thingsyoucantelljustbylookingatherblog

After the charming delights of Tucci’s Jumbo Unendingly, this knockabout ’30s farce comes as a severe disappointment. Its intentions are made unblemished from the opening credits sequence: with its trend and intertitles recalling soundless movies, hapless span Arthur (Tucci) and Maurice (Platt) vie to play the ‘death scene’ in requital for one of their cons. Two scarceness-stricken thesps, they load away as stewards on the ‘Continental’ liner to escape a charge of aggression on a boozy, talentless English thea- trical knight (Molina), no greater than as regards the great man to appear, cops in tow. This is distictly old- fashioned cost, with Foundation-grow older capers and dastardly disguises, systematized at the edge of self-mimicry, ham with egg on the impudence. In scenes that blend the worst of Agatha Christie with the ignoblest of Brian Rix, cameos into a-plenty, each more embarrassing than its forerunner. Plots hatch, robberies occur, deceitfulness descends, lies are plied – our spirits falter.