Saturday afternoon’s 3 o’clock screening of the Marx Brothers’ “A Night at the Opera” at the Vets Auditorium, to mark Culver City’s 95th birthday, is yet another hometown story for the Heart of Screenland.
It was shot in Culver City 89 years ago, at the bottom of the depression. This screening will cost even less than seeing the film did nine decades ago. The showing is free.
Its local birth was one of the reasons A Night at the Opera was chosen, said City Hall’s maven of the movies, Susan Obrow.
Another was its tone.
A comedy, especially a unique one of the Marx Brothers’ variety, is judged most desirable for a birthday party, Ms. Obrow said.
As 20th century film, buffs knew, the Marxes were every bit as zany in real life as in reel life.
Ms. Obrow passed along two tales about the boys involving the brilliant early days producer Irving Thalberg, who lost his life at the premature age of 37.
It seems that Mr. Thalberg had a well-known habit of summoning persons to his office at a certain hour – and then would keep them waiting until well after everyone had lost patience.
One time, he chose the wrong foils.
During pre-production for A Night at the Opera, Mr. Thalberg kept the Marx boys waiting for hours in his secretary’s office while, behind closed doors, he was making a stack of telephone calls.
No portability in the ‘30s. No cell phones.
When Mr. Thalberg’s secretary went home for the day, the fed-up brothers decided to teach him a lesson.
They assembled the office’s file cabinets, and even though they were not big guys, they teamed up, huffed and shoved them up against Mr. Thalberg’s door.
That caused him to make one more unanticipated telephone call – before he, too, could leave for the day.
Thereafter, guess which producer always was prompt about going face-to-face with the boys, punctually.
Kind of.
Couldn’t shake one terrible habit. Mr. Thalberg would routinely interrupt his meetings with the Marxes to step away to other meetings, forcing them to shift from foot to foot for hours.
It was lesson-teaching time again.
Next time Mr. Thalberg breezed back in from a non-Marx meeting, the playful brothers, Groucho, Chico and Harpo, were still parked in his office. Except this time they were naked, roasting potatoes on sticks in the fireplace.
Mr. Thalberg sat down and noshed on a potato, vowing, at his peril, never again to keep them waiting.
