Planes, trains, and automobiles! Plus Keaton's 'Cameraman' on 4/16 in Salem, N.H.

An original poster for 'The Cameraman' (1928).

Coming up next: 'The Cameraman' (1928), one of Buster Keaton's best features and a personal favorite.

I'm doing live music for it on Thursday, April 16 at 7 p.m. at Kelley Library in Salem, N.H. Details below.

But first...well, it's one of those times where there's just not enough time to cover all that's going on.

Consider: the past week has found me at such diverse places as Northeastern University in Boston, where last night I braved a minimum wage protest to accompany 'Nosferatu' for a very enthusiastic audience, to the Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum out in San Francisco, where last weekend I accompanied 'The Italian,' an intense early melodrama. Also on the program: Chaplin's 'The Tramp,' which was filmed just a short distance away, on the 100th anniversary of its release.

The minimum wage protest march on Huntington Avenue in Boston.

And this weekend I'm heading down to Washington, D.C., where on Saturday I'll make my accompaniment debut at the Packard Center of the U.S. Library of Congress, doing music for Gloria Swanson's 'Zaza' (1923). But not before doing music for Buster Keaton's 'The Cameraman' (1928) tomorrow night at a different but no less important library—the one in Salem, N.H.

And all this comes after a great screening last week of Keaton's 'Three Ages' (1923) at the Flying Monkey Theatre up in Plymouth, N.H., where we were joined by the crew from Merge Creative Media who are putting together a documentary on the enduring popularity of Keaton's work. (At left is a silhouette of me they took accompanying Keaton.)

To get the latest on their efforts, check out their Facebook page. They'll be back up in this part of the world for 'The General' in Wilton, N.H. on Sunday, April 26, and then again in June for a student program I'm doing out at Great Brook Middle School in Antrim, N.H.

So it's a time of planes (out and back to San Francisco), trains (down to D.C.), and automobiles (everywhere else) for me. But so far I haven't run into any shower curtain ring salespeople.

One thing I did run into was the new video-conference option at the Hertz rental car counter at the San Francisco airport. I've tried this once before and didn't care for it, but the line to interact with an actual person was so long, I allowed myself to be steered to it once again.

The guy on the screen was in Tucson, Ariz. And yes, I know agents are trained to take customers through a series of questions to make sure no opportunity to sell more is missed. But there's something about the remote video thing that fails to communicate that a customer (me) is tired, grumpy, and just wants the car.

Hence a prolonged interaction in which my cheery new friend in Tucson wasn't able to pick up any cues that I was not in the mood for the lengthy interrogation that his script apparently called for.

Somewhere while trying to upsell me on car make and model (no), insurance I didn't need (no), and a $39 gas fill-up policy that was automatically added without asking me (and which I had to ask him remove), came this exchange:

Tucson: "Is your visit to San Francisco for business or pleasure?"

Me: "Well, both, kind of."

Tucson: "I need to know which so I can complete the registration."

Me: "Let's say business. I'm a musician here for a performance."

Tucson: "Oh! Are you a singer!?"

No, but I was about to become a shouter. I just wanted the car.

Note to Hertz: this may be more efficient in a corporate planner's perfect world, but not everything is better digital.

But a highlight of my quick visit to San Francisco was the chance to hear the Chamber Symphony of John Adams played by the San Francisco Symphony at Davies Hall, which I'd never been to before.

Here's a furtively snapped cellphone shot of what the place looks like from where I sat, which was actually behind the orchestra.

Paired with the Adams work was the Chamber Symphony of Schoenberg, on which the latter piece was modeled. I'm not a Schoenberg geek (there's still so much to learn!) but I was curious to hear the work because Adams described it as a big Mahler or Richard Strauss score put into a trash compactor.

That image alone is worth the price of 'Hallelujah Junction,' the memoir Adams published a few years ago. Highly recommended for anyone interested in how "classical" or art music works in our life and times.

So it was a musical pilgrimage of sorts for me, as Adams (raised in Concord, N.H.) has been based in the Bay Area for decades now, and the San Francisco Symphony is sort of his "hometown" orchestra.

