One, Two, Three
Billy Wilder turns Berlin into a pressure cooker where capitalism, communism, business, family and propaganda collide at an almost absurd speed. That is exactly the fun of One, Two, Three: it barely allows the viewer to breathe. Dialogue flies, characters rush in and out, plans pile up, and every solution immediately creates another problem.
James Cagney is the perfect center for this kind of madness. His MacNamara is permanently accelerated, trying to control employees, Soviets, superiors, family and a crisis that keeps growing. Cagney speaks as if every sentence has to win a race, and Wilder uses that speed not only for comedy but also to portray a corporate world that turns every human situation into a matter of efficiency, appearances and profit.
The film attacks in every direction. Capitalism is tied to Coca-Cola, professional advancement and an almost miraculous ability to turn anything into a commodity. Communism hardly receives more respectful treatment: bureaucracy, slogans, opportunism and contradictions accumulate relentlessly. Wilder seems less interested in defending one ideology against the other than in showing how easily both can be reduced to interests, appearances and negotiation.
Horst Buchholz works very well as the young, fiery counterweight. His character represents convictions that appear absolute until they come into contact with the machinery MacNamara sets in motion. Much of the comedy comes from watching a supposedly rigid identity being dismantled and rebuilt at great speed whenever circumstances demand it.
Pamela Tiffin supplies the chaos needed to make everything collapse. Her character is almost a bomb dropped into an already absurd geopolitical situation, and Wilder uses that energy to turn a private problem into a corporate and diplomatic emergency.
What amused me most was the cumulative nature of the farce. There is never just one complication: every problem seems to multiply by three. The film constantly appears to ask what could possibly make an already impossible situation worse, and it almost always finds another answer.
It is also impressive that humor so rooted in the Cold War still works. Some references obviously belong to their historical moment, but the satire of the promotion-obsessed executive, giant corporations, propaganda and people who change their principles when an advantage appears remains instantly recognizable.
The pace can be exhausting. There are moments when Wilder fires off so many jokes, entrances, exits and replies that some inevitably get lost. It does not have the emotional depth of The Apartment, nor does it try to. Here everything is subordinated to speed, absurdity and the comic destruction of solemnity.
That is exactly why the final joke works so well. After turning Coca-Cola almost into a geopolitical force, the film allows itself one last tiny gag that makes it clear even the brand dominating the entire story is not safe from the satire.
One, Two, Three was great fun for me. It is an enormous tangle assembled with remarkable precision, a breathless comedy in which Cagney always seems seconds away from exploding and Wilder fires at everyone without stopping to ask permission. It did not affect me the way The Apartment did, but as a frantic satire it is an extraordinary display of pace, wit and bite.
James Cagney is the perfect center for this kind of madness. His MacNamara is permanently accelerated, trying to control employees, Soviets, superiors, family and a crisis that keeps growing. Cagney speaks as if every sentence has to win a race, and Wilder uses that speed not only for comedy but also to portray a corporate world that turns every human situation into a matter of efficiency, appearances and profit.
The film attacks in every direction. Capitalism is tied to Coca-Cola, professional advancement and an almost miraculous ability to turn anything into a commodity. Communism hardly receives more respectful treatment: bureaucracy, slogans, opportunism and contradictions accumulate relentlessly. Wilder seems less interested in defending one ideology against the other than in showing how easily both can be reduced to interests, appearances and negotiation.
Horst Buchholz works very well as the young, fiery counterweight. His character represents convictions that appear absolute until they come into contact with the machinery MacNamara sets in motion. Much of the comedy comes from watching a supposedly rigid identity being dismantled and rebuilt at great speed whenever circumstances demand it.
Pamela Tiffin supplies the chaos needed to make everything collapse. Her character is almost a bomb dropped into an already absurd geopolitical situation, and Wilder uses that energy to turn a private problem into a corporate and diplomatic emergency.
What amused me most was the cumulative nature of the farce. There is never just one complication: every problem seems to multiply by three. The film constantly appears to ask what could possibly make an already impossible situation worse, and it almost always finds another answer.
It is also impressive that humor so rooted in the Cold War still works. Some references obviously belong to their historical moment, but the satire of the promotion-obsessed executive, giant corporations, propaganda and people who change their principles when an advantage appears remains instantly recognizable.
The pace can be exhausting. There are moments when Wilder fires off so many jokes, entrances, exits and replies that some inevitably get lost. It does not have the emotional depth of The Apartment, nor does it try to. Here everything is subordinated to speed, absurdity and the comic destruction of solemnity.
That is exactly why the final joke works so well. After turning Coca-Cola almost into a geopolitical force, the film allows itself one last tiny gag that makes it clear even the brand dominating the entire story is not safe from the satire.
One, Two, Three was great fun for me. It is an enormous tangle assembled with remarkable precision, a breathless comedy in which Cagney always seems seconds away from exploding and Wilder fires at everyone without stopping to ask permission. It did not affect me the way The Apartment did, but as a frantic satire it is an extraordinary display of pace, wit and bite.
Mini Review: Billy Wilder turns Berlin into a pressure cooker where capitalism, communism, business, family and propaganda collide at an almost absurd speed. That is exactly the fun of One, Two, Three: it barely allows the viewer to breathe. Dialogue flies, characters rush in and out, plans pile up, and every solution immediately creates another problem. James Cagney is the perfect center for this kind of madness. His MacNamara is permanently accelerated,...