All about Vernon Dent; an interview with his biographer Bill Cassara

Interview by Doug Gibson

Vernon Dent is ubiquitous to vintage comedy film. Genre fans and scholars know him well. The more casual film fan, the one who, say, has only sampled the Three Stooges shorts, can't recall his name but they sure do know his face. And, most importantly, Vernon Dent makes them laugh.

Dent's "I know that guy" persona is a lot like, say, the character actor Donald Meek. My wife and I, watching WC Fields and Mae West in "My Little Chickadee," saw Meeks play a faux preacher "marrying" the stars. "I know that guy. What's his name?" my wife said. "He's also in "You Can't Take It With You," I reply. (And several hundred other films ...) ... Vernon, by the way, worked with WC Fields in films.

It's the same with Vernon. Last year, on a Fox News segment, background film was rolling as comic relief. Suddenly, there's Vernon from an old Stooges short. "I know that guy. What's his name," said my son, who loves the Stooges and Harry Langdon shorts. (Dent, of course, is also a veteran of hundreds of films).

Enough preface, let's get to the interview with author and vintage comedy scholar Bill Cassara, writer of "Vernon Dent: Stooge Heavy -- Second Banana to the Three Stooges and Other Film Comedy Greats" (2013, BearManor Media). Bill has also written biographies of Edgar Kennedy and Ted Healy. We've reviewed the Dent biography and the Healy biography.

Enjoy the interview.

1)      Vernon Dent is a ubiquitous figure to the casual vintage comedy fan, the one who only watches The Three Stooges. He’s the face without a name they always recognize. Describe how Dent’s talents make him so memorable to fans when other frequent co-stars are less noticeable to casual fans?

CASSARA: In the Three Stooges comedies there had to be an authority figure to play against their humor, it's called "comedy contrast." While there were plenty of actors who could do that, Vernon brought with him a seemingly no-nonsense approach and dealt out the punishment. It helped too that Vernon who was not a tall man, nevertheless physically fit perfectly in the frame with the much shorter Stooges. If one watches the Stooges even casually, he shows up in 56 of their total product. That makes a lasting impression, so if one sees "Vernon Dent" in the opening credits you know that the boys are really going to get it!        

2)      Did the deaths of Vernon Dent’s parents, have an effect on his life, career or personal, in your opinion?

CASSARA: Vernon's father was the owner of a saloon in San Jose, Calif., and was murdered when Vernon was a boy. The local newspaper blamed the circumstance of the murder, not on the suspect but on the "evils of alcohol." Vernon's mother made the boy swear on his father's grave that he would never touch alcohol. Vernon's mother was a non-professional thespian and encouraged her son's budding talents, she died when he was only 20. 

3)      In his pre-Sennett career, what were Vernon Dent’s greatest strengths in the shorts he made? How did these early films, as well as Sennett shorts, set up his career as a foil to the stars of the shorts?


CASSARA: It should be noted that Vernon was influenced by Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle, while Roscoe sang illustrated songs at the Unique Theater in San Jose. Vernon was a singer first, even a published song writer. Vernon was the emcee while at Seal Beach, Ca. when Hank Mann saw possibilities of him as a comic "heavy" to Mann's comedies. Vernon graduated to his own starring series for "Folly Comedies 1921-1922. His character was very similar to Fatty Arbuckle's film persona to include a similar fitting hat. In those silent days, action was the key. Vernon proved himself adept at physical comedy; making pratfalls and big reactions. The Mack Sennett studios demanded a quick pace and sometimes very dangerous stunts, he was also a "fat" character so necessary to play off of others.     

4)      What are the three best Harry Langdon/Vernon Dent Sennett shorts and why?

CASSARA: 1) HIS FIRST FLAME: This is the sweetest little film full of charm and redemption. Harry is a naive nephew to Vernon's worldly Uncle who works as a fireman. Harry overcomes his physical limitations and wins the girl and his uncle's respect. This film holds up really well to modern audiences, the lessons to be learned are still fresh and humorous. 2). HIS MARRIAGE WOW : Harry almost plays the straight-man to Vernon's maniac character. It's a visual delight as Vernon drives his car crazily and seeing Harry as his captured passenger. 2) SATURDAY AFTERNOON: This short made in 1925 establishes both as buddies, Harry is hen-pecked and Vernon is his "wiser" friend who tries to fix them up with a couple of floozies. Tiny Harry and big Vernon are perfectly contrasted together, this predates Laurel and Hardy by a couple of years and might have been very influential. 

