The Crux of Buster Keaton’s Our Hospitality Is Ridiculous Tradition
Note: This is the hundred-and-twenty-second in a series of historical/critical essays examining the best in film from each year. Essentially, I am watching films from the beginning of cinematic history that interest me and/or hold some critical or cultural impact. My personal, living list of favorites is being created at Mubi, showcasing five films per year. All this being explained, what follows is an examination of my second favorite 1923 film, OUR HOSPITALITY, directed by Buster Keaton and John G. Blystone.
Buster Keaton transitioned into feature filmmaking in 1923, and therefore, transitioned into the rest of the 1920s when he consistently created near masterworks. Keaton had appeared in a feature called THE SAPHEAD in 1920, directed by Herbert Blaché and Winchell Smith, but the first under his creative control was THREE AGES (1923), co-directed by Edward F. Cline. The strange, seven-year-past parody of D.W. Griffith’s INTOLERANCE (1916) is entertaining for sure, but doesn’t reach the heights of his inventive shorts like ONE WEEK (1920), THE HAUNTED HOUSE (1921), and THE HIGH SIGN (1921). But with OUR HOSPITALITY (1923), Keaton defined a new style of comedic filmmaking that would reach its apotheosis with THE GENERAL (1926) and stick around until he was buried by MGM.
That style is just incredibly detailed, yet broad, dramatic action and slapstick. People like to break down Keaton versus Chaplin as stunts versus pathos (which discounts Harold Lloyd and Keaton’s ability to make some moving stories here and there). But it’s never quite as clean cut as that, and although OUR HOSPITALITY isn’t incredibly moving, its depth, its commitment to a time period (and, as always with Keaton, its vehicles), and its own internal language and logic flesh out a world comparable to the great emotional worlds of Chaplin himself.
The thing is, OUR HOSPITALITY does actually open with a healthy dose of pathos…or melodrama, if you prefer. The film satirizes the ol’ Hatfield-McCoy feud, placing Keaton as the witless Willie McKay in his family’s old town, where the Canfields discover his presence and promptly try to kill him for the rest of the movie. But yes, before that, we are treated to a flashback set in about 1810. This flashback is devoid of gags; its straight exposition is played with dramatic flourishes and murderous revenge in the middle of a stormy night. After her husband is killed, Willie’s mother takes her baby (played by Keaton’s own 1-year-old son) to her sister’s home in New York. When Willie grows up, he receives a letter saying he’s inherited the McKay estate, and dreams of a mansion waiting for him. Before he leaves, his aunt does warn him of the dangers of the Canfields, however.
Even once Keaton’s own visage is introduced, the gags don’t start flying in OUR HOSPITALITY. A beautiful image of 1830 Broadway and 42nd Street (a rural setting with a tremendous background presenting an illusion of incredible depth) is a bit of a joke itself, but is otherwise still an indication of the kind of fleshed out picture Keaton (and co-director John G. Blystone) were trying to create. But things get going once the primeval locomotive, a fully functioning replica of a somewhat anachronistic Stephenson’s Rocket, comes into the picture. It symbolizes the great vehicular comedy to come out of Keaton’s future features, which he had in fact already alluded to with shorts like THE BOAT (1921), THE BALLOONATIC (1923), and THE LOVE NEST (1923). In any event, on this “hazardous” train ride, Keaton meets a charming young girl — a charming young girl who, he’ll soon find out, is Virginia Canfield, the daughter of Joseph Canfield (the hulking Joe Roberts), the man whose brother killed and was killed by Willie’s father, John McKay. Get the picture?
But the mix up and the journey to Willie finding out these details is hilarious, especially since Joseph’s two sons, raised to hate the McKays equally, find out his identity before he does theirs. What ensues is a Looney Tunes-esque cat and mouse game, in which Willie is at first an unwitting participant. You see, the Canfields apparently seem unable to kill Willie with anything other than an 1830 pistol, which requires a long time to reload and isn’t super accurate.
Willie, in typical unwitting character fashion, doesn’t even realize he’s being shot at for much of the early part of the movie. But once he’s been invited to dinner at the Canfields’ by Virginia (played by Keaton’s then-wife Natalie Talmadge), he discovers the identity of his hosts. And once he discovers their code doesn’t allow them to kill guests under their roof, he does everything he can to stay put.
The humor of this situation, which sounds pretty morbid, lies in the goofy logic to be found in every Keaton film. Our hero, while somewhat “cowardly” and afraid of death, is nevertheless resourceful, and handles everything with remarkable calm. Furthermore, this strange code of the Canfields’ apparently allows them to kill anyone who steps right outside their doors, resulting in a clear comic premise that sees Keaton running in and out of doors and relying on the recurring gag of the slow-loading pistols. The scenes at the home form the bulk of the movie’s comedic action, and in displaying the ridiculousness of the situation, Keaton makes a comment on the frustratingly destructive and witless tradition of a family that doesn’t even knows why it does what it does anymore.
Still sound relevant? It should. OUR HOSPITALITY is a comedy for the ages, and not just for this social point. The period piece details, as mentioned, are faithfully adhered to, and the final, showstopping sequence, in which Keaton dangles from a waterfall and performs death-defying acrobatics himself, as always, is jaw-dropping. It’s in a studio, but still. It’s jaw-dropping. As is the rest of OUR HOSPITALITY, a carefully choreographed comedic dance through a deep, convincing world out of yesteryear. That was Keaton’s favorite time, yesteryear. And using it as a backdrop did his comedy a brilliant service.
