All language subtitles for The.Golden.Age.of.Comedy.1957.BluRay-LM

Turn back with
us now, turn back to a time

when the movies were much younger

and like all youthful things
full of fun and high spirits.

Down that long dusty road
the clowns are coming,

the great voiceless,
irreplaceable clowns who

rock the world with laughter.

Most of them are gone but they

have left their shadows behind.

So come back with us now,
come back to that time

of wonderful nonsense
called the Roaring '20s.

Come back to the Golden Age of Comedy.

Behind that curtain the
world is 30 years younger

and an unsmiling king presides
over his loony domain.

A rugged gray maned king,
who has already ridden

the escalator of success from boiler maker

to chief of the first laugh factory.

The father of American
screen comedy Max Sennett.

In 1924 when these only
slightly exaggerated scenes

were taken the Sennett
Studios were already in their

second decade of inspired madness.

Their specialty was the
delightfully improbable,

like this lion in the office.

Their gags were completely visual,

a form of wit that has all
but disappeared from the land.

But one which experts now agree is perhaps

the most imaginative and
enduring comedy of all.

The lion has fled the
scene and the king himself

has long since retired,
but movie fans still fondly

remember such daring
innovations as the Max Sennett

Bathing Beauties in whose
rants many a star was born,

and who did so much to
liberate the American woman

from the Mother Hubbard bathing suits.

Sennett Studies were place
of wonderful illusion,

where a daring rider could
gallop out of the west

without moving as much as
an inch on the old back lot.

Indeed without evening
bothering about a horse.

And far from trying to
hide their bag of tricks

the Sennett technicians made
them part of the comedy.

Pride of the lot was the only
revolving stage in Hollywood,

a monstrous merry-go-round and treadmill,

which kept the scenery
moving behind the comedian.

Hurricane gusts from the
wind machine sent bits

of paper flying past the
camera to help create

the appearance of swift
and violent motion.

The director is Vernon
Dent, the dapper man about

the stages with the roving
eye is Charlie Murray.

But in Sennett comedies the
pursuit of beauty was often

interrupted by the appearance
of the pursuers wife,

usually played by Louise Carver.

The result with a busy
studio itself as a backdrop

is the kind of slapstick which
proves that motion pictures

are meant to move and that
action speaks louder than words.

Now Sennett kids one of his
own money saving customs,

stealing shots of actual happenings

to cut into his comedies.

Get a load of that peekaboo lens.

It was perfectly natural for the camera

to doze off with the cameraman.

And who could deny such
things might really

happen when they happened
right before your eyes.

On the firing line the
neighborhood youngster,

on the receiving end, Charlie Murray.

Sennett gags were created
by the maddest squad

of gag men in entertainment history.

Each day they were locked
collectively into a

penthouse office, deprived of heavy food

and strong drink and guarded, cajoled

and brow beaten by the old master himself.

Here selected from the output of a decade

are some of the results.

In "The Hollywood Kid"
Charlie Murray, having failed

to obtain a confession from
the small fry is forced

to spank them all, well almost all.

In "Wandering Willies"
Billy Bevan innocently

prepares to enjoy a
delicious bowl of oyster stew

and ends up in a desperate
battle with a wild oyster.

In "Muscle-Bound Music" in
a memorable boarding house

concert Billy Bevan and Davy Morris

combine rock'n'roll with rippin' tares.

In "Wall Street Blues"
dashing Billy Bevan seems

to heed the call of the open road but alas

fates fickle finger has flicked
him into a different role,

the office janitor.

Billy's boss is Andy
Clyde, who took a boomer

in bloomers just when the
girl started wearing slacks.

Meanwhile Billy is cleaning
up with his new super powered

torpedo vacuum cleaner,
originally designed to

pick fat ladies off massage tables.

With each tick of the
ticker Andy gets sicker,

now in comes a slicker.

Soft hearted Jack Richardson
and his toddy Vernon Dent

watch Andy play with a poison bottle,

and make side bets as to how long

it will take him to take it.

Well that kills that bet.

In pops another well
wisher, Edgar Kennedy,

one of the seven original Keystone Cops.

Later to win fame and fortune

as a master of the slow burn.

It's a stick up.

Billy is marched in and
soft hearted Jack makes

tracks for outer space, a perfect escape,

except for one small miscalculation.

Jack forgot they were on the 20th floor.

