
Imagine, if you can, a city that never existed yet feels like home the instant its celluloid cobblestones flicker beneath your retinas—a place where the air tastes of contraband vanilla and the electric signage hums lullabies to the insomniac moon. Chicken à la King arrives as a ghost train of a comedy, rattling thro...

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Comparing the cinematic DNA and archive impact of two defining moments in cult history.

Bruno C. Becker

Bruno C. Becker
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" Imagine, if you can, a city that never existed yet feels like home the instant its celluloid cobblestones flicker beneath your retinas—a place where the air tastes of contraband vanilla and the electric signage hums lullabies to the insomniac moon. Chicken à la King arrives as a ghost train of a comedy, rattling through the corridors of 1928 with its trousers inside-out and a whoopee-cushion tucked under the seat of polite society. Hap Ward, whose face folds into commas whenever he grins, play..."


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