The Cameraman marks an exact crossroads in the career of Buster Keaton. It was his last genuine silent film, made after his previous three pictures (all now hailed as classics) had underperformed at the box office. Coming at the very pinnacle of his career, it represents the last chapter of his prime “Golden Age” years, and the final opportunity to see him at the very top of his game, expertly doing what he did best.

At the same time, it was his first picture made with mighty Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, who in 1928 had lured him out of the independent wilderness with a lucrative contract and promises of big budgets for production, advertising, and distribution. The Hollywood studio with “more stars than there are in heaven” sought to add a genius comedian to that celestial firmament, and who better to fill that role than the guy whom critic James Agee would later credit with bringing “pure physical comedy to its greatest heights”?

Keaton initially thought that his new deal, the richest in M-G-M history up to that time, would ensure his stardom for many years to come. “This was still before the stock market crash,” he said years later in an interview. “There was money everywhere. . . I was successful, I was famous, I was free. Hell, I was sitting pretty and didn’t have enough sense to know it.” (more…)

In my mind, I have received thousands upon thousands of emails from folks wondering why “My Weekly Date with a Liberal” is anything but weekly. This is certainly a legitimate question which deserves a legitimate answer. But who has the time to answer thousands of emails that were never actually written? So for this chapter, I’ve decided that I will address this issue right here, right now, by explaining the process which occurs between these dates, and more importantly, to relay a recent encounter I had with a liberal woman, girl, child, who unnerved me enough such that my response could very well put my anonymity in jeopardy. This will all make sense by the end of this installment which I am entitling “American Heart.”

I understood when I took on this project that I could easily suffer severe trauma, mentally, emotionally, spiritually…and sexually, although depending on your proclivities, the latter could be considered a bonus. Be that as it may, I am writing to let you all know, that the trauma I anticipated did in fact materialize in a way that has profoundly affected me: I have developed a strong affinity for night blooming jasmine, I cry all the time, and I apologize incessantly for things for which I am not responsible.  Now I can tell you with no uncertainty, extensive knowledge of Cestrum Nocturnum accompanied by inexplicable outbursts of tears is no way to procure a date. My mojo has deteriorated, as if I didn’t pinch its foliage and cut back after flowering to maintain compact growth. What’s happening to me? (more…)