We don't know why they stowed away. We don't know where they're going. We don't even know their names. None of these things are important in a movie that positively celebrates anarchy and nonconformity. I've written about two other Marx Brothers movies so far, and I find myself repeating one simple refrain: Plot is the least important aspect in a Marx Brothers movie. It was true in 1931, when Monkey Business was made, and it's just as true seventy years later. It's a real tragedy that some of their directors and producers did not know that.

But we'll get into A Night in Casablanca some other time.

For now, return with me to those thrilling days of yesteryear, as four unidentified stowaways popped out of four barrels marked KIPPERED HERRING and gleefully punctured every balloon marked CONVENTIONAL SOCIETY that they could find...

I like to think of Monkey Business as the First of The Really Great Marx Brothers Movies. The Cocoanuts was half-empty of comedy madness (the optimist would call it half-full), and Animal Crackers was similarly weighted down by unnecessary plot and bad supporting acting, but very little is wrong with this third effort. There are only two minor complaints I have:

1) At 75 minutes, it's a little short.

2) The closing scenes seem to be pulled from a different film altogether.

Neither of these is much cause for alarm. They are only slightly disappointing, as I feel they both signify the same unfortunate truth: Reality must creep in eventually. The stowaways can't run around the ship crashing Punch-and-Judy plays and chasing pretty girls forever. At some point they have to return to shore... so they can begin crashing Punch-and-Judy plays and chasing pretty girls there. Which brings up the biggest reason this movie is one of my all-time favorite comedies: It is an anthem to absurdity, a temporary seaside resort from the cares of the world. (Right now you're probably wondering when I'm going to stop talking in italics. Well, I'll probably stop right now. I can't promise I won't say a few words in boldface though.)

Trouble is brewing in the very first minute of Monkey Business, and it's disguised as four barrels on an ocean liner. The occupants of those barrels make themselves known to us by singing a chorus of "Sweet Adeline." (It is widely believed that the last voice you hear during this singalong is Harpo's, but there's no way to prove or disprove this.) Hardly an eye has a chance to blink before Groucho and Harpo and Chico and Zeppo are running back and forth, bothering every passenger they meet (and there are a lot of them on this boat), grabbing musical instruments for an impromptu (hilariously out-of-tune) performance that lasts mere seconds, taking over a chess game from two old men, and doing about a billion other things they're not supposed to do. In fact, I think of the entire movie as an example of things you're never supposed to do in ordinary society but everyone has wanted to do at some time or another. These are things I plan on doing if I ever discover I have only one day to live. The anarchy is beautiful. (I probably should have put that last sentence in italics, but never mind.)

The stowaways run afoul of a pair of rival gangsters: Alky Briggs (whose wife - played by a gorgeous blond comedienne of the 1930's named Thelma Todd - seems to be looking for the very state of total spontaneity that Groucho and company reside in) and Joe Helton (whose daughter - played by a reasonably attractive brunette named Ruth Hall - is barely onscreen long enough for us to get any idea what she's looking for). Groucho flirts with and plays guitar for Briggs's wife, and Zeppo seems to be in some sort of relationship with Helton's daughter. Chico and Harpo merely chase women, so it can be reasonably assumed that they are having the most fun.

The shipboard sequences amount to a solid hour of chaos and joy. Groucho hides in closets. Harpo and Chico become amateur barbers. Zeppo steals the passport of a celebrity named Maurice Chevalier so they can all get off the ship without being caught. This leads to the best scene in the movie, as each Marx Brother tries to pass himself off as Chevalier by singing the song "You Brought A New Kind of Love To Me." I always crack up when I see Harpo's entrance, walking across the table with mock-pomposity, bouncing with every step... and then madly throwing paperwork all over the room. Anyway, somehow they all manage to get off the ship (I'm still laughing at Harpo so I don't notice it) and next thing you know they're at a party.

This is where the movie veers off toward a different destination for me. It suddenly becomes every other Marx Brothers movie (not that that's a bad thing). I don't know if it was in the Marxes' contracts that in every movie they had to have an extended sequence set at a party for rich-looking people, but it usually works better than it does here. As it stands, there is a great piano solo by Chico and two harp solos by Harpo ("Sugar in the Morning," which is almost Chico's theme song by now, and "O Sole Mio"). There is also a slightly bizarre fight sequence, set in a barn ("If you see it, it's a barn; if you smell it, it's a stable," says Groucho), where Alky Briggs has taken Helton's daughter as a hostage of some sort. Zeppo catches up with Alky Briggs and tears him a new one! Perhaps we as the audience should never witness a Marx Brother punching someone in the face in four separate shots, but I think it looks just realistic enough to win Zeppo our respect. He's not just some anonymous straight man. He's in this thing for the long haul. And he's not afraid to beat the living crap out of a bad guy who kidnaps his girlfriend. Hats off to Zeppo.

Monkey Business is a great tape to pop into the VCR after a long hard day at work. Sit down in front of the air conditioner (or the heater, if it's wintertime) and start wishing the world was really like this. It would be wonderful if it was.


Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: VHS