Vernon is reminded of his mother's advice,

if you have a bad companion, drop him.

In "Circus Today" the background
is the tent show circus,

which like comedy itself
has almost vanished

from the American scene.

Billy Bevan plays a
dimwitted daredevil in the

pudgy clutches of Kewpie Morgan.

The stunt for this afternoon is a low dive

into a trial size swimming pool.

It's a cinch thinks Billy
but he doesn't reckon

with the calamitous cupidity
of the callous Kewpie.

Basking in the spotlight
the blindfolded Billy

is ready to go, but Kewpie has
to make one minor adjustment.

Now Kewpie's mad because Billy busted

his brand new swimming pool.

So Kewpie runs after Billy,
Billy's pal the elephant

runs after Kewpie and
in a few split seconds

we're off with chariots,
circus wagons, charging horses,

toppling acrobats, panting
pachyderms and roaring lions

on one of those crazy
careening pursuits which became

a trademark of the Golden
Age of Comedy, the chase.

In the Max Sennett comedies extra's had

to know how to take it.

Madam Stella, the circus queen is dressing

for the matinee when her
maid suddenly gives notice.

"Marie!", calls Madam Stella.

"Come powder my back."

"My Marie, you're rough."

This plucky young actress
giving a perfectly

controlled performance
with a lion as her costar

is Madeline Hurlock, who
was later to marry the

Pulitzer Prize playwright
Robert Emmet Sherwood.

So long Mrs Sherwood.

Max Sennett's arch rival was Hal Roach,

who late in the '20s
unveiled an immortal team,

Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy.

Ironically as individual
comedians Laurel and Hardy

had been around since
the movie's early days.

Laurel had once starred but
had been reduced to featured

player, Hardy had never
risen above supporting roles.

Then in 1927 they were
accidentally paired and almost

overnight became the movie's
most popular comedy team.

Stan and Oliver were
never to find much favor

with the critics but
the public loved them.

When they performed an act
as simple as climbing a pole

to read a street sign in the dark

gales of laughter swept round the world.

Not before or since has anyone

scaled a wall like Oliver Hardy.

"The Second Hundred Years"
in which they played

jailbirds with a long time
to roost was one of the

earliest of the Laurel and Hardy comedies.

Hardy had not as yet
quite acquired the full

roundness of physic that was
to characterize him later.

A couple of visiting
painters knock off for lunch

and an idea creeps into
Laurel and Hardy's minds.

They'll turn their
coats, swipe the brushes

and pretend their painters too,

before the guards discover
they're gone, gone, gone.

Just as freedom seems
completely within their grasp

Stan and Oliver become aware
of a pair of suspicious eyes.

The chips are down, their
futures hang in the balance.

They must prove that
they're really painters

and prove it they do.

In "We Slip Up" Laurel
and Hardy starred as

hen pecked husbands making an elaborate

withdrawal from their suspicious wives.

The boys have just explained
that they're merely

going to the picture show
and of course the wives

believe their every word.

Downtown two young ladies
are getting a shoe shine when

fate and an electric fan blow
them into a great adventure.

No bonnet remains under a car for long,

not with gallant Oliver
there to retrieve it.

Naturally it was no
more than hospitable for

the girls to invite the boys up to dry up

and in these cozy
surroundings the spirit of

fun playfully raises its tousled head.

Go on there Hardy, be bohemian.

Olive is soothing his
ruffled hostess when,

you guessed it, in pops her boyfriend,

an unforgiving character named Nasty Nate.

In this emotion charged moment
who should come prancing

down the street but those
human bloodhounds, the wives.

"The Battle of the Century"
demonstrated a rule of

natural science, if someone slips.

The pie in the face had been
originated by Max Sennett

in the earliest days of
his keystone comedies.

By 1928, when this film was made,

produced a pie throwing.

Musicians decked out
like the spirit of '76

pipe and drum a congressional
candidate into the kind of

dusty, sleepy, Midwestern
town that has totally

disappeared since these
scenes were some 35 years ago.

Here satirizing a backwoods
campaigner is a man of

a type that has alas all
but disappeared as well,

the cowboy who grew into an
actor, humorist and philosopher

and who became at last an
American legend, Will Rogers.

In this period Will was
still fresh from his triumphs

in the "Ziegfeld Follies",
he kidded congressmen,

presidents and kings and
never offended a soul.

