Pictorial Palette of the Week: Gene Tierney (Again)

She bears repeating, what can I say?

Gene Tierney (1951)

This publicity shot from ON THE RIVIERA (1951), the Danny Kaye musical comedy, is consummate Tierney. She is her famous LAURA portrait in smoky, sexy, sultry black and whie. But in Technicolor… Tierney truly reigns. And this musical rom-com of hilarious hijinks gives Tierney a chance to sparkle as well as saunter…

The Pictorial adores her, as does Technicolor, and I do hope you do as well..:

Tierney Palette: Hexes: #C00000 #9B1167 #F8D9A2 #4B5CA4

Gene’s happy ending from ON THE RIVIERA:

2011 Best of the Blogathons RoundUp

There were many things about 2011 I’d rather forget, and am quite eager to sweep under the rug and write off as a (semi) total loss.

It was, however, a fantastic year for bloggers. And especially so for the classic film community– a niche that hitherto has been of a largely insular nature, existing on the fringes of filmdom, never quite enjoying a resounding presence in its own right. An eclectic makeup of film theorists, essayists, historians, fanboys and fangirls, visual artists, poets, and everything in between, classic film enthusiasts the enjoyed a real renaissance in 2011 and can confidently start the new year with a newly defined sense of community. (And if that’s overstating things, it is only because I believe we have every reason to start the new year with a newly defined sense of community!)

The exponential growth of social media has made it possible to nurture a culture of mutual respect and graciousness within the blogging community, resulting in work that is enlightening, enlivening and always entertaining.

Perhaps nowhere is this better illustrated than in the “blogathons” that permeate the blogosphere. Sponsored by either an independent site, or a conglomerate (like CMBA), blogathons rally writers together by challenging them to dig deep into their resources and contribute a piece on a specific topic. Typically lasting anywhere from a day to a week, not only do blogathons result in a hearty cornucopia of material, they are an invaluable tool for writers to connect with fellow colleagues on an international scale.

The Pictorial signs off for 2011 with a review of some of our favorite blogathons of the year. If you missed any of these, I can’t think of a better way to spend some of the idle holiday hours than by giving them a good long read.

Grand work, everyone! Every last one of you is, without doubt, an:

Film Noir Blogathon
Hosted by Self Styled Siren

The Nicholas Ray Blogathon
Hosted by cinemaviewfinder

Margaret Lockwood Blogathon
Hosted by Shroud of Thoughts

The Dick Van Dyke Show Blogathon
Hosted by Thrilling Days of Yesteryear

The CMBA Guilty Pleasures Blogathon:
Hosted by CMBA (Classic Movie Blog Association)

The Films of 1939 Blogathon
Hosted by CMBA

The Late Films Blogathon
Hosted by Shadowplay

The Charlie Chaplin Blogathon
Hosted by Park Circus Films

Carole-tennial(+3)
Hosted by Carole & Co.

For The Boys Blogathon
Hosted by The Scarlett Olive

Fashion in Film Blogathon
Hosted by The Hollywood Revue

Dueling Divas Blogathon
Hosted by Backlots

The Loving Lucy Blogathon
Hosted by True Classics

The Queer Film Blogathon
Hosted by Garbo Laughs

The Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier Appreciation Blogathon
Hosted by Viv And Larry

Blog it for Baby: The Jean Harlow Blogathon
Hosted by… Us ;)

For Your Consideration: The Year Classic Film Made a Comeback

“Awards! All this town does is give awards! Best Fascist Dictator, Adolf Hitler!” – Woody Allen, Annie Hall

If by chance you are unfamiliar with how the Awards season works, here’s a brief outline: Studios tend to release their real Oscar contenders (i.e., films with any sort of non-mainstream artistic merit) until the year’s final Quarter when, badda bing badda boom, theatres find themselves gorged with posters fairly grafittied by four stars and gratuitous praise– all of which prominently feature the words BEST FILM OF THE YEAR in bolded Times New Roman.  Courting the attentions of voting members of the Academy and industry guilds, these films bottleneck around Thanksgiving, just in time for the first in a long slew of awards nominations. The Hollywood Foreign Press Association unofficially kicks off the Oscar race with the Golden Globes, followed in quick succession by the major industry guild awards, The PGA, DGA and SAG, all of which have a heavy influence on the Oscar outcome (the DGA has failed to predict the best director Oscar only 7 times in the past 60 years). The BAFTAs roll around in early February and, by then, the hotly contended Oscar race has been wined and dined until the Academy members’ votes have been more or less… secured.  If this sounds like a well-oiled political machine, that’s because it is. By the time Oscar night rolls around, the odds are so firmly fixed that there are few, if any, surprises.

But.

What does surprise me this year, with Awards season just now kicking into high gear, is that fact that four of the films garnering the most amount of critical accolades are in fact nods to classic film.

I’m talking about, of course, Simon Curtis’ My Week With Marilyn, Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, Martin Scorsese’s Hugo and Michel Hazanavicius’ The Artist.

From Simon Curtis, in his feature film directorial debut, comes My Week With Marilyn, featuring Michelle Williams taking on (arguably) *the* pop culture icon of the 20th century. The story centers on the filming of Laurence Olivier’s tumultuous production The Prince and the Showgirl where a very young man (Eddie Redemayne) grabs a job on the shoot, meets Marilyn Monroe, and ends up spending a week with her at a guest cottage. And yes, it’s based on a true story. Or at least, a memoir. I’m sure I’m not alone in being rather, shall we say, protective when it comes to portrayals of Marilyn since stereotype and sensationalism so often cheapen the woman behind the image. My Week With Marilyn is a flawed film about a flawed woman, and I suppose that’s what makes it work so well.  Williams may not be Marilyn’s doppleganger, per se, but what Williams absolutely commands is the fragility and loneliness that so consumed Marilyn. The film may lack somewhat in plot, but is entirely forgiven by performance. It is also, let’s be honest, total eye candy for classic film lovers. We get to revel in the early golden years of Pinewood Studios, and are treated to appearances by such classic film luminaries as Laurence Olivier (a solid Kenneth Branagh) Vivien Leigh (Julia Ormond), Arthur Miller (Dougray Scott), and even Jack Cardiff (Karl Moffat)! Although charming and sentimental, My Week With Marilyn relies on neither.

Marion Cotillard and Owen Wilson in MIDNIGHT IN PARIS ; Jeff Daniels and Mia Farrow in THE PURPLE ROSE OF CAIRO

Woody Allen’s unapologetically sentimental Midnight in Paris was released earlier this year, but has enjoyed a recent For Your Consideration awards campaign that has put it squarely in Oscar contention. The film, in many ways, mirrors Allen’s 1985 The Purple Rose of Cairo: in Cairo an unhappy housewife sought relief at her local theatre, while Paris tells the whimsical tale of an idealistic Hollywood screenwriter (Owen Wilson) who, while on holiday with his very ‘L.A.’ fiancee (Rachel McAdams), finds creative freedom and whirlwind love in 1920s Paris. Literally. A mysterious black taxi cab pulls up  in front of his hotel and whisks him away to a hole in time– make that a watering hole in time. A left bank cafe whose regulars are the none other than the artistic superstars of the ‘20s: Ernest Hemingway, Salvidor Dali, Cole Porter, Gertrude Stein, the Fitzgeralds– and a beautiful young flapper (Marion Cotillard). While Midnight in Paris is not technically a ‘Hollywood’ movie, and lacks the gut-wrenching stomach punch that makes Cairo such a classic, Paris is still the sort of fanciful grown-up fairy tale that hearkens back to a day when studios were still brave enough (and young enough) to take creative risks– it is a film that could only be made by a  a classic film enthusiast like Allen.

