Neither snow, nor kidney stones, nor talking cars, kept me from the 2022 Kansas Silent Film Festival

After more than two decades, I remain a big fan of the "biohazard" pattern of the carpeting in the White Concert Hall at Washburn University.

This year's Kansas Silent Film Festival was memorable in part for a few things I hope to soon forget.

For me, it was two things in particular: a pair of kidney stones, which made their unexpected presence known the day before I planned to depart for Kansas.

The announcement came in the form of intense pain coming from the lower right part of my abdomen. Ouch!

I thought it was my appendix. Whatever it was, the pain quickly grew to where I just wanted it to stop.

So instead of heading for the airport to fly out to Kansas, I went to the emergency room. Tests and a scan revealed the culprits: two stones making their way from kidney to bladder.

In no condition to travel, I reached out to festival director Bill Shaffer and let him know I'd be unable to make it this year.

Although really disappointed in myself for not being able to honor a commitment, I knew that the other accompanists there could cover the films I'd been assigned.

It wouldn't be the first time this happened—in 2013, members of the Mont Alto group made it only about half way across Kansas before a blizzard forced them to turn back to their Colorado home.

So the rest of us divvied up their films and the festival went on as scheduled.

How is this possible at the last minute? Well, live film accompaniment encompasses a lot of approaches, and that includes the “I hadn't planned on playing for this title but I'll give it a go” school of music.

At this year's Kansas festival, I knew that my fellow accompanist Ben Model would be on hand. (He'd bring both his hands, actually. Har!) I was hoping Ben would be willing to cover for me, and was glad to hear that he would. 

Accompanists Marvin Faulwell, Bill Beningfield, and Ben Model at the console of the White Concert Hall's organ.

The festival is blessed with other musicians who would fill in as well: longtime music director and organist Marvin Faulwell and his sidekick, percussionist Bob Keckeisen; organist Bill Beningfield; and Rodney Sauer, director of the Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra.

So I stayed home that Thursday, dosed with Toredal to numb the pain, and also ameliorate the unhappiness of missing my first Kansas Silent Film Festival since first attending in 2000.

But then Thursday turned into Friday, and I felt much better. The pain was gone. It snowed all day in New Hampshire, making travel difficult. But by late afternoon I felt well enough to make a break for it. Turned out Southwest Airlines was still running flights out of Manchester, and I could get the last out of the day (to Chicago Midway, connecting to Kansas City) at 6:30 p.m.

That would put me in Topeka really late Friday night, but at least I'd be on hand for the whole day Saturday, when the bulk of my films (and the one feature) were scheduled to screen.

Proud of myself for making the effort, we were about a half-hour from landing at Midway when the pain happened again. It put me on the floor of an airport gate area, pretending to stretch but actually trying to find a position to lessen the agony.

Here I was, 800 miles from home and writhing in pain. I'd taken the opioid they'd given me in case the pain came back, but it didn't seem to be working. What to do? There was a flight back to Manchester at a nearby gate, so I went over to find that boarding had completed and the plane was already pushing back.

I was close to calling my in-laws (who live in Chicago) to get me to an emergency room (no way was I paying for an ambulance—that would cause a different and more lasting kind of pain) when the boarding announcement was made for the Kansas City flight.

Rising up, I felt a little better, so decided to board. (What I would do when I got there, I had no idea.) Once seated, the pain returned with a vengeance. A song lyric started going through my mind: "Should I stay or should I go?"

I finally just had to get up, as sitting was intolerable, and made my way to the rear of the plane. I explained what was going on to two flight attendants, who could not have been more sympathetic. They said we had about a half-hour before departure, so a decision didn't have to be made right away.

They let me walk up and down the aisle, which helped, although I'm sure my fellow passengers concluded they were flying to Kansas City with a lunatic. Even the captain got involved, wanting to know what drugs I'd taken and making sure I wasn't an in-flight medical liability, which of course is his job. (I passed—although the kidney stones hadn't.)

Finally it came time to leave, and I chose to tough it out. Once the door closed, there was no turning back. "Prepare to build some character," I thought to myself, as we pushed back from the gate. At least I was next to an empty seat, enabling me to writhe and contort myself within the limits of a seat belt.

How long would this last? Well, I guess the opioid finally kicked in, as the pain began to lessen during the flight. By the time we landed it had mostly subsided. Maybe I would make it after all. 

But what would I do when I got there? What if this happened during a film? Well, we'd find out.

As I sat on the bus to the rental car center, I contemplated one remaining challenge: it was after midnight, and I still had to drive an hour to Topeka, opioids and all.

And then I dodged a bullet. It was so late that all the rental car desks were shut except one: Avis—by some stroke of divine magic, the company I'd booked with. They gave me a brand new (less than 300 miles) Kia Soul, which was equipped with nanny software that bings at you if it doesn't like how you change lanes.

"Consider taking a break!" read a dashboard display panel, with a coffee cup icon complete with little heat lines rising above it.

"Mind your own business," I responded, looking for the switch to disable this annoying feature.

Bing bing bing! "32 degrees! Watch for ice ahead!" said the display, which included pictures of snowflakes falling.  

"Stop hounding me!," I shot back. "How do I turn you off?"

My ride. I never did figure out how to turn off the nanny function.

I got on the Kansas Turnpike (I-70) and headed west to Topeka, being extra careful to keep at the speed limit. The last thing the Kansas Silent Film Festival needed was a headline like:

VISITING MUSICIAN JAILED FOR OPIOID POSSESSION AND YELLING AT CAR

Why am I telling you all this? Maybe it's a window into the ups and downs of the glamorous life of a silent film accompanist. Maybe it'll prompt you to take better care of yourself: drink more water, don't lapse into winter inactivity, and cut down on the cheese!

But I made it, and by the time I pulled into the parking lot of the Hyatt in Topeka, the pain was gone. For now. That's the thing. I'd had two episodes of intense pain. When might it happen again?

Next thing I knew, it was the next morning and I was downstairs at breakfast chatting with Rodney Sauer of Mont Alto and greeting all the familiar folks who are such a huge part of why even malfunctioning kidneys can't keep me from coming back to this festival.

And I found that I my problems were minor indeed when compared to what others had faced or were facing. 

Like how? Rodney's house in Colorado just missed being burned to the ground last year in a wildfire. (A cellist he knows lost everything.) Long-time festival supporter Paul Post had been severely injured in a bicycle accident earlier that week and was hospitalized. (He continues to recover.) Festival attendee Jim Reid made it all the way up from Texas (in an ice storm) only to slip on the hotel walkway, landing on his face. (He seemed to be doing okay.)

