Archive for Dough and Dynamite

Studio Bound

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 19, 2021 by dcairns

As he had at Keystone (A FILM JOHNNIE, THE MASQUERADER) and Essanay (HIS NEW JOB), Chaplin made a behind-the-scenes comedy at Mutual, called BEHIND THE SCREEN. David Robinson regards this one as CC treading water, but a mild Mutual film is still ahead of all Keystones and 90% of Essanays. It’s very enjoyable.

I watched my DVD with the Carl Davis score, and also the restoration paid for by Michel Hazanavicius.

Like so many of us, Edna wants to be in pictures. This seems to have been difficult to accomplish even in 1916.

We follow this plot point with a naked statue gag, a staple of Chaplin’s comedy. The usual idea is to make fun of the Little Fellow’s lecherous hypocrisy as he studies a work of art from a pseudo-aesthetic standpoint, in reality just checking out the knockers. He started doing this at Keystone, and was still at it in CITY LIGHTS. But here we see him prudishly remove a male statue whose stance makes it seem like he’s ogling a female one. I suddenly flashed on the familiarity of the gag, and realised Rossellini had swiped it for ROME: OPEN CITY.

I mean, it’s exactly the same gag, though it serves a slightly different character purpose. Surprisingly, it works for RR in his very different context, just as well as it worked for CC. It even helps that the serious neorealism makes an unexpected setting for visual comedy (but consider De Sica and Fellini’s frequent recourse to the Chaplinesque). Does this brazen theft make you think any the less of RR?

Charlie and Eric Campbell, by now a near-inseparable team, are actually called David & Goliath in this one, although probably those aren’t their given names and the intertitles are just being funny.

The other filmmaker to have been influenced by this one is Polanski, whose early short THE FAT AND THE LEAN has a similar central dynamic, the big lazy guy who dominates the small, industrious one. Charlie is a hopelessly incompetent property man, but at least he puts in the hours. We can see the filmmaker being much more careful about character sympathy, basing a lot of the action of Charlie being put-upon, so that his little revenges can be cheered as well as laughed at. In fact, the set-up here reverses that of THE PROPERTY MAN, where Charlie was props man and bully, kicking his ancient assistant in the face, and received some criticism for the nastiness of his character.

Raymond Durgnat: “One could summarise a proletarian Ten Commandments. Thou shalt not strive too hard, or jump through more hoops than you have to. Thou shalt not offer to take another person’s place, or help out unless you’re not paid to do it … blood transfusions aren’t paid for. Thou shalt not expect good treatment. Thou shalt always look for the catch, for what the other person gets out of it. Thou shalt contemplate defeat, but not change yourself to avoid it. Thou must become accustomed to always being outtalked and made to look a fool and put in the wrong … but Thou shall not be moved … Oh, and don’t be downhearted. Something like that.” (From here.)

There’s a running gag where Charlie fecklessly trips over and topples the camera tripod, on his way to or from one errand or the other. Fiona was horrified. She’s mindful of the equipment. It’s possible to read Charlie’s carelessness as a ruse, an attempt to get out of being given difficult work. If you’re proven to be incapably stupid, you don’t get the hard jobs, or you shouldn’t. Black audiences reportedly perceived Steppin Fetchit not as a racist caricature of shiftless imbecility, but as a smart Black man who had worked out that the pretense of listlessness and ignorance could protect him from being asked to do too much. Is my own incompetence at the endless paperwork my teaching job requires a subconscious defense? If so, (a) how would I know, if it’s subsconscious? and (b) it doesn’t work.

Chaplin also filmed another running gag, featured in Brownlow & Gill’s Unknown Chaplin, but not included in the final short: a headsman’s axe toppled and misses the oblivious David/Charlie by inches. As with the impossible gags in THE FIREMAN, this was achieved by reversing the film so as not to risk severing either of cinema’s most celebrated Funny Feet.

Wrestling with big pillars provides some laughter. It’s a good situation where the suspense element means the longer it can be eked out, the better. Charlie had already done it with Ben Turpin in HIS NEW JOB, though. I feel for Henry Bergman as the long-suffering director — he has to absorb a lot of painful-looking abuse in this film, including Charlie standing on his ample bay window.

