmas season without the music from the Nutcracker being used in multiple television commercials or piped endlessly through shopping malls.

In 1940, when Fantasia was made, this was not the case.  

  
The tradition of annually performing The Nutcracker at Christmas is a wholly American one.  When it originally premiered in Russia in the 1890s, the ballet was not successful.  It languished for about half a century, until it gradually started being performed again in the 1940s.  It wasn’t until the 1950s that it got its big break.  George Balanchine started performing The Nutcracker with the New York City ballet in the mid-1950s.  In 1958, CBS television approached him about airing a live broadcast of the show.  It was a huge hit for CBS, and they started airing it annually at Christmas.  Thus was born the completely American tradition of staging the Nutcracker ballet at Christmastime.

Having said all of that, let’s go back to Fantasia.  How Disney animators picked this particular piece, given that it held little cultural touchstone appeal for society at the time, is beyond my comprehension.  Surely Swan Lake would have been a more famous piece of Tchaikovsky’s at the time, or even his Symphony No. 5.  But no, they picked The Nutcracker, and I’m glad they did.  What we have, therefore, is an interpretation of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker that is wholly freed from the story of the ballet.  It is focused entirely on the MUSIC.  While there isn’t a story associated with the Nutcracker segment in Fantasia, it is not nearly as impressionistic as the first segment, containing distinct and recognizable images.  The images are essentially scenes from nature.

I adore the Nutcracker ballet.  I have either been in it or been to see it every year since I was three.  I know the music by heart.  And I really love this segment of Fantasia.  I love the alternate interpretation of the pieces, and they are lovely interpretations. 

Tchaikovsky, in terms of musical style, falls squarely within the Romantic era of classical music, characterized by highly emotional, even melodramatic musical gestures and pieces.  Personally, I love Tchaikovsky – he has such a distinctive compositional style, I could easily pick a piece of his out of a lineup – and I think it’s entirely fitting that he be included in Fantasia.

The next segment is the most iconic one in Fantasia, Dukas’ Sorcerer’s Apprentice.  This is a terrific piece of classical music, telling a very definite story, and like Tchaikovsky, falling squarely in the Romantic era.  I like the animation in this section, and it has, in large part, defined the film as a whole.  How many times have you seen it parodied on other animated shows like The Simpsons?  From a music standpoint, I think this is an absolutely stellar interpretation of the piece.  There is a moment – a trumpet fanfare – at the climax of the piece that just makes the entire recording for me.  Most recordings of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice gloss over this very brief fanfare, but Stokowski ever so slightly slows down the orchestra for this moment.  It makes the entire thing for me.  It sends chills up down the back of my neck.  I’ll put it this way – I never listen to any other recording of Sorcerer’s Apprentice than the one from Fantasia, because I have yet to find a better one.  

  
The next segment in Fantasia is easily the most courageous musical choice in the film.  Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring is also the most musically different piece from all the rest in the film.  It debuted in 1913, a mere 27 years before Fantasia, making it the most modern piece in the film as well.  It is a glorious work, immensely complicated, dissonant, and it freely plays with rhythms and time signatures; yet, unlike so many of its twentieth century progenitors, there is a definite musical theme and melody.  I have never played The Rite of Spring, but I have been to two live performances of it, and I’ve seen the score.  It’s fiendishly difficult.  The entire Rite of Spring is more than half an hour long; the Rite of Spring that’s in Fantasia is truncated and reorganized.  I’m alright with that; I understand that, in order to create a film, some editing needed to take place. 

The animation accompanying it is sometimes cited as the most exciting segment in Fantasia.  It tells of the evolution of the universe, of our planet, of early life, then of the dinosaurs – the dinosaur segment usually being the bit that people remember.  Rite of Spring was originally composed to represent a primitive, tribal ceremony, and I think Disney’s reinterpretation works well.  While not depicting an actual tribe or actual people, the idea, the intent is there.  In terms of violence, this is the most aggressive section of the film, and to me, that makes absolute perfect sense in terms of Stravinsky’s piece.  Rite of Spring is a boldly aggressive piece of music.  Seeing volcanoes erupting and dinosaurs killing one another just makes inherent sense when listening to something as deliciously dissonant as Stravinsky.

