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The Cocoanuts
Why The Cocoanuts is ultimately a disappointment has nothing to do with the Brothers themselves. They are right on target throughout the production, and the film contains some of their best routines, including the immortal, tongue-twisting “Viaduct/Why a Duck” discussion between Groucho and Chico, on par with the best tongue-teasers of Abbott and Costello ("Who's on first?") and Danny Kaye ("Vessel with the pestle"). Most of its faults are in its technical failures, which are often so incompetent that it’s downright distracting. Part of the problem, of course, is that the film was made in 1929, an era in which sound films were still desperately trying to find their technical footing (see Singin’ in the Rain to get a more complete—and humorous—picture of the difficult aspects of the transition from the silent era to the sound stage). Thus, some of the creaking floors, misplaced microphones (making some voices inconsistently quite loud and others barely audible), and ongoing cracking sounds on the film reels were unavoidable. I do know that some attempt was made to avoid this distraction: All books on set were soaked to avoid the sound of their crispy pages turning loudly, but this only took care of a small portion of the problem. In 1929, audience members were still marveling at the idea of talking pictures themselves so that the kinks went by unnoticed; today, they make us wince at their ineptitude. As the Marx Brothers’ comedy depends on their one-liners, puns, and insults, a creaking soundstage cannot help but spoil the charm. The Cocoanut’s origins also didn’t much help. This was the Brothers’ first official feature (a silent picture called Humor Risk, shot in 1926, received a limited release and is now considered lost), and it is an adaptation of their Broadway musical of the same name. Because it was based on a Broadway musical, The Cocoanuts seems limited in its ability to allow the Brothers to completely dominate the cinematic screen. The stage is a different medium altogether, requiring exaggerated makeup, acting, and songs to breathe life into the story. On the other hand, film is a smaller, more intimate exercise; its images are confined to a screen of much more limited space than the stage. The filmmakers, seemingly unaware of the difference between the mediums, include plenty of unnecessary songs and dance routines that must have looked great on Broadway but take away from the forceful power of the Brothers’ anarchy on film. Another problem probably lies with the Brothers themselves, though it is at no fault of their act. Groucho later recalled of the film’s directors, “One of them didn’t understand English, and the other one didn't understand comedy.” This is an ill-fated combination, especially when dealing with the anarchic Marxes. The Brothers, almost completely inexperienced in the art of film, dashed about the set as if it was a Broadway stage, and cameras had to be set up all over the place to make sure that their movement was captured. They too had not yet learned the difference between stage and film, and they are often so frantic in their movement and leaps across the screen that it is easy to understand why the inexperienced directors had such a hard time filming them. By their next film for Paramount, Animal Crackers, the problem had been rectified, so I guess that they weren’t too pleased with their performances here and took notes. Despite these flaws, the ferocity of the Brothers’ routine still shines through, and still creates enough memorable moments to make The Cocoanuts thoroughly inspired viewing. The plot—if it could be called that—concerns Groucho’s hotel business in Florida. He runs his summer inn like a Facist dictator, refusing to pay his workers and forcing the bellhops to stand in attention at all times, including Zeppo, who would rather sleep at the desk than run it. In the meantime, Chico and Harpo turn up for no apparent reason, and they remain for no apparent reason except to toss their own form of anarchy into the mix, but that motive is good enough. Eventually, they all get plopped right into the middle of a love story and jewel heist that would have been otherwise unbearably dull without them—which is, of course, the point. The Cocoanuts is also responsible for creating formulas and that would immortalize the Brothers’ distinct personalities: Groucho’s nonstop insults and swooning of the patient but irritated Margaret Dumont; Harpo’s woman-chasing demon in the shape of an angelic clown; Chico’s opportunistic nature and partnership with Harpo, not to mention the brilliantly written puns between he and Groucho; Zeppo’s wide-eyed, big-smiled parody of the juvenile role as he headed the unnervingly “happy” employees and extras. Such roles would become their signatures, and would eventually turn the Brothers into Hollywood legends. The gags between the four abound almost non-stop, and most of them work despite the film’s technical limitations. Highlights include the “Why a Duck” routine (of course), Groucho’s insults to the inimitable Dumont (“I can see it now: you and the moon. Wear a necktie so I'll know you.”), the auction scene (“I’ll wrestle any man here for five dollars!”), and the closing sequence, in which the words to the opera Carmen are rewritten in order to—well, they’re just rewritten. Do the Marx Brothers really need a reason why? The Cocoanuts was the first of six films that the Brothers did for Paramount, from 1929-1933 (the others were Animal Crackers, Monkey Business, I’ll Say She Is, Horse Feathers and, arguably their best, Duck Soup). These six remain the best of their many films, due to the fact that instead of being slaves to the films’ plots, the plots were slaves to the Brothers’ anarchic slapstick. Say what you will about A Night at the Opera or A Day at the Races: They may be funny, they may be charming, but they were simply lesser films because they were trapped in formulas that the Brothers were mocking in these earlier productions. The Cocoanuts presents the Brothers in good form, and is a good cinematic first step towards the masterpieces that would follow in the next few years. What cannot be avoided, however, is this production’s enslavement to its technical limitations: When the Brothers’ act merits four stars and the film’s technical achievements merit only two, it is fair to place the final rating somewhere in the middle. Cast: A Paramount Pictures release. Directed by Robert Florey and Joseph Santley. Written by Morrie Ryskind, from the play by George S. Kaufman. No M.P.A.A. rating, but fine for kids. Running time: 96 minutes. Original United States theatrical release date: May 3, 1929 (New York City premier). Questions? Comments? E-mail me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com |
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