The other director (Lloyd Bacon) wears round shades, which puzzled Fiona until I reminded her about klieg eyes. Some filmmakers also carried a blue eyeglass which gave them a sense of how a scene would look in b&w — possibly the shades help with this also.

Carrying ten chairs slung over one arm, Charlie transforms, as both David Robinson and Fiona noticed, into a porcupine — or possibly a naval mine, as Fiona further reflected. Then he gives a scalp massage and hairdo to a bearskin rug. The first routine is just the nimble exploitation of a surprising physical possibility, with nothing in particular made of the bristling ball of chair legs — Tati would have had the thing somehow pay off, maybe by having the shape introduced into a movie setting where it could actually fulfill its newly suggested character. The second is funny just through the seriousness, concentration and precision Chaplin brings to it, as he gives the dead bear remnant a nice centre-parting.

The kick up the arse is still a constant — in THE PAWNSHOP it had become a form of communication in itself. Yet just one film from now a critic would complain that Charlie had dropped it and was set on becoming an ubermensch.

Another grim eating scene. PIES! and ONIONS! declare the intertitles, as Albert Austin munches raw spring onions and Charlie reels from the stench. Chaplin, having experienced real poverty and hunger, found food a constant inspiration. His underdog revenge here is to scrounge off Austin’s outsize chop, sandwiching the near end with two slices of bread (which are all he has in his lunchbox) so he can pursue a parasitic existence. Again, Austin’s great contribution is stillness, either gazing on with silent dismay or, as here, failing to notice Charlie’s gastronomic filching. Following the panto/Punch & Judy tradition of “It’s behind you!” this routine depends on the victim almost but not quite catching their foe at it. Chaplin’s finest treatment of the theme is played out with brother Syd in A DOG’S LIFE.

Meanwhile Big Eric consumes his weight in pies with Pantagruelian grotesquerie.

A strike breaks out, which, in its rapid progress towards outright terrorism, is a shameless steal from DOUGH AND DYNAMITE. As Eric/Goliath and Charlie/David both refuse to strike, and the campaigners try to blow up the studio, I have to say that Chaplin at this stage of his career does not seem markedly leftwing. This subplot, which barely impacts on Charlie at all, serves nevertheless as the film’s narrative spine, along with Edna’s occasional appearances.

Charlie is put in charge of trapdoor operations, which is a bad idea. Though in fairness, it’s not all his fault. Instructed to open the trap at the signal of a gunshot, he dutifully does so even when it’s obviously inappropriate. Is it time to mention Henri Bergson? Well, only if we don’t confuse him with Henry Bergman, who has a particularly uncomfortable-looking drop here.

The French philosopher Bergson theorised that comedy comes from people behaving in the inflexible manner of machines. Which doesn’t sound particularly funny in itself, and we can certainly come up with many examples that don’t tickle the ribs — Peter Weller’s performance as Robocop, robotics dancing, the Nuremberg rallies… But Chaplin, who gets so many of his effects by transposition, DOES do a lot of stuff where the line between the animate and the inert is crossed. Charlie is often the opposite of inflexible, though.

But here, Bergson’s ideas are followed. A gunshot means the trapdoor is to be activated, no matter who’s standing on it. And Charlie’s work with the lever is wonderful to behold. Each repositioning of the lever causes him to strike a fresh pose, and he obviously liked the effect because he does it all over again in MODERN TIMES when he runs amuck in the factory. As is quite common in Chaplin’s films, the two set-ups where the action is taking place have an ambiguous relation to one another: separate, but reasonably close; it’s not absolutely clear whether Charlie can see what’s happening over by the trap door, and if he can, whether the view is adequate.

It’s very dangerous to stage a stunt where anybody playing a significant role in it can’t see what’s going on, as you can learn by watching the BBC blow up Anthea Turner (she wasn’t seriously hurt, but SHIT).

In this case, things go wrong because the actor can’t get the gun to fire, even though it was working seconds ago. This is true to life. As every art dept. person knows, the one sure way to get a prop to stop working or fall apart is to hand it to an actor. As soon as it’s given to Eric, he gets it to fire, but nobody’s told him about it being a signal for the trapdoor, which he’s standing on. And Charlie just obeys the starting pistol like a good whippet.