Rather like Allen’s cineaste colleague Marty Scorsese…

Asa Butterfield in HUGO; Harold Lloyd in SAFETY LAST

Like Allen, this proud New Yorker has chosen the City of Lights for his family-friendly offering. Hugo is currently being packaged and marketed as a Holiday family film of feel-good fluff.  Talk about false advertising. Sure, Hugo is family friendly, but it is hardly Holiday fluff. Scorsese, a masterful storyteller, has created a  dazzling film that, at its core, is a lesson in film history, a case for film preservation, and an unabashed love letter to the cinema. (As if one could expect anything less from Marty, cineaste supreme and film preservation champion.) Orphaned when his clockmaker father (Jude Law) is killed in a museum fire, Hugo takes to minding the clocks at a grand Beaux Arts train station, ducking the comically villainous policeman (Sacha Baron Cohen) by weaving in and out of secret nooks and crannies. Just as the clocks never stop ticking, neither does Hugo’s sharp mind– nor his light fingers– which deftly scrape the station for scraps of food and scraps of junk from an old man’s joke shop (a fantastic Ben Kingsley). The boy is desperate to repair a broken automaton, which is his last tangible connection with his father, and is convinced that the automaton is holding a secret message. He’s right… kind of. With the help of spunky, wide-eyed adventuress Isabelle (Chloe Grace Moretz), who happens to be the crotchety old joke shop owner’s niece, Hugo unlocks much more than he imaged. It is 1931 and young Hugo is a movie lover– movie going being one of his favorite pastimes with his late father– and he introduces them to Isabelle who has been banned from the movies by her uncle. They gasp and laugh in wonder at Harold Lloyd hanging from a clock in Safety Last (a feat Hugo mimics later in the film) and, it soon becomes clear why Isabelle’s uncle is so opposed to them. The man is none other than Georges Méliès, the first great artist of the cinema, and also the first true casualty of the film business. In a wondrous stretch of visual narrative, Scorsese recreates Méliès’ magical early days of invention and inspiration in dazzling 3D that is a tremendous thrill for film fans. Scorsese’s vivid recreation of A Trip to the Moon (1902) itself is worth the price of admission. Méliès, broken and shadowed by oblivion for so many decades, finds a new beginning through Hugo’s large blue eyes, just as Hugo finds a surrogate father figure in Méliès. They, in effect, fix each other. Too sugary sweet? Maybe, but hardly superficial, and like the classic films that so inspired Scorsese, the result is magic. Will kids bite Scorsese’s clever bate, which is so obviously geared at introducing classic films to a new audience? One can only hope…

Jean Deaujardin in THE ARTIST; Fredric March in A STAR IS BORN

And finally, from French filmmaker Michel Hazanavicius comes a film not set in Paris, but rather Hollywood 1927 during the onset of sound.  The Artist is a silent film, shot in black and white in 4:3 aspect ratio and worked from a scenario– not a script. Which means The Artist is The Real McCoy. Whimsical, gorgeous, and at times, just plain magical.

Trust me, no one was more skeptical than I going into The Artist. Just who did this Michel Hazanavicius think he was, anyway? What could he possibly know about silent filmmaking. I am happy to say that my misgivings were ill founded. Hazanavicius is completely in control here.

He is highly fluent with the grammar of silent film narrative. Occasionally, perhaps he understands it a little too well– Hazanivicius’ formulaic setup keeping me from being completely immersed in material. (And total  immersion is what silent film is all about– being completely absorbed in the pure magic of shadow and light). A film critic friend of mine shrugged when I mentioned this, replying that “silent melodramas were all pretty formulaic.” I bit my tongue. In fact, I have decided to bite my tongue about all of my nitpicks with The Artist. (i.e., Kinograph Studios not doing a sound test on its stars until 1929 when sound had in fact already taken over.) because this is NOT a historical film, it is a silent melodrama set in Hollywood.

And who cares that George Valentin (Jean Dujardin)’s tragic story is actually A Star is Born 3.0 (although the performance does, I say, give Fredric March some serious competition.) the fact is he nails it. And when we finally do hear Valentin’s voice, in the final seconds of the film, the fact that he has a French accent is a marvelous kick.

What is also exciting, for silent film enthusiasts, is the reaction of the audience. At a time when the theater going experience is becoming more and more insular, the shared experience of a dark theater becoming less and less of a cultural pasttime, it was so wonderfully (I hate the overuse of this word but no other will do) organic to hear nothing but music and laughter for 90 minutes. (And speaking of music, classic film fans will swoon over the fact that the film’s emotional climax relies entirely on Bernard Herrmann’s haunting score from Vertigo!)

And also, vindicating. An art form over 100 years old still has the power to entertain and charm mainstream audiences… hopefully, the critical success of The Artist means that someone will come along with the balls to prove that silent film also has the power to enlighten!

The Misfits and the End of an Era

"Honey, we all got to go sometime, reason or no reason. Dyin's as natural as livin'. The man who's too afraid to die is too afraid to live." Clark Gable in The Misfits

Another public apology, this time to the marvelous Shadowplay blog– a longtime Pictorial favorite. I agreed to participate in their recent The Late Films Blogathon: a week long look at the final films of directors, actors and writers. A fascinating concept and I was psyched to participate and… absolutely bollocked it up. More than a week overdue, here’s my entry. Major apologies to Shadowplay– one of the best damn blogs on the web.

By 1961, the Hollywood Studio System had begun a slow rot from the inside out which would, by decade’s end, see to its total collapse thus ending the Golden Age of classical Hollywood. The Misfits, directed by John Huston and penned by Arthur Miller, is a fascinating relic from those years in flux that bewildered its audiences just as much as it bewildered the execs.  On paper, the words Clark Gable (the king), Marilyn Monroe (the queen) and Montgomery Clift (the rebel) looked like box office magic. The result is a mixed bag that would be Gable and Monroe’s final film, and one of Clift’s last.

So if you’ve not seen The Misfits, it is a semi-romantic drama revolving around a curious love quadrangle: Aging cowboy (Gable) falls for a beautiful but damaged divorcee (Monroe) and the two set up, uh, housekeeping in a cottage in the Nevada desert belonging to Gable’s friend (Eli Wallach) who also happens to have the hots for Monroe, but she seems to be more emotionally attached to their punch-drunk friend Perce (Clift). It’s an odd structure, perhaps due to the fact that there isn’t any, as Miller masquerades a deeply intimate, and highly modern, character study as a Western romance.

It was no secret that Miller wrote the screenplay for his wife. The role of Roslyn could have been played by anyone, sure, but perhaps no other performance would have been nearly as truthful. In The Misfits, Marilyn is not acting. She is Marilyn– exposed and naked and shivering in the scalding Nevada sun. There is a moment towards the end of the film when Monroe accompanies Gable, Wallach and Clift to go “mustang’n” as they call it (roping up herds of wild mustang), where Marilyn erupts in a way that is, to this day, unsettling. The emotionally fragile Monroe, who has been horrified by the ferocity required in Gable and Wallach’s trade, finally has a meltdown. She is a white dot in the Nevada desert, screaming “MURDERERS” with blood-curdling tremor. Clift, the one emotional connection she has in the film, senses she’s right and, usurping Gable’s leadership, sets them free.

Monroe hated the moment.” He could have written me anything, and he comes up with this. If that’s what he thinks of me, then I’m not for him and he’s not for me.”

The emotional instability and frustrated relationships on the screen absolutely mirror what was going on behind the scenes.

By the time filming began in the High Sierras, the Miller/Monroe marriage was over. The two weren’t on speaking terms, although for sake of keeping up appearances, they shared a suite on location. But the cast and crew on this hellish shoot found themselves inadvertently herded off like the mustangs, into separate camps: Camp Miller and Camp Monroe.