So Saturday's festival activities started up, and I was able to get through each film I'd been assigned. Ben Model later mentioned the syndrome of how the body seems to somehow postpone problems during a performance, and I've found that to be true. 

 

From Oscar Micheaux's drama 'Within Our Gates' (1920).

My big film was the one feature I'd been assigned: The Oscar Micheaux drama 'Within Our Gates' (1921), a 90-minute drama that closed the afternoon program. I asked Ben to stand by, or at least be in the hall somewhere, during this screening in case I wasn't able to get through it.

But the film started, and I pressed a big "C" in four octaves on the White Concert Hall's wonderful Steinway grand, and off we went. Before long, I'd become completely engaged—it's actually a tough film to score and requires concentration to bring it off.

Because of that, I completely forgot that less than 24 hours ago I was face down on the carpeted floor of a gate area in Chicago. Another example of how silent film can transport a viewer to an alternate (and pain-free) state of mind.

(For an excellent essay on 'Within Our Gates,' check out this piece by Shari Kizirian from the San Francisco Silent Film Festival.)

Well—if you'd like a run-down of this year's Kansas Silent Film Festival, attendee and adviser Bruce Calvert always posts a write-up of what screened. It's posted on Nitrateville and I encourage you to check it out.

Many thanks to festival director Bill Shaffer for putting up with my last-minute plan changes. We joke that at the Kansas Silent Film Festival, sometimes there's more drama off-screen than on.

And thanks to everyone at the festival for their kind comments and wishes of good health—too many folks to mention by name for fear of leaving someone out, but all very much appreciated.

As Stan says to Ollie in 'Blockheads' (1938): I'm better now. Truth is, although my two stones are still "in transit," I haven't had any more severe attacks since this year's visit to Topeka.

So we can add that to the many reasons the Kansas Silent Film Festival is worth attending: "Known to Reduce Kidney Stone Pain."

Now—if only I could have gotten that car to shut up.

Ben and Ken and Marvin and Bob and Bill and me and the Talking Heads, too: Music at this year's Kansas Silent Film Festival

Ken and Ben: The Alloy Orchestra's Ken Winokur and silent film accompanist Ben Model embrace backstage at this year's Kansas Silent Film Festival.

This year's Kansas Silent Film Festival was highlighted by some great films, special guests, and also a personal milestone.

For me, the 2019 gathering marked 20 consecutive years of attending this event, which is held each February at Washburn University in Topeka, Kansas.

Twenty years? Other than being married, and breathing, I haven't done anything for 20 years. Heck, it's a run nearly as long as the silent film era itself.

More below. But about this year's festival..

Ben Model and festival music director Marvin Faulwell at the organ console at Washburn University's White Concert Hall.

It was a special privilege to hear and collaborate with fellow silent film musicians, including regulars Marvin Faulwell, Bob Keckeisen, and Bill Beningfield, and guests Ben Model and members of the Alloy Orchestra: Ken Winokur, Terry Donahue, and Roger Miller.

Highlights included the Alloy Orchestra's pounding accompaniment for 'Metropolis' (1927); Marvin and Bob's controlled and evocative score for 'The Daughter of the Dawn' (1920); and Ben Model doing his music for 'When Knighthood was in Flower' (1922), a film he reissued on DVD on his Undercrank label.

Ben also gave a slightly abbreviated edition of his talk on undercranking and film speeds in use during the silent era. Below is an underexposed photo of his uncranking talk, but I liked it because of how Ben's pose mirrors the action on screen.

Film speed is just one of many issues that can prove troublesome when presenting films from the silent era to modern audiences. It's hard for people to grasp that in early cinema, for many years there was no standard film speed, either for photographing action (called "taking speed") or projecting it in a theater.

But Ben's presentation shows this aspect of silent cinema was well-known by filmmakers, who would deliberately incorporate various taking speeds into what they did.

I remember reading about this practice in books such as Walter Kerr's 'The Silent Clowns.' But Ben has really gone into the archives and sussed out hard evidence of how extensive the practice was, how filmmakers made use of it, and what a difference it made.

Most amazing are statements from silent-era stars such as Milton Sills, who wrote in detail how an actor had to gauge his or her movements to allow for the way they would appear on screen, which was almost always at a slightly brisker pace than reality.

So film speed, and specifically undercranking, is one of the foundations of early filmmaking technique. Bravo to Ben for helping us all understand its impact!

As the festival's utility musician (I'm listed in the program as "staff pianist"), this time around I was asked to provide scores for five movies: three short films and two features.

All went well, generally. I was most pleased with an unusual film, 'Venus of the South Seas' (1924) starring Australian swimming champion Annette Kellerman in her only surviving film.

For this very lightweight drama, percussionist Bob Keckeisen and I collaborated on a score that tried to stay on the shimmery side, just like the sparkling water that appears throughout the film.

So I developed material that mirrored early minimalism that first started being heard in the 1970s. I was running through some of it in a practice room, and I'm told someone on the piano faculty wanted to know who was playing the Philip Glass music!

Not to get too technical, but this was very much a "sharped 4th" score: one in which all melodies are built on a scale in which the fourth note is the one between "fa" and "so". I guess you could say it's "fo."

But that one little note makes all the difference, as it lends a shimmering quality to any run of notes. So that's what I played with throughout the film, while Bob contributed sounds ranging from the sawing of a metal file to calls on an underwater horn.

It all fell together quite effectively, I thought, considering that Bob and I spoke about 'Venus of the South Seas' for all of about a half-hour the day before.

But it was enough to work in some good cues. Most impressive was a quick scene in London, which saw Bob ringing out the "Big Ben" chimes in C major. (A tribute to Ben Model, too!) It worked and sounded pretty good, I thought.

For any water or swimming scenes, I had a riff of repeated notes that I'd play for as long as it made sense to do so. Occasionally I'd vary the harmony, but mostly it was a nice steady tapping that fit the on-screen action and helped it move along.

So it was most satisfying when I landed on just the right moment near the end to start this up again and slowly build to a nice finish. And Bob K. caught this wave as well, hitting the suspended cymbal softly at first but then growing as I pushed the volume on my repeating chord.

And we both built to a nice level as 'The End' appeared on screen, and kept it there for what felt just the right amount of time before going out on one final bump up.

Wow! Few accompaniment experiences have been as satisfying as that!

So thanks to Bill Shaffer and everyone (too numerous to name, but you know who you are) who make this festival work.

And by work, I mean they work year-round, and thus make it easy for an out-of-towner like me to just show up on the big weekend and do my thing.

It's been enough to keep me coming back for 20 years, and was a big influence in getting me to start pursuing silent film accompaniment myself.

And after 20 years, I find myself thinking about the Talking Heads, one of the few pop music groups I know anything about.

