A fan did this amazing Buster Keaton montage to the tune of "Hooked on a Can Canl". I'm trying to identify what movies all the bits are from. And a couple of them are very familiar but I can't place exactly what movie they're from. Help?
(Links take you to where you can watch the movie in question free online)
*Dumped off a train -- The High Sign
*Sit up, cock hat at girl -- The Balloonatic
*Out window onto sidewalk / Run into big guy and run off -- The Goat
*Tumble over deck rope -- The Love Nest
*Boiled egg balance -- The Navigator (1924)
*Oncoming headlights -- Hard Luck
*Bouncing leap -- The Paleface
*Leap onto waiter -- The Three Ages (1923)
*Legs flying tumble -- Coney Island
*Clonking caveman -- The Three Ages (1923)
*Golf swing tumble -- Convict 13
*Boxing bop -- Battling Butler (1926) (All I could get was a clip, not the whole film. Sorry.)
*Broom spin and tumble -- The Butcher Boy
*Backflip -- Coney Island
*Dancing cartwheel in drag -- Hollywood Revue of 1929 (Clips with Buster)
*Spinning around room -- One Week
*Dance -- Grand Slam Opera
*Dance and dragged off by cop -- Neighbors
*Highland Fling -- The Garage
*Leap onto bed -- Grand Slam Opera
*Dangling Spin -- Speak Easily
*Stroll into tumble over woman -- My Wife's Relations
*Bump off bus fender -- The Cameraman
*Derailing handcar -- The General (1927) (Sorry about the intro and cheesy music. A much better one is available on Netflix.)
*Dangling from chandelier -- ?
*Toss from tub into car that rolls -- The Garage
*Tossed by crowd into backward roll -- The Saphead
*Plank on head by hole in wall -- The Cameraman
*Conked on sidewalk -- Seven Chances
*Conked playing ukulele -- Pest from the West (Clip only, sorry)
*Upside down dangling horse mount -- Hard Luck
*Rowing horse -- Hard Luck
*Blind gallop in dress with umbrella -- Our Hospitality (1923)
*Whip horse into stroll -- ?
*Wooden horse getaway -- The Scarecrow (1920)
*Backward on horse -- The Paleface
*Chased by cop -- Daydreams
*Run in devil suit -- Go West (1925)
*Dive under legs / Passing car yank offscreen -- Cops (1922)
*Dive thru window into costume / Dive through the peddler's tray -- Sherlock, Jr.
*Rifle routine -- The High Sign
*Backslap drink catch -- ?
*Dance with girl -- ?
*Dancing drop -- ?
*Harem dancer -- Hollywood Revue of 1929 (Clips with Buster)
*Dance with girl -- ?
*Jumping rope with taffy -- My Wife's Relations (Sorry, can't find one with sound except on Netflix)
*Downspout into window -- The High Sign
*Cowboy tumble -- Go West (1925)
*High jump onto head -- College
*Sink into hatch -- The Love Nest
*Dog chase in ruins and thru windows -- The Scarecrow (1920)
*Dog bites butt -- The Garage
*Dropped on floor - My Wife's Relations (Sorry, can't find one with sound except on Netflix)
*Off fence onto face -- The Goat
*Kicked into breakdance -- The Butcher Boy
*Knocked off pommel horse -- Sidewalks of New York
*Rope jerk into breakdance -- Steamboat Bill Jr.
*Motorcycle mishap / Car into river -- Sherlock, Jr.
*Bottom of car drives off -- One Week
*Collapsing car -- The Three Ages (1923)
*Paddlewheel treadmill -- Daydreams
*Rooftop tumble -- The Cameraman
*Pajama dance with tall woman -- Parlor, Bedroom and Bath
*Boxing leap -- Battling Butler (1926)
*Long tumbles -- Seven Chances
*Yanked off rock ledge -- Our Hospitality (1923)
*Dance with costumed soldiers -- ?
*Two dancing Busters -- The Playhouse
*Low dance into tumble -- Grand Slam Opera
*Double butt kick -- The Scarecrow (1920)
*Escalator tumble / Tumble off table -- The Electric House
*Collapsing deck chair -- The Navigator (1924)
*Boxing ring tumble -- Battling Butler (1926)
*Kicked out door -- The General (1927) (Sorry about the intro and cheesy music. A much better one is available on Netflix.)
*Baseball bats -- College
*Backward down hatch stairs -- Steamboat Bill Jr.
*Backtumble in rapids -- Our Hospitality (1923)
*Thru wall into guy -- Sherlock, Jr.
*Inside rolling boat -- The Boat
*Leap into wind -- Steamboat Bill Jr.
*Train demolishes house -- One Week
*Water tower plunge -- Sherlock, Jr. (He broke his neck shooting that bit.)
*Chased by mini cannon -- The Navigator (1924)
*Leap and fall through awnings -- The Three Ages (1923) (Footage of injury accident turned into gag)
*Disintegrating barrel tumble -- Go West (1925)
*Dodging boulders -- Seven Chances
*Swinging waterfall rescue -- Our Hospitality
*Throwing wood at cannon -- The General (1927) (Sorry about the intro and cheesy music. A much better one is available on Netflix.)
