Almost forty years after his death, Buster Keaton is increasingly appreciated as a comic artist. The movies of his only real competitor for silent film clown, Charlie Chaplin, are usually marred by sentimentality, but Keaton was having none of that. As Edward McPherson writes, in _Buster Keaton: Tempest in a Flat Hat_ (Newmarket Press), "Keaton's films are witty, beautiful, unsentimental, moving, and - most of all - funny." McPherson writes that his book is "merely a fan's notes," a celebration of Keaton's work. As such, almost all its pages are lovingly devoted to Keaton's films of the twenties. There was a Keaton after the silent film days were over, and he did make a triumph over various adversities, but his silent shorts and full-length films are wonderful, and are still being mined as examples of timing and technical wizardry. This is not a full biography, but a celebration, and it is all the better for that.
Young Keaton joined his parents in vaudeville performances. He literally joined them by wandering onstage; the parents tried tying him offstage or putting him into a trunk, but it turned out that the best way to keep an eye on him was to bring him into the act. The usual skit involved Joe's helter-skelter efforts to discipline his son, and Keaton simply was tossed around on the stage, thrown into the orchestra pit, or used as a mop. It sounds rough, but Keaton was a ham and loved it, and always denied that he had anything to complain about. Fatty Arbuckle was a fan of the Keatons' act, and had already "borrowed" some of their gags for celluloid. When Keaton wandered into Arbuckle's studio in New York in 1917, he was invited to take part in a scene involving a mess of gooey molasses and being knocked for a backwards summersault from a store out into the street. Arbuckle recognized a movie natural immediately, and Buster signed on to the company. Arbuckle's collaborative and freeform way of making gags was just what Keaton wanted, and what he instituted when he started making his own movies in Hollywood. McPherson describes all of the great films here, with descriptions of how the stunts and the accomplished trick photography were done. It all ground down when Keaton lost his independent studio and went to work for MGM, which wanted scripts, budgets, and shooting schedules; the jolly, funny atmosphere of a team intoxicated by making comic movies evaporated. The other great impediment to Keaton's way of working was sound. The days of hooking the camera to a boat, car, or train and letting it go were over. Keaton was shoe-horned into drawing-room, all-talking productions.
McPherson describes but does not detail the years thereafter, when Keaton had embarrassing journeyman jobs as his only outlet, and then cameos in such films as _Sunset Boulevard_, and even in beach blanket movies. His troubles with alcoholism (eventually conquered) and two difficult marriages (the third one was charmed) are here. Here also, however, is mention of his lucrative career making guest spots and commercials on television, a medium that many moviemakers hated or dreaded but which he appreciated as the latest technology. Collectors ensured that his films were seen again in the fifties and sixties, and he got lifetime honors from the Academy and other appreciative organizations, so that when he died in 1966, he knew that his astonishing output from the twenties was going to be appreciated by every subsequent generation. As a appreciation of Keaton's work, McPherson's book is sweet and generous, and will send readers out to the video store to do their own appreciating.