When talkies came along and swept away the silent cinema many of the reigning stars were dismayed, naturally enough, but some of them publicly welcomed the change and said so in the press. Whether this was sincere or mere bravado surely varied, depending on who was talking. I don't know if Harry Langdon's opinion about the new technology was ever recorded. By the time talkies came along Langdon was no longer a top star, and his views were no longer sought by reporters. Langdon didn't live long enough to be "rediscovered" and interviewed in later life, but Buster Keaton did, and he told more than one interviewer how he would have used sound if he'd retained control of his own film unit: he would have avoided wisecracks, restricted dialog to the essential minimum, and kept right on performing his characteristic physical comedy, backed with appropriate music and sound effects. Both Langdon and Keaton worked at Educational Pictures in the '30s, and although their creative control was limited (and so were their budgets!) we can find approximations of what Buster described in the best films both of these gifted comedians made at the studio. The Big Flash is the first of the two-reel comedies Harry made under his Educational contract, and it displays more than a hint of the style he perfected at the Sennett Studio in the mid-1920s. Happily, it also pairs him with Vernon Dent, his frequent co-star from Sennett days.
The story is set in a newspaper office where Klaus (Dent) works as a janitor. The editor-in-chief wants photos of a notorious crook named Brick Dugan and his moll, Nadine. When Klaus learns that the assistant janitor (Harry) is a talented amateur shutter-bug, and that he happens to have a compromising snapshot of the boss, Klaus uses the threat of blackmail to improve his position at the paper. As a "reward," Klaus and his assistant are assigned the job of getting exclusive photos, first of Nadine and then of Brick himself—while he's in the act of robbing a jewelry store, no less. Meanwhile Klaus and Harry are rivals for the affections of Betty, a secretary who works for the paper. In the end, and despite much ineptitude along the way, Harry wins the day and the girl.
This plot could easily have been used to for a silent comedy. (And perhaps it was, although I don't recognize it as a remake of any earlier short.) Even with the addition of sound, Langdon's personal brand of visual comedy carries the film. He looks and behaves much as he did in the Sennett shorts, as when he mops the hallway using a highly idiosyncratic method, splashing tiny dollops of water onto the floor with his hands, mopping dirt under a rug, etc. Dialog is kept to a minimum, and there are plenty of gags that would work just as well with the sound off. Harry has a memorable scene with Nadine, the crook's sexy girlfriend, showing his characteristic degree of alarm and wariness when she attempts to vamp him. (Actress Lita Chevret flashes so much leg in this scene I began to wonder if the title referred to her.) There's an initially mysterious bit involving popcorn kernels in Harry's pocket, but a nice payoff: when Nadine kisses Harry, the unpopped popcorn in his pocket pops. Harry freezes into a statue, dazed, teeters dangerously back and forth, then collapses. It's a prime Langdon bit. Later, handed a tommy-gun, Harry accidentally fires it off, spraying his surroundings with bullets, and terrifying everyone—again, shtick he could do back in the silent days, and did.
If you enjoy Harry Langdon's silent work you'll probably enjoy The Big Flash, which, low budget notwithstanding, offers a number of satisfying comic moments. Nice to see and hear Vernon Dent too, as he was always Harry's best foil. And here's a shout-out to the unheralded and very attractive Lita Chevret, who makes me wish I'd been around in 1932. I understand Harry's reaction completely.
The story is set in a newspaper office where Klaus (Dent) works as a janitor. The editor-in-chief wants photos of a notorious crook named Brick Dugan and his moll, Nadine. When Klaus learns that the assistant janitor (Harry) is a talented amateur shutter-bug, and that he happens to have a compromising snapshot of the boss, Klaus uses the threat of blackmail to improve his position at the paper. As a "reward," Klaus and his assistant are assigned the job of getting exclusive photos, first of Nadine and then of Brick himself—while he's in the act of robbing a jewelry store, no less. Meanwhile Klaus and Harry are rivals for the affections of Betty, a secretary who works for the paper. In the end, and despite much ineptitude along the way, Harry wins the day and the girl.
This plot could easily have been used to for a silent comedy. (And perhaps it was, although I don't recognize it as a remake of any earlier short.) Even with the addition of sound, Langdon's personal brand of visual comedy carries the film. He looks and behaves much as he did in the Sennett shorts, as when he mops the hallway using a highly idiosyncratic method, splashing tiny dollops of water onto the floor with his hands, mopping dirt under a rug, etc. Dialog is kept to a minimum, and there are plenty of gags that would work just as well with the sound off. Harry has a memorable scene with Nadine, the crook's sexy girlfriend, showing his characteristic degree of alarm and wariness when she attempts to vamp him. (Actress Lita Chevret flashes so much leg in this scene I began to wonder if the title referred to her.) There's an initially mysterious bit involving popcorn kernels in Harry's pocket, but a nice payoff: when Nadine kisses Harry, the unpopped popcorn in his pocket pops. Harry freezes into a statue, dazed, teeters dangerously back and forth, then collapses. It's a prime Langdon bit. Later, handed a tommy-gun, Harry accidentally fires it off, spraying his surroundings with bullets, and terrifying everyone—again, shtick he could do back in the silent days, and did.
If you enjoy Harry Langdon's silent work you'll probably enjoy The Big Flash, which, low budget notwithstanding, offers a number of satisfying comic moments. Nice to see and hear Vernon Dent too, as he was always Harry's best foil. And here's a shout-out to the unheralded and very attractive Lita Chevret, who makes me wish I'd been around in 1932. I understand Harry's reaction completely.