THE MARX BROTHERS

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The crazy comic team







In the early 1950's, when I first started seeing English films, there were a number of comic teams seen on the screen frequently. Apart from Laurel and Hardy, there were Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis and The Three Stooges. There were also occasional pairings like Bing Crosby and Bob Hope and Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye. As an avid film fan, I enjoyed all of these with the exception perhaps of The Three Stooges whom I found rather crude and too obvious.


One day a theatre that normally did not show English films screened `The Big Store'. I saw this film, which was my introduction to the Marx Brothers. The three brothers, Groucho, Harpo and Chico whipped up a great deal of energy in their riotous comic routines. (Another brother, Zeppo, appeared occasionally in these films.)


From then on, I made it a point to see every Marx Brothers film as and when I could. I later acquired several of their films for my collection of videocassettes.
Groucho sported an enormous painted moustache and bristling eyebrows. He walked like a bird in a hurry and worked his eyebrows and squint-eyed stares to great effect. Chico was the shrewd one, trying to get some order into the zany shenanigans of his brothers, using a peculiar brand of English. Harpo of the curly hair and bulging eyes played a dumb one, who communicated only with a shrill series of whistles and crazy gestures. The actress Margaret Dumont appeared in many of these films as a lady besotted with Groucho.


A Breakdown of Logic

When Chico and Groucho got into a conversation there was a thorough breakdown of logic and sense. Here is an example from the film, `Horsefeathers'(1932).
CHICO: Who are you?
GROUCHO: I'm fine, thanks. Who are you?
CH: I'm fine too. But you can't come in unless you give the password.
GR: Well, what is the password?
CH: Aw, no. You gotta tell me. Hey, I tell you what I do. I give you three guesses... .. It's the name of a fish.
GR: Is it Mary?
CH: Ha ha! Ats a no fish!
GR: She isn't? Well, she certainly drinks like one. Let me see... .. Is it sturgeon? CH: Ah, You crazy. Surgeon he's a doctor, cuts you open whenna you sick... .Now I give you one more chance.
GR: I got it! Haddock!
CH: Atsa funny, I gotta haddock too.
GR: What do you take for a haddock?
CH: Wella , sometimes I take an aspirin, sometimes I take a calamel.
GR: Say, I'd walk a mile for a calamel.
CH: You mean chocolate calamel. I like that too. But you no guess it. Hey, whatsa matter, you no understand English? You can't come in here unless you say swordfish. Now I give you one more guess.
GR: Swordfish... . I think I got it. Is it swordfish?
CH: Hah! At's it! You guess it!
GR: Pretty good, eh?

Most of the dialogue in their films is in this vein. And then there are the crazy antics like roller skating on shelves and cabinets in `The Big Store'(1941). In `Room Service'(1938), a small cabin gets packed with numerous people. When someone opens the door from outside, people spill out with a force like a cork popping out of a bottle. In `Go West'(1940), the Marx Bros are guiding a train through dangerous territory. When they run out of coal, they chop up the three coaches and feed the furnace. All activities in a Marx Bros film are sure to be winningly quixotic. Bernard Shaw once said: "Cedric Hardwick is my fourth favourite actor, the first three being the Marx Brothers'.


Beautiful Moments

In addition to the zany comedy these films have some beautiful dances like the water ballet in `A Day at the Races'(1937).


There is some soulful singing in `A Night at the Opera'(1935). The wonderful piano playing of Chico and the stunning harp music of Harpo are featured in every Marx Bros film. Chico's fingers do a merry dance on the keyboard providing a virtuoso performance while being funny in the movements. Harpo's performance on the harp is truly impressive. And there are always some comic touches while they perform on their instruments.


It is said that during World War II, Winston Churchill took time off to watch a Marx Bros film, and refused to leave even when there was a call from the War Room. He even forgot to light his cigar we hear.


Perhaps he found more logic in the Marx Bros flick than in the real war that was going on.



J.VASANTHAN

THE STREET WHERE WE LIVED

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Coexistence in camaraderie






As a youngster, I lived in a street called Collector's Bungalow Road in Kovilpatti. There was a government bungalow there, which was occupied by a sub-divisional magistrate, not a Collector. But, somehow, the `Collector' got into the name. Later, it was cut short to `Bungalow Street,' which was more appropriate. Among the bungalows was one belonging to the Zamindar of Kuruvikulam. Gandhiji halted here briefly during one of his whirlwind tours of the country. Later, the Zamindar sold off this bungalow.


