Review - The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1960)

July 9, 2020

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn – US, 1960

A narrative has emerged recently that slavery should be presented on screen as it truly was. I understand these sentiments, and over the years many such depictions have stayed with me, from the shocking scenes on the slave ship in Steven Spielberg’s Amistad to the willful cruelty depicted in 12 Years A Slave. Understandably, I wouldn’t want my five-year-old daughter to see such images, and that begs the question: Just how do you begin to let children know that mankind has not always been civil to its fellow man? Well, showing them Michael Curtiz’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is one fairly sanitized option.

Why sanitized exactly? A few reasons. First, there’s the complete absence of that particular word that has caused Mark Train’s book to be the subject of conversations about book banning. Second, the film takes place in Mississippi in 1851, yet the biggest threat to slaves seems to be that their shackles will be too tight. Oh sure, there’s a remark here and there about being whipped as punishment, but that possibility never elicits much of a response, not even by the character most likely to be on the receiving end of the torture. And then there’s the comedy. This comes in many forms – Tony Randall and Mickey Shaughnessy as con men trying to swindle money from two young ladies who have recently lost their father; Buster Keaton as a lion trainer/snake charmer who keeps talking about radishes; and, it goes without saying, the character of Huckleberry Finn, one of the more ingenious ones ever created. Huck has the mind of a master improvisationalist, impressively finding creative and humorous fixes for life’s everyday problems – well, his life’s that is.

Like the book, Curtiz’s film is essentially a boy’s personal awakening to the evils of slavery. In an early scene, Huck loudly proclaims “I ain’t no abolitionist,” and despite the fact that he says that to an abusive father with a real loathing for such people, the sentiments are his. He expresses the same ones later on to his friend Jim, who just happens to be one of his aunt’s slaves. To escape his father’s drunken violence, Huck stages his own death; meanwhile, Jim, upon hearing that he could be sold, decides to run away. Together, the two of them board a raft and head down the Mississippi River, each in pursuit of a freedom that neither has really known. As the journey progresses, we witness Huck’s evolution on one of the most important issues of his and our time.

Twain wrote The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in the first person, thereby enabling readers to follow along with Huck on his personal journey, and in perhaps its most famous passage – and the one that I have vivid memories of my old friend Tarrus Baker so elegantly reading in a high school English class – Huck narrates his sudden awareness of the similarities between him and Jim. In doing so, he is recognizing Jim’s humanity and sensing the righteousness of his quest for freedom, and that shapes Huck’s actions from that point on in the story.

Screenplay writer James Lee elected not to have Huck narrate his adventure, which makes sense if you want to avoid using offensive language or make Huck likeable right off the bat. However, to have the same effect of the printed word, the film needs a number of powerful close-ups of Huck - upon hearing of Jim’s daughter, upon seeing a row of runaway prisoners being marched back into bondage, upon seeing Jim in chains. Alas, most such moments are shot from a distance, enabling the audience to see all of the key characters, but robbing them of the raw emotions that would have been apparent had the camera simply rested on Huck’s face for a few seconds.

So, the film is not as effective as the book, and Curtiz’s momentary insertion of musical numbers is simply perplexing. Twice, Jim sings a few bars of a song seemingly entitled “Huck Finn.” For what purpose, I’m not entirely sure. And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the discomfort that some might feel during Huck and Jim’s circus performance toward the end of the film, for while I’m sure there were acts like theirs, it is harder to watch them nowadays without cringing.

Eddie Hodges plays Huck exceptionally well, perfectly capturing both his easy-going nature and his creative genius. However, the film is Archie Moore’s on account of his brilliantly nuanced performance as Jim. Here is a character living in a society that has legally stripped him of power, but not been able to bend his will. Sure, there are times when Jim appears to be ignorant of common things, which, if true, is not entire unexpected when people are denied an education and not allowed to read. Still, he knows how to survive, and this can involve playing naive at critical moments. Moore’s face often hints that Jim knows a bit more than he lets on. He doesn’t overplay the moment when Jim thinks he sees a ghost, and he absolutely nails the conversations in which he opens up about his personal failings. We see why Huck would change. The final exchange between the two characters is just beautiful, perfectly conveying the bond that has developed between them, as well as their understanding that this is likely the last time they’ll ever see each other.   

Inevitably, such films as The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn are made for kids, and as such they are stepping stones in their understanding of human beings and history. Young viewers will leave the film having seen a transformation akin to the one America experienced in the years preceding the American Civil War and which readers have personally witnessed in the years since the release of Twain’s book in 1884. The film is not perfect, but at a time when protesters are taking to the streets to draw attention to the inequality that still exists and demanding that society recognize the value of Black lives, it tells a tale that demonstrates the value of listening and being willing and able to see our common humanity. Huck puts himself in Jim’s shoes and is a better person for it. That remains a valuable lesson. (on DVD)

3 stars

Review - Boom in the Moon

May 11, 2019

Boom in the Moon – Mexico, 1946

I have to start with an admission. The version I saw of Jaime Salvador’s Boom in the Moon (a.k.a. El Moderno Barba Azul) was dubbed, and this made the experience of watching the film even more frustrating that it would already have been. In the version I watched, a character speaks English to someone who then responds - in English, mind you - that he can’t understand what the other person just said. Then they go to a third person who also speaks English, yet claims that he too cannot comprehend what an English speaker is saying. Thus, they throw him in a jail cell until he learns to speak the language he already speaks. You can see how a version of the film with the appropriate subtitles would have been preferred.

Boom in the Moon has the distinction of being the final starring role of the great Buster Keaton’s film career. He would, of course, appear in other films, yet he would do so in supporting roles and on television. However, calling what he does in the film “starring” is a bit of a stretch, for Keaton’s role often calls for him to just stand around and look as if he is utterly unable to understand what is being said around him. At other times, his character replies to the very people that just moments earlier he found incomprehensible, a discrepancy that the film doesn’t even attempt to explain. When he is finally given time to demonstrate his comic chops, the scenes are gallingly brief. For example, a scene in which he rides on a horse that walks at a snail’s pace has potential, yet ends abruptly when someone arrives to help him move faster. In total, it last about thirty seconds, hardly enough time for it to develop.

In the film, Keaton plays a World War II sailor who finds himself adrift in the Pacific Ocean. After reaching a land that he immediately assumes is Japan, he dons his military garb and hurls a grenade at the lone human being he sees. The shot of the man on the ground looking stunned is supposed to be funny. Eventually, the sailor decides to surrender to the “Japanese” and finds himself in a Mexican jail, mistaken for a serial killer whose victims were six “young girls.” The arresting official seems tickled pink about the situation and orders that he be given whatever he wants. The scene was more off-putting than side-splitting.

From there, the film introduces an additional prisoner, an American (dubbed by an actor whose voice bares a striking resemblance to that of Jimmy Durante) accused of killing a single person, a fact that makes him less of a celebrity than Keaton’s character. Eventually, the two of them are sprung from jail by a bunch of cowboys working for a scientist who has invented a rocket that he needs to find a guinea pig for. Who better, he’s told, than a bluebeard whose only other option is the electric chair. And with that the film begins to resemble Mellies’s 1902 short Le Voyage dans la Lune, yet without the charm or wonder of watching a cinematic genius at work.

And Jaime Salvador is anything but. One mistake he makes is to film Keaton repeatedly from afar, Here was one of the greatest actors of his time, a master at reactions, and in an early scene, Salvador choose to film him from what appears to be atop a hill. The result is that we see his character walking stealthily or surrounded by a parade of strangers, each of whom is greatly amused by the emergence of a foreigner who resembles Rip Van Winkle. However, we don’t get a good look at his reactions. It’s a pity. They were probably quite humorous.

The film becomes slightly watchable in its final act, which takes place on a rocket and on the surface that it lands on. There is a lot of potential in three people being on a planet for the first time. Mellies chose to inhabit the moon with violent monkeys that disintegrated after being hit on the head by an umbrella. Sure, it was silly, but it was also great fun. What happens in Boom in the Moon is much less entertaining, and the script denies Keaton the chance to really show off his comic genius on a strange new world. However, there’s enough of a hint of creativity there to prevent viewers from detesting the film as a whole. I just wish there were more zaniness and less reliance on what were even then extremely obvious comic tropes.

