Raymond Griffith comedies in Wilton, N.H. on Sunday, 11/28—finish Thanksgiving with a laugh

Raymond Griffith inspects a gold mine in 'Hands Up!' (1926).

Raymond who?

He's the other Griffith—not director D.W., but the big screen's "Silk Hat" comedian.

He's Raymond Griffith, who rose to major comic stardom in the 1920s but is now entirely forgotten.

Well, except for this weekend.

On Sunday, Nov. 28, I'll accompany what are generally regarded as Griffith's best surviving features: 'Paths to Paradise' (1925) and 'Hands Up!' (1926).

The double feature starts at 2 p.m. at the Town Hall Theatre, Wilton, N.H. More details about screening are in the press release below.

One reason Griffith isn't better known is that a good portion of his output is lost.

And even the films we have aren't complete. 'Paths to Paradise,' for example, is missing its final reel, making it a sort of "Venus de Milo" of silent film comedies. 

But the good news is that the films plays fine without the reel.

And there's more good news: Griffith's sly character holds up well. Modern audiences almost instantly "get" Griffith, with the laughs following.

So happy Turkey Day and see you at the movies Sunday afternoon. More info in the press release below:

*   *   *

Raymond Griffith matches wits with fellow thief Betty Compson in 'Paths to Paradise' (1925).

MONDAY, NOV. 22, 2021 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Films of forgotten silent comedian to screen at Town Hall Theatre on Sunday, Nov. 28

Double feature with live music resurrects work of Raymond Griffith, neglected star of early cinema who had a Granite State connection

WILTON, N.H.—He was a silent film actor who really couldn't talk, thanks to a childhood vocal injury.

He was Raymond Griffith, the "Silk Hat" comedian, whose film star popularity in the 1920s rivaled that of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton.

But when talkies arrived in 1929, Griffith's lack of a speaking voice prompted an abrupt end to his on-screen career. Most of his starring silent films have since disappeared, causing Griffith to be virtually unknown today.

But the elegantly dressed comic, who as a youngster attended St. Anselm Prep School in Goffstown, N.H., will return to the cinematic spotlight once again with a double feature of two of his surviving works.

'Paths to Paradise' (1925) and 'Hands Up!' (1926), a pair of comedies regarded as his best, will be screened with live music on Sunday, Nov. 28 at 2 p.m. at the Town Hall Theatre, 40 Main St. in Wilton, N.H.

The screening is free and open to the public; a donation of $10 per person is suggested to support the Town Hall Theatre's silent film programming.

"Griffith's character was that of a worldly, shrewd, and quick-thinking gentleman, usually dressed in a top hat and a cape, who enjoyed outwitting con artists and crooks at their own game," said Jeff Rapsis, a New Hampshire-based silent film musician who will improvise scores for both films.

"It turns out he was very different from Chaplin or Keaton, and so were his films—they seem a bit more cynical and so perhaps more modern. But we've shown them before and they hold up well with a live audience today."

'Paths to Paradise' (1925) stars Griffith as a polished con man who competes with a feisty female jewel thief to steal a heavily guarded diamond necklace. The film finishes with a wild car chase through the California desert.

Unfortunately, all existing prints of 'Paths to Paradise' are missing the final 10 minutes, but the film ends at a point that completes the plot and provides a satisfying finish.

Raymond Griffith dances in 'Hands Up,' in one of the funniest scenes in all silent comedy. Come and find out why!

'Hands Up!' (1926) features Griffith as a Confederate spy during the Civil War whose mission is to prevent a shipment of gold from reaching Northern forces. The film survives complete, and is considered by most critics to be Griffith's masterpiece.

Both films were produced and released by Paramount Pictures, where Griffith was under contract in the 1920s as one of the studio's leading stars.

"These films were designed to be seen in theaters by large audiences, not on a small television screen by people sitting at home," said Rapsis, who provides music for the Town Hall Theatre's silent film series.

Born in Boston in 1895, Griffith injured his vocal cords at an early age, rendering him unable to speak above the level of a hoarse whisper.

After appearing in circuses and attending at least one year (1905-06) at St. Anselm Preparatory School in Goffstown, N.H., he went on to serve in the U.S. Navy prior to World War I and in 1915 wound up in Hollywood, where the movie business was already booming.

Early on, Griffith worked at Mack Sennett's Keystone studio, where he developed a reputation as an excellent actor and a superb comedy writer and director. He eventually gravitated to behind-the-camera duties, serving as Sennett's right-hand man for a time.

He eventually moved to Paramount studios in the early 1920s, where he began to appear again in on-camera roles.

Griffith's mastery of character parts prompted Paramount to star him in his own movies starting in 1924. In the next few years, he completed a dozen feature films, most of which today are lost due to neglect or improper storage.

Following the arrival of sound pictures in 1929, Griffith's lack of a speaking voice forced a return to behind-the-camera work, with one notable exception: he played a non-talking role as a dying French soldier in Lewis Milestone's World War I classic 'All Quiet on the Western Front,' (1930) which won that year's Academy Award for Best Picture.

As a producer, Griffith's work included the classic family film 'Heidi' (1937) and 'The Mark of Zorro' (1940). He retired in 1940, and died in 1957 at age 62 after choking at a Los Angeles restaurant.

"Though he's not as well known today as Charlie Chaplin, Raymond Griffith was doing some really good work during the peak of his career," Rapsis said. "It's great that the public will get a chance to appreciate the two wonderful Griffith films as part of the Flying Monkey's series."

'Paths to Paradise' and 'Hands Up' will be shown on Sunday, Nov. 28 at 2 p.m. at the Town Hall Theatre, 40 Main St., Wilton, N.H.

The screening is free and open to the public; a donation of $10 per person is suggested to support the Town Hall Theatre's silent film programming.

For more information, visit www.wiltontownhalltheatre.com or call (603) 654-3456.

Review of 'Hands Up!':

"This is one buried treasure that deserves a wider audience. Griffith is thoroughly ingratiating; it's a pity that so many of his movies have disappeared and the survivors are so seldom revived."

 —Amazon.com

Sunday 11/27, Wilton (N.H.) Town Hall Theatre Burn off holiday calories with group laughter

'Hands Up' (1926), part of a double bill of Raymond Griffith comedies this weekend.

Happy Thanksgiving to all! Been away from the blog because so much is going on.

But there's a good silent film program coming up on Sunday afternoon and wanted to get out the word.

The name "Raymond Griffith" doesn't inspire a lot of name recognition these days.

One reason is that many of his films aren't available to be seen and enjoyed.

But at his peak in the mid-1920s, Griffith rivaled Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd as one of Hollywood's top laugh-getters.