Still, Charlie compounds the problem: having dropped Eric, he then traps his huge neck in the trapdoor, an uncomfortable image prefiguring Ollie’s cartoonish neck-stretching in WAY OUT WEST, which freaked me out as a kid.

Vicious fun with a whole series of unoffending characters being given the drop, including an actress. The leading man is increasingly battered and blackeyed. Henry Bergman’s fall is… ouch.

Pausing amid the mayhem to oil the lever, Charlie also oils himself, Tin Woodsman style, no doubt giving M. Bergson a warm glow of satisfaction.

Here’s Edna, disguising herself as a boy, which leads to some weirdly playful queerbaiting first from Charlie, who somehow finds Edna’s guitar-playing excessively feminine for a lad in dungarees, then from Eric, who catches Charlie and Edna kissing. (The romance element in this one is arbitrary and undercooked — it plays ALMOST as if Charlie is blackmailing Edna into amorous contact by threatening to expose her girlhood or girlishness — but it’s NOT that. It’s not anything else that holds up under examination either.)

Eric’s mincing and flouncing is rather a delight. He’s an incredibly graceful performer, which of course creates a humorous incongruity. Oliver Hardy’s poise is often noted, but Eric is usually just categorized as a suitable figure for Charlie to (sometimes literally) bounce off of, and his comic skill and elegance get short shrift.

David Robinson calls this scene the most overt screen treatment of homosexuality before 1950, which is debatable. I guess one character is imagining he’s seeing two young men kiss romantically. Mainstream movies didn’t show that sort of thing, although a case like WINGS is on the verge. But even excluding hardcore porn, which was being produced at this time and seems to have been surprisingly bisexual in its interests, we have things like DIFFERENT FROM THE OTHERS. It depends on how you define “overt” and whether you require anyone onscreen to actually be gay.

Chaplin on filmmaking always has some non-comedic interest too, as a portrait of cinematic practice in his time. Here, he makes fun of the practice of shooting multiple movies in the same space, which I don’t know that he’d ever had to deal with professionally, but which is rich material. He has a lot of fun with the slapstick pie fight (the longest and most elaborate until Laurel & Hardy’s ne plus ultra BATTLE OF THE CENTURY) breaking up the period movie next door. In a way it’s a forerunner of the western crashing into the Buddy Bizarre musical in BLAZING SADDLES.

The pie scene is introduced by this title —

The question has been asked, given the rarity of actual pie-fights in silent screen comedy, is this intertitle being ironic or perfectly straightfaced? I’d plump for the latter, since Chaplin often sought to get laughs with titles while using them for expositional/informational purposes at the same time. And I think pies had probably been used onstage before they got into films. The only pastry action in previous Chaplin films is DOUGH AND DYNAMITE and A NIGHT IN THE SHOW, I think. Here, Chaplin seems to introduce the idea of the pie fight as full-on battle.

Charlie and Eric approached to replace an actor who can’t throw and one who considers slapstick too highbrow — which again suggests that Chaplin is trying to put ironic quotes around his recourse to a tired old routine. Charlie is initially keen about throwing a pie at his boss, but rebels when it’s explained that he’s to miss. Once “Action!”is yelled, he abandons the unwritten script and starts pelting Eric with more pies than he previously consumed. Instead of a sling, David wields a mean custard cream.

The secret of reinvigorating hoary material may lie in rediscovering what made it work in the first place and attaining that effect through new additions. The first use of a pie as weapon must have had a deliciously shocking incongruousness — to think! a pie can become a weapon! Chaplin reconnects with the source of the comedy in a couple of ways. First, by inflating the number of pies thrown. Laurel & Hardy would top this in BATTLE OF THE CENTURY, and Blake Edwards would try in THE GREAT RACE, but found the upper limit had been reached.

But Charlie also heaps on incongruity by having Eric’s misses strike the period movie next door. Chaplin breaks not only the fourth wall in this movie, but also the first and third. The pies are not just transforming from food into ballistic weapons, a change which has ceased to startle and is perfectly normal in the context of a silent film studio, but they’re also traveling through time, appearing anachronistically and violating the laws of genre. It’s not certain if this constitutes what Chaplin called “the best idea I’ve ever had,” while requesting an extra two weeks’ shooting time, but it could be.

