Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator

Honestly? Only if you have a weird obsession with 1936 fashion or want to see what actual humans looked like before everyone decided to be a brand. If you’re looking for a plot or, you know, actual tennis, stay far away. This is for the people who like digging through old photo albums of strangers.
It’s barely ten minutes long, so it doesn't overstay its welcome. It’s basically just a bunch of people standing around a net, looking confused about where to put their hands. 🎾
There is something inherently funny about watching people who are supposed to be the biggest stars in the world trying to do something as normal as hitting a ball. They look stiff. Like they are terrified their pants might fall down or their hair might move an inch out of place.
Ralph Staub is just roaming around with a camera, and you can tell nobody really knows what to do with him. It’s not as polished as The Littlest Rebel, which makes sense because this is just a glorified home movie. You can almost hear the director shouting at them to look like they’re having fun.
I found myself staring at the background extras more than the actual celebrities. There’s a guy in the back left of the frame during the second segment who just eats a sandwich for like thirty seconds straight. He is the most honest performer in the whole thing.
It’s definitely not as heavy as Nurse Cavell, and thank god for that. Sometimes you just need to watch a black-and-white ghost of a movie where nothing happens. It’s relaxing in a way I didn't expect.
If you watch this expecting a documentary, you’ll be bored to tears. If you watch it like you’re snooping on your neighbor’s backyard party from eighty years ago? It’s kind of a blast. Don't think about it too hard. Just watch them sweat.
Year
1936
IMDb Rating
—

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Deciphering the legacy of transgressive cult cinema.
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