We're fortunate, however, to have two titles that show Griffith at his best: 'Paths To Paradise' (1925) and 'Hands Up!' (1926).

Both make a great double bill, and that's what we're running on Sunday, Nov. 27 at 4:30 p.m. at the Wilton Town Hall Theatre in Wilton, N.H.

So burn off those extra holiday calories by joining in a great aerobic exercise: communal laughter.

Here's info about Griffith and the two films in the form of a press release that never got sent out. Told you I'm behind!

Hope to see you there.

Raymond Griffith and Betty Compson in 'Paths To Paradise' (1925)

FRIDAY, NOV. 25, 2016 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Silent film comic Raymond Griffith's rare films in Wilton, N.H. on Sunday, Nov. 27

Double feature with live music resurrects forgotten comedy star with a Granite State connection

WILTON, N.H.—He was a silent film actor who really couldn't talk, thanks to a childhood vocal injury. He was Raymond Griffith, the "Silk Hat" comedian, whose film star popularity in the 1920s rivaled that of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. But Griffith's lack of a speaking voice prompted an abrupt end to his on-screen career when talkies arrived in 1929. Most of his starring feature films have since disappeared, causing Griffith to be virtual unknown today.

But the elegantly dressed comic, who as a youngster attended St. Anselm Prep School in Goffstown, N.H., will return to the cinematic spotlight once again on Saturday, Nov. 26 with a double feature of two of his surviving works. 'Paths to Paradise' (1925) and 'Hands Up!' (1926), a pair of comedies regarded as his best, will be screened with live music on Sunday, Nov. 27 at 4:30 p.m. at the Wilton Town Hall Theatre, 40 Main St., Wilton, N.H. Admission is free, with a suggested donation of $5 per person.

"Griffith's character was that of a worldly, shrewd, and quick-thinking gentleman, usually dressed in a top hat and a cape, who enjoyed outwitting con artists and crooks at their own game," said Jeff Rapsis, a New Hampshire-based silent film musician who will improvise scores for both films. "It turns out he was very different from Chaplin or Keaton, and so were his films—they seem a bit more cynical and so perhaps more modern. But we've shown them before and they hold up well with a live audience today."

'Paths to Paradise' (1925) stars Griffith as a polished con man who competes with a feisty female jewel thief to steal a heavily guarded diamond necklace. The film finishes with a wild car chase through the California desert. Unfortunately, all existing prints of 'Paths to Paradise' are missing the final 10 minutes, but the film ends at a point that completes the plot and provides a satisfying finish.

Raymond Griffith rides a different kind of underground railroad in the Civil War comedy 'Hands Up!' (1926).

'Hands Up!' (1926) features Griffith as a Confederate spy during the Civil War whose mission is to prevent a shipment of gold from reaching Northern forces. The film survives complete, and is considered by most critics to be Griffith's masterpiece. Both films were produced and released by Paramount Pictures, where Griffith was under contract in the 1920s as one of the studio's leading stars.

"All of these films were designed to be seen in theaters by large audiences, not on a small television screen by people sitting at home," said Rapsis, who provides music for the Flying Monkey's monthly silent film series, which aims to honor the recently renovated venue's historic roots as a local moviehouse.. "In showing silent films, the Flying Monkey aims to recreate the lost magic of early cinema comedy by bringing together crucial elements for its success—the best available prints, projection on the big screen, a live audience, and, in the case of silent films, live music."

Born in Boston in 1895, Griffith injured his vocal cords at an early age, rendering him unable to speak above the level of a hoarse whisper. After appearing in circuses and attending at least one year (1905-06) at St. Anselm Preparatory School in Goffstown, N.H., he went on to serve in the U.S. Navy prior to World War I and in 1915 wound up in Hollywood, where the movie business was already booming.

Early on, Griffith worked at Mack Sennett's Keystone studio, where he developed a reputation as an excellent actor and a superb comedy writer and director. He eventually gravitated to behind-the-camera duties, serving as Sennett's right-hand man for a time. He eventually moved to the then-new Paramount studios in the early 1920s, where he began to appear again in on-camera roles.

Teaching new dance steps in 'Hands Up!'

Griffith's mastery of character parts made him immediately popular, prompting Paramount to star him in his own movies starting in 1924. In the next few years, he completed a dozen feature films, most of which today are lost due to neglect or improper storage. If not cared for properly, older film stock will decompose and sometimes burst into flames. About 80 percent of all silent film is presumed lost due to this and other factors.

Following the arrival of sound pictures in 1929, Griffith's lack of a speaking voice forced a return to behind-the-camera work, with one notable exception: he played a non-talking role as a dying French soldier in Lewis Milestone's World War I classic 'All Quiet on the Western Front,' (1930) which won that year's Academy Award for Best Picture.

As a producer, Griffith's work included the classic family film 'Heidi' (1937) and 'The Mark of Zorro' (1940). He retired in 1940, and died in 1957 at age 62 after choking at a Los Angeles restaurant.

"Though he's not as well known today as Charlie Chaplin or Douglas Fairbanks Sr., Raymond Griffith was doing some really good work during the peak of his career," Rapsis said. "It's great that the public will get a chance to appreciate the two wonderful Griffith films as part of the Town Hall Theatre's silent film series."

Review of 'Hands Up!':

"This is one buried treasure that deserves a wider audience. Griffith is thoroughly ingratiating; it's a pity that so many of his movies have disappeared and the survivors are so seldom revived." —Amazon.com

'Paths to Paradise' and 'Hands Up' will be shown on Sunday, Nov. 27 at 4:30 p.m. at the Wilton Town Hall Theatre, 40 Main St., Wilton, N.H. Admission is free, with a suggested donation of $5 per person. For more info, call (603) 654-3456 or visit www.wiltontownhalltheatre.com. For more info on the music, visit www.jeffrapsis.com.

On different versions of silent films: It may have no arms, but it's still a masterpiece

I've recently accompanied two film prints of widely known silent movies that had significant differences from what I expected.

In one case, it was a 35mm print of 'Intolerance' (1916) that was missing dozens of key scenes, often substituted for with frame grabs.

In another case, it was a 16mm print of 'The Passion of Joan of Arc' (1928) that was missing key information in titles, and so didn't make much sense to the audience.

In both examples, I've seen other versions of the films that each had the missing footage or titles. But these prints just didn't have them.

When this happens, I tell people that silent film often has to be considered in the same we the "Venus De Milo" is looked at in sculpture.

Yes, it has no arms. But it's still recognized as a masterpiece.

And the lack of arms is part of the sculpture's greatness, I think, as it shows so visibly the perilous journey of anything from antiquity that has come down to us today.

