Cast:
Mae West (Flower Belle Lee), W. C. Fields (Cuthbert J. Twillie), Joseph Calleia (Jeff Badger/Masked Bandit), Dick Foran (Wayne Carter), Margaret Hamilton (Mrs. Gideon), Donald Meek (Amos Budge), Ruth Donnelly (Aunt Lou), Willard Robertson (Uncle John), Fuzzy Knight (Cousin Zeb), George Moran (Milton), Anne Nagel (Miss Foster), and William B. Davidson (Sheriff) Directed by Edward F. Cline (#877 - Three Ages, #1354 - The Bank Dick, #2483 - You Can't Cheat an Honest Man)
Review:
What better way to go through another W. C. Fields movie than one with a bit of a twist? Apparently, one impetus for the film was the relative popularity of 1939's Destry Rides Again, otherwise known as the Western comedy with Marlene Dietrich and James Stewart that happened to deal with a new sheriff in town. Obviously why not go to the wheelbarrow and pair Fields, who had been in the moderately interesting You Can't Cheat an Honest Man the previous year...with West, who was looking for a comeback after her association with Paramount Pictures ended (you might remember that her sexually suggestive humor was made harder with growing censorship) with Every Day's a Holiday (1937). West claimed in later times that she wrote the majority of the film, while Fields was behind the bar scene and select parts of the dialogue, as one does when favoring ad-libbing. Used to being the big stars, they did not warm up to each other and West apparently never wanted to talk to or talk about Fields again. Naturally, there were still lines cut from the final release due, to, well, censors (hey, if you think people sound weird about sex or people, consider the dorks of yesteryear). This was the third of five movies that Fields made with Cline, with the others being Million Dollar Legs (1932), the aforementioned Honest Man, The Bank Dick (made and released the same year), and Never Give a Sucker an Even Break (1941). The movie was a fairly decent hit with audiences. As for West, her next film came with The Heat's On (1943) for Columbia Pictures, which went so well that she promptly didn't make a film again until Myra Breckinridge (1970), instead focusing her time with nightclubs, stage shows, and Broadway revivals* for years on end.
It is the type of movie that looks great.... on paper. It merrily moves along for 84 minutes with a few good jokes and some interesting ideas of playing around with the Western with a goofy sheriff stumbling onto the scene. And then you realize, good god, this really did need just one big star and not two. Either focus on the zippy charm of West (remember that she was in her late forties doing this film and be astonished) or go along with the flim-flam world of Fields and his type of lines, because it basically feels like an episodic movie in search of more. You get your moments in the bar and with Fields yammering the huckster line, don't get that twisted. The sequence where West holds her own during a Native American attack* (done right before the "marriage" scene) certainly gives off more of an impression than most of what Fields does here, where he isn't even present during a schooling sequence involving shaping the lads up (that goes to West, as one does). Even the love triangle between West, Calleia, and Foran doesn't have the tinge of fire that you might hope for in generating anything other than a casual laugh in the circumstances that West glides along to (i.e. not caring about what one might think and moving to the beat of her own drum). At least folks like Hamilton feel right at home in busybody silliness. By the time the movie lumbers to its conclusion, you almost wish the movie had actually started right where it ended in seeing what life might be for West in the "maybe I'll choose today or tomorrow" phase with men and a town like this. As a whole, even a movie that probably does not live up to all of the potential that you would think would come from such a neat pair up is still a good enough movie to go along with, regardless of how many films you've circled around with Fields or West.
Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.
*And then there was Sextette (1978), the one loosely based on her own play that saw West, now in her eighties, play a sex symbol with an ensemble cast. She died in 1980 at the age of 87.
*The tiniest bit of gripes not exactly related to the movie. I never understood the discourse about how to refer to Native Americans past, say, the year 1980. What the hell is the argument to call them Indians when there are people from India? I know about the "Indigenous" word but, you know, no.
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