Meanwhile the dynamite plotters prepare to blow up the whole unnamed studio. Edna comes to the rescue with a handy claw hammer (Albert Austin is clonked on the noggin for the second time in two films running) but is overpowered by a second striker. Sheer chance causes Charlie to be punched into frame, triggering the trapdoor which swallows Eric, and positioning him to rescue Edna. But, rather than having him save the day, it’s more amusing to blow the studio up — a convincing jump cut blasts Eric to smithereens, and we get a final clinch. It’s not an entirely satisfactory narrative arc, but it has the right movie ingredients — villain vanquished, boy gets girl, property is destroyed.

And that, as they say, is entertainment.

The Sunday Intertitle: Mr. Wow-Wow goes to the Races, or, Drive, he didn’t say

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 27, 2020 by dcairns

GENTLEMEN OF NERVE is another bloody Keystone racing film, crammed with busy comics — Mabel is off to the races with Mr. Walrus (Chester Conklin) and Mr. Ambrose (Mack Swain) competing for her favours, Charlie is there too. Maybe this was due to a desire to play it safe after the expensive and extensive DOUGH AND DYNAMITE (which made a huge profit in the end so they needn’t have worried).

The idea of intercutting documentary footage of auto races with capering clowns is a weird one, but one that Keystone — and Chaplin — returned to remorselessly. The documentary dilutes the slapstick and the slapstick… well, it doesn’t harm the documentary because that’s just utterly boring. This one has a crazily long shot of a tyre being changed to set the scene. It’s against the clock, but Chaplin is not the kind of filmmaker who can create exciting suspense from a technical exercise involving non-characters. He just tripods it, panning about a foot one way, then back again. It’s not exactly THE WAGES OF FEAR, is it?

Big Phyllis Allen makes a pass at Chester and he’s tempted to ditch Mabel, which seems… strange. But maybe he likes them large. Mabel was miniscule.

Chaplin enters, introduced by title card as “Mr. Wow-Wow, a disturbing influence.” He’s smartly dressed in a long, loose jacket, but with bowler, moustache and cane, with which he immediately thwacks Swain’s capacious buttocks. So, he’s not quite the Tramp, just Chaplin using some Tramp signifiers. He tries to get into the racetrack without paying by walking backwards, hoping they’ll think he’s leaving. I like that bit.

Swain overacts pretty wildly in the early shorts, and seems weak compared even to Conklin. He doesn’t intimidate Charlie, so the David & Goliath thing that Eric Campbell would help cement isn’t functioning. Later, in THE GOLD RUSH, Swain is even bigger, acts better, and even as a friend to the Little Fellow, is a convincing THREAT. Big people are a menace even when they’re nice, is a lynchpin of the Chaplin worldview.

Forming an alliance, Wow-wow and Ambrose try to sneak into the stadium but Ambrose gets stuck halfway through an opening, leading to lengthy abuse. A woman with a soda seltzer appears, somewhat mysteriously, and Chaplin gets to spritz his first spritzee, Mack. He hasn’t thrown a single pie at Keystone, despite all the pastry abuse in his previous short, but at least he gets to spray.

Wow-Wow now lights a match on Mr. Walrus’s pant seat, amusing the fickle Mabel (well, she has just seen him flirting outrageously with Phyllis Allen). Walrus gets all up in Wow-Wow’s face, and thus gets his nose bitten. Chaplin hangs on there like a conger eel. Picks his teeth afterwards as if he’s actually bitten off actual substance from Conklin’s conk. Shades of brother Sydney’s cannibalistic atrocity.

Separated from the crowd by a fence, Wow-Wow taunts and thwacks the rowdy faces, a brutish bit of business in which nobody seems remotely appealing, the thugs behind the wire mesh or the arrogant and vicious cane-wielder. The later Charlie character is much closer to that seen in his previous couple of pictures, an inadvertently disturbing influence rather than just a nasty piece of work. Minutes later he’s singeing Mr. Ambrose’s nose with his cigarette and kicking him in the gut… it’s not charming and it’s not funny.

