Skip to main content

The Marx Brothers

I don't have a specific movie to review today, so I will just honor the Marx Brothers, and it isn't even a birthday.

I can't stand Laurel and Hardy, and the Three Stooges make me want to wash my hands, but the Marx Brothers--I love the Marx Brothers, every one of them. Their humor is so odd, and their individual characters are so quirky, I can't help but laugh just at the thought of them. The plot of their films is incidental (thin at best). The formula in their scripts is predictable. Their gimmicks are the same from movie to movie. But none of that matters.

Groucho finagled. Harpo played the harp. Chico played the piano. Groucho tormented Margaret Dumont's society broad character. Harpo threw his leg at annoyed bystanders and honked a horn. Chico pretended to be Italian. It was always the same, and it was always fun.

Gummo began as an entertainer but later became an agent and manager. Zeppo was a straight man in many of the brothers' films, but he was more successful as an inventor. The story goes they were using their given names in their vaudeville act but their nicknames backstage. Someone, after hearing their odd nicknames, suggested they use them on stage as well. Chico, by the way, is pronounced like "chick," as he was quite the ladies' man.

I have a boxed set of Marx Brothers DVDs, and as much as I like Duck Soup and the Big Store, my favorite is A Night at the Opera. They are all stowed away in a cabin on a ship, and in the most memorable scene, they manage to fill the room beyond capacity in a ridiculous set of circumstances, with Chico continuously ordering two hard boiled eggs from room service.

Here are a few snappy lines that make me chuckle, all from different films: ha ha, hee hee, baa ha ha, knee slapper. And just to be silly, here is Groucho singing Lydia the Tattooed Lady from At the Circus.

Comments

dive said…
Lydia, oh Lydia …
Wonderful, Robyn!
That's all my free time gone for the rest of the week. I'll be watching the Marx Brothers and laughing myself silly.
Thank you so much for the reminder.
7:54 AM
Sassy Sundry said…
Hee hee. Just looking at the pictures makes me giggle.
8:01 AM
Anonymous said…
I couldn't agree with you more about the 3 Stooges. I don't know any women who think they are funny.
8:39 AM
dive said…
Rats! The links aren't working.
All the more reason to go watch the movies.
8:39 AM
Scout said…
Oops. Try the links again. The song is a classic.
8:51 AM
Neponset River Bridge Dig said…
Night at the Opera is one of my favorites too.

Let's say we get out that boxed set and make up a batch of pop corn and settle in for some good ole fashion humor?
12:53 PM
Neponset River Bridge Dig said…
BTW - No women like the three stoogers - you're not supposed to. So don't watch it.

hey Shemp give me that wrench will ya?
12:55 PM
Full said…
Didn't Zeppo invent the bomb release mechanism used on "Enola Gay"?

What about the forgotten brothers "Skid" & "Stretch"?

I preferred Laurel & Hardy myself.
3:01 PM
Scout said…
Yep--he invented the clamps that held the bomb at least. And he invented a wristwatch that monitored pulse rates and alarmed when the wearer went into cardiac arrest. Versatile.
4:07 PM
Gina said…
Love the Marx Brothers the most out of all the "male" comedy of that era, with perhaps the exception of Abbot and Costello.
4:19 PM
Scout said…
Gina--point taken. Abbot and Costello were a likable team. When I was growing up, a local oldies station played their movies on Saturday afternoons.
5:01 PM
Ame said…
HEY GIRLFRIEND! HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHO!

Long time no seeeeeeeeeee!

You cracked me up with that "wash my hands" comment...sounds like me around this place with all the BOY germs! LOL!

Love the Marx Bros too!

Smiling as we speak! Great tribute!

=)))
xo
2:45 AM
Anonymous said…
I confess to being a neanderthal having never watched the Marx brothers. However I was threatened with being renamed "lydia" if i get any more tattoos.
7:07 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...
20 comments
Read more

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...
18 comments
Read more

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...
18 comments
Read more