It also invites us to collaborate, in a way. We can't help but imagine what to us would be the most perfect arms, their position, their placement, and so on.

Like a lot of art, it prompts us to come up with our own visions to complete it. And each person's vision is bound to be unique and different and perhaps more perfect (to you) than any sculptor could have made them.

Franz Schubert, composer of the 'Unfinished' Symphony.

Same thing in music with Schubert's 'Unfinished' Symphony. Okay, it's missing the last two movements of the typical format of a symphony of its time.

But it stands on its own as a satisfying and complete piece of music. And part of its special beauty is that it leaves us wondering what might have been.

And so it is with a lot of silent film, I say.

Many films, including well-known classics like the two mentioned above, exist in different versions, different formats, and sometimes with significant pieces missing: lost arms, so to speak.

This can seem surprising to people because we live in an age where a movie is always expected to be complete, a whole thing, either in a theater or DVD or online or whatever.

No matter how you watched 'Frozen,' it's the same film.

No so with early cinema, where archaeology is a useful frame of mind to have. Often, to assemble a reasonably complete version of even a well-known title requires pulling material from archives all over the world.

And then there's the whole conundrum of European versions vs. American versions; home cut-downs vs. full theatrical releases; prints butchered by local censors and projection booth mishaps.

Even at the time of original release, there was often no one definitive version of a film. After releasing 'Intolerance,' director D.W. Griffith would visit projection booths where the film was running and try to edit the prints on the spot!

Raymond Griffith in 'Paths to Paradise' (1925).

One of the best examples of a film that's missing a big chunk, but still worth watching, is Raymond Griffith's 'Paths to Paradise' (1925), which I'm accompanying next month at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse in Plymouth, N.H. and also the Somerville Theatre in Boston.

In the version that's come down to us, the film ends with a crackerjack cross-country chase worthy of Buster Keaton. In my experience, it never fails to get an audience going.

So afterwards, people are stunned to learn that the film is actually missing its entire last reel!

From what I understand, after a pause for the audience to catch its collective breath, Griffith takes his chase one big step further for the film's real climax.

Does it work? We can't say because no one has ever found a copy of the last reel.

It may still be out there. A century after silent film flourished, reels of original nitrate film turn up in the most unlikely of places.

So keep looking.

And while you're at it, if you happen to spot a pair of marble arms, let me know.

Dogs, the French revolution, spies, and trains: Accompanying four feature films in four days

Rin Tin Tin proves way smarter than his human co-stars in 'The Night Cry' (1926), coming up on Thursday, July 9 at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse in Plymouth, N.H.

I'm revving up for what amounts to a home stretch of silent film accompaniment prior to taking some time away from the keyboard for the rest of the month.

That means four films in four days, and in four different theaters, too. It's the silent film equivalent of hitting for the cycle, I guess.

But before getting into the details, let me address yesterday's screening of 'The Big Parade' (1925) in 35mm at the Somerville Theatre in Davis Square.

An original poster for 'The Big Parade' (1925).

We had a pretty strong turnout for the last day of a three-day holiday weekend—and for a matinee on a beautiful summer day at that. It wasn't too long ago when Davis Square was all but shut down, the streets clogged with four feet of snow.

But they came to see 'The Big Parade,' in the form of a great 35mm print on an enormous screen in a big old movie theater. (And unlike all the 4th of July parades this year in my home state of New Hampshire, there was nary a presidential candidate to be seen.)

It's a familiar film to me that I love accompanying. And because it's one of the big ones, it's worth reviewing prior to a screening just to make sure all the cues and cuts are fresh in your head.

This is especially important with my referee's whistle, which I match to the half-dozen times a whistle gets blown on screen as a key part of the action: the police who break up the fight in Champillon, the mail call scene, and several other points.

I think it adds a nice burst of sonic realism, but of course it has to be right on the money if it's going to work and not draw attention to itself. So it's worth getting to know those points of the film extremely well.

Same with the bugle calls, of which 'The Big Parade' has several. And on that score, not all bugle calls are alike. The purist in me, for instance, knows you really shouldn't play "Reveille" when the troops are being called to chow, as happens in 'The Big Parade.'

Instead, you should play "Mess Call," which goes like this:

Likewise, when a bugle is played calling the troops to assemble and move out, you ought to play "To Arms," which sounds like this:

Most people at a screening wouldn't know the difference. But for those who might, it's one more thing done "right" that doesn't break the mood and thus keeps the spell of silent film intact.

As you may know, all bugle calls are based on a simple triad, or the notes in a major chord. Because of that, it makes them easy to fit around other material—including the big love theme I was using in yesterday's score.

So this all works out really well in the big "moving out" sequence in 'The Big Parade,' where repeated shots of a bugler alternate with scenes of the troops assembling, and then footage of John Gilbert and Renee Adorée frantically searching for each other amid the chaos.

I was able to mix "To Arms" with the love theme pretty fluently, modulating all over the place and sometimes even playing the love theme using the rhythms of the bugle call just to add to the chaos.

Renee Adorée and John Gilbert providing reason for a "love theme" in 'The Big Parade' score.

But the most important thing about 'The Big Parade' is to HOLD BACK. As powerful as many of its scenes are, it's crucial to save something for the climactic battle scene, which Vidor cut together with the rhythm of a good 4th of July fireworks show.

At the battle's true climax, the screen is filled with a blinding series of rapid explosions that lasts only just a few seconds, but it's enough—any more would have probably been excessive. And it's only THEN that you hold nothing back, musically, I think.

So: KABOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!

Tom O'Brien, John Gilbert, and Karl Dane prepare for the climactic battle.

At the end, it was gratifying to hear such strong applause for this 90-year-old picture that still plays so well. It's a great honor to do music for it, especially on a 4th of July weekend, and I hope to play for it again very soon.

Okay, here's a brief round-up of the four upcoming screenings. I'll post detailed press releases later as we get closer. If nothing else, this is just to help me keep them all straight.

I had no idea that dog star Peter the Great started out as a stunt double for fellow canines Strongheart and Thunder the Wonder Dog.

• Thursday, July 9, 2015, 6:30 p.m.: "A Dog Double Feature" spotlighting silent-era canine stars Peter the Great and Rin Tin Tin; The Flying Monkey Movie House and Performance Center, 39 South Main St., Plymouth, N.H.; (603) 536-2551; . In 'The Sign of the Claw,' a police dog helps solve a crime wave. The only surviving film of Peter the Great, a popular German shepherd performer. 'The Night Cry' (1926) finds iconic dog superstar Rin Tin Tin accused of killing sheep. Can he find the real bandit and clear his name? Part of a monthly silent film series at a newly restored moviehouse in Plymouth, N.H. Admission, $10 per person.

