Pick Me Up: A short, dusty, and mostly harmless affair

Is it worth your time?

Honestly, you could do a lot worse on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. If you’re the type of person who finds comfort in the crackle of old film and characters who shout their lines like they're performing for the cheap seats, you’ll probably have a decent time. If you prefer movies that actually make sense, or you get annoyed by people running in circles for no reason, you’re going to be reaching for the remote within ten minutes. 🎞️

Franklin Pangborn is doing his usual thing, which is being flustered. It’s like his default setting. I swear, the man could look startled by a ham sandwich. He carries the movie, or at least he tries to, while everyone else just kind of orbits around him looking slightly confused about the blocking.

There is this one moment where Marie Prevost leans against a doorway that is clearly made of painted plywood. It wobbles. They just kept the take. I love that. It’s the kind of sloppy perfection that makes these older shorts feel more like a real document of a day at the studio than a polished product.

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of Pick Me Up (1933) through its definitive frames.

The rhythm is... weird.

The pacing has this twitchy, stop-and-start energy. It’s not smooth, and it’s definitely not professional by today’s standards. Sometimes a scene will cut off right in the middle of a sentence, almost like the editor just got bored and walked away. It’s jarring, sure, but it also gives the whole thing a weirdly authentic, restless pulse.

Comparing this to something like Roman Romeos, you can really see the difference in how they handle the slapstick. Here, the comedy feels more like a series of accidents than a planned routine. It lacks the tight, clockwork precision of other films from the era, but there’s a strange charm in watching these actors try to find the joke while the set literally shakes around them.

• Pangborn's eyebrows are a special effect in their own right.
• The dialogue sounds like it was recorded inside a tin can.
• Why is everyone always running into each other in the hallway?
• I’m pretty sure one of the extras is just waiting for the craft services table to open.

It’s not a masterpiece. It’s not even a particularly good movie. But there’s something about the way Jason Robards Sr. delivers his lines—like he’s telling a secret to a wall—that kept me watching. It feels small, quiet, and completely unconcerned with being important. In a world of modern movies that scream for your attention, there's a weird kind of relief in something this forgettable. 🤷‍♂️