Two Marx Bros. Films

Shoving these two films together in one blog post is not just me being lazy. The Marx Bros.' films are really just a collection of sketches hanging by some loose threads of plot and so can just as easily be viewed as a single body of work rather than its individual pieces. Putting Duck Soup ahead of the others just means it has a few of the more funny scenes in it. You might equally put Queen's Greatest Hits I ahead of Greatest Hits II, not for reasons of narrative or theme but simply because it has better songs.

The two films on the list are quite good examples of their work, though. Duck Soup (no. 46) represents the Paramount years and is just incredibly silly. Groucho plays Rufus T. Firefly who for some not very clear reason is made the leader of the small nation of Freedonia. Chico and Harpo are spies from neighbouring Sylvania which is trying to take over but they don't do much spying and Groucho doesn't do much leading — they all just muck about for an hour and a half. There are some fantastic moments along the way, though. Groucho of course has some great lines, Chico and Harpo terrorise a poor street vendor and there's the famous mirror scene which is brilliantly put together. The final act as Sylvania invades is chaotic and crazy but very funny. Some critics write learnedly about how this is a satire on the absurdity of war, but they need to get their heads out of their arses and just enjoy it.

However, Duck Soup is not the best Marx Bros. film, because it's missing what I think is the highlight of most of their other works — this:



It's Chico playing the piano in A Night at the Opera and I don't think I could ever get bored of watching those fingers. Duck Soup doesn't have Harpo playing the harp either, which is also a terrible shame, but it's Chico's piano that I remember most fondly from all their other films and I wonder why it wasn't included.

After Duck Soup the brothers left Paramount and moved to MGM and A Night at the Opera (no. 112) was the first film at their new home. It marked a considerable change of pace from the previous films — much less anarchic and directionless. Where before the brothers attacked everybody equally and often for no good reason at all, now they had a purpose and only attacked the villains in order to help the central couple. Zeppo had left the group too (not a huge loss) and the film introduced non-comedic musical numbers to broaden the audience appeal. Surprisingly, this tinkering of the formula works. It might have gone wrong and left us with a watered-down version of the previous films, precision engineered by studio executives to make the most money, but that's not what happens. The film has a lot more heart and although it's still crazy in places at least it makes some sense.

The plot is still wafer thin, though. Groucho's trying to marry rich Margaret Dumont (as he does in several of their films, though it's hard to tell what she sees in him) but she has her interest in the opera. Chico and Harpo are helping Allan Jones with his career as a singer but they're left behind when the company heads off to New York and have to stow away on the ship. Naturally Groucho gets involved and the brothers work together to help Jones get his girl and his big break. It's pretty lame but works well enough and that's all you need. The holes in the plot are filled in with all the terrific set-pieces we'd expect: Groucho cramming about thirty people into his tiny cabin, the contract negotiation, the finale's acrobatics and of course Chico on the piano and Harpo on the harp. It's simple but sublime entertainment by some of the most talented performers of them all. It's not going to make you think — just smile. Thinking's overrated anyway.

An honourable mention should also go to A Day at the Races which really ought to sit up there with these two. It's very similar to A Night at the Opera, better in some respects and weaker in others. The stand out scene comes in the middle as Harpo leads the locals in a raucous and hugely entertaining swing number, with singing and Hellzapoppin-style lindy hoppers and a fat man doing the splits. Perfect. It also has this clip:



I've watched most of their other films too and while they all have plenty to offer and are well worth watching, they didn't quite reach the heights of A Night at the Opera or A Day at the Races. A bit like Queen's albums, really.

