Murph-17

The zaniest, most cartoonlike of all Harold Lloyd features recaptures the energetic anarchy of his wilder short subjects while at the same time drawing from the sort of satirical innocent-ugly-American-abroad adventures that Douglas Fairbanks and Anita Loos had popularized in the teens.

Lloyd plays an obtuse millionaire hypochondriac who "has taken so many pills he rattles when he walks." He blunders into a banana republic's revolution and must defeat a dictatorial regime backed by an unscrupulous Yankee. Along the way, he faces up to his imaginary ills and falls for his spunky, long-suffering nurse -- ably played by the quietly sexy Jobyna Ralston in her first feature as Lloyd's love interest. But the real star is John Aase n -- all eight feet, nine and a half inches of him -- who makes an excellent 503 pound mad hermit, buddying up with Lloyd for some of the most improbable and unrelenting sight gag sequences ever put on film -- among them, an extended effort to pull the giant's aching tooth.

The setting is obviously Latin America (and, in fact, the whole film functions nicely as propaganda, artfully fudging the United States' imperial subjugation of the region by focusing on a single American villain) but when real-life Mexicans earnestly protested the film's stereotypes, Lloyd responded by changing the intertitles to suggest that the whole thing takes place on a mythical island. I can't imagine anyone was fooled by this since the Latino stereotypes still dominate the film: lazy peasants, greasy strongmen, etc.

Why Worry? grossed slightly less at the box office than Lloyd's previous film, Safety Last (almost $1.5 million vs. almost $1.6 million), and cost about a hundred thousand dollars more to make (almost $221,000 vs. almost $121,000). It was his last film for producer Hal Roach. Lloyd went on to make his next ten films independently for release through distributors like Pathe, Paramount and Fox -- but despite a few wild sequences in films like Hot Water and For Heaven's Sake, he never again made a picture quite as snappy and offbeat as Why Worry?

If the film looks back to Fairbanks, it looks ahead to the hypochondriac heroes of Broadway's The Nervous Wreck and its film versions, including Eddie Cantor's Whoopee! and Danny Kaye's Up in Arms, not to mention the mythical political intrigue of W. C. Fields' Million Dollar Legs, the Marx Brothers' Duck Soup, Woody Allen's Bananas, and much else in the realm of American low comedy.

A well-directed melodrama with a near-flawless cast. Director Herbert Brenon (or his editor) lets the story unfold at a steady but never slow pace, nicely managing the suspense, but giving you perhaps too much time to ponder some of the oddities that crop up in the plot. Why, for instance, when everyone is standing in a room from which a valuable jewel has just been stolen by a culprit who is clearly still present, do they not simply search the room? Why do the three brothers, each separately on the run, condemn themselves to joining the French Foreign Legion (simultaneously, no less!) if all of them know they're not guilty of any great crime and thus consciously ignore their family's desperate financial straits? They could have at least sent some of their Legion pay back home to mother.

Those Legionnaires got paid a wad of dough because -- in real life, anyhow -- they were brutal, mercenary killers employed by an imperialist power to wipe out Arabs and anybody else who got in its way. Not that the Arabs were such nice guys either but, of course, the film presents all this with the complexity of a cowboys-and-Indians B western. Having your hero join the Legion with no qualms is sort of like having your hero join the Ku Klux Klan, except that the Klan wasn't as efficient a group of racist mass-murderers.

Absurdities and implausiblities aside, the film holds its grip pretty well, not because of epic elements like mobs of attacking Arabs, shots of marvelously oppressive desert vistas, etc., but because of the unstressed acting amidst all the mayhem and intrigue. I tend to agree with the critic who wrote that, in the 1939 version, Gary Cooper merely played Gary Cooper but that, in the '26 version, Ronald Colman embodied Beau Geste. Everyone else is fine and if the villain is over-the-top, it's certainly forgivable on this occasion.

There's a lot of bugling in these French Foreign Legion pictures and whoever accompanies this long silent will have to struggle to stay in perfect sync with all the various fanfares, especially a necessary rendition of "Taps" near the climax.

A not-entirely-successful, offbeat, change-of-pace for America's alleged Sweetheart, Mary Pickford. Playing a Cockney laundress in an excellently re-created London, she is at her best with the comedy: falling in and out of laundry bins, hiding under baskets, keeping a horse in her apartment, etc. As for the pathos, our heroine is less sympathetic here than usual, mainly because most of the character's problems are brought on by herself and her own unhealthy fantasy life (some of which is depicted in a lengthy, but wonderfully loopy, imaginary flashback). There is no real villain to overcome but herself -- and she fails to manage a victory. The ending (or endings -- three different final scenes were filmed) is abrupt and not terribly convincing. The supporting cast, though competent, is unmemorable -- except, perhaps, for Lavender, the horse, who gets a couple of good bits, including a final sight gag in one of the endings: pulling a chair, and the movie, out from under poor Mary.