Monroe, never the easiest actress to work with, had by this time become so addicted to pills that it was almost impossible for her to work. She suffered from acute insomnia, taking up to four Nembutals a night, and still could not sleep. As result of her insomnia, and a drug-induced state of paranoia, Monroe caused extreme delays in shooting, shutting down production entirely on three separate occasions.

Marilyn on set (copyright Magnum photos)

Clift too had reached a crisis point in both his professional and personal life and, being an insomniac like Monroe, was similarly dependent on pills. His alcoholism had earned him a high-risk reputation that made the Misfits crew apprehensive. Producer Frank Taylor was kept on 24-hour call should Monroe or Clift have … an emergency.  “Monroe and Clift were psychic twins,” said Taylor. “They recognized disaster in each other’s faces and giggled about it.”

There in the midst of Monroe’s endless delays, Miller’s frantic rewrites, Huston’s laissez-faire directorial approach (he seemed more interested in the gambling casinos than anything else), and Clift’s drug problem, Clark Gable labored to remain a true professional.

In the film, Gable’s character is a Cowboy forced to face the fact that (to steal from Margaret Mitchell) his civilization is one that has gone with the wind. The same was true of Gable himself, on the Misfits set.

Gable was, after all, The King of Hollywood: a veteran of screen who had weathered personal tragedies and career highs and lows with resounding resilience. Gable was a pro from the Studios System era when actors were, beneath all the glamour, 9-5 blue collar workers: they were up at 5am, were expected to show up on time, know their lines, and the directors were to get the job done on time and on budget. And so, the 59 year old, now looking older than his years, found himself on a set more or less rooted in chaos. The troubled shoot’s endless delays plagued Gable, who would retreat in the off hours to work on his new car and race it around the desert. As Gable became increasingly dissatisfied with the project, he began to drank heavily. (To say that Gable held his liquor better than his costars is quite an understatement.)

Gable was also unnerved by the acting approach of his costars: Marilyn Monroe, Montgomery Clift and Eli Wallach were all Method actors. Monroe’s close friend and acting coach happened to be Paula Strasberg who was a constant presence on the set. Gable came from a more… square shooting school of acting, perhaps best summed up by Jimmy Cagney: know your mark and know your lines. And still Gable tried his best not to complain, and more importantly, remain sympathetic to everyone, especially Monroe and Clift.

From Warren Harris’ Gable biography:  “Monroe finally tottered out in stiletto heels and a low cut white dress, marched straight over to Gable and apologized for the delay. Gable put his arms around her and said, You’re not late honey,” and took her by the hand and led her to a quiet corner for a private chat. Whatever Gable told her made her giggle and then laugh out loud. From then on they had a cordial working relationship.”

The King & Queen of Hollywood

One of the few times Gable did throw something of a fit (and for good reason) occurred only after having been pushed to the limit by Clift, whose scenes often required many retakes. Clift was ad-libbing with Gable in a scene and took to playfully punching Gable in the arm. Gable had arthritis. After repeatedly telling Clift to stop (which only made the at times mischievous Clift do it more) Gable lost it and, in the middle of the take, bellowed “FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, CUT THAT OUT!”

Clift burst into tears.

Shooting stopped.

One can only imagine the look of disbelief on Gable’s face as he turned to the crew and shouted “What in the fuck is the world coming to!”

Only weeks later, on November 6 1960, Gable suffered a massive heart attack and, ten days later, the King of Hollywood was dead.

Gable’s refreshingly honest self effacing personality, manifest from the earliest days of his stardom, proved true even in death with his request of a closed casket. “I don’t want a bunch of strangers staring down at my wrinkles and fat belly when I’m dead.” This straightforward quality mirrors an interview from the glory days of the 1930s: “I don’t believe I’m king of anything. I’m not much of an actor… I’m no Adonis, and I’m as American as the telephone poles I used to climb to make a living. [Men] see me broke, in trouble, scared… they see me making love to Harlow or Colbert and they say if he can do it, I can do it, and figure it’ll be fun to go home and  make love to their wives.”

As is often the habit, Hollywood was eager to point blame on a premature death. Monroe’s behavior was such a stress on Gable it gave him a heart attack. Huston not using a double for Gable gave him a heart attack.

Gable and the end of an era...

Kay Gable’s now famous remarks to Louella Parsons are more or less the reason for this.

“It wasn’t the physical exertion that killed him, it was the horrible tension, that eternal waiting, waiting, waiting. He waited around forever, for everybody. He’d get so angry that he’d just go ahead and do anything to keep occupied. That’s why he did those awful horse scenes where they dragged him on his stomach. He had a stand-in and a stuntman, but he did most of it himself. I told him ‘your’e crazy’ but he wouldn’t listen.”

From John Huston’s autobiography: “One of the myths attached to ‘The Misfits’ was that Clark Gable died of a heart attack because of over-exertion on this film. This is utter nonsense. Toward the end of the picture there was a contest between Clark and the stallion the cowboys had captured. It looked like rough work, and it was, but it was the stunt men who were thrown around, not Clark.”

NOT a stunt double.

There is no denying the fact that The Misfits proved enormous strain on Gable, physically and emotionally. But. Be that as it may, the truth is, The Misfits didn’t directly kill Gable anymore than the Kennedy’s killed Marilyn. The strenuous Misfits shoot did not cause Gable’s premature death– but at the same time, cannot be disqualified as one of its many contributing factors.

Monroe did not attend Gable’s funeral (although Miller did), although it is reported she cried for two days straight after hearing the shocking news.

One year and nine months later, Marilyn Monroe was found dead in her Beverly Hills home.

Upon learning of Monroe’s death, which shook Clift greatly, he was noted as having said ‘Hollywood deaths always come in threes. First Gable, now Marilyn… who’s next.’

Clift would make two more films after The Misfits: Huston’s Freud and Raoul Levy’s The Defector: the first a mistake from start to finish ensuring Clift’s inability to work anywhere in Hollywood and leading to the last film, a European spy flick filmed on the Continent. Like Gable, Clift would die of a heart attack before its release.

The eerie lyrcisism of Miller’s words would prove to be hauntingly prophetic: “Honey, nothing can live unless something dies.”

Welcome Robert Osborne Back December 1st — Be There or Be Square!

Welcome Back Bob has generated a flurry of activity over on Twitter and Tumblr– thanks to any and all who have turned out to voice their support of Mr. Robert Osborne’s return to TCM. Since today is the big day, The Pictorial is letting its readers know that at 8PM Eastern Standard Time, when Osborne hits the airwaves, we are co-hosting a massive Live Tweet.

If by chance you are a Twitter user, please do log on at 8PM EST and post a quick tweet welcoming him back. (And don’t forget to use the hash tag #WelcomeBackBob so we can find you!) If you don’t have a twitter account, do feel free to send your thoughts to the Pictorial and we shall post it for you.

Happy Tweeting!

Welcome Back, Bob!

Robert Osborne: classic film champion since 1994.

Dear Turner Classic Movie Fans Everywhere:

As all of you are very well aware, this week marks the return of the one, the only, wonderful Mr. Robert Osborne who, after a five-month hiatus, resumes his primetime hosting duties on the TCM stage this week, December 1st.

Welcome Back Bob” is a week-long celebration brought to you by the online constituency of the classic film community. The Kitty Packard Pictorial and classic film blogger Will McKinley are sponsoring this humble little tribute, but the voices that truly matter are YOURS: everyone who makes up our vital, virtual community of classic film fanatics. We are, I think it’s safe to say, a close knit, affectionate community of film lovers and, with Bob Osborne being a patron saint of classic film, it is only fitting to rally together this week to share what it is we love about our dear Robert O— and classic film itself— and why it is such a unifying force.