With hair like that, no wonder there was a revolution.

• Friday, July 10, 2015, 7 p.m.: "Orphans of the Storm" (1921); Red River Theatres, 11 South Main St., Concord, N.H.; (603) 224-4600; http://www.redrivertheatres.org/. Just in time for Bastille Day, D.W. Griffith's sweeping story of two sisters (Lillian and Dorothy Gish) caught up in the throes of the French revolution. Griffith's last major box office success fills the screen with a succession of iconic images. Silent film with live music at this popular venue for independent and arthouse cinema in New Hampshire's state capital. Admission $10 per person.

In my favorite scene from 'Hands Up!' (1926), Raymond Griffith teaches his Native American captors the latest dance moves.

• Saturday, July 11, 2015, 7 p.m.: "Hands Up!" (1926) starring Raymond Griffith; Brandon Town Hall and Community Center, Main Street/Route 7, Brandon, Vt.; http://www.brandontownhall.org. We mark the 150th anniversary of the end of the Civil War with this uproarious Raymond Griffith comedy. A southern spy must work every angle to prevent a shipment of western gold from reaching Union forces. Plus Laurel & Hardy comedy shorts! Join us for series silent films and live music in a wonderfully restored town hall in Brandon Vt. that features great acoustics. Admission free, donations accepted, with proceeds to help continuing preservation work.

Looking for big-screen thrills and spills? With 'The Great K & A Train Robbery' (1926), even this poster is action-packed.

• Sunday, July 12, 2015, 4:30 p.m.: "The Great K & A Train Robbery" (1926) starring Tom Mix; Wilton Town Hall Theatre, Main Street, Wilton, N.H.; (603) 654-3456; www.wiltontownhalltheatre.com. Treachery on the rails as our hero goes undercover to learn who is tipping the bandits. One of the best Tom Mix films, with plenty of action and some fantastic stunt work. Part of a series of silent films with live music at a theater where movies have been shown since 1912! Admission free, donations of $5 per person encouraged.

Hope to see you at one or more of these screenings. And if anyone makes it to all four, I'll buy you lunch at the nearest White Castle. (Transportation not included. By the way, it's in the Bronx.)

More than your average post: Keaton, Griffith, the Packard Center, Ben Cohen, and more!

A documentary film crew will be on hand for our screening of Keaton's 'The General' (1926) on Sunday, April 26 at 4:30 p.m. in Wilton, N.H.

How would you like to be in the movies by going to the movies?

That's what might happen on Sunday, April 26 when a documentary film crew will be on hand for our screening of Buster Keaton's 'The General' (1926) at the Wilton (N.H.) Town Hall Theatre.

They're from Merge Creative Media in New York City, and they're working on a feature-length documentary on the continuing popularity of Keaton's comedy.

To do that, they're looking to talk with folks after our show—a double-bill that includes Raymond Griffith's 'Hands Up!' (1926) followed by Buster's 'General.'

They're both comedies set during the U.S. Civil War, which ended 150 years ago this very month—hence the program. The fun begins at 4:30 p.m. Admission is free, with a suggested donation of $5 per person to help defray costs.

If anyone out there is making a documentary about Raymond Griffith, feel free to show up and interview our audience members as well!

Lots more info about Sunday's below in a press release (below) that went out earlier this month. But first a few things to cover...

• Visiting the archives: You know that scene at the end of 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' when the Ark of the Covenant is placed a massive government warehouse?

I couldn't help thinking about that last Saturday, when I got a tour of the Packard Campus of the National Audio Visual Conservation Center out in Culpeper, Va.

The facility, about an hour's drive south of Washington, D.C., is home to the bulk of the media operations of the Library of Congress. It handles pretty much everything connected to recorded sounds or images: acquiring materials and equipment, conserving and preserving them, and housing them in permanent climate-controlled storage.

As curator Rob Stone took me through the place, I just could not get over the scale of what I was seeing. Stepping through Maxwell Smart-like sets of doors, we entered corridor upon corridor of metal-doored vaults filled with fragile nitrate film, all of it in cans stacked neatly on fire retardant shelving in concrete units chilled to 38 degrees Fahrenheit. Altogether 124 vaults make up the largest nitrate film storage facility in the Western hemisphere.

A corridor in the Packard Center's nitrate film vault area.

And that was nothing compared to the enormous quantity of safety film also kept in cold storage on site. The underground bunkers go on seemingly to infinity, prompting the thoughts of 'Raiders.' I'm told there are 90 miles of shelving in use here. The place overall maintains something like 7 million artifacts, with thousands more arriving every day.

When and if I get a chance to return, I hope to write a long post about the Packard Center. There's so much going on there that anyone with the slightest interest in film and media would find it fascinating on many levels. I know I did.

I mean, what can you say about a place where cans of film—some of it priceless—arrive by the pallet-load? Just one example: Jerry Lewis recently agreed to donate his entire archive (about 4,000 reels of 35mm film amassed over the course of his long career) to the Packard Center. So Rob Stone has been working with Lewis and his family to catalog the newly arrived material and shepherd it into the archives.

But then there are the rooms full of equipment used to work with obsolete media formats, and the weird custom-built machinery used to transfer material from several dozen videocassettes at once to digital file formats—and of course the story of the facility itself.

Tucked into the side of a hill, it's no accident that the Packard Center looks a bit like a fortress. It was originally built by the U.S. Federal Reserve in the 1960s as a secret facility to store U.S. currency in case of a Cold War emergency! It was also set up to function as a command center for government functions in the event of nuclear attack.

The place was decommissioned in 1993, and sold to philanthropist David Packard in 1997. Unbelievably, Packard sunk $150 million of his own money (Congress chipped in $82 million) to transform it into a state-of-the-art preservation mecca to centralize the far-flung audio/visual holdings of the Library of Congress.

And then Packard gave it back to the government! I'm told it's the second-largest gift ever to the feds, exceeded only by the Smithsonian Institution.

An exterior view of the above-ground part of the Packard Center. (It's actually built into the side of a hill.

The place opened in 2007, and even includes a well-appointed theater that runs regular vintage film programs. (It's one of the very few theaters in the nation that can legally project nitrate film.)

The interior of the Packard Center's theater, complete with organ, which malfunctioned recently, prompting the call for piano accompaniment.

That's why I was there: Rob had an opening for someone to accompany a Gloria Swanson program on Saturday, April 18, and I was fortunate enough to be invited to come down.

Rob was a great host, even taking me out to dinner with his wife Jody prior to the show.

The evening's feature was 'Zaza,' a big Paramount costume story which I hadn't seen before but which followed the usual pattern of Gloria's starring vehicles.

