If you want to understand the exact moment Hollywood lost its mind—in the best way possible—you have to look at International House 1933. It’s a fever dream. Honestly, there isn't another way to describe a film that features W.C. Fields landing an autogyro on a hotel roof because he thought he was in Kansas City.
The movie is basically a Pre-Code variety show disguised as a sci-fi comedy. It centers on a group of eccentric people gathering in Wu Hu, China, to bid on a revolutionary invention: a "radioscope." Think of it as an early, bulky version of a television. But the plot is really just a flimsy excuse to jam every big radio star of the era into 68 minutes of pure, unadulterated chaos.
The Invention That Predicted the Future
The "radioscope" in International House 1933 isn't just a prop. It’s actually a fascinating look at how people in the early thirties viewed the coming age of television. Dr. Wong, the inventor, shows off "broadcasts" from around the world. This allowed Paramount to showcase their contract players without needing a coherent storyline.
You see performances from Rudy Vallée, Colonel Stoopnagle and Budd, and the Baby Rose Marie—who, yes, is the same Rose Marie people know from The Dick Van Dyke Show decades later. She was a powerhouse child star back then. It’s weird to watch her belt out a jazz number while the characters in the film react like they’re watching a magic trick.
The film reflects a genuine anxiety and excitement about global connectivity. In 1933, the idea of seeing something happening in London while sitting in China was pure science fiction. Today, we do it on our phones while waiting for coffee, but International House 1933 captures that "what if?" energy perfectly.
W.C. Fields and the Art of the Ad-Lib
W.C. Fields plays Professor Quail. He is the sun around which this messy planet orbits.
Most of his dialogue feels like he’s just muttering to himself, which, knowing Fields, he probably was. There’s a famous bit where he’s driving his "Spirit of Brooklyn" flying machine and ends up in the middle of a hotel. His interaction with the hotel staff is legendary. When asked if he’d like a room with a bath, he famously retorts that he isn’t looking for a "spring cleaning."
It’s coarse. It’s cynical. It’s perfect.
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Fields was reportedly drinking heavily during the production, which was par for the course. But his timing remained sharp as a razor. He shares the screen with Peggy Hopkins Joyce, a woman who was essentially the Zsa Zsa Gabor or Kim Kardashian of her day. She was famous for being famous and having a string of wealthy husbands. The movie leans into this, making her the object of everyone's (especially Fields') desire.
The Earthquake That Stayed in the Movie
Here is a bit of trivia that sounds fake but is 100% true. During filming at the Paramount studios in 1933, the Long Beach earthquake hit.
The cameras were rolling.
If you watch the scene where Fields is in the autogyro, you can actually see the set shaking. Fields, being the professional curmudgeon he was, didn't stop. He just kept going. The editors kept the footage because it fit the chaotic vibe of the movie anyway. It’s that kind of production—where a literal natural disaster is just another Tuesday on set.
Why Pre-Code Cinema Hits Different
You can’t talk about International House 1933 without talking about the Hays Code. Or rather, the lack of it. This movie was released just before the strict censorship rules were fully enforced in 1934.
Because of that, the humor is surprisingly blue.
There are double entendres that would make a modern audience blush, mostly coming from Fields or the incredible Gracie Allen. George Burns and Gracie Allen are in this, by the way. They play a doctor and nurse duo, and Gracie is at her "illogical" best. Her performance is a masterclass in the "dumb blonde" trope, but played with such surreal intelligence that it transcends the cliché.
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- The jokes about Joyce's many marriages.
- The casual drinking.
- The suggestive comments about the "radioscope" technology.
All of this would have been scrubbed clean a year later. Watching it now feels like peering into an alternate dimension where Hollywood was allowed to stay weird and slightly dangerous.
Cab Calloway and "Reefer Man"
One of the most famous—or infamous—segments of International House 1933 is Cab Calloway performing "Reefer Man."
It is exactly what it sounds like.
Calloway is electric. His energy is infectious, his "hi-de-hi-de-ho" style in full swing. But the lyrics are an explicit nod to marijuana use, which, again, shows just how loose the "rules" were in 1933. The sequence is stylish, beautifully shot, and completely out of place with the rest of the movie. And that’s why it works. The film doesn't care about flow; it cares about impact.
Behind the Scenes Struggles
It wasn't all fun and games on the set. Bela Lugosi is also in this movie. Yes, Dracula himself. He plays Joyce's jealous ex-husband. Lugosi was famously unhappy during this period, feeling typecast and underutilized. Seeing him in a frantic comedy like this is jarring. He plays it straight, which makes the surrounding absurdity even funnier, but you can tell he’s a long way from the moody atmosphere of Universal’s horror sets.
Director Edward Sutherland had his hands full. Trying to coordinate a cast of Vaudeville legends, radio stars, and a giant flying machine was a nightmare. The film went over budget and over schedule, but Paramount didn't care because they knew they had a hit.
The Legacy of a Fragmented Masterpiece
Most people today haven't heard of International House 1933. That’s a shame. It’s a precursor to the "ensemble comedy" and the "variety film" that would become popular in later decades. Without this, you might not have movies like It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World or even Airplane!.
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It’s a time capsule.
It captures the transition from Vaudeville to Cinema. You see performers who were used to playing to the back row of a theater suddenly having to scale their acts down for a lens. Some, like Fields, did it naturally. Others seem a bit lost, but that just adds to the charm.
The film also serves as a reminder that "old movies" weren't all stiff and formal. This is a loud, messy, drunken, hilarious romp. It’s short, punchy, and doesn't overstay its welcome.
How to Experience It Today
If you’re going to watch International House 1933, don't look for a deep plot. You won't find one. Instead, look for the details.
- Watch the background. The Art Deco sets are stunning. Paramount spent a fortune making "Wu Hu" look like a futuristic, stylized dreamscape.
- Listen to the wordplay. Fields’ vocabulary is a joy. He uses words like "proboscis" and "drastic" with a musicality that few actors have ever matched.
- Appreciate the tech. The radioscope scenes are essentially the birth of the "screen within a screen" trope.
Actionable Insights for Film Buffs:
- Seek out the Pre-Code era: If you like this, look for other films from 1930–1934. They are vastly more daring than anything that came out in the 1940s or 50s.
- Track the Vaudeville crossover: Research the cast. Almost everyone in this movie started on stage. Seeing how their "bits" were adapted for film is a lesson in entertainment history.
- Check out the "Spirit of Brooklyn": Look closely at the autogyro Fields flies. It’s a real piece of aviation history, a sort of hybrid between a plane and a helicopter that eventually went extinct.
Ultimately, this film is a reminder that even in the depths of the Great Depression, Hollywood was obsessed with the future. It’s a chaotic, nonsensical, and brilliant piece of work that deserves a spot in your watchlist. Just don't expect it to make sense. It’s not supposed to.