Boom in the Moon is a reminder that stars rarely get to choose their swan song.  However, I imagine that wish that someone as great as Keaton would go out on a high note is felt more deeply by fans that by the actors themselves. When the parts dried up, Keaton’s immediate concern was likely for his family and their well-being, not what future generations would think of how his time as an A-lister came to an end. Still, there’s no denying the disappointment that comes after a film like Boom in the Moon closes the door on a storied career. We want one more masterpiece, one more great role, a moment in which the star rides into the sunset with his head held high. Boom in the Moon is far from this. In fact, the final scene in which he flees from his less-than-attractive wife is somewhat cringe-worthy. Again, we don’t get to choose how a star goes out. Fortunately, Keaton’s greatness cannot be diminished by the string of disappointments he made at the end of his career, not even by the massive dud that is Boom in the Moon. (on DVD)

1 and a half stars

Review - The Invader

March 14, 2019

The Invader (a.k.a. An Old Spanish Custom) – U.K., 1936

Remind me the next time I see my former co-workers who taught Spanish to talk to them about The Invaders. I want them to tell me if what we see in it has any basis in reality, either past or present, or whether this, like so much in movies, was a thing of fiction cooked up by someone who thought it would be humorous. The quip I’m referring to comes early in The Invaders, and it involves a Spanish couple – at least I think they were a couple – repeatedly slapping each other. When the woman uses all her might to smack the man, his face become flush with joy, and he proclaims something like “So, you do love me!” and she asks him if that isn’t obvious. So, if I understand this correctly, the harder one slaps someone, the more affection he or she feels. It’s an abusive spouse’s greatest fantasy.

And then there’s what happens next – the placing of rules on the one you profess to love. No sooner does the man learn that the woman he apparently loves indeed adores him back, then he imposes on her a series of severe, sexist restrictions. For example, she is banned from flirting with any other man – a rather ridiculous rule seeing as how she is an entertainer in the man’s club. The penalty for violating his rules: death to the man who receives her advances. Those of you looking down at your complimentary list of ethnic stereotypes perpetuated in movies can check off numbers one and three.

And we’re not done there, for no sooner does the man lay down his version of the law and depart, then a man comes out from under a tablecloth-covered table and passionately embraces the woman, all the while expressing both a rugged refusal to be intimidated and the heartfelt implorings of a woman who loves a man too much to put his life at risk. But wait! Those sentiments have awakened another notion, one of a more baser instinct. If the first man becomes so enraged with jealousy that he kills someone, then he’ll go to jail. And nothing says that the second man has to be him. It could be any poor sap unfortunate enough to fall for the woman’s charms. Now, check your list again. Somewhere on there, I’m sure, is conniving and prone to go along with homicidal impulses.

So, let’s see if I understand this clearly: The Invaders is about a couple trying to find someone for the woman’s boyfriend to kill in a fit of rage. If so, this is the stuff of black comedies, something in the vein of War of the Roses and Ruthless People, and with the sudden appearance of Buster Keaton as the couple’s intended sap, what could go wrong? Well, plenty, if you must know.

In the film, Keaton plays Leander Proudfoot, a yachtsman who is, for some unknown reason, sailing around Spain. It is also unclear just why Leander goes ashore alone – other than for comic purposes. Normally, I would not quibble with this, but there’s just one problem. The film is simply not funny. That’s not entirely correct. I did laugh in one place – and when I say one, I mean one. The moment came about halfway into the picture and involved Keaton and a musical instrument. Sadly, the levity was fleeting.

There’s a truism for films of this sort. The more time they devote to musical numbers that distract rather than adding to the plot, the worse they are. Also, with a short running time – The Invader clocks in at a little more than fifty minutes - any misuse of screen time is a sin. In fact, there are only two musical numbers that are necessary to the plot, one that establishes the woman as the object of men’s affection and another in which Keaton serenades the woman under her balcony. All of the other numbers could have been shortened or stricken from the film completely.

I’ve written before that the best of Buster Keaton’s films are about two people in love, but unsure of the way into each other’s arms. I think the key is to these films’ success is the investment that the audience has in the fulfillment of that relationship. Here, though, there’s no backstory to get behind. Keaton’s character just sees Lupita (Lupita Toar) on stage and falls for her. It’s not real love, but rather something akin to those high school crushes that start simply because a young man boy lays eyes on an attractive girl. There’s no reason to invest in these characters or their relationship, and their eventual get-together produced feelings of indifference and incredulity instead of excitement and satisfaction.

The film was directed by Adrian Brunel, whom I was unfamiliar with before seeing this film, and his work here is hit and miss. He has a large cast, but gives very few of them anything of substance to do. He shoots dance scenes that look suspiciously and tragically improvised, and just what people would see appealing in them or the dancer doing them escapes me. He also has the annoying habit of telegraphing what comes next. For example, in the scene in which Leander tries to serenade Lupita, he sits under a man’s balcony. Brunel films the items on the balcony – eggs and a plant. Care to guess where they end up? Even more egregious, he doesn’t seem to understand how to build comic scenarios around Buster Keaton, one of the greatest comedians who ever lived. In one key moment, a bartender puts something in Keaton’s drink, yet the scene leads nowhere. Keaton just sniffs the drink and pours it out discreetly. Nothing funny there. And yet, later in the film, when Brunel finally showcases Keaton’s physical comedy skills, as he does when Leander is preparing for a duel, the film becomes pleasantly watchable. Not good, mind you, but almost.

I never completely disliked The Intruder, not did I ever have overly positive feeling toward it. It has a scenario that is promising, yet never develops it to its potential. It has a female lead that is appealing, yet she is never allowed to use that appeal to its full potential. And it’s got Keaton, here making his second appearance in a film made outside the Hollywood system, yet it hardly knows how to use him either. I’m tempted to end something snide here, but this may have been the film that made me finally understand the notion that a film can only be this terrible for so long before it becomes somewhat watchable. And in all honesty, there are worse things that can be said of a film. (on YouTube)

2 stars

Review - What! No Beer?

January 17, 2019

What! No Beer? – U.S., 1933

The cynic in me is convinced that Edward Sedgwick’s instructions to the stars of his 1933 film What! No Beer? were, “Buster, act shy and uncomfortable, and Jimmy, be loud and obnoxious,” in other words, to play the same roles they’d played in countless other films. And this makes sense in a way. After all, What! No Beer? is one of Sedgwick’s lazier films – it can’t even be bothered to give its stars original names. Keaton plays another character named Elmer, while Jimmy plays, who else, his best friend, Jimmy. A curious choice, really. Elmer, like so many of Keaton’s characters is awkward, reserved, and physically clumsy; Jimmy is boisterous, vigorous, and laughter-prone. In fact, he’s probably never made a joke that he didn’t find hilarious. The pairing made sense in Speak Easily, in which Jimmy was a member of the performance troupe that Keaton’s character decided to back financially. Here, we’re asked to accept them as life-long friends, but I have a feeling that two people with such contrasting personalities would have drifted apart long ago.

The film, a comedy without any real laughs, begins on the eve of an election in 1933 in which every state appears to be going to the ballot box to vote either dry or wet. When it’s a clean sweep for wet, Jimmy comes up with the idea of being the first to re-open a bar. So, he and Elmer spend all of Elmer’s life savings on a run-down brewery and open it the following day. There’s only one problem: Prohibition hasn’t officially ended yet. This makes them bootleggers and completion to the local gangsters who prospered during the years of the great dry experiment.

