Seven Chances

Seven Chances (Buster Keaton, 1925) In this 56 minute feature, Buster Keaton must survive the rocky road to getting married...or else. 

Seven Chances is a few films in one: it starts with a brief prologue in tableau'd fades of a stalled romance between Jimmy Shannon (Keaton) and Mary Jones (Ruth Dwyer) as they don't communicate as the seasons change around them, and Mary's puppy becomes a full-grown dog.*

Then, the plot thickens. A financial broker on the verge of bankruptcy, he is informed that his grandfather has bequeathed him seven millions of dollars on one condition—he must be married by 7 pm on his 27th birthday (which happens to be that day). His first instinct is to marry Mary, but circumstances force him to look elsewhere, and he spends the day trying desperately to get married, but is refused at every drop to his knees.  

Next, an ad is placed in the paper for a bride, which produces an entire church-load of potentials, which, once panic ensues, begins a long drawn out chase, first through the streets of 20's Los Angeles (in scenes highly reminiscent of Keaton's 1922 short Cops, but with the added joke of runners in white dresses and long veils). As is typical with Keaton, the ideas build, usually logically from barriers and obstructions and passers-by thrown into the mix, the silent equivalent of a parkour course which the dexterous (and seemingly boneless) Keaton must dodge, duck and dance around while scampering at full tilt.

Of course, there must be a chase...

But, once out of the city limits, Nature starts to come into play with expected and unexpected obstacles that keep piling on, literally, in an extended sequence where Keaton, running down an impossibly long hill, must avoid an avalanche of boulders, that seem bent on pushing him around. The sequence came out of a preview, where a scene of a flopping Keaton dislodging some rocks, start following him down hill, which he quickly tries to avoid. The shot garnered the biggest laugh of the preview, so Keaton went back and shot some more footage and built another routine out of it, building, building, building, extending the momentum, and the resulting audience reaction until he was satisfied.

There are a couple of brief un-PC moments (one of which will fly by modern audiences, but it involves the mentioning of a '20's female impersonator), and there's just a whiff of misogyny here—a mob of women is still a mob, though—but, then part of the joke is that if Jimmy can't have "his" girl, any girl will do, but it's belied by all of the "any" girls rejecting him outright. Also of interest is a brief peak at a young Jean Arthur in the role of a country club receptionist.

Anything involving Keaton on-screen is worth seeing, and good for quite a few laughs...when one isn't gaping in wonderment of what the man was capable of, and capable of doing.

The country portion of the Seven Chances chase scene.

The scene at :30 inspired the extended avalanche scene.

* And it's shot in the primitive version of Technicolor!

Speak Easily

Saturday is traditionally "Take Out the Trash" Day...and this one is painful.

Speak Easily (Edward Sedgwick, 1932) As regular readers—the two of you—know, I'm a big fan of Buster Keaton, and when you see his films and trace his career, you come to a point of heart-break. That's when he sold his studio to M-G-M (bad business advice from his brother-in-law) and the studio's geniuses, with the best of intentions and the worst of results, destroyed his career.

For all the talk of Irving Thalberg as a "boy-genius" at Metro, he was abysmally out of his depth with comedy, as his work with Keaton and The Marx Brothers show. The Marx Brothers M-G-M films are still watchable, but a step below what they were achieving at the end of their run for Paramount. Keaton, however, went to M-G-M at the top of his game as a silent comedian/actor/director and very shortly, was down-graded to a has-been, and regarded a broken relic in the new, better world of "Talking Pictures." 

Keaton plays Professor Post, a rather idiosyncratic Classics professor at Potts College, who has "never enjoyed life." Post has a good reason for that—money. After 12 years of teaching, he has saved $4,564.32—which he is saving for a rainy day. He's told "Poor Professor Pervison said that and it rained the day of his funeral." The guy who says that decides (for his own good) to trick Potts into thinking he's inherited $750,000, the news of which compels Post to walk away from his teaching to see the world.

First stop is a train station for a trip to New York, where he encounters a dance troupe and a dancer named Pansy Peets (Ruth Selwyn), with whom he becomes so infatuated that complications ensue and he is saved from being kicked off the train by Jimmy Dodge (Jimmy Durante), a piano player/comedian with the troupe. Post makes it all the way to the town of Fish's Switch, where in his protracted good-byes to the troupe (who are getting off), he misses getting back on the train for the rest of his journey. 

