A child's laughter = proof of immortality; also, 'The Navigator' on 2/12 in Plymouth, N.H.

Harry Langdon, overgrown child, in 'The Strong Man' (1926).

Harry Langdon's character was essentially that of an overgrown child.

So perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise that four young kids right behind me responded so strongly to 'The Strong Man' (1926), which we screened last night at the Campton (N.H.) Historical Society.

Really! Harry had them right from the start. I think they were hooked at the early scene where Harry knocks over the Ellis Island benches.

And if it wasn't that, it was definitely the scene where Harry brings his unexpected lady friend up a staircase rear-end first.

There was one girl in particular who could not stop her genuine giggling — you know, the kind that can't be faked.

And that got everyone going. And after that, Harry could do no wrong!

This was for an audience who'd never heard of Langdon prior to the film's opening credits. And yet Harry was able to reach across the years and establish a bond with a child born in the second term of the Obama presidency.

Could you ask for better proof of the enduring appeal of the silent comedy greats?

Coming up next: a screening of Buster Keaton's equally timeless classic 'The Navigator' (1924) on Wednesday, Feb. 12 at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center in Plymouth, N.H. More info and details are included in the press release I've tacked on at the end of this post.

And now back to the news from Campton, N.H. Last night's pot luck supper was one for the ages. I can't name half the dishes I sampled, but it was all just right on an evening where the temperature at sundown was 9 degrees and falling. Hunger is evidently not a problem in rural N.H.

Alas, attendance at this year's annual silent film screening was down due to everyone in town suffering from a nasty mid-winter cold that's been making the rounds. (I had it all through January, so I sympathize!) And not a single presidential candidate showed up!

Even so, the laughter filled the historical society's meeting and exhibit room, which once served as the community's town hall.

To introduce Langdon, and to show people why his slow pace was such a breath of fresh air, I decided to program something beforehand to show 1920s comedy at its most frenetic.

I chose the ending of 'Play Safe' (1927), a Monty Banks feature, which is a surprisingly hair-raising chase and rescue on a runaway railroad train.

Banks is even more obscure than Langdon today. So audiences simply aren't unprepared for the scale and ambition displayed in this sequence, which takes one's breath away.

A full "snow" moon rising at dusk over snow-bound Campton, N.H. Click to enlarge.

But I think it provided the perfect set-up for Langdon, as it highlighted clearly why he stood out at the time. Slower, smaller, more subtle — off the top of my head, I described it as "comedy in a jewelry store," which isn't a bad way of putting it.

Well, whether or not this way of introducing Langdon made a difference, last night's screening showed that audiences can and will respond to his best work.

Why is that a question? Because years ago, in his book 'The Silent Clowns,' author Walter Kerr described running Keaton's 'The General' to appreciative audiences, but Langdon was greeted with utter silence. So I've always felt that Langdon would be a tough sell.

Well, maybe not. Maybe all he needs is a little perspective. And come to think of it, don't we all?

Okay, below is all the info about Keaton's 'The Navigator.' Hope to see you there!

* * *

Buster Keaton prepares to dive deep in 'The Navigator' (1924).

MONDAY, FEB. 3, 2020 / FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact Jeff Rapsis • (603) 236-9237 • jeffrapsis@gmail.com

Classic seafaring silent comedy ‘The Navigator’ (1924) in Plymouth on Wednesday, Feb. 12

Buster Keaton's nautical masterpiece to be screened with live music at Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center

PLYMOUTH, 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.

See for yourself with a screening of 'The Navigator' (1924), one of Keaton's landmark feature films, on Wednesday, Feb. 12 at 6:30 p.m. at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center, 39 S. Main St., Plymouth, N.H.

Live music for the movie will be provided by silent film accompanist Jeff Rapsis. Admission is $10 per person.

'The Navigator' is a comedy that follows the adventures of wealthy nitwit Rollo Treadway (Keaton) and his pampered girlfriend, who find themselves adrift alone on a massive ocean liner. Forced to fend for themselves without servants, the pair attempt to cope with day-to-day life, creating classic comedy in the process.

But when the ship runs aground on a remote island inhabited by cannibals, is Buster's resourcefulness enough to save the day?

Filmed at sea on a real ocean liner that Keaton treated as the largest prop in comedy history, 'The Navigator' has been hailed as one of the most original and distinctive movies to come out of silent film's golden era of comedy.

The film is highlighted by underwater scenes, with Keaton in an oversized antique diving suit, that were revolutionary at the time.

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, including some spectacular examples in 'The Navigator.'

The nautical-themed program also includes a Keaton's short comedy, 'The Boat,' as a warm-up to 'The Navigator.'