There’s comic potential in the scenario. Jimmy and Elmer could actually get into their new roles as criminals doing something that is on the verge is being legal. They could take on new personalities, bumble and stumble while trying to act the part of characters they would likely only know through movies and stereotypes, all the while getting deeper and deeper into a criminal world that they have no clue how to maneuver in. Alas, instead we get Durante and Keaton playing variations of the same characters we’ve seen them play countless times. It’s rare that I assume I know what was going on in an actor’s mind when he made a film, but it hard not to look at Keaton in this film and not see a disappointed actor. Here he is playing the same role he’s played numerous times before in service of a script that is undeserving of him. I would go so far as to say that neither Segwick not screenwriter Carey Wilson knew what to do with Keaton. Case in point, late in the film Keaton is shown running away from a truckful of barrels of beer which have gotten loose. The old Keaton, the one that had creative control and wasn’t shy about taking risks physically, would have used the scene as an opportunity to dazzle audiences with his athletic prowess and comic timing. Here, he just finds a place to take shelter and waits for the chaos to subside. Nothing really to see there. (Wikipedia offers a more depressing explanation for Keaton's demeanor. You can read it here)

The best Buster Keaton films combine slapstick comedy with romantic sensibility. In them, Keaton is often on a mission to marry the woman he loves, and we, through his devotion and determination, root him on in this pursuit. What! No Beer? denies Keaton much of the slapstick that made him famous. Instead, he’s reduced to just looking uncomfortable in compromising positions and straining to make scenes that were past their expiration date even in 1933 humorous. What’s worse, like so many of his later films, he’s saddled with a romance that seems thrown together without much thought. For example, it’s one thing for a character to say I hate my abusive gangster boyfriend; it’s quite another to say Now I’ll marry the awkward guy I just met. The only intriguing thing about the scenes involving Elmer and the woman he loves, played by Phyllis Barry, is a risqué bit in which she is trying to seduce him and he acts as if he’s completely oblivious to her double entendres. We’ve seen moments like this before, but there’s a boldness to the seduction that’s new for a Buster Keaton film. The problem is that Keaton and Barry have so little screen time together that they have no opportunity to develop any genuine chemistry, and there’s a coldness to their scenes that is unusual for a Keaton film, at least for early Keaton ones.

What! No Beer? was the last film that Keaton made for Metro Goldwyn-Meyer, and if I’m honest, that studio, with the exception of 1928’s The Cameraman, never used Keaton to his strength. Perhaps it was inevitable. Few slapstick comedians from the silent era successfully made the transition to talking films, and the ones that did often saw their creativity curtailed. It is clear that Keaton had very little, if any, control over what he did in What! No Beer? and that those who did, did not have the sense to let Keaton play against type or to at least give him enough scenes with Barry to make their eventual love more realistic. Instead, we get a rushed studio product, the equivalent of the greatest hits albums that record companies force bands to release to get out of their contacts. At least with those album, you get something that fans can use to discover a band later on; What! No Beer? gives us no greatest hits, no classic scenes to buzz about online, and no moments of sheer romantic brilliance or slapstick insanity. Instead, we get a movie that I can’t imagine inspiring people to look back at Keaton’s earlier work. It’s more likely to make people wonder what all the fuss surrounding Keaton was about, and this is a genuine shame. (on DVD from WB’s Archive Collection)

2 stars

Review - The Passionate Plumber

December 13, 2018

The Passionate Plumber – US, 1932

Edward Sedgwick’s The Passionate Plumber is one of the more curious films I’ve ever seen, and in this instance, that is not a compliment. Here’s a movie set in Paris with mainly French characters, yet none of the lead actors actually speaks French. Now before you say that’s because they’re in an American film, consider this: They are surrounded by French speakers speaking nothing but French, yet here are our lead characters, some of them with French names, speaking English and, occasionally, extremely butchered French. It’s odd to say the least. Add to that, the stereotypically exaggerated way in which practically every French man in the film reacts to the film’s hero and the fact that one of the leads is a hot-tempered Spanish woman who screams and breaks things as a way of showing her affection, and you’ve got a movie that probably could not be made today.

But this is a film from 1932, and it is a Buster Keaton film as well, so if you subscribe to the viewpoint of a moral relativist, you’ll argue that it is wrong to judge the film by today’s expectations of logic and our abhorrence of cultural stereotypes. This is a sentiment I partially agree with, having argued that movies that feature Caucasian actors in either blackface or yellowface should not be shunned simply for featuring something that many others featured at the time. Yet, consider for a moment the choices that many of those films made, mainly to have all of its characters speak the same language and have the same level of fluency. In other words, the audience heard them speak perfect English, but we knew they were really speaking faultless Chinese or Spanish. I half-expected The Passionate Plumber to begin much in the way Mel Brooks began To Be or Not to Be, with Anne Bancroft and Mel Brooks quarreling in Polish only to be interrupted by a narrator informing them and us that the film will no longer be in that language. And we can accept English accents as French so long as everyone has one. When only half do, it’s another matter entirely.

The Passionate Plumber finds Buster Keaton playing Elmer E. Tuttle (The E is short for Elmer.), a plumber in Paris who in the film’s early moments is summoned to fix the shower of a wealthy Parisian woman named Patricia Jadine (Irene Purcell). Patricia is trying to evade her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Tony (Gilbert Roland). It seems that Tony is married and Patricia has decided she needs a new start. If only she weren’t so in love with him and so easily drawn back into his arms by his romantic words and sugary promises of a long-term commitment. Eventually, Patricia turns to Elmer for help. His task is simple: Do whatever is takes to keep her from running back to him.

There’s definitely comic potential in this scenario, and those of us familiar with earlier Keaton films can easily predict just who Patricia will end up with in the end, yet the film never truly finds its footing. Far too much time is devoted to a subplot involving Elmer trying to tell a military commander about a night gun he’s invented, and then there’s the unusual amount of time devoted to explaining Tony’s situation. It’s almost as if the film is trying to make him a tragic hero, a man who can’t control his passion for women and because of that flaw can’t see the truly amazing woman in front of him. Normally, I don’t mind such character exploration, yet they forgot one key detail: Tony is the antagonist.

Keaton doesn’t get many truly great comic opportunities here. While I enjoyed the persistent gag involving Elmer’s reluctant habit of slapping most of the French men he angers with a white glove (and on one occasion a bath towel) and the ingenious way he gets out of each ensuing challenge to a dual, I never really laughed aloud at it. In fact, in my notes, I have the words “finally laughed” under the line “You said that yesterday,” yet for the life of me, I can’t remember what it was uttered in response to. I guess it was just that kind of movie. Joining Keaton in his many attempts at zaniness once again is Jimmy Durant, and while I praised his performance in Speak Easily for breathing life into that disaster, here I found him somewhat intolerable, not because he does not bring energy to the film, but because he’s essentially playing the same character – a loud, wise cracking sidekick with a knack for expressing wit and uttering rather horrible jokes. Having seen the shtick once, I was less impressed the second time around.

When Keaton was at his peak, his films were a marvelous combination of slapstick, deadpan, and romance. When Keaton got the girl, it was because he had finally been able to be the person he’d always wanted to be in her eyes. Such early happy endings continue to leave audiences with a deep sense of satisfaction. I remember the feeling I had at the end of College with its final shots of Keaton’s headstone next to his wife’s, signaling that to them it really was till death do us part. The Passionate Plumber fails because it neglects to make Elmer and Patricia a couple we root for. In truth, how can we when the film devotes no time at all to establishing a connection between them? Instead, it appears to be operating on that assumption that far too many films have made: that if a character just hangs around long enough, a woman will realize she loves him eventually. This works in short films, yet when a film has over 70 minutes to build a relationship and elects not to, the happy ending comes across as unearned and, perhaps even more egregious, uninspired.

And that’s a shame because had the film focused more on Elmer and Patricia, it may have worked. Keaton and Purcell certainly have excellent comic timing, and they appear at ease with each other even during the movie’s more “pre-code” moments. I just didn’t buy the ending. A wiser film would have just let Elmer leave the way he came in, having successfully preventing Patricia from belittling herself any longer. She would be ready to move on, and Elmer would be off to his next plumbing gig. Alas, such endings are more associated with Chaplin. Keaton simply had to get the girl. I get it, I do. I’m just a little tired of it, that’s all. (on DVD as part of Warner Brothers’ Buster Keaton at MGM triple feature)

2 stars 

Review - Speak Easily

November 15, 2018

Speak Easily – U.S., 1932

Thank goodness for Jimmy Durante. This is, of course, an odd way to begin a review of a Buster Keaton movie, but bear this in mind, it is a review of a late Buster Keaton movie, and as fans of his are likely well aware of, his later films were not kind to him. In Edward Sedgwick's Speak Easily, he plays a college professor named Potts (Buster Keaton) who mistakenly believes he has inherited a sizable fortune. The motivation for this deception is this: to teach him how to live, a sentiment that sounds downright noble until you realize that the deception could thrust him into bankruptcy. Eventually, the professor agrees to produce a show on Broadway with his non-existent wealth.