5)      You mention something interesting in your biography, that perhaps Harry Langdon would have had better success at First National had he taken his frequent Sennett co-star Vernon Dent with him. How could Dent have improved, say, “Three’s A Crowd,” if he had played Arthur Thalasso’s part, or the judge in “The Chaser.”

CASSARA: I'd hate to speculate other than saying Vernon would have enhanced any screen appearance.

   

6)      There was an effort to make Dent a comedy pair team with Monty Collins, and of course many say he and Langdon were teamed often without officially being a team. What were the challenges in the 20s and 30s against succeeding as a comedy team? What were the artistic challenges as well as the logistical challenges, such as exposure, play dates and marketing?

CASSARA: This is an interesting question. Comedy teams were certainly popular in vaudeville but often did not make it in film because one was a talking medium and the other visual (during the silent era. For film teams to emerge there has to be a business sense by the respective studio that the audience will be in demand of said team. The comedians also have to have a strong respect for each other; the typical set up is for a "comedian" and a "second banana" to help set up the gags. Many teams failed because both wanted to be the funny one. Stan Laurel for instance had a chance through the years to establish himself as a solo comedian to lukewarm response. Frankly, he was not ready in the early years to take on a partner. This changed when he was eventually paired with Oliver Hardy, at the Hal Roach Studios. Audience reaction at the two as a true team demanded more. The studio then marketed it to the distributors and the public as such. Vernon and Harry were never a "team" on equal footing, Harry was the star and Vernon was versatile in comic support. While Harry had a defined character, Vernon did not.  More importantly, Harry wasn't ready to be a team in the 20's. On reflection in later years he might have regretted it.         

7)      All of us want so badly to see the lost Arvid Gillstrom Educational/Paramount shorts. Synopses seem to tease us with plots for Vernon and Harry that would be appropriate for a regular comedy team (Laurel and Hardy). Do you believe Paramount was pitching the duo as a team, albeit maybe with a little more press toward Langdon?

CASSARA: Gillstrom is a name not heard of anymore, he was an important director and producer for Paramount in his day. I think he was in line to make Harry Langdon comedies and Vernon would have a big responsibility for the studio. As it was, Gillstrom directed Vernon Dent and Bing Crosby in "Please," a two-reel comedy written by Vernon. He also wrote the screenplays for Langdon/Dent series that are lost now. Gillstrom died suddenly in 1935 and that ended any hopes of bigger fame at Paramount.    

8)      Based on your biography, Vernon seemed to have a wonderful final marriage. He settled into an eventual well-paid character actor supporting role in Columbia shorts, with freedom to do other work. His settling down into that role, was it due to domestic happiness, and perhaps also that his diabetes was a growing concern

CASSARA: Vernon was married three times and his second wife passed away When Vernon was in this 30's. Vernon met his future wife at a party at the Langdon's home and he was so smitten, he proposed to her that night. Vernon was in love and they were both dedicated to each other though Mrs. Dent had no interest in the movie business. Vernon's wife worked at a bank for consistent income, aside from Vernon's acting income he was also vested in real estate and owned a concession stand in Westlake Park in Los Angeles. They both pitched in during the weekends.   

9)      What are Dent’s best dramatic roles?

CASSARA: Thomas Ince hired Vernon for his feature: "Hail the Women" (1921). It is unfortunately this is a lost film, Vernon had a prominent part. Mack Sennett cast Vernon as a sinister and overbearing suitor of Mable Normand in the feature, "The Extra Girl." (1923) He played a mean husband in the rarely seen "Dragnet Patrol" even out bullying screen heavy Walter Long. Vernon's most sensitive portrayal was the feature, "Beast of Berlin" (1939) when Vernon's character is German citizen (a bartender) who is terrorized by the Nazi soldiers. We hear Vernon cry in pain...it's heartbreaking.  

