Sweet repose

How is W.C. Fields by the same turn both hero of the little man and at the same time slyly above it all? Both doormat and Übermensch? The way he talks in and of itself is the main attraction. His slow, deliberate way of feigning civility through his manner of speech is his passive aggressive means by which he weaponizes sarcasm. 

     And the way he mumbles his comebacks for only us to hear thereby makes us complicit in the joke. And this is what his best comedies are built upon.

 
It’s a Gift (1934, Norman McLeod) is a slapstick ballet led by one MR. HAROLD BISSONETTE in which his indomitable dignity is maintained through his cool as a cucumber surface façade. The comedy is derived from this Zen tranquility in the face of endless domestic aggravations, annoyances, and all types of everyday disturbances to the point it becomes poetry. 
     And It’s a Gift takes its time. Fields commands the pace of this thing, and you don’t rush the man. The narrative is composed of a series of set pieces that are all drawn out sketches. But it’s the one where he goes outside to sleep on the porch that sets the tone for the whole movie. Everything’s so calm. Quiet. And here we get some of the most creative sound design. The musicality in the rhythm of that conversation the neighbors are having, abstracted inane chatter as mockery. And the laundry line as mouse. How do these incidents seem to be such a bother to Bissonette, yet only ever seem to prove momentary obstacles that he quickly defeats, constantly thwarting any distractions life could throw his way?
     What makes Fields’ character work here so effective is that all of these attacks that in real life would raise a man’s blood pressure, put him in the hospital with a severe case of stress mismanagement, drive him insane, or otherwise break him down, become catharsis through his ability to dismantle them. And that’s the secret to life.