His wit contained no insult or malice,

yet it dissolved pretension
with the cold light of logic

and in its simplicity
spoke the language of all.

In a Hal Roach comedy of 1923
called "Uncensored Movies"

Will Rogers portrayed a
small time lecturer exposing

the behind the scenes
secrets of Hollywood before

a popeyed gullible audience in some

remote and forgotten hamlet.

This give Will a wonderful opportunity to

parody the biggest stars
of the far off time

and the most successful
of then current pictures.

Smack into Sherwood
Forest jumps Robin Hood,

as played by the immortal
Douglas Fairbanks,

whose played in turn by the immortal Will.

The Fairbanks version of
Robin Hood was sweeping the

country and crowds everywhere
laughed at this timely spoof.

But no one laughed
louder than Will Rogers'

good friend Douglas Fairbanks himself.

The merry men dance back into the forest

and for the intrepid Robin
game to the heartstrings,

only one stunt remains, getting out of his

safety belt and down
from that big bad tree.

In reality of course Fairbanks
was a great athlete and

Rogers, the ex cowboy, was a
pretty fair acrobat himself.

But that just made this
little scene all the funnier.

In the '20s a wide brimmed
hat and checkered shirt

meant Tom Mix, a misunderstood
hero who was forever

being chased by the Sheriff's posse.

Tom was brave, nonchalant, true blue

and, oh yes, game to the heartstrings.

The occasional blemishes
on the screen during

this short sequence are
not spots before your eyes,

the original negative of
this 35 year old classic

was already partially decomposed
when it was reprinted.

To preserve for posterity what is probably

the last existing record of Will Roger's

considerable prowess as a trick rider.

Tom Mix swings this away.

The posse swings that a way and heads for

Crouse Myers Canyon, the bottom of it.

At this point Tom would
have ridden into the sunset,

if it hadn't been the
middle of the afternoon.

Behind that wall of feet lurks Will Rogers

as Ford Sterling, chief of
the original Keystone Cops.

While law and order snooze
Metaphor the maid is

reading Three Weeks when Mad Morris puts

the snatch on her purse.

In those days you hired
a nursemaid to tickle

and a dog to mind the baby.

Mad Morris is gaining so Metaphor

puts in a call to the police.

To pad his part the
old time comedian could

produce a whole dictionary of motions

just to answer the phone.

Here in reasonable facsimile
come the Keystone Cops,

led by their intrepid
commander brave, swift

and gallant and you named
it, game to the heartstrings.

In this little episode we come full circle

as Rogers kids Sterling,
Roach kids Sennett

and comedy kids comedy.

When the Keystone Cops were on the loose

it was no fit time for
man, beast or bakery shop.

The plot thickens as it
develops that Mad Morris

is the ringleader of a band
of desperate Tin Lizzies.

The Lizzies wheel about,
in a twinkling the pursuers

become the pursued and across
a forlorn forgotten field

on a day so long ago Will
Rogers runs away into memory.

Out trots the track team
of fair Sunnydale College

and in the ranks a girl
not to be forgotten,

one destined for stardom, Carol Lombard.

Carol would rather powder than train

and this disturbs her
coach Daphne Pollard.

College films were popular in the '20s,

when everybody from baby to
grandpop wanted to collegiate.

The big race is announced,
proud Sunnydale's hopes

are pinned on Carol.

Daphne holds aloft the starting gun.

It was a clean start, Carol running easily

forges to the head of this
tight pack of 18 year olds.

Fanny brings up the rear,
Carol seems to have it won,

but wait, she's pausing, breaking stride.

Muriel of Pritmore is going past.

Muriel of Pritmore's in the lead

and it's Muriel of Pritmore to win.

Carol place and plenty to show.

Daphne lectures Carol on
school spirit, which in the

movies at least is all
that college's ever taught.

Now the final event of the afternoon

with the score tied 50 to 50.

Carol's in the lineup with
a chance to redeem herself.

The coach's pleadings ring in her ears,

the will to win swells in her breast.

The love for lovely old
Sunnydale beats in her heart.

Her boyfriend cheers in
the stands but even so

Carol's having a rough
time taking those hurdles.

Now with the hurdles
behind Carol's coming fast.

She's past the pack, she's
neck and neck with the leader.

They're matching stride for stride.

Carol's edging forward and
she's over the line, the winner!

Oh what a glorious day for Sunndydale.

