International House

Paramount had the brilliant idea of featuring radio in the movies the previous year with The Big Broadcast. That film featured all kinds of radio stars the public only imagined and had an anarchic plot similar to International House.

I've often wondered if Paramount didn't mean to have this be The Big Broadcast of 1933 originally. Repeating from the cast of The Big Broadcast are Stu Erwin and Burns & Allen and Cab Calloway. Adding to the general hilarity are W.C. Fields, Franklin Pangborn, Rudy Vallee, Bela Lugosi, and the Paris Hilton of her day, Peggy Hopkins Joyce.

The slender thread of a plot this movie hangs on involves a Chinese inventor Edmund Breon who invents the seeing eye, radio you can see as well as listen to. Everyone wants to get their hands on this valuable patent. A lot of the musical guest stars get hooked into the film via the inventor testing out the device.

Bing Crosby made his feature film starring debut in The Big Broadcast and I wonder why his crooning rival Rudy Vallee was hired for this film. Rudy has a nice, but unmemorable number.

Of course what makes the film really go are Burns and Allen and W.C. Fields. They uplift any film they are in. George and Gracie's montypythonesque type dialog is timeless and priceless.

So is Fields of course, the eternal misanthrope. There was one bit of humor I caught in International House though that is rather dated. During that final chase scene through the International House lobby with Fields in an automobile, he pokes his head through the car roof and puts his top hat on. He then remarks something about this car used to belong to the Postmaster General.

As it turns out Herbert Hoover's Postmaster General was a rather fatuous gentlemen named Walter Brown. He liked to wear high silk hats and had a limousine designed with an extra tall roof so he could ride with his topper on. At government expense of course in the middle of the Depression. He was forever derided as High Hat Brown after that and even a year later after Hoover was out of office, W.C. Fields could wring a laugh or two with that crack from the Depression audience.

Still though, this should really be called The Big Broadcast of 1933.

International House (1933)

*** 1/2 (out of 4)

An all-star cast is the highlight of this comedy about a wacky group of characters who go to a Chinese hotel to bid on a new invention (the television). With a cast that includes W.C. Fields, Peggy Hopkins Joyce, Stewart Erwin, George Burns, Gracie Allen and Bela Lugosi, there's really something here for everyone. The film is certainly uneven but that's not really a problem since the movie is just set up to gets laughs at any way possible. I'm really not that big of a fan of Fields but I enjoyed his performance here. Burns and Allen certainly steal the show but I felt Lugosi gave one of his best performances here as well.

Why did Gracie Allen's sister learn French? Because she inadvertently took home a French baby, rather than her own, and wanted to be able to talk to him when he grew up. And why does cheerfully soused W.C. Fields have a roadster in his auto-gyro? For side-trips, of course -- like the one that takes him careening through the corridors, lounges and lobbies of the grandest hotel in Wu Hu China. It's right across the street from the flophouse where Bela Lugosi as gold digger Peggy Ann Joyce's insanely jealous ex-husband has been forced to reside. As for how Cab Calloway, singing a tribute to the heady pleasures of pot, and Rudy Vallee, serenading his megaphone, wander into the movie, they're among the images scanned up by a Chinese inventor who's attempting to televise a six-day bike race before television (as we know it today) was invented. Other pleasures in "International House" range from ten-year-old baby RoseMarie (who would eventually be the adult RoseMarie of the "Dick Van Dyke Show") doing a Sophie Tucker low blues and some surprisingly agile hoofing by Sterling Halloway. Fields' mumbling, bumbling, boozy millionaire staggers off with the comedy honors. But you don't even have to be Wiliam Claude Dukenfeld fan to find a lot to enjoy.

Early form of television that doesn't need a broadcast station brings people from all over the world to Wu Hu China with the hopes of buying it. Among those at the hotel guests are George Burns and Gracie Allen (as the hotel doctor and nurse), Bela Lugosi as a Russian General, WC Fields as a mad Professor, Frank Pangborn as the Hotel manager, and Sterling Halloway. While through the magic of TV we see Rudy Vallee, Rose Marie and Cab Calloway (who performs Reefer Man).

