Man on the Flying Trapeze

Synopsis: Ambrose Wolfinger wants the afternoon off (his first in twenty-five years) to go to a wrestling match. He tells his boss that he must attend his mother-in-law's funeral. The afternoon is no joy. He tries to please a policeman, assist a chauffeur, chase a tire, and ends up getting hit by the body of a wrestler thrown from the ring. A series of mishaps leads his boss to send floral tributes to the house and notify the papers of the death (due to poisoned liquor). His shrewish wife, judgmental mother-in-law, and good-for-nothing brother-in-law add to his burdens. In the end he enjoys their fawning loyalty, a raise in pay, and his first vacation.
Genre: Comedy
Production: Paramount Pictures
 
IMDB:
7.7
PASSED
Year:
1935
66 min
31 Views

Ambrose.

Ambrose! | Yes, my dear?

What are you doing | in the bathroom?

Um...

Brushing my teeth, dear.

I don't know what's | come over you lately.

You're always in that bathroom | brushing your teeth.

Yes, dear.

Are you sure you're | brushing your teeth?

Yes, dear.

You want anything, dear?

Please come to bed | and put the light out.

Yes, dear.

Hurry up and come to bed.

Yes, I'm hurrying, dear.

What are you doing now?

I'm taking | my socks off, dear.

You're certainly making a lot | of noise taking your socks off.

Yes, dear.

Please come to bed | and put the light out.

Oh, yes, dear.

Legs.

Willie the Weasel. | What are you doing here?

Steve sent me over here | to lift some silverware.

He's off his nut. He sent | me over on the same job.

Everything's mixed up | since they sent Maxie to stir.

What's that in the pan? | Molasses?

Taste it. It's applejack.

Jersey lightning.

What does this applejack | remind you of?

It reminds me of | the old Oreland Social Club.

Remember how Saturday nights, we | used to get plastered on applejack,

and what we used to sing?

On the Banks of the Wabash, | Far Away.

Do you remember the tune?

Oh, the moonlight's fair

That's it.

Tonight upon the Wabash

Ambrose.

Ambrose!

Did you leave the radio on?

Did you leave the radio on?

Ambrose. Ambrose.

Wake up. Wake up, Ambrose.

Ambrose, there are burglars | singing in the cellar.

What?

Ambrose, there are burglars | singing in the cellar.

What are they singing?

What difference does it make | what they're singing?

Get up and see | what it's all about.

Yeah, that's right.

Don't sit there like a bump on a | stump, go down and throw them out.

Hurry, hurry, | hurry, Ambrose. Hurry.

What are they singing | down there for?

Oh, it doesn't matter what they're | singing. Go down quickly, Ambrose.

We're in danger I tell you. | We're in terrific danger, Ambrose.

The more haste, the less | speed. I'll be down there.

Oh, Ambrose, my poor mother. | My poor, helpless, old mother.

My darling...

She's upstairs. | They won't find her.

Oh, Ambrose, don't fumble. | Don't fumble, Ambrose.

Hurry, Ambrose, hurry.

I'm coming, dear.

Get these socks on, Ambrose.

What does it matter whether you've | got socks on or not, Ambrose?

I'll catch cold down there.

Ambrose, hurry, hurry.

They're great murderers, brutes, | Ambrose. They've got guns.

Now what are you looking for, | Ambrose?

I don't know, | they may not have guns.

Oh, Ambrose!

Maybe they mistook our cellar | window for a stage door.

Hurry, Ambrose, hurry.

It's getting louder | and louder and louder.

I can't find my socks.

You're getting me so nervous | I've lost my socks.

Oh, Ambrose, hurry. | What are you looking for now?

Why couldn't they wait | until later on in the morning?

Oh, hurry, Ambrose. | Hurry, hurry.

It's getting louder, Ambrose. | It's getting louder.

Hurry, Ambrose.

Oh, don't swat flies.

Hurry, Ambrose. Hurry.

Oh, such an earthly hour...

An unearthly hour. | Where are they?

In the cellar, Ambrose, | in the cellar.

I heard them there. | Listen, listen, listen.

Oh, what rotten voices.

Murderers. Brutes, Ambrose.

Yeah.

Get them, Ambrose. Get them.

Oh, gosh.

Couldn't I just sleep about another | hour, then I'll go down there?

Oh, Ambrose, hurry. | Hurry, Ambrose.

Okay.

Oh, this is awful.

Look at that. There's the gloves | that you lost two weeks ago.

Ambrose, get the gun!

Say, what are these things | doing in here, all these walnuts?

What's the difference what they're | doing? Get the gun, Ambrose! Get the gun!

Look, there's nothing... There's no... | Yes, here it is. Here it is. I've got it.

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Ray Harris

Ray Harris (September 7, 1927 – November 13, 2003) was an American rockabilly musician and songwriter. He formed a band with Wayne Powers, and wrote the songs "Come On, Little Mama" and "Greenback Dollar, Watch and Chain". He eventually recorded these at Sun Records with Sam Phillips. He also produced artists at Hi Records. Like others such as Sonny Burgess, Hayden Thompson, Billy Lee Riley and Warren Smith, chart success largely eluded him.Born in Tupelo, Mississippi, Harris died in November 2003 in Mooreville, Mississippi, at the age of 76. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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