Rapsis, a New Hampshire-based silent film musician who accompanies shows at venues across New England, said Keaton's films weren't intended to be shown on television or viewed at home.

In reviving 'The Navigator,' the Flying Monkey hopes to show silent film as it was meant to be seen—in high quality prints, on a large screen, with live music, and with an audience.

"All those elements are important parts of the silent film experience," said Rapsis. "Recreate those conditions, and classics of early Hollywood such as 'The Navigator' leap back to life in ways that audiences still find entertaining."

Rapsis performs on a digital synthesizer that reproduces the texture of the full orchestra, creating a traditional "movie score" sound. He improvises the complete score in real time during the screening

"Creating a movie score on the fly is kind of a high-wire act, but it can often make for more excitement than if everything is planned out in advance," Rapsis said.

'The Navigator' is the latest in an monthly series of great silent films with live music at the Flying Monkey. Upcoming programs include:

• Wednesday, March 11, 2020: 'Wild Horse Mesa' (1925). Adaptation of Zane Grey novel about a bankrupt rancher who tries trapping wild horses using barbed wire, with unforeseen consequences.

• Thursday, April 9, 2020: 'Ben Hur' (1925). In the Holy Land, a Jewish prince is enslaved by the occupying Romans; one of the great early Bibical epics, just in time for Easter!

• Thursday, May 7, 2020: 'Why Worry?' (1923). Rich hypochondriac Harold Lloyd gets more than he bargained for on a recuperative visit to a banana republic undergoing revolution.

• Thursday, June 18, 2020: Harry Houdini Double Feature. Rare surviving films from the great illusionist's brief movie career: 'Terror Island' (1920) and 'The Man From Beyond' (1922).

'The Navigator' (1924) starring Buster Keaton will be screened with live music on Wednesday, Feb. 12 at 6:30 p.m. at the Flying Monkey Moviehouse and Performance Center, 39 S. Main St., Plymouth, N.H.

Admission is $10 per person; for more info, call (603) 536-2551 or visit www.flyingmonkeynh.com.

Catching up with author Walter Kerr at a screening of 'The Chaser' (1928)

Some time ago, I discovered one way to drive a lot of traffic to a blog—mention "Jesus Christ" somewhere in the text. Boy, the hits just start piling up!

The occasion was a write-up of 'The Strong Man' (1926), in which I compared silent film comedian Harry Langdon to, yes, Mr. Christ. I even found two headshots that bore a resemblance.

Well, last night I accompanied another Langdon film, 'The Chaser' (1928), and comparisons to Christ are unlikely, other than to say that perhaps Harry's decision to direct himself was a form of self-crucifixion.

The film, screened at the Manchester (N.H.) City Library, drew some laughs, and the audience of about 40 passing strangers seemed to get Langdon's character, despite conventional wisdom that he's an acquired taste.

Afterwards, however, everyone sort of agreed that although 'The Chaser' was an interesting film, it wasn't about to prompt one of those transcendent silent film experiences that sometimes happen. (There I go with the religious stuff again!)

Comments ranged from "it shows how much he needed Frank Capra" to "that was an awful lot of poison he had in that kitchen." When they're wondering about the amount of poison in the cupboard, you know a film is in trouble.

And parts of the film simply don't make any sense at all, at least to modern eyes. Example: When Harry, dressed in his absurd lodge costume, proceeds to kiss women at a beach party, rendering them unconscious with desire.

Maybe there's something about the Langdon character and the now-absent 1920s zeitgeist that we really don't get after all these years.

Harry seems to be enjoying 'The Chaser' more than our audience did.

I wanted to run this rarely screened film in part to see how an audience would react, but also to finally see for myself something that critic Walter Kerr pointed out so long ago in his genre-defining book 'The Silent Clowns.'

At one point in 'The Chaser' (the part with all the poison), Harry attempts suicide, but mistakenly doses himself with castor oil. He then lies down on the kitchen floor, and the camera lingers. And lingers. The joke, such as it is, is embodied in that single shot being sustained beyond all reasonability. And, seen in live performance, it really is, at least for a time. Against all odds, it starts to become funny.

But then Langdon CUTS to a close-in shot. Nothing has changed, but he just sabotaged the root and reason of the joke, according to Kerr. A surer hand—say that of his former collaborator Capra—would have not made that mistake.

Really? I wasn't really sure what Kerr meant, but the certainty with which he said it has stayed with me all these years since first reading 'The Silent Clowns' in the 1970s. It made me wonder: were there things about life that were so obvious to others that I couldn't see as well?

But now that I've seen 'The Chaser' with an audience, I know exactly what Kerr meant. The longer that sustained shot is held, the funnier it gets. But just as the hilarity is starting to build, the cut to the close-in shot short-circuits the audience reaction, setting things back to the starting place.