Behind the celebrants a
chain forms to grow ever

longer and whirl ever faster.

But all things must go
and soon it will be gone

as the age of flappers
and flaming youth is gone.

And a girl Jane Peters,
who became Carol Lombard

and who loved life so well
and died so tragically.

The lights of Broadway glow
in the descending night,

the Broadway of 1929.

A cab pulls up before a swank hotel.

Two doormen named Laurel
and Hardy bobble about,

but look inside that cab,
perhaps you recognize the girl?

This bit player is to
become one of the most

publicized women in the world.

Her platinum hair, exquisite
figure and breezy manner

are to create a new kind of
movie heroine, the first of a

glamorous line that includes
today's Marilyn Monroe.

Her name, Jean Harlow.

Her role in this Hal Roach
comedy called "Double Whoopee"

was small but it was a
kind of role you couldn't

help noticing and she filled it so well.

It provided Jean Harlow
with her first real break.

Though our subject is
comedy grow serious we must,

for we are about to meet the
most versatile of actors,

a man of a thousand roles,
all of them different.

And a thousand faces,
all of them the same.

A man who could make Barrymore blush

and von Stroheim grow pale.

Behind that final towel lurks Ben Turpin.

Here Turpin plays one of his
most famous characterizations,

that at of Rodney St Clair,

the international
playboy and heartbreaker.

In real life however Ben
was staunchly conservative.

He bought an apartment house
and though his salary rose

to $1,500 a week he got up
early each morning to act

as janitor before riding
the street car to work.

At this time a scene
from "The Merry Widow"

was shocking America, in
it John Gilbert made love

while blindfolded musicians played.

And if John Gilbert could have

blindfolded musicians so could Ben Turpin.

Lulled by the sweet strains
Rodney St Clair glides

into a dance called "My Revere",

for music has charms to
soothe the savage beast.

Later across town an
irate husband thinks that

worm Rodney has been nibbling
at the apple of his eye.

"He'll not come around here
again.", the husband mutters.

Is he always to escape scot free,

that mad irresistible
adventurer Rodney St Clair?

Glockenspielgudge was the
kind of a town where a man

could fall into trouble in his sleep.

The scourge of this clapboard

metropolis was Mobrey the
Ombre and his outlaw band.

Mobrey feared but one man
and here he comes racing to

the rescue, Perona Pete,
the pint sized peril.

Formerly a teller in a piggy bank.

Perona rode tall in the
saddle by standing up.

Movie fans don't be fooled,
behind that clever disguise

is Ben Turpin as the
traditional western hero.

Gary Cooper, Gene Audrey, Roy Rogers,

Ben taught them all they know.

Girls get out the handkerchiefs.

In his next role Ben
plays a mere man willing

to sacrifice all for a woman.

Innocent Ben tells Slippery
Harry Griffin that he'll

confess to save little Nell,

yet Slippery's the real culprit.

In charges Ben, "I did it!", he shouts,

"How much is missing, 10, 20?"

"The cash register is $50,000
short.", say's the sergeant.

"And you look guilty to me!"

Ben turns to Nell, "Scram you
crummy crook.", she whimpers.

It's the unkindest cut of all.

"You'll hang for this!",
growls the Sergeant

and by George so he does.

While Ben's nursing a
sore throat in creeps

Slippery to steal Nell
like he stole the dough.

"Come with me to Hoboken.", he mutters.

But the police have overheard,

in the good old days justice was swift.

"You'll honeymoon in Hoboken,", says Ben,

"but you'll honeymoon with me."

Now an episode of clear cultural delight,

Ben Turpin as mythology's
great god Pan, come to earth

to prance through woodline
glade with a mortal woman.

As the old wives tell it,
this dance can only take place

when St Swithun's Day
follows Michaelmas Monday

in the green hills of Grunt.

What grace, what poetry,
what avant garde surrealism.

Ah, back to grim reality
and Ben Turpin on the run

as Fearless Noodnick, the movie stuntman.

At his heels is an insistent camera crew

which wants him for a
scene they're shooting.

Fearless is 39 years old.

If he keeps on running
he may someday be 40.

"Wow!", says Fearless,
"I've fallen into heaven."

But the camera crew has him
and heaven was never like this.

Fearless is giving a sterling
performance when director

Harry Griffin learns
there's a real fire in town.