"You may find yourself at the Kansas Silent Film Festival for the 20th year in a row. And you may yourself, how did I get here?"

How? It wasn't letting the days go by. It was getting placed on leave from a job teaching middle school English. (Yes, I washed out in my attempt to teach middle school kids.)

This led to a plan to write a book about silent film, and this led to the idea of going somewhere so I could recover the magic of this art form.

Recover? Yes! As a teenager, I had a passionate interest in the silent film era. But it faded due to a misguided attempt to behave and act like an adult. (Big mistake!)

In March 2000, I wanted to reconnect and see if anything was there. So I used this new thing called the Internet to see if any festivals were happening soon.

There was: something called the Kansas Silent Film Festival. And a pair of Delta Airlines 'Friends and Family' passes would get me there and back.

Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the White Concert Hall at Washburn University, with the Mont Alto orchestra doing live music to Keaton's 'The Cameraman' (1928).

The distinctive "bio-hazard" design of the White Concert Hall's carpeting, which last year I was told would be replaced. Returning this year, I was thrilled to see it still there.

I was reminded of what I loved about silent film. But as I watched that magical "dolly back" in 'The Cameraman' that reveals the monkey to be cranking the newsreel camera, I immediately sensed something was going on that would be a big part of my future.

(I had seen the picture before, but not since college. Seeing it again, I recall feeling excited at how much fresh creative energy Keaton was finding in the silent cinema even as it was ending. It was as if he was saying, "Look at what we can still do with this!")

It took awhile for me to figure out that silent film would lead not to a book, but to silent film accompaniment, would eventually become the main outlet for my creative energy.

But back at that first-for-me Kansas Silent Film Festival, I found more than just silent film. Visiting from the far-off East, I found myself welcomed by friendly people who by rights I never should have met. But I'm glad I did.

Next thing I knew, I was putting 16mm prints in the trunk of my rental car and getting directions to the afterglow at the old Holidome on Fairlawn Boulevard. And there we were, enjoying drinks and eating Doritos as Rodney Sauer of Mont Alto played ragtime on the lounge piano while a few bemused barflies looked on.

I came to that festival uncertain of what was next for me. Unexpectedly, I came away with a renewed sense that anything was still possible: that I could start a business (which I did), that I could find a creative outlet (I have), that I still had a lot to do and give and experience in this life.

So I returned the next year, and the year after, and every year since. Each time, I'm reminded of that same feeling I got the first time: that life continues to offer possibilities as rich as those shown by Keaton in 'The Cameraman.'

And so, at last night's 'Cinema Dinner,' when festival director Bill Shaffer asked if anyone had attended 20 years in a row, I thought to myself: "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Shaffer!"

But I didn't say anything. Instead, I just stood and took a bow.

Thanks to everyone at the Kansas Silent Film Festival for keeping it going all these years.

Only 52 weeks and five days until the next one. Next year's festival, already on the calendar, is Feb. 28-29.

So get ready to celebrate Leap Day in Topeka.

And the burning question is: will they program the Fatty Arbuckle feature 'Leap Year' (1920)?

A grand time at the Kansas Silent Festival; plus, an impromptu Chaplin stress test

That's me on stage, caressing the big Steinway grand during a slide presentation about Kansas-born actress Claire Windsor.

Last weekend brought my 16th annual trip to the Kansas Silent Film Festival, to which I've made pilgrimages each year since the turn of the century.

As I say: in February, some folks go to Aruba. I go to Topeka!

But I do it gladly, because the Kansas Silent Film Festival is one of those rare events set up to run mainstream silent films (as opposed to obscure rarities) to large audiences of just plain folks, rather than just plain film buffs. (Who are all nice people, by the way.)

One reason it attracts big crowds is the magical four-letter word: FREE! No admission is charged, so there's no barrier to the curious. There's no registration or badge required, and no tickets, either. You can come and go as you please.

The result is an environment that I find probably mimics the conditions under which silent films were really intended to be shown: on the big screen, with live music, and with a large audience.

And the White Concert Hall at Washburn University, where the films are screened on Friday nights and all day Saturday, is big enough to hold even an enormous turnout. Big crowds do turn up, depending on the program. So far, no capacity constraints.

And there's the people. Too many staffers and volunteers to list here, but all terrific folks who assemble each year, Brigadoon-like, to bring forth this event. You know who you are, and you're all great. (Many thanks to Carol Yoho for most of the photos used in this post.)

Another reason to go is the music. Usually, it's a rare chance to hear the Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra live for several titles in one go, not to mention other regulars such as long-time theater organist Marvin Faulwell and his percussionist sidekick Bob Keckeisen.

Marvin Faulwell and Bob Keckeisen in action on Friday night.

This year, Mont Alto couldn't attend. But organizers brought in an equally compelling guest performer: accompanist (and film collector) Jon Mirsalis. Jon is one of the big names in silent film music, and his accompaniment style is one that I really respond to. So I was thrilled that he'd be part of this year's festival. More on Jon in a moment.

My own involvement is to provide piano accompaniment as needed for all manner of odds and ends, with the occasional feature thrown in.

This time around, my big number was 'The Little Church Around the Corner' (1923), an early Warner Bros. melodrama starring Claire Windsor, a Kansas native who attended Washburn University for a time.

Prior to the Saturday morning screening, I got together with percussionist Bob K. and worked out some key moments when his services would add oomph to the proceedings. Any film that features a mine collapse could stand some extra help from the percussion department, and Bob came through in spades.

He also used his crash box to nail a brick thrown through a glass window (another key scene), and also got some nice suspended cymbal action underneath some of the big emotional moments at the keyboard. Bravo, Bob!

'Little Church' turned out to be a good match for the material I'd selected: a big gushing emotional theme for the dramatic moments, a percussive dirge for mining and labor sequences, and some hymn-like chord progressions for the spiritual and religious scenes.

Heading down into the collapsed mine. Yes, that's a canary they're taking with them.

The picture had an unusual structure. The climactic mine collapse actually happens probably about two-thirds through the picture, after which there's an extended sequence showing the townspeople waiting to find out who, if anyone, survived.

For that, I drew back from the big "collapse" music to just playing quiet but steady repeated notes, some high up in the treble, but always simply, like a clock ticking, while the bass wandered slowly below, creating weird tonal relationships that added tension as the sequence progressed. To my delight, I found it becoming one of those impossible-to-plan-for times when everything comes together surprisingly well.

But then out came the gushing emotional theme for the rescue, and then the percussive dirge whipped up into a busy agitato for labor strife. And then the hymn-like music when an unexpected miracle takes place (don't let me spoil it for you) and then more gushing emotional theme for the inevitable happy ending.

A display of Claire Windsor artifacts included 'Little Church' sheet music! Which I didn't see until after the film!