Here’s how it works:

Hop on over to the Welcome Back Bob Tumblr page this week and voice up in any way you like: share memories, a video, a photo, a “Welcome Back Bob” graphic, a blog post, or even just a li’l old tweet– the sky’s the limit! If you post something on your blog or tumblr, tweet @MissCarley and we’ll repost it. And if/when you do tweet, make sure to tag it with #WelcomeBackBob so we can find it and share it!

Sound and Vision: Charlie Chaplin and the Sound of Silence

First things first: this post is in conjunction with the Park Circus Charlie Chaplin Blogathon … for which I am shamefully late. The blogathon wrapped two days ago, but I absolutely HAD to contribute. Park Circus does amazing work: a UK-based organization dedicated to bringing classic films back to their home on the big screen. Not being a part of their Chaplin blogathon would be unforgivable!

So. That being said…

I thought it would be fun to explore Chaplin’s fascinating love/hate relationship with a little thing called … sound. Chaplin may have been the one filmmaker to hold out the longest against sound, but he also happened to be one of the earliest filmmakers to embrace it. A fitting contradiction given Chaplin was a man of so many contradictions.

The truth is, Chaplin could neither read nor write music. He had no formal musical training of any sort and taught himself to play the violin and cello entirely by ear. What Chaplin did have was a childhood deeply rooted in late Victorian English music hall culture. Music, whatever its form, was therefore an integral part of Chaplin’s Dickensian childhood. So many of his boyhood memories were wrapped in the soft comfort of sheet music– melodies brainwashed into him by his mother Hannah, herself a semi-successful music hall performer before her slide into mental deterioration.

“It’s beauty was a sweet mystery I did not understand,” Chaplin said, waxing poetic about those early music hall days. “I only knew I loved it and I became reverent as the sounds carried themselves through my brain via my heart.”

This sort of reverent attachment is essential to assessing Chaplin’s musical endeavors. Music was (pardon the pun) instrumental to Chaplin’s growth as an artist.  How could it not? Charlie fell in love for the first time there in the damp, dirty, overcrowded backstage of the London music hall (Hetty, a beautiful young dancer who would become, in Chaplin’s later memoir, an almost Arthurian figure) and Chaplin’s own poetic (if not somewhat inflated) prose he would pen for journals at the height of his fame romanticized those early years:

Lambeth, the land of concertina music! As I walk along the darkened streets, I hum to myself some of the old familiar tunes again:

“Why did I leave my little back room in Bloomsbury, Where I could live on a pound a week in luxury…” 

These old songs have their associations and a flood of memories surges through my mind. The streets are deserted and there is a slight mist. The houses are just visible in outline. Here in these humble quarters I walk along as though I were visiting some fairyland…. How often I have heard this waltz, refrain on a Saturday night played on concertinas by Cockney lads as they strolled by the house, the music gradually diminishing in the distance, dying off into the night. –Excerpt from A Comedian Sees The World, The Ladies Home Companion 1933.

When Sidney Chaplin successfully recruited his young half-brother to join powerful impresario Fred Karno’s music hall troupe (“Karno’s Army”) it was the music that became integral to the famous Karno pantomime.

From a 1952 BBC Interview:

“The [Karno sketches] had splendid music. For instance, if they had squalor surroundings with a lot of comedy tramps working in it, they ou see, they would have very beautiful boudoir music, something of the eighteenth century, very lush and very grandioso, just purely as satirical and as a counterpoint; and I copied a great deal from Mr. Fred Karno in that direction.”

Chaplin in THE VAGABOND

His nearly intoxicating love of music led him to, at age 16 while still under Karno’s contract, learn the cello and violin. A defiant perfectionist, Chaplin would will himself to possess an adroit fluency with the strings that came with age– but at the onset, Chaplin’s natural comedic dexterity far outweighed any musical aspirations.

Chaplin may have left Karno for Keystone and Hollywood in 1914, but music would stay the rest of his life. A fact that would serve him grandly in the face of the silent comic’s greatest adversary: the talkies.

Now, Chaplin was by no means a musical prodigy (remember, he could neither read nor write music) and there are some critics to this day maintain he was never truly a bona-fide composer. I understand their arguments and court them, but resolutely disagree. It is true that Chaplin’s first works were far from polished, and his first scores not original compositions. They were, instead, dreamy gossamer re-imaginings of his favorite pieces. A patchwork quilt, if you will, of music hall memories.

In 1916, while newly contracted with The Mutual Film Company (anyone who thinks that the Mutuals aren’t his best shorts needs their head examined… or a Valium) Chaplin set up a music publishing shop in downtown Los Angeles called (ever so creatively) The Charlie Chaplin Music Publishing Company.

The sheet music for Chaplin’s “Oh! That Cello,” “The Peace Patrol” and “There’s Always One You Can’t Forget” would sell only a handful of copies. Downtown Los Angeles in 1916 was, simply, not Tin Pan Alley in 1916. Even a sky-rocketing name like Chaplin’s couldn’t attract interest. Not surprisingly, the company folded not long after.

Typed correspondence from the Charlie Chaplin Publishing Company that, prophetically, has nothing to do with music. The company lasted only a few months.

Sheet Music for "The Peace Patrol"

Also not surprisingly: Chaplin did not give up.

From the beginning, Chaplin acknowledged the symbiotic relationship between music in film. Others did as well– D.W. Griffith composed original music for some of his films and commissioned a score for Broken Blossoms– but none came remotely close to equaling Chaplin’s passion for telling stories shadow, light and music.

Chaplin allayed himself with well-established composers with whom he could collaborate.  Eric James and David Raskin are perhaps the most famous, helping Chaplin create the unforgettable scores to the likes of Modern Times and Limelight. But Chaplin’s first such collaboration was with musician Frederick Stahlberg in 1923 for the daring directorial departure, A Woman of Paris. The film was his first venture as a truly independent filmmaker, under the creative protection of United Artists (of which he was a founding member) as well as his first dabbling in serious drama. Chaplin was already a director supreme, an auteur decades before that word had any real relevance, and his confidence was such that he made a decision that mystified everyone: A Woman of Paris would be a film by Charlie Chaplin without Charlie Chaplin. Hardly surprising, the public did not respond. After all, the public reasoned, “Who wants to see a Charlie Chaplin film without Charlie Chaplin?”

It flopped.

But the very few fortunate enough to have actually seen the film during its first run, would have also, in addition to witnessing the birth of a first-rate director, witnessed the birth of a pioneering film composer. This fact has more than its fair share of critics, but regardless of Chaplin’s musical merits the fact of the matter is inarguable: he was absolutely one of the first filmmakers to be just as passionate about the music of his films than any other creative aspect of the process. Something all the more remarkable given the fact that Chaplin’s enthusiasm for film scoring came about at a time when there was really no such thing as a film score.

Always drawn to musicians (his illustrious roster of acquaintances would come to include such 20th Century maestros as Igor Stravinsky) in 1925 Chaplin took a brief respite from filming The Gold Rush to team up with the highly popular Los Angeles-based bandleaders Abe Lyman and Gus Arnheim.  By way of perspective, during the gloriously delirious heyday of 1920s Hollywood, The Ambassador Hotel’s Coconut Grove was THE in-spot and Abe Lyman’s California Orchestra were the Ambassador Hotel’s big attraction. (Gus Arnheim was the pianist soon to make a major name in his own right.)  Arnheim’s jaunty, jazz-age tunes sizzled nationwide over the KNX radio waves their 78 recordings (still very much in existence) are high examples of hot ‘20s West Coast jazz.