  
Next up is the big one.  The central rock of Fantasia, at least to me.  Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony.  I love Beethoven.  I’m going to repeat that, because it bears repeating.  I love Beethoven hardcore.  He is my favorite composer.  You might think it a bit cliché to pick Beethoven as your favorite composer, but trust me, this comes from years of exposure to many composers’ work.  I keep coming back to Beethoven.  I have an intense emotional connection with Beethoven’s work.  He is the only composer whose pieces have moved me to tears.  I don’t think there are any other composers capable of such painful beauty as Beethoven.  In his music, I see such loveliness, but under it, there is often a melancholy air.  His Sixth Symphony typifies this.  I will never get tired of listening to the Sixth.  As a symphony as a whole, it’s my favorite.  And trust me, I know Beethoven’s symphonies.  The only item on my bucket list is to either perform live or see performed live all nine of Beethoven’s symphonies.  I’m missing three: the second, the third, and the fourth.  I’ve either performed or been to see all the others.  Sure, there are individual movements of his other symphonies that I think are stronger or more emotional than those in the Sixth, but in terms of the symphony as an entire work, the Sixth is unbeatable.  Yes, more than the Ninth.  Yes, I love the Ninth.  Yes, I still prefer the Sixth.  (Perhaps I am slightly biased – I am a clarinetist, and the clarinet part in the Sixth is just amazing.)

When I was a young girl, I loved this section of Fantasia because it was basically a half hour episode of My Little Pony.  Having grown up now, I find it to be a little immature for my taste.  Basically, I love Beethoven’s Sixth so much that I don’t like seeing silly little animal creatures being played for laughs in a piece in which I find so much emotional profundity.  Having said that, though, I have to go back to my original statement – when I was little, I loved this section.  And isn’t that huge?  I mean, this part of the movie was instrumental (ha! Get it?) in nurturing my love and adoration of classical music.  So what if there’s a little bit of silliness or commercialism mixed in there?  If it can help youngsters of today get into classical music as well, then I’m okay with it.  Disney certainly got the “pastoral” part of the piece right, though.  I like the bright pastel color scheme; I think that fits with the piece very well.  I just picture something different than Disney when I hear the Sixth.  Not so many naked cherub butts.

 
This is not my favorite recording of the Sixth symphony.  I think the second movement is a little too slow, the third movement not quite jovial enough and lacking in life, and the final movement a little lacking in grandeur, plus the whole symphony is truncated.  In terms of that last point, again, I understand why it was truncated, this being a feature film after all.  I do not argue the right of the editors to edit.  However, I will argue that if you wanted Beethoven and you wanted pastoral AND you wanted something shorter, why didn’t you use the first movement of the Seventh symphony?  It’s much shorter and just as “romp in the countryside” as this.  Or, for that matter, the third movement of his violin concerto.  Ah well.

In terms of musical style, there is a bit of argument as to where Beethoven belongs, so I’ll just tell you where I think he belongs.  Beethoven was the crossover composer; he ended the Classical era in classical music and issued in the Romantic era.  If you listen to Beethoven’s First and then listen to Beethoven’s Ninth, they are worlds apart.  His First Symphony is highly derivative of Mozart, the king of the Classical era.  By Beethoven’s Ninth, he had fundamentally shifted how he wrote music, using far more emotional motifs and much less emphasis on technique or precision.  In terms of Beethoven’s career, I firmly place the Sixth Symphony in the Romantic era.

Man, I love Beethoven.

Ponchielli’s Dance of the Hours is the penultimate selection in Fantasia.  The piece itself very clearly depicts the passing of the hours of the day, starting in the morning, then having a sleepy afternoon nap, then a wild evening party.  Dance of the Hours is by no means the only classical music piece to do this; von Suppe’s Morning, Noon, and Night in Vienna overture follows a similar structure.  But Dance of the Hours is a great piece, highly evocative of its title, clearly containing distinct imagery.  This is the also the goofiest of all the segments in Fantasia, what with ostriches in pointe shoes, fat dancing hippos, and alligators sadly unable to catch said hippos.  To reiterate some of my comments about the Sixth, I don’t really like this segment NOW, but when I was young, I loved it.  I feel I’ve somewhat outgrown this particular animation, but I wouldn’t cast it aside.  It’s important to have some kiddie appeal – this is Disney, after all.  I also think this is the funniest of the segments.  Again, I don’t know how much I personally like it, but I do think it’s important to have some broad comedy in there.  It helps coat the pill of classical music, making it go down much easier with little ones.

In terms of musical style, Dance of the Hours is much akin to Tchaikovsky’s work, being written within about fifteen years of the Nutcracker ballet.  As such, it is also firmly Romantic in its style.  Are we noticing a pattern here?  I hope so. 