I was really pleased with how it came out. Unlike short comedies, a feature like that gives an accompanist room to work with the material and develop it as the story progresses. I was thrilled to have some long-time film buffs tell me afterwards that they thought it was outstanding. Nice! Yay for me!

But the real highlight of the festival for me was Jon Mirsalis, who did music for three features during the festival: Harold Lloyd's 'Grandma's Boy' (1922) on Friday night; the first part of 'The Birth of a Nation' (1915) on Saturday afternoon, and then 'The Seahawk' (1924) on Saturday night.

Jon brought with him his Kurzweil synthesizer/keyboard—yes, actually checked as baggage for the flight from San Francisco, the first time he ever took it on a plane, he said.

Carrying the Kurzweil across the White Concert Hall stage.

We happened to arrive at the Kansas City airport on Thursday afternoon at the same time Jon came in, and so were assigned duty to pick up him—and the keyboard—and drive them both to Topeka.

I have to say it was a real treat to bring Jon to Topeka, and then act as his chauffeur for much of his time there.

Jon has been into vintage film for a long time, and is just bursting with stories and lore from decades worth of accompanying, collecting, and obsessing over early cinema.

So get him talking, and there's no end to all the experiences and adventures he's willing to share. He's funny, articulate, and opinionated in the best kind of way.

But music is what he came to Kansas to make. And his work in creating live music for three very different films showed a level of musicianship and a sense of narrative that for my money is just unequaled.

Jon introduces his print of 'The Seahawk' on Saturday night.

And it's not that the Kurzweil can produce a wide variety of orchestral textures that all sounded pretty impressive in the White Concert Hall. (In fact, he used the house piano, a marvelous Steinway concert grand, for most of 'Grandma's Boy.')

No—Jon has a recognizable style that he can adapt effortlessly, it seems, to whatever is happening on screen, lending it just what it needs at the time: profundity, wistfulness, rhythmic energy, tension, relief, you name it.

It's nearly always right, I think—not just in the moment, but also in the context of the entire film. Jon knows when to go big, when to draw back, when to come to the foreground, and when to disappear. When he plays for a film, it's an ongoing magic act that we were all privileged to enjoy at this year's Kansas Silent Film Festival.

Another highlight was seeing 'The Birth of a Nation' very close to the film's actually 100th anniversary. I know festival organizers were a little nervous about screening this title and all its racist baggage, even making sure a few security guards were on hand just in case.

But as it turned out, there was no controversy that I could detect. Alas, I think attendance was actually down slightly for the afternoon segment in which the film ran.

How can you go wrong with 'Birth of a Nation' action figures?

A panel discussion following the film was lively, but had to end prematurely due to time limits, I thought. For my part, all I could do was make wisecracks about the irony of screening 'Birth' in the White Concert Hall. Har!

Chaplin stress test: One new wrinkle this time around was a one-day outreach program that found the musicians fanning out on Friday to do impromptu silent film programs.

For my part, I rode shotgun with festival organizer Bill Shaffer about 20 minutes west of Topeka to Auburn Elementary School in Auburn, Kansas for a morning assembly.

It's a great-looking modern school, and much larger than I expected for rural Kansas. (Turns out it draws students from a huge area.)

We were in the gym, and everyone couldn't be nicer as hundreds of kids orderly filed in and sat on the floor, eventually filling up nearly the entire basketball court.

But our screening of Chaplin's two-reeler 'The Rink' (1916) unexpectedly turned into a good example of how you just need to be ready to make the best of whatever you're given to work with.

In this case, it was an upright piano with an unusual handicap: for all keys below middle C, the piano's sustain mechanism was stuck in the "on" position, and couldn't be released. Press a note, and it would sound for as long as the strings vibrate, like a gong. Bonnnnnnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggggggggg!

Bill Shaffer and me working the elementary school circuit.

I opened up the piano and tried to figure out what was wrong—maybe a pencil had been dropped into it? But I could NOT get it fixed, and then it was showtime, and off we went.

And so the music for 'The Rink' (1916) was quite a bit more "rinky-tink" than usual, in that I had to be very sparing on the low notes, lest their sound accumulate into a kind of sonic welter.

Also, the gig demonstrated one of the pitfalls of screening films in the digital age. When you use a laptop to run a DVD, it seems there's a very good chance that the player will not be up to the task of reading or transmitting data at a steady rate. And so you get variations in rendering where the on-screen image slows down for a bit and then speeds back up to catch up.

In a comedy such as 'The Rink,' where timing and motion are its chief merits, this can really diminish a film's impact. Not to mention the "bonging" piano.

But you know what? None of this seemed to interfere with the ability of 'The Rink' and Chaplin to capture the attention of youngsters nearly a full century after it was made. As soon as the film started running, the reaction was immediate.

So consider it a kind of stress test. Can silent film appeal to kids in the age of digital distraction and instant gratification, even when hampered by a handicapped piano and an unsteady image speed?

The answer, as I witnessed in Auburn, Kansas on Friday, Feb. 27, is a resounding YES.

At the annual Cinema Dinner: characteristic pose with open mouth.

Property note: During a few spare moments on Saturday morning, we went looking at real estate. The local market seems like another planet compared to New England. In Topeka, you can get a substantial house and lot for just over $30,000!

I was curious to see what a $30,000 house looked like, so we went and found one. It needed work, but didn't seem half bad!

Maybe we could buy the place for our annual Topeka sojourn, and rent it out the rest of the year. I could then add "Topeka Slumlord" to my resume.

Publicity notes: Well, back home I've just enjoyed an unexpected burst of what they call "earned media."

Last night, our local ABC affiliate (WMUR-TV Channel 9 in Manchester, N.H.) re-ran a feature segment they produced a year ago about me and silent film music.

Why again? I can only guess something else fell through. Either that, or there's a continuing shortage of interesting people to profile in these parts.

Then this morning, the Concord (N.H.) Monitor ran a pretty extensive profile of yours truly. This lavish write-up led the front of the D section, but also had a teaser right on the front page!

Well, if you're going to be on the front page, it might as well be for playing the piano. As the Car Talk guys would say: "It could be worse!"

If you're interested, here's a link to the story online.

Pretty good, considering I used to be night editor of the paper some (well, many) years ago.

It really is a small state I live in.

Notes from the Kansas Silent Film Festival: Films, music, people, food, and lots of snow

Bill Shaffer tends to finishing touches on stage at Washburn University's White Concert Hall.

I'm on the way home from the 2014 Kansas Silent Film Festival, which was a wonderful time as always! But I think the time has come for a name update.