But back to Durante. The multi-talented performer had all the credentials to play James, the head of a traveling revue show, from his superb skills on the piano to his particularly gruff voice. He also had the kind of infectious energy normally seen in someone who’s taken Vivarin and is now on his seventh cup of coffee. He is virtually bouncing off of walls in every scene. His appearance immediately lifts ever scene he is in, and even when the plot fails him, which it frequently does, he carries on as if nothing matters. The camera is rolling, and he is on!

I wish I could say the same for the rest of the cast. I don’t mean to imply that their performances are awful. Rather, they are failed by an inconsistent and scattershot script. In one glaring example of the script’s incompetence, a Broadway producer (who shares an uncanny resemblance with Orson Welles) loudly declares Jimmy’s show to be atrocious and Jimmy himself to be entirely devoid of humor. However, there the character is a moment later proclaiming that he is going to produce the show anyway. Then the audience is expected to believe that a traveling theater group whose performances were so loathed that its audience was on their way out the door even before the curtain could begin raising for the curtain call would suddenly command a packed audience on opening night. Perhaps their reputation hadn’t preceded them, but it’s not likely.

Of course, this couldn’t be a Buster Keaton film without there being a love interest, so the film introduces us to Pansy Peets (Ruth Selwyn), a dancer whose style is circa 1850. The two meet when she literally runs into him while traveling to her next gig. Potts is smitten instantly. One would expect therefore for Potts and Pansy (which I just realized sounds a lot like pots and pans) to be given significant screen time together to establish their emotional connection, yet the screenwriter elects to keep them apart, instead introducing a rival for the professor’s affection, a former speakeasy dancer named Eleanor Espere (Thelma Todd). Eleanor is the bad girl. How do we know? She’s willing to strip down to her black negligee during her “audition.” Needless to say, she gets the part.

As a Pre-code film, Speak Easily has more than its fair share of risqué moments, from the professor’s unintended double entendres to Eleanor’s intended ones. There’s also a scene in which the professor finds himself in the ladies’ changing room and one in which he and Eleanor strip down to their evening wear (separately, of course). Yet the film lacks a narrative that would make the jokes worthwhile; instead, they are in service of a story that starts on the wrong foot and never finds a suitable rhythm, an even more egregious crime for a musical.

Two things are at the core of the film’s failure. First is the role of the professor. As written, the professor is either the most socially inept person you’ll ever meet or an undiagnosed sufferer of Asperger’s Syndrome, for he has never heard a sarcastic or idiomatic expression that he understood. This starts out mildly amusing, yet soon wears on you the way that a soft, high-pitch sound eventually become so invasive that it drowns out all other sounds and gives you a throbbing headache. And because Potts never picks up on anyone’s advances, he is unable to do much to develop a relationship with Pansy. He’s something out of a British romance, only he’s the character being forced upon the heroine by a greedy parent.

And it goes without saying that the film is not consistent when it comes to the quality of the show finally put on on a Broadway stage. No, instead of stinking to high heaven, like the performance presented towards the beginning of the film, the cast is suddenly immensely talented, precise in their timing, and utterly embraced by the crowd. The jokes that fell flat earlier in the film abruptly work, the dancing that was earlier criticized is met with thunderous applause, and jokes that are still not funny miraculously begin tickling funny bones everywhere. It’s as if we’ve entered a Bizarro world where up is down and the unamusing is uproarious. Oh, and nothing that goes wrong ever has a consequence. Mistakes equal hits.

One day a film will be made in which a dud remains a dud, a critic doesn’t suddenly become a fan, and bad jokes are consistently met with groans and stunned silence, regardless of when they are said in the picture. Speak Easily is not this film. Instead, it’s a film that starts D.O.A. and only shows intermittent flickers of life. It is failed by a lackluster script and a lead role that is not written to the strength of the superstar playing it. Sadly, this is easily one of Buster Keaton’s worst films. (on DVD from Warner Archives)

1 and a half stars

Review - Sidewalks of New York

October 12, 2018

Sidewalks of New York – 1931, US

At some point in the first half of the twentieth century, the United States became concerned over the plight of young boys and began debating just what should be done with them. The options appear to have involved either getting tough or changing their behavior through kindness. Only one of those strategies makes for a good narrative, so it is natural then that Hollywood would make films in which noble men and woman worked as hard as they could to help youths who were just one step away from either a life of crime or a life in jail. 1938 brought both Spencer Tracey’s Boys Town and James Cagney’s Angels with Dirty Faces. Five years earlier, William A Wellman’s Wild Boys of the Road depicted young boys entering adulthood far too early and its consequences for both society and the youths themselves. Buster Keaton’s Sidewalks of New York was released in 1931, making it a predecessor for later similarly-themed films, yet its telling – and more than a little problematic – that its solutions for youth rebelliousness are merely band aids, actions that, while having the effect of making society feel better, are both simplistic and slightly insulting.

In the film, Keaton plays a rather wealthy landlord named Harmon. Toward the beginning of the film, Harmon meets a young ruffian named Clipper (Norman Phillips Jr.), who’s fallen under the influence of local gang leader Butch (Frank Rowan), and Clipper’s tough-as-nails sister, Margie (Anita Page). Their first meeting involves a slap to the face from her and a declaration of love–at-first-sight from him.  To win Margie’s heart, Harmon embarks of a mission to straighten Clipper out, and as usually happens in movies of this sort, his means of doing this involves giving the trouble boys a place to constructively exhaust their energy, a gymnasium.

Think about this for a moment. According to the film, the solution for youth unruliness is not to improve local schools, fight for safer, more modern neighborhoods, or improve local employment opportunities. It is not to provide programs for them to go to after school that better prepare them for the future, but to put a basketball in their hands or let them duke it out in a boxing ring. Sure, sports can be a godsend for many young men, but the number of people who make a living in professional sports is so minuscule that presenting a gym as the sole saving grace of the community is naive at best and classist at worst. I remember watching the Academy Awards one year and seeing Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis discuss putting both balls and books into students’ hands, and the message was clear. Sports are not enough; minds must be engaged as well. It was true then, and it is true now.

This is not to say that Sidewalks of New York is not also an intermittently interesting film. A Buster Keaton film can never truly be bad, for there are always scenes in which Keaton’s magic shines though. In this one, he has several humorous moments, yet few that I would describe as side-splitting. In one memorable moment, he exits his chauffeur-driven car to address the brawling youths around him and says, “Come, come, my little men.” His delivery is perfect, as is his subsequent retreat back into his limousine. A later courtroom scene gives Keaton the opportunity to engage in both verbal witticisms with an increasingly frustrated judge and physical comedy, and a later scene involving Harmon’s attempts to find the words to woo Margie and the romantic titles of popular songs is quite inventive. Unfortunately, other attempts at comedy are less successful. A boxing match never feels wacky or wild enough, and a stage performance, in which Harmon and his valet, Poggle (Cliff Edwards), attempt to be Shakespearean by ending every other word with eth never quite comes together, partly because of the complete disconnect between the disaster we see unfolding on stage and the audience’s utter disconnect to that madness. They should be laughing uproariously at the calamity in front of them, not whole-heatedly applauding it.

Page gives an adequate performance as Margie, yet the film denies her the opportunity to do much with the role other than talk loudly and encourage Harmon to be more manly. Missing are scenes in which she genuinely falls in love with him, and there’s little in the film to back up its assertion that they have any a deep connection. The same can be said of young Clipper. More is needed to establish a father-son relationship that a few scenes in which Harmon doesn’t report Clipper’s criminal behavior to the police, but since the film neglects to give us these scenes, we just have to accept his eventual change of heart. I felt that acceptance was unearned.

