
There are comedies that tickle; then there is The Society Bug, a nitro-glycerin custard pie hurled straight at the monocle. Ninety-odd years after its whisper-quiet release, the film still feels like a champagne bottle shaken by a subway train—its fizz acidic, its cork lethal. Polly Moran, a performer whose voice th...


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

Ward Hayes

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" There are comedies that tickle; then there is The Society Bug, a nitro-glycerin custard pie hurled straight at the monocle. Ninety-odd years after its whisper-quiet release, the film still feels like a champagne bottle shaken by a subway train—its fizz acidic, its cork lethal. Polly Moran, a performer whose voice the gods never bothered to fit with a volume knob, invades the frame like a one-woman cavalry charge. She is Lulu McBluff, a name that sounds typed by a drunk telegraphist, and she e..."


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