What is in a name

The people living on Bungalow Street used their caste names, but they moved with their neighbours without any consciousness of caste or creed. Theetharappa Mudaliar, Arasappa Pillai, Krishna Raja, Nataraja Nadar and Susaiyappa Naidu, who was a Catholic, mingled in social camaraderie all through the year. And the children and grandchildren of these neighbours all played together. We played a lot of native games in addition to hockey and football. The girls played games like `Pandi.' On moonlit nights, we played hide-and-seek, and guessing games after dinner.


On festival days, sweets were distributed to all houses. When `Kaarthigai dheepams' were lit, they were lit in all houses. And When Christmas came, there were paper lanterns hanging in all houses. Those days there were no Xmas lanterns available in the shops, and so had to be made at home. All the young ladies got together to make these lanterns. They never thought about what religion they belonged to.


And when youngsters were recruited for carol rounds, many non-Christian boys also joined in. (Girls never came on carol rounds those days). I was taken along not because I sang well, but because I made a lot of noise, which was necessary to wake up sleeping householders. Crackers were burst by all the boys during Deepavali and Christmas. Sometimes, some families joined together and had moonlight dinners (Nila Choru) on the terrace of one of the houses.


Highbrows and lowbrows

The men of our street, along with some others from neighbouring areas, started a literary association where they gathered in the evenings and discussed literary or philosophical questions. They also played carom, chess or bridge when they wearied of intellectual fare.

One of my aunts who lived in Bangalore had come home for a vacation. She organized a dinner in which she tried to incorporate the sophisticated practices of her high society friends. There were place cards for each diner which had a kind of riddle, which, when solved, would give the identity of the diner, and he had to sit in that place. She looked forward with great anticipation to the way the diners would react.
She was terribly disappointed when the gentlemen of the neighbourhood brushed aside the card routine and plumped themselves wherever they wanted. "Why all this, just serve the food" (Idhellaam edhukku, summa saappaadu podamma). She went off into the next room in a huff, muttering, "Country louts." They were perhaps not too sophisticated but they were wonderfully humane. At times of need they showed great concern, compassion and brotherly love.


Since those days, I have lived in several other streets in so many cities. But Bungalow Street is still on my mind, evoking pleasant memories of an ideal neighbourhood.



J. VASANTHAN
© Copyright 2000 - 2009 The Hindu

YOUNG COLLABORATORS

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A creative duo




When I was studying in the Second Form (VII Std), I had an eager desire to write and illustrate stories. I decided to bring out a handwritten magazine. My collaborator in this venture was a girl called Janaki, who lived next door to us. She was one year older to me and in the Third Form.


Creating a Magazine

Janaki and I had always been in competition, whether in quiz contests or stage performances. But we joined hands for writing the magazine. Janaki wrote a few stories, and I did a few. I also illustrated all the stories. Janaki did the fair copying since she had a neat handwriting.


At first we called our magazine `Jagajothi'. Someone told us that this was too long a name, and that we should think of a shorter, catchier name. So our magazine was re-named `Dheepam'. One corner of the verandah of our house was converted into the magazine office. When the first issue came out, a number of our seniors in school made it a point to meet us and appreciate our creativity. The people living in our street too were much impressed by the magazine. Some of them advised us to have the magazine bound since it might get torn otherwise. They also offered to pay for the binding. Some others came forward to buy us the paper and ink. Soon we were bringing out a neatly bound magazine with coloured drawings and rather melodramatic stories. The magazine was published regularly until we reached the Fifth and Sixth Forms respectively.


Fiddling Away

Janaki and I also tried to learn how to play the violin. There was a music teacher called Tommy Vaathiyaar who lived two houses away. He told us where to buy the violins and then we both were ready to start learning.


After the first few days when we were doing elementary exercises in Carnatic music, Tommy Vaathiyar said that Janaki didn't have the hand for violin playing since her fingers were not flexible enough. "What about this chap then?" Janaki asked angrily, pointing to me. "He has the right fingering style" said the Vaathiyaar much to the chagrin of Janaki. Anyway, Janaki refused to drop out, and we both continued bothering the neighbourhood with our fiddling.


Sometimes at home I tried to play some popular songs on the violin. Tommy Vaathiyaar bellowed from his house: "Dey! I'll break your fingers if you play such music". And I would hurriedly shift to jenda varisai or some such exercise.