The only surprise came from the theater's digital piano. About half-way into the picture, I lost the lower half of the keyboard! For some reason, the notes below middle C just stopped playing.

Luckily, it was a quiet part of the film, so it seemed natural to restrict the music to the upper registers while I pondered what to do.

I didn't mind it right then, but I knew if I didn't find a way to restore the lower notes, I would start to go insane, as would the audience.

What happened was that I had grazed one of the many "setting" buttons that are flush with the keys (bad design there), partially activating a function designed to play chords instead of just single notes. I say "partially" because I only got as far as losing the individual notes, but I somehow hadn't completed whatever sequence of buttons was required to start up the chord function.

So I scanned the buttons, all the while accompanying Gloria, and found one that seemed the likely culprit: it was marked "Chords" and was glowing red.

I weighed the odds. If I pressed it again, there was a good chance that it would cancel the uncompleted chord activation and restore my keyboard, which would be great.

On the other hand, there was a chance that pressing it would activate a bossa nova rhythm, or a speed guitar function, or some other setting that would create a sonic train wreck.

As I had no other options, I went ahead and pressed it—and it worked! The light went off and all my notes were restored. I was never so glad to play octaves in the bass!

And this reminded me of something attributed to Winston Churchill: "There is nothing as exhilarating as getting shot at and missed." He was right!

But many thanks to Rob Stone and Mike Mashon and everyone else at the Packard Center who put on a great program and made me feel welcome the entire time I was there. I'm looking forward to returning with more time to explore the collection.

For a more complete look at the Packard, check out this story from Washingtonian magazine. And here's a Washington Post piece about the place.

• What's old is new: For several years, a high school student and movie buff named Matt Bilodeau helped me with a monthly silent film series at the Manchester (N.H.) City Library.

Well, Matt went on to attend Keene (N.H.) State College, where he's now a sophomore and taking a film production class this semester.

I was delighted to find out that for his class project, Matt and his roommate had created a short silent film. And I was even more delighted to be asked to create music to accompany it.

So last Wednesday, I hauled out to Keene and we recorded several takes for the five-minute comedy, titled 'Tripping Across the Way.'

Working with 16mm film, Matt and his classmates had fashioned something that captured the dream-like quality of the silent film experience. Bravo!

Also, Matt said he hoped to create a film that looked like a silent film of the 1920s, but had more contemporary content. I think he succeeded on both counts!

See what you think: the film is online and available for all to see.

• Who are you? Time for another edition of "Brush With Greatness," in which I encounter bewildered celebrities. This time the victim is Ben Cohen, the "Ben" of Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream. Here's a picture of us together:

Ben and Jeffy (not Jerry) at the Airport Diner in Manchester, N.H.

Ben (and his partner Jerry Greenfield, who wasn't with him) is one of my business idols. Another one is Charles Ives, who died in 1954, so I won't be meeting him anytime soon.

So I was happy to connect with Ben, who was in our town of Manchester, N.H. to promote his campaign to get big money out of politics. He was great to talk with, and seemed delighted that I use a book about the early days of Ben & Jerry's as one of the texts of a writing class I sometimes teach.

But what does this have to do with silent film?

Well, our paths crossed by virtue of local restaurant magnate Alex Ray, owner of the Common Man group of restaurants here in New Hampshire. Alex also owns the Flying Monkey Moviehouse in Plymouth, N.H., so that's the flimsy excuse I have for including my encounter with Ben in this already overly long blog post.

I actually gave Ben my silent film accompanist card (as well as my standard day job publishing card), and he was polite enough to seem pretty impressed.

And I'm sorry, but that's all the time we have for "Brush With Greatness."

• Back to the program: Okay, about this weekend's program at the Wilton Town Hall Theatre. Here's the long-awaited text of the press release. Hope to see you there!

* * *

One war, two comedies: Raymond Griffith in 'Hands Up!' (1926), our companion feature to 'The General.'

FRIDAY, APRIL 17, 2015 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Silent film classic 'The General' with live music in Wilton (N.H.) on Sunday, April 26

Buster Keaton's U.S. Civil War comic masterpiece to be screened with companion feature, 'Hands Up!' in honor of 150th anniversary of war's ed

WILTON, N.H.—He never smiled on camera, earning him the nickname of "the Great Stone Face." But Buster Keaton's comedies still rocked Hollywood's silent era with laughter throughout the 1920s.

See for yourself with a screening of 'The General' (1926), one of Keaton's landmark feature films, at the Wilton (N.H.) Town Hall Theatre on Sunday, April 26 at 4:30 p.m. The show is free and open to the public with suggested $5 donation.

The program, which includes a companion Civil War comedy 'Hands Up!' (1926), will be accompanied by live music performed by silent film composer Jeff Rapsis.

"This month marks the 150th anniversary of the end of the Civil War, so we thought a fitting way to commemorate this milestone would with a double feature of silent films set during that period," Rapsis said.

'The General' tells the story of a Confederate locomotive engineer (Keaton) whose engine is hijacked by Northern spies with his girlfriend on board. Keaton, stealing another train, races north in pursuit behind enemy lines. Can he rescue his girl? And can he steal his locomotive and make it back to warn of a coming Northern attack?

Critics have called 'The General' Keaton's masterpiece, praising its authentic period detail, ambitious action and battle sequences, and its overall integration of story, drama, and comedy. It's also regarded as one of Hollywood's great train films, with much of the action occurring on or around moving steam locomotives.

Also on the program is another comedy set during the Civil War, 'Hands Up!' (1926), starring Raymond Griffith, a once-popular silent film star with boyhood ties to New Hampshire.

Long before he entered the movies, as a student Griffith attended St. Anselm prep school in Goffstown in the early 20th century.

A talented actor and comedian, Griffith became a major comic star in the 1920s for Paramount Pictures. Unfortunately, most of his films are lost, making it difficult to assess his career and talents today.

In 'Hands Up!' Griffith plays a wily Confederate spy charged with preventing a shipment of Western gold from reaching Union forces. The film is regarded as the best of Griffith's few surviving pictures.

While Griffith's work has languished in obscurity, Keaton's films are more popular than ever.

Keaton, along with Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd, stands today as one of the silent screen's three great clowns. Some 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."

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.

A remarkable pantomime artist, Keaton naturally used his whole body to communicate emotions from sadness to surprise. And in an era with no post-production special effects, Keaton's acrobatic talents enabled him to perform all his own stunts.

