If you heard someone described as “a man who could take almost any amount of pain,” you might assume it was an athlete, a first responder, a Navy SEAL — or maybe a Hollywood stuntman.
But while the last phrase is technically accurate here, that “indestructible man” was in fact Buster Keaton — a silent-film star whom Roger Ebert dubbed “the greatest actor-director in the history of cinema.”
Indeed, while the opening description is from Keaton’s fellow-actor James Karen, the legendary Orson Welles went a step further: Keaton was “beyond all praise,” said Welles. “No one came near him.”
Webb readers might recall those quotes from last week’s movie-column; there, I promoted an April 19 screening of Keaton’s classic Sherlock Jr. — with live music, at the lovely Rialto Theatre in Canton.
But I got so caught up in Sherlock Jr. — which includes several dazzling stunts, one of which actually broke Keaton’s neck — I ran out of room to cover the rest of the man’s watershed career. So this week, here’s more detail on this sadly neglected genius of the silent screen:
Joseph Frank Keaton was born Oct. 4, 1895, in Piqua, KS, where his parents were performing with their itinerant vaudeville troupe. The boy acquired his nickname when he emerged unharmed after falling down a flight of stairs at the age of 18 months.
Before long, little Buster became the star of his parents’ rough-and-tumble stage show, where he was hurled about so violently that his mother sewed a suitcase-handle onto the back of his overalls — so Joe Sr. could throw him at (or through) the scenery. One night, Dad tossed Buster at a mouthy attender, breaking the heckler’s nose; shortly thereafter, a head-kick left eight-year-old Buster unconscious for 18 hours. Somewhat understandably, the Keatons began billing their long-suffering son as “The Little Boy Who Couldn’t Be Damaged.”
After serving in World War I, Keaton — now in his 20s — began working with silent-film star Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, a stint he started by borrowing the crew’s camera and taking it back to his Manhattan hotel, where he completely dismantled and then fully reassembled it the next morning.
Serving as actor, stuntman and gag-writer, Keaton soon began writing and directing his own short films (then called “two-reelers”). Some of these — particularly One Week (1920), Cops (1922) and The Playhouse (1921) — are now considered masterpieces.
In fact, the latter has its own Wikipedia page, which tells us that “Keaton plays the conductor and every member of the orchestra, the actors, dancers, stagehands, minstrels and every member of the audience, male and female.” (At one point, audience-member Keaton turns to the “woman” beside him — also Keaton — and quips, “This fellow Keaton seems to be the whole show.”) With few special-effects available at that time, Keaton achieved these multiple roles by rewinding and re-exposing the film over and over as he continued changing seats and costumes.
And this sort of wizardry was only the beginning.
By the mid-1920s, Keaton was cranking out a hugely successful series of full-length features — with the actor doing all of his own death-defying stunts.
Our Hospitality (1923) — a spoof of the Hatfield-McCoy feud — features a specially designed and very funny-looking train, with one scene in which Keaton contrives to have the separated coaches arrive in town before the engine! There’s also a late-film waterfall sequence that you have to see to believe. No, wait — I take that back; even after seeing it, you still can’t believe they pulled it off.
Sherlock Jr., now exactly 100 years old, features several frankly astounding stunts; in the most famous, Keaton nimbly dives into the stomach of another man and completely disappears. (See last week’s article for more details!)
The Navigator (also 1924) is basically Keaton and crew having 59 minutes of fun aboard an aging 5000-ton ship they had purchased from scrappers. Perhaps his most visually poetic achievement, The Navigator — like many Keaton masterpieces — features images of startling beauty as well as humor: doors all swinging open at once; the glowering portrait outside a porthole; Keaton trying to tow the ship in a tiny rowboat.
And let’s not forget the director’s most famous work: 1926’s The General, basically a 75-minute train-pursuit reenacting the “Great Locomotive Chase” from the American Civil War. Beautifully filmed with vintage engines — and featuring a burning-bridge collapse which was at that time the most expensive single shot ever filmed — The General is on many lists of all-time greatest movies ever; many consider it the finest film from the entire silent era.
Due to several of his own bad decisions, Keaton’s career foundered with the advent of sound; but he was in later years rediscovered and lionized by a whole new generation.
Happily, many of his films (including most of those listed above) are available free on YouTube.
So do yourself a favor….