We went past swarajathi and started on keerthanais when Tommy Vaathiyar suddenly went insane. Contrary to the general opinion voiced when we were around, his madness was not caused by our violin playing. The Vaathiyaar was taken to an asylum, and that was the end of our foray into Carnatic music, since he was the only music teacher in our town at that time. Our violins were promptly sold off.


On The Stage

Another field in which Janaki and I collaborated was drama. We put up plays quite frequently in a community hall, backed by some local groups. One of our great successes was a play called `Pushpakkoodai' (Basket of Flowers). Janaki was the heroine and I played a sadistic police officer. There was a scene where I brutally whipped her. We had devised a technique to make the whipping look realistic. And Janaki acted as though she was really feeling the whiplash. The crowd started shouting "Thambi, that's enough. Leave her alone." Janaki and I felt that this was recognition for our innovative performance.

After I finished school I shifted to Madurai for my college studies. Janaki went off to Tirunelveli, and we lost touch with each other. A couple of years ago a teacher from a local school came to see me about a play to be put up in her school.
During our conversation I came to know that she was related to Janaki. I eagerly enquired about her.And I was told that Janaki had died in a car accident some years ago.



J. VASANTHAN
(The author can be contacted by e-mail : jvasanthan@sancharnet.in)
© Copyright 2000 - 2009 The Hindu

SHAKESPEARE IN THE CLASSROOM

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The rumblings of the bard of Avon





When I joined the Intermediate course in the American College in 1951, the English syllabus included a comedy by Shakespeare — `The Merchant of Venice'. Though I had read a few of Lamb's Tales of Shakespeare, I had never read any original plays of Shakespeare. So I had a slight trepidation about studying one for an exam. Our seniors told us that the professor who taught Shakespeare was very good, and that we didn't have to worry about passing in that paper.


The great dictator

We eagerly looked forward to the first Shakespeare class. The professor was dressed in a dhoti worn in the panchkacham style, a jibba and angavastram. After taking attendance he said in Tamil: "Kulandhaigala, Yezhudhikkonga" (Children, Take this down). And then he dictated an essay on `The Character of Portia'. Next it was `The Character of Shylock'. And then came `The Character of Antonio'. Summaries of the various scenes followed. The whole year was spent in dictation. Our seniors said that if we memorized these essays we were sure to pass. And thus we never got to read the original text.


Those days it was considered prestigious to teach Shakespeare. So the senior professors claimed it as a matter of right even if they didn't have a flair for drama. When I joined the B.A.class, two eccentric professors handled Shakespeare for us. One seemed to think that reading the text in an exaggerated British accent was all that was required. The other spoke in a nasal twang that brought out giggles and titters in the classroom. Whereupon he would get very angry and yell something like "If you behave like ragamuffins you will be treated like ragamuffins. Sometimes we wondered if this was part of the text or his own speech. Anyway we didn't know the meaning of ragamuffins nor of many other words the professor used. He taught us `Henry IV - Part I'. He scowled at us and drawled out his lecture in such a way that there was no laughter even in the Falstaff scenes.


A red rag to the bull

This professor had an allergy to anything coloured red. So the students put a few hibiscus flowers on the table before he came. The moment he saw the flowers he ranted and raved and walked out of the classroom. So all that we needed to get a free period was a bunch of red flowers. Shakespeare was totally forgotten the moment the professor saw red. The other professor who taught us `Othello' just read the text while we read some storybook or the other. He never noticed this.


Between the two of them, these professors made us neglect Shakespeare completely. Those days there were no weekly or end of term tests. If any lecturer was rash enough to announce a test, we went on strike finding some reason or the other for doing so, like the vadai in the mess not being big enough or the tea strong enough. Thus we had to study only before the final examination.


And as the final exams approached I started reading `Othello', and to my surprise I found it totally absorbing. But I didn't have the time to read it for enjoyment. I hurriedly prepared for the other exams. And then in the summer after I had completed my B.A , I read `Othello' and `Henry IV', which was a rewarding experience.
Later, when I became a lecturer I remembered my student days, and hoped to make my Shakespeare classes more dramatic and interesting. But still I prefaced my first class of the year with these words: "As we are doing this play in class, you may hear a dull rumbling sound. That would be Shakespeare turning over in his grave"
By the way, did you hear that rumble?




J. VASANTHAN
© Copyright 2000 - 2009 The Hindu