When it comes to looking at the most influential moments in cinematic comedy, one couldn’t go wrong with noting The Marx Brothers were founding fathers of the genre, with their work in the earlier days of cinema being amongst the finest ever committed to film – and having had their mainstream breakthrough just after the advent of talking cinema, their quick-witted, upbeat and consistent style of comedy made an indelible impression on comedy as a whole. There is something that has always drawn audiences towards this set of side-splitting siblings – perhaps it is the fact that regardless of the film they are in, the audience will be suitably entertained with the fast-paced, frantic and exuberant execution of the stories, the brevity of the films (there is nothing worse than a slapstick comedy that runs too long, because the novelty eventually fades, as does the laughter), and that despite their films always having the same formulaic structure, they manage to keep their films original and unexpected. Of course The Marx Brothers were far from being without flaws – and my most recent foray into the work was their 1941 film, The Big Store, which was almost entirely what I was expecting (containing all the merits and shortcomings normally found in their films), and while it certainly was not their most original work (was any of their work ever considered their most original?), it is a devilishly funny, audacious and incredibly entertaining film, and solidifies my belief that not only were The Marx Brothers amongst the greatest entertainers of their era, they were also profoundly ahead of their time, which makes watching their films, The Big Store included, truly enthralling experiences.

The genius of The Marx Brothers was how simple they kept everything – their roots in vaudeville are extremely evident in all of their work, creating one central story in what is normally a single location, and allowing the madcap antics to occur around it. In The Big Store, the Brothers’ playground is Phelps’ Department Store, a swanky establishment that is on the verge of being sold, but not without the malicious manager having his way in an attempt to gain it for himself. Groucho Marx, our perpetual hero, takes on the role of Wolf J. Flywheel, a private detective and bodyguard hired to protect the young co-owner of the store, who is secretly in love with one of the employees. Chico plays Ravelli, the crude but loyal Italian-American friend to the damoiseau in distress. Harpo is Groucho’s business partner, once again playing off his silence and musical prowess to create the stoic but silly type he honed so perfectly. There isn’t much to it other than we see the Brothers’ misadventures around the store – critique of capitalism and the power of retail are foregrounded, but not in a way that makes any particularly resonant social statement (The Marx Brothers were always too smart to imbue their films with any kind of direct intelligence), with the usual musical numbers, the romances (including yet another terrific performance from Margaret Dumont, the Marx Brothers’ finest collaborator) and the general absurdity that make these films so quintessentially hysterical.

Another reason the Marx Brothers have had such longevity is that of their profound unoriginality – and this is not a criticism, but rather praise. In comedy, there are only a few archetypal characters that work, and they often become taut or dull as the novelty wears off – yet, the Brothers found their niche in playing these kinds of stock characters without ever reinventing them, thus keeping the spirit of why they were popular intact. They don’t try and revolutionize these archetypes, and despite the characters having different names in nearly every film, they are essentially all the same performance – Groucho is the wise-cracking romantic hero. Chico is the wise-cracking but good-hearted tough guy and con-artist who may or may not be of Italian descent, and Harpo is the silently loyal, lovably clownish sidekick who just happens to also be a musical prodigy. These roles work, and I personally appreciated the fact that The Big Store saw an absence of Zeppo Marx who, as much as I respect his work with his brothers, lacked much personality, never quite being a good fit for these films. The essence of why these films tend to work can be traced back to how effectively these personas were developed, and yet despite essentially doing precisely the same thing in every film, their acts never became stale – if anything, The Marx Brothers deserve their place in cinematic history for managing to remain popular for over a century without ever needing to reinvent themselves.

The Big Store is just like any other film made by the Marx Brothers, especially insofar as it is not a particularly meaningful film, but it compensates with this through immense entertainment value – throughout the entire film, the comedy never once falters – and whether it be clever wordplay (normally on behalf of Groucho), or in the impressive physical sequences – visually, The Big Store is amongst their most inventive, with the Brothers making use of elaborate slapstick that is undeniably impressive, even by contemporary standards. There isn’t much else to a Marx Brothers film other than what we see on screen – and certainly not perfect in any way, and requiring a great deal of suspension of disbelief, but it is still a solid comedy picture. Of course, as The Big Store retains the same formulaic structure of previous (and forthcoming) films, there were musical numbers, an aspect of these films I feel I’m alone in being ambivalent to – the “Sing While You Sell” sequence is quite impressive, but it goes on for far too long, and the involvement of Virginia O’Brien in a solo performance in the middle of it is quite jarring, and not at all entertaining. There are a few instances of Tony Martin, the dashing romantic hero, singing sweet serenades, and while I’m sure many would find them moving, it just didn’t too much to contribute to a film, especially when these films excel the most when they are at their most zany and offbeat.

Looking at The Big Store, or indeed any of the Marx Brothers’ films, from a purely contemporary perspective is fruitless, because they were a product of their time, with the social commentary being contained to that specific temporal moments. These were not mind-altering satires, nor were they progressive masterpieces – they were crowd-pleasing comedies that were equipped with everything to enthral audiences at the time – gaudy musical numbers, endless slapstick comedy and witty wordplay. However, there is a certain quality to this film that reminds us how there was a very unique and innovative undercurrent to these films – there is a certain self-awareness, especially when Groucho breaks the fourth wall in two separate instances (which also happen to be the most brilliant moments of the film), and visual spectacles done with practical effects that could never be executed so deftly, even with modern technology – consider the bed sequence, or the scene where Harpo redefines the term “one-man band” by appearing in an orchestra with his own reflection. The Big Store is a very funny film – and while it may not be as influential as some of their others (especially not Duck Soup, a film I consider to have the most perfect ending to any film), it is still a comedic gem, consistently hilarious and extremely entertaining, and proof that cinema evolves, but the intention to make audiences laugh has existed since the inception of cinema, with The Marx Brothers being at the forefront of great cinematic comedy.