There's nothing left for him to do but go to the burg's lone hotel—where the dance troupe is staying—and catch their show. He enjoys it enough to tell them he'll invest and work as producer—still thinking that $750,000 is real—and to stay close to Pansy.

The complications are numerous—including a new member of the troupe (Thelma Todd), with intentions to be the star of the show and to seduce Post—leading up to issues with contractors who want to get paid, possible police action, and a disastrous opening night in which Post gets caught up in a spinning back-drop while the stage-crew run around trying to save him.

Durante is there to keep the soundtrack full and fast—something Keaton's prevaricating professor can't do—and except for a sequence in which Keaton and Todd get drunk resulting in a watered-down version of earlier film's sequences in which the two become crash-test-dummies for a couch is the only—and Keatonesque—highlight.

Keaton, at his best—or even at his middling best—played an Everyman against Nature, the nature of people or against Nature itself (even if it was merely the laws of physics). Speak Easily reduced him from being a character to whom the audience could relate to merely being a prop.

Our Hospitality (1923)

Our Hospitality (Buster Keaton and Jack Blystone, 1923)
"Once upon a time in certain sections of the United States there were feuds that lasted from generation to generation. Men of one family grew up killing men of another family for no other reason except that their fathers had done so."

It's 1810 and the bitter feud between the Canfield's and the McKay's has been going on for some time. One night, Jim Canfield goes to the house of John McKay to kill him, but the confrontation leaves both men dead: McKay's wife takes his infant son away from the city of Rockville to New York to raise him in peace; Canfield's brother Joe (Joe Roberts) vows vengeance for his sibling's death. Trouble is there are no more Canfield's on which to take that revenge. Yet.

Twenty years later, young Willie McKay (Keaton) receives a cable from Rockville to claim his late father's property. Willie decides to go back to Rockville on a rudimentary proto-train that has none of the considerations of grading, geography or, for that matter, comfort. The bumping and jostling makes it very difficult to wear a top hat.

This was Keaton's second feature film (and his first with a feature-length story) and it does have some pacing issues, as well as a prologue that is dark in photography and subject matter, making one wonder if it's actually a comedy. Keaton's humor could be dark—darker than most of the silent comedians—but his humor usually centers on the absurd, and murderous multi-generational family feuds is the height of absurdity. Still, its murderous conclusion, ending with the death of one Canfield and one McKay, isn't funny. It's tragedy. But, out of that tragedy comes danger and threat, and a comedian can do a lot with that.

Keaton makes the most of it. And as it is set in the past with limited means of carrying out any murderous activities, the attempts can be rather tortured and frustratingly inept. And the comedy is built around Willie McKay's return to Rockville, where, first, he becomes quite infatuated with the elder Canfield's only daughter (played by Keaton's wife Natalie Talmadge*) and he makes himself attractively useful. Then, when he gets there, he saunters around town, coming into contact with Canfield sons—who have no idea that he is one of the hated McKay's.

For awhile, Keaton's McKay can walk around town without fear, but soon, he is recognized and the Canfield males take turns trying to shoot him with single-shot pistols, which need to be loaded before they can be shot again, and their range is limited, as shown in a sequence where McKay is shot at repeatedly, but nothing comes close, and McKay can only wonder what it might be that is hitting a nearby tree trunk.

But, the central absurdity is the core at the majority of the movie. Virginia Canfield invites Willie to dinner at her house to meet her family—she has no idea that he's a McKay. This complicates things. The Canfields are nothing if not traditional. Though they are surprised—and slightly appalled—to be hosting the young McKay for dinner, they would not think of trying to kill him while he is in their house. That's no way to treat a guest. However, should he step out of the house, he is an easy—and handy—target. This conceit inspires McKay to draw out his stay under the Canfield roof for as long as possible and avoid crossing the Canfield threshold. Despite this, there are many opportunities, either planned or accidental, to get McKay out of the house.

The other source of comedy is that Virginia, smitten with McKay, has no idea that her family wants to murder him, and all the males under the Canfield roof are united in the common deceit of who he really is. And when McKay does escape under disguise from the Canfields there begins a wild chase with a lot of stunts that involve sheer cliffs, dangerous rapids, and a precipitous water-fall, which becomes the setting for one of the best-timed and most dangerous stunts Keaton ever pulled off. 

The transition from short to feature did nothing except show more Keaton—the gags and sequences are just as fast, just as dense, and just as entertaining. But, Keaton found that he could sustain a feature with a layered story-line, while maintaining his flexible every-man character, despite where he placed him. 