Based on recent experience, it should be the Kansas Silent Film and FOOD Festival, as any time not actually spent watching or accompanying film seems to be devoted to eating. :)

Consider: Arrival on Thursday in Topeka is usually celebrated by a visit that night to the Blind Tiger Brew Pub, followed by lunch the next day at Bobo's, a legendary local drive-in.

Then comes the pre-show pasta buffet at the White Concert Hall, and then after the show it's the all-you-can-eat Indian banquet served at the Best Western hotel. And that's just on Friday!

But the Kansas folks wouldn't have it any other way. My joke this year was in suggesting to festival director Bill Shaffer that things ought to be slimmed down, he thought I meant they should run more 8mm instead of 16mm. Har!

Or it could be renamed the Kansas Silent Film and SLEET AND SNOW Festival, as winter weather has disrupted the schedule in recent years.

Let's see: in 2012, a pre-festival snowstorm forced guests Paul Gierucki and Brittany Valenti off the road somewhere between Michigan and Kansas, causing them to turn back. (They made it the next year.)

And last year was almost wiped out entirely when the Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra got stranded in mid-Kansas by a blizzard, forcing them to turn back. (As it was, my flight was cancelled, but I made it there on Friday in time for the evening's program.

And THIS year, the prospect of snow on Saturday night and Sunday prompted the Mont Alto members to hit the road by mid-day Saturday, causing the film program to be readjusted to allow them to skeedaddle.

Me with Rodney Sauer at this year's festival, wearing pretty much the same outfit.

Also, my flight out on Sunday got cancelled and rebooked for Monday. But I called the airline and found a way out of Kansas City on Sunday after all. (I'm writing this on the way back to New Hampshire.)

This situation prompted another wisecrack at last night's festival dinner: "Because they changed my flight, we can now add Sunday to the Kansas Silent Film Festival. Marvin, if you do 'Wings,' I'll agree to do 'Ben Hur.' And we can all go outside and reenact scenes from 'Nanook of the North.' "

"Marvin" is Marvin Faulwell, a talented organist and accompanist from Kansas City, and the musical mainstay of the Kansas Silent Film Festival since it started in 1996. He's a retired dentist who serves as the festival's music director, and I accompany films out there with his blessing, for which I'm grateful.

And why was I speaking at the Kansas Silent Film Festival's annual cinema dinner? I was there to introduce (and accompany) a screening of 'Their First Misunderstanding' (1911) the recently rediscovered Mary Pickford one-reeler that was found in 2006 in a barn in New Hampshire, of all places.

The tables are set with Mary Pickford memorabilia.

This was a great honor, but also prompted me to wonder aloud about how my presence at the podium was evidence they must be running out of important vintage film people to invite.

The Pickford film was well received and the accompaniment (on a big Steinway grand) went relatively smoothly, I thought. Not so, alas, for most of the other films I tackled for this year's festival. For some reason, I had a hard time getting comfortable at the piano (another beautiful Steinway) on the White Concert Hall stage, and so felt I was often all over the place.

Specifically, I was hoping to take a simpler approach and not try to play beyond my ability, something that master accompanist Phil Carli has warned about. I tend to do that because of sheer adrenaline, I think—sit down at the keyboard and there's a film playing, and I just get carried away, trying to do too much too soon.

A pair of Chaplin look-a-likes at the cinema dinner, one of whom apparently boasts an all-consuming interest.

Reining in this habit is especially important in advance of Cinefest later this month, as I'll be playing alongside some great accompanists, and it's important that I do the best job I can with the abilities I have, rather than the abilities I wish I had.

And that requires discipline, and it really went out the window pretty much all at once the first time I sat down to play, which was for Friday night's "surprise" film, 'A Canine Sherlock Holmes' an early British short that's been making the rounds after being recovered from an archive in the Netherlands by archivist David Shepard.

This film got a huge reaction, and several attendees later singled it out as a festival highlight. Any film in which a dog pretends to be injured to gain access into a house to search for clues is bound to be a winner.

And although I had prepared several themes in advance (including "In An English Country Garden" to bookend things) and knew the film pretty well, the accompaniment just didn't jell in the way I hoped it would. Still, the audience reaction was huge, and so what I did may not have actually harmed the film.(An accompanist's first rule is like part of medicine's Hippocratic Oath: Do no harm.)

On the other hand, the one feature I did, 'The Devil Horse' (1926) starring Rex the Wonder Horse, was relatively successful, I thought. And in case you haven't had enough of this navel-gazing already, here's what goes through the mind of a silent film accompanist.

First, one plus was that because it was a feature-length film, I had time to get into "accompaniment mode" and develop a few different ideas, something that's hard for me to do with short subjects. Also, 'The Devil Horse' is almost non-stop action, so my tendency to push too hard too soon wasn't such a drawback this time.

And then the subject matter fit my style of keyboard playing. Scraps of melody and repeated notes and modal chord changes work well when a film is filled with horses running and "injuns" dancing and so on. Afterwards, I told people afterwards that my goal was to explore the limits of the piano as a percussion instrument.

A special treat for me was working with Bob Keckeisen, head percussionist for the Topeka Symphony Orchestra and frequent collaborator with Marvin Faulwell in local silent film screenings. Bob doing percussion was an impromptu happening made possible by a last-minute schedule change that saw 'Devil Horse' swapped from morning to afternoon, enabling Bob to join in after fulfilling a teaching gig.

Me with Bob Keckeisen at this year's cinema dinner.

Rehearse together? Heck, we didn't even have a chance to discuss the film before we went up onto opposite ends of the stage! But sometimes that lack of advance coordination leads to a wonderful spontaneity in a performance, and I definitely felt that as Bob and I launched into the film. I hope we get a chance to collaborate again!

One nice surprise was seeing pianist Greg Foreman and his wife Melodie on Saturday. Greg has contributed some spectacular scores on piano and organ to the festival, but has suffered some medical issues that prevented him from joining in on stage this time around. I do hope he has a quick and full recovery.

The same goes for Phil Figgs, the festival's volunteer coordinator and also a pianist for some of the films. Phil wasn't able to make it to this year's edition, but hope to see him next time!

Chaplin's 'Modern Times' (1936) is full of references to his early comedies, including this gleeful tribute to 'Behind the Screen' (1916).

In terms of accompaniment, one of my take-aways came from the festival's final film, Chaplin's 'Modern Times' (1936), which has a recorded soundtrack created by Chaplin himself at the time of the film's release.

The film offers a rare chance to hear what music Chaplin had in mind for his movies: not just 'Modern Times,' but conceivably all of them, generally speaking. And unlike scores he put together much later in life for silent reissues, 'Modern Times' (and also 'City Lights' from 1931) show what he would have regarded as ideal at the time those films were actually released.

Though I've seen 'Modern Times' many times, I paid attention to the music this time, and found Chaplin's method of scoring is quite varied.

