Unwelcome Caller

Will Buster Keaton ever catch a break?. . . well, let’s be honest, by the end of the film, things usually work out alright. But, as The Great Stoneface hops, skips and jumps his way through a bevy of ever complicated (and might I add, intricately plotted) obstacles – no matter what movie, luck never seems to come his way. Case in point, 1921's two reel short, The Goat – which has nothing to do with an animal. Opening with a clever gag in which Keaton, (playing a famished, unlucky man monikered The Goat), is seen heading to the back of a bread line. . . misfortune reveals that the last three men in the procession are not actually men at all – they are mannequins showing off clothing for a store, hence, the never moving lineup.

A rich, hypochondriac of a man, John Kidley (Bob Hope), haunted by a Black Widow (a murderous, marry-a-wealthy-husband-a-year type woman, not a spider), Juno Marko (Gale Sondergaard), flees her side, making his way to a beautiful health-resort-centred town called Bad Gaswasser, Switzerland, hoping that the hidden locale, nestled amongst the picturesque Alps, will help him with his supposed condition, and, more importantly, in avoiding the persistent dame – hence the 1939 film’s title, Never Say Die. Now, of course, the quote offered at the opening is spoken by Kidley, and it references his perceived awful luck. And, to be honest, Ms. Marko is quite the woman. . . having ditched her most recent beau (she witnessed him slipping and falling off the Matterhorn from mere inches behind him – wink wink, nudge nudge), Kidley is her next mark, and it does not take her long to track the wealthy gent down once again. Here is a piece of witty dialogue from the film, emphasizing their rather amusing predicament:

Less of a critique than an observation, movies have clearly become freer in many respects – violence, nudity and profanity can now be littered throughout the narrative. . . yet, the twenty-first century has brought with it a more politically correct outlook, and stories are impeded in this very different respect (unlike films during the Motion Picture Production Code and after – which, for many reasons, were able to be more politically incorrect, for lack of a better term). Case and point, Abbott and Costello’s Pardon My Sarong, directed by Erle C. Kenton (Island of Lost Souls; Who Done It?). The piece of dialogue in question finds the comedic duo discussing marriage –

To Be or Not to Be walks a complicated tightrope – released in 1942, the World War II set comedy, even by today’s standards, could be called politically incorrect. Satirizing the horrible situation over in Europe (specifically Poland), co-adapter and director Ernst Lubitsch knew, like Charlie Chaplin before him (The Great Dictator), that it was vital to be able to laugh in the face of Hitler and the Nazis, both alleviating the tension of audiences back home with humour while also bringing the Axis power down a notch, highlighting their absurdly ridiculous doctrine and beliefs. A play, or should I say plays within a play, the story follows an acting troupe in Poland managed by producer/director Dobosh (Charles Halton). Starring the husband and wife team of Joseph (Jack Benny) and Maria Tura (Carole Lombard), they are currently bringing Shakespeare’s “Hamlet” to life. Preparing for their next play during the day, “Gestapo” is a satire revolving around Hitler and his cronies, comedy coming from the extensive use of “Heil Hitler”, an inquisition of a young child who the Nazis are worried will not talk, and a joke about how “They named a brandy after Napoleon, they made a herring out of Bismarck, and the Fuhrer is going to end up as a piece of cheese!”. Of course, Maria wants to wear a fashionable dress in a concentration camp scene much to the chagrin of Dobosh, though Greenberg (Felix Bressart), the lowly Jewish actor who desperately hopes of playing Shylock one day, suggests, “It’ll get a terrific laugh” – his go-to catch phrase. Other problems arise, with Dobosh equally unimpressed by Bronski’s (Tom Dugan) Hitler, saying, “I don’t know. . . it’s not convincing. To me, he’s just a man with a little mustache”, to which the makeup man replies, “But so is Hitler” – a line that really hits home.

Don’t you hate when this happens. . . while working outside, you by chance stumble upon a severed hand. It is this absurdist situation that comes to vivid life in writer/director Daniel Harding’s 2016 dark comedy short film The Missing Hand. Right out of the Alfred Hitchcock playbook, think The Trouble With Harry (and, if you do not recall the premise, I’ll let you in on a little secret – Harry’s dead) or Rope, the narrative finds two very different people, Ms. Whitman (Meryl Griffiths) and Trevor (Neil James) walking a plot of land they are thinking of developing. The former – a shrewd, business-driven financier, the latter – an energetic, simple-minded builder; the pair are destined to make a killing on the vacant lot.