The kind of comedy that Chaplin used to do in two reels, but stretched out to run an even six. Thanks chiefly to J. P. McEvoy's dialog and the sustained pantomiming of W. C. Fields, it's a passable comedy as comedies go.

The kind of comedy that Chaplin used to do in two reels, but stretched out to run an even six. Thanks chiefly to J. P. McEvoy’s dialog and the sustained pantomiming of W. C. Fields, it’s a passable comedy as comedies go.

Main object of the scenarists seems to have been to lead up plausibly to Fields’ standard golf bit. The build-up is a frail structure on which Fields’ butter-finger style of panto and McEvoy’s chatter are strung.

Fields is a dumb but likeable guy who invents things and doubles in ruining his daughter’s social chances by getting stewed and taking off his shoes in the parlor. A princess steps in to straighten things out for both father and daughter. Papa’s big invention is a puncture-proof tire that finally nets him a million. When one scripter asked the other scripter, ‘Little man, what now?’ they called in the caddie (Tammany Young) with the squeaky shoes and on went the golf bit. It manages to save the picture.

You're Telling Me

Production

Paramount. Director Erle C. Kenton; Screenplay J. P. McEvoy, Walter DeLeon, Paul M. Jones; Camera Alfred Gilks; Editor Otho Lovering; Music Arthur Johnston; Art Director Hans Dreier, Robert Odell

Crew

(B&W) Extract of a review from 1934. Running time: 66 MIN.

With

W. C. Fields Joan Marsh Buster Crabbe Adrienne Ames Louise Carter Kathleen Howard
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