Chaplin well knew this stuff bore little relationship to comedy, but he felt duty-bound to give Sennett what he demanded, and this sadism may constitute a “running for cover” after the overrun of DOUGH & DYNAMITE. As Chaplin would write in a 1922 article, “The comic spirit meant to me at the beginning of my screen career, as it still means to many people, a series of “gags” and funny business of a not very high order–anything to capture a moment’s laughter or to stir the most elementary sense of the ridiculous. Now, this broad and slapstick kind of comedy, compounded mostly of boisterous spirits and physical violence, has about the same relation to humor as tickling a man on the soles of his feet with a wisp of straw.” He’s not wrong.

Wow-Wow meets another pretty girl and steals a sook of her Coke. Caught at it, he looks innocently skywards, like Harpo. Walrus is flirting with Phyllis again so Mabel walks out on him and collides with Wow-Wow (those bloody names! “Mabel” is bad enough). She sits on his hat and destroys it. The surrounding actors are laughing at all this business, which doesn’t make it any funnier.

Some byplay with a jalopy driver whose “racecar” sports an enormous front propellor. A very fine showcasing of the Chaplin cornering hop.

Conklin/Walrus whispers some kind of inappropriate suggestion to Phyllis and gets duffed up. This movie has more plot threads than Bleak House, but fortunately they all consist solely of idiots hitting each other so it’s easy to follow.

Conklin returns to Mabel and tries to claim her by force. Now we’re actually on Wow-Wow’s side as he delivers a punitive drubbing. Toothbrush versus Walrus in the World Series of Moustaches. Walrus collides with Ambrose and both get hauled off by a Kop. Wow-Wow and Mabel laugh delitedly, and it’s a rare instance of Chaplin expressing joy with his natural toothy grin and laugh. We end on lots of affectionate stuff with Mabel, one of the few co-stars Chaplin never got to first base with.

“I’m not your type, neither are you mine,” he says she told him.

Barbara Steele just told me she had lunch with Chaplin and Oona when she was 19. He was all excited because somebody had just let him have the use of a holiday home in St Tropez. I guess this would be around the time of A KING IN NEW YORK and he had some money trouble after leaving America I believe, so a free house would be great news.

Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to finish the Keystones this year, so that his December output would synch up with mine and I can start next year afresh with the Essanay films, but he’s making them faster than I can write about them (well, I started in the middle of my year and he started at the beginning of his). So I think I’ll run in to January — we have a whole feature film to contend with. But I’ll still get an Essanay done that month, and then it’s more or less one Chaplin per month for 2021. Join me!

Young man Charlie laughing goes all double-chinned, and suddenly we get a glimpse of old man Charlie to come…

The Christmas Day Intertitle: Dough Nuts

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 25, 2020 by dcairns

Charlie Chaplin always hated Christmas. It reminded him of the poorhouse. And then he died on Christmas Day, aged 88, which I guess allowed him to skip the last one. Take your small victories where you can, and have the merriest one possible under the circumstances.

This Chaplin-Conklin bunfight took nine days to make, an unheard-of thing at Keystone. Sennett announced, per Chaplin’s autobiography, that the only way it could make its money back was as a two-reeler, so it was allowed to spread out a bit more than was typically allowed. Chaplin forfeited his $25 bonus for going $800 over the $1000 budget.

The film made a fortune.

Sennett recollects that he was absent for the studio for a few days. He left Chaplin and Conklin making a short about idle roomers competing for their landlady’s affections, he recalls (but that’s the plot of a different film, THOSE LOVE PANGS, made immediately previously) and when he got back, the boys had taken inspiration from a “help wanted” sign at a local bakery. Sennett claims credit for adding the explosive element. The Chaplin Encyclopedia, by Glenn Mitchell, explains the confusion by suggesting that CC & CC began THOSE LOVE PANGS, got sidetracked onto D&D, then returned to the landlady idea and finished it.

The New York Dramatic Mirror wrote, of Chaplin “His odd little tricks of manner and his refusal to do the most simple things in an ordinary way are essential features of his method, which thus far has defied successful imitation.” Which is actually pretty perceptive.

The film begins, somewhat unusually for the studio, with a stark, one-word intertitle: TROUBLE. Chaplin is cast as an appalling waiter. He’s unusually jovial about it, but his customers don’t seem amused. Never mind, here’s a pretty girl loitering at the ASSORTED FRENCH TARTS counter, so Charlie abandons his disgruntled victims to attend to her needs.

