The great thing about the
Silent Film Society of Chicago is that not only does it show the greatest films in town, but it knows how to show film, period. It's in a gorgeous old theater, with the traditional, lavishly decorated cinema-vibe. Think of
Cinema Paridiso, or Chicago people, think The Music Box (but bigger and cooler) and you're close. It has that whole Italian-40s-theater-thing happening, complete with a humongous balcony, stars on the ceiling and pillars and structures decorated all around the theater. Oh -- and the big red curtain that pulls away at the film's onset and an audience that responds with applause at the start of the show! Now how cool is that?!
And then to top it off, a six piece jazz band played for an hour before the movie even began. It wasn't my favorite style of music, but man, oh man, did it fit with the feel of the night. I was in love with
Steamboat Bill Jr. before he ever even graced the screen. This is the way film is meant to be presented.
But wow. Buster Keaton stole the stage from everyone that preceded him that night.
I actually forgot where i was several times over the course of the film. As Bill Jr's dad marched around the train station asking "Any of you boys looking for a father?" (big laugh) we waited and waited and -- when Keaton finally did show up, once again, a huge applause bursted forth from the audience. Silent film doesn't get any better than watching it with a thousand other people that love it too.
His dad was clearly disappointed in him, in his size and in his mannerisms, and particularly when he saw Bill Jr. dancing for that little baby, he was utterly ashamed. I love the way that Keaton sets up the audience to feel sorry for him from the beginning, so that by the time he becomes the hero in the end of the film there is twice the level of appreciation.
But what is it they call him? The melancholic comic? I think that was it. And you can sense it. You always feel for him, always root for him, always laugh at him -- but you're never really laughing at him, as much as laughing because of him, and there's a huge difference. You can see in his comical actions a level of genius at work that makes you believe that in the end, by the time the final frame has rolled, he will make it out of whatever miserable situation you are currently laughing at him in. So it's almost like he's telling you, "Come on! Laugh with me now, because you'll believe in me later!"
The scene that nails us in
Steamboat Bill Jr. is where the house nearly lands on him and he only survives because of an open window -- and i guess in real life, the beast nearly did land on him. It's been reported that the opening only cleared Buster's head and shoulders by a mere three inches, and that the structure weighed over a ton! Much like the scenes in
The General when Keaton is flipping and diving all over a moving train, until finally the whole train goes over a bridge and crashes into a river (no CGI friends --
none.), you are gutted in your seat thinking of how real these scenes were and what went into the making of them.
It's scenes like these that make me agree with Kevin Brownlow when he makes a statement like, "The silent era was the richest in cinema's history...." and Buster Keaton was certainly one of the greatest portions of this rich era.
And i don't even like most comedies.
-s.