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To relate the work of Buster Keaton, or any of the great silent comic film artists, to spiritual concerns requires placing them in the context of their times. The creation of film comedy in the silent era, from 1915 through the 1920s, was one of the most remarkable and lasting achievements of American popular culture, along with jazz and the Broadway musical. What makes it even more remarkable is that this burst of creative invention comes in the aftermath of a terrible world war that, in many ways, permanently damaged the European cultural tradition from which most Americans drew their heritage. The 1920s in Europe, amidst the devastation of war, revolution and, in some cases, near-famine, was a time of cynicism and disillusionment. The situations produced revolt and revulsion reflected in painting, poetry, music and the theater. German Expressionism, Dada and Surrealism, music atonality, and Artaud's 'theater of cruelty' were manifestations of this cultural crisis as were many of the pioneering yet despairing films, such as those of Bunuel, Jean Vigo, and F.W. Murnau. Yet, in the American film comedies, we find a world of hope, joy, and frantic playfulness. While T.S. Eliot was writing The Waste Land, a depiction of a spiritually-lost and fading civilization, Chaplin was making The Gold Rush, the story of how a poor man finds wealth and love. Both works deal with reality in their own way, yet Chaplin's optimism ("Smile though you're feeling sorrow") is irrepressible despite poverty and social injustice. Other film comedians of the time such as Laurel and Hardy and Harold Lloyd would remain innocent children throughout their cinematic lives. American film comedy flowered in a make-believe world that was often difficult and unfair but seemingly untouched by real sin and corruption.
Chaplin's tramp emerged in The Gold Rush of 1925 only to 'hit the road' in the 1930's without ever settling down or being accepted, but Keaton's world is kinder if not gentler. One might question whether this persistent innocence reflects a deep spirituality, rooted in American traditional faith, or a more shallow 'can-do' attitude in the face of hardships. Both perspectives are probably true. During this time Americans were experiencing rapid social change that produced both instability and opportunity. There was, as yet, little of the brooding introspection festering among intellectuals to be found in the popular culture to come. The General was made under optimum conditions. Keaton was at the height of his fame and popularity and owned his own studio, as did Chaplin, which provided great artistic freedom. Filmed on location in the lumber country of Oregon, The General was produced and co-directed by Keaton and his long-time collaborator, Clyde Bruckman, from a screenplay by Al Boasberg and Charles Smith. Keaton was always highly collaborative in his work, as were many of the artists who began in the 'gang comedies' of Mack Sennett and Fattie Arbuckle. He frequently 'co-directed' his films, since this allowed him to concentrate on his on-camera performance, including doing his own dangerous stunts. Owning his own studio allowed him to retake and revise his work, including whole sequences. This made a virtual perfection of technique and timing possible in a way never to be realized again. Keaton, a vaudeville performer since his childhood, teamed with his father and mother as 'The Three Keatons', was a mime equal to Chaplin and Barrault. His perpetually blank face only enhanced the delight audiences found in the expressiveness of his lithe, acrobatic body.
Buster Keaton's career as a filmmaker sadly ended too soon. He was only thirty-four years old when the emergence of sound blighted his silent paradise. He would later be an advisor to popular comics, from the Three Stooges to Red Skelton and Lucille Ball. He would also appear with Chaplin in the latter's Limelight, but would never again direct his own films. Beyond reflecting his times, the 'spirituality' of Keaton's work lies in his embrace of the physical world. I doubt that he ever thought of spirituality that way - he had the dignity of the clown, not the philosopher. But he created a laughter that celebrated the world as it is - imperfect. A world that is filled, it's true, with dangerous, unpredictable and even seemingly malevolent objects, not to mention people - but yet created by a loving God with a sense of humor, and as lasting and as joyous as the Incarnation has revealed. Ron Austin is a veteran writer and producer with over a hundred credits in film and television. His television credits include Mission Impossible, Hawaii Five-O, Charlie's Angels, Matlock, and The Father Dowling Mysteries. He has more recently produced a documentary, The Hidden Gift: War and Faith in Sudan, and an experimental feature film, Blue in Green. A member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the Writers Guild, and the Directors Guild, he has been on the faculty of the USC cinema school and the American Film Institute. He has also taught in the Act One: Screenwriting for Hollywood program since its inception. © Ron Austin |
Buster
Keaton's The General
No
one expressed this vigorous, frenetic affirmation of life more than Buster
Keaton. His humor has been called 'mordant' at times because the famous,
stoically 'stone-faced' clown often faced grim circumstances, including
war and hurricanes - but his discouragements were only momentary. In his
classic works - The Navigator and Sherlock Jr. ( both 1924),
Seven Chances (1925), Steamboat Bill Jr. (1927) and, especially,
his masterpiece, The General (1926), Keaton engages in serious
and strenuous conflict but always triumphs through his uniquely combined
virtues of purity of motive and incredible ingenuity.
This
creative freedom and the fruits of years of experience, including performing
in over forty films, enabled Keaton to create some of the most elaborate
- and hilarious - physical comedy in film history. The locomotive chase
in The General is often cited by film historians as one of the
highlights of an era notable for fresh invention.