All Wet

A torrential farce drenched in slapstick brine, All Wet orchestrates its minuscule narrative inside a single afternoon when two luckless plumbers—pear-shaped Billy Gilbert, spindle-shinned Bud Duncan—descend upon a palatial seaside estate to mend a rebellious pipe. Their monkey-wrench ballet detonates a hydraulic apocalypse: geysers erupt from marble bidets, chandeliers vomit brackish rain, a prized aquarium disgorges bewildered goldfish across Persian rugs, while the mistress of the house glides through the chaos in tea-rose taffeta, clutching her Pekingese like a life preserver. Doors slam into faces, trousers snag on bronze statuary, a runaway lawn-sprinkler baptizes a passing bishop; every droplet seems possessed by comic malice, until the mansion subsides into sodden shambles and the plumbers slosh away, toolboxes akimbo, leaving behind a surreal still-life of domestic Versailles turned Water-loo.