Horror and Sci-Fi films old and new, weirdo trash, arthouse, forgotten gems, well loved classics, and I'm watching the original Dr Who from the beginning.
An Eastern Westerner is a breezy, no nonsense Harold Lloyd comedy, that makes up for a lack of big belly laughs with the charm, upbeat persona, and energy of its star
The plot is flimsy, and the gags take precedence, as often the case with short silent films of this era. Although he did not have the vaudeville background of Keaton or Chaplin, Lloyd was still incredibly agile and athletic, as showcased here with some hair-raising stunts and great chase sequences (even if one does involve a disconcertingly Klan-like hooded gang).
Obviously, it looks a little crude and underdeveloped compared to his later, more assured works such as Safety Last, An Eastern Westerner is still well worth a look, both for the laughs and to compare it to the later films and see how people like Lloyd helped shape the medium.
The Hollywood Revue of 1929 is of interest more for the part it plays in cinema history and the once-in-a-lifetime cast rather than the actual content of the film. Presumably anxious to show off the new medium of talking pictures, MGM did not waste valuable time writing a script. Instead, the studio bosses simply rounded up their brightest and best talent, shoved them on a stage, pointed a camera (just one by the look of things) and let them get on with songs, dances and comedy routines. The entire thing is filmed with all the cinematic flair of a parent recording their child’s school play, and the rigid camera and uninspired angles often sap much of the energy and talent of the performers for the viewer. Of course, a non-stop parade of variety acts would be perfectly fine for those watching in a theatrical setting, as the immediacy and the atmosphere from the audience would more than compensate for the repetitive format. However, this film was made to an empty house, making the corny banter of hosts Conrad Nagel and Jack Benny fall flat, something not helped by having them address the non-existent theatre audience, rather than the camera. Unlike other films that use the revue format, The Hollywood Revue of 1929 has no story, either to link the skits or run in the background, surprising, and a little frustrating, given that silent pioneers – including some on this bill - had been hard at work developing cinema in order to tell stories. They had also invented a few tricks and techniques that were unique to the medium, but these are few and far between here. There are a couple of cinematic touches, such as the opening number where the picture goes (presumably intentionally) negative, or, more successfully, where Bessie Love initially appears in miniature (inside Jack Benny's pocket of all places) before growing to full size to complete her number. In fact, the effect is so successful that it is repeated later in the film with Marion Davies and her soldier-themed routine. Despite this there are enough points of interest both on and off screen for fans of the films and the history of early Tinseltown to watch The Hollywood Revue of 1929 at least once. For a start, it marks the first on screen appearance of the song Singin' in the Rain, more than 20 years before co-writer Arthur Freed, in his later capacity as an MGM producer, would use it as the basis of the classic film of the same name. We also get to see early talkie appearances from silent stars such as Laurel and Hardy, in an enjoyable routine playing bungling magicians, and Buster Keaton, doing pratfalls in a scene that lacks the purely cinematic invention of his classic work. Meanwhile, Joan Crawford, introduced as "the personification of youth, beauty, joy and happiness", shows off her lesser known song and dance talents. While it may make for an uneven, often grating watch, not helped by the nearly two hours running time, there is no denying the place of The Hollywood Revue of 1929 in the story of cinema as a medium. Films like this were part of a process that separated those, like Crawford or Laurel & Hardy, who could adapt to sound from those who couldn't, such as, sadly, Keaton.
Steamboat
Bill Jr came towards the end of an incredible
run of films for Buster Keaton, a run that helped shape many aspects of cinema,
and whose influence is still felt today. Like all the best Keaton films, it is
equal parts thrilling, spectacular, hilarious, and poignant without being
sentimental.
"Steamboat” Bill Canfield has two
prized possessions – a dilapidated paddle steamer, of which he is the owner and
captain, and his student son, William Jr (Keaton), whom he has not seen since
the lad was a baby. When Bill Jr comes to stay, fresh out of college, dad is
disappointed to find his offspring is not the hulking macho man he was
expecting. Instead, he sees a small, slight awkward fellow, with a ukulele, a
pencil moustache, and a beret, not the sort who can help him compete with rival
businessman John James King and his shiny new, luxury riverboat.
To make things worse for Canfield,
Junior is in love with King's daughter Kitty, his ship is condemned as unsafe,
and he ends up in jail for assaulting King - just as a cyclone hits town. Can
Junior step up, prove himself a man, and save his love, his father - and his
father's boat?
Even if you do not know the film you
may well know the most famous scene, arguably Keaton's most famous scene of
all, where, after stopping to catch his breath in the middle of the cyclone,
the front wall of a two-story house crashes down over him. Keaton emerges
unscathed his body perfectly framed by an open window. It still looks as
impossible, and unthinkably dangerous today as it ever has. Goodness knows what
was going through his mind at the time, but at least it was not two tons of
house.
