Raised Eyebrows, Groucho Marx, and the Curtain Call on Laughter

A cliché of a cliché of a cliché of a cliché goes something to the effect of "Things don't always turn out how you planned." The final years of the life of the iconic Groucho Marx probably were nothing like the sharp-witted comedian troupe leader envisioned. Known by millions, Marx's last years entailed living a life of mostly solitude behind the four walls of a California estate. His career in show business was over, and, barring the occasional get-togethers with Hollywood friends, Marx's twilight years were spent chiefly waxing on the glory days of yesteryear.

We have a document of those days in the form of an amazing book.

Raised Eyebrows: My Years Inside Groucho's House by Steve Stoliar presents an intriguing look at the last years of the iconic comedian. Stoliar was a massive fan of the Marx Brothers as a young man, and he eventually met his iconic screen hero after arranging an early 1970's screening of Animal Crackers. The scratchy, beaten-up 16mm print screening was a very special event. At the time, Animal Crackers was a Marx Brothers film unavailable for television syndication due to a rights issue. With the sold-out screening, doors were opened, and contacts made leading to Stoliar working as Groucho's archivist at the comedian's home from 1974 to 1977.

The autobiography/biography delivers a sad glimpse into the final years of the lonely screen and stage icon. This long-retired beloved figure still had legions of fans thanks to constant reruns of Marx Brothers movies on television, but the fame connected to a life he no longer lived.

Rob Zombie optioned the book for a film version, but the project appears stalled. Maybe the adaptation will rise out of "development hell" and become a realized project one day.

Cover for the book by Steve Stoliar

Retelling the book's highlights here on this blog is unnecessary and would not do the outstanding and compelling work justice. Just buy the book. Read the whole story.

What can be said about the work is it shows, in the microcosm of the last days of Groucho Marx, we learn a great life can come to a bittersweet end. Groucho sat on top of the entertainment world on stage, screen, and television. And then, one day, he got old. While it is wonderful to live a long life, Marx had to accept the world had changed around him, and he was too aged to make any transitions into the new entertainment landscape. Solace in personal relationships was not to be either.

Outstanding radio interview with Stoliar.

Raised Eyebrows is a proverbial cautionary tale for all of us. No one has to be a world-famous comedian to reach the end of days in a sad state. Faded professional and personal glory affect people of all walks of life and backgrounds. And the impact is going to be bear a considerable weight on the shoulders of anyone who experiences it. Raised Eyebrows may focus on the particulars of the final years of Groucho Marx, but the tale can be found in the home of many untold millions of people.

Morricone's Masterful Emotions in The Ecstasy of Gold

Ennio Morricone's body of work as a composer is among the most impressive in all of cinematic history. He made a ballyhooed return in The Hateful Eight, but his title score for The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly will always be his most well-known work. The main theme to the film is, arguably, the second-best musical piece in the spaghetti western epic.

The Ecstasy of Gold is a strangely emotional musical work. Hints at "the anxiety of hope" (for lack of a better description) are found in the opening of the music. The tempo picks up to a faster pace that highlights the adventurous aspects of the film, and then the tempo slows. Confusion sets in and the sounds reflect finding gold, its fortunes, and its treasures is far harder than anticipated.

The Ecstasy of Gold is a fantastic, sweeping piece. Metallica was suitably impressed as they covered it. Here is the original version.

Nice Screenplay Character Touches in Night Moves (1975)

Budding screenwriters have a tendency to throw a lot of unnecessary things into a script. The idea at work is the more elements added to the screenplay, the more profound the plot, characters, and themes will be. Maybe that works now and then, but the common result is usually a muddled one. Too much tossed into a script has a tendency to create a massive mess.

One of the best film noirs of the 1970s is Arthur Penn's classic Night Moves. The 1975 feature was a vehicle for Gene Hackman. Like The Conversation (1974) and Prime Cut (1972), Night Moves did not reap massive ticket sales at the box office despite being an outstanding feature.

A lot could be written about Night Moves. In keeping with the theme of this particular entry, we can focus on simplicity in the outstanding screenplay.

Gene Hackman's character is not down and out financially, but spiritually. Greater days are behind him.

When JFK died, Moseby reveals he was in the middle of his stellar NFL career. When Robert died, he was staking out the home of an adulterer trying to get pictures for a divorce case. Gene Hackman plays Harry Moseby, a former professional NFL star who now works as a private investigator. The character is mired in sadness of glory lost. In one brief scene that takes place in the darkness of night, Leslie Warren's character Paula asks him where he was when the Kennedy brothers were shot.


In only three years, Moseby went from a superstar to a pathetic sad sack. No one feels more ashamed about the fall from glory than Moseby. Hackman gets the pain of his character across brilliantly. Screenwriter Alan Sharp deserves a lot of praise for coming up with this brilliant script point.