From this partnership came a composition that was, really for the first time, consummate Chaplin: “With You Dear, In Bombay.” While the original Brunswick 78 is tinny, the energy of the piece still comes through and marvelous re-recordings of this and other Chaplin compositions are available on the excellent album Oh! That Cello.

Charlie with Gus Arnheim (at the piano) and Abe Lyman.

Chaplin’s guest conducting Lyman’s orchestra was noted in Music Trade Review, July 1925:

 Film Comedian an Able Left-Handed Violinist and Recently Conducted Orchestra in Making of Brunswick Record.

Few of the admirers of Charlie Chaplin, the well-known film comedian, know that he is a composer or that he is much of a musician. As a matter of fact, however, he is quite accomplished in this direction. He studied the violin in his youth and is one of the few left-handed bow-players the world has known. He is also a conductor as was demonstrated by his ability in directing Abe Lyman’s Cocoanut Grove Orchestra when they recently made the recording of his new song “With You, Dear, In Bombay.” This record was made for the Brunswick-Balke-Collender Company. Chaplin not only wielded the baton on this occasion but himself played the violin solo part of the recording. It is said that the Brunswick Co. has inaugurated a special publicity department and will feature this Chaplin recording. “With You, Dear, In Bombay” is published by M. Witmark & Sons. Chaplin wrote both the words and music. It is a lively fox-trot with an appealing swing and very tuneful melody. The Witmark Co. will exploit the number on a wide scale.

Chaplin (far left) on the violin while Sid Grauman sits at the piano, Mary Pickford sings and Douglas Fairbanks plays the bass.

That same year, Chaplin released one of the masterpieces of silent cinema– and indeed, cinema itself– The Gold Rush. Still years before the advent of talkies, Chaplin went to extraordinary lengths to protect the musical fidelity of his vision by composing a score to accompany the film, the sheet music of which was provided to theatres. Of course, Main Street Hollywood was light years from Main Street Anywhere, U.S.A., and Chaplin’s musical accompaniments were very often lost in the process. A fact which, to say the least, annoyed Chaplin The Perfectionist. (I could rightfully use the term ‘control freak’ but that would be terribly disrespectful: it was Chaplin’s obsessive behavior that made his films as perfect as they are.)

Someone who dedicated himself to recovering these lost, and highly important pieces of film history, was silent film composer Timothy Brock. Brock restored a number of Chaplin’s original scores and was instrumental in their public re-introduction in (cough) modern times.

There is a tendency to believe that Chaplin’s collaborations with his musical advisors merely consisted of Chaplin humming a tune while his associate took down the dictations. Chaplin himself made the remark, and it is actually a case of Chaplin giving himself too little credit. Brock described the process this way:

“Chaplin’s composing methods, as we all know perhaps by now, involved a “musical associate” who would transcribe what Chaplin composed, either on the piano or the violin. From there, Chaplin, sitting beside [City Lights musical advisor] Johnston on the piano would orchestrate each passage as he had heard it in his mind. The unfortunate quote that I and my colleagues have to contend with, that Chaplin simply “la-la-ed” his music to the arranger, was not only a self-deprecating remark but wholly inaccurate. He was as meticulous with his musical output as he was with his directorial results. In the original manuscripts there are pages and pages of rejected music that he deemed unworthy in the final cuts. It is clear by looking at these documents that Chaplin not only knew what was involved in composing just the perfect music for the scenes, but had the objectivity to discard what any normal director would probably have used. Therefore, there is not a note out of place in the entire score.”

Serenading Jackie Coogan on the set of THE KID

The production of Chaplin’s silent masterpiece, City Lights, was plagued by a state of neurotic paranoia. With so much at stake, Chaplin drove himself to the absolute limit on the picture– not to mention those he worked with– and while the result is pure cinematic perfection, the result is also nearly perfect film score.

Hollywood’s first synchronized film soundtrack was Warner Bros’ 1926 John Barrymore starrer Don Juan, and of course with the advent of the talkies, music had taken on profound importance. But Chaplin, already a seasoned pro in this particular area of production, perhaps understood music and its relationship to narrative structure more than anyone else working at that pivotal silent/sound crossover. Although refusing to talk, Chaplin embraced this new technology with radiant enthusiasm as it finally allowed him to exercise complete control over musical accompaniment.  Relying on that patchwork quilt method of his, the City Lights score is seamless.

“His scores, within the boundaries that he set himself, are perfect,” remarked legendary silent film composer Carl Davis. “I would not change a note of them.”

“I use music as a counterpoint,” explained Chaplin. “ I learned that from the Fred Karno Company. For instance if they had squalid surroundings with a lot of comedy tramps working in it, they would have very beautiful, boudoir music, something of the 18th century, very lush and grandiose, and it would be satirical, a counterpoint.”

This style is highly evident in the original score for The Gold Rush and, of course, City Lights, (Jose Padilla’s “La Violetera” pitch perfect poignancy as the poor flower girl’s theme song) but also in his 1936 final silent feature Modern Times. (Flawed as it is, I love the ballsy, bad-ass nature of Modern Times: Chaplin effectively extending a prominently raised middle finger to anyone and everyone telling him what not to do and why not to do it.)

What would later become one of the 20th century’s most beloved standards, the sweet melancholy of “Smile” swirls in and out of Modern Times, framing moments of destitution and despair with sublime loveliness.

“Sometimes a musician would get pompous with me,” said Chaplin, “and I would cut him short: ‘Whatever the melody is, the rest is just a vamp.’ After putting music to one or two pictures I began to look at a conductor’s score with a professional eye and to know whether a composition was over-orchestrated or not. If I saw a lot of notes in the brass and woodwind section I would say: ‘That’s too black in the brass,’ or ‘too busy in the woodwinds’.”

Carl Davis, very accurately, made this observation: “His assistants had a terrible time. It must have been torture. He was very, very moody.”

This, I’m sure, surprises no one.

But the simple fact remains: Charlie’s only competitive Oscar win was not for acting nor for directing (crimes, both) but for Best Original Score: the 1952 beauty Limelight.

Keaton and Chaplin on the set of LIMELIGHT

As Chaplin grew on in years, especially while living Swiss exile, so did his obsession with perfecting the sound of his silents. Chaplin’s final musical associate, Eric James, worked closely with Chaplin during his ailing years in the 1970s and, therefore, took on a much larger creative role than his predecessors.

In 1975, at the age of 86 (two years before his death) Chaplin and James worked on recording the score for A Woman of Paris. “As the years went by, Charlie found it more and more difficult to think of ideas for the music and left a great deal of it to me. … When I arrived to work with Charlie on A Woman of Paris, he looked quite weak and ill. I was very distressed to find him in such a state and I could see that he found even talking quite an effort. I therefore told him not to worry but that when I had finished each piece and played it over to him, he need only shake his head…”

In these later scores, Chaplin revisits the music hall memories of his youth, and grand music hall-esque string arrangements dominate the scores for Pay Day, The Kid, The Circus. It is, I think, fair to say that all of the Chaplin/James arrangements are Chaplin’s autumnal swan songs to that childhood that was so very much a part of his lifelong love affair with music.

Recommended listening:

Oh! That Cello (Beautiful arrangements of Chaplin’s early sheet music.)

Charlie Chaplin: The Original Music From His Movies (A marvelous, comprehensive collection of Chaplin’s film compositions.)

The Film Music of Charles Chaplin by Carl Davis. (This is out of print, but worth the digging. Got mine 8 years ago from a Russian e-bay seller and still cherish it.)

NaNoWriMo: A Public Service Announcement

Just like last year, the Pictorial will be on something of a hiatus this month owing to the voluntary slavery known as National Novel Writing Month. NaNaWriMo is a major creative kick in the ass, not for the faint of heart, and I utterly failed last year… which I aim not to repeat this time around.