However, Steamboat Bill Jr is more than just one scene, and Keaton (Carl
Harbaugh is listed as writer, even though Keaton claimed it his really his
work. Whatever the truth behind that, it is difficult to picture Keaton not
having a major say in the finished product) showed that he was prepared to
spend time crafting the film. While it may not have the rigid, symmetrical
story structure of The General, the
film Keaton made directly before, this is by no means a slapdash screenplay.
The jokes are the usual mix of
hair-raising spectacle with the more outrageous aspects all underpinned by
Keaton’s deadpan demeanour, and more small scale, knockabout humour, such as
the routine with Bill Sr trying to buy a new hat for Bill Jr. However, by now
Keaton is adept and confident at telling a story, and building
characterisation, and the routines also serve those purposes. For example, the
business with the hats is a great way of showing Dad's increasing frustration
with his son, and the massive difference between the two, both in appearance
and personality, something which makes the scene somewhat poignant.
Father figures are a regular feature
in Keaton films, second only to lady love interests. Plot wise, Steamboat Bill Jr makes a good companion
piece to The General, as both feature
a lead character who has to perform seemingly impossible (for him at least)
tasks to impress his dad (and to impress a lady as well, of course).
The spectacle comes in the form of the
extended cyclone sequence, clearly shot on location, not on a sound stage, and
using life size street sets, designed to be torn to pieces by gigantic wind machines with Keaton,
when not battling the breeze, being swung around on a giant (out of shot)
crane. Throughout it all he maintains his trademark calm in
the eye of the storm
Keaton would only approach these
creative heights one more time with The
Cameraman, a film which marked his move from
independent film maker to MGM employee. Eventually, the studio interfered more,
Keaton cared less, and the films became pale shadows of what had come before.
Still, aspects of his work remain influential in various ways. Jackie Chan
sites him as a major influence, something easy to see in Chan's fluid
acrobatics and life threatening set pieces, while Johnny Depp's stonefaced
performance in Edward Scissorhands is clearly a loving tribute. Cinema owes
him a huge debt, for showing that you could make a film longer than 2 reels,
with a story, a character arc, and visual spectacle, all of which can only be
done within that medium.
The Cameraman is Buster Keaton's last truly great work,charming, hilarious, and an indication of how far the medium of film had come in a relatively short time
Here, Buster, once again, is trying to win the heart of a pretty girl, the secretary at a newsreel production company. Trading in his tintype camera, he tries to make it in the world of moving pictures, battling, amongst other things, a jealous rival Cameraman, his own lack of experience, and an interfering monkey.
The plot moves along at a brisk pace, with more than enough of the three vital ingredients for a Buster Keaton movie; plenty of memorable scenes, particularly the trip to Yankee stadium (“Aren’t the Yankees playing today?” “Sure – in St. Louis”), where,in the absence of an actual game, Buster mimes an imaginary one against himself;brilliant physical comedy (such as Keaton being squeezed into a small changing room with a huge man); and jaw dropping stunts (watch how he loses and regains his seat on the bus next to his date)
Special mention also must go the real co-star, an Organ Grinder’s monkey, whom Keaton adopts. Apart from providing some vital plot strands, she gives an excellent funny performance, as full of pathos and well-timed comic moves as her human co-star.
I recently saw The Cameraman on the big screen as the second half of a double bill with the 1910 silent version of A Christmas Carol. Watching them back to back provided a fascinating insight into how the language and techniques of cinema had progressed in two decades. In A Christmas Carol, the camera does not move, as if filmmakers cannot yet get past the idea that film should be a static record of a performance. By the time we get to The Cameraman, not only does it move, but also the movement helps tell the story and at times, by forcing the audience viewpoint, helps set up visual jokes. The wildly different running times of the two films also demonstrates how the makers of the latter had learned to be unafraid to take time to tell a story. These are all techniques Keaton had refined and introduced into film, often against the wishes of nervous studio heads, and because of this, I don’t think it is unfounded to call him a cinematic pioneer, along with his comedy contemporaries Harold Lloyd and Charlie Chaplin
The Cameraman was the first of a three-picture deal with MGM, after years of working as an independent producer. This does seem to have had any great impact on the making or content of this film, other than the endless product placement for the MGM brand name and some of its product.
Unfortunately,this state of affairs was not to last, as studio head Irving Thalberg seemed unwilling or unable to understand Keaton's working methods, namely, using the same small crew, and keeping an air of spontaneity in the creative process. The result would be control over the personnel and product wrenched away from Keaton, leading to a steep drop in the quality of his films, and his eventual decline into poverty, obscurity and alcoholism, before his rediscovery in the1960s, a few years before his death.
However, this was all much further down the line, and The Cameraman still gives us “The Great Stone Face” in his prime, risking everything for the girl and the laughs, somehow always keeping both his body and his deadpan expression in one piece.