27. Broken Blossoms

I guess the first thing I should do is tackle the 'R' word. Is Broken Blossoms racist? I think my answer is a cautious 'no', although I wouldn't argue too strongly with you if you disagreed. The main Chinese character seems intended to be one of the good guys and is largely treated sympathetically, and the use of un-PC language is just a sign of the times, but there are difficult barriers for modern audiences to overcome. The alternative title for the film is The Yellow Man and the Girl and the male lead is known only as Yellow Man. The white characters get proper names, but his is clearly of no importance. It's interesting that the Wikipedia article, embarrassed to use this name, refers to him as Cheng Huan which is a name they only deduced from the sign on his shop front. He's played by Richard Barthelmess, a white guy who's been yellowed up to look oriental, and his slitty-eyed approach to the part reminds you rather too much of Peter Sellers in one of his less funny moments. Not that any of this particularly bothered me — it's 1919 after all and a totally different world from now — but it's impossible to ignore. In this day and age, somebody who uses the word 'Chink' is either desperately unpleasant or trying to be funny and so it's hard not to either angrily switch off or laugh. I followed the latter path and have to admit I was chuckling throughout the film, which made it a bit hard to take seriously.

The second thing I need to get off my chest is the central relationship between Barthelmess and Lillian Gish. The girl, Lucy, seems to be about 14 although it's never made clear how old she is exactly. Gish was actually 26 at the time but she looks a lot younger and she's certainly not playing an adult. So when you get these scenes of Barthelmess gazing wistfully at the unhappy child walking along the street you can't help but think of the 'P' word. When they stare briefly at each other and he forces a smile he comes across very creepy and when he later moves in for a kiss you're thinking Nosferatu. Was this done on purpose? Did Griffith intend for the audience to be repulsed by the thought of a Chinese man with a Western woman?

It's very hard to judge a film on its artistic merits when you have a yellow-and-white minstrel paedophile as your main character. When the central 'romance' involves an adult grooming a child by giving her a doll and the child asking 'Why are you so good to me, Chinky?' you do have to wonder if this is really a film worth seeing. But let's try and ignore all this and settle down and look at the film on its merits. The story involves a Buddhist missionary who comes to London to spread the word of peace to the violent West. He winds up in Limehouse but is soon beaten down by the harshness of East End life. He takes up opium when he's depressed and his one pleasure is gazing adoringly at the sad little cockney waif, apparently because he can see her true inner beauty (but that's what they all say). She's the daughter of a prize-fighter — a gurning one-dimensional brute of a man — and lives in perpetual fear of his assaults. One day, after a nasty beating, she staggers to the shop of 'Cheng Huan' where she's looked after and shown affection for the first time in her life. It's all-in-all a pretty grim story.

There are good points about Broken Blossoms. The film captures the dirty atmosphere of post-WWI working class London very well and you do feel immersed in the period as you're watching. The boxing scene is a particular highlight, as is the infamous closet scene, and the whole film has this authentic grubby quality. The story is sad and quite poignant and carries some important messages that aren't out of date in today's world. There are also several negatives, though. The intertitles are numerous and rather annoying. They're poorly written with a laboured pseudo-poetic voice which jars from the grimy reality it's narrating. On a number of occasions they're just redundant, describing what we can plainly see happening on the screen. The acting isn't exactly subtle and often looks quite odd. The prize-fighter, Battling Burrows, is just a cartoon villain, sneering and clenching his fists and strutting about the room in a rage. Lillian Gish is good as the girl, although also rather over the top at times — the whole business of her forcing her lips to form a smile is much more irritating than heart-breaking. Barthelmess is more measured, but verging on dull. Of course, this is still the early days of cinema and the "rules" of screen acting hadn't been established yet, but that doesn't excuse it in my book. Interesting doesn't always mean good.

So film studies students will want to watch it and it will also appeal to those with an interest in Chinese-American relationships, as it does offer some insight into what was considered appropriate in 1919 Hollywood. But I really wouldn't recommend it to anyone else and it doesn't deserve the no. 27 spot. I'm glad I watched it and it's certainly an interesting work but it's simply not a good enough film to overcome the considerable obstacles it puts in front of itself.

You can watch it on archive.org.