In 'Modern Times,' it includes passages that are used mostly to set a tempo—the skittering strings for Paulette Goddard's character come to mind, or the repetitive and frantic factory music for the assembly line scenes, which eventually erupts into a kind of light classical frenzy worthy of Offenbach or von Suppe.

There is also a lot of straight dramatic music, which I think works to help establish the serious nature of the story and hence provide a launching pad for the comedy. The dissonant opening fanfare keeps returning as a device to indicate transition or even fate, and there's also an anthem-like melody that I think helps keep the political nature of the story from being overshadowed by all the memorable gag sequences.

(I have since learned that this is the melody to 'Hallelujah, I'm a Bum,' a pro-labor song from that era. For more insights into its use, check out this nice analysis by Phil Posner of the Modern Times score.)

And then there's the one big tune, later issued as the stand-alone song 'Smile,' that shows up (without any lyrics) at key moments. This seems to me another way Chaplin was trying to keep some amount of pathos present in the film, using music to cue us that these characters and the situations they're in are real people with real feelings.

And yes, there's a lot of "funny" music that helps enrich the comedy when Chaplin felt it added to the whole, I think. The marching music in the prison scenes comes to mind. Visually, it's so grim and the stakes are so high that a goofy little 6/8 quickstep helps keep it all together. The climax of this kind of music is Chaplin's on-screen rendition of "Je cherche après Titine," with nonsense lyrics, near the film's end.

Also, here is a good amount of what accompanists call "Mickey Mousing," meaning music that closely mimics the actions of a character on screen. Interesting, especially as there are some film folks who frown severely on this practice, but here it is, part of the master comedian's toolkit when he was at the height of his creative powers. Chaplin does not do it gratuitously, or out of a lack of inspiration. He only uses it, I think, when it helps contribute to bringing out a joke or gag.

The point here is that for 'Modern Times,' Chaplin created a range of musical material of different types and characters, and then used it in any way that helped a scene or a sequence be more effective.

There's no "one size fits all" philosophy of scoring here: it's whatever works to move the film or the story or the drama or the comedy in the direction Chaplin seeks at any given time. It's a real grab-bag guided mostly, it seems, but Chaplin's intuition and master showmanship.

This is interesting to me because it can help guide an accompanist today about what Chaplin might have had in mind as the ideal music for his earlier films, for which no "official" scores exist. (And Chaplin himself is no longer around to ask.)

Chaplin and Paulette Goddard hit the road at the end of 'Modern Times,' taking silent film with them.

At some point I'd like to look into this even deeper, as music is such an important part of silent film, and Chaplin himself is so important to the art form. A presentation I was hoping to develop to explore this didn't make the cut for a Chaplin convention later this year, but I'll keep working on it as opportunities arise.

For now, I credit the Kansas Silent Film Festival for helping push it along just a little bit further. One more reason to keep going, so mark your calendars. The next one is Friday and Saturday, Feb. 27 & 28, 2015. See you there in just...363 days!

At the Kansas Silent Film Festival: The importance of the audience

In February, most people go to places like Aruba. Me, I go to Topeka, where each year the Kansas Silent Film Festival takes place over two days i the dead of winter at Washburn University. And that's where I am right now.

This year, it's Friday, Feb. 28 (hey, that's today!) and Saturday, March 1. On the bill are a wide range of films, all shown with live accompaniment, and most of which I've never seen before.

And that's unusual, because one of the things that's a little different about this festival is that it doesn't focus on "rare" or "unusual" films or prints.

Rather, the pattern in Kansas has been to give audiences a chance to see some of the more mainstream classics in the way they were intended to be experienced: on film (in this case, 16mm), on the big screen, with live music, and as part of a large audience.

That last part (the live audience) is key. Because the Kansas Silent Film Festival is free and open to the public, the screenings tend to attract a fairly heavy turnout of local folks who aren't necessarily vintage film fanatics, but just looking for a good night out.

And so attendance can be immense: 500 people or sometimes more, depending on the vagaries of the weather and what else might be going on in town.

Inside the White Concert Hall at Washburn University, home of the Kansas Silent Film Festival.

And that allows all of us, vintage film freaks included, to experience something that was an essential part of the early cinema experience, but which is devilishly difficult to accomplish today: the reaction of a large group of "just plain folks" to an art form that was once part of pop culture, but is no more.

And it really makes a difference. It's one thing to chuckle along with other film folks at Charley Chase in 'Limousine Love' (1928) or Max Davidson in 'Pass the Gravy' (1927). But it's something else again to be part of a large crowd absolutely rollicking with laughter at these very same films.

It no less than restores to them the power they once had (and still do have) and provides the necessary context to understand why people first fell in love with the movies.

I've been interested in cinema of the silent era since I was a kid buying 8mm prints out of the Blackhawk Films catalog. But it was a trip to the Kansas Silent Film Festival back in 2000 that showed me first-hand how the films play with a large audience present, and how important that piece of the equation is (and continues to be) to the silent film experience.

To me, it was a revelation. These films leap to a whole different level of life when the missing ingredient of the large audience is supplied. It indirectly led to my own efforts to stage silent film events in my part of the world, which in turn has given me first-hand experience in how difficult it is to attract a large audience of "just plain folks" to a silent film screening. (In Boston, the best we seem to be able to do is about 250 tops. That's good, but not as good as Topeka.)

Sure, it's great that so many silent shorts and features have been restored and made available on digital media for home use or on YouTube. It's never been easier (and I include the silent era itself in that statement) to see not just the classics, but also obscure films and rare items that until now had been impossible to experience without trekking to the world's archives.

However, if you don't experience the films as part of a large audience (and live music, but that's a whole other topic), you can't really say you've seen them. As the Kansas Silent Film Festival continues to show me (this will be my 15th year in a row), the large audience can make all the difference, whether it's with a well-established classic or just some obscure program filler.

But back to the original point: this year's Kansas festival has a relatively high proportion of "rare" films, most of which I haven't seen before.

Yes, there's 'Modern Times' (1936) in honor of the centenary of Chaplin's 'Tramp' character, and also Marion Davies in 'The Patsy' (1928). Otherwise, it's a real grab bag of shorts and features that I'm looking forward to experiencing, especially with an audience present.

One added wrinkle this time around is that I have the honor of presenting a until-now-lost Mary Pickford film at this year's annual cinema dinner on Saturday night.

I know what you're thinking: there must be a real shortage of prominent people in the vintage film world for me to be asked to do this.

But the film was found in New Hampshire, so I have a geographic connection to it, at least. And so it will be my pleasure to present and accompany 'Their First Misunderstanding' (1911) as part of tomorrow night's dinner, which I'm told is sold out. Thanks to Bill Shaffer and everyone who helps organize and carry out this great festival for all the hard work that goes into making it look easy.