10)   What are the best examples of Dent singing in films

CASSARA: In the short Technicolor film, "Good morning, Eve." Vernon (as Nero) sings "Rhythm in the Bow," it's very catchy. He sings "There's No Place Like Home" to a sequestered jury in "The Jury Goes 'Round and Round" (1945). My favorites are when Vernon sings the old songs: "The Waning Honeymoon" (Fainting Lover (1931), "When You and I were Young, Maggie" (with Harry Langdon in Hooks and Jabs), and especially in Bing Crosby's short "Please," Vernon challenges Bing to a singing competition and bellows out "Dear Old Girl."  

11)   Has there ever been a comedian who had a stare as humorously menacing as Dent?

CASSARA: I think Vernon carved this out for himself and sustained it through out his years at Columbia. He forewarned the Stooges many times with his look of intolerance, Charley Chase and Shemp Howard both got those stares in the baseball-themed "The Heckler" and "Mr. Noisy." The audience could witness his many stages of body language, but never the comedians.   

12)   Who did Dent pair best with in films? I imagine the favorites are The Stooges or Langdon, or maybe you have another selection?

CASSARA: For sustained pairing there is no doubt; The Three Stooges for the sheer delicious physical comedy and Harry Langdon for the obvious chemistry between them. 

13)  In your research, how is Dent received by genre fans? Is he recognized for his supporting talents or seen as a comedy star who couldn’t quite reach star status?

CASSARA: Though Vernon appeared in over 400 films, most of them are unavailable for viewing. We'll never know what heights Vernon would have propelled to if Gillstrom had lived, the same could be said about Thomas Ince who also died after casting Vernon in a dramatic feature. Vernon knew everyone at Columbia Studios when he became one of their prized stock-players in 1936, so who wants to change history? I had the pleasure of giving a discourse at the last Three Stooges Convention in 2016, if the knowledgeable audience was any gauge, they held Vernon Dent in highest esteem for his comic support. 

14)   In your research, what more did you learn about the warm personal friendship between Dent and Langdon? (Vernon, Harry, and their spouses seen in above photo.)

CASSARA: In Harry Langdon Jr.'s new book, it is reaffirmed how close Vernon and Harry were. Harry's widow emphasized this to Junior, Vernon even took the boy to baseball games in his father's absence. Vernon never had children but he would have been a great dad.
 

15)  If someone were to put on a Vernon Dent film festival, what 12 films would you choose to include?

CASSARA: Some titles I have already mentioned, those would have to be included in any list. The rest go to just about any of The Three Stooges: "Slippery Silks," "An Ache in Every Stake,"Idle Roomers," "Half-Wits Holiday," "Three Little Pirates," "Sing a Song of Six Pants," "Squareheads of the Round Table," "Fuelin' Around," Malice in the Palace," (see Vernon above)  "Scrambled Brains," "The Tooth Will Out." 



16. Is there anything you have discovered since your book was released?

CASSARA: Most definitely. I heard from a woman who was a teenager when Vernon was at home and blind unable to work. She used to check on him while his wife was at work. One day she came in and she caught Vernon at the dinner table with TWO pies in front of him furnished by a buddy. Vernon sensed her presence and slightly panicked (he was on a strict diet). He tried to buy her off with "Keep your mouth shut and the other pie is yours." That's how much he valued his sweets. I also heard from a man who said he was Vernon's lawn mower as a boy. Vernon offered him any of his souvenirs and artifacts. Apparently Vernon collected stills from all his pictures and had them autographed by his co-stars. Where they went nobody knows.

I also found out something unique about Vernon that I'm not sure if he was conscious of himself.  The very uncommon surname of "Mann" seemed to pop up in his life: He went to Horace Mann school, Sam Mann was Vernon's stage idol and who encouraged Vernon to continue impersonating him with his foreign dialects, Gus Mann hired him for the "Jewel City Cafe," Hank Mann hired Vernon as his comic heavy, and Helen Mann played opposite of him in "The Girl Rush" (1931). If I were to ever write a play about Vernon I would start with the temperance movement, Vernon's father's death, and weave it around all the "Mann" coincidences. I can see it now...  

Thanks so much, Bill, for the interview.

