Yes, Freedonia, where the Marx brothers are running free. The absence of Harpo’s harp, Chico’s piano recitals, even a Groucho song, we’re free of these performances—not that I didn’t want to see them happen, but we’re free nonetheless. That’s because Duck Soup, from its nutty title sequence—with a duck soup on the screen, because, true to their word, there is such a thing as duck soup—to the very end, where Margaret Dumont belts the Freedonian anthem, is the purest filmic distillation of the Marx brothers. They’re simple psychotic, antagonistic, screwballs, burning rubber through their antics, on the way to nowhere, starting from nowhere, and somehow getting us somewhere. I love this movie. It is so crazy.