Retro Blast: Buster Keaton's Iconic Legacy In Movies

Keaton's early life was anything but ordinary. Raised in a vaudeville family, his childhood was more a rehearsal for a life of pratfalls than for anything resembling normal schooling. His parents, who performed as a vaudeville comedy duo, decided to put little Buster (a nickname given to him by none other than Harry Houdini after a particularly nasty fall) to work on stage at the ripe old age of 3. Legend has it that young Buster would tumble and fall so convincingly, the audience thought it was all part of the act. His father was not-so-quietly pleased—until he realized that his son was getting all the laughs, and he, the "experienced comedian," was being upstaged by a toddler.

This early exposure to comedy set the stage for Buster's career, but it wasn't until he teamed up with film director Mack Sennett and later, the genius that was Edward F. Cline, that Keaton would transition into film and make history. In the early days of silent film, there were two types of actors: those who could talk and those who could act with their whole body. Keaton, of course, belonged to the latter category, and he excelled at the physical aspect of filmmaking—whether it was narrowly avoiding a collapsing building or falling into a trapdoor without breaking his cool. The man's ability to absorb pain and keep going was nothing short of miraculous.

In 'One Week' (1920), one of his earliest films, Keaton took his audience on a roller coaster of absurdity. In the film, Keaton plays "Joe," a man who’s trying to build a house from a kit that seems to be missing a few pieces—or perhaps it’s just his luck. The house, which constantly falls apart around him, becomes a metaphor for Keaton’s entire career: no matter how many things go wrong, he’s going to keep going with that blank, expressionless face. The real genius of Keaton’s comedy is his unshakable demeanor—while the world around him crumbles, he simply carries on. It was as if Keaton had a deep understanding of the futility of life itself but chose to laugh at it.

Keaton’s next iconic role, "The General" (1926), is often hailed as his finest work—a masterpiece of both action and comedy. In this film, Keaton plays "Johnny Gray," a hapless Southern railroad engineer who, while trying to retrieve his stolen train, becomes embroiled in a Civil War battle. What makes "The General" so brilliant isn’t just the outrageous stunts (Keaton literally drove a train off a bridge and survived to tell the tale), but also how he manages to infuse the entire film with humor without a single spoken word.

His deadpan face, even while his train was plummeting into a river, could make you laugh just by sheer absurdity. If you’ve ever wondered what it would look like if a man, his train, and a cannonball had a rendezvous at the worst possible time, look no further than this film. Despite his success in Hollywood, Keaton's career was not without its challenges. He was famously pushed into directing his own films, which were often enormous financial risks.

His unique brand of comedy didn't always translate into mainstream box office hits, but that didn't stop him. With films like 'Steamboat Bill, Jr.' (1928), in which Keaton navigates a hurricane while performing one of the most famous stunts in cinema history (he’s nearly crushed by a falling facade of a house), Keaton proved that physical risk-taking was an art form all on its own.

Then, as is the way of many a silent film star, the advent of talking pictures in the late 1920s changed Keaton's world forever. The "talkies" were a game-changer, but not necessarily in the way Keaton would have liked. The famously silent actor was suddenly thrust into a world of dialogue, and while he could certainly hold his own in a silent scene, he wasn’t quite as adept at talking to the camera.

His career, like many of his peers, took a dramatic downturn in the early '30s, as his once-pristine reputation became tarnished by a series of flops and personal troubles, including a rocky marriage and struggles with alcoholism.

Yet, Keaton remained a beloved figure in Hollywood, albeit somewhat overshadowed by the likes of Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd. But the true magic of Keaton lies in his ability to make every fall seem purposeful and every misfortune feel like part of a larger, cosmic joke. "The Great Stone Face" wasn’t just a moniker—Buster’s face was his greatest comedic tool. Unlike Chaplin, whose expressive face could evoke tears, Keaton’s stoic expression suggested an irrepressible sense of dignity even while he was slipping on a banana peel.

Later in life, Keaton would find new audiences in television and film, including memorable appearances in the 1960s on the TV show ‘The Twilight Zone’, where he played an unnamed character in the episode “Once Upon a Time”. By this point, Keaton was an older man, yet his sense of timing and physical comedy hadn’t dulled. He continued to inspire filmmakers, and even though the public's fascination with slapstick had waned, Keaton's influence was undeniable. Everyone from Jacques Tati to modern comedic geniuses like Rowan Atkinson would pay homage to Keaton's unique brand of humor—timeless and ageless, even when he was falling down (which, let’s be honest, was often).