The Problematics: ‘A Fish Called Wanda,’ A Movie In Which A Sociopath With A Speech Impediment Murders Small Puppies

On its release 35 years ago, the frantic heist farce A Fish Called Wanda was greeted with hosannas by critics both in England and the U.S. This truly Transatlantic production’s cast foregrounded two Brits (Monty Python founding members John Cleese and Michael Palin) and two Yanks (attractive, newly-minted stars Jamie Leigh Curtis and Kevin Kline). Yank producer Michael Shamberg had The Big Chill under his belt (and Pulp Fiction in his future). Venerable Brit director Charles Crichton, 78 years old when he made this, had a bunch of classic Ealing comedies under his belt, including 1951’s Alec Guinness-starring The Lavender Hill Mob, which was an indirect influence on this rather more raucous outing. But critics noticed the way the movie crossed Python’s rude, anarchic and erudite style with Ealing’s more genteel and droll urbanity. A match made in comedy heaven. 

It’s the, um, anarchic stuff that made it controversial, a potential Problematic then AND now. The movie starts by introducing four criminals, none of whom ever gets a substantial backstory. There’s George, the mastermind, played as a relatively bland martinet by Tom Georgeson (as we shall see, somebody in this batch has to be a little less than colorful, just for contrast). There’s Ken, who seeks money perhaps to better care for endangered animals, and who has a really pronounced stutter. That’s Palin. One of Ken’s prized aquarium items is indeed a fish called Wanda, and she’s named after American bombshell Wanda Gershwitz, played by Curtis. Wanda is flirtatious with Ken, unabashedly sleeping with George, and also sleeping with unstoppably obnoxious knife-thrower and weapons expert Otto, played by a very caffeinated Kline (who won an Oscar for the role). She hides her affair with Otto from everyone, telling the gang that he’s her brother. The pathologically jealous Otto, a dolt who likes to quote Nietzsche and mock Brits, doesn’t like that one bit. 

Into the web of their criminal activities slides, more or less unwittingly, Cleese’s character, a lawyer named Archie Leach. The name is a play on the real name of ultra-suave screen icon Cary Grant, and it’s a nifty inside joke. Because Cleese’s character is, as Grant could be, urbane and competent and articulate…but he’s also a bit of a twit. Cleese’s performance makes you sympathize with him as you laugh at him, which is only apt since he turns out to be the hero in what eventually morphs into a romantic comedy.

But then there’s Ken and his stutter. Palin plays the speech impediment hard, and generally for laughs. Because  his character holds vital information about all the crosses and double-crosses the gang is pulling on each other in the wake of a jewel heist —and since he can’t get that information out in a timely fashion, the scenes in the comedy-of-frustration rely on that device.

Does that make the movie “ableist?” By official definition, “ableism” is “the discrimination of and social prejudice against people with disabilities based on the belief that typical abilities are superior.” Now Ken is, in some respects, the most gentle of the movie’s characters, but by the same token he’s also ruthless and a sociopath. Tasked with killing the one eyewitness to the heist, a little old lady with three little dogs, he doesn’t bat an eyelash at the prospect. The film’s then up-and-running joke has him accidentally killing each of the little dogs when attempting to whack the old lady, which causes Ken no little heartbreak, as he’s such an animal lover. He also gets a nasty wound in every outing; by the end of the film he’s a mess. 

The film doesn’t disdain Ken as such — given everything that goes on, passing judgment is not the picture’s business — but in milking his condition for laughs you can see why it would feel like a slight to real-life stutterers. It’s an agonizing condition. Although each individual sufferer no doubt handles it differently. In the 1980s I was in a band with a genius guitar player who had an impediment not unlike Ken’s. We had lost our drummer (I mean he left the band, not that we couldn’t find him; we’re all still friendly with him) and were reduced to traversing Bergen and Passaic counties, visiting a lot of 17-year-olds with red Yamaha drum kits who were really into Rush. We wrote songs with challenging time signatures, and said so in our classified ad, so it kind of made sense to get such respondents. We, however, were not much into Rush. One of our prospects asked out guitarist if he liked Rush axe man Alex Lifeson. He answered “No,” simply. Taking umbrage, the skin-pounder challenged him. “Why not?” “Because he…” and then our guitarist got stuck on the “s”, and it took him about 45 seconds to vehemently spit out “SUCKS!” The drummer didn’t laugh, but the charter band members did, including the guitarist himself. For all the anxiety he had about the condition, he also had a sense of humor about it and indeed is overall one of the funniest people I know with or without the stutter. I haven’t asked him his thoughts on Wanda, although I do know he’s a Python guy. 

So I suppose — as with the little-dog slaughter, which is played very slapstick, in the manner of the running “16 Tons” Monty Python gag — taking offense at this film is largely a matter of choice. Only the movie, for all its craft and care, doesn’t ask the viewer to take anything in it even remotely seriously — as farces go, it’s really committed to the farcical. 

Watching Wanda now, its nastiness still seems impertinently fresh — it hasn’t curdled the way that Cleese himself seems to have done in the past few years. Curtis’ line readings are especially hilarious — when she finally decided to blatantly violate Otto’s directive to never call him “stupid,” she lets loose: “To call you stupid would be an insult to stupid people! I’ve known sheep that could outwit you!” Which had me on the floor. My advice to those watching for the first time is, if you can hack speech impediment humor, you may have a good time. But the free-wheeling insouciance of the movie asks an equally breezy attitude from the viewer. Box-checkers need not apply. 

Veteran critic Glenn Kenny reviews‎ new releases at RogerEbert.com, the New York Times, and, as befits someone of his advanced age, the AARP magazine. He blogs, very occasionally, at Some Came Running and tweets, mostly in jest, at @glenn__kenny. He is the author of the acclaimed 2020 book Made Men: The Story of Goodfellas, published by Hanover Square Press.