Battling Butler (Buster Keaton / U.S., 1926):

Freud and pugilism. The young dandy (Buster Keaton) is so sheltered that he has people to flick the ash off his cigarette ("Arrange it" is his byword), his exasperated father hopes having to "rough it" in the woods will make a man out of him. In the wild he meticulously recreates his cocoon, complete with breakfast in bed and a diligent valet (Snitz Edwards), the recurring gag is a swanky tent that keeps sinking in the mud. With shotgun in hand he walks obliviously past quail and deer, he does manage to shoot a handkerchief belonging to a tomboy (Sally O'Neill) and falls in love as she gives him a piece of her mind. Their romance is nixed by her brawny kin, who object to a "jellyfish" in the family, the valet has an answer in the fighter (Francis McDonald) who shares his master's name. The ruse is carried from wedding chapel to training resort: "I want you to know me as I am—not as the bloodthirsty beast that I am when fighting." Keaton's beautiful technique is exemplified in the early long take of the hero bobbing on a kayak in the middle of the lake while taking aim at a mysteriously vanishing duck (a sequence for Jacques Tati and Chuck Jones), though the fascinating furies behind the deadpan are saved for the boxing arena. Nearly strangling himself in the ropes as he steps inside the ring, he faces a challenge from "The Alabama Murderer" yet puts his gloves on as if getting a manicure. No Chaplinesque balletic dodges, but pummeling bouts that built to an astonishing expurgation of the vicious id. Two reverse tracking shots tell the tale: Keaton the sham warrior surrounded by a welcoming parade (cf. Hail the Conquering Hero), then Keaton the battered champ with top hat and trunks, at last strolling down a cinéma-vérité boulevard with his beloved. In black and white.

--- Fernando F. Croce

Back to Reviews
Back Home