The Cocoanuts

Vaudeville is dead. At least in cinema it is. Some of today’s concert dog and pony shows can trace their roots to that antediluvian entertainment format, more so than most people today can imagine. But in movies it’s as dead as the proverbial doornail. And this movie shows why it had to go. That’s really what this movie is: filmed vaudeville. It presents a series of staged set pieces, some of them musical numbers of forgettable character, others comedic bits that are hit-and-miss as far as the funny goes. That’s rather surprising, given all that the Marx Brothers would eventually accomplish in later films, but here only some of the comedy hits the mark. It is also fair to say that the movie’s pacing is too slow, and the story does not generate enough interest to hold the viewer’s attention. Frankly, I got bored with this film before it reached its climax. All of those flaws probably didn’t matter much to audiences in 1929, who were simply astonished that actors in films could actually talk—but for those of us left here today, it all adds up to less than what we would hope to see. This film stands largely as an historical document, a work that shows how a classic group’s career arc started, but hardly the team’s best effort. Speaking of history, one item worth noting is how much of the plot—such as it is—revolves around grifters and shady business dealings, i.e., selling swamp land in Florida. It may be comforting, perhaps, in these days of the reign of The Great Bezzle, that it has ever been thus—and thus perhaps better times could come again. One can wish. As for the Marxes, one mostly wishes for viewers that they focus on later, better efforts than this one.