'The Dentist' is a very funny pre-code W.C. Fields short

By Doug Gibson

I had the opportunity to watch, again, this pretty fun 1932 Sennett comedy short, "The Dentist," starring W. C. Fields as a gruff, eccentric dentist and his travails with his daughter, who loves the ice man, his golf game, as well as some golf buddies and life in the dentist's office interacting with his pretty nurse and a few eccentric patients.

As mentioned, Fields is great. Only Fields can wave away concern about patient's pain with lines such as, "Oh, to hell with her," or "Have you ever had this tooth pulled before?" This is a film made just before the dreaded Hayes Code restricted Hollywood fare to a G rated-type fare. "The Dentist" is PG fare, with Field's mild growling, suggestive sarcasm, and in one particular one very sexually suggestive scene where dentist Fields burrows himself deep between a lady patient's very wide, very bare legs in order to force a tooth extraction. (A portion of the scene is shown above). The lady patient is played by willowly, Elise Cavanna, and she sort of looks like a sexier version of Carol Burnett. Although Fields' character has no romantic intentions, the scene is definitely played as a sexual satire. Cavanna's groans of pain contain more than a hint of passion, and after the tooth is extracted, she lies back in the chair, limbs splayed, with a countenance that hints of "afterglow."

I have recently learned that the scene between Fields and Cavanna was indeed a sexual spoof. It was a based on a popular stag film of the 1920s, called, "The Slow Fire Dentist." In the film, a dentist and a lady patient take things a good deal further than Fields and Cavanna. It's an interesting bit of film history and, as mentioned, it's a good bet "The Dentist" would never have been allowed to be screened had it been made a couple of years later.

Rumor has it that there's an even spicier version of "The Dentist" out there but I suspect the Turner Classic Movies print, which is shown at least once a year, is complete. The 20-minute film was directed by Leslie Pearce. If one wants to see Fields at his best in a feature film, I suggest 1934's "It's a Gift."

Review of "For Art's Sake: The Biography and Filmography of Ben Turpin"

Review by Doug Gibson

There's a passage in "For Art's Sake," Steve Rydzewski's biography and compilation of silent film comedy star Ben Turpin's life (BearManor Media), in which actor Wallace Beery roughs up his co-star Turpin while making a comedy short. The somewhat sadistic encounter takes place just before Turpin, a literal pioneer of slapstick silent cinema, becomes a major star for producer Mack Sennett, earning more than $3,000 a week in his heyday.

Now flash 20-plus a few years, the elderly Sennett, getting close to 70, provides a bittersweet rational as to why he is rarely in the "talkies" cinema --no one has asked. Turpin is still active, whether on the stage or for other publicity endeavors. But he's proud of what he has accomplished, and doesn't want to go hat in the hand, begging for screen work.

Rydzewski's book is a dash of biography (much of it in his subject's early years) and a whole lot of research that is shared with readers, mainly in the form of newspaper clipping and press releases. The format works. The subject's life and events flow well and the information, which must have taken thousands of hours to gather, is fascinating.This is a treasure trove of history. (Just the accounts of obscure stage performances are fascinating) It's unlikely that another book will ever improve on detailing Turpin's life. Given that most readers of this genre book will be searching for details of the subject's life, the format is successful

There's a lot of pathos in these life anecdotes, clipping and biography, but Turpin's life was not a tragedy. He was a very successful man, who saved and invested his earnings so he didn't have to work all his life. He enjoyed two successful marriages that were only ended by death. Rydzewski has done an impressive job of detailing the comic performer's life about as well as anyone has done and will be able to do. As for myself, prior to reading "For Art's Sake, " I knew little about Turpin's life, other than recognizing his iconic cross-eyed countenance. Several years ago, I read an enjoyable feature article on Turpin in Cult Movies Magazine, where I learned that Ben as a teen was given a small bounty by his dad and told to seek his fortune. After Ben, born in 1869, lost the bounty gambling, he hit the rails as a hobo. In the book, Rydzewski quotes Turpin as saying that "Mulligan stew was my bread" in those days.

"For Art's Sake" provides lots of information on Turpin's early life. His father managed candy shops in New Orleans and New York City, where Turpin learned the art of taffy pulling, a skill he was paid for as an adult performer. Living a nomadic life for several years after leaving home, Ben gravitated to carnivals and theater work, particularly physical comedy. A brief first marriage hardly slowed him down. Although he traveled widely, working for very low wages, Chicago eventually became an early hub of his career.

