A vaudeville star before the age of ten, Buster Keaton was preparing to make his Broadway debut in 1917 when a meeting with Rosco 'Fatty' Arbuckle changed the course of his life and that of the cinema forever. 'The Great Stone Face' translated marvelously to the screen, somehow surviving the disasters that came hurtling his way, to eventually become along with Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd one of the most popular comic actors of the Silent Era. Keaton's immediate fascination with the new medium led him to take the camera home, disassembling and reassembling it to more fully understand its operation. If Chaplin's genius was fixing the camera and theatrically framing his Tramp's antics, Keaton created a more cinematic comedy, cleverly using his sense of the American landscape and instinct for interiors to beautifully record his jokes. Arguably the most innovative of the three, he was an early advocate of the moving camera, as well as a pioneer in special effects, and his films viewed today seem far more modern than those of his peers.

By the age of three, Keaton had joined his mother and father in their traveling show, rechristened The Three

eatons, although keeping him working earned the constant scrutiny of the Gerry Society, the turn-of-the-century child labor authorities. Legend has it that the great Harry Houdini, seeing the six-month old laugh delightedly after taking a tremendous header down a flight of stairs, remarked, "That's some buster your baby took." Myth or not, the nickname stuck, and Houdini took credit for coining it throughout his life. (Other sources indicate it was actor George Pardey who made the comment, the Keatons having not yet met Houdini.) One thing is certain, the Keatons struggled prior to Buster coming on board but became a success soon after he started appearing with them. Tossed about by his father in the most physical of acts, he soon developed a knack for falling coupled with his signature impassivity, a theatrical contrivance--very much in contrast with his off-stage demeanor--which he would maintain throughout his life. Keaton worked with his parents nearly 20 years until his father's excessive drinking led to the break-up of the act.

From his first days before Arbuckle's camera, Keaton understood that film demanded a more subtle acting style than had the stage, and in contrast to his fellow performers' extravagance, he was quiet, controlled, unhurried, economical and accurate. When Arbuckle left to make features for Paramount, Keaton took over the company with Joseph Schenck handling the business end of things as he had for Arbuckle. After appearing in the feature "The Saphead" (1920, on loan to Metro Pictures), Keaton embarked on directing two-reelers, helming 18 in all (plus the three-reel "Day Dreams" 1922) by the time of his feature directing debut, "The Three Ages" (1923), a spoof of D.W. Griffith's "Intolerance" (1916). Perfecting and enriching his craft, Keaton developed recurrent themes in the shorts, which he would transfer to the full-lengths. Starting with "One Week" (1920), he filmed the gag of the do-it-yourself house which comes crashing down before the comedian's somber gaze, and the house as intricate machine, either ingenious or infernal, became a staple of his shtick, walls collapsing while he remains unscathed, conveniently positioned under open windows.

In "The Playhouse" (1921), a tour de force of special effects unrivaled even to

stage, and in contrast to his fellow performers' extravagance, he was quiet, controlled, unhurried, economical and accurate. When Arbuckle left to make features for Paramount, Keaton took over the company with Joseph Schenck handling the business end of things as he had for Arbuckle. After appearing in the feature "The Saphead" (1920, on loan to Metro Pictures), Keaton embarked on directing two-reelers, helming 18 in all (plus the three-reel "Day Dreams" 1922) by the time of his feature directing debut, "The Three Ages" (1923), a spoof of D.W. Griffith's "Intolerance" (1916). Perfecting and enriching his craft, Keaton developed recurrent themes in the shorts, which he would transfer to the full-lengths. Starting with "One Week" (1920), he filmed the gag of the do-it-yourself house which comes crashing down before the comedian's somber gaze, and the house as intricate machine, either ingenious or infernal, became a staple of his shtick, walls collapsing while he remains unscathed, conveniently positioned under open windows.

In "The Playhouse" (1921), a tour de force of special effects unrivaled even to this day, Keaton played every part in a theater: the whole orchestra, the actors, all nine blackface minstrels, both halves of a dance act, and every single member of the audience, young and old, male and female. He was a generous collaborator, sharing directing credit with Eddie Cline on most of the shorts and three features, though Cline graciously conceded that Keaton was responsible for 90 percent of the comic inventions in their films. Working in the same atmosphere of experimentation and absolute artistic control that had characterized Arbuckle's operation, his team developed a sort of anarchic creative style, employing (in addition to houses) all manner of boats, herds of cattle, squads of police and armies of women, among other hostile devices, to imperil the Great Stone Face. Unlike Chaplin's warm comedies, Keaton's humor was cool and aloof, characterized by James Agee as "a freezing whisper not of pathos, but of melancholia." His humorless hero, far from exercising the Tramp's self-pity, exhibited a serene capacity for absorbing frustration and withstanding disasters without ever cracking while seeking a measure of serenity in a world where peace is hard to find.

Despite some delightful gags (i.e., Keaton thrown to an affable lion, manicures its claws), "The Three Ages" did not represent a significant advance over the shorts, but "Our Hospitality" (also 1923), a beautiful period piece, revealed for the first time the artist's love for trains while clearly demonstrating how his work stood apart from the conventions of the period. There was no speeded-up action, which he felt spoiled the timing of the gags, and none of the wild mugging that passed for comic acting of the day. He avoided studio sets, preferring natural locations, kept titles to a minimum and used close-ups sparingly, instead favoring the long-shot, especially as concrete proof that the stunts were real and not some cinematic hocus-pocus. He followed quickly with "Sherlock, Jr." and "The Navigator" (both 1924), assuring his place in film history. More than 60 years before Woody Allen would appropriate the gag by having a movie character step off the screen into life for "The Purple Rose of Cairo" (1985), "Sherlock, Jr." involved a projectionist stepping into and out of the movies he shows