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the mistake of throwing a big handful of tickets at him. As the crowd scrambled for free admittance, he eyed the child with the special malevolence he had reserved so long for the young.
In some ways, My Little Chickadee and Never Give a Sucker an Even Break will probably stand up among the worst movies ever made. This scarcely detracts from their overall worth ; The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and The Great Train Robbery were filled with flaws, but they retain elements of classicism. Neither of the two Fields pictures had what might even charitably be called a plot. The "story line" of Sucker, as the master preferred to think of it, previously outlined in Chapter One, was as grotesque a travesty of a plot as he could contrive in the brief time allotted to him. My Little Chickadee, with Mae West, finally resolved itself into a simple duel of ad libbers. The screen play was credited to "Mae West and W. G. Fields," but they mostly made it up as they went along. There was a good deal of professional antagonism between the two authors. The part called for such extravagances of wooing on Fields' part that he couldn't shake it off between takes. His voice took on the permanent note of endearment, and he pranced around, holding his preposterous hat, like an adolescent. His style was enriched by frequent doses from the flask. The bouncy quality of his conduct began to get on Miss West's nerves. One afternoon on the set she said, "Bill's a good guy, but it's a shame he has to be so goddamned cute." The subject of her analysis had just waltzed over, planted a kiss on her forehead with his thumb and index finger, and addressed her as "My little brood mare."
By misfortune, Fields' happiest inspirations — the view of him traveling through the cow country on a litter dragged by an Indian riding an underfed pony, his entrance into the bridal chamber with his sheriff's badge pinned to his pajamas — were subordinated to the labored exchanges between him and the co
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