Out Hospitality also has bit of the inspiration for Keaton's eventual masterpiece, The General. Buster Keaton, the director, was just getting started.

* Our Hospitality, centered around family, is a bit of a family affair. Not only is Keaton's wife featured as the romantic interest, but his father, Joe, plays the train engineer. And who plays Keaton's character as a baby? Buster and Natalie's son, Buster Jr.

The Great Buster: A Celebration

All the World's a Landing Pad

I could have kicked myself (with an appropriately spiraling prat-fall with legs propellering) when I missed the limited theatrical run of The Great Buster: A Celebration, the new documentary stitched together by Peter Bogdanovich. The life-work of Joseph Frank "Buster" Keaton has long been my movie-equivalent of comfort food. Precise, extraordinary and slightly melancholy (with only a dash of sentiment), his are the rare silent movies that do not "date" and seem extraordinary even by today's sophisticated standards.  That's due, in large part, because so many of today's films borrow the presentation and seek the comic timing that Keaton imbued in his films.* The testimony of many of those interviewed in the film attest to that.

Fortunately, TCM presented it as part of their day-long tribute to Keaton for a day in their annual "Summer Under the Stars" fest. Narrated by Bogdanovich himself, it contains a lot of what's come before in films about Keaton—the best of which is still Kevin Brownlow's Buster Keaton: A Hard Act to Follow (1987)—but also a lot of little-seen material that had to be dug for. And it has an interesting way to tell Keaton's story, one that is, indeed, a celebration, rather than the usual peak-valley-re-discovery arc presentation that follows the path his career took.

The story of Keaton (ironically for a comedian) is a sad one: after enjoying success with his own productions, Keaton—at the suggestion of his father-in-law—signed a deal with M-G-M, the lousiest studio to do a comedy at the time as the Marx Brothers and Laurel and Hardy found out for themselves, and found himself a square peg in M-G-M's restrictive round hole.

But, Bogdanovich switches it out a bit to ensure that his Keaton overview ends on a high note. In the first part of film he goes over Keaton's entire career—from his days as a precocious vaudeville performer in his parents' act (starting at the age of three!) where he first got the taste for performing for an audience, through his entry into film as a writer and performer for comedian Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle at the height of his career. Then (when Arbuckle was charged with manslaughter after the death of actress Virginia Rappe) stepped from his supporting roles to starring in comedy two-reelers, building on Arbuckle's mentorship—while he was working for Arbuckle, Keaton took one of the film cameras, took it apart and put it back together again—making his own short films, and then features.

Keaton's films were always popular, but his masterpiece, The General, was expensive and not a success, so he took his father-in-law's advice and signed with M-G-M to his detriment and everlasting regret. Then came his dry-spell, doing the occasional writing, even directing scenes, and punching up the films of other performers (like Red Skelton) losing two marriages and sinking into alcoholism and depression, even briefly being institutionalized after a nervous breakdown. Then, in the 1950's, his activity increased, showing up in Billy Wilder's Sunset Boulevard and Charlie Chaplin's Limelight,* appearing in shorts, television, and commercials, and guesting in movies in the 1960's.

Bogdanovich ends the section with Keaton's loving reception at the 1965 Venice Film Festival, which showed all of his features—Bogdnovich then does a "greatest hits" review, ending the film with the best of Keaton's lifetime of work.

It's a sublime choice—leaving a viewer wanting more from the master of the comedic landing without the pain of his fall.

*

* My experience watching Limelight was that Keaton was given short-shrift by Chaplin in their scenes together. But, in The Great Buster, comedian Richard Lewis, who was friends with Keaton's widow, said that Chaplin treated Keaton "like a king." And Norman Lloyd, who appeared in Limelight says that Chaplin had Keaton direct his death scene, so that he could concentrate on his performance. Now, that's a lot of trust, generosity, and respect reflected in that. 

The General (1926)

The General (Clyde Bruckman/Buster Keaton, 1926) In April 1862, during the Civil War, a train, "The General," was stolen by a collection of Union soldiers who went hundreds of miles behind enemy lines on a sabotage mission to destroy rail-lines, snap telegraph communications, burn bridges, and generally disrupt supply and communication infrastructure for the Confederate Army by tearing up the tracks of the Atlantic and Western railroad from the town of Big Shanty (just north of Atlanta) to Chattanooga. The story is that when the Blue-legs stole the train, its conductor, one William Fuller (age merely 25), and the engineer pursued the hijackers on foot and track, by hand-car, and speeding backwards train—in other words, by any dogged means necessary—to try and stop the train-jackers, which they did for 87 miles before alerting the Confederacy of the raid. It became legendary as "The Great Locomotive Chase," when an account of the circumstances was published soon after in 1863. 

