The Marx Brothers’ first MGM effort, derided by the dafter variety of Marx fan for the admittedly strenuous dramatic plot imposed by studio magnate Irving Thalberg, with the drippy Allan Jones’ career as a rising opera star supposedly more worth rooting for than Harpo demolishing the stalls. But there were good things introduced, too – more money, which means better sets and camerawork than the slapdash Paramount flicks, and a massively worked-over script. Not just a question of a couple of rewrites here – this was an odyssey. Originally a less-than-inspiring treatment by a former sports writer (imagine Martin Kelner penning a Vic and Bob screenplay) it passed through almost a dozen writers’ hands and changed beyond all recognition – at one point someone cooked up a version of the old “overselling a surefire flop show” urban legend that Mel Brooks used for The Producers, which Groucho loved, but Thalberg didn’t (“You can’t build comedy on top of comedy,” he said – to the Marx Brothers!) Then, when all parties of all parts were reasonably satisfied with the script, it was tested out on stage – a gruelling, cross-country, eight-week, five-shows-a-day tour to be exact, with duff lines excised, new lines rewritten on the spot (the writers came along too), bits of business hyper-rehearsed, and pauses checked with a stopwatch (imagine the cast of Extras performing their material at Northampton Roadmenders prior to filming). Then, and only then, did they get behind a camera, helmed by no-nonsense, twenty-takes-of-every-shot journeyman Sam ‘They Learned About Women’ Wood. To briefly resurrect a generally meaningless cliche, they really, honestly, don’t make them like that anymore. And, in the bits that aren’t opera singing, harp solos or dreary scenes of exposition with the straight leads, you feel sorry they don’t. Everyone knows three bits from this even if they haven’t seen it – the infamous contract scene ‘twixt Groucho and Chico (“Well, you win the white carnation!”) the scene where Groucho invites an endless stream of odds and sods into his tiny stateroom (“And two hardboiled eggs!”) and the inevitable final on-stage havoc (“How would you like to feel the way she looks?”). There’s much more, though – the hiding of the beds from Henderson, plainclothesman (“You look more like an *old* clothes man to me!”), the bizarre Three Great Aviators (“Of course, you know this means war!”), and anything with Margaret ‘I was like this in real life, apparently’ Dumont.