—I ever tell you about that time years ago I was on this ledge uptown trying to pull the damn psycho inside?
—You mean where the guy jumped and you almost fell? No, you never told me that story.
—[laughing] No, you never listened. So there I was. I put everything I had into saving this dumb-ass, low-life suicidal that when he went down, it was like I wanted to go with him.
—That happened once in Ireland. This girl jumped off the Cliffs of Moher and the wind blew her back up.
—The wind blew her back up?
—Yeah, the wind.
—No, that was Jesus, son.
—It was also the wind.
—The wind, my black ass. That was Jesus.
Bringing Out the Dead (1999)
Post with 7 notes
[Buster] Keaton is never so great as when he manages to organise (to seize simply) the countryside into his overall design, giving, in a flashing surge of beauty, his personal vibration to the secret modulation of its lines, to its concrete harmony…
Jean-Patrick Lebel, Buster Keaton, English edition 1967
Keaton is probably the only comic who, apart from the classic race-chase, really knows how to use space, to give wind to the gag, to burst the bonds of the ‘inside gag’ by blowing a great wind into it, filling it with countryside and endless vistas, finally organising the universe into an immense gag in itself.
Philippe Demun, “Espace Vital”, in Contre-Champ, no. 3, May 1962, review of Steamboat Bill Jr. and Battling Butler