Okay. Obvious bit first.
This is indeed the source of the most famous scene in all of silent comedy (alongside, perhaps, Chaplin's cogs and Lloyd's clock). Caught up in a hurricane, hiding under a bed that's whisked away in the wind, Buster staggers to his feet only for the front of a house to fall all around him. Except - the tiny window falls directly over Buster. Who just stands there, staring.
We've all seen this a thousand times or more. Before I even knew who Keaton was I'd seen this scene. But even now, going back to watch it (again and again) - it's an extraordinary moment. Keaton had two nails hammered into the ground, marks for his feet, and two inches of room either side. Two inches left, two inches right, Buster would have been killed. Dead centre, and it's wondrous. Perfection. It had to be.
And he doesn't even FLINCH.
But there's something else about it...
Here's a scene, the big scene, not just expensive but incredibly dangerous. Half the crew refuse to watch. Anywhere else, you might imagine this stunt as the grand conclusion, milked for all it's worth. But that was never the Buster Keaton way. Everything had to be done perfectly (the golfing accident in Convict 13, for example, 78 takes...), and if that meant nearly killing yourself for a few seconds three quarters of the way through, so be it. Do the perfect gag, move on, do some more.
Extraordinary. Staggering. Unbelievable.
But, heavens, there's more, so much more... from Buster throwing away his own hat in disgust, to the dough that fell into the toolbox, to Buster's seemingly limitless capacity for wearing clothes under his nightshirt, to all those stunts in the hurricane, to the ingenious ending - a joy, an absolute joy. Unremittingly wonderful.
So this makes him better than Chaplin? Forget it. All I hear is competition, comparison, Keaton better/not better than Chaplin, Laurel better/not better than Lloyd, and all combinations in between. IT DOESN'T MATTER. This could only be a Keaton film, in the same way that Chaplin's best is unmistakeably Chaplin, Lloyd's best unmistakeably Lloyd, Laurel's best unmistakeably Laurel (and Hardy). There's no point bickering. There aren't any prizes to be won. Just accept - just rejoice - that for a brief few years, some of mankind's darkest years, the world was blessed with four unique comic geniuses. It probably never happened before, it maybe never will again. We were, are, will be, all of us, amazingly lucky to have them. And to always have them. So pull up a chair, grab a drink and a loved one, and settle down to this glorious film. And when it's done, stick on 'The Kid' for good measure... and 'Liberty'... and 'Never Weaken'...
... and rejoice ...
This is indeed the source of the most famous scene in all of silent comedy (alongside, perhaps, Chaplin's cogs and Lloyd's clock). Caught up in a hurricane, hiding under a bed that's whisked away in the wind, Buster staggers to his feet only for the front of a house to fall all around him. Except - the tiny window falls directly over Buster. Who just stands there, staring.
We've all seen this a thousand times or more. Before I even knew who Keaton was I'd seen this scene. But even now, going back to watch it (again and again) - it's an extraordinary moment. Keaton had two nails hammered into the ground, marks for his feet, and two inches of room either side. Two inches left, two inches right, Buster would have been killed. Dead centre, and it's wondrous. Perfection. It had to be.
And he doesn't even FLINCH.
But there's something else about it...
Here's a scene, the big scene, not just expensive but incredibly dangerous. Half the crew refuse to watch. Anywhere else, you might imagine this stunt as the grand conclusion, milked for all it's worth. But that was never the Buster Keaton way. Everything had to be done perfectly (the golfing accident in Convict 13, for example, 78 takes...), and if that meant nearly killing yourself for a few seconds three quarters of the way through, so be it. Do the perfect gag, move on, do some more.
Extraordinary. Staggering. Unbelievable.
But, heavens, there's more, so much more... from Buster throwing away his own hat in disgust, to the dough that fell into the toolbox, to Buster's seemingly limitless capacity for wearing clothes under his nightshirt, to all those stunts in the hurricane, to the ingenious ending - a joy, an absolute joy. Unremittingly wonderful.
So this makes him better than Chaplin? Forget it. All I hear is competition, comparison, Keaton better/not better than Chaplin, Laurel better/not better than Lloyd, and all combinations in between. IT DOESN'T MATTER. This could only be a Keaton film, in the same way that Chaplin's best is unmistakeably Chaplin, Lloyd's best unmistakeably Lloyd, Laurel's best unmistakeably Laurel (and Hardy). There's no point bickering. There aren't any prizes to be won. Just accept - just rejoice - that for a brief few years, some of mankind's darkest years, the world was blessed with four unique comic geniuses. It probably never happened before, it maybe never will again. We were, are, will be, all of us, amazingly lucky to have them. And to always have them. So pull up a chair, grab a drink and a loved one, and settle down to this glorious film. And when it's done, stick on 'The Kid' for good measure... and 'Liberty'... and 'Never Weaken'...
... and rejoice ...