In the early days film
companies would rush to

the scenes of actual fires,
floods, earthquakes and parades,

push their actors into the action

and write stories to fit later.

Here by the way is another
for the memory books,

a horse drawn fire engine.

Fearless is getting lonely when along come

a playful cat and dog to keep him company.

Off go cat and dog to caper elsewhere

but Ben's staying put.

Luckily there's an air
hose just within reach.

Meanwhile arrive at the fire the director

gives Irene Lentz, as the leading lady,

a prop baby and tells her to
run into the smoke and flames.

The firemen make trouble,

"The nerve of them bums!",
yells the director,

"They'll spoil the shot!"

And so as he sinks into the deep

we bid a fond farewell to Ben Turpin.

On a hot crowded summer
Sunday Laurel and Hardy

pull out of a line of
cars into what some film

historians believe is one of the funniest

short comedies ever made.

It was produced by Hal Roach in 1928.

It's supervising director was Leo McCarey,

who went on to win Academy Awards for

"The Awful Truth" and "Going My Way."

It's photographer was
George Stevens, who turned

director himself and
created "Shane" and "Giant."

It's title was "Two Tars."

Yes that's Edgar Kennedy.

Stan and Oliver as sailors on shore leave

have taken up with fast
women in slow traffic.

We needn't say more for like most great

silent comedies "Two
Tars" speaks for itself.

The old time movie
makers knew how to begin

with a simple believable situation,

then build and build until the whole world

seemed caught in a
special kind of insanity.

This one is building like
an atomic chain reaction.

Notice the way that Laurel
and Hardy fever spreads

to the second line of cars,

where pipsqueak battles with truck driver.

In steps a leader of men,

"Come on, move on boys, move on!"

The crowd, hot and impatient, demands,

"Get that junk off the highway!"

Upon this Sunday scene
happens a perplexed policeman.

One look at the uniform and
the girls silently melt away.

"Who started this?!", asked the cop.

"The sailors did!", answers the crowd.

"Uh huh," say's the cop, "a
couple of trouble makers.

"You birds are under arrest,

"now the rest of you move out of here!"

The little devils.

"Alright wise guys," says the law,

"Get going, and no funny business.

"I'll be right behind yah see.

"Follow them sailors!

"Follow them sailors!

"Everybody, follow them sailors!

"Follow them sailors!"

"Sorry officer, she blew."

A train hurtles through the night,

carrying in an upper
berth one of the funniest

yet certainly the saddest
of all screen comedians,

the unforgettable Harry Langdon.

Below his new bride gets set for slumber,

for Harry's on his honeymoon,
an event which apparently

hasn't in the least ruffled the infantile

innocence of this most unique of clowns,

who one critic said had the
face of a fiendish baby.

Harry faces up to the
perils of the Pullman

with a savoir faire of a three year old

cast adrift in a hostile kindergarten.

Langdon's style was completely intuitive.

In real life he was almost as child like

as the character he portrayed,

and he rarely knew the plot
of the picture he was making.

Yet today, long after his
passing, he is remembered

as one of the four
greatest comedians in the

60 year history of the motion picture.

His bride's thirsty, the little darlin'

and so begins the next chapter of the

horrible honeymoon hazards of Harry.

Skittering before the
approaching conductor

Harry opens the front or windy end

of the old type Pullman
and looses a hurricane.

Comes the dawn, the passengers
gather themselves together

like shipwrecked castaways
on a storm swept isle

and Harry's off to the
train dressing room.

While his colleagues race
through elaborate gags

at breakneck pace,
Langdon moved hesitantly

through situations that
were both simple and human.

Of him it has been said
that he could do more with

less than any other comedian.

Harry could make returning
to his seat an achievement

roughly comparable to
scaling Mount Everest.

In comes the Sheriff with
the meanest, toughest,

prisoner in all the land, Hardman
Hank, arrested for murder.

Langdon looks at him with
a gaze of a youngster

confronted by the boogie man.

On a handcar alongside the speeding train

races Hardman's pal in a
daring plot to help him escape.

"Hold onto this bird," shouts the Sherrif,

"I'll run out and nab his buddy."

"Don't worry palsy," confides Hardman,

"Everything's taken care of,

"we'll blast our way
out of this together."

This short film was made
by Harry Langdon in 1924

when he was at the threshold
of international success.

Within five years his comedy
instincts seemed to fail

and he rode a rough toboggan to obscurity,

heartbreak and an early death.

