Tag Archives: buster keaton
MoMA Presents “Leo McCarey: Seriously Funny,” Covering the Undersung Director from the Silents Onward
“I only know I like my characters to walk in clouds, I like a little bit of the fairy tale. As long as I’m there behind the camera lens, I’ll let somebody else photograph the ugliness of the world.” —Leo McCarey If you’re anywhere near New York this month, prepare to walk in the clouds. …
Saying Goodbye to My Dad and CASABLANCA
“Where I’m going, you can’t follow.” Not the most famous line in Rick’s closing speech to Ilsa, but the one that stays with me. Casablanca was the last movie I ever saw with my Dad, who I followed everywhere. We were true kindred spirits, and there was no one I saw more movies with. Saturday mornings were …
TINTYPE TUESDAY: Keaton, Valentino and Nazimova, Ready for Their Arthur Rice Close-Ups
Welcome to another edition of TINTYPE TUESDAY! When you think of classic-film portraits, who pops to mind? George Hurrell, Clarence Bull, Ruth Harriett Louise? What about Arthur Rice? When it comes to recognition, Rice seems to have been left largely on the cutting-room floor. But his work was nothing short of stunning, capturing in still life …
Do Your Loved Ones Suffer from Dread Of Old Movies (DOOM) Syndrome?
We’ve all been there: That moment when you’ve cozily settled into the sofa as a classic film is coming on… and you can already feel the impatient fidgeting, hear the discontented sighs, catch a quick glimpse of the eye-rolling going on around you. Perhaps some clueless family member asks, “Haven’t you seen this already?” Or maybe, like something straight out …
Buster and Fatty Vamp and Camp It Up in THE COOK
The fabulous Fritzi over at Movies Silently is hosting A Shorts Blogathon! You can find all the entries here. I chose Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle’s The Cook, co-starring Buster Keaton, which was a dangerous assignment, as it meant I had to watch it again—running the risk of disappearing into the TV, hitting the Play button over …
Remembering Buster Keaton, with Love and Gratitude
Squonk. Squonk. Squonk. The walk to school from my house was five blocks long, and my crepe-soled shoes squeaked more slowly with each passing street. Squonk. Squonk. Stop. Squonk. Stop again. Root around in my bookbag. Maybe I forgot something. Maybe I should go home. When I was in the third grade, I developed a duodenal …
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