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Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator
Okay, so Wednesday Night at the Ritz – if you're looking for a quick, silly dive into some old-school screwball antics, this might hit the spot. It’s definitely one of those films that feels like it was cooked up during a particularly wild brainstorming session. Folks who love a good farce, especially from the era where everyone wore suits to bed, will probably get a kick out of it. If you prefer your comedies grounded or your characters making even a lick of sense, you'll probably just scratch your head and wonder what all the fuss is about. 🤷♀️
The whole premise here is just so delightfully unhinged, you gotta love it a little. Our main guy, played by Frank Sinclair, has had himself quite a night on the town, you know? He wakes up, disoriented, in what he assumes is his room at the fancy Ritz hotel. Only it’s not his room.
And then there’s Evalyn Knapp, just *there*, sleeping peacefully in the bed. Sinclair’s character, bless his heart, doesn't panic. He actually goes, “Oh, a beautiful blonde? Guess I married her last night!” It’s a moment so utterly ridiculous, you can practically hear the audience back then going, “Wait, what?”
It’s a neat trick, really, how the movie just skips over the 'how did he even get into this room?' part. Doesn't matter. What matters is his drunken logic. He’s surprisingly chill about this sudden new wife.
Knapp, as the unsuspecting blonde, mostly just reacts. She has this great, wide-eyed confusion that slowly turns into exasperation as Sinclair bumbles around. You really feel for her when she’s trying to figure out why this stranger is making himself at home.
Then comes the tension, or what passes for it in a farce like this: Robert Milliken, as the actual husband. His entrance is pretty loud, full of bluster and righteous indignation. It instantly ratchets up the chaos, which is exactly what this kind of film needs.
The physical comedy starts to really shine once Milliken bursts in. Sinclair trying to hide, trying to explain, trying to look innocent – it’s a delightful mess. There’s a bit where he tries to blend in with the furniture, and it’s just *chef's kiss* for a quick gag.
Charles Kemper pops up too, though his role feels a bit… secondary. He's mostly there to add another layer of 'who's who' confusion, especially when everyone's yelling. Sometimes it felt like he was just wandering into the frame.
The dialogue itself isn't exactly poetic, but it’s snappy, especially when they’re all talking over each other. It’s less about witty banter and more about the sheer speed of the misunderstandings. Think rapid-fire accusations and denials.
One thing that sticks out is how *much* the Ritz hotel itself plays a role, almost like another character. The plush decor, the big beds, the doors that get slammed a lot. It’s a backdrop that highlights the absurdity of the whole situation.
The movie doesn't overstay its welcome, which is a big plus for a story this thin. It gets in, delivers its silly premise, and gets out before you have too much time to think about the plot holes. And there are *plenty* of those, trust me. But who cares?
It’s interesting how these old films often hinge on such simple, almost unbelievable setups. Today, someone would just call the front desk, right? But here, it’s all about the characters’ immediate, panicked reactions. That’s the fun.
Tony Martin's appearance is brief, but he adds a certain… flair. It’s a small part, but his presence just feels right for the era, even if he's not central to the main mix-up. Just another face in the hotel drama.
Overall, Wednesday Night at the Ritz is a decent watch if you’re in the mood for something light, frothy, and a little bit unhinged. Don't expect deep thoughts or profound insights. Just enjoy the ride. It’s a good example of how a simple mistake can snowball into pure comic gold.
IMDb —
1921
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