The final segment is Mussorgsky’s A Night on Bald Mountain mashed up with Schubert’s Ave Maria.  A Night on Bald Mountain is an effing creepy piece of classical music.  Stephen King is said to have seen Fantasia and been terrified by this particular segment.  I find that those of my high school students who have seen this film remember this segment the best.  It’s a towering piece of infernal music, incredibly frightening at its core.  The animation that accompanies is absolutely perfect in its ghoulish splendor.  There seems to be a bit of experimentation with animation techniques to achieve the ghost effects.  The dance of death is so frightening, perhaps one of the most supernaturally frightening scenes that Disney ever put to film.  In terms of the animation, it’s probably my favorite part of Fantasia.

  
All of which makes me sad that Disney basically took a butcher knife to the piece, picking and choosing what they wanted, and then discarding the ending.  Instead of using the actual ending of A Night on Bald Mountain, which has a definite Ave Maria sacrosanct feel to it, they feel the need discard most of it and tack on Schubert’s actual Ave Maria, one of the most sinfully boring pieces of classical music ever.  A Night on Bald Mountain has everything Disney wanted for this final piece.  Why the hell did they have to mess with it, cut it up, and throw in that damn Schubert piece?  That bugs me. 

Again, going back to musical style, both Mussorgsky and Schubert were Romantic era composers.  So we have seven sections of Fantasia, and of them, one is baroque, one is twentieth-century, and the other five are Romantic.  Personally, the Romantic era is my favorite era in classical music, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain, and I can understand from a storytelling point of view why choosing Romantic pieces was the easiest as many of them already have distinct emotions or even stories built it, but I highly question their omission of the Classical era.  I mean, Mozart is the behemoth of classical music, and his work does not appear in either Fantasia or its sequel.  What gives?  In my opinion, this is a glaring omission that should never have gotten past the initial discussion of what this movie would be. 

In many ways, I wish Disney Studios would return to the studio that produced this film.  Today, Disney is synonymous with Cash Cow, merely existing to sell little girls the Princess Dream and bank off whatever Pixar produces.  But back in 1940, when Disney produced Fantasia and then Pinocchio, it was a much different studio.  Artistic experimentation and expression were more important (or, at least, just as important) than making money.  To this day, Fantasia remains the single best classical music movie ever made because it is wholly about the classical music.  The classical music does not take a back seat to any sort of contrived plot line about struggling musicians or some other nonsense.  The classical music came first, and the images followed.  How brave of the studio, how incredible a film, and how wonderful for someone like me.  It’s the perfect marriage of two of my greatest passions: classical music and film coming together.

Arbitrary Rating: 8.5/10.  There are moments of pure perfection, but also moments that are not so perfect.  And this is a hugely significant film for me.

Monday, August 13, 2012

The Bank Dick

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The Bank Dick
1940
Director: Edward F. Cline
Starring: W.C. Fields, Una Merkel, Cora Witherspoon, Franklin Pangborn

If ever there was a live action film that is essentially nothing but a real world cartoon, The Bank Dick is that film. This is W.C. Fields’ film from start to finish and as it moves from scene to scene, it’s just another chance for him to display his comedic talents.

The “plot” is about Egbert Sousé (Fields), accent grave over the “e” as the characters remind us (DAMMIT IT’S AN ACCENT AIGU, NOT AN ACCENT GRAVE!!! OK, I got that off my chest). He lives with a house full of women who constantly henpeck him, so he’s constantly running off to the saloon. There’s a scene where Sousé takes over as director on a movie set, but we mostly focus on how Sousé manages to unwittingly foil a bank robbery. On account of this, he’s appointed the new bank detective, or bank dick. Of course, he immediately runs into trouble involving some misappropriated funds, and he has to hold off the bank examiner (Pangborn) from discovering the embezzlement. Naturally, the film ends with a raucous car chase.

This is not a movie to be judged on its plot or narrative structure at all. This is simply a series of set pieces for Fields to perform. I don’t think there’s a single serious scene in the movie at all. Even when the characters start to fret about the embezzlement charges, they do so by acting in funny ways, fainting in funny ways, and lashing out in funny ways. Throughout the entire thing is Fields’ unique sarcastic mutterings and mumblings. Because a good portion of his brand of humor is relatively subtle, it translates well to modern audiences. Of course, though, there’s also a tremendous amount of broad physical comedy; Fields seems constantly to be running into walls, doors, coat racks, etc. that he doesn’t see. This stuff works too.