The Fatal Glass of Beer

This early short subject, beloved to some of us; really shows one of the great qualities that would set his (best) comedy apart: he was strange. Not exactly verbal comedy, nor really slapstick, W.C. seemed to create his own oddball universe much like, but never quite, ours.

I loved this short from the first time I saw it as a kid, and I think it's one of a kindness really makes it his best (though others are quite funny.) Mack Sennett wanted something more in the way of conventional slapstick; Feilds had to fight for this; which is in part a spoof of sentimental wilderness poetry about Alaska.

Nobody liked it at the time. Fields himself said, "maybe it's not good. But I like it." Thank Godness he stuck by his guns and went on to create his own one of a kind comedy world.

With an effective blend of the subtle and the outlandish, this comedy is one of the most memorable and distinctive of W. C. Fields's short movies. It works well both as a spoof of movie-making techniques (especially from, but hardly limited to, the old melodramas), and also as a showcase for Fields's array of comic skills. There is the silly song about "The Fatal Glass of Beer", plenty of sight gags, the recurring "ain't a fit night out" gag, and more.

It all works even better when you watch it over again - Fields can be so unpredictable that you don't notice all the subtleties when you're still trying to figure out where it's all going. This one has plenty of good moments and also, despite its deceptively simple appearance, some careful craftsmanship.

They say that W.C. Fields was unique among comedians, and I'm not going to argue. 'The Fatal Glass of Beer (1933),' generally ranked among his best efforts, wasn't as consistently hilarious as I'd been hoping, but one does certainly recognise that Fields had a style that was all his own. The film opens in the frozen Yukon goldfields, where a prospector sits huddled in the primitive shelter of a wooden hut – I immediately thought of Chaplin in 'The Gold Rush (1925),' but then the characters started speaking and the spell was broken. The loose plot concerns a simpleton prospector whose son travelled to the city and was consumed by the bottle, eventually winding up in prison for three years. It all unfolds in mock seriousness, with every character shamelessly hamming their lines to the camera in broad, ridiculous accents. From Fields' apparent contempt for his own storyline, I'd say he was satirising a type of film that was relatively common in the early sound era, the sort of sombre morality tale about the corruption of the Big City on impressionable rural minds.

Perhaps Fields' type of comedy takes some getting used to, and his absurdist style of wit might easily be misconstrued as sloppy or stilted. Are those rear projections supposed to look so ridiculously fake? I'd like to think so, but, then again, I've seen many movies where obviously-bogus backgrounds have been used with a completely straight face. A lot of the time, Fields' lack of subtlety works perfectly. There's absolutely no reason why getting hit in the face with snow after saying "and it ain't a fit night out for man nor beast" should be funny the sixth time around, but I laughed every time it happened. There's also a droll self-referential moment when Fields chokes on the artificial snow and declares, "tastes more like cornflakes." Even so, while good for the occasional chuckle, 'The Fatal Glass of Beer' feels oddly sparse in terms of laugh-out-loud jokes, and I certainly wasn't rolling in the aisles. Straight afterwards, I watched Buster Keaton's 'Cops (1922),' and that actually did have me laughing my head off – but that'd be opening a whole new can of worms, wouldn't it?

I take this to be a satire on the original "Fatal Glass of Beer" of thirteen years earlier (directed by Todd Browning!) and a poke in the eye of all maudlin movies about remorse and the return of the prodigal son.

It's the Canadian Northwest during a brutal blizzard. Fields, all wrapped up, sings a sad song to a visiting Mountie while playing the dulcimer with a massive mitten. bringing the listener to tears.

Returning home to his wife after "milking the moose", he finds his son returning home after being released from prison, sentenced after having had a single glass of beer that prompted him to steal some valuable bonds.

"Tell me, son, what did you do with the bonds?" And then guess what happens.

Funniest running gag. Five times -- count 'em -- five, Field stands in a doorway and proclaims that it's not a fit day out for man or beast, and has a bucket full of fake snow thrown in his face from offscreen.

Not Field's best. It's lost some luster over the years because maudlin movies are harder to find. Today, Fields satire would have to be directed at action movies.

I first saw this send-up of "the prodigal son" in a film course. I think my teacher and I were the only 2 people laughing. I was astonished that a film that looks like it was filmed in a garage could make my face hurt. It has a wonderfully screwy story arc, and corny gags. It's all over the place and ends abruptly, but I love it.

The Vaudeville origins of some corny bits (the snow gag) amuse. Other motifs of the period are not worthy of inclusion, but what little writing there is makes me laugh as hard as anything recent. Fields' hogwash title ditty is pretty terrific. I especially love a few of the sight gags, including a runt of a dog on a sled team, a leggy salvation army gal, and W.C. calling for Lena the elk. The sound quality is heinous, but the arbitrary scene changes relieve some of the tedium and claustrophobia of other Fields shorts (The Golf Specialist).

It mocks everything in sight; staginess, melodrama, piety, propriety, actors who mispronounce words. I don't know that there any other 18 minutes of film make me smile as much as this ridiculous little movie.