This W.C. Fields short is eighteen minutes of inspired lunacy that deserves to be better known. It begins with Fields 'singing' a cautionary song that warns against the dangers of the city, to a Mountie in a wooden shack : "it ain't no place for women," proclaims Fields, "but pretty men go there." With that he's off home, walking along behind a dog sled that includes a dachshund whose feet never come within two feet of the ground, and in front of a backdrop that races by at an impossible speed. Repeatedly braving dashes of snow in the face as he declares "it ain't a fit night out for man nor beast", Fields is also heard to mutter knowingly that the snow "tastes more like cornflakes." The bizarre humour continues as Fields arrives home to dunk half a french loaf into his soup and discover the weather pump is so cold that the water pump is dispensing only ice cubes.
This film possibly comes closest to capturing the genius of Fields and his peculiarly unique brand of humour. There are more laughs in its short running time than most comedies five times its length. Placing his foot on a chair and leaning his elbow on his knee, Fields opines with mock seriousness that "Once the city gets into a ba-hoy's sa-histem, he a-loses his a-hankerin' for the ca-huntry." On its own it's not a funny line, but delivered by Fields at the height of his powers it will provide you with your biggest laugh for weeks.
This film possibly comes closest to capturing the genius of Fields and his peculiarly unique brand of humour. There are more laughs in its short running time than most comedies five times its length. Placing his foot on a chair and leaning his elbow on his knee, Fields opines with mock seriousness that "Once the city gets into a ba-hoy's sa-histem, he a-loses his a-hankerin' for the ca-huntry." On its own it's not a funny line, but delivered by Fields at the height of his powers it will provide you with your biggest laugh for weeks.