The film ends with a crowd-pleasing scene in which the young gym attendees show their appreciation for Harmon, and it is indeed a fun sequence. However, it doesn’t make up for the film’s paint-by-numbers approach to storytelling or its troublesome solution to the supposed crisis of rebellious youth. Sure, it is a bit unfair to compare Sidewalks of New York to films that came after it or to criticize it for drawing from a playbook that was perhaps less commonly known at the time of the film’s release, but that is the perspective through which current viewers will likely see and assess it. And looked at from that angle, the film is only mildly interesting. We’ve seen Buster Keaton in this kind of role, and we’ve seen him in better, more humorous films. We’ve also seen him in movies that are timeless and that still reflect the best of American values. Sidewalks of New York is just not one of these films. (on DVD from Warner Archives)

2 and a half stars

Review - Parlor, Bedroom, and Bath

September 13, 2018

Parlor, Bedroom, and Bath – 1931, US

To illustrate one of my difficulties with Edward Sedgwick’s Parlor, Bedroom, and Bath, I will ask you consider an alternative version of Steven Soderbergh’s Ocean’s 11. In this version, the film is essentially the same right up until the scene in which Danny Ocean lays out his plan in front of his ten cohorts. Then for some inexplicable reason, the film jump ahead in time. The gang of thieves - sans Danny, of course - is now in front of Caesar’s Palace watching the fountains dance, Tess has rediscovered her feelings for her ex-husband, and it seems everything will end happily ever after. Now, regardless of whatever came next in the film, wouldn’t you feel a tad bit cheated? If your answer is yes, you know precisely how I felt watching Parlor, Bedroom, and Bath.

The film has a somewhat promising premise: A wealthy man named Jeff (Reginald Denny) must find a husband for his fiancée’s older sister, Angie (Dorothy Christy), or else Angie is doomed to remain single forever, an option, it must be said, that she doesn’t seem to have much of an objection to. Jeff resolves to solve the problem by the end of the week, and as luck would have it (luck for Jeff, that is), he just happens to hit a pedestrian who a moment earlier had fallen head over heels in love with Angie at first glance. Talk about a coincidence.

The pedestrian is Reginald Irving, sign tagger (Buster Keaton). Jeff arranges for him to be taken care of at Angie’s home. He also concocts an elaborate plan to give Reginald the reputations of being both a ladies man and a man of means. Reginald is neither, of course, In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d never been kissed in his life. No matter, Jeff arranges for Reginald to be visited by a string of women, each one acting more grief-stricken than the last and each promising to wait for him. Keaton’s reactions were priceless during this scene.

And strangely enough it works. Soon, Angie develops a soft spot for him, reasoning that anyone who is being pursued by that many suitors must be something really special. Thus begins a series of hilarious madcap events, all designed to get Angie not only to like Reginald but also to want to marry him in no time flat. Just kidding. Such scenes actually do not exist. No, instead the film flashes forward, and the next thing we know Reginald’s engaged to Angie (just who popped the question is unclear) and coping with a guilty conscience. To which I have only this to say: What a wasted opportunity.

Hard to believe, but the film gets even more problematic from there, for in its last thirty minutes, it begins to resemble one of Pedro Almadovar’s lesser-quality sex comedies. In these scenes, we get someone’s version of humor – not mine clearly and if I can read Keaton’s body language correctly, not his either. In the finale, Keaton thinks one thing, and a young woman believes another. Now, normally there’s nothing necessarily wrong with most cinematic situations that fit that description, yet in this case, the man thinks a seduction is fake, while a woman (actually more than one) thinks she is in danger of being sexually assaulted. I suppose we are meant to laugh when Reginald tries to wrap his arm around the woman as she screams and begs him to leave her be, but I couldn’t. The sequence made me sick to my stomach, and this is despite the frequent slapstick sequences scattered throughout the scene. I was reminded of a scene in The Naked Gun in which a woman thinks Frank Drebin is going to assault her with an intimate piece of a statue that broke off. What separates the two scenes however is this: Drebin suddenly become aware of how it looks and seeks to smooth things over, while Reginald just moves on to his next unintended target. I just didn’t find it funny.

There are a few daring pre-Code moments in the film that will make jaws drop. One of these involves Angie ending an engagement because of “specifications in a bathing suit,” which brought to mind an episode of Seinfeld. There are also a few flashes of shoulders sprinkled throughout the film, and these must have been considered scandalous back in the day. I also enjoyed some of the film’s witty dialogue. For example, in one scene, Reginald asks the driver of a hay truck who’s given him and a young lady a lift how much he owes him. The driver replies, “Do you think $2 would be too much?” Reginald answers yes.

However, these moments are few and far between. The film is neither amusing enough to sustain interest, nor risqué enough to be bold. Worst of all, it gives Buster Keaton little to do until the very last scene, when he is finally able to break loose and showcase his array of comedic talents. To me, it was too little, too late. I would much rather have seen an extra half an hour of Reginald’s attempts to woo Angie. In addition to this being rather whimsical, it would also have explained why the two of them like each other in the first place and perhaps removed the stigma that Angie gets of being a stuck-up money-obsessed snob for whom no man will ever be good enough. We never get to see another side of her, and that is to the detriment of the film. After all, it’s hard to root for someone when someone else seems like such a better choice. (on DVD as part of Warner Archive’s Buster Keaton at MGM)

2 stars

Guest Blogger

Musing On Seeing The Cameraman on the Big Screen

 by Paul Cogley

In the town next to mine is a Lutheran church with an organist on its staff. Nothing unusual about that. However, in this case, the organist is Walt Strony, a well-known musician in silent film society circles. Recently, he joined up his two worlds to host a screening of Buster Keaton’s The Cameraman at the church where he has his day job.

When I saw this event listed in the local paper, all I knew about The Cameraman I got from Azrael’s four-star review in Musings on Movies. I looked forward to checking out this full-length silent comedy on the big screen.

The event took place on a lovely summer evening. I didn’t expect to see much of a crowd, so I was surprised to find the parking lot nearly full; my first thought was that probably another church event was also happening. However, when I got to the hall, it was packed.

The storyline of the film is as simple as can be: Buster is a street photographer trying to break into the MGM newsreel business while also trying to start a romance with the young woman working at the front desk.  The atmosphere of the film is enhanced by on-location Manhattan scenes, such as a double-decker bus, public swimming pool, and Chinatown street. Within this framework the film delivers wave after wave of comedy sequences that build up tsunami-like with perfect timing. Again, I suggest Azrael’s review for his insights on how come the film works so well and why it deserves acclaim and renown.

What is interesting to me is that I saw the film in a manner as closely as possibly to how the filmmaker/artist must have originally envisioned — live audience! live music!  big screen!—and my experience of the film has now been fused with the actual showing that I saw. 

In a real way — or should I say “reel way”? — I felt as if I was attending an evening of live theater. The infectious nature of people’s laughter was a priceless value added to the the film itself. It felt good to join in with the fun; to be surrounded by 200 people reacting uproariously to the cascading humorous predicaments befalling dauntless Buster.

Walt Strony’s pipe organ accompaniment was smoothly arranged and synced perfectly with the film’s scenes and emotions. When it was over, Walt got up from his organ bench to a standing ovation. After all, he had just entertained a packed hall with his nonstop 80-minute performance.

Walt said a few words, that royalties for this public performance of The Cameraman were $250, and folks were reminded this was a fundraiser for a new church organ, so make a donation at the door if you can.

He also announced plans for a follow-up silent film organ performance in October, most likely Charlie Chaplin’s The Gold Rush. I know I won’t want to miss that one.

Review - Doughboys (1930)

July 19, 2018

Doughboys – US, 1930

Spare a thought for poor Buster Keaton, and add one more for all of the other silent actors in his position following the advent of sound. I don’t mean poor in a financial sense, but rather unfortunate, as in the state of having all that made them what they were taken away in an instant. Imagine that: One minute you are on the top of the world, the master of your own destiny; the next, you are reduced to making schlop like Edward Sedgwick's Doughboys. And Doughboys is not the respectable kind of schlop; it’s not the kind of schlop which people make because they woke up with an idea that, despite all of their hard work, just never completely pans out. Instead, it’s the worst kind, a safe, bland vehicle that employs a paint-by-numbers formula, poorly utilizes its star, and inadvertently reveals their lack of confidence in his or her creative impulses. Yep, it’s that kind of film.