The Pictorial will still be around, in spits and spurts, and will be back online fulltime first thing December 1st.

Unless I’m in rehab. 50,000 words in thirty days could drive even a Vicar to liquor…

The Great Big Beautiful Project Keaton Blogroll

Wow! What a month it’s been. I hardly know where to start .

Project Keaton has been a daily thrill over on the Project Keaton Tumblr page as well as here on The Pictorial, and with the project officially ending yesterday, I am delighted to post the our Great Big Beautiful Project Keaton Blogroll. The following is a list of every single contributor with links to their respective sites. If you haven’t been following Project Keaton on Tumblr, this is your chance to catch up on a month long of Buster Love. (Click here for a PDF of our blogroll_list.)

Silent film fans from all over the globe came out in droves to show their support for the project: England, Scotland, The Netherlands, Australia, Spain, South America and North America. The creative output has been fantastic. Thanks to every last blessed one of you for giving Buster something to smile about in October.

Buster Keaton Month
Jonathan Melville
HOLYROOD OR BUST
http://holyroodorbust.wordpress.com

Buster Keaton and Film Noir
Buster, Trains and One Week
John Bengtson
SILENT LOCATIONS
http://silentlocations.wordpress.com

Keaton in Color
Rachel
MACABRE STANWYCK
http://macabresstanwyck.tumblr.com

The Buster Keaton Cocktail
CRAZY BITCHES IN HISTORY
http://crazybitchesinhistory.tumblr.com

Buster Keaton and Roscoe Arbuckle
Buster is the 99%
PRETTY CLEVER FILMS
http://prettycleverfilms.wordpress.com

Happy Birthday Buster
Maudit
ABSURDITY
http://maudit.tumblr.com

Buster Sketch
Keaton & Cat
CHUCK LORIS
http://chuckloris.tumblr.com

116 Years of Buster Keaton
Jandy
THE FRAME
http://the-frame.com

The General: The Greatest Film Ever…?
Terence Towles Canote
A SHROUD OF THOUGHTS
http://mercurie.blogspot.com

Buster, Twitter and the 21st Century
Chris Edwards
SILENT VOLUME
http://silent-voume.blogspot.com

Buster in Color
Pidi
LITTLE LOVE NEST
http://littlelovenest.tumblr.com

How About A Little Dinner and a Show?”
Ivan
THRILLING DAYS OF YESTERYEAR
http://thrillingdaysofyesteryear.wordpress.com

Busker’s Bounty
Phillip Van Scotter & Abbey Pleviak
BUSKERFLY PRODUCTIONS
http://buskerfly.com

The Artist and Buster Keaton
Will McKinley
WILL MCKINLEY
http://willmckinley.tumblr.com

“Sherlock Jr. Soundtrack”
Fern Lindzon
FERN’S FLIGHTS
http://fernjazz.wordpress.com

“Colourizations of Buster”
1001 FILMS: A SCREEN ODYSSEY
http://1001films.wordpress.com

Parkour and Pathos
SILENT STANTZAS
http://silentstanzas.blogspot.com

Tattoo Art
MILF IN TRAINING
http://milfintraining.tumblr.com

Buster Would’ve Made a Great B-Boy
Irene Vandemark
GLITTER AND DOOM
http://oak-land.tumblr.com

Viola Dana & Buster Keaton’s The General
Kathy Cocerig
VIOLA DANA
http://violadana.com

It‘s Buster Keaton’s Birthday
Keaton, Arbuckle & Chaplin
MYTHICAL MONKEY
http://mythicalmonkey.blogspot.com

A Little Bit O’ Buster in the Good Old Summertime
Brandie
TRUE CLASSICS
http://trueclassics.wordpress.com

The Accidental Surrealist
ALL ADDERS ARE PUFFS
http://alladdersarepuffs.tumblr.com

A Hard Act to Follow
THE PROVOCATEUR
http://theprovocateur.tumblr.com

Life Lessons from Buster
Trevor Jost
A MODERN MUSKETEER
http://amodernmusketeer.tumblr.com

The High Sign
Angela
THE HOLLYWOOD REVUE
http://hollywoodrevue.wordpress.com

Buster in Dutch
Janneke Maan
OVER THE EDGE OF MY HANDS
http://janneke-man.tumblr.com

Buster Keaton Art
Kate Gabrielle
SCATHINGLY BRILLIANT
http://scathingly-brilliant.blogspot.com

Porkpie Cupcakes
Girl Gatsby
THE HOUSE OF GATSBY
http://girlgatsby.blogspot.com

And congratulations as well to the lucky Project Keaton participants, soon to be chosen at random, who will be owners of the marvelous new line of Buster Pork Pie t shirts from vintage artist Girl Gatsby!

Farewell from Project Keaton– and remember to keep Buster smiling! No matter the month of the year!

And so we’re officially signing off from Project Keaton with this special tribute video prepared by the Pictorial:

Those Damn-Fine Damfinos: A Chat with the International Buster Keaton Society

The Kitty Packard Pictorial recently sat down with the Vice President of the International Buster Keaton Society for a chat about all things Keaton… and Damfino.

Some of silent film’s greatest legends are alive and well on a sleepy tree-lined street in West Hollywood. Douglas, Charlie, Roscoe, Rudy and Max (respectively) bullet out the front door in a kinetic burst of energy, every bit as charming as their silver screen counterparts, and nuzzle me up their front stoop. The rambunctious crew of spaniels belong to the lady waiting for me at the door. Dr Tracey Goessel: Vice President of the International Buster Keaton Society, Douglas Fairbanks historian supreme, an all around swell dame and owner of the most infectious little bunch of bow-wows in town.

With Doug and Charlie playing at my feet, I joined Goessel in her sitting room for a chat about the man of the hour, silent film legend Buster Keaton, and the venerable institution founded in his honor: The Damfinos.

Such is the affectionate nickname for members of The International Buster Keaton Society, an organization that has championed the Keaton legacy since 1992. Silent film fans, even if they’re not Society members, have more than likely heard of them and their tireless dedication to, as their mission statement reads, fostering an appreciation and understanding of Keaton’s life, career and films. In honor of The Pictorial’s month long celebration of the life and work of Keaton, it felt right to get The Damfino story straight from the source.

The Kitty Packard Pictorial:

Now, for the record, it’s pronounced…

Tracey Goessel:

“Damn-fi-noh!” [Laughs] The Damfinos were founded in 1992 on Buster’s birthday, October 4th, and here’s the story. [Damfino President] Patricia Tobias, her sister Wendy and their friend Melody Bunting had wanted to celebrate Buster’s birthday by baking a cake that they felt would be an homage to Buster: a cake in the shape of a pork pie hat. But when Tobias began to decorate the cake, it turned into a disaster. The icing dripped off, and looked more like a wad of dead cake-cookie-dough than a porkpie hat. So Tobias said, “How can we honor Buster’s birthday now?” So instead, they started a club… a club that has since become an international nonprofit society.

KP:

A society?

TG:

The International Buster Keaton Society. And they started calling it The Damfinos. Now, just for the record: anyone who has seen Keaton’s The Boat or College, knows that Damfino is a pun from Buster. In The Boat, he’s named his boat ‘Damfino’ and at the end of the film the boat sinks. His family is up to their knees in water and the wife turns and asks him “where are we?” We read his lips in reply: “Damned ‘f I know.” And so… we became The Damfinos. I say ‘we,’ although I didn’t actually come on board with them until 1995.

KP:

And how did you become involved?

TG:

I discovered The Damfinos when I got my very first Kino laserdisc.