So cross that one off the bucket list, even though from where I sat I couldn't hear the synthesizer part very well. Still, it gave me an immense amount of satisfaction and pleasure—so maybe I gave the wrong answer to that rental car guy after all.

And what about 'The Cameraman?' I'll get to it, but now the title of Buster's film has reminded me of a great idea I had while having lunch at a ramen place in Fremont, Calif.

You know how people in restaurants take pictures of their food and post it for all to see? Nothing wrong with that, but my impression is that among many practitioners it's become another mindless reflex that's kind of getting out of hand. Just like the remote rental car check-in, not everything needs to posted or to go digital.

Plus, it's kinda rude: "Look what I'm about to eat that you're not."

So an antidote of sorts occurred to me at the ramen place, where I'd pretty much finished lunch. Why not take a photo of the meal after it was eaten? Or, more accurately, a picture of what's left of the meal?

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the newest online social media trend guaranteed to go viral: photos of restaurant meals after they've been eaten.

In this case, the scene is augmented by a side order of pork that I wasn't quite prepared to finish. Be honest: doesn't a photo like this come across as a lot more meaningful and satisfying than an uneaten meal?

Okay, here's more info about 'The Cameraman' in the form of a press release that went out, fittingly, on April Fool's Day. Hope to see you there! And come early, as the library has limited space.

* * *


WEDNESDAY, APRIL 1, 2015 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Buster Keaton's 'The Cameraman' at Salem (N.H.) library on Thursday, April 16

Classic silent film comedy masterpiece to be screened with live musical accompaniment at Kelley Library.

SALEM, N.H. —He never smiled on camera, earning him the nickname of "the Great Stone Face." But Buster Keaton's comedies rocked Hollywood's silent era with laughter throughout the 1920s. Acclaimed for their originality and clever visual gags, Keaton's movies remain popular crowd-pleasers today.

See for yourself with a screening of 'The Cameraman' (1928), one of Keaton's landmark feature films, on Thursday, April 16 at 7 p.m. at Kelley Library, 234 Main St., Salem, N.H. Admission to the screening is free and the public is welcome.

'The Cameraman' tells the story of a young man (Keaton) who tries to impress the girl of his dreams (Marceline Day) by working as a freelance newsreel cameraman. His efforts result in spectacular failure, but then a lucky break gives him an unexpected chance to make his mark. Can he parlay the scoop of the year into a secure job and successful romance?

Music for will 'The Cameraman' will be performed live by Jeff Rapsis, a New Hampshire composer regarded as one of the nation's leading silent film accompanists.

The silent film screening at Kelley Library aims to recapture the magic of early Hollywood by presenting silent films as they were intended to be shown: in restored prints, in a theater on a big screen, with live music, and with an audience.

"If you can put together those elements, it's surprising how much power these films still have," said Rapsis, who improvises live music for silent film screenings throughout New England and beyond. "You realize why these films caused people to first fall in love with the movies."

Keaton runs afoul of policeman Eddie Gribbon in 'The Cameraman.'

In 'The Cameraman,' Keaton uses the movie business to create comedy that plays with the nature of film and reality. The movie contains classic sequences often cited as among Keaton's best, including a scene where Keaton and a large man both struggle to change into swimsuits in a tiny dressing room. The scene, which runs several minutes long, was filmed in one take.

Keaton, along with Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd, stands as one of the three great clowns of the silent screen. Many critics regard Keaton as the best of all; Roger Ebert wrote in 2002 that "in an extraordinary period from 1920 to 1929, (Keaton) worked without interruption on a series of films that make him, arguably, the greatest actor-director in the history of the movies."

But while making films, Keaton never thought he was an artist, but an entertainer trying to use the then-new art of motion pictures to tell stories and create laughter.

As a performer, Keaton was uniquely suited to the demands of silent comedy. Born in 1895, he made his stage debut as a toddler, joining his family's knockabout vaudeville act and learning to take falls and do acrobatic stunts at an early age. He spent his entire childhood and adolescence on stage, attending school for exactly one day.