Yet it’s more than that. It’s also a tired example of a film genre that moviegoers are all too familiar with now and which rarely has produced much in the way of decent films. Laurel and Hardy did a version of it, as did Abbott and Costello; Bill Murray even tried his hand at it later with Stripes. None of them had any success. By it, of course, I mean that genre in which some hapless soul finds himself accidentally registering for the army, going through boot camp being harassed by a tough-as-nails drill instructor, and then being sent to some foreign conflict where he inadvertently finds himself saving the day and getting the girl. Sound familiar?

In Doughboys, Keaton plays Elmer J. Stuyvesant, a pampered member of the upper class who seems to have nothing better to do than wait outside his company’s factory every afternoon and ask the same woman out. Each day he has in his hands a fresh bouquet of roses, and each day he ends up handing them to his driver, Gustav, who just shakes his head as if lamenting the repetitiveness of both the offer and the rejection. Surely, there must be better ways to make a living.

After yet another rejection, Gustav suggests they make his employment official by going to an employment registry. Elmer agrees, and through a series of mishaps involving a sign on a door and some peculiar questions, he abruptly finds himself shipped off to basic training. There he encounters, you guessed it, a sergeant who has it in for him, a pal who just happens to be a talented musician, and, wouldn’t you guess it, Mary (Sally Eilers). That’s right. The woman who has made a habit of crushing his dreams just happens to have been assigned entertainment duty at the very base he is stationed at.

Unfortunately, instead of telling a compelling narrative, the film is content to get by on short scenes in which Elmer errs, the sergeant yells, and nothing much of consequence ever seems to occur. It’s everything I hated about Buck Privates, but with far fewer characters. Even more egregious, none of the film’s five writers – two of them wrote the story, one contributed the scenario, and two share the blame for the dialogue – saw fit to explore the romance that supposedly rests at the heart of the film. Instead, we are asked to believe that Mary becomes sweet on Elmer simply because he enlists. The characters have no heart-to-hearts or anything even remotely resembling an extended dialogue, and this is a mistake. Keaton’s silent films are known not just for the deadpan delivery of its leading man. They are films about love and the great lengths one goes to earn it. Think of College and its perfect closing montage, showing the characters aging, dying, and resting next to each other for eternity. Or Our Hospitality, in which Keaton’s character swings through a waterfall to catch the one he loves. It is moments like these, coupled with Keaton’s characters’ impressive ability to persevere when faced with adversity, that drive his early films, yet Doughboys neglects this – to its detriment.

Only two scenes truly stand out. In the first one, Elmer sits with two of his army buddies and breaks out a ukulele. His friend Nescopeck, played by singer Cliff Edwards, scats out a tune, during which his voice alternates from a natural lower voice to a high-pitched cat-like growl, essentially singing a duet with himself. Keaton chimes in, bopping a rather likable beat, and a fellow soldier soon joins in, playing his rifle like a bass. It’s a great scene, and it does nothing to advance the plot. It is also one of the few times in the film when Keaton doesn’t look somewhat bored by what he’s doing on camera. In truth, I don’t blame him. Accustomed to playing scenes out or structuring films around a series of slapstick gags, it must have pained him to have so many quick cuts. In many, he’s just getting started before some character yells at him to knock it off. The other noteworthy scene, or should I say half a scene, comes in the latter third of the film during a musical number that strains too hard to be different. In it, Eilers comes out and shows off her tap dancing skills, and my, aren’t they impressive! And what joy she displays! It made me long for a full-fledged musical with her in the leading role.

This is really all I can recommend of Doughboys, for even though the rest of it has moments of comic promise, the rug is pulled out from under them far too quickly for them to resonate. One of them involves Keaton hearing a bugle call while taking a shower. In the very next scene, there he is standing for inspection wearing very little other than his suspenders. And wouldn’t you know it, just at that moment Mary arrives hoping to see him in his army duds. The moment is rife with comic potential, yet all Keaton is given to do is hide and then exit as rapidly as possible. Mission accomplished, I guess. However, the scene feels rushed, and it produces little in the way of laughter other than a mild, polite chuckle, followed by an instinctive shaking of the head. In other words, the scene is a perfect summation of the film and the disappointment it is likely to inspire in its viewers. Buster Keaton deserved so much better. (on DVD from Warner Archives)

2 stars

Review - Spite Marriage

March 3, 2018

Spite Marriage – US, 1929

In many ways, Edward Sedgwick’s Spite Marriage was the end of an era. Released two years after The Jazz Singer, it was the finale of “silent Keaton,” the actor who didn’t need dialogue to get across such complex emotions as love, befuddlement, courage, and determination. His expressions were anything but mere deadpan. To see him scurry across the screen is to see a man on a mission, and usually that mission was to save a beloved damsel in distress. Silent Keaton was a hopeless romantic, a guy who fought hard for the girl and for whom the term till death do us part was to be taken literally. He was a man to root for, even in roles in which his character is on the wrong side of history.

Spite Marriage finds Keaton in the role of Elmer Gantry, a love-struck admirer of a stage actress named Trilby Drew (Dorothy Sebastian). In fact, he’s so taken by her that he’s begun inserting himself into as much of her daily life as possible. In a series of early scenes, we see him feigning horseback-riding skills, pretending to be part of the press, and wandering backstage before and after performances, each time dressed like a rather upstanding gentleman. In reality, he is anything but, and in a rather clever scene, we see just how he is able to get his hands on such impressive-looking clothing.

These early scenes allow Keaton to play up his romantic instincts. We see him gaze lovingly at Trilby from the front row, and his eyes follow her even when the action takes place away from her. We learn that Elmer has seen the play thirty-five times, and seeing his instinctive habit of mimicking Trilby’s movements, it seems clear that he has memorized every aspect of her blocking. These early scenes are a delight. In lesser hands, they might come across as unintentionally creepy, but Keaton gives them the innocence and sincerity they need to convince us of Elmer’s noble intentions.

The movie eventually finds Trilby and Elmer married, not because she has fallen hard for the guy, but because the true object of her affection, a co-star named Lionel Benmore (Edward Earle), turns out to have a compulsion for being unfaithful. Trilby reasons that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, and, in a moment of utterly foolish logic, not only proposes to Elmer but also insists that they get married that very evening – hence, the spite in the title.

The first half of the film lags slightly, partly due to its inclusion of scenes from Trilby’s play, Carolina. There is of course a reason behind this decision, one which I will not reveal, yet it was a bit tedious sitting through it the first time. The only saving grace was the odd sight of movie actors pretending to be performing live onstage, yet using silent film acting techniques. The film really picks up after the wedding, when Elmer’s life takes a truly unexpected and fun turn.  

Like many silent films from the slapstick era, Spite Marriage is built around a series of long physical gags. My favorites of these occurred in the second half of the film, yet comparing the scenes to similar ones in Keaton’s earlier films, I couldn’t help noticing how quickly they were over. It’s as if the studio was unsure that audiences would still sit through a long gag without sound. It reminded me of the brevity of many of the slapstick scenes in Laurel & Hardy’s later films, and I couldn’t help feeling this was a lost opportunity.

Viewers familiar with Keaton’s career will notice similarities between this film and some of his earlier ones. For example, Carolina has elements of The General in it, and the film’s second half includes homages to both The Navigator and College. There’s also a great scene in which ruffian after ruffian is fooled by the same ruse, one that likely would have been deemed too risqué just ten years later.

In other words, there’s a lot to like about Spite Marriage. Sure, the first half of the film drags a bit, but it does so for a purpose. You have to admire a film that isn’t afraid to slow things down and allow audiences to see for themselves just what would make the public adopt Miss Drew as their newest sweetheart. We get what Elmer sees in her, and by the end of the film, it’s crystal clear what she sees in him.

