'Tubby' or possibly 'Tubby's' before a thick frayed band
of white climbs the screen and then sinks back into the void, carrying
the end of the introduction with it. I rewind and try to tune the
soundtrack in, but the interference won't be tamed, and so I let the
tape run. I'm as impatient as Mark to watch Tubby now that we've
had a glimpse of him.
He's in a toyshop. Perhaps his black bow tie and bulging dinner
jacket signify that he has left a party or a drunken meal. With his
head that's too small for his oval torso and long legs, he looks shaped
for comedy before he makes a move. His disconcertingly round eyes
are wide with innocence. His black hair is so glossy that it might be
painted on his cranium, and resembles a monk's tonsure parted
precisely in the middle. The transfer to video, or the age of the copy
of the film, may have lent extra pallor to his face. He glances around
the shop and notices a Jack-in-the-box opposite a toy pram, and then
he grins at the audience as if he can see us.
The grin reveals large almost horsy teeth and broadens his face
until it looks nearly circular. Having invited our complicity, he plants
the Jack-in-the-box inside the pram and pretends to be a salesman
until a real one ushers a silently garrulous old lady into view. As the
salesman rocks the pram to demonstrate its quality, a malevolently
gleeful head with Tubby's face springs up from it, and the customer
faints, displaying her bloomers. It's a good job Bebe isn't here,
because Mark's mirth is no longer polite. The distracted salesman
revives the old lady by waving his dickey in her face. Perhaps he's the
manager, since he leaves her in the care of an assistant while he sallies
to banish Tubby from the shop.
The comedian is hiding behind shelves full of Jacks-in-the-box.
Head after grinning head pops up as the manager dashes back and
forth, and too many of the heads seem to belong to his tormentor.
When he pounces behind the shelves Tubby darts out from the far
end, but the instant the manager lunges in that direction the
comedian appears behind him, then pokes his head out from
between two boxes halfway down the aisle. The manager dances
with rage, tugging at his sunburst of hair. As he shouts for assistance,
a trumpet in the orchestra that has been providing a jittery
accompaniment to Tubby's antics emits a stricken croak. A troupe
of natty salesmen flushes Tubby out, only to discover that there are
several of him. One pedals off splay-legged on a child's tricycle,
another releases all the Jacks that are still boxed as he roller-skates
away, while a third makes his exit skipping nimbly with a rope. The
shots are edited so that the three appear to be communicating with
one another, not just with outsize gleaming grins but with laughter,
which the trumpet simulates like wordless speech.
At last all three are expelled from the shop. The manager is so
exhausted that he locks up early, hanging a sign that says CLOSED BECAUSE OF BANANAS on the door. We next see him preparing for bed.
As he ducks to the sink with his toothbrush Tubby's face is revealed
in the bathroom mirror, grinning at the audience. Mark's giggle
sounds eager but a little nervous. The manager emerges in his nightshirt
from the bathroom and, having climbed into bed, tugs the cord
above him. The film gives him time to settle into restfulness before his
brow twitches and he reluctantly opens his eyes to peer down the dim
bed. Between his feet is a lump under the blankets. As he sits up, it
rises too. The bedclothes sag away from it, exposing Tubby's
delighted face. A change of angle shows it emerging upturned from
beneath the mattress, and another finds it as it pokes up from behind
the pillow. Did the cameraman intend to light each appearance so
that it glows like the moon? A shot of the frenzied manager fighting
the blankets dissolves to a close-up of him as he wakens. That's
reassuring only until a long shot reveals that he's wearing a straitjacket.
As he begins to
of white climbs the screen and then sinks back into the void, carrying
the end of the introduction with it. I rewind and try to tune the
soundtrack in, but the interference won't be tamed, and so I let the
tape run. I'm as impatient as Mark to watch Tubby now that we've
had a glimpse of him.
He's in a toyshop. Perhaps his black bow tie and bulging dinner
jacket signify that he has left a party or a drunken meal. With his
head that's too small for his oval torso and long legs, he looks shaped
for comedy before he makes a move. His disconcertingly round eyes
are wide with innocence. His black hair is so glossy that it might be
painted on his cranium, and resembles a monk's tonsure parted
precisely in the middle. The transfer to video, or the age of the copy
of the film, may have lent extra pallor to his face. He glances around
the shop and notices a Jack-in-the-box opposite a toy pram, and then
he grins at the audience as if he can see us.
The grin reveals large almost horsy teeth and broadens his face
until it looks nearly circular. Having invited our complicity, he plants
the Jack-in-the-box inside the pram and pretends to be a salesman
until a real one ushers a silently garrulous old lady into view. As the
salesman rocks the pram to demonstrate its quality, a malevolently
gleeful head with Tubby's face springs up from it, and the customer
faints, displaying her bloomers. It's a good job Bebe isn't here,
because Mark's mirth is no longer polite. The distracted salesman
revives the old lady by waving his dickey in her face. Perhaps he's the
manager, since he leaves her in the care of an assistant while he sallies
to banish Tubby from the shop.
The comedian is hiding behind shelves full of Jacks-in-the-box.
Head after grinning head pops up as the manager dashes back and
forth, and too many of the heads seem to belong to his tormentor.
When he pounces behind the shelves Tubby darts out from the far
end, but the instant the manager lunges in that direction the
comedian appears behind him, then pokes his head out from
between two boxes halfway down the aisle. The manager dances
with rage, tugging at his sunburst of hair. As he shouts for assistance,
a trumpet in the orchestra that has been providing a jittery
accompaniment to Tubby's antics emits a stricken croak. A troupe
of natty salesmen flushes Tubby out, only to discover that there are
several of him. One pedals off splay-legged on a child's tricycle,
another releases all the Jacks that are still boxed as he roller-skates
away, while a third makes his exit skipping nimbly with a rope. The
shots are edited so that the three appear to be communicating with
one another, not just with outsize gleaming grins but with laughter,
which the trumpet simulates like wordless speech.
At last all three are expelled from the shop. The manager is so
exhausted that he locks up early, hanging a sign that says CLOSED BECAUSE OF BANANAS on the door. We next see him preparing for bed.
As he ducks to the sink with his toothbrush Tubby's face is revealed
in the bathroom mirror, grinning at the audience. Mark's giggle
sounds eager but a little nervous. The manager emerges in his nightshirt
from the bathroom and, having climbed into bed, tugs the cord
above him. The film gives him time to settle into restfulness before his
brow twitches and he reluctantly opens his eyes to peer down the dim
bed. Between his feet is a lump under the blankets. As he sits up, it
rises too. The bedclothes sag away from it, exposing Tubby's
delighted face. A change of angle shows it emerging upturned from
beneath the mattress, and another finds it as it pokes up from behind
the pillow. Did the cameraman intend to light each appearance so
that it glows like the moon? A shot of the frenzied manager fighting
the blankets dissolves to a close-up of him as he wakens. That's
reassuring only until a long shot reveals that he's wearing a straitjacket.
As he begins to
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