A remarkable pantomime artist, Keaton naturally used his whole body to communicate emotions ranging from sadness to surprise. In an era when movies had few special effects, Keaton's acrobatic talents meant he performed all his own stunts.

All those talents are on display in 'The Cameraman,' which was selected in 2005 for preservation in the U.S. National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant."

Rapsis said the Keaton movies, like all silent films, were made to be shown not only with live music, but also on the big screen to large audiences.

"They weren't intended to be watched on a home entertainment center by, say, just you and your dog," Rapsis said. "However, if you can put all the elements back together, the films really do spring back to life."

Rapsis improvises live scores for silent films using a digital synthesizer to recreate the texture of the full orchestra.

"It's kind of a high wire act," Rapsis said. "But for me, the energy of live performance is an essential part of the silent film experience."

Buster Keaton's ‘The Cameraman’ will be shown on Thursday, April 16 at 7 p.m. at Kelley Library, 234 Main St., Salem, N.H. Admission to the screenings is free and the public is welcome. For more info, call (603) 898-7064 or visit www.salem.lib.nh.us/. For more info on the music, visit www.jeffrapsis.com.

Can silent films connect with an audience even in a less-than-optimal environment?

Buster Keaton endures some less-than-optimal conditions in 'Steamboat Bill Jr.' (1928)

Three screenings in four days took me to a library basement, a college coffeeshop, and a theater where we had no choice but to show a sub-standard print of a silent classic.

Well, whatever it takes to breathe life into this unjustly neglected art form, I think, as I load up the station wagon with my gear for yet another gig.

But the results of this latest run have left me wondering if these films are perhaps hardier than I sometimes give them credit for.

• Thursday, Feb. 20 brought me to Kelley Library in Salem, N.H., where I had to pleasure of presenting a Buster Keaton program as part of their film series.

Like a lot of smaller libraries, its screening facility is not really a theater. Instead, it's a low-ceilinged basement conference room, with the projector on an AV cart and the screen about as big as a living room window.

But it went really, really well! About two dozen people braved sleet and freezing rain to see Buster in 'One Week' (1920) and 'Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928), and reaction was strong throughout. Afterwards, people were clearly enthused and we had more questions than we had time for. (The library closes at 9 p.m.)

So maybe I don't give these pictures enuogh credit. I'm forever saying that in order to really understand and enjoy silent films, you need to see them in a theater, on a big screen, with live music, and with a live audience—the bigger, the better.

Well, the Kelley Library basement conference room wasn't anything like a theater. The screen was smaller than many home entertainment set-ups, and two dozen people isn't exactly what you'd call a crowd.

But still, Keaton worked! Even in less-than-optimal conditions, both the short and the feature produced gales of laughter.

So I wonder: at what point does the environment take away from a silent movie?

One of my first experiences with vintage film was at the Shakey's Pizza Parlor on D.W. Highway in Nashua, where 8mm prints of silent comedies were run on the walls. It was nothing like a theater setting: the "olde time" movies were treated as little more than moving wallpaper to distract patrons waiting for their orders. Yet it was enough to hook me.

What would happen if you tried to show a silent film at, say, a Starbucks? Two days later, I got to investigate that very same question.

The entrance to 'After Hours' at Northeastern University is down a steep flight of stairs.

• Saturday, Feb. 22 found me as guest of the Northeastern University Film Enthusiasts Club, which included a screening of Harold Lloyd's great comedy 'Safety Last' (1923) as part of this semester's programming.

In the back-and-forth that led to my visit, I was curious about the venue. Rather than a theater or a lecture room, it was a coffeeshop called "After Hours." Part of the campus student center, it was a Starbucks that hosted various live acts on a small stage, with people free to come and go during the performance. Also, it would be in the afternoon.

What? I wasn't sure this would work very well with a silent film. But organizers (all sweethearts, by the way) assured me all would be fine, so ahead we went. And thus I found myself navigating Huntington Ave. in Boston last Saturday, trying to find the right campus entrance to reach the venue.

I found "After Hours" to be, yes, a quite busy basement Starbucks outlet packed with students poring over laptops. And over on one side was a stage and a screen, right next to an internally lit "After Hours" sign.