In the first decade of the 20th century, Turpin gained notoriety for his "Happy Hooligan" performance. These types of characters required intense physical skill, including throwing one's legs up high in the air and falling on the back and quickly rising. These moves, as well as comedy acts that required climbing and hard knocks, would frequently send Turpin over the years to hospitals. (Although there are many "explanations" as to why Turpin developed crossed-eyes, Rydzeswki's research points toward the cumulative effect of Ben having to intentionally cross his eyes for long stretches to play Happy Hooligan as a likely reason.

In 1907, Ben married Carrie Le Mieux, a fellow performer and they settled in Chicago. It was a happy union that would last until her death in 1925. About this time, Ben started making silent comedy films for Essanay, a Chicago-based company. As Rydzewski explains, film was not as respected as the stage in that period. Scripts were not a part of short comedy films. It was go to the scene, stay away from the cops, and improvise your movie. In fact, as Rydzewski's book notes, Ben was once arrested, and spent several hours in jail shivering, for entering public waters in Chicago while filming. (Here is a look at Ben, a legitimate pioneer of slapstick silent cinema -- he was literally the first -- in a portion of the Essanay 1909 short "Mr. Flip.")

Although he was only paid $20 to $30 a week for several years, Ben stayed with Essanay for a long time, even heading with his wife, Carrie, when Essanay made the move to Hollywood. Most of his early films are lost but enough survive remain to fully appreciate Ben's talent for physical comedy timing as well as his facial expressions and aggressive persistence that demands that viewers pay attention to him. Frankly, Essanay exploited his talent, making a fortune with the peanuts they paid him. As Rydzewski notes, once Ben tried to quit Essanay, but lost, and came back to the same miserable pay.

It was Charlie Chaplin, hired by Essanay, who finally started to move Ben's career into well-paid stardom. Instantly noting Turpin's star power, Chaplin worked with him and then refused to work with him again -- as a compliment -- correctly noting Turpin was a star. When Chaplin left Essanay, it likely helped provide Ben the resolve to find better earnings. He signed with Sennett, amazed that they accepted his demand of $100 a week. (An interesting anecdote in Rydzewski's book is Turpin recounting how his accountant urged him to live on far less and save a lot. That likely underscores his frugal lifestyle, which kept the Turpins financially secure after the top-earning years were over.)

As mentioned, Ben sailed to super-stardom with Sennett, earning $3K-plus a week. Many of his Sennett shorts survive and they are a pleasure to watch. As his wife Carrie's life neared its end, Ben, a very devout Catholic, took her to religious shrines hoping for a cure. He suspended his career to care for her in her final months. After her death, there are several news clipping that capture how big the story was in the mid-1920 entertainment media of star Ben Turpin shucking off his career to care for his loved spouse.

Although very witty in his public appearances, Turpin lived a quiet life with Carrie. There were no children, evidently a life disappointment. (Rydzewski includes an odd tale of Ben and Carrie asking a poor man if they could raise his daughter -- the man declined). In any event, it's not a surprise Ben eventually married Babette Dietz in the summer of 1926. Their union lasted until Ben's death in 1940 at age 70.

Ben went back to comedies but did not make the change to talky comedies. He was financially secure. At age 60 he could still do stage work and add to his secure living. He had invested well. I'm just guessing but he may have looked at the artistic difficulties some of his peers (Langdon, Lloyd, Keaton and even Chaplin) were having making the transition. In the early '30s, comedy cinema was moving toward dialogue comedy, either battle of the sexes or the fast repartee of the Marx Brothers. Slapstick was popular in shorts, but the budgets were tiny, and the films less recognized than in the Sennett era.

The best chance to see Ben in a film is the 1940 Laurel and Hardy film, "Saps at Sea," where he plays -- in a quick cameo -- a cross-eyed plumber. Ben Turpin died of a heart attack on July 1, 1940. Born in 1869, he was a literal first in his class of silent slapstick. Rydzewski has done a tremendous service, both to fans and film historians, with this comprehensive work. The book also includes scores and scores of pages of photos.

