Take 95: Duck Soup

In July, 2015, the BBC released a list of the 100 Greatest American Films, curated by polling critics all over the world. I’m watching them and writing about them as a form of self taught film school. This week, we’re doing number 95: Duck Soup. — directed by Leo McCarey. As always, there will be spoilers.

What an odd experience it is to watch Duck Soup (#95). I had not seen the film before, and I was a little surprised by the big turnout at the Brattle Theater on New Year’s day for their yearly Marx brothers festival. I am so grateful that I saw this movie in a theater because there’s something contagious about being in a group of people who love something that passionately. I could feel them watching with excited anticipation, feeding off what was about to happen as much as what was currently on the screen, a sensation I’ve come to know and love when watching my own favorite comedies. I suspect that if I had not been surrounded by that electricity, I would have walked away more bewildered than entertained, but as it were, I was able to relax and enjoy the short, absurd, film — aided by a live laugh track. I think an attempt to search for meaning and structure supporting Duck Soup might be misguided, so below are a few highlights from the scattered deluge of thoughts that invaded my mind during this wild ride.

Before watching this movie, I knew who Groucho Marx was by his signature look alone, but I was surprised by his style of delivery. He was slightly less goonish and slightly more caustic than I was expecting. From what little I knew about Groucho, I imagined he would be more of a sad clown type and fairly classic in his approach to comedy, but at times I felt like his abrasive stand up routines might feel at home in the basement of a 1930’s New York City bar, maybe with the comedy cellar stained glass behind him.

I found that streak of unexpected urbanity endearing, even though it dipped a little more toward the sophomoric than I might have liked, it was still packed full of blink and you’ll miss it zingers. Maybe that tell-like-it-is brand of comedy was what the country was craving in 1933 when the depression loomed over their daily lives and the audience would likely be searching for their own champion on screen. The whole spurring action of Groucho’s character, Rufus T. Firefly, becoming leader of Freedonia was that the country was bankrupt due to frivolous spending and he was sent to alleviate the pressure by a wealthy benefactor to the state. His cynicism and resigned nonchalance in light of that national disaster must have felt like a refreshing shrug of acceptance, or at least an acknowledgement of humor existing in misery.

But, I don’t think that anyone watching the film was thinking about the Depression in 2016, and I don’t think anyone was stressing out about the fate of Freedonia, so it’s clear that the keys to timelessness supporting Duck Soup are different from many other films on the list. I’m not going to waste any more time discussing the plot of the movie, because it seems so unimportant to its greatness, which is contained within its characters. The appearance of Harpo and Chico Marx as Pinky and Chicolini caused an audible gasp of excitement to arise from the crowd, and their commitment to their characters was at times hilarious and at other times infuriating, which was certainly intentional. Their miming and clowning would have felt right at home in the silent movie tradition, and the mirror gag in particular is a marvel.

On the other side of the film, Groucho as Rufus deftly establishes and maintains a rhythm that allows the audience to sink into a groove and play along with the rise and fall of the action, especially the people who were familiar with the most famous exchanges. Duck Soup is a variety show. It’s an hour and eight minute frenzy, featuring clowns and standups and musical numbers. While there is a loose, largely forgotten about, overarching plot line tying each scene together, it’s clear that the direction was heavily influenced by the vaudeville tradition, which itself was a conglomeration of classic comedy staples.

There’s something that feels ancient about Duck Soup, sort of like the people who were making it were already nostalgic for the form that will never really disappear but can also never stay the same for very long. I wonder if we would have Saturday Night Live as it now exists without the Marx Brothers — from Weekend Update to the musical guests, the mixed form method and character centric approach to comedy has served the show well over the last forty years.

While the bones of SNL have remained the same over the decades, the facade shifts to suit the newest generation of viewers as their first priority, and producers often draw from fountains of youthful talent in a persistent hunt for a new edge, always scavenging to stay relevant. While the form and style of Duck Soup was antiquated, looking around at the Marx brothers diehards who came out for the four film festival, the age range was so broad that there was no questioning the timeless, wide reaching, appeal to this style of comedy.

I think that just like the most resonating stars of SNL, the Marx brothers, and Groucho in particular, have achieved immortality by creating an image of actors inextricable from their characters, and characters inextricable from the predominant American psyche. I didn’t feel like I related to Groucho, but I felt like I’ve met him a thousand times, and I was left questioning which came first: Groucho Marx? Or the kid with a joke book who won’t stop doing bits he’s recycled a thousand times? That isn’t a slight on Groucho, it’s more of a recognition of his ability to tap into that pulse of comedy so well that it still bears his impression today.

I don’t know how I feel about Duck Soup to be completely honest, but I do know it would not have made my list of the 100 greatest films. However, while screwball is mostly outside of my wheelhouse, I have to credit the Marx brothers for laying a foundation that some of my favorite comedies would build on. I didn’t love this movie but I do love the films of Mel Brooks, and I’m not sure that Blazing Saddles, or Rocky Horror Picture Show, or some of the more absurd Robin Williams characters would have developed as they did without the Marx brothers bend in the history of comedy — a mark of greatness if ever there was one.