As a general rule of thumb, when assessing the legacy of someone within the film industry, we can usually divide them into those who worked for their place in history, and those who were shoehorned into it as a result of some forced act of popularity. In many cases, we find that some of the most famous stars are rarely worth the price of the film their visages are printed on, despite carrying impossibly huge legacies that transcend generations. In the case of Buster Keaton, it is perhaps the opposite – he’s widely viewed as amongst the greatest silent-era comedians (if not the very best – there is debate between whether he, Charlie Chaplin or Harold Lloyd deserve that mantle, which is a very difficult to decision to make, but I stand by my firm belief that its Keaton who consistently emerges victorious in just about every scenario), as well as someone who formed his own bespoke vision as an artist on both sides of the camera. My fondness for Keaton should not be surprising by this point. However, even knowing that he is someone whose work is definitive of my own cinematic tastes, I still find myself awestruck at the brilliance of his skills with each new film or short featuring the iconic performer. The debate around his defining work continues to the present day, but it seems like there is an abundance of support for The Cameraman, his penultimate directorial effort, where he portrays a down-on-his-luck camera operator who sees the opportunity to both get a taste of Hollywood and romance when he encounters an enchanting MGM secretary who captures his heart and leads him down a path filled with delightful misadventure. Made when Keaton was well into his career and already considered amongst the most important artists working at the time, The Cameraman is an absolute delight, a carefully-constructed comedy that represents all the best Keaton had to offer, as well as finding him pushing the boundaries of his craft even further than ever before, leading to a truly engrossing comedy that is both heartfelt and daring in equal measure, exactly what we’d expect from the revolutionary comedian.

There are a few subjects that Hollywood has shown their fondness for over others, and none has been more prominent than stories about themselves. The Cameraman was the first in a two-picture deal that Keaton signed with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and the narrative revolves around his hapless protagonist trying and failing to be recruited to the studio as a camera operator. In most instances, such an approach would be seen as cheap self-promotion, but the company was smart enough to give Keaton complete control, handing over the reigns and trusting him to deliver a film that was going to be both artistically resonant and still complimentary to a studio that was still relatively new (in much the same way the industry was still mostly in its infancy) – and the results are splendid. The Cameraman is a wonderful tribute to the art of the moving picture, with Keaton putting in a lot of effort to create a film that was extraordinarily entertaining and daring in its own unique way, paying tribute to the medium he helped create, or at least infuse with the madcap energy that would inspire generations of artists. Films about filmmaking are very common (as I said, Hollywood has a long-lasting love affair with its own ingenuity, and will never pass up the opportunity to promote its own brilliance when given the chance), but its clear when they’re made by someone who is driven to explore the subject not as a result of some internal vanity, but rather a sincere affection for the medium and its endless possibilities. Keaton’s ability to craft a film that is both a great way to give audiences an insight into the inner workings of the film industry, and a wonderful love-letter to the craft of motion picture storytelling, is just further proof of his incredible skill, and shows a sense of commitment to his craft that not many of his successors have been able to replicate with such extraordinary results.

Much like the majority of his contemporaries, Keaton curated a very specific kind of character that he consistently played over the course of his career – versatility was not seen as a priority for actors, with the more valuable asset being consistency, and once an actor had the right persona that appealed to audiences, they were essentially set for life. Keaton’s stone-faced everyman who allowed himself to be placed into some of the most unnerving of situations without so much as cracking the subtlest of emotions is a masterful example of how to maintain your composure and show the most incredible amount of restraint. His performance in The Cameraman is exception – it doesn’t have as many large-scale stunts as some of his other works, and its arguably a more character-driven piece, but Keaton nonetheless shows himself to be a master of physical comedy, playing this unlucky photographer as he desperately tries to win over the heart of his beloved, only to encounter various challenges that he has to overcome before being presented with even large obstacles, each one growing exponentionally and becoming far more intimidating. Naturally, this film is focused around Keaton and we barely notice the rest of the cast (although Marceline Day and Harold Goodwin are both terrific, and a special mention has to go to Josephine the Monkey, who is the epitome of a scene-stealer in every moment she appears on screen), which only makes sense considering how magnetic of a presence Keaton was, and how he could hold our attention with even the smallest of movements – and this film features him running the gamut in terms of physical humour, ranging from small moments of internal expressivity to the broadest, most eccentric demonstration of his innate gifts imaginable, allowing The Cameraman to flourish into one of his finest performances, and one that showcases the best he had to offer as an actor.

The Cameraman also exists in a genre that has seemingly been lost to time, namely the cityscape film, which was at its peak during the silent era (and is usually associated with films like Man with a Movie Camera and Battleship Potemkin), and while it isn’t entirely aligned with the sensibilities of the genre as a whole, since it contains a narrative structure and clear plot progression rather than just being a series of tableaux, many clear similarities make it an earnest entry into this canon of films. As much as it is a love-letter to cinema, the film is also a genuinely affectionate look at New York City, capturing its many diverse locations, and the wealth of residents that live within it, which seemed to be Keaton’s primary intention in crafting this film. He sets out to capture the hustle and bustle of various parts of the world’s most famous city – the rush of central Manhattan, the exotic allure of Chinatown and the elegance of the Upper West Side, each one captured with the care and admiration that we would come to expect from Keaton and his cohorts. He co-directed The Cameraman with Edward Sedgwick, a journeyman filmmaker with dozens of titles under his belt already, and while he may not have had much experience with these cityscape films himself in the past, he did have the experience of working on a number of different genre films, giving him a clear understanding on how to navigate different tones and capture intricate details. Arguably, he was just there to be a companion to Keaton, whose directorial vision does guide the film (even if he is uncredited), but the pair do work together well, as evident by the fact that they would team up again the following year on Keaton’s final directorial outing. The Cameraman is extremely well-crafted and contains a multitude of tremendous ideas carefully pieced together to create something mesmerizing without depending too much on the underlying spectacle.

The great joy of a well-crafted silent-era film is that, despite being produced nearly a century ago, there is something so deeply resonant about how it captures the time and place, and presents a sense of artistic integrity that is impossible to resist, and which takes our attention almost immediately. It was an entirely different era of filmmaking, where everything seemed so much bigger and more ambitious, but also possessed far more heart and soul than many films being made today. Keaton was at the forefront of this movement, and The Cameraman remains one of his absolute masterpieces – a well-crafted, beautifully-engaging comedy that is both a tribute to filmmaking and a love-letter to the city of New York and its diverse residents, the film contains multiple layers, each one beautifully cobbled together by an artist whose vision has defined the entire medium and inspired countless global filmmakers, continuing to influence how cinema is made and consumed even today. It’s a simple affair, and one that doesn’t require much active thought from the viewer – instead, we’re allowed to just witness the madcap insanity that resided within Keaton’s imagination, filtered into an incredibly compelling romantic comedy that is both entertaining and inspiring, proving his incredible genius and once again showing that he was truly one of the most undeniably impressive craftsmen in the history of this medium.