7.2/10
Senior Film Conservator

A definitive 7.2/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Our Gang Follies of 1938 remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Look, if you’ve got a soft spot for the black-and-white era or grew up watching these shorts on lazy Saturday mornings, you’ll probably find something to smile at here. It’s light, it’s frantic, and it features kids acting like adults in a way that feels both sweet and mildly terrifying. If you hate old-timey musical numbers or find the 'aw-shucks' kid acting style grating, stay far, far away. This isn't high art. It’s a bunch of kids trying to put on a show.
The whole premise hinges on Alfalfa trying to pivot to opera. I mean, we all know his voice. It’s like a radiator pipe with a grudge. Watching him try to get serious about singing while the other kids are just trying to get a decent revue together is a classic setup, but man, does it drag in spots.
There is this one moment where Alfalfa falls asleep and dreams about his future as an opera star. It’s arguably the weirdest part of the film. It feels like someone just wanted to squeeze in an extra set piece but couldn't think of a better way to do it. The lighting shifts and the whole thing gets this bizarre, fuzzy quality that looks like it was filmed through a bowl of soup.
Watching this made me think about other oddities from the era, like The Village Barber. There’s a specific kind of staging back then that feels so disconnected from modern filmmaking. It’s all very flat and forward-facing, like you’re sitting in the third row of a local theater.
I found myself staring at the background extras more than the main plot. There’s one kid in the back left of the stage during the big finale who clearly has no idea what the choreography is. He just sort of sways whenever everyone else sways. It’s the most relatable performance in the whole movie.
The musical numbers are loud. Really loud. If you’re sensitive to tinny audio, watch the volume dial. It’s got that specific '30s scratchiness that cuts right through your speakers. You can almost smell the dust on the costumes.
It’s not a masterpiece. It’s barely even a coherent story. But there’s a flicker of actual, human energy there that you don’t see in modern stuff. It feels messy. And for once, I think that’s a good thing. 🎭

IMDb —
1927
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