A tribute to Charlie Chaplin: How feedback-based learning benefits from watching slapstick comedy (and other dopamine-boosters)

2011 ◽  
Author(s):  
K. R. Ridderinkhof ◽  
N. C. Van Wouwe ◽  
G. P. Band ◽  
I. Van De Vijver ◽  
W. P. Van Den Wildenberg ◽  
...  
Author(s):  
Charles Wolfe

The silent films of Buster Keaton (b. 1895–d. 1966) are among the most critically admired American motion pictures of the pre-sound era. Born to traveling medicine show performers during a stopover in a small town in Kansas, Joseph Frank “Buster” Keaton spent his early years on the road, and as a young child he gained star status as the linchpin of the family’s vaudeville act. He made his debut in motion pictures in 1917 as a member of Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle’s company, Comique Films, where he first gained training as comedy filmmaker. From 1920 to 1928 Keaton worked independently and prolifically, supervising and starring in nineteen comedy shorts and ten features, a body of work that remains at the heart of his screen reputation today. Although he never enjoyed the box-office clout of rivals Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd, Keaton’s resilient, sober-faced persona was familiar to movie audiences around the world, and he was second only to Chaplin as the object of critical efforts to define the distinct contributions of slapstick comedy to the nascent art of the screen. Keaton’s career entered a tailspin in the early 1930s—the result of a troubled marriage, struggles with alcoholism, and the loss of control over his films—but he recovered his footing by the end of the decade and worked steadily as a performer and comic consultant in movies, television, and theater until his death. An aging Keaton was occasionally the recipient of nostalgic tributes to the “golden years” of slapstick comedy during these years. A great tide of critical reappraisals of Keaton’s work, however, followed the restoration and revival of his silent films, many of which Keaton himself thought lost, in an effort spearheaded by Raymond Rohauer, who mounted Keaton retrospectives in the 1960s, first in Europe then the United States. Showcasing Keaton’s silent film work as a whole, these screenings were accompanied by a growing critical consensus that an artist of the first rank had been rediscovered. In recent years, video and digital technologies have made Keaton’s films available to an expanding audience of fans, critics, historians, and independent researchers. The annotated bibliography that follows provides a roadmap to Keaton scholarship, including reference guides, biographies, and overviews, and the books and articles through which a critical understanding of Keaton’s cinema has taken shape.


Author(s):  
Lawrence M. Zbikowski

This chapter explores the relationship between music and physical gesture, drawing on recent research on the spontaneous gestures that accompany speech. Such gestures appear to be motivated by thought processes that are independent from speech and that in many cases offer analogs for dynamic processes. The chapter outlines the infrastructure for human communication that supports language and gesture as well as music. This outline provides a framework for exploring how music and gesture are similar and for how they are different. These comparisons are made through analyses of the movements Fred Astaire makes while accompanying himself at the piano in the 1936 film Swing Time and those Charlie Chaplin makes to Brahms’s Hungarian Dance No. 5 in the 1941 film The Great Dictator. These analyses further explicate the role of syntactic processes and syntactic layers in musical grammar and introduce referential frameworks, which serve as perceptual anchors for syntactic processes.


Author(s):  
Jennifer Fay

Much of Buster Keaton’s slapstick comedy revolves around his elaborate outdoor sets and the crafty weather design that destroys them. In contrast to D. W. Griffith, who insisted on filming in naturally occurring weather, and the Hollywood norm of fabricating weather in the controlled space of the studio, Keaton opted to simulate weather on location. His elaborately choreographed gags with their storm surges and collapsing buildings required precise control of manufactured rain and wind, along with detailed knowledge of the weather conditions and climatological norms on site. Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928) is one of many examples of Keaton’s weather design in which characters find themselves victims of elements that are clearly produced by the off-screen director. Keaton’s weather design finds parallels in World War I strategies of creating microclimates of death (using poison gas) as theorized by Peter Sloterdijk.


Author(s):  
Cleo Hanaway-Oakley

This chapter presents an alternative to the popular critical vein that sees Joyce’s Ulysses and early cinema as conveying a mechanical, impersonal view of the world. It is argued that Ulysses and certain genres of early cinema were engaged—naively or otherwise—in a revaluation of Cartesian dualism, involving the reappraisal of mind/body and human/machine binaries. The physical comedy of Bloom and Charlie Chaplin is analysed with reference to phenomenological ideas on prosthesis and the machine–human interface, while other genres of early cinema, such as Irish melodrama and trick films, are considered in the light of phenomenological theories of gesture and embodiment. By comically mocking mind/body separation and depicting the inseparability of subjectivity and corporeality, Joyce and the early film-makers go beyond the ideas of Bergson and anticipate Merleau-Ponty’s later notion of the ‘body-subject’.


2011 ◽  
Vol 9 (4) ◽  
pp. 367-369
Author(s):  
Stephen Bottomore
Keyword(s):  

2003 ◽  
Vol 72 (4) ◽  
pp. 495-530 ◽  
Author(s):  
JOHN SBARDELLATI ◽  
TONY SHAW

This article examines the battle over popular culture in the age of McCarthyism. The Federal Bureau of Investigation, under J. Edgar Hoover, targeted Charlie Chaplin because of his status as a cultural icon and as part of its broader investigation of Hollywood. Some of Chaplin's films were considered ““communist propaganda,”” but because Chaplin was not a member of the Communist Party, he was not among those investigated by HUAC in 1947. Nevertheless, he was vulnerable to protests by the American Legion and other patriotic groups because of both his sexual and political unorthodoxy. Yet, although countersubversives succeeded in driving Chaplin out of the country, they failed to build a consensus that Chaplin was a threat to the nation. Chaplin's story testifies to both the awesome power of the countersubversive campaign at mid-century and to some of its limitations as well.


Novel Shocks ◽  
2018 ◽  
pp. 25-45
Author(s):  
Myka Tucker-Abramson

Shortly after Ralph Ellison’s protagonist arrives in New York, he encounters Peter Wheatstraw, a man wearing Charlie Chaplin pants, “pushing a cart piled high with rolls of blue paper,” and singing a blues song that reminds the protagonist of home. Often read as a carrier of blues and vernacular traditions within the novel, Wheatstraw is also a literal carrier of building plans, all of which point to the ascendancy of Robert Moses and his New York City Slum Clearance Committee under the aegis of the Federal Housing Act of 1949. This chapter reads Ellison in relation to this emergent regime of post-war planning to suggest we think about Invisible Man not as a novel about a Jim Crow system passing into history, but about the tensions between the emergent racial regime of racial liberalism and white flight out of which neoliberalism would emerge.


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