KP:

Uh, oh. Watch out, laserdisc. High tech…

TG:

“Well, it was! I remember being so amazed that i could see all the wicker in the all the chairs in Steamboat Bill, Jr.! Anyway, a little card came with it saying ‘Join The Damfinos’ and I thought … holy cow. I just so happened to have had photographs of a missing sequence from the middle of The General that Keaton had filmed, and then edited out.”

KP:

Sorry, but I have to stop and ask how you came into that!

TG:

The Wisconsin Center for Film and Theatre Research has the United Artists Collections. And in that collection they had the key book stills for The General. As a college kid in Madison, I went in and studied the key book and I discovered that he had a sequence in the middle with [character actor] Snitz Edwards, our beloved Snitz, that showed him wearing a stovepipe hat. In the existing copies of the film, Keaton throws the hat away in kind of a lame gag. But see, The General is full of symmetry: the bridge burning at the beginning, and the bridge burning at the end…

KP:

Well yes, the entire second half of the film is a reverse of the first half.

TG:

Exactly. And in the dead center of the film was a sequence built around that stovepipe hat. Keaton goes into town and gets stuck: he’s in the North, has Confederate money and goes into a restaurant with Snitz Edwards where he somehow learns the Yankee’s plans and manages a comic escape. Keaton, a genius, rightly decided that the pacing of the film was such that it would have more dramatic interest with the scene that’s actually in the film– the scene with him hiding from the Confederates under the table– and cut the other sequence out. I wrote a letter to the group’s president, Patricia Eliot Tobias and The Damfinos, telling her that I had five photographs from that cut scene in The General and would they be of any interest to her and the organization? She said ‘Wow. Yes. In fact, we’re going to put out a magazine called The Great Stone Face and we can run them in that.’ [Laughs] So far we’ve only put out one issue of that magazine.”

KP:

So that’s why I could never track down any back issues!

TG:

Because there aren’t any! But our quarterly newsletter, The Keaton Chronicle, has astonishing content. Just as an example, Patty wrote an article about 10 years ago on the history of The Buford, the boat from The Navigator. If you remember Diane Keaton’s character from Reds– the woman her character was based on…

[We struggle to remember. For the record, it’s Emma Goldman]

…Well anyway, she was eventually deported from the U.S. on that same boat, The Buford. Oh, there were so many great stories she had about The Buford. And then a terrific writer started writing a column for us… you know who I mean, he writes about silent movie locations…

[This time, we nail it]

KP:

John Bengtson!

TG:

Yes! John discovered The Damfinos before he published his first book [Silent Echoes: Discovering Early Hollywood Through the Films of Buster Keaton]. He came to the first Damfinos convention and had with him a bunch of snapshots that he thought we’d find interesting. So he started writing for us. To this day, every quarter we get wonderful articles from John telling us ‘here’s where Buster shot this scene here, and that scene there, and this is the street view today from this angle here…’

KP:

He’s amazing.

TG:

I don’t know how he does it.

KP:

Now, the Buster Keaton Convention is held annually in Muskegon, Michigan, the site of Buster’s summer home as a youngster, the first actual home town for Keaton…. he had spent his entire childhood up to that point on the road with the family’s vaudeville act.

TG:

The first convention was held at the time of Buster’s 100th birthday in 1995. We meet at a number of locations in Muskegon, one of them is a marvelous Victorian train station that was in fact the depot that would bring Joe and Myra and their three children– Buster, his sister Louise and brother Jingles — to Muskegon every summer. We go to the location where the Keaton’s cottage had been on the lake– there’s still a stone wall there at the lake, on which Joe and Myra had carved a little inscription. We even play baseball on the lot where Buster would play baseball every summer — a baseball field that will be renamed in Keaton’s honor next year. I mean, it’s just an empty lot, but the point is, it’s still there. It’s a very organic experience.

KP:

Sounds like an almost holistic experience.

TG:

Well, it’s still academic in ways. Our lectures are very deep and the attendees really do bring their A-Game. And let’s be honest: film nuts, and I speak for myself here, we often have the social skills of a gnat…. not always the most polished of people. But… people came. And, remember, this was the mid-1990s, before the Internet really took off, and suddenly there was a community of people who had finally found each other. They found the film family they’d never known, but always wanted. Anyone who is a football fan can find another football fan at the next bar stool. But we, as silent film fans, well, many of us spent our childhoods alone.

KP:

Yes! You spend your whole life thinking ‘Am I the ONLY person on this planet who loves this?’

TG:

Right! So, in 1995, all of the Keaton fans finally found each other. And it was a great mix of people: from NASA scientists, to doctors, to lawyers, to working class folks who’d scraped their last pennies together in order to make it to Muskegon.

KP:

Because it meant so very much to be there. So really, it’s a family event.

TG:

Absolutely. For instance, the Saturday night meal is actually a Thanksgiving type dinner — complete with turkey and all the rest — because we felt we were with our real family. We’d even have a cake that was baked in the shape of a pork pie hat. And of course, the convention has its annual quiz, which is notoriously difficult…

KP:

Do you know, in the introduction of the book Tempest in a Flat Hat, the author is at a Damfino convention. And he’s trying to keep cool, you know, thinking ‘Hey, I’m writing a book, i know must know my stuff’ … and the man is terrified.

TG:

Oh my God, I know. That quiz asks the most obscure things. I’ve never won. But I exempt myself– that’s my excuse.

KP:

But you really hit on something a minute ago: Things are so accessible now. Before the luxury of the Internet, you really had to dig deep to find each other. And to be able to connect on that level for the first time…

TG:

People had no idea there was this other community out there. And The Damfinos was one of the first organizations of its kind. In many ways, Buster united people who otherwise would never have met. And, as a matter of fact, there have been several wedding that have come of the group, including that of our president, Patricia Eliot Tobias, and her husband, film historian and Emmy-winning filmmaker Joe Adamson.

KP:

I’ve said it a million times, Tracy, but I’ll say it again: If I’d had access to what kids have access to these days… well, as a middle-schooler in love with silent movies and with movie star crushes on fellas long gone — I could have been spared so much therapy.

TG:

The Mean Girls wouldn’t have mattered! But see, you’re still young enough that at least if you actually wanted to watch a silent film you could. For me, I had to read about them and then I had to work for them: I would do ironing for a dollar an hour so that I could save up to buy what were called Blackhawk Films– 8mm one or two reelers.

KP:

OK. Yeah. You win.

TG:

And now people can see 35mm caliber prints on Blu-ray, where what you’re seeing it better than projected in the theatres.

KP:

Speaking of theatre projection: this year at Turner Classic Movie Film Festival here in Hollywood, they screened The Cameraman…

TG:

I know, I was there.

KP:

Wasn’t that phenomenal?

TG:

Yes, but: the first reel was in 16mm! I was so peeved about that! Later Patty Tobias explained to me: there isn’t 35 mm source material for that first reel. But, going back to The Damfinos, every year we show an available 35mm print of a feature at a theater called the Frauenthal Theater, with live music by Chicago-area theater organist Dennis Scott. The Frauenthal is a silent film era grand palace that has, in the middle of nowhere Michigan, that’s been restored to its former glory. It is just exquisite. And to see Buster with live music, on the big screen, projected properly, in a grand theater, the middle of nowhere, is…

KP:

Sounds overwhelming.

TG:

It is. And the community comes, they aren’t that familiar with Buster’s films, but still… they know he’s sort of theirs, somehow. We used to have a little lady who’d come — she had been in vaudeville with her family — she was in her nineties then, and she remembered Buster’s family, and would tell stories… We also show rare films of Buster’s at the convention. Rare film. We’re talking old commercials, and episodes from The Donna Reed Show, even out-takes from some of the old shows, some of which, I believe, are now available on Kino. We also get to have people speak, like James Karen who used to work with Buster in the theater, and so many others. This past year, Buster’s nephew, Harry Moore, was the special guest, and he had wonderful stories from his childhood about what Buster was like. Last year, it was Bart Williams, who as a child had visited Buster and his third wife, Eleanor, at their home, plus Buster’s daughter-in-law, Barbara Talmadge, who shared her memories.

