Summary
A velvet-gloved lampoon of rustics-versus-cosmopolites, Chick-Chick threads its nickelodeon fable through the eye of a needle: citified dandy Marcel, all spats and condescension, descends upon a sun-blistered hamlet to claim his cousin-bride Dorothy—barn-raised, gap-toothed, luminous with hay in her hair. Their betrothal is less romance than real-estate merger, yet Marcel winces at every yokel syllable, every goose-chasing gambol. Off she trudges, swallowing humiliation like sour milk, boarding the dawn train with a single carpet-bag and a vow to splice herself into something sharp enough to cut his smirk. Cut to Chicago’s electric nights: jazz leaking from cellar doors, shop-windows blazing with ostrich plumes and cigarette holders. Dorothy drinks the city like champagne, learns to trill 'darling' instead of 'partner,' returns swaddled in ermine confidence and a cloche hat tilted at murderous angle. The hamlet gasps; Marcel’s jaw drops like a rusted gate. What follows is not mere revenge but a choreography of masks—he courts the polished stranger unaware she is his once-bumpkin bride, while she pirouettes through salons, teaching him the very slang he once weaponized against her. When the veil lifts, the film tilts into a delirious foxtrot of contrition and rekindled desire, ending on a haystack re-engagement lit by lantern and moon, country and city now braided into one trembling kiss.
Synopsis
A city slicker goes to the country to marry his "hick" cousin. He rebels at the boobish ways of the girl, so she goes away and receives some education in the customs of the city, and returns with plenty of dash and style.
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