Buster Keaton makes a superb detective comedy in which the smallest movement can earn a large laugh. The courtship is thin, but the visual jokes justify every minute of its modest length.
Sherlock Jr. is a superb physical comedy that rewards the simple business of looking closely. Buster Keaton directs and stars as a projectionist whose ambitions exceed his standing. At 45 minutes, the film gives its elaborate jokes enough time to develop without wearing them out. It asks us to pay attention to where a person stands, how he moves and what he has failed to notice. The pleasure is in watching someone try to manage situations that require rather more competence than he possesses.
The close pursuit is a good example: our would-be detective follows with a diligence that defeats the purpose of following. We laughed aloud because the gap between pursuer and pursued is so absurdly small. Buster Keaton gives the business the concentration of a man who believes he is doing everything correctly. His stillness is important, allowing us to enjoy the mistake without an expression instructing us to find it funny. He seems to expect his patience to be rewarded, which makes it difficult not to wish him well.
Byron Houck and Elgin Lessley make the physical comedy easy to read even when the photography starts playing tricks. We can register a movement, anticipate its consequences and enjoy having that expectation upset. There is considerable skill in making an impossible predicament clear enough for an audience to judge the attempted solution. The images do that work without drawing attention away from the performer. However elaborate the illusion, there is still a person trying to work out what to do with his body.
Buster Keaton also edits, and the cutting supplies difficulties as readily as it supplies laughs. A change of image can force a fresh adjustment, so that we become alert to the cut itself. The montage makes the changing rules of screen action funny without requiring an explanation. The timing leaves just enough space for us to understand the new problem before the next movement begins. Each joke has been allowed the time it needs, including the pause in which we catch up.
The joins in Clyde Bruckman’s screenplay remain visible. The detective business and the play with screen illusion do not always feel like parts of the same story. Kathryn McGuire has limited room as The Girl, whose romantic importance exceeds the attention paid to her as a person. That makes the courtship rather thin, though it never holds up the comedy for long. We would have welcomed a little more for her to do.
Within detective comedy, the attraction here is the business of trying to investigate: the watching, the following, the effort to look capable. There is enough affection for that effort to keep the ingenious staging from becoming merely a display of skill. The film is content to let us spot a mistake before its hero does, then wait for him to catch up. That wait can be as funny as anything he does once he understands his predicament. Give it your full attention; a distracted glance can miss the preparation that makes the next joke work.