Wild comedy that is the sort of big budget multi star film that could only have been made in the studio system. Tighter story wise than many of the films of this sort its really more an excuse to have Burns and Allen and WC Fields be very funny for just over an hour. The jokes come along at a good clip, and since this is really pre-code they are often shaded slightly blue. To be certain the Burns and Allen stuff is close to being a cliché form of their routine, but its still funny. Fields arrival by auto-gyro heralds the arrival of Fields as a comic force to be reckoned with, as the film ceases to be about nothing so much much as Fields running over everyone and everything.He's a hysterical. Also amazing is Bela Lugosi in a rare comic turn. Bela plays it straight and his slow burn is funny enough that he clearly in the running with Edgar Kennedy as the man with the best one in Hollywood. He's so good at being silly one can't help but wish he had never made Dracula and been typecast as such.

This is a real gem.

International House is the cinematic equivalent of a root beer float: not exactly nutritious, but it sure makes you feel good. This is the kind of movie that somehow creates an atmosphere of great comedy, even when the comedy isn't so great. Of course, it helps if you enjoy flicks of the Pre-Code era, the jazz and pop of the early '30s, and performers such as W.C. Fields, George Burns & Gracie Allen, Cab Calloway, etc. (Personally I love these folks, and relish seeing them in practically anything.) Even so, you may find that some of the punch-lines fall flat, either because they're based on obscure topical references or because they weren't all that funny in the first place, or maybe because the jokes are supposed to be dumb and the dumbness itself is the joke. In the end I have to conclude that whatever success this film achieves is due almost entirely to the charisma of the larger-than-life personalities of stage, screen, and radio assembled to put the material across. I can't think of another comedy with so many dead spots and missed opportunities that is so defiantly enjoyable anyhow.

Our story concerns the demonstration of a new invention, television, in a luxury hotel in Wu Hu, China. Dr. Wong, the inventor of this device (quaintly termed a "radio-scope" here) is entertaining bids from various international companies for the rights to his invention, and the competition for this prize forms what little plot there is. Clearly, the premise is just a flimsy excuse to throw together a batch of comic skits, songs, and star turns of one sort or another. Some of the stars have lost their luster with the passage of time; the male lead is a rather unappealing comic named Stuart Erwin who was mysteriously featured in several Paramount films of the period, while the leading lady is a once-famous celebrity named Peggy Hopkins Joyce who plays herself. Joyce was a former showgirl who was better known for marrying and divorcing millionaires than for her acting skill: the Zsa Zsa Gabor of her time. Happily, however, Erwin and Joyce quickly fade into the woodwork while we enjoy the antics of the more appealing players.

There's a lot to enjoy here: Gracie Allen as the ditsy dame, hotel manager Franklin Pangborn in full fuss-budget mode, a strangely out-of-place Bela Lugosi as one of Miss Joyce's jealous ex-husbands, and of course W.C. Fields as the drunken lecher Professor Quail. I've always enjoyed Fields a great deal but must confess I have mixed feelings about his work here. Quail isn't the long-suffering Dad of It's a Gift or the lovable rogue of The Old Fashioned Way, he's sour and generally obnoxious. For me this characterization plays better in some scenes (i.e. his confrontation with Gracie) than in others (his destruction of the telephone switchboard). Fields' funniest sequence is one in which he and Miss Joyce temporarily share a bedroom suite, while each is unaware of the other's presence. I also have mixed feelings about Burns & Allen's routines on this occasion, but even when their jokes are lousy they punch 'em across with sheer panache.

Who else is at the party? Well, Cab Calloway's music is great, and his number in the uncensored version of this movie, an up-tempo tribute to marijuana called "Reefer Man," is a real jaw-dropper -- no wonder it was cut from the T.V. prints! Baby Rose Marie, already a seasoned trouper at age 10, is downright eerie belting out her torch ballad like a low-down, red hot mama. Rudy Vallee's number has always been my cue to head for the john. And then, there are a couple of lingering mysteries: why is Dr. Wong is so doggedly determined to tune-in the six-day bicycle race at Madison Square Garden? And how did the two guys who call themselves Colonel Stoopnagle & Budd get into this movie? Their brief scene is a total dud, and their appeal escapes me completely. On the other hand, that musical number with the giant teacups, Sterling Holloway, and dancers with spoons in their hair makes me feel like I've suddenly ingested hallucinogenic mushrooms. In a nice way, I mean.

If nothing else this movie has given the world a notable punch-line, the one found in my subject heading above. This, of course, is Professor Quail's immortal retort to the fussy little hotel manager when he assumes the fellow is making a pass at him. I went to a public screening of International House recently and overheard two different people quoting the line in the lobby beforehand. If you find that line funny -- and I certainly do -- then this oddball comedy may suit your palate. After all, a root beer float now and again never killed anybody.