And perhaps it is that feature that makes Keaton such an indelible performer. Like Chaplin, possibly his most famous contemporary, he created a character that we can all see a little of ourselves in and perhaps even strive to be like. He was driven by both his heart and his strong sense of right and wrong, and when danger appeared, there was no greater champion of the vulnerable. Whether it was a deadly storm, a towering obstacle, and a brute twice his size and strength, he ran toward the fight, and when it was over, like all great superheroes, he wanted nothing in return. He was a hero in his time, and he remains one in ours. Spite Marriage may have been the last of its kind, but what a way to go out. (on DVD as part of the TCM Archives Buster Keaton Collection)

3 stars

Review - The Cameraman (1928)

September 20, 2016

Cameraman, The – US, 1928

Buster Keaton’s 1928 film The Cameraman begins by paying homage to cameramen who run toward danger. Keaton’s character, Buster, is not one of those cameramen. In fact, he’s only likely to get close to something perilous if it approaches him. That is, of course, until a young lady comes into his life and convinces him that things need to change. For Buster Keaton, such a situation was nothing new, yet there is a sweetness to The Cameraman that makes it feel fresh and vibrant, and it is now one of my favorite of Keaton’s films.

In the film, Buster walks around with a camera on a tripod asking people if they want to take a tintype, a photograph made on a thin tin plate. In the film’s opening scene, an attempt to take a man’s photo is interrupted by a mob of onlookers and professional photographers, all rushing to get a glimpse of what looks like a politician. In the crowd, Buster finds himself touching shoulders with a young woman whom he literally can’t take his eyes off. Eventually, he takes her picture, and after she is whisked away by a co-worker, he decides to search for her and give her the snapshot. This begins a rather charming courtship and a mad-dash push for a job as a “real” cameraman. Both of these story lines are hilarious and involving.

One of the truly wonderful things about the film is that it devotes a great deal of time to establishing a rapport between Buster and his muse, Sally, played by Marceline Day. Sally is moved by Buster’s decency and positivity and eventually the two of them go on a date together. It starts out as a walk, turns into a jaunt at a swimming pool, and ends with a tender kiss on the cheek. You can literally watch them developing a mutual interest, and by the end of this part of the film, I was genuinely rooting for them.

Like many other slapstick films from the Silent Era, Keaton’s films were often structured around a series of physical gags, and during such comic moments, the plot would essentially grind to a halt. Here, such moments are present, but in a much truncated form, something I have been critical of in later Laurel and Hardy films. Here, however, it is the right approach. A scene in which Buster and another man are both trying to change into bathing suits in a very tight changing room is short but complete, and at just the right moment, the film cuts to outside the changing rooms, where we see Buster standing in a bathing suit that is clearly not his. A scene in which he tries to break a coin box is similarly short. We see a few attempts to open it, each that end in destruction to his surroundings, and then just as the audience is settling in a for a much longer slapstick bit, Buster throws the box and it shatters. Done, and hilariously accomplished.

The heart of the film is of course Keaton, and here he is at his optimistic and good-hearted best. Buster thinks that there’s nothing he can’t do, provided that he receives the opportunity to prove himself, and Keaton embodies these sentiments. I have seen most if not all of Keaton’s silent films, and I think it’s safe to say that silent comedy was his forte. Few actors – and not just those from the silent period - could do what Keaton did with just his face alone. He had the unique ability of being able to completely convey the reception of a message and its emotional impact on him. His eyes could express both love and sadness, and soon his entire body would join in the expression of his feelings. As a result, his characters earned not only the audience’s empathy but also their backing. Matching him in his endeavors is Day. Her role is tricky, requiring her to reflect both Sally’s support of Buster and her growing awareness of his shortcomings. There are moments in the film when Sally looks at him with such confidence in her eyes that we fully understand why that brief glance would fill Buster with such drive to persevere. Keaton and Day indeed made a great comedy team, and it is a shame that The Cameraman was their only film together.

The Cameraman is engaging, well-paced, and very often side-splittingly hilarious. It is a film that is well-worth seeking out. (on DVD and part of TCM Archive’s Buster Keaton Collection)

4 stars

Review - Free and Easy (1930)

June 16, 2016

Free and Easy – US, 1930

You can see the nervous, shaking hands of Hollywood all over Edward Sedgwick’s 1930 film Free and Easy. Here is a film starring Buster Keaton, an established star, that plays more like a trial run for an actor that a studio is of two minds about. It is as if they were conducting a test to determine whether audiences would still find him funny now that they could hear his voice, root for him to get the girl at a time when he was somewhat older, and ultimately continue to financially support his films in post-Jazz Singer Hollywood. If this was indeed their motivation, they should have chosen a much better test.

Free and Easy finds Keaton playing Elmer Butts, the clumsy, yet sweet-natured agent of a local pageant winner named Elvira Plunkett (Anita Page), who is on her way to California to try to make a name for herself in Hollywood. Accompanying them is Elvira’s overbearing and obnoxious mother (Trixie Friganza) because practically every comedy of this sort required a mother to be loud, rude, and controlling. The role is a cliché, and no attempt is made to establish a character or explain her background. There’s not even the obligatory, “It’s my job to protect you now that your father is gone,” which would have at least established a motivation. Instead, we get a character whose dominating personality exists solely for comic purposes, yet provides few, if any, laughs at all.

On the train to California, mother and daughter meet a famous actor named Larry Mitchell, played by Robert Montgomery. We know he’s famous because Elvira finds his picture in one of the Hollywood magazines of the time. The three of them are soon separated, but somehow we just know they’ll be reunited. After all, the genre calls for him to be instrumental in getting Elvira her first big break. In a bit of a surprise, he has a surprise hand in getting Elmer an audition. Unfortunately, Elmer proves himself to have little screen presence, almost no comic timing, and extreme difficulty understanding even the most basic directions from director Lionel Barrymore – that is, until it is cinematically convenient that he do so.

If is often said that slapstick comedies were collections of various gags fit nicely into the most basic of plots. For example, a boy’s pursuit of a girl could contain a party scene, a training scene, a big speech, and a daring rescue, with only one of two of them being truly essential to the plot, and in many ways, Free and Easy resembles such early slapstick films. There’s a long scene involving Elmer’s attempts to get onto a Hollywood lot that does not serve any narrative purpose, and the film’s final act is a long song and dance number whose only reason for existing seems to be to prove to audiences that Buster Keaton could sing and dance, a point at odds with its earlier contention that he couldn’t.

In between these scenes, the film struggles both narratively and comically. While it includes a few interesting and tender moments between Elmer and Elvira, it never establishes much of a narrative arc, relying instead on brief appearances by popular Hollywood figures such as director Fred Niblo, Gwen Lee, John Miljan, Karl Dane, Jackie Coogan, and Cecil B. DeMille, as well as impressive set pieces on MGM’s Hollywood lot. Audiences in 1930 likely enjoyed seeing such an array of figures in the same movie, and I can imagine them pointing to the screen each time someone they recognized appeared. However, removed from 1930s Hollywood, the scenes have little purpose. Worse than that, they slow the film down and rob it of time that could have been used to advance the storylines involving Elmer, Elvira, and Larry. In fact, I’d venture to say that at least half of Free and Easy is comprised of scenes from “other films,” including most of the film’s big finale. So, while the film’s final moments are filled with wonder, fancy footwork, and impressive effects for the time, none of them is truly essential to the plot.

The film has much bigger problems, however. It is perfectly understandable that MGM would have wanted to showcase their newly-built studio and demonstrate just what could be created on it. One wonders, then, why they didn’t just make Free and Easy a musical. Why couldn’t Elmer have sung about his love for Elvira, or Elvira’s mother rhapsodize about men and how important it was to keep them away from her daughter? Why wasn’t Larry given a song in which he explained his change of heart? Such moments would have made much more sense than a pre-code song about a fake king and queen.

And then there’s the direction. What can you say about a film in which takes that should have ended on the cutting-room floor made it into the final product? Were the other takes so much worse that Sedgwick just threw up his arms and moved on to the next scene? This sounds preposterous, but no other explanation makes sense. For the first half of the film, Keaton’s timing is just off. He seems a step behind the cast members, as if he was giving the audience time to laugh or trying to build up to a particular look or emotion. Whatever the reason, the result is awkward, and many scenes have an amateurish feel to them. A good director – or one with more power – should have been able to fix this. A good director – or a better screenwriter – would have known how to use Keaton properly. Here, no one seems to know how to film slapstick or build to comic moments, and scenes start and stop without any real purpose or reward for the audience. Many seem intended to be funny, yet they are more likely to produce stone-faced expressions and moments of utter silence.

