Most famously, he assumed the role of Captain Spaulding in Animal Crackers for a run on stage when Groucho came down with appendicitis. In the biography of Groucho Marx Hello, I Must Be Going! by Charlotte Chandler (pen name for Lyn Erhard), Groucho proclaims, “Offstage, he was the funniest of us.” To showcase that onstage, Zeppo would often serve as understudies for his brothers in their stage productions. Part of why Zeppo has such a great rapport with Groucho, naturally, comes from growing up together as brothers and honing their skills not just in vaudeville, on Broadway, and in film, but also simply in their day to day lives. While Margaret Dumont was the perfect person for Groucho to barrage with one-liners like they were going out of style, as she represented everything about the elite he looked to mock, and Chico served as the perfect accomplice for escalating nonsense, Zeppo’s characters provided a perfect partner for Groucho's routine to actually feel like he is having a conversation with someone instead of saying funny lines. Zeppo has many of these kinds of back and forths with Groucho over the course of their five films. RELATED: Rob Zombie to Direct Groucho Marx Pic Scripted by Oren Moverman Even Zeppo gets to come in with a pure joke like, “How do you spell semicolon?” or struggle pronouncing the name “Hungadunga.” It is a masterclass comedy two-hander scene that still plays beautifully 91 years later.
Throughout the scene, Jamison has to interrupt his boss with clarifications and questions, and the back and forth speed at which the two talk without ever stepping on one another truly amazes. The contents of that letter are naturally absurd, filled with nonsense and strange punctuations. Spaulding dictates a letter to his secretary Jamison (Zeppo) for his lawyer. Take what is inarguably Zeppo’s finest hour of masterful timing in their second film, Animal Crackers, from 1930. Zeppo, most of whose material was performed with Groucho, matched his brother’s unparalleled timing in every way to maximize the zingers. For the Marx Brothers, particularly in the case of Groucho’s wisecracks, these parts must be more finely tuned than Dominic Torretto’s Dodge Charger, not just in joke quality but in quantity and pace. To again invoke The Prestige, a well constructed joke works much in the same way as a magic trick with three distinct parts: the premise, the audience’s expectation of the punchline, and the subversion of that expectation.
A joke without the proper setup is merely a non sequitur, which on occasion can get a chuckle, but the release of a big laugh requires a proper context in which to generate that laugh. While being the straight man is often a thankless task, they play an invaluable part in getting the laugh. However, once Zeppo left the troupe, a key component to making the brothers’ comedy work was lost, and that void proved nearly impossible to fill. After their contract with Paramount was up, Zeppo decided to leave the performing business entirely, becoming a theatrical agent for a number of Hollywood stars, including his brothers, due in large part with his frustrations of being the straight man and not getting to really show off his comedic chops. Typically, his role in their plays and films would be either the romantic lead or as Groucho’s assistant or secretary. He was also the most traditionally handsome of the bunch with a lovely singing voice. With Groucho the master wisecracker and wordsmith, Harpo the otherworldly mischief maker, and Chico the overconfident conman, very little wacky comedic space could be filled up after that, and Zeppo became the designated stiff. Zeppo joined his older brothers Groucho, Harpo, and Chico in their stage performances in the late 1910s, replacing their brother Gummo who joined the army.
Such was the case with the legendary comedy team the Marx Brothers and its youngest member, Zeppo Marx, who served as the ideal straight man for the group in their first five films. In a comedy troupe, however, someone will always be saddled with the job of setting up the joke rather than delivering the punchline. As actor and comedian Kevin Pollak would say on his old podcast, they suffer from “hey-look-at-me disease.” This is especially true in comedy, where the sole goal is to make the audience laugh. Whether they want to admit it or not, people who get up and perform for an audience want to be celebrated in some way. In Christopher Nolan’s 2006 magician drama The Prestige, Robert Angier ( Hugh Jackman), known professionally as “The Great Danton,” ends his performances with a teleportation trick involving a body double, forcing him to take his final bow underneath the stage while the double gets to bask in the adoration from the audience.
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