For the other events today and tomorrow, the White Concert Hall at Washburn University holds maybe 1,000 people. So even if the dinner is at capacity, there's plenty of room at the screenings, and the more the merrier. So come join us starting tonight at 7 p.m. More info is online at the Kansas Silent Film Festival's Web site. See you there!

Friday, Sept. 27, 2013: Day 4 on the road / Iola, Kansas

The banner greeting those arriving in Iola, Kansas from the east on U.S. Route 54.

Got a late start, not hitting the road until 9:12 a.m. Still, got to Iola, Kansas before noon, arriving under an impressive "Keaton Celebration" banner that straddles U.S. 54 as you arrive from the east. Nice!

The Bowlus Center (home of the festival) was locked up tight, so went for lunch to the B & B Country Cafe, a favorite from last year. Place was packed, and staff was struggling with giant takeout order, but had yet another plate of fried chicken, which was the day's special and is starting to become a theme of the Great Early Fall 2013 Silent Film Accompaniment Road Trip.

At the Keaton Festival, supplied live accompaniment to 'Seeing Stars,' the Hollywood promotional short presented by Hooman Mehran, so I can say now that I've officially collaborated with him.

Amused to find the name of 'Paul Rapsis' on my stipend check. The Bowlus Center folks were most apologetic about it, and director Susan Raines even walked with me across the street to have it cashed, which was the easiest solution for them. Nice! But now here I am, in the big city of Iola with all this cash on me. Watch out!

But the real big news of the afternoon was being in the presence of actor Paul Dooley, whose long list of credits include being head writer of the original 'Electric Company' PBS show in the 1970s, which I was addicted to as a kid.

Here's me and Paul Dooley in the lobby of the Bowlus Fine Arts Center.

Dooley gave a nice presentation on Keaton, and also did a great stand-up routine that he seems to be trying out for use elsewhere. Hope I get a chance to tell him what the Electric Company means to me: I just looked at excerpts on YouTube (that amazing resource) for the first time in decades and it all came rushing back, yet another source of primary source childhood memories all locked up in bits and bytes ready to be streamed again. And he was the guy!

Skipped dinner to prepare for the evening's session, which included live accompaniment to 'Out West' (1918), the Keaton/Arbuckle short. But as I was playing prior to the start, Bill Shaffer came over and whispered in my ear (inevitably, it seems) that there was a change of program.

Instead, they'd be showing Keaton's short 'The Blacksmith' (1922) with the newly discovered footage. Okay, fine! I hadn't seen the film in years, but I actually remembered some of the structure of it (opening gag titles about the "Village Smithy," etc.) and so started getting ready mentally.

But first there were remarks from the mayor of Iola, who was welcomed with me playing "Hail to the Chief," which got a few laughs, and an award to actor James Karen, a long-time friend of the festival and of Buster himself. For a guy about to turn 90, he's in amazing shape! Sporting a beard, he resembles an older Ernest Hemingway.

And on to Buster, which came in the form of a file on a thumb drive brought over from Paris by Kate Guyonvarch. Into the laptop went the drive, and off we went. But not quite: the computer had trouble reading the file, so all we got was a jumpy series of freeze frames of Buster and then Joe Roberts chasing each other around.

I did what I could, but what can you do? They then shut it down and transferred the file to another machine right on screen in full view of the audience, giving me a chance to earn a few more cheap laughs by playing Merv Griffin's iconic "waiting" music from Jeopardy.

But it still didn't work, but they'll try it again Saturday night, I'm told. Well, at least I got to preview it! Afterwards, I couldn't resist following Kate Guyonvarch up the aisle just to tell her I was glad to help out, and that we should work together more often! :)

Still haven't had a chance to connect with her, and at this point it's getting to be a little like "Waiting for Guyonvarch." Still, it's nice to make her acquaintance after all the back-and-forth over the years.

A screening of Chaplin's 'A King in New York' (1957) followed, the first time I'd ever had a chance to see this film. Lots of interest in it, especially if you're interested in seeing how agile Chaplin was in his late 60s, and how sharp his pantomime and acting skills remained.

But the film itself was a mixed bag, and the washed out video image (and a weird rumbling in the audio whenever anyone spoke) didn't help. Alas, I came away from it thinking that was two hours of my life I wouldn't get back again, which is not the kind of feeling you want to get when attending a festival like this.

Well, props to the organizers for screening a film that rarely gets shown, and that fit perfectly into the celebration's theme of the "Fabulous Fifties," which were not so fabulous for Chaplin, anyway.

But then again, where else can hear rock 'n' roll with music and lyrics by Charlie Chaplin? So it was worthwhile in the "being complete" sense. Now all I have to do is sit through 'A Countess from Hong Kong' (1967) and I can say I've seen it all, with the exception of a few of the Keystones, probably.

Tuesday, Sept. 24, 2013: Day 1 on the road / Topeka, Kansas

The lime green chick magnet that I'm tooling around Kansas in this week. Otherwise known as a Ford Fiesta.

Here I am in Topeka, Kansas, preparing for the four-hour trek down to Bentonville, Ark. later today.

That's where the four-day "Art for the Citizen" symposium opens tonight at the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Culture. I'm doing live accompaniment for at least one Chaplin short, maybe more. We'll see.

But before that happens, here's an up-to-date account of events so far on the Great Early Fall 2013 Silent Film Accompaniment Road Trip:

Yesterday saw an early flight (6 a.m.) out of Manchester, N.H., putting me in the Kansas City airport just after 10 a.m. local time. Nice to get so far so early in the day. I often wonder what the covered wagon folks would think of covering so much ground so quickly -- in this case, half a continent before lunch!

The airport has a good free wireless signal, so I worked there until mid-afternoon, also scoring a nifty shoe shine for $7.

I then hopped in my rented car (a lime green Ford Fiesta!) and sped across the prairie to the Candlewood Suites in Topeka, which I selected because the rooms have DVD players (to preview discs I brought) and also because this morning I wanted to go over to Washburn University and use one of the piano practice rooms.

Arriving in Topeka under rainclouds, I stopped at my favorite thrift store on the city's north side. I went in without any intention of buying anything, but came out with two sport jackets, a black shirt, two neckties, swim trunks, and a t-shirt from Omaha, Neb. Total cost: $14.60.

This is the same place where I purchased the now-legendary "Mulatto Chaplin" statue several years ago and presented to Bill Shaffer of the Kansas Silent Film Festival.