I still had my doubts, but everyone was so nice to work with, I just went with it. The only request I made of them was to not feed the film to all the other video screens arrayed around the shop, as a silent film would be best served by the audience focusing on one screen rather than treating it like a baseball game in a sports bar.

After plugging in my keyboard, all it took was a few notes over the house sound for the coffeeshop denizens around us to close their laptaps and beat a hasty retreat. Apparently this is a common occurrence. And then, yes, about two dozen students came together to sit in a couple of rows of chairs that had been set up. Introductions were made, lights came down, and off we went.

And once again, the film prevailed. As Harold's adventures unfolded, the coffeeshop seemed to disappear, and at one point I thought it had actually closed for the day! (Apparently, it just went into hibernation during the screening.)

Another strong reaction, even under less-than-ideal circumstances. And this was before Lloyd got as far as his iconic 'Safety Last' building climb. They were with him from the opening sight gag, where what seems to be a prison is revealed to be a train station. And the spell held throughout.

So, in another experiment in what amounts to destructive testing, a well-made silent film prevailed. Perhaps they aren't such delicate and fragile creates after all. Too bad there isn't a Shakey's Pizza around anymore so I could really push the limits.

In 'The Count of Monte Cristo,' John Gilbert (right) has learned much from fellow prisoner Spottiswoode Aitken, except perhaps the location of the prison barbershop.

• Sunday, Feb. 23 saw no such limits being pushed as I did music for 'The Count of Monte Cristo' (1922) at the good old Wilton Town Hall Theatre in Wilton, N.H., where I've been accompanying silents for seven years now and which I consider home base.

But wait! 'Monte Cristo' exists only in the form of a worn, choppy print discovered in the Czech Republic. It's been restored and is reasonably complete, but still looks nothing like it really should. Would this be enough of a barrier to limit audience engagement?

Hardly! On Sunday, a good-sized crowd of more than 100 reacted to the film with abandon, loudly cheering the escape of Dantes from prison and then lustily reveling in his elaborate revenge. The print quality didn't seem to diminish this excitement at all.

I must say, too, that this kind of film seems to bring out whatever strengths I have as an accompanist. It's a broad, sweeping drama, which allows you to take a few relatively simple themes or ideas and transform them in many ways as the story progresses. And it's also filled with what I think of as "revelatory" moments, where characters learn of long-held secrets and such and the audience gets to see the reaction. Music can really intensify these kinds of scenes, I think.

So I felt in the zone for just about all of 'Monte Cristo,' with one strong moment after another: keeping the drama at a boil using a wide variety of techniques, bringing out the humor in how Dantes manipulates people in the latter half of the movie, and making the most of the film's few tender moments.

It just felt good all the way through, and I love it when that happens. And it only occurs to me now that it all happened even though the print was sub-standard. So once again, the power of the art form transcended the limitations.

And then I remembered a screening of 'Wings' (1927) a little while ago, where the folks running the projector couldn't get the aspect ratio right and the film had to be shown all stretched out. It didn't seem to mute the impact of the movie one bit!

I'm not saying that you shouldn't make every effort to show these films as they were originally intended. But maybe I should stop worrying so much and give them a little credit for being hardier creatures than I sometimes think.

After 'Monte Cristo,' I was delighted to be introduced to a 103-year-old gentleman who had attended the screening. Looking rather like Igor Stravinsky in his later years, the guy had enjoyed the show, and recalled that the very first movie he had ever attended was 'The Thundering Herd' in 1925.

Wow! As time passes, you just don't expect to meet many people who were present when silent film was current coin. So it's a real honoor and delight to connect with anyone present at the creation, so to speak.

I told him that we planned to do a series of animal films this summer in Wilton, and that I would gladly include 'The Thundering Herd' in his honor.

Well, I've since learned that the 1925 version of this Zane Grey story is among the 80 percent of silent film considered missing. Rats!

Silent film may be able to survive less-than-optimal presentation conditions. But in terms of benchmarks, you still do need the film itself in order to go forward.