#Topcat com movie
If he seems to intrude too much into the musical numbers of this movie it's simply because the director/editor must have been overly fond of his coy mugging. Horton had impeccable timing in delivering a line or flashing a double-take - you feel he could just as easily count the nano-seconds between the neutron pulses of an atom.
Perplexed or chagrined, the hatchet-faced Horton is a monument to the lost art of supporting clown - those dumb bunnies and prissy busybodies that used to inhabit movies and give them life & breath even when the big-shot stars were off the screen. Like Margret DuMont with the Marx Brothers, there is something about the pernickity Horton that begs us to tilt his top hat and fling a banana peel his way just for the delightful reaction we are sure of getting.
Horton is a reactor, one which boosts a fairly pedestrian plot to the Moon & beyond. His triple-barreled name alone suggests haughty dignity and sniffing puritanism, and his role in this film, as in so many others, gives him ample scope to screw up his mouth in petty disdain, look aghast at social blunders, and sputter in disbelief over the foibles of others while generously ignoring his own idiocies.
Not to take away from Astaire & Rogers' beautiful balletic grace, but no one ever gave more comedy more modestly yet more professionally than Edward Everett Horton. When whipping up the froth of a musical comedy most creators and commentators forget that fateful second word.
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