*Falling wall -- Steamboat Bill Jr.
*Lion salute -- The Three Ages (1923)
*The End -- The Blacksmith
2009년 9월 28일 월요일
2009년 6월 11일 목요일
A Throne Away from Home
I was teetering on the brink. Should I take the job at Nam Incheon SLP or not?
I'd looked into all the practical questions the State Department website recommended foolhardy Americans ask when considering a teaching job in Korea. I'd established that the school in question had been around for years, so it wasn't likely to fold while I was there. It was affiliated with a university, so there was probably some sort of professional oversight of things. The administrator spoke excellent English, so I'd be able to communicate with the Korean staff easily. I spoke to one of the foreign teachers, and she spoke well of the place and didn't seem to be trying to hide anything. Overall, I figured that the worst case scenario was that the State Department warnings were right, that going to teach English in Korea was a fool's errand, I'd end up living in substandard housing while not getting paid for my sixty hours a week of teaching in a dismal and overcrowded dump, and I'd have to go pleading to my sister to fly me home with her frequent-flyer miles. (Yeah, she'd berate me for my stupidity, but she did that anyway so what did I realy have to lose?)
Worst case scenario, I figured, was a free trip to Korea. Or nearly free -- I'd be out the cost of a passport and some scolding from my sister. That didn't seem like too high a price to pay for a little adventure.
But one thought nagged at me and made me hesitate.
What were Korean toilets like?
I wasn't exactly the seasoned world traveller. I'd only been to Germany and France. But France had taught me that you didn't have to stray too far culturally to come across some truly bewildering toilets.
We weren't five miles into France when we encountered the first.
I'd been traveling with my husband, Craig, and his friend, Eddie. We'd wanted to push to get the whole way into France before our first pit stop -- which was a bad idea, since we also figured that we'd need lots of Jolt to keep us awake for all that driving. By the time we crossed the border into France our bladders were the size of watermelons and crying to be emptied. NOW.
But, just as we expected, there was a roadside rest area just over the border. We were saved!
I parked the car and scurried over to the side of the building with the skirted-figure sign, while Craig and Eddie made their way to the panted-figured side. I made my way around a baffles only to be baffled.
There before me, set into the ground, was a clean, new, shallow cement trough. Painted on either side was a footprint to show the user where to stand. I dutifully planted a foot on either side and contemplated my predicament. Whoever had designed this bathroom evidently didn't realize that various solids and fluids were usually released by drivers at roadside rest stops; he hadn't designed any sort of drain or trap door or other exit in the trough for whatever fluids or solids might be deposited there. No. Whatever you voided would accumulate between your feet and, I presumed, await additions by the next visitor.
I called to Craig and Eddie, who joined me promptly.
"Look at this!"
They didn't seem nearly as put out as I was. "It's the same on the men's side," they told me.
"Well, I'm not doing my business in there," I announced.
I climbed over the guardrail and made my way into the bushes for Nature's Latrine. I was a camper and hiker; a hole in the dirt is a proper latrine. A nice clean cement trough isn't.
France offered further bewilderment when we stopped for the night at Rheims. Our hotel room featured a sink and a bidet, but no toilet.
"What I need to do can't be done in a bidet," I pointed out. We searched the room and found a closet -- a clothes closet, not a water closet. We crossed the hall and knocked on Eddie's door, to no avail. He was even more scantily provided for than we were, for he lacked the bidet.
The three of us prowled the entire floor of the hotel, opening every unlocked door. We found broom closets. We found showers. But there wasn't a toilet to be found. I ended up walking up the street to a gas station.
The final toilet insult came in Paris in the form of the sidewalk pay toilets.
They were some brushed-steel capsules that would have looked at home in any Star Trek movie aboard the most cutting-edge spaceship. When you put your coin in the slot, the door slid open with an efficient WHOOSH!
Revealing a tiny stainless steel room, in the center of which stood a thigh-high stainless-steel pedestal atop which perched a stainless-steel bowl. It looked like a futuristic clean freak's idea of a birdbath. And, like the cement trough, it had no drain or other exit in the bottom.
"I'm not depositing my business in a stainless steel birdbath!" I announced.
My husband, being less coy about his bodily functions, volunteered to try it out. He stepped in. The door WHOOSHED shut behind him. A few minutes later, it WHOOSHED open again. He stepped out and the door closed behind him.
THUD! We could hear a sound as if the floor had dropped away like a trap door. Then a loud WHISSSSHHH as if of a high-power sprayer. Then a CLUNK!
Curiosity overwhelmed us. We put more money in just to get the door to open again. The little stainless steel room was empty and clean.
And no way was I going to step into a public toilet with a floor that dropped.
For the rest of our trip to Paris, I made a point of remembering where all the plain old ordinary commode-style toilets were so I could go to one when the need arose. I'd make an extra subway ride to get to one. I was having none of the bizarre non-toilets.
If I'd encountered such weirdness in such a non-alien country as France, what could I expect to encounter in the mysterious East? You might have to stand on your head to use an Asian toilet!