A scant 64 years later, director Bruckman had read the account and reminded film-comedian Buster Keaton about it, sparking a remembrance Keaton had of reading the story as a youth and the two began elaborate plans to tell the story as a silent feature, even going so far as trying to rent the original locomotive at that time on display in Chattanooga, for the film (they were turned down when the train's owners heard Keaton's plans for their relic was going to be a comedy).

Keaton was undeterred and found a section of the United States where vintage trains were still running—Oregon. Twenty miles south of the city of Eugene, Keaton set up shop in the town of Cottage Grove and, with a budget of $400,000, began what would many (including myself) regard to be his masterpiece, but also his greatest financial failure, which ultimately led to his selling his studio to M-G-M and being folded into their system and derailing his directing, and even his starring, career. 

It is 1861, and Johnny Gray (Keaton) is an engineer on "The General", a train of the Western and Atlantic Railroad. He pulls into Marietta, Georgia to see his sweetheart, Annabelle (Mack Sennett comedienne Marion Mack). On his visit, it's announced that war has broken out between the North and South, and Annabelle's father and brothers head into town to enlist. Johnny takes a short-cut, and gets there to be first in line, but is deeply disappointed when he is turned away—it is determined that his job as an engineer is more important to the war effort, but he isn't informed of that. All he knows is that he has been rejected, despite his repeated efforts. This makes him the subject of disdain in Annabelle's family and she tells him she will never look upon him again until he is in uniform. 

It is a year later, the war is raging, and Annabelle's father has been wounded in the war. As she goes to see him in Chattanooga, she, ironically, is taken aboard Johnny's train "The General" and, seeing him not fighting for the South, she treats him coldly. But, fate steps in. At the breakfast stop in Big Shanty, Union soldiers board the train and hijack it, taking with them a luckless Annabelle who has gone to retrieve money for breakfast from her trunk. Johnny sees the two loves of his life being stolen from the station and he gives chase, urging others to help. But, they all fall to the wayside as Johnny single-mindedly pursues, taking a hand-cart onto the tracks to try and catch up. Then, a bicycle, then another train. 

With a train that has less weight to haul, he's actually able to gain on the Union forces, but, they, fearing an army pursuing them by train—which, due to an unfortunate linkage failure is no longer true—they decide to tear their train apart to toss in the way of the pursuing train, and with which Johnny must deal as he moves along. As in the following memorably well-timed and potentially noggin'-clonking gesture:

When Orson Welles was making Citizen Kane at RKO, he stated that it was liking playing with the biggest, grandest train-set in the world. Now, imagine Keaton doing exactly the same thing with an actual train, mining the situation for every joke and "bit" he could muster as his engineer must play offense, defense and find ways to keep the train running with a limited supply of fuel and every additional structure that passes—a water tower, a large mortar (with cannonballs)—becomes the inspiration for a series of ingenious gags that alternately threaten and thrill, the two responses not being all that dissimilar. It was nothing Keaton hadn't already been doing for a decade, but, here, the work seems all the more inspired.

The General is also a movie about progress. Even as he pursues his quarry, there is a war going on in the background. In fact, he has been pursuing so long, that at some point (which he doesn't notice), Johnny crosses enemy lines. As he moves forward, Southern forces are retreating from an advancing Northern Army, but so concentrated is he in chopping firewood to stoke the engine, that he doesn't even notice. It's a joke that wouldn't work in a sound film (despite the masking thundering that a train makes while travelling, you would still probably hear a battle going on). But, in the world of silents, it's perfectly plausible and might even escape the notice of some viewers. It's here Keaton leaves History behind (the actual hijackers never made it to Chattanooga) and makes his own tracks of story, as once Johnny crosses enemy territory, he is no longer the pursuer, he is the pursued. He beats a hasty retreat.