Charlie is very fussy and jolly in his incompetence, which is a new look for him. A departure from the Little Fellow’s general air of downbeat, dogged uselessness when called upon to do work. It’s automatically less funny when he’s laughing.

Then he’s leering at the girl’s swinging hips, and his own tiny ass starts metronoming in sympathy with hers. Maybe the smuttiest sequence in Chaplin’s work so far. His attempts to be a leading man as well as a clown have been tentative to date. The romances, such as they are, have not tended to be full narratives requiring resolution.

Chaplin didn’t go in for pie-throwing as much as many would suspect, but a fair bit of pastry tossing occurs in this one’s opening minutes, with Charley Chase as one of the recipients.

Once Charlie is propelled into the kitchen, his cheerful attitude unexpectedly changes as he gets into an immediate fight with Conklin, with the tubby female cool an inadvertent victim. Charlie, it’s clear, despise his fellow workers. His aggression has to make room for numerous gestures of superiority. This movie should have been shown as proof that he wasn’t a communist. You can’t be a hero of the proletariat and kick Chester Conklin in the face, twice.

Down in the cellar, two employees are fomenting a strike. It’s a lot like METROPOLIS, this film, only messier. The dough everyone’s required to handle is revoltingly stick and stringy. Is it Larry Cohen’s THE STUFF? Charlie manages to burn his hand (twice) and his foot on an oven door, then slam the trapdoor on the same foot as he exits through the shop floor.

Back to the kitchen, where some dishes are smashed and CC and CC punch one another in the chest. Charlie’s small frame and tight jacket always make his chest seem impossibly small, and his ribs do seem here to be a weak spot: he staggers, winded, at every blow.

Another intertitle:

It’s hardly a socialist tract. Of course, Chaplin is perhaps trying to please his boss. He recalled getting along quite well with Sennett now and so he’d probably not want to spoil it by suggesting that the workers should control the means of custard pie production, even in a skit.

One particularly aggressive striker threatens Charlie with a knife: he reverses it when the guy’s not looking (or feeling, apparently: he somehow doesn’t notice when it’s taken from his hand and then replaced) and gives the guy a sharp jab. Unlike in MAKING A LIVING, stabbing here isn’t just another form of slapstick violence: we may expect that a more sincere stab might cause non-comic injury.

Charlie, Chester and the Cook, unquestioning blacklegs, set about trying to run the joint all by themselves. Chaplin tries to carrie a bag of flour the size of Mack Swain: his legs crumpling under him and distorted by the baggy pants, resemble those of some trouser-wearing insect or a de-poled scarecrow. The cook has to shove his knees back into their rightful places. He’s also stuffed an apron down his front, making the crotch and seat bulge in carapace-like manner. A new look for him: Chaplin the crippled ant.

Of course, hobbling through the cafe, he has to careen sideways and crush a plump patron. Good outraged reaction from Phyllis Allen. He then drops the whole overstuffed futon down the trapdoor onto Conklin’s head. A few bits of business are then conducted with the wretched Chester pinned under the heavy sack. Chaplin even walks over him, It’s a foretaste of MODERN TIMES, where Conklin is again the butt, though in that one Charlie is much more solicitous and the atrocities more accidental.

The strikers are now transformed into an anarchist cell, their fake whiskers and dynamite evoking a road company version of Guy Fawkes’ gunpowder plot.

Intriguingly, though Charlie never considers going on strike, he continues to treat his boss with the contempt reserved for anyone he doesn’t want to get off with, hurling hard loaves at the patron, until the guy (Fritz Schade M. La Vie, per cast list) slings one back and it shatters into crumbs on his face.

Chaplin getting his neck caught in the trapdoor as Conklin pulls his legs from below merits a rare close-up:

We’ve established from day one that anything with a hinge is Charlie’s mortal enemy. If you had a hinge, you would be too.