So I asked for pictures of the apartments.
I got back pictures showing a normal living room, kitchen, and bathroom -- complete with easily-recognizable American style toilet.
I took the job.
I'd looked into all the practical questions the State Department website recommended foolhardy Americans ask when considering a teaching job in Korea. I'd established that the school in question had been around for years, so it wasn't likely to fold while I was there. It was affiliated with a university, so there was probably some sort of professional oversight of things. The administrator spoke excellent English, so I'd be able to communicate with the Korean staff easily. I spoke to one of the foreign teachers, and she spoke well of the place and didn't seem to be trying to hide anything. Overall, I figured that the worst case scenario was that the State Department warnings were right, that going to teach English in Korea was a fool's errand, I'd end up living in substandard housing while not getting paid for my sixty hours a week of teaching in a dismal and overcrowded dump, and I'd have to go pleading to my sister to fly me home with her frequent-flyer miles. (Yeah, she'd berate me for my stupidity, but she did that anyway so what did I realy have to lose?)
Worst case scenario, I figured, was a free trip to Korea. Or nearly free -- I'd be out the cost of a passport and some scolding from my sister. That didn't seem like too high a price to pay for a little adventure.
But one thought nagged at me and made me hesitate.
What were Korean toilets like?
I wasn't exactly the seasoned world traveller. I'd only been to Germany and France. But France had taught me that you didn't have to stray too far culturally to come across some truly bewildering toilets.
We weren't five miles into France when we encountered the first.
I'd been traveling with my husband, Craig, and his friend, Eddie. We'd wanted to push to get the whole way into France before our first pit stop -- which was a bad idea, since we also figured that we'd need lots of Jolt to keep us awake for all that driving. By the time we crossed the border into France our bladders were the size of watermelons and crying to be emptied. NOW.
But, just as we expected, there was a roadside rest area just over the border. We were saved!
I parked the car and scurried over to the side of the building with the skirted-figure sign, while Craig and Eddie made their way to the panted-figured side. I made my way around a baffles only to be baffled.
There before me, set into the ground, was a clean, new, shallow cement trough. Painted on either side was a footprint to show the user where to stand. I dutifully planted a foot on either side and contemplated my predicament. Whoever had designed this bathroom evidently didn't realize that various solids and fluids were usually released by drivers at roadside rest stops; he hadn't designed any sort of drain or trap door or other exit in the trough for whatever fluids or solids might be deposited there. No. Whatever you voided would accumulate between your feet and, I presumed, await additions by the next visitor.
I called to Craig and Eddie, who joined me promptly.
"Look at this!"
They didn't seem nearly as put out as I was. "It's the same on the men's side," they told me.
"Well, I'm not doing my business in there," I announced.
I climbed over the guardrail and made my way into the bushes for Nature's Latrine. I was a camper and hiker; a hole in the dirt is a proper latrine. A nice clean cement trough isn't.
France offered further bewilderment when we stopped for the night at Rheims. Our hotel room featured a sink and a bidet, but no toilet.
"What I need to do can't be done in a bidet," I pointed out. We searched the room and found a closet -- a clothes closet, not a water closet. We crossed the hall and knocked on Eddie's door, to no avail. He was even more scantily provided for than we were, for he lacked the bidet.
The three of us prowled the entire floor of the hotel, opening every unlocked door. We found broom closets. We found showers. But there wasn't a toilet to be found. I ended up walking up the street to a gas station.
The final toilet insult came in Paris in the form of the sidewalk pay toilets.
They were some brushed-steel capsules that would have looked at home in any Star Trek movie aboard the most cutting-edge spaceship. When you put your coin in the slot, the door slid open with an efficient WHOOSH!
Revealing a tiny stainless steel room, in the center of which stood a thigh-high stainless-steel pedestal atop which perched a stainless-steel bowl. It looked like a futuristic clean freak's idea of a birdbath. And, like the cement trough, it had no drain or other exit in the bottom.
"I'm not depositing my business in a stainless steel birdbath!" I announced.
My husband, being less coy about his bodily functions, volunteered to try it out. He stepped in. The door WHOOSHED shut behind him. A few minutes later, it WHOOSHED open again. He stepped out and the door closed behind him.
THUD! We could hear a sound as if the floor had dropped away like a trap door. Then a loud WHISSSSHHH as if of a high-power sprayer. Then a CLUNK!
Curiosity overwhelmed us. We put more money in just to get the door to open again. The little stainless steel room was empty and clean.
And no way was I going to step into a public toilet with a floor that dropped.
For the rest of our trip to Paris, I made a point of remembering where all the plain old ordinary commode-style toilets were so I could go to one when the need arose. I'd make an extra subway ride to get to one. I was having none of the bizarre non-toilets.
If I'd encountered such weirdness in such a non-alien country as France, what could I expect to encounter in the mysterious East? You might have to stand on your head to use an Asian toilet!
So I asked for pictures of the apartments.
I got back pictures showing a normal living room, kitchen, and bathroom -- complete with easily-recognizable American style toilet.
I took the job.
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