You know the scene. The top hats. The white tie. The absolute absurdity of a 7-foot monster screeching Irving Berlin lyrics while shuffling across a stage. It’s the crown jewel of 1974’s Young Frankenstein. But honestly, Gene Wilder Puttin on the Ritz almost didn't happen. If Mel Brooks had gotten his way, that film would have ended with a lot more logic and a lot less magic.
It’s hard to imagine the movie without it. It’s the "water cooler" moment of the 70s. Yet, behind the curtain, the two best friends were practically at each other’s throats.
The 20-Minute Screaming Match
Mel Brooks and Gene Wilder usually moved in lockstep. They were a comedy powerhouse. But when Wilder brought the "Puttin' on the Ritz" sequence to the table during the writing phase, Brooks hated it. He didn't just dislike it; he thought it was a disaster.
"It's frivolous!" Brooks reportedly yelled. He was worried that having the monster sing and dance would shatter the "reality" of the film. They were making a parody, sure, but Brooks wanted the world to feel authentic to the 1931 Universal horror aesthetic. He thought a vaudeville number would make the movie look like a cheap sketch.
They argued for twenty minutes. Wilder was "blue in the face." He wouldn't back down. Then, suddenly, Mel just stopped and said, "Okay, it's in."
Wilder was stunned. He asked why Mel had put him through twenty minutes of hell just to agree. Mel’s answer was pure genius: "Because I wasn't sure. I thought if you didn't argue for it, it would be wrong. But if you really argued, I knew it was right."
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Peter Boyle’s Off-the-Cuff Screech
While the tap dancing was choreographed by Alan Johnson—the same guy who did "Springtime for Hitler"—the vocals were a different story. The script had the lyrics, but nobody knew exactly how the monster should "sing" them.
Peter Boyle, who played the Monster, basically found the voice in the moment. He didn't try to be a singer. He went for a strained, strangled, high-pitched yelp that sounded like "Puuu-in' un da Reeez!"
It was perfect.
It was tragic. It was hilarious. It showed the Monster’s desperate desire to be "sophisticated" while his vocal cords were still, well, dead. That contrast is why the scene works. If he had sung it well, it wouldn't be funny. Because he sounds like a tea kettle about to explode, it’s legendary.
Breaking the Fourth Wall
Gene Wilder had a specific rule for this movie. He told Mel, "If you’re not in it, I’ll do it." He didn't want Mel Brooks’ usual "wink-at-the-camera" cameos. He wanted the comedy to come from the characters believing in their own ridiculousness.
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During the filming of the Ritz scene, the audience in the theater (the extras) were instructed to throw vegetables. The chaos was real. When the stage light "explodes" in the scene, it triggers the Monster's trauma from the "fire" in the original films. It’s a brilliant bridge between a musical gag and actual character development.
Why it Still Works in 2026
Most comedy ages like milk. What was funny in 1974 usually feels cringe today. But Gene Wilder Puttin on the Ritz has stayed fresh because it’s a masterclass in tension and release.
- The Build-Up: Frederick Frankenstein (Gene) spends the first half of the scene trying to be a serious scientist.
- The Reveal: The curtain rises, and they’re in tuxedos. The audience is confused.
- The Payoff: The Monster starts tapping.
The scene is a love letter to Fred Astaire wrapped in a horror movie. It shouldn't work. By all laws of cinema, it should be a tonal train wreck. But because Wilder played it with such earnestness—as if his character's entire reputation depended on this dance—the audience buys into it.
The Legacy of the Tap Shoes
Interestingly, the tap dancing you hear in the movie wasn't entirely done by the actors on the day. Much of it was dubbed in later to ensure the rhythm was crisp. Alan Johnson made sure the "clack-clack" of the shoes felt like a Broadway production, which only made the Monster’s clumsy movements funnier.
Years later, when Mel Brooks turned Young Frankenstein into a Broadway musical, "Puttin' on the Ritz" was the centerpiece. Susan Stroman choreographed it for the stage, and it became a massive ensemble number. Mel eventually admitted that Gene was 100% right. He even called it the best thing in the movie.
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What You Can Learn from This
If you’re a creator, the story of this scene is a reminder to fight for your "frivolous" ideas. Sometimes the thing that feels "too much" is exactly what makes the project iconic.
To really appreciate the craft, watch the scene again but focus only on Gene Wilder’s face. He isn't smiling. He’s terrified for his "son." He’s coaching him with his eyes. That’s why it’s human-quality comedy. It’s not just a gag; it’s a story about a dad trying to show off his kid at a talent show, even if the kid is a reanimated corpse.
Next time you're re-watching, look for the moment right after the Monster's first "solo." Wilder's sigh of relief is genuine. He knew they were capturing lightning in a bottle.
Actionable Insights:
- Trust your gut: If you're passionate about an idea that others find "silly," fight for it until you're "purple in the face."
- Contrast is king: High-brow culture (Irving Berlin) mixed with low-brow chaos (monster grunts) is a foolproof formula for lasting humor.
- Commit to the bit: The scene works because the actors don't treat it as a joke; they treat it as a high-stakes performance.