Once Charlie is freed, he and Chester start whacking each other with dough in a painful-looking manner. The two have magnificent timing together, so the short breathers — during one of which Charlie says a silent prayer — are perfectly matched. Then we get this —

This got me very excited. So the 1914 projectionists had no automated means of changing reels in the “seemless” manner I remember from the days of 35mm — cigarette burn flashes up, crashed burp of soundtrack, scratches and missing footage — and so the show simply stopped while they removed one reel, threaded another, and got the carbon arc going again, all while the customers sat and grumbled. I guess most attractions were still one reel long. I haven’t considered the effect of INTOLERANCE happening as a series of ten-fifteen minute chapters with mini-intermissions. Did at least some of the classier venues have a two-projector system to avoid hiatuses? They must have… it’s not a high-tech solution, just a more expensive one.

Come to think of it, the fact that I grew up seeing reel changes performed by hand and eye kind of makes me feel like a dinosaur.

One of the dynamiteers buys a loaf in the most suspicious possible manner.

Chaplin is struggling to get much comedy out of the ovens. He’s had the set designer build them. They are unquestionably an element of a bakery. But what to do with them, slapstickwise? Yes, he can singe his fingers again.

Ah, this looks promising —

A nasty poke in the face for Chester, which of course Chaplin repeats, because he knows the audience will laugh harder the second time. First for surprise, second for satisfaction. It’s rough on Chester, but what are you going to do?

Charlie then discovers that he can warm his hands before the ovens. Still not funny. Ah, but he can warm his arse! Not actually a gag, but potentially funny because it has an arse in it.

A couple of saucy, giggling wenches descend into the cellar. Charlie sends Chester away so he can slack off work and flirt with them. Going on strike is not an option for the little fellow, it seems (see also the red flag mix-up in MODERN TIMES, an epic gag), but bunking off to chase girls just comes naturally.

Raymond Durgnat put it like this: “One could summarise a proletarian Ten Commandments. Thou shalt not strive too hard, or jump through more hoops than you have to. Thou shalt not offer to take another person’s place, or help out unless you’re not paid to do it … blood transfusions aren’t paid for. Thou shalt not expect good treatment. Thou shalt always look for the catch, for what the other person gets out of it. Thou shalt contemplate defeat, but not change yourself to avoid it. Thou must become accustomed to always being outtalked and made to look a fool and put in the wrong … but Thou shall not be moved … Oh, and don’t be downhearted. Something like that.”

The strikers create an exploding loaf, a detailed process which we watch in real time, like something out of RIFIFI. It even gets a medium closeup. This is the most anti-labour element in the film, so it makes sense that management, in the form of Sennett, thought of it.

The strikers attack, conking Conklin with sticks. This deliberate assault, however, is arguably no worse than the routine treatment the poor guy has been receiving from Charlie in the ordinary course of his duties. Grievous bodily harm practically qualifies as a rest break.

Chester arranges for Charlie to get the same brutal treatment, and Charlie then pays him back with dough. The two are more focussed on each other than on the guys who concussed them. I think dough-slinging may be funnier than pie-slinging: it’s messier, more strenuous (the combatants frequently become helplessly enmired), more vicious (a good slap send the recipient smothering to the floor).

One of the devilish strikers entrusts the explosive bread product to a random little girl. We’re in BATTLE OF ALGIERS territory now. I suppose the plan is to look unsuspicious by walking INTO a bakery carrying a loaf.

Bakers: worse than Al Qaida.

One presumes at first that the child is a dupe, but she plays it dead sinister, like one of the twins of evil in THE SHINING.

The suspiciously heavy loaf is now delivered to Charlie in the cellar. He decides it wants additional baking. Great idea. Charlie then manages to put a floury handprint on a female derriere, and still won praise for his refusal to resort to vulgarity.

Charley Chase has been sitting bottom right in the cafe for most of this movie, looking bored.

M. La Vie, seeing the handprints on his wife’s behind, flies into a writ of fealous jage and slaps hell out of Charlie (owner of I guess the smallest-hands in the establishment, though Conklin is even shorter). Charlie throws a pie in self-defense and hits Chase, who finally receives the service he’s been waiting for throughout this reel. Big chase, much kicking up the arse, bags of flour hurled left and right (Henry “Pathe” Lehrman’s lesson on screen direction gets a work-out) —

The oven explodes! The roof falls in on Charlie as he is preparing to throw basically all the dough at his boss. The blast causes the strikers’ box of dynamite to fall over and explode, killing (?) them. Or at least making them fall in a heap.

Charlie emerges, swampmonstered by dough, for a messy fade-out.