You’ve never seen a silent comedy duel quite like this. Tim Conway advances in near–slow motion—one blink, one microscopic shuffle, one painfully delayed reach for the ship’s wheel. And Harvey Korman is already finished. Gasping. Wheezing. Folding in on himself as if he just ran a marathon in clown shoes.
Every pause lands like a punchline. Every stretch of silence tightens the trap. The studio collapses. The cast loses it. The crew can barely breathe. Everyone breaks—except Harvey, trapped in the most polite nightmare imaginable, begging for mercy while plotting revenge.