Book review: Harry Langdon: His Life and Films

Review by by Doug Gibson

I'm overdosing on Harry Langdon the past couple of weeks. Besides reading William Schelly's excellent biography of the silent comedy star, "Harry Langdon: His Life and Films," (from McFarland) I've watched about all the films I can find. There's a lot on YouTube (I'm listening to one of his talkies as I pen this review) and Kino offers a DVD with three of his best silent films, The Strong Man, Tramp, Tramp, Tramp and Long Pants. (I've snuck in a YouTube of Tramp ... above).

As Schelly notes, Langdon -- and his first wife Rose -- honed skills in the first-decade plus of the 20th century as a comedy burlesque team, and later a top vaudeville act. One of Langdon's specialty acts was a Night on the Boulevard, where he was a timid, comic driver. Langdon was a talented artist, and used his art in his acts. He even had a comic strip for a time. He was big as Charles Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd ... But today, while their works appear often on Turner Classic Movies and casual film fans know their names, Langdon still often draws a blank stare. It's past time that changed. We need to lift Harry Langdon back into the film history spotlight.

 Langdon and  Rose made it to the top in vaudeville, appearing in New York City, Chicago and Los Angeles. This is important to note because as Schelly notes, both Frank Capra and Mack Sennett, who both worked with Langdon during his rise as a comedy star, later wrote autobiographies that contained inaccurate accounts of Langdon, claiming he had garnered very little acclaim prior to working in silent comedies. They also claimed that Langdon's career had completely collapsed with the advent of sound, and that he was a failure afterward. Again, completely false, and those accounts -- which many believed -- speak more to Capra's and Sennett's inability to forgive and forget after their highly publicized splits with Langdon in the 1920s.

Langdon honed his silent comedy skills working with the greats, Sol Lesser and then Mack Sennett, usually in shorts and sometimes in two reelers. While at Sennett, he managed to create a unique comic persona -- the little elf. A mild character whose comedy is created from his reaction to the world around him, the elf was not a physical character, or a natural brute. He usually got the girl in the end, one of his co-stars was a very young Joan Crawford, but the little elf, with his powder-white gentle face, could be considered asexual. He was a fantastic caricature for the silent star, who used bewildered expressions and a dogged, quiet, slow determination to achieve his goals. He could do physical slapstick when the script occasionally called for it.

As Schelly notes, one of the best Sennett/Langdon efforts is "Saturday Afternoon," which can be seen via YouTube here. As Schelly notes, Sennett was not a producer that stars stuck with forever and eventually Langdon moved to First National Pictures, where he established relationships with directors Frank Capra and Harry Edwards. Capra, of course, later achieved fame with a series of dramas starring Jimmy Stewart. He also developed a relationship with a writer named Arthur Ripley.

While at First National, for a couple of years, Langdon achieved super-stardom, earning several thousand dollars a week. His first two films, "The Strong Man," and "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp," were very successful. "The Strong Man" carries much of the themes of Capra's later films, with honest reformist folk overcoming greed that has created anarchy and riotous lifestyles. The first was directed by Capra, the second by Edwards. Langdon's third film, "Long Pants," was directed by Capra but it was during the production of that film that the two split, with  Langdon wanting to direct his future films.

During that period Schelly notes that Langdon's marriage to Rose had collapsed, which no doubt contributed to the pressure of constantly staying a star. As Schelly notes, First National wanted two films a year and constant film success would be tough for anyone to maintain. Langdon's next two films, "Threes a Crowd" and "The Chaser," produced mediocre box office returns. Another film "Heart Trouble," was little publicized by First National and in fact is now presumed lost. During the second half of Langdon's rise and fall with First National, Sennett, who held rights to earlier unreleased Langdon shorts, released them to coincide with the release of the First National films. That act likely siphoned some of the box office proceeds from Langdon's new releases.