A close associate summed it up.

"The little fellow was
the most tragic figure

"I ever came across in show business."

In the Golden Age a happy source of humor

was the animal comedy.

This form of fun lives on today
only in the movie cartoon,

where because it is far less realistic

it is also far less amusing.

One of the most hilarious
animal episodes ever put on film

was this nightmarish encounter
between a tail tied lion

and apron string tied family
man named Charlie Chase.

Clyde ran out of human
companions for checkers,

he called on the family
cat and he also showed

why cats aren't used more
often for this purpose,

they're too darn good.

"That lame cat, I'll
cut down on her milk."

Cameo, the Max Sennett dog,
never played poker with the

boys but he was the canine
kibitzer in all of Canarsie.

Slippery Harry Griffin,
the villain of this piece

looks at his hand and
discovers he's just an ace

away from a royal flush.

Of course Slippery could draw for it

but that would be the hard way.

And besides he just happens
to have on in his shoe.

Billy Bevan, whose Cameo's
master, tell his dog

to sneak a hound's eye
look at Griffin's cards.

Slippery Harry's slick and quick

but Cameo's slicker and quicker.

Nix, nix boss.

Nix, nix.

Griffin's being outwitted
by an adversary with

short hair, big spots
and a sawed off tail.

"Get that mutt Mata Hari out of here!",

snarls the outraged Slippery.

Under the table Cameo
works his wicked wiles.

It's the switcheroo, the
old army game, doggone.

Slippery smiles with that smug security

that comes only to he who
holds the top hand in the deck.

All bets are down and that's
every buck in the joint.

"You go first.", say's
the gallant Griffin.

"Just a minute," say's Slippery,

"10 of diamonds, jack of
diamonds, queen of diamonds,

"king of diamonds and three of clubs?"

Kewpie Morgan, whose Billy's
silent partner, counts the take

but Hades hath no fury
like the cheater cheated.

Wham!

Kewpie saves the money and
Cameo tries to save Billy

by putting the bite on Slippery Harry.

There goes Billy to rendezvous
by the old hook rug.

"Ah, there you are!", says Harry,

"Just in time for another facial massage."

Cameo appraises the situation.

His teeth are tired and
it's hard to get a grip

on Giffin's shiny pants,
he's got to get help.

When Cameo digs into a matter
pity the petulant policeman,

dirt's getting splattered
all over a member of

that illustrious core
called the Keystone Cops.

The law's plum tuckered out

but Cameo knows how to apply
whiplash of icy indignity

and the chase is really on.

One cop mightn't be enough muses Cameo,

I'd better bring reinforcements.

In the '20's, when this
film was made, a dog called

Rin Tin Tin was one of the
most successful stars in film.

Little Cameo was never to
reach the heights of movie fame

but he could do everything that
Rinny could and maybe more.

Why Rin Tin Tin never
snatched a skirt in his life.

Cameo's brought help alright,
the entire police force,

but this rescue's worse than the peril.

Billy decides he'd rather
be punched than pinched.

Kewpie drops the bag
and out flies the money,

smack onto the back of a passing turtle on

it's way to Schlapcole's Lake.

Of course Kewpie knows from
nothing that don't cough

but Cameo has spotted the whole thing.

He'll save that bundle of fives before

Abe Lincoln gets his beard wet.

Nearby policeman relax
from pounding their beat

by beating their feet and who should

pop onto the track but the unholy three.

The boys decide to make
up and divide the dough,

which by now may be floating
in a bowl of turtle soup.

But no, three slickers turned
suckers stare in horror

as little Cameo writes the
perfect end to this story,

by proving that maybe the
world should go to the dogs.

Down that inevitable street,
which became so familiar

to movie goers it seemed
to be their own hometown,

strolled two past the have musicians,

Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy.

Put Laurel and Hardy on a simple street

and anything can happen.

Like almost all the Laurel
and Hardys this film

was produced by Hal
Roach, who started with

Universal Pictures as an
inexperienced actor in 1913.

By the next year in
those fast moving times

Roach owned his own
company, which continues

in the family down to the present day.

"Now watch where you're
going.", says Oliver.

Aha, a music lover.

The disappointments of
the day prove too much

for poor Oliver and it's
all Stanley's fault.

Flat.

The curtain lowers, the clowns
depart, hail and farewell.

We will never see their like again.

This is the end of a memory.