At Chattanooga, Johnny is able to infiltrate Union headquarters without detection, and manages in his time there to rescue both Annabelle and his precious engine, heading back along the same tracks he had previously traveled—in the other direction. Only this second chase has a different dynamic: this time he and Annabelle are the ones being chased, followed by the Union soldiers on-board the very train he used to pursue them. The priority becomes keeping The General up to speed, supplying wood for the engine, while also keeping an eye on Annabelle, who has a propensity for getting in peril, or being charmingly useless, given the circumstances. 

Her priorities seem to be sweeping—not very helpful—and she's a poor judge of fire-wood, tossing away larger pieces if they have a knot in them and offering twigs as compensation. This evokes a response from Johnny where he first tries to strangle her in frustration and then kisses her for her efforts, marking a point where he loses his hapless love-sickness for her, but regains it as a stronger, more mature love, despite his frustrations with her. The character has grown, lost some of his innocence, but also deepens his feelings for her. In a microcosm, the moment is a small skirmish in The War Between Men and Women, far richer than most examples during the silent era where women were either Madonnas or Victims (but never whores) and where Men vacillated between apes and angels. It is truer than most of Keaton's romantic relationships in movies—women were either Madonnas or Frustrations, and eventually become comic props—but Keaton's protagonist, for the momentary baring of both sides of his id, seems far more transparent and far truer.

The single most expensive shot in the silent movie era.

The two are able to make it back to the Southern lines in time to warn the gray-coats and set up a trap that results in the most spectacular stunt that Keaton has ever staged—the scuttling of the Yankee locomotive by blowing up the bridge over which it is travelling. Scrupulously co-ordinated and filmed with multiple cameras, it was carried out in one unrepeatable "take." The entire production, including construction, began on May 27, 1926 and wrapped the following September 18th. By the end of it, it was rumored that the budget had grown to $1 million (some of which went to paying off local farmers for fires caused on their farms by embers from explosions and the trains), employed some 1500 locals (including 500 from the Oregon National Guard playing Union and Southern troops) and generated some 200,000 feet of film (reminiscent of the Civil War photography of Matthew Brady, as achieved by Keaton, Bruckman, and their cinematographers Bert Haines and Dev Jennings), which he edited over three months for a late December release.

The reviews were brutal at the time and the film lost money, changing Keaton's fortunes and earning him a reputation that prompted closer scrutiny of his film-making and budgets. But, posterity has been far kinder and more generous, and the film has been watched—or "scrutinized" far more than other films of the Silent Era. In 1971, Orson Welles called it "the greatest movie ever made about the Civil War."* In 1972, it was ranked #8 in the BFI's Sight & Sound Magazine poll of the greatest movies ever made (it was ranked #12 in 1982 and #32 in 2012). In 1989, the first year of its inception, it was voted into the United States Film Registry by the Library of Congress. It was the first silent era film to be issued in the HD format of Blu-Ray, and its legacy lingers on influencing the works of Chuck Jones, Blake Edwards, Steven Spielberg, Gore Verbinski, and anybody else who aspires to the gracefulness of visual comedy on film.

*

Personal Heroes: Buster Keaton

Buster Keaton

As I negotiate the corridors of the "1's&0's" Ranch*, I occasionally have to do a pivot down a hallway or make a lateral move to avoid a wrangler taking a corner too tight. Instinctively, a leg flies up clownishly, unnecessarily. It's a habit, and every once in awhile I notice it, and think about where I got it. It's a Buster Keaton move--one of the simplest things he did. He'd stick out a leg as he was hopping around a corner, or yank it out way too far if he had to change direction fast, sometimes 180°. I started doing this in college after I fell in love with Keaton films. I don't know if I can break myself out of the involuntary jag that I do in tribute. I don't know if I want to, really.

Words fail me when it comes to Keaton, so singular is his art—and his work in "the Silents" never had much use for words.  Actions speak louder than.  And his actions, in a world that seemed specifically designed to kill him, were heroic in determination and amazing in execution.  The best I could do is free verse.

Buster'd

Man alive, look at 'im run so fast, so far, so wide

cart-wheeling, feet-peeling, stop on a dime and take off

Over the fences, under the legs, climb the ladder and tilt

What must it feel like with the Whole World as a prop?

Sputtering, he'd launch, like his body exploded

His feet and hands going as wide as they could

Exaggerated movement. Exaggerated stops. He'd skid.

And hang--like on the edge of a cliff--he'd wobble

And fall?

The very definition of "SPLAT!"

He'd land flatter'n humanly possible

All crumpled up in an angular ball,

an arm and a leg left dangling.