Critics review 'The General':

"The most insistently moving picture ever made, its climax is the most stunning visual event ever arranged for a film comedy."
—Walter Kerr

"An almost perfect entertainment!"
—Dave Kehr, Chicago Reader

"What makes the film so special is the way the timing, audacity and elegant choreography of its sight gags, acrobatics, pratfalls and dramatic incidents is matched by Buster's directorial artistry, his acute observational skills working alongside the physical élan and sweet subtlety of his own performance."
—Time Out (London)

Rapsis, a New Hampshire-based silent film musician who has accompanied shows at venues across New England, said films from the silent era were not made to be viewed at home on online. By running a monthly series, the Wilton Town Hall Theatre lets people experience silent film as it was meant to be seen—in high quality prints, on the big screen, with live music, and with an audience.

"All those elements are important parts of the silent film experience," said Rapsis, who will improvise the musical score on the spot as the films screen. "Recreate those conditions, and the classics of early Hollywood leap back to life in ways that can still move audiences today."

Rapsis performs on a digital synthesizer that reproduces the texture of the full orchestra and creates a traditional "movie score" sound.

Buster Keaton's 'The General' (1926) and Raymond Griffith's 'Hands Up!' (1926) will be shown on Sunday, April 26 at 4:30 p.m. at the Wilton Town Hall Theatre, 60 Main St., in Wilton N.H. The program is open to the public. Suggested donation $5. For more info, visit wiltontownhalltheatre.com; for more info on the music, visit www.jeffrapsis.com.

Report on Aug. 11 Raymond Griffith screenings

Last night went up to Plymouth, N.H. to accompany a pair of Raymond Griffith films at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center, which has the most interesting name of all the places I play. It being Raymond Griffith, I didn't count on a huge turnout. And it being a fine mid-summer evening with several large competing events happening right in town that night, my expectations were reduced accordingly.

So it was nice to get 16 people, and even nicer to hear some pretty energetic reactions as 'Paths to Paradise' (1925), the first Griffith feature, began to build steam. It's a wonderful film that I often call the "unfinished symphony" of silent film comedy becuse of the missing last reel, and how the film has a satisfying finish in spite of that. Still, I would love to see the missing end rediscovered at some point...

Playing at the Flying Monkey is always interesting because it's not really set up as a moviehouse (despite the name) and so the finer details of film exhibition sometimes go astray. Last night, it was lights. After we started 'Paths to Paradise,' the house lights went down, but all the side lights of the theater were left on.

Well, the film was still watchable, and there was no way I could get it fixed without stopping the music, so I just let it go. When it was time for the second film, 'Hands Up!' (1926), I knew the theater's sound guy would walk past me in the front to change the DVD, so I would have a chance to tell him to turn out all the lights, please. And that's what caem to pass. Verdict: Much better in full darkness.

One constant issue with this place is that at the end of a screening, invariably the house lights do not come up, and so we're all left sitting awkwardly in the dark for a bit. It happened again last night. It's just all part of the fun of doing this, I guess.

Perhaps the most alarming part of the screening was that for the first time ever, the DVD-R of 'Paths to Paradise' that I use began to get stuck while playing. It happened at a couple of moments early on, so I braced myself for disaster, knowing that no one connected with the theater was actually watching the film, so it would be up to me to stop everything if things ground to a halt.

Luckily, we moved on from that bad patch, but from then on I had to contend with the constant anxiety of wondering if and when the disc might get stuck for good. It's a big distraction when you're trying to use all your brain space to create music, but it's just something you have to deal with, as the film is moving on and you have to do your best no matter what.

Somehow, the score kept together and I was actually quite satisfied with what I did for 'Paths,' and even more so for 'Hands Up.' For the second film, I pulled a romantic melody out of nowhere that served me in good stead for the entire film, and also came up with a little tune to underscore whenever Griffith is being a wise guy. It first appeared when he was swindling the Indian chief in a dice game, and led into the later scene when he teaches the "savages" how to dance properly, which I consider one of the highlights of all silent film comedy.

I know I'll do this film again, so I'm writing it into my book of tunes, as it would have worked perfectly in some earlier scenes and allowed the whole presentation to be more integrated. Shows you how this is a really organic process that extends from one screening to the next. And now that I think of it, the Griffith "wise guy" theme is distantly related to a figure I was using a lot at a screening of 'Steamboat Bill, Jr.' (1928) in Boston last Sunday night.

Nothing for this weekend, which is good. These screenings energize me, but over time they can be draining. It's been a heavy schedule for the past few months and I find that doing them at this pace (plus keeping up with regular life, which involves managing three dogs, helping manage a small business, teaching college, and being a husband among other things) can actually wear me down.

Up next: The three-day 'Mirthquake' festival of obscure films at venues around southern N.H. It's Thursday, Aug. 18 through Saturday, Aug. 20, and the only really big gulp for me will be a six-hour marathon in Wilton, N.H. where the films are all silent and the only music will come from me. I'm looking forward to it! I'll post more here in a bit, but if you need info now, go to http://mirthquake.looserthanloose.com

My "Mr. Holland's Opus" moment

Okay: A busy first week of August saw screenings in an old resort ballroom in New Hampshire, an even older town hall in Vermont, and a wonderful movie theater in Somerville, Mass. that's dedicated to preserving the 35mm film experience. Let's take them in reverse order, starting with an experience last night that moved me unexpectedly and quite deeply, too.

• On Sunday, Aug. 7, I experienced what was one of the highlights of my musical life so far. Usually these writings are reports about the movies and the screenings and how the music worked (or didn't), but for a moment let me tell you about my own personal reaction to something that I'm just beginning to get my head around.

Last night, after doing improvised scores for a screening of Buster Keaton films at the Somerville Theatre, just outside Boston, Mass., a large audience treated me to a huge and prolonged ovation that just completely blew me away. And I stood there, after more than two hours of film music, and it washed over me: this middle-aged guy, who in high school couldn't get into Boston University's Tanglewood Institute for young composers (I know, boo-hoo), was thrilled and gratified and humbled to come to Boston (the "big city" in my lifelong home of New England), make his music in public, and receive such a response. Nearly three decades later, I felt I had finally, finally arrived as a musical artist with something to say.

I really mean it. And I never expected to be in such a position, and yet there I was, with about 250 people hooting and hollering, and not stopping, for music that I just did. (If I had expected it, I would have dressed better.) I took a few bows, but then didn't know what else to do, and then it kind of hit me all at once, and I just couldn't believe it. It was probably the closest this musician will ever get to his own personal "Mr. Holland's Opus" moment.

