A Few Words on the Words in Buster Keaton’s Movies

To state the obvious, no one watches a Buster Keaton movie for the dialogue.  I’d wager that no one watches any silent movie for the dialogue (I know that, in the earliest days of Hollywood, a number of Shakespeare adaptations were made; it’d be interesting to see a few, just to know what on earth they’re like.)  This is as it should be, since Buster’s films are packed with so much awesome there’s hardly any room for dialogue.  However, I’d like to take a moment to examine this unsung element of his work.

(Full disclosure:  Buster’s work and the shorts he made with Fatty Arbuckle make up 90+% of the silent movies I’ve seen, so it’s entirely possible that my observations are typical of the whole silent catalogue and I just don’t realize it.  That’s okay – I’ll talk Buster, since he’s what I know.)

First, I love the elegant brevity of silent storytelling.  It’s something that many people don’t seem to get about this era.  If you see a modern parody of a silent film, most of the time, you’ll either get a lot of wild mute pantomime or an intertitle every time someone moves their lips.  But that’s not how Buster works.  People in his movies talk plenty, and yet we’re not hit with intertitles every three seconds; the fact of the matter is, there’s only so much we really need to be privy to.

As an example, take Our Hospitality.  Early in the film, Willie runs into one of the Canfields, who, because of the feud, immediately wants to kill him.  He frantically tries to procure a gun (while Willie, naturally, is oblivious to his mortal danger.)  The Canfield’s first “Quick!  Do you have a gun I can borrow?” exchange with a minor character is given the full dialogue treatment, and we know precisely what’s being said.  After all, though, we get what he’s asking and why, so there’s no need to read the same general words again.  Canfield and his assorted screen partners keep talking, but instead of slapping up more intertitles, the film simply trusts that we follow what’s going on and focuses on the visual humor.  Similarly, the parson spends a long time saying grace during dinner at the Canfields, but there’s no reason we need to know a word of it.  The important takeaway from the scene isn’t the prayer – it’s the sight gag of Willie and the Canfield men secretly taking peeks in the middle of it to keep surreptitious eyes on each other.

I mentioned it in my original review, but Seven Chances is the real winner on this front.  Here’s a silent comedy adapted from a stage farce (ie, dialogue up the yin yang,) and at least a fourth of it is Jimmie proposing marriage to various women.  But that’s the thing; after the first couple of times, we know exactly what he’s saying, and we can tell from the women’s reactions what their answers are.  The movie is able to drop the intertitles and just move on with it, mining its humor, not from quippy jokes, but from the visual medium.  I mean, watching a startled woman drive her car halfway up a tree is a way better reaction than any permutation of “No,” would be, right?

Which isn’t to say that all of Buster’s dialogue is purely utilitarian and without flair.  Not so – despite the lack of sound, he has no fear of alliteration or puns (“Damfino” – oh, Buster…), and there are a good number of amusing jokes to be had.  In addition to having some of Buster’s funniest silent acting, the jail scene in Steamboat Bill Jr. also has some of his most off-the-wall fun dialogue (in context, anyway – it may be one of those scenes that has to be seen to be appreciated.)  After numerous watches, “I know what it is, you’re ashamed of my baking,” still cracks me up, and I love, “That must have happened when the dough fell in the tool chest.”