He wouldn't bounce. He'd jump right up.

To start the whole process again.

Bandy-legged sad-sack, the old stone-face takes a fall

The legs cartwheel in a circle--a carousel in the air.

Never in your wildest dreams would you attempt a stunt like that

but he'd had it all planned out--made it look hard, like it hurt.

He never, ever showed a smile

At the most a look of surprise

A smile would've made it look easy

and he worked for every laugh.

He didn't beg for your sympathy like the Tramp

He wasn't a victim of the chase like Lloyd

More often than not he chose to be where he was

He leaped at the chance, he ran full-speed.

He worked best in the Silents with his Old Man's Voice

And think of the commotion he would have made, crashing, thundering,

As it is, the only sound you hear

is your own jaw, dropping.

For More About Buster Keaton:

The International Buster Keaton Society (The Damfinos)

Kevin Brownlow's brilliant "A Hard Act to Follow"

Buster on NPR's "Lost and Found Sound"
The Physics of Buster Keaton from Wired.com

 

Buster Keaton page at Film Reference.com

Buster Keaton's IMDB page

Buster Keaton's Wikipedia page

* That's what I called Microsoft back in the day when I worked there...and I wrote this.

Parlor Bedroom and Bath

Parlor, Bedroom and Bath (Edward Sedgwick, 1931) M-G-M had a relative hit with their first talkie featuring Buster Keaton (Free and Easy), but, artistically, it was an uncomfortable stretch for the versatile comedian-film-maker. His next film, also directed by Edward Sedgwick (and Keaton) hewed a bit closer to Keaton's classic style, depending less on verbal jokes and more on sight-gags and physical humor.

Keaton, this time, plays Reginald Irving, a humble flyer-hanger ("a sign-tacker" as he describes it), who, while putting up bills around the palatial Embrey estate (which is actually Keaton's own sprawling Hollywood house—way to double-dip on the budget, there, Joe) is struck with good fortune...when he is hit by a car. He is immediately rushed inside the house where his hosts, the Embrey sisters, see to all his recuperating needs. 

What Reginald doesn't realize is that he is convalescing in a hornet's nest: younger sister Ginny (Sally Eilers) wants to marry Jeffrey Haywood (Reginald Denny), but won't because her older sister Angelica (Dorothy Christy) hasn't married yet and her tastes are so discriminating that such a happy occasion isn't going to happen anytime soon. This is frustrating to Ginny and Jeffrey, so he takes matters into his own scheming hands—he tells the stricken Reginald, who is noticeably enamored of Angelica, that she has a crush on her crushed guest, then tells Angelica that Reginald is actually "Reggie" Irving, international playboy and breaker of hearts, whose decision to leave Europe has left the divorce lawyers there in tears. The idea is to hook them up, leaving the bridal path clear for he and Ginny.

Of course, the best of plans and the course of love, even one wholly fabricated, can never run smoothly...especially in a Keaton movie. Pretty soon, the conniving Jeffrey sends a bevy of previously unknown women to his room to fuss over him, making Angelica very jealous and more determined to have "Reggie" for herself. While Jeffrey whips up a publicity campaign of Reggie's exploits in the local papers with gossip columnist Polly Hathaway (Charlotte Greenwood), things accelerate and soon he and Angelica are engaged.

It's rife with people being caught in compromising positions and awkward postures, as well as a stunning sight gag involving trains—recycled from one of Keaton's silent pictures, but no less spectacular for it, an extended prat-fall rondelay with a slippery hotel lobby, and a final third confined to a single hotel room where all manner of absurd and risque behavior ensues. It's a return to form for Keaton, who manages to invest his inventive energy to a film that still manages to talk all the way through it.

Special mention should be made of Keaton's female co-stars who subject themselves to very unglamorous stunt work, but especially to the ungainly Greenwood, who manages to match Keaton for bizarre behavior step by mis-step.

Free and Easy (1930)

Free and Easy (Ed Sedgwick/Buster Keaton, 1930) Gosh, this is a tough one to write and I've been avoiding it for over a year as it is just too depressing. Free and Easy was a couple of films into Buster Keaton's new contract with M-G-M after buying his Keaton Studios, his first "talking" picture, and the first attempt by the studio to "shoe-horn" him into a star of the M-G-M caliber. 