And I realized that it marked something of a milestone in this creative journey, and I'm profoundly grateful to everyone who played a role in getting me there: to the folks at the Somerville; to early supporters such as N.H. filmmaker Bill Millios, film archivist Dave Stevenson, and Wilton Town Hall Theatre owner Dennis Markevarich; to friends and colleagues and family (especially my wife Susan) who've been dealing with my silent film music thing for quite some time now; to Rick and Jemi Broussard, who hooked me up with the Somerville Theatre; to lifelong inspirational figures, chief among them the composer Charles Ives; to new friends such as the film blogger Raquelle, seen here with me after the screening; and to the filmmakers themselves, my now-absent collaborators who left such a rich accidental legacy for us to explore and ponder today.

And finally, thank you to everyone who came to the Keaton program last night. Silent film needs an audience to exist, and without you, my co-collaborators in the dark, the films (the ones that survive) would just be long strips of plastic wound on reels sitting in cans on darkened shelves somewhere. And it has become clear to me that the music I do is much the same way: it needs an audience to come forth, and without you, it would still be just ideas in my head and perhaps go no further. Thank you, thank you for bringing it out of me. To someone who has always had music in his head, but for a long time never had a place for it to go. It's something of a dream come true.

Wow! It's been an entire day since last night's screening in Somerville and, as you can see, I'm barely getting my head around the experience and its aftermath. It was especially heartening to have so many people come up afterwards and talk about the Keaton films ('Steamboat Bill Jr.' with 'Cops' and 'The High Sign,' all in 35mm) and how much they enjoyed seeing them in a theater with live music. Great questions, wonderfully supportive comments, and enough interest for me to go back to the keyboard and do an impromptu session on silent film scoring techniques for a small audience.

As for scoring the Keaton films, things went pretty well, despite one very alarming technical glitch right at the beginning when the house lights went down, taking my synthesizer and sound system with it. It's got the making of one of those dreams you don't want to have: you introduce a program to 250 people in a theater, and turn around, and your instrument is as dead as a wooden canoe. I had no choice but to turn around and shout "Wait!" and ask for the power back. Somehow it returned quickly (thank you whoever did that!) but I still had to wait for the darned thing to reboot, even as the first film, Cops, was starting on screen. At least I got a few laughs by remarking loudly, "They didn't have THESE kinds of problems in the 1920s!"

Kept to an organ setting for the two shorts, which went by quickly. Cops is very satisfying to score because it builds so well, from small comedy to massive city-wide chase. The key moment, and one I always have trouble with, I think, is when the bomb goes off during the police parade, which launches the big chase. Keaton lingers on the static aftermath of the explosion quite a bit before cutting to the actual chase, and I've never found a satisfying way to build the music and make the transition. Have to work on that one. Weird, too, that this 35mm print was missing significant footage, sometimes cutting out of one gag before the payoff and going immediately to other scenes. I've known the film my whole life, though (it was one of the first 8mm prints I bought from Blackhawk as a teenager!) and had a solid sense of when to push, and when to pull back to keep the energy going.

I had never done 'The High Sign' before and wasn't sure because it was truly "early" Keaton, his first film made after leaving his mentor Arbuckle, and made before he'd truly formed his unique comic personality and outlook. I've always found the Arbuckle films to be a bit slapdash and loose for my taste, but once again the audience proved me wrong, with 'The High Sign' getting big and sustained laughs, especially with the ridiculous gesture that forms the film's title. For scoring, some tricky patches in a shooting gallery with gunshots and bells ringing to make the comedy fully work; I did the best I could but next time will get someone with an actual bell to do that sound effect, which I think is so essential to the humor.

'Steamboat Bill Jr.' is a wonderful film for music. Its rural riverboat setting lends itself to a certain kind of simply melody, and the main one I came up with proved to be versatile enough to work throughout the film without (I hope) becoming tiresome. And the tail end of it, a rising little "answer" phrase, formed the basis for another tune, much lighter in character, to go with the film's boyfriend/girlfriend scenes. And then, completely unexpected, was a little 6/8 tune that kept coming up to quietly underscore the small-scale comedy.

And that brings us to the hat scene. One of the most interesting scenes in this picture is when Buster's gruff father, Ernest Torrence, takes him into a store to try on hats, most of them ridiculous. After things get going, it doesn't take long for the scene to shift to a view of father and son as if they're looking into a full-length mirror (a brilliant trick in and of itself!) and then we're treated to a wonderfully diverse procession of ill-advised headgear. Never was Keaton's comic abilities seen to greater advantage, I think, and he's more than matched by Ernest Torrence. It's a wonderful scene.

But what about music? I recall, years ago, I saw this film done with a live score by a talented and energetic group. It was a memorable performance, but I was struck by how they chose to handle the hat scene. Right at the start, they launched into a heavy, up-tempo gallop, like raucous circus music, loud and fast and unrelenting. And you know what? It killed the comedy! And I think a big reason was that you couldn't hear the audience around you laughing, and so that magical silent film audience reaction thing didn't kick in. And despite the brilliance of the scene, I found it left me cold.

So now, all this time later, here we are at the hat scene again. So I tried to keep the underscoring to a minimum until the audience reaction kicked in, and only then did I bring things up a bit in terms of intensity, but not too much, and then only by a few discords or pushing up a key rather than in volume or tempo. In doing music for silent film comedy, I'm becoming convinced that less really is more.

I was very happy with the extended night scenes, where Buster sneaks over to the rival riverboat to see his girlfriend, also a textbook example of more is less. It's night. It's quiet. As my copywriting colleague Paul Donovan at PC Connection used to say, "Do I have to draw you a map?" Making up the prominent "Prisoner's Lament" in the jailhouse scene went well, and the whole extended storm climax fit together nicely, though the Korg synthesizer is really showing its age, which is now eight. After all this pounding, the bounce of its weighted action keys is pretty much gone, and there are other symptoms. During 'Steamboat,' a tone stuck after pressing a key, and not once or twice, but three times, each time forcing me to switch quickly to another setting and then back to get it to stop. Sheesh! It blows your concentration and doesn't sound right, either, but anyone I asked later said they notice it.

• On Saturday, Aug. 6, made the drive up to Brandon, Vt. for the latest summer silent film screening at their historic Town Hall, which is in the process of restoration. Another solid crowd, about 75 people, came for a program of Laurel & Hardy shorts and 'Paths to Paradise' (1925), a rare film starring Raymond Griffith. The L & H films slayed them, leading off with 'Double Whoopee' (1929) and then 'Early to Bed' (1928) and 'Angora Love' (1929).

All three produced big laughs, and they're all fun to score, because the Laurel & Hardy comedy technique is so musical to begin with: definite rhythms, peaks and valleys, often leading to the one "purple moment," the place in a piece of music that Rachmaninoff said everything else in a score was leading to. (And how appropriate that one of their films, from 1928, is called 'Their Purple Moment.')