I was exhausted by then, so took a nap. Then, instead of working on Tuesday night, I met Bill Shaffer (the Mulatto Chaplin caretaker) for what turned out to be a two-hour dinner at the Tuptim Thai Restaurant, during which we consumed an enormous amount of some of the best Thai food I've had outside of Thailand itself.

My wife jokes that the only reason I do silent film music is because of the dining possibilities. I'm beginning to think she's right.

This morning, I'm equally as excited at the prospect of visiting the Hanover Pancake House in Topeka as doing music for the Chaplin short later on. (But now that I look at the schedule, and consider how full I am from last night, I realize the Hanover Pancake House might have to wait until the return leg.)

Big news in Topeka: what for a long time was the Holidome on Fairlawn Boulevard, site of the very first Kansas Silent Film Festival afterglow that I attended back in 2000, has recently been rebranded a Ramada Inn!

As Yeats wrote, things fall apart, the center cannot hold. Funny how things change around you, bit by bit, until at some point you find yourself in a different place, even if you've been standing still.

But then you've changed as well, haven't you? So a large part of life, I think, consists of celebrating the present, as it's a place that we'll only visit once in our lifetime. May as well make the most of it!

So today's agenda consists of going out for a short run, packing up, heading to Washburn University to use a piano room until noon, and then hitting the road to get to Bentonville by 4 p.m. if possible to allow time to get ready for Opening Night!

More later.

Notes from the Kansas Silent Film Festival

Accompanist Greg Foreman (at left) and I flank a familiar figure at this year's Kansas Silent Film Festival in Topeka, Kansas.

You know, I've come to think of the Kansas Silent Festival as my own personal Brigadoon.

Once a year, I parachute into Topeka, Kansas, a community to which I have absolutely no connection whatsoever, and take part in a two-day silent film festival. (Sometimes my wife joins in.) And then I disappear for 363 days, until it happens again. And there it all is again: the organizers, the volunteers, the musicians, the fans, the White Concert Hall at Washburn University, the fried pickles at the Hanover Pancake House, and eternally-under-renovation state capitol building.

I don't know what the Topekans make of this annual pilgrimage, but I really get a lot out of it. I think going somewhere different and working with people for a limited time on something you all care about is good for soul. It's kinda like having grandchildren, I guess: all the pleasure of shared experience but without the week-in, week-out slog of day-to-day responsibilities. Or maybe it's the same attraction offered by a cause like 'Habitat for Humanity,' but instead of affordable housing being the common denominator, it's the cinematic accomplishments of Mack Swain and Fatty Arbuckle

This year's festival (Friday, Feb. 22 and Saturday, Feb. 23, 2013) was more of a bonding experience than ever due to bad winter weather augmented by personal mishaps. The Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra, regular featured performers at the festival, made it about halfway from Colorado before getting stranded in Hays, Kansas on Thursday, the day before the festival opened. Facing full-blown blizzard conditions, a partial shut-down of Interstate 70, and then one of the musicians getting ill, band leader Rodney Sauer made the tough decision to turn back.

Wow! You'd think that the loss of the marquee musical act would put a crimp in a festival featuring live music as one of the chief attractions . But the remaining musicians (Marvin Faulwell, Greg Foreman, Phil Figgs, and yours truly) were able to fill in, and the schedule went on as planned. Yes, the snow delayed my arrival from Thursday to Friday, but I got there in time. Yes, Greg Foreman's car broke down outside Lawrence, Kansas, but a new battery did the trick. And yes, the head projectionist couldn't make it up from Wichita, but other folks filled in.

 Attendance was down a bit due to the snow, but there was a certain "the show must go on" energy that lent an edge to the proceedings. (Above, that's Karl Mischler from New York and Trevor Jost from Kansas putting up a banner on Washburn University's snow-covered White Concert Hall.) Just about everyone I expect to encounter each year was there, and I had the privilege of meeting some new folks, too, including guests of honor Paul Gierucki and Brittany Valente of Cinemusem, Inc., invited because of their work restoring a collection of 100 Keystone films in honor of the pioneering slapstick studio's recent 100th birthday.

My first "sub" work came Friday night on 'Fatty and Mabel Adrift' (1916), an ambitious Keystone comedy that Mont Alto was scheduled to play. Sitting at the piano, I was worried that it might come across as 'Fatty and Mabel and Accompanist Adrift,' but it seemed to hold together, and no one threw anything. (Except on screen—it was a Keystone film, after all.) Funny, but this situation was tailor-made for my seat-of-the-pants improv-heavy approach, so it was actually kind of fun to be of service.

Saturday was marked by real-life slapstick, in the form of festival director Bill Shaffer slipping on ice, an accident that left him with several stitches, a horribly swollen eye, and a sore shoulder and upper arm where he fell. But thankfully, it wasn't any worse. It's good that my wife came along this year; as an occupational therapist, she helped Bill with some exercises for his shoulder, and is now the festival's unofficial on-call first aid and rehab specialist.

Even with Bill injured, we all soldiered on through the day's programs, with organist Marvin Faulwell doing an impressive job filling in for some of the bigger Mont Alto gaps (features such as Keaton's 'The Three Ages' (1923) and William S. Hart in 'The Narrow Trail' (1917), and me taking some of the shorter flicks.

I got a chance to take in Raymond Griffith's film 'Hands Up!' as an audience member instead of accompanist (as Greg Foreman did the music), and I was surprised at what a difference film speed seemed to make. I've done the film several times off a disc that plays at probably 21 frames per second, and it never fails to produce gales of laughter as Griffith works his way out of jam after jam.

Raymond Griffith teaches more up-to-date dance steps to his captors in one of the best moments, I think, from 'Hands Up!' (1926).

But the festival ran a 16mm print at 24 frames per second, which speeded up the action noticeably and made the whole affair much more cartoon-like. Alas, I think that short-circuited a lot of the timing and pacing of Griffith's comedy, which rushed by before the audience could process and respond. Was it the speed, or some other factor? Well, for whatever reason, the film didn't get the strong reaction I thought it would. Interesting how sometimes the reaction happens, and sometimes it doesn't. Film speed? Sun spots? The next snowstorm coming in on Sunday?

For me, a highlight of this year's edition was improvising accompaniment to Gierucki's Keystone presentation at the festival's Cinema Dinner, held on Saturday before the evening's program. I came up with upbeat material that seemed to fit the films quite nicely, which is a really satisfying thing when it happens—especially at such a prominent event. Some people yearn to score a hole-in-one; I seek that perfect off-the-cuff one-reel piano score. (Some people go to Aruba in February; I go to Topeka.)

I'm pleased to report that festival director Bill Shaffer is on the mend, and also that the dates have been set for next year's Kansas Silent Film Festival. It's Friday, Feb. 28 and Saturday, March 1, 2014. See you there! We'll bring the bandages!