The Paleface (1922)

The Paleface (Edward F. Cline/Buster Keaton,1922)
I've already done a piece on Buster Keaton's last silent film after selling his Keaton Studios to M-G-M, a move that would prove disastrous to his career. But, before I delve into that aspect of Keaton's work, a glimpse back at Keaton in his prime—a film that was probably "on the edge" when it first came out in 1922, but is far more potentially offensive now, while also deliberately taking a tack that is probably only offensive to the opposite end of the spectrum.

This is a movie that might make liberals cry, when they should be laughing. It will also make capitalists burst a blood vessel, and not from chortling. Me? I love it. It is prime Keaton, at his best and his sharpest, and with an underlying point.

The Crow Feet tribe is living an idyllic life in mountainous terrain by a lake, until the one appointed to buy a land lease is knocked over the head and the lease stolen by a lackey of the Old West Oil Company, whose boss, once the lease is in hand, orders the tribe to vacate the land in 24 hours. The Crow Feet Chief is incensed and orders the first white to enter their premises be killed.

Guess who shows up? 

Buster is wandering the nearby landscape, in rapt concentration collecting butterflies, oblivious to everything except the elusive lepidoptera, not even noticing that he has stumbled onto the Crow Feet land, or that, eventually, he is being followed by tribesmen, watching his every move. It is only when they make a concerted effort to burn him at the stake that he starts to pay attention to his circumstances—and the first of disguises and the first of chases begins.

Buster takes part in the very "war-dance" against him.

The film is only two reels—20 minutes—but it is packed with elaborate gags and amazing stunts, the majority of which are written, designed and performed by Keaton. He'd been an acrobat since a child when he performed with his parents' vaudeville act, where he'd nimbly performed the most alarming of pratfalls that some called into question the competency of his parents. His work here also provokes gasps along with laughter—I can't watch Keaton movies without the frequent use of my "Rewind" button to replay something that has made doubters of my eyes and boggled my mind. They are instantly rewarding in a way that distracts from things that, only in retrospect, might raise questions.

All the natives are white guys. Not to make any excuses here, but practically everybody in Hollywood's silent movies is a white guy—except for the women—in the vast majority of films that have survived the era. Anybody looking for authentic ethnicity of any sort in The Movies' infancy will be sorely disappointed and can rightly be accused of being blinkerdly naive if expecting it (not only that...if you're going to take it that seriously, maybe comedy...even laughter...isn't your "thing."). No, "the injuns" are stereotyped, and the production probably did not hire any ethno-sociologists as consultants. The costumes aren't authentic and the behavior and customs are probably handed down from people who hadn't been within a thousand miles of a First Person, but just something "they heard" (ya know, like how people get their news these days in order to make an informed opinion?)—the dogma of the tribe. So, yeah, this one won't be headlining the film festival at the Snoqualmie Casino any time soon.

Their loss.

**Harrumph** However...this is a case for not seeing the reservation for the trees; the stereotypes are front and center, the real message is in the story. Never mind the details, but, eventually, Buster is welcomed into the tribe, dubbed "Little Chief Paleface" (rather than, say, "Pratfalls with Wolves") and when he is told that the tribe must leave their land, his response is to fight it, saying "We indians have to stick together!" And although it sounds like a case of "Whitey Saves the Day" (as in the alluded to Dances with Wolves or Avatar), it is a group effort to stage an occupation of the oil company HQ before they do something like (oh, say) build a pipeline through their land.

As much as the tribe is stereotyped, they fare better than the white "job-creators" who are portrayed as cowardly, craven, entitled criminals who probably have great health care, which might even cover deep perforation by arrows.

So, okay, be offended by the slapped-together casting and the white guys in swarthy make-up, The Paleface has its palpitating heart in the right place, usually 30 paces ahead of a rapidly-advancing crowd of "mean-you-harms." It is ever thus in the curious and smartly charming films of Buster Keaton, fall guy.