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3.4/10
Archivist John
Senior Editor
A definitive 3.4/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Rubber Heels remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Short answer: yes, but only if you have a high tolerance for the specific, frantic energy of late-1920s Vaudeville-style cinema. This film is for history buffs who want to witness the cinematic birth of the 'Perfect Fool' persona; it is NOT for those who require their crime thrillers to have a shred of logic or modern pacing.
This film works because the physical chemistry between Ed Wynn and Chester Conklin creates a comedic friction that transcends the thin script.
This film fails because the central mystery is discarded almost immediately in favor of repetitive, though occasionally brilliant, sight gags.
You should watch it if you are a fan of Thelma Todd’s early career or if you want to see the DNA of future characters like Inspector Clouseau.
In the landscape of 1927 cinema, Rubber Heels occupies a strange middle ground between the high-budget polish of a Paramount production and the anarchic spirit of a two-reel short. If you are looking for a cohesive narrative, you will be disappointed. However, as a showcase for Ed Wynn’s transition from stage to screen, it is an essential piece of media archaeology.
The film asks a simple question: can a detective who can barely walk in a straight line outsmart a gang of international professionals? The answer is provided through a series of increasingly absurd set pieces. For a modern viewer, the value lies in the craft of the physical comedy rather than the suspense of the heist itself.
Ed Wynn brings a unique, almost surreal energy to the role of the detective. Unlike the athletic slapstick of Buster Keaton or the pathos of Chaplin, Wynn’s comedy is rooted in a sort of bewildered innocence. He doesn't just fall; he falls with a sense of genuine surprise that he is subject to the laws of gravity.
Take, for example, the sequence where he attempts to 'discreetly' follow the thieves through a crowded hotel lobby. His attempts at stealth involve using a newspaper with holes cut out for his eyes, a gag that was already old in 1927, yet Wynn sells it with a commitment that makes it feel fresh. His facial expressions, even without the benefit of sound, convey a manic internal monologue.
Chester Conklin provides the perfect foil as the more grounded, yet equally ridiculous, counterpart. The way they play off each other reminds one of the dynamics found in Stop That Shimmy, where the comedy arises from the clash of two distinct styles of incompetence. Conklin’s bristling mustache and wide-eyed stares anchor the more floaty, eccentric movements of Wynn.
Director Victor Heerman, known for his work with the Marx Brothers later on, shows early signs of his ability to manage ensemble chaos. The camera work in Rubber Heels is functional, but it excels during the high-speed chase through the New York streets. The use of practical locations adds a layer of grit that contrasts sharply with the cartoonish behavior of the lead characters.
The pacing is relentless. While some silent films suffer from long, expository title cards, Rubber Heels moves with the speed of a freight train. This is both a blessing and a curse. While it never gets boring, it also never allows the audience to feel any real stakes for the European royalty or their stolen jewels. The film treats the crown jewels like a football in a game of keep-away.
One particularly impressive shot involves a multi-story hotel set where the action happens simultaneously on different levels. This kind of vertical staging was ambitious for the time and provides a visual complexity that is often missing from similar comedies like High Brow Stuff. It shows that Paramount was willing to put real money behind Wynn’s antics.
It is a common critique of 1920s comedy, but it bears repeating: Thelma Todd is far too talented for the role she is given here. As the princess (or the daughter of the royal couple, depending on the edit), she is mostly there to look concerned and be rescued. However, in the few moments where she is allowed to engage in the comedy, she shines.
There is a brief moment where she has to distract a guard, and her use of subtle double-takes and eyebrow raises suggests a comedic powerhouse waiting to be unleashed. Watching her here, one can’t help but compare her to the more dramatic roles found in Burnt Wings, highlighting her incredible range that the industry rarely fully utilized.
The thieves themselves are played with a straight-faced menace that makes the comedy work. If the villains were as silly as the hero, there would be no tension. By keeping the antagonists grounded—much like the gritty underworld depicted in The Web of the Law—the film allows Wynn’s absurdity to stand out in high relief.
Most critics categorize Rubber Heels as standard slapstick. I disagree. I believe this film is an early example of proto-absurdism. Wynn’s detective doesn't just make mistakes; he operates on a logic that is entirely alien to the world around him. He isn't bumbling because he's clumsy; he's bumbling because he's playing a different game entirely.
This is most evident in the safe-cracking scene. Instead of using tools, he treats the safe like a living thing, whispering to it and coaxing it open. It is a bizarre, surreal moment that feels more like something out of a Coen Brothers movie than a 1920s silent. It works. But it’s flawed because the film doesn't lean hard enough into this weirdness.
Pros:
The film is technically proficient with high production values for the era. The New York location shots offer a fascinating glimpse into the city's past. Ed Wynn's performance is a masterclass in facial acting.
Cons:
The plot is paper-thin and serves only as a vehicle for gags. The ending feels rushed and relies on a series of improbable coincidences that even for slapstick feel unearned. Some of the supporting characters are entirely forgettable.
Rubber Heels is a fascinating artifact. It isn't a masterpiece like Keaton's 'The General', but it is a vibrant, loud (in spirit), and energetic comedy that deserves more than to be forgotten in the vaults. It captures a specific moment in time when cinema was still figuring out how to translate the broad humor of the stage into the intimate language of the lens.
If you enjoy the social satire of Seven Deadly Sins or the whimsical nature of A Modern Mother Goose, you will find something to love here. It is a flawed gem, much like the crown jewels at the center of its plot—a bit scuffed around the edges, but still possessing a clear, undeniable sparkle. Give it a chance on a rainy afternoon when you want to see a man turn a simple walk across a room into a comedic epic.
IMDb —
1921
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