This early fossil from the Hellzapoppin' school of humor shows (in primitive form) the same anarchic brand of irreverence practiced by every nonconforming misfit from The Marx Bros to Monty Python. The inimitable W.C. Fields, shackled to a script he (unfortunately) didn't write, plays the unflappable president of a mythical nation hoping to strike gold on the Olympic field of competition, but any other resemblance to a formal plot is strictly coincidental. The typically stilted early sound production is a major liability for what should have been a breathless comedy romp, and the flat pacing leaves many of the gags in desperate need of a laugh track. But why carp about a film this old with a running time of only 64 minutes?
Review of Million Dollar Legs