Unfortunately, this was the fate of many comedians who tried to make the transition from silent comedy to talking films. They saw their power behind the camera, as well as their studio’s confidence in them, wane significantly. New directors came in, and many producers began emphasizing spectacle over plot. Movies simply had to move faster and be visually spectacular. Keaton’s work toward the end of Free and Easy demonstrate his ability to adapt and excel in the new medium; the first half does not. It’s inexplicable, and Keaton deserved better. (on DVD as part of TCM’s Buster Keaton Collection)

2 stars

*The film was an enormous hit and remade twice, first in 1937 as Pick a Star and then in 1945 as Abbott and Costello in Hollywood.

*TCM’s Buster Keaton Collection appears to be out of print.

Review - The Saphead

April 25, 2013

Saphead, The – US, 1920

The Saphead is not the kind of movie that people think of when they hear those magical words “starring Buster Keaton.” It lacks the zaniness and physical comedy of his other films, and in only one scene is there a hint of the kind of comedy Keaton was then doing in his silent shorts. Like other early silent films, The Saphead is an adaptation of a popular play. That play, Bronson Howard’s The Henrietta, had already been made into a theatrical film in 1915 called The Lamb, starred Douglas Fairbanks. In fact, it is said that it was Fairbanks himself who suggested Keaton for the role of Bertie Van Alstyne in the remake.

In a way, Keaton is perfectly cast in the role. Like many of the other characters that Keaton went on to play, Bertie has a youthful naiveté that will look familiar to viewers. The character is slightly pampered, extremely inexperienced in life, equally inexperienced in love, and a misfit to the way the world (not to mention the stock market) works. Towards the beginning of the film, it is revealed that Bertie is reading a book entitled How to Win the Modern Girl. The book advises men to disregard all they have been taught about respect and sensitivity and embrace sports, gambling, and alcohol. Those are the habits, it claims, that truly drive women wild. The gag has the potential for great laughs, and it is fun to imagine what Keaton would have done with it had he been in the director’s seat. Alas, that is not the case, and after a relatively humorous bit in which Bertie unsuccessfully attempts to convince the police to arrest him, the bit is entirely abandoned.

The Saphead tells a rather simplistic story. Bertie loves Agnes Gates (Beulah Booker), the adopted daughter of a wealthy banking executive named Nicholas Van Musgrave (Edward Connelly), who insists that Bertie make something of himself before marrying Agnes. Musgrave’s other daughter, Rose (Carol Holloway) is married to Mark Turner (Irving Cummings), an unsuccessful lawyer who is somehow connected to a dancer who is destitute and dying. Towards the beginning of the film, a young woman, possibly the dancer’s daughter, brings him a note imploring him to see her at once. It is telling that Mark’s first response is to tear up the letter and make sure its scraps cannot be innocently discovered. Clearly the man has something to hide.

Unfortunately, the film is hit and miss. The hits include a wacky bit at the end involving a misunderstanding over a name that the film nicely sets up early on, a grin-inducing moment in which Keaton tell his love the words he mistakenly thinks she dreads hearing, and a terrific gag involving multiple wedding rings. Less successful are the film’s dramatic elements, which start and stop rather unevenly. The film is bogged down by a subplot involving a mine and a sinister get-rich scheme, which I’m sure made a bit more sense in the play. There is also a scene involving hats that just doesn’t inspire the laughs it was meant to.

The film is evidence that Buster Keaton did not have the confidence of his studio when he first made the transition from Fatty Arbuckle’s comedy partner to a leading actor. Here, Keaton is fairly restrained by the material. For example, in one scene, we watch as he climbs through a window only to find himself face to face with the last person he wants to see. For a moment, Keaton stands on the window sill and teeters, dangerously close to losing his balance and falling face first back in the direction from whence he came. In this moment, I found myself anticipating a physical feat of pure comic genius, one that would hint at Keaton’s later spectacular death-defying feats. Instead, Bertie simply regains his balance and steps down. Like I said, this is not your typical Keaton film.

However, it is a film that moviegoers flocked to see upon its release in 1920, and because of its success, Keaton was given more control over the films that followed, films that have collectively come to be known as masterpieces of comedy. They had to start somewhere. Keaton fans will likely find The Saphead both fascinating and slightly disappointing, if only because they have come to expect much more from him. However, despite the constraints placed on Keaton, The Saphead remains a fun film. It is consistently interesting and has enough humorous moments to satisfy most fans of silent comedy. And of course it has Keaton. For those like myself, that is enough by itself. (on DVD and Blu-ray)

3 stars

Review - Steamboat Bill, Jr.

December 6, 2012

Steamboat Bill, Jr. – US, 1928

There’s a scene early on in Steamboat Bill, Jr. that would play very differently if it were filmed today. In it, a young man named William Canfield Jr., played by Buster Keaton, tries to make a baby stop crying by prancing around in what may be considered a stereotypically “feminine” way. Unbeknownst to him, his father, an overly macho captain of a riverboat called Stonewall Jackson, is watching his actions and reacting in horror. He then tells his friend not to say what they are likely both thinking. It is a remark that an audience in 1928 would have understood immediately and found quite funny. Filmed in color, the scene, like reruns of Three’s Company, which no longer gets the laughs they used to, would run up against present-day sensitivities.

Here, though, the gag works, and it sets up a series of other equally effective gags, each involving the father trying to show the son how a real man looks and behaves. These bits involve changing the younger Canfield’s wardrobe, getting rid of his short, European-looking mustache, and smashing his precious ukulele, which apparently is not manly enough for a riverboat worker. Each bit is extremely funny, and Keaton’s reactions and facial expressions while trying on hat after hat are priceless. And what happens to the hat is pure genius.

The film’s plot revolves around a dispute between Canfield’s father, William “Steamboat Bill” Canfield (Ernest Torrence) and his rival J.J. King (Tom McGuire). In the beginning of the film, we see King’s impressive new steamship, which has been arrogantly named King. King is one of those early American businessmen with monopolistic goals. He wants to control transportation, banking, and the hospitality industry, and the town’s residents couldn’t be more thrilled. King could easily have been portrayed as a maniacal fellow trying to squash his competitors, but the film wisely avoids this. Instead, he, as well as the elder Canfield, bears a slight resemblance to the elder Capulets and Montagues from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. A wealthy man who just happens to have a long-standing hatred for Bill Canfield, Sr, King also has a daughter named Kitty (Marion Bryon), and it soon becomes clear that she and Canfield Jr. not only know each other but are also deeply in love. Of course, it goes without saying that their fathers are opposed to them being together.

The film is well-directed by Charles F. Reisner, who was himself a former vaudeville performer. He seems to have a real understanding of comedy and comic timing, and he knows just where to put the camera to get the best view of Keaton’s classic facial expressions. Marion Bryon, here making here screen debut, is also very impressive in the film. She plays up Kitty’s sweetness, as well as her playfulness, and some of her best moments capture her joy at seeing Keaton’s exploits, many of which come at her father’s expense. As for Ernest Torrence, he shows both comic and dramatic skills, and it is easy to see why he was a success in both genres.    

The film contains plenty of classic Buster Keaton gags, from an early bit involving a white carnation to a later one involving a loaf of bread made from something other than flour. Also, watch out for a hilarious pantomime during a famous steamboat song and a particularly brilliant bit involving Keaton’s attempts to sneak aboard King’s ship. As joyous as these bits are, however, they pale in comparison to what happens toward the end of the film during a long stretch involving a cyclone and its effects on the town. In these moments, we see Keaton battling the elements, collapsing buildings, and curiously placed stage props. It simply has to be seen to be believed. 

Steamboat Bill, Jr. is similar to other Keaton films in that it first builds Keaton’s character up to be a bit of a buffoon only to later show him possessing amazing skills when it truly counts. In 1927’s College, it was athletics that he suddenly developed skills in; here, it’s sailing. In both films, the message seems to be that we should never discount the amazing powers of love, for they can enable us to do some pretty impressive things. The sentiment may seem a bit cliché in the real world, but it has always worked on the silver screen, and it works magnificently here. Steamboat Bill, Jr. remains hilarious and heartfelt. It is truly a classic of cinematic comedy. (on DVD and Blu-ray)

4 and a half stars