What were Saturday night's purple moments? SPOILER ALERT! In 'Double Whoopee' it's the multiple-person chaos in the lobby followed by prince's final fall into the shaft; in 'Early to Bed,' it's Ollie and Stan doing battle in Ollie's fountain followed by Ollie cracking up; in 'Angora Love' it's the cop getting the water in the face, followed by the litter of goats (or whatever a group of baby goats is called) emerging from under the bed.

And the reaction to 'Paths to Paradise' was really, really gratifying. How great to have people who've never heard of Raymond Griffith get caught up in one of his pictures after all these years of obscurity. 'Paths' does take awhile to get going -- the usual flash point is the comic dance in the flashlight scene about halfway through the film. But once it takes flight, it sweeps everyone along with it. Some of the bigger moments in the climactic chase had people spontaneously applauding -- this for a character to whom they had just been introduced. Nice work, Mr. Griffith!

Weird trivia: Afterwards, people could not believe that one of the two clumsy detectives in 'Paths' was the same guy who played the irate landlord in Laurel & Hardy's 'Angora Love': Edgar Kennedy. It's a small silent world!

• Tuesday, Aug. 2: Finally, I would be remiss if I didn't record some impressions from an unusual screening that I think will endure as another highlight of the summer. Last month I was contacted by Matt Van Wagner, a fellow ex-ensemble member of the late and much-lamented Granite State Opera. (He's a tenor, and also plays trumpet.) Matt had a proposition: How about a silent film show at Twin Lakes Villa, a resort in New Hampshire's Lake Sunapee region that he and his family visit every year. My reply: Sure! (It doesn't take much.)

And lo, I found myself tooling up Interstate 89 late on a beautiful summer afternoon, arriving at the resort about 6:30 p.m. Everyone was still on a picnic at the summit of nearby Mount Kearsage, so I got to poke around the well-manicured grounds and well-kept buildings.

What I found was an incredibly well-preserved hotel and resort property that must not have looked much different a century ago. Really! It was from the same era as the old grand hotels up north in New Hampshire's White Mountains, but on a smaller scale. Owned by the same family for five generations, it had somehow survived intact into the 21st century, open for only 10 weeks each summer, serving communal meals that were announced by the ringing of a big old bell mounted over the wide porch that wrapped around the first floor of the three-story main building.

The films were to be screened in the "ballroom," which was the entire first floor of a separate three-story building connected to the main building by a covered wooden walkway. The screen was, yes, a bedsheet that had been strung across the small proscenium stage at one end of the hall, the floor of which was filled with chairs for more than a hundred people.

And as the light faded and the picnickers returned, the seats filled and off we went. Great response to Keaton's 'One Week' (1920), which is an excellent intro not just to Buster but to all of silent film comedy. Our feature was Harold Lloyd's great 1928 film 'Speedy,' and right from the beginning, the reaction to this was just incredible.

The reason? Well, what started it was baseball. In the film, Harold's character is obsessed with baseball, and his team is the New York Yankees. New Hampshire is Red Sox country, and there's a long-standing rivalry between the two teams that's on par with India and Pakistan. Normally it's not an issue, but in the summer, Yankees fans come up from New York to visit, and they keep their allegiance no secret.

So, in the case of 'Speedy' last Tuesday night, the minute the Yankees make their appearance, good-natured partisan reaction started behind me. I'd never seen that happen before, to this extent, with cheering and booing and everything in between. But the net effect was to really loosen up everyone at a very early stage, and I think that paved the way for a truly intense experience that carried through the whole picture. Lloyd: master of getting a reaction in ways that still work today. (I'm sure the Yanks were just as loved/hated in the days of Babe Ruth, too.)

One nice touch was that since Matt played the trumpet, I invited him to sound the bugle calls that lead into the films first climax, the battle in the streets. Matt did an excellent job doing two versions of one of those tunes we all know but I never know the name of ("Charge?"), and then a final blast as the action really starts. Thanks, Matt!

Big reaction at the end and lots of good questions and comments. Talk of me going up there again next summer, and I'd love to do it, especially if they can arrange for the same kind of weather. Speaking of which, in the weird coincidence department, when the storm developed in 'One Week,' it unexpectedly started raining outside for real!

Countdown to Steamboat Bill, Jr. on Aug. 7

Tomorrow (Wednesday, Aug. 3) I head down to Boston for an interview at WBUR-FM, one of Beantown's National Public Radio outlets, for an interview about the upcoming screening of Buster Keaton's film 'Steamboat Bill, Jr.' (1928) on Sunday, Aug. 7 at 7 p.m. at the Somerville Theatre in Davis Square, Somerville, Mass.

I'm looking forward to this, not only because it's fun to be on the radio and chat about silent film, but also because an interview will help get out the word for this particular screening. It's worth attending because it's in 35mm, but also because a big turnout (say, 100 people or more) will encourage the Somerville's management to continue programming silent films in 35mm with live music.

I must say I've been thrilled with the shows I've done at the Somerville so far this year and I do hope we can continue. The music has worked out well, I think, but what's been truly amazing to me is the chance to see the Keaton films in 35mm on the big screen and with a bright light. To me, it's like seeing these films for the first time.

For this weekend's program, we not only have 'Steamboat Bill, Jr.' but also 'The High Sign' (1921) and 'Cops' (1922), both of which I'm looking forward to. So I do hope you can join us (and bring a friend or two or three or a dozen) to help fill some seats.

For music, I'm planning on pipe organ for the two shorts, then full orchestra for Steamboat. One thing to keep in mind with the feature is that I need to avoid ramping up too early and taking things too fast in the climax. We'll see if I can restrain myself or if I get carried away, much like Buster nearly does. And if you haven't seen the film, you'll just have to attend this Sunday's screening to find out what I mean by this.

Admission is $12 per person. See you at the movies!

Oh, and here's another nice bit of publicity. On Thursday of this week, an interview with me will be posted on a wonderfully enthusiastic classic film blog maintained by a woman known to me only as "Raquelle M." We've been in touch since the July screening and I very much appreciate her support of our screenings. The blog is called Out of the Past, and it's filled with a lot of perceptive writing about vintage cinema. Thanks, Raquelle, and hope to see you at the Somerville! :)

And P.S.: On Saturday, Aug. 6, I'm accompanying a program of Laurel & Hardy silent comedy shorts ('Double Whoopee' (1929), 'Early to Bed' (1928), and 'Angora Love' (1929) and Raymond Griffith's wonderful feature 'Paths to Paradise' (1925) at the Brandon Town Hall and Community Center up in Brandon, Vt. Show starts at 7 p.m. if you happen to be in the neighborhood!