Finally, the film returns to the original shot for Harry's almost inevitable reaction: instead of dying, he suddenly must leap up and run to the bathroom. I can't imagine a less dignified (or funnier) way of being reminded that one is definitely still alive. But the joke is muted by the editing. What should have been a classic Langdon sequence instead becomes a mildly amusing fade-out.

You were right, Mr. Kerr!

Harry Langdon — not so fast!

Among Hollywood's great silent clowns of the 1920s, Harry Langdon has the reputation of being an acquired taste. Among some, he's known for not producing laughs with modern audiences. I remember reading part of Walter Kerr's great 1975 book 'Silent Clowns' in which the author recalls audiences greeting Keaton's 'The General' (1927) with "constant, astonished laughter" while a screening of Langdon's 'The Strong Man' (1926) produced bupkiss. And I guess that sealed it with me.

But, after last night's screening of Langdon's rarely seen feature 'Long Pants' (1927), I'm now prepared to say that Langdon should not be sold short at all when it comes to laughter. He does very well, thank you. All that's necessary is to tell people (even those who've never attended a silent film) that Langdon was popular as a reaction to the fast-paced frenetic style of silent comedy, and it seems to do the trick.

Last night, our little-publicized screening of 'Long Pants' at the Manchester (N.H.) Public Library attracted a total of five people. (I was surprised we got any, it being the day after Labor Day weekend.) Never mind Langdon—all of them had never attended a silent film screening of any kind. But right from the start, you could tell that Harry had them. Well, Harry and director Frank Capra, whose sure hand and sense of story-telling could clearly be seen in how the film was laid out.

And rather than the stony silence that Kerr got when he ran 'The Strong Man,' last night Harry received the "constant, astonished laughter" that Kerr concluded was Buster's province. Really. Harry got laughs trying to impress Alma Bennett, the girl of his dreams on his bicycle, and it built steadily from then on. The weirdly dark "trying to kill his bride" sequence got a big reaction. And things really took off in the extended slapstick that follows the jailbreak, which is top-notch silent comedy.

The only moment that didn't get an expected strong laugh was when Harry finally reacts to Alma Bennett's criminal roughhousing ("I'm surprised!"), which I think forms the comic climax of the film, but which was met with silence. Oh well. But on his walk home, through the same woods where he tried to kill Priscilla Bonner earlier in the film, things grew warm very quickly, and I tried to build the music to illustrate the transformation to Harry finally realizing what he had left behind.

And so the ending, which seemed rather perfunctory me in previewing the film, came across in live performance as the perfect finish to a very satisfying comic adventure. I was as surprised as anyone! And the audience, even just five people, really seemed to eat it up. As Harry gets clobbered one last time by the upturned dinner table, somehow it all seemed just exactly right.

Afterwards, we talked, and two young gals who had taken in the picture on a whim, said they probably would not have watched it on television, but that they found 'Long Pants' to be a strangely beguiling and compelling experience in a theater. The three other folks (two sisters and their wheelchair-bound mother) agreed. And we went on talking for about a half-hour about the picture and silent films in general.

And I thought how we've screened 'Tramp Tramp Tramp' and 'The Strong Man' (both 1926) several times, and they always get a good response. And now, with 'Long Pants' joining them in getting a good reaction, I'm prepared to say that maybe Harry shouldn't be put in the "acquired taste" box. In my experience, he does very well for himself. 'The Strong Man' seems to hold its own with audiences especially well, but 'Tramp Tramp Tramp' has a succession of marvelous things, and 'Long Pants' is right up there, too.

Maybe times have changed and all silent comedy (and silent film in general) now seems fresh and new to people in a way that wasn't possible when Walter Kerr was screening flicks in the 1970s.

After all, silent film really is a different art form that seems to surprise people who've never encountered it before (in a theater with live music), which is something I saw again last night at the Manchester Library. For these newcomers, it's pointless to compare the various styles and approaches of Chaplin, Keaton, etc. For them, all the films are stripped bare of context, and so they must stand or fail on their own.

Though Harry does require a little nudge (explaining how his approach was different), the stories in his features are strong enough to carry the day, and the comedy is something that people still respond to. And so more and more I'm convinced his stuff is some of the best and most balanced that was done in the silent era—a little warmer than Lloyd, though not as maudlin as Chaplin, and often as inventive as Keaton.

But there I go comparing.

By the way, one of the more interesting personal connections to the silent film era I've encountered was meeting Harry's nephew, also named Harry Langdon, at the Kansas Silent Film Festival in 2007. (Here's a picture of him on the left.) Harry (the younger) was born around 1940, so never actually met his famous moviestar uncle, but still had a lot to say about the family and was a really nice guy.