KP:

In addition to the convention, do The Damfinos host any other such special events?

TG:

Well, at one point, The Damfinos had a party at Buster’s 1920s mansion, the Italian villa.

KP:

In Beverly Hills?

TG:

Yes. It was being renovated at the time, but folks like Leonard and Alice Maltin were there, people got to dance on the floor that Valentino did the tango on, and we got to watch a film, Parlor, Bedroom and Bath, in Buster’s screening room. I mean, the film was dreadful, but it was partially filmed at the Villa, featuring rooms filmed in the house. And then we got to go into the film vault, which had been part of a garden shed, where James Mason had discovered the original prints of Buster’s films that had been thought to be lost. It was partially underground, and it was where Buster used to do his editing. So in the 1950s, James Mason moves into the house, discovers all of these films, and that leads to the rediscovery of Keaton’s films in the ‘50s.

KP:

See, I thought it was in the 1960s…

TG:

The films were found in the 1950s, and by the early 1960s they were making the rounds at places like The Venice Film Festival.

KP:

God bless James Mason.

TG:

And, of course, we also had the privilege of enjoying the support of [Buster’s widow] Eleanor Keaton.

KP:

She was a strong supporter of the organization, right?

TG:
Incredibly strong. And was she ever a tough, no nonsense lady.

KP:

Really?

TG:
Well, she sort of had to be. It was her temperament: her father died when she was very young, and she was on her own supporting herself from the age of 14.

KP:

So the Damfinos got to know her very well, then?

TG:

Yes, very well. We even were able to help with medical bills when her health was failing. One major contribution was that we were able to work with her on getting some original source material. She even let us borrow and copy (and we ultimately encouraged her to donate to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences) were Buster’s date books. It’s a series of small notebook from the 1910s that Buster used to keep track of the family’s travel around the country on their vaudeville circuits. vaudeville sketches. When you read through them, you could almost see when the trains were departing; in one book, he’d draw little sketches, and when it was summertime and the family was getting ready to go to vacation in Muskegon, Michigan, he’d draw a happy face and it would write the word “home”…

KP:

Muskegon was his home even back in the teens?

TG:

Muskegon was his only childhood home. That was the only place he had that was constant– stable. The book also shows that he was managing the money. A great insight that shows how he wasn’t some kind of illiterate. I mean, he was still a youngster and was keeping the books.

KP:

Minding the books of one of the most successful Vaudeville acts around! Couldn’t his father be counted on to do the job?

TG:

His father was busy booking the act around the country and writing a really innovative advertising campaign for them. Later on, when Buster was in his late teens, Joe became an alcoholic, which ultimately led Buster and his mother to break up the act in 1917.

KP:

But by the time Buster was a young man…

TG:

Later, as an artist, Buster had very little interest in business. He really never in any way shape or form negotiated favorable deals for himself. And I wonder whether his lack of interest came from that experience in his youth, or whether it was just his temperament… but Eleanor’s sharing that original source material was absolutely invaluable.

KP:

And it makes perfect psychological sense as well.

TG:

It’s just heart wrenching because what you’re seeing is this guy who is essentially still a youngster doing all this work. You also get to see the first day he worked in films: it’s noted in the 1917 date book. The day that Butcher’s Boy was released, is noted it in Buster’s calendar. So you could see this almost day-by-day account of his life. Really, thank god for Eleanor Keaton.

KP:
Have any other of Keaton’s family become involved with The Damfinos?

TG:

Oh yes, a lot of Buster’s relatives have become interested and involved. One of our board members is Melissa Talmadge Cox, who stepped in after Eleanor died to become the family spokesperson.

KP:

[gasp] A Talmadge!

TG:

Melissa is one of Buster and Natalie’s six grandchildren. She has a lot of memories of her grandfather, because she was teenager when Buster died. She’d go over to his house and visit, and she also spent a lot of time with her aunties, 1920s movie stars Constance and Norma Talmadge, both in Los Angeles and New York; they would take her shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue– dress her up right, you know. Melissa even has a bob like Connie, and bears an uncanny resemblance to that aunt. She’s just been so interested and has brought a lot of rich material to our board.

The Damfinos also give an annual grant called The Porkpie Scholar Grant, which began a couple of years ago after the group received an anonymous donation. It is given to individuals and groups working on Keaton-related projects, whether writing a new music score, restoring a film, writing a book or whatever. or example, our grant helped out author Eileen Whitfeld, who wrote a wonderful Mary Pickford biography (Pickford: The Woman who Made Hollywood) and is working on what may become the definitive Keaton biography. The second year, it was given to Jack Dragga, who is working on a documentary about a failed project from the 1960s called Ten Girls Ago. So, going from what people might have thought of a just a funny, eccentric little club of film lunatics, we have in fact we have grown to the point to where we can be not only self sustaining, but self sustaining and actually give back to the film community. And we will continue to do so.

KP:

And funding is supported almost primarily through Damfino merchandise sales, correct?

TG:

Yes. All through sales from Keaton-related items because The Damfinos have the licensing rights, through an arrangement with the Douris Corporation (which owns the rights to many Keaton films and to his image), to reproduce Buster’s image. Beth Pederson, who is The Damfinos’ treasurer, is so wonderfully creative at putting things together. We even sell custom-made porkpie hats. But, really, Patricia Eliot Tobias has been our guiding light. When she and her husband got married, who by the way wrote a terrific book on the Marx Brothers, they got married in Cottage Grove, Oregon, where Keaton filmed The General. On a covered bridge very close to where the train from The General had gone over, and their wedding reception was just feet away from the part of town where Buster was kicked out of the recruiting station in The General. Joe wore Buster’s cummerbund, which Keaton had worn to accept his honorary Oscar in 1960, and Patty carried in her bouquet a four-leaf clover that Buster had picked and given to Eleanor some 35 years earlier.

KP:

A fairy tale wedding for silent film fans!

TG:

Such a wonderful love story.

KP:

Now, earlier you mentioned you would do the doing ironing for money as a kid, so you could afford to buy these silent two-reelers. Was film something you were brought up around?

TG:

No, not at all! I was the oddball. I was 11 years old and I ran across Lillian Gish’s autobiography, The Movies, Mr. Griffith and Me … and I was hooked. That was it. I was so interested in that world that I pursued it. My parents were, you know, working folks and they really didn’t know what to do about it. And then one day my dad came home with a copy of Kevin Brownlow’s The Parade’s Gone By.

KP:

The perfect book!

TG:

Yeah, I’ve got a first edition, actually. And I made Kevin Brownlow autograph it “To Tracey, who taught me everything i need to know about silent cinema.” He said “Right… you’re sure you want me to write this?” I said, “Yes Kevin. Just write it.”

KP:

“Kevin, this is like God signing my Bible.”

TG:

Exactly. I want my children to find this one day and think ‘Wow, mom taught Kevin Brownlow everything he needed to know about silent cinema? He published it in ‘68, so she was… 11?’

KP:

Well, hey, what can you say? You were a child prodigy.

TG:

Yep. Taught him everything. Brownlow looked at me like I was crazy. See, Kevin’s very dry. He was…

KP:

Stone-faced?

TG:

Very.

KP:

As if we needed another reason to love him.

Join The Damfinos and their international family of Buster Keaton fans online at www.busterkeaton.com