It's a simple way to spend 23 minutes, but it had me smiling. A very early example of meta-cinema, it's a self-referential film with several clever little bits. Roscoe Arbuckle plays a federal agent trying to track down a band of hillbilly moonshiners, along with his sidekick (Buster Keaton). Oh, they show up with a small army of men who humorously all get out of a car one by one, which was a great gag, and never mind the fact that we never see all those others again.
While surveying the mountainous terrain Arbuckle and Buster stand perilously at the edge of a cliff, then Buster falls over the edge, and so naturally Arbuckle tries to pull him up by the hair. Later when Buster finds himself buried, Arbuckle aggressively digs him up, caring little for how close the pick axe may come to Buster's body, then washes him in the lake and hangs his entire body upside down in a tree. "Call me when you're dry," he quips. There is an edge to Arbuckle's character that I've come to appreciate; his persona was like a dark, untamed force that's a contrast to the sweeter aspects of Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd.
We see this edge in other characters in his films as well. The moonshiner's daughter (Alice Lake) is aggressively pursued by a creepy mountain man (Al St. John), but holds her own by walloping him in the face each time he kisses her. "Calm yourself, my child," her father cautions, "Wait until you're married to hit him as much as you wish." It felt a little wrong to laugh about this but I couldn't help myself.
As she struggles with her father, Arbuckle arrives on the scene and throws her in the lake. His show of strength endears her to him, which may come across as humorous or sickening, but I guess I chose the former. "I love you!" she says. When the father remonstrates, Arbuckle says "Our film is only a two-reel short. No time for preliminary love scenes!" The father replies, "In that case, go on... I don't care. I don't want to ruin your masterpiece," and that sarcasm directed against itself really made me chuckle.
Buster gets in a few moments himself, in one scene making wild faces at Al St. John (who makes a few of his own), then bounding off through the meadow like a chimpanzee before hanging in a tree and then being chased up its branches.
Arbuckle is captured and thrown into a pretty posh cellar. "How can I escape from this cell?" he wonders aloud, then cracks open a book and finds that it's The Count of Monte Cristo. "Thanks for the idea, Alexandre (Dumas). I'll play dead," he says, before pouring ketchup on himself and firing a gun into the air. Why he would still have a gun or the moonshiners would be fooled by ketchup, never mind, it's a comedy. We then get an exploding and reconstructing cabin with the film run backwards.
It's not a masterpiece but was creative and unique, something which went beyond the usual kinds of slapstick antics. Buster getting the girl in the end was a plus too.
While surveying the mountainous terrain Arbuckle and Buster stand perilously at the edge of a cliff, then Buster falls over the edge, and so naturally Arbuckle tries to pull him up by the hair. Later when Buster finds himself buried, Arbuckle aggressively digs him up, caring little for how close the pick axe may come to Buster's body, then washes him in the lake and hangs his entire body upside down in a tree. "Call me when you're dry," he quips. There is an edge to Arbuckle's character that I've come to appreciate; his persona was like a dark, untamed force that's a contrast to the sweeter aspects of Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd.
We see this edge in other characters in his films as well. The moonshiner's daughter (Alice Lake) is aggressively pursued by a creepy mountain man (Al St. John), but holds her own by walloping him in the face each time he kisses her. "Calm yourself, my child," her father cautions, "Wait until you're married to hit him as much as you wish." It felt a little wrong to laugh about this but I couldn't help myself.
As she struggles with her father, Arbuckle arrives on the scene and throws her in the lake. His show of strength endears her to him, which may come across as humorous or sickening, but I guess I chose the former. "I love you!" she says. When the father remonstrates, Arbuckle says "Our film is only a two-reel short. No time for preliminary love scenes!" The father replies, "In that case, go on... I don't care. I don't want to ruin your masterpiece," and that sarcasm directed against itself really made me chuckle.
Buster gets in a few moments himself, in one scene making wild faces at Al St. John (who makes a few of his own), then bounding off through the meadow like a chimpanzee before hanging in a tree and then being chased up its branches.
Arbuckle is captured and thrown into a pretty posh cellar. "How can I escape from this cell?" he wonders aloud, then cracks open a book and finds that it's The Count of Monte Cristo. "Thanks for the idea, Alexandre (Dumas). I'll play dead," he says, before pouring ketchup on himself and firing a gun into the air. Why he would still have a gun or the moonshiners would be fooled by ketchup, never mind, it's a comedy. We then get an exploding and reconstructing cabin with the film run backwards.
It's not a masterpiece but was creative and unique, something which went beyond the usual kinds of slapstick antics. Buster getting the girl in the end was a plus too.