Naufrágio Amoroso

It's an old line, for sure, but not the usual approach Kay Francis usually used in her romantic relationships. But this is not the usual Kay Francis film, as her role is secondary to Jeannette MacDonald and Jack Oakie in this delightfully silly romp from Paramount. It's a pre-code kind of film, with all kinds of humor in dubious taste, and thus quite appealing to viewers who enjoy a trip into an unrestrained Hollywood product.

There must have been something in the Paramount water in the early 30's, as once in a while they released something completely off-the-wall, full of very broad humor, eccentric stunts, wild dance moves, and plot absurdities--two prime examples were directed by Leo McCarey--this one, and three years later, the comic jewel Duck Soup, with all four Marx Brothers. In between, W.C. Fields starred in Million Dollar Legs, another screwy film taking place in Klopstockia, the nation where all the men are named George and the women are named Angela, and where the office of President is decided by arm wrestling.

In this film, absurdities abound, and if you like your humor more linear or sophisticated, the nonsense may not be appealing...native girls in hula skirts on a remote island speak with a "poifect Brooklyn accent," gravel-voiced Eugene Palette, a house mover, cautions his workers to handle with care, and then, naturally and continually inadvertently smashes vases to smithereens. Oakie breaks out in several tap routines with great charm and elan, and Jeanette seems to be having fun just along for the ride. It makes almost no sense at all, unlike say, Abbott and Costello or The Three Stooges, who at least follow a logical plot line, bordering if not crossing into the territory of surreal.

Unfortunately, sources where this film is available in a decent quality print do not exist, and the DVDs currently available are terribly washed out with fuzzy sound; one seems to be only to see it at Museum and College Retrospectives. It's time for whoever currently controls the early Paramount product to dig these things out--especially the early Kay Francis films not available.

One would expect a great sophisticated farce with magical musical moments with a cast like Kay Francis, Jeanette MacDonald and Jack Oakie. However, things just chug along and most all transitional moments rely on tired slapstick. Jeanette sings a catchy tune at the beginning before leaving onboard for Buenos Aires, but that's it for her, except for a brief dance number. Kay Francis vamps on board ship and gets to duet with Jack Oakie "I've Gotta Yen For You". Oakie is full of his usual pep -- really, they're all in their prime here, it's just a miserable script and poorly directed, by of all people, Leo McCarey. who did BELLE OF THE NINETIES,DUCK SOUP, RUGGLES OF REDGAP,THE AWFUL TRUTH(!) and AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER. What, I wonder, happened here? Only for diehard Francis and MacDonald fans.

This musical comedy defies its own plot and meanders on its merry way from Broadway to an ocean liner headed for Brazil but gets sunk, shipwrecking the stars on a remote island inhabited by natives who have been turned into showgirls by the previous shipwreck victim! With that said, there's little point in trying to follow this film but just sit back and enjoy the funny and sexy Jeanette MacDonald (yes she sings too) as she is romanced by James Hall (he also sings). Hall is mostly forgotten now but was a big star in late silent and early talkies (HELL'S ANGELS). Jack Oakie does to production numbers that are lively and well edited. Kay Francis shows up as an heiress and sings the lovely (I've Got a Yen for You). On the island they meet Skeets Gallagher who has turned the local girls into showgirls (Virginia Bruce and Iris Adrian among them).

Also on hand are David Newell and and funny William Austin as Pistol. Then there's Eugene Palette as head of the moving crew that is repossessing MacDonald's furniture.

MacDonald, Oakie, and Francis are terrific.

I imagine that the average film fan would tell you their leg was being pulled if you told them that Jeanette MacDonald, Jack Oakie, and Kay Francis were the leads in the same film. At the time that Let's Go Native was being made all three were newly signed to Paramount, new because all three of them had their careers made by sound.

Let's Go Native has Jeanette in the role of a dress designer with a cash flow problem. She's just designed a bunch of costumes for a review, but she's sunk all her money into it and the creditors and remember this is the Depression, are at her door. The only way she can get paid is go to Buenos Aires and get her money there.

Also on the cruise are a taxi driver who's taking it on the lam in order to avoid being sued for an accident and that would be Jack Oakie. And there's society girl Kay Francis and young millionaire James Hall whose father has been contriving to get those two married.

A well staged shipwreck given the primitive early sound equipment strands our passengers on a deserted Virgin Island, presided over by Skeets Gallagher and a troop of native women. Everybody then settles down and plays house.

Leo McCarey directed Let's Go Native who later directed some comedy classics like Duck Soup, The Awful Truth, and Ruggles Of Red Gap. Let's Go Native is hardly in their class though it has its moments.