And...they put him into a musical. After all, when something is successful, do something completely different and expect the same results. For all of Irving Thalberg's reputation of being a movie "genius," his work to "improve" Buster Keaton shows him to be not only fallible, but thuddingly so. Of all the pratfalls Keaton took, this one is the most painful to watch...because it's not under his own power.

In Free and Easy, Keaton plays Elmer Butts, a gas station attendant, who seeks to be the manager and very unlikely paramour of Elvira Plunkett (Anita Page), winner of the Gopher City Kansas beauty pageant, who is travelling to Hollywood to seek fame and fortune and/or a movie contract. Along for the ride, chaperoning, is Elvira's indomitable mother (Trixie Friganza) who thinks Elmer is a sap and is in no way shy of expressing that thought...or any other. But, Elmer is smitten, and after nearly being left behind by the train, finds himself perpetually frustrated trying to talk to Elvira.

The description makes it sound like a typical Keaton script, but, this time it's with sound, and immediately, you sense a problem: the timing's off. Comedy has a rhythm and its timing is critical in order to produce a laugh. The hi-jinx getting on the train in the opening scenes all try to play for big laughs, but come up short, and they stutter as the physical comedy that, before, propelled a Keaton comedy is replaced by broad dialogue. The film will improve the ratio a bit as it goes along, but, initially, it's a bit of a shock, especially when compared to the momentum of Keaton's silent's, which were cut to the action, not to the dialogue.

There must always be a rival for the girl's affections in a Keaton film, and it arrives early in the form of a studio contract player named Larry Mitchell (Robert Montgomery in only his 6th on-screen role), who is suave, debonair, and a bit of a cad. He convinces Elvira that he can do great things for her with his contacts in Hollywood, and it may be only a ruse to seduce her (the film is pre-Code, so you could get away with things like that), which puts us clearly on Team Keaton. Even as he bumbles his way through trying to connect with Elvira—he drives her and Mom to a big Hollywood premiere only to not be able to attend with her himself because he can't find a parking space—one senses a change in character under the mis-direction of MGM. Keaton always played something of a rube, but he was always a resourceful one, practically willing himself to get out of predicaments; how he would extricate himself out was always part of the surprise and part of the charm of his work.

He, he's merely hapless—a Kansian lost in the glitter and absurdity of Hollywood (ironically, Keaton actually WAS from Kansas). He's out of his depth in all the shallowness, a decent-enough fellow in an environment where glitz and glamour are what is valued. The conceit of the film is that of What Price, Hollywood (to be filmed two years later)—that Page's Elvira gets to Hollywood where she decides that what she wants is stability, and it is actually the unsophisticated Elmer who gets a Hollywood contract, getting something he doesn't really want, but losing what he does. Career and love go on parallel tracks of desire, but never in the same direction.

Elmer goes skulking around the MGM lot trying to find Elvira while trying to avoid studio security, screwing up shots, destroying sets, and being a typical bull in a china-shop, when he stumbles into an audition with director Fred Niblo—Free and Easy is full of cameo's by MGM stars and directors that it almost feels like a presentation to its board of directors—who can't seem to get a decent line reading of "Woe is me, the Queen has swooned!" Despite the difficulties with lines, he nevertheless manages to get a featured musical-comedy role—improbably playing against Elvira's mother!—in a large production that's run like a Broadway show—even though it's a movie, it's all presented as if they do it in one amazing shot, without the necessity of editing away (except in the magical way that MGM musicals do).

It's a testament to Keaton's talent that he even brings the musical number off...despite his low bass voice, being "boxed" away for a part of the number, and being "Peter Panned" around on ropes in a weird puppet dance (one could "read" something into that as a comment of the studio's treatment of him, but we'll let that go).

Perhaps we should leave that for the ending, with a successful Elmer in sad clown make-up, bravely keeping the show going on, while holding back tears for his lost lady-love. Sentimentality was never a strong suit for Keaton—that's in Chaplin's bag of manipulations—he would always undercut it with a joke and move on, but, here, the filmmakers linger on the pathos...and it just...feels ...wrong. Sad, yes, but not in the way it's intended. Sad because it's a great comic artist—nay, genius—being misused in a way that he never would have planned at his own studio. But, Keaton was no longer considered an artist, but  just a commodity. And if MGM saw him as a "fall-guy," rather than as a comedian, then he would take the fall. And for a comedy called Free and Easy, that's a tragedy.

Free and Easy did make money, though, which only encouraged MGM to continue their folly. Keaton's next movie, though, would see a return of his comic snap.