The score by Richard Whiting and George Marion is serviceable, but not memorable. Nothing here got in Jeanette MacDonald's concert repertoire. Jack Oakie has a couple of numbers he delivers with usual bumptious fashion.

Had there been such an Oscar category for special effects, the shipwreck and later earthquake might have gotten Let's Go Native an award. I believe some of the footage is later used in the Bing Crosby-Carole Lombard film, We're Not Dressing.

Let's Go Native is an amusing trifle, dated though and not up to what Leo McCarey later gave us.

Movies don't get much sillier than this one. From the looks of it, the folks who made Let's Go Native wanted only to entertain undemanding viewers with a lightweight, zippy comedy, one that offers a few laughs and a handful of musical numbers tossed in at random moments. In this, they succeeded. Whether or not it might still entertain viewers today depends entirely on the individual's taste for buffoonery, disposable songs, and Jack Oakie. I happened to see this film last night at the Museum of Modern Art, where it was shown as part of a retrospective saluting director Leo McCarey. The recently restored print looked and sounded great. The crowd chuckled indulgently at some of the punchlines, and groaned at others. This is the kind of flick obviously aimed at what they used to call the "tired businessman." I'm not a businessman, but I was kind of sleepy and it worked for me.

Oakie plays a cab driver named Voltaire—don't ask—whose cab gets wrecked, thanks to a silly Englishman named Pistol (William Austin), who is involved in some way I don't recall at the moment with a costume designer named Joan (Jeanette MacDonald), who is broke, because all her money is invested in a traveling revue. Joan, in turn, is involved with a young man named Wally (James Hall), who was disinherited because of his involvement with her. Wally, for his part, is reluctantly involved with an heiress named Constance (Kay Francis), to whom he was betrothed against his wishes. Of course, none of this matters at all, and never did. We're here for the gags, which are hit-or-miss, and the songs, which sound like they were written on the set just before the cameras rolled.

Are there any valid reasons to seek out Let's Go Native? Well, if you enjoy silent era slapstick you'll surely get a kick out of the opening sequence, when Joan's furniture is repossessed by a team of the most inept, accident prone moving men who are not named Laurel or Hardy. And indeed, for this sequence director McCarey employed a number of veteran comics he'd known at the Hal Roach Studio, including Charlie Hall and Harry Bernard. The crew foreman is played by gravel voiced Eugene Palette, also a Roach Studio graduate, who would seldom take on such strenuous roles in his prolific talkie career. If you ever wanted to see him take acrobatic falls and break large objects, here's your chance. Soon afterwards, Oakie's cab gets into a wild chase while Austin hangs from an open car door, and from the looks of it, he did some of his own stunt work. The punchline, when the cab crashes directly into a police station, is right out of the Keystone textbook.

You'd think Miss MacDonald would be profoundly out of place in a movie like this one, but she's just as spirited and lively in Let's Go Native as she is in her Lubitsch vehicles, where her material was considerably more polished. Kay Francis, another good sport, appears abruptly mid-way. She's elegantly attired, plays well with others, and even sings a song without embarrassing herself. But for me, the biggest surprise is Jack Oakie. I've seen him in a number of movies without ever becoming a particular fan, and sometimes he's downright annoying, but I have to say he acquits himself well here. He looks remarkably trim, sings three songs, and even dances passably well. As ever, his comic shtick is a matter of taste, but you have to give the guy credit, he carries this picture, and provides much of its entertainment value.

The director's guidance can be discerned not only in the slapstick gags with the moving men, but also in a shipboard routine, when a minor conflict between passengers and crew members gradually escalates into a melee, as people grab each other's hats and fling them overboard. (Personally I found this business a little forced, but the audience at MoMA seemed to enjoy it.) But then, when the liner collides with a smaller ship, we're suddenly in a serious situation. The panic feels genuine, and frantic cross-cutting only emphasizes the sharp change in tone. Not to worry, however. No one is hurt, and our principle players wind up on a desert island, where the silliness resumes. There are native girls with Brooklyn accents, and a self-proclaimed King (Skeets Gallagher). Increasingly, the picture feels like a live action Fleischer cartoon. Just as the whole enterprise threatens to run out of gas, a volcano erupts. The island breaks apart. A rescue ship beckons. Plot strands are hastily tied up, and before you know it we're looking at that familiar Paramount mountain logo, only without any lava.

Needless to say, director McCarey went on to make far better movies than Let's Go Native. If they'd bothered to hire some decent gag writers to punch up the script, it could have been on par with such classics of wackiness as Million Dollar Legs or We're Not Dressing, both made at Paramount within a few years, each of which it resembles. Even so, this curious flick presumably kept patrons happy at the time. It's like a big box of buttered popcorn, low on nutritional value, but perfectly okay for a summer evening, whether or not you're a tired businessman.