Now, if one believes Capra and Sennett, when his First National contract ended along with the start of the talkies, Harry Langdon's career essentially ended, and he spent 16 bleak years before he died at age 60 in December 1944. But, as mentioned, that's not true. The last 16 years of his life Langdon was constantly working in show business, films and the occasional stage act. He married twice more -- the third time being the successful one that produced a son. Until the end of his life, Harry Langdon still saw his name at the top of the credits in films he starred in. It matters little that the starring roles were for poverty row studios such as PRC and Monogram or for Columbia Studios comedy shorts department. For any silent comedy film star, that was frankly the best to be hoped for. Langdon's talkie career -- until his death -- can arguably be tagged as more successful that Keaton, Lloyd, Ben Turpin, Andy Clyde, Charlie Chase, Billy Bevan and others.

In the talkie era, Langdon made comedy shorts for Hal Roach studios, Educational Films, RKO, and Columbia's dominating department. Edwards directed many of them. He was paired often with Vernon Dent, a frequent comedy antagonist. Late in his life he was paired with the comic El Brendel. He made 47 shorts and starred in several films, directed a few, and also had small parts in bigger-budget A productions. He had money problems, usually as a result of having to meet financial obligations for his earlier failed marriages. However, the final five years of his life, Langdon appeared in 24 films, many with Columbia, which demanded physical comedy. The last five years of his life, Langdon began to age and it was no longer practical to attempt the "Little Elf" persona. It's a tribute to his skill that he was easily able to adapt his talents to the "harried businessman/husband" or "inept employee" or "unlikely, oafish hero" roles.

Langdon was good friends with Stan Laurel, and frequently wrote for Laurel & Hardy. In 1939, while Laurel was having a tiff with Hal Roach, Langdon received his last big-time. It was a great opportunity. He co-starred with Oliver Hardy in the big-budget "Xenobia." Langdon is great in the film, as the owner of an elephant that falls in love with Ollie. Harry's character sues Hardy, and it's resolved in a funny court scene. It's a funny film and is well reviewed, but the film tanked at the box office. It seems movie-goers only wanted Hardy with Laurel. Langdon, who idolized Laurel, had been told that he would get a second starring role with Hardy, but the poor returns for "Xenobia" killed that. It was a disappointment, but as Schelly notes, Langdon never had any intention of trying to break the team of Laurel and Hardy and a second film would have been his last.

After "Xenobia," and the move of Laurel and Hardy to a bigger studio, Langdon seemed to have started a frenzy of acting and writing in Columbia shorts and poverty row films. As Schelly notes, he also made many "soundies," musical numbers that played at arcades in which viewers paid a small fee to watch the act. In 1943 he toured the country in the stage act, "Out of the Frying Pan." And he earned money as a gag writer for RKO in 1944. It seems his financial situation improved for his young family, but it must have been a physical strain for the aging star, in his mid-50s. Langdon's father had died of a cerebral hemorrhage and in early December, after working on a physical, slapstick comedy for Columbia, "Pistol Packin Nitwits," Harry came home and complained of a very bad headache.

His doctor put him to bed but his conditioned worsened. He had suffered the same malady that had killed his father. He died on Dec. 12, leaving his wife, Mabel, and their son, Harry Jr., who had just turned 10.

As Schelly notes, in his later career Langdon's fate was that his great talents, creating very funny comic scenes, were too often surrounded by dreary long, plotting hacked out by mediocre talents in an assembly-like atmosphere. Langdon was a perfectionist, and that caused rancor in the 1930s as the former big star, who had taken his time setting up comic scenes, was told to get it done and quickly by budget-conscious low-budget directors. But he seemed to finally adapt to it, and even became a fixture at Columbia. It was no doubt gratifying for him to be on the top of the movie poster for the shorts and the PRC and Monogram films. In many ways, Langdon's career echoes Bela Lugosi's. Both enjoyed a short time on top, floundered for a while trying to maintain a starring role in A films, and eventually settled down to starring in lesser productions with occasional A roles.

As Schelly notes, it's unfair to target Langdon as a failure in the 1930s as many other comedy stars, including Keaton, were having lesser success trying to adapt to a new form of talking cinema comedy, with heavy emphasis on dialogue (think the Marx Brothers or Hepburn and Tracy) and more emphasis on physical slapstick (think the Three Stooges). Langdon's "The Little Elf" was heavy on quiet characterization, a sometimes melancholy personality and eager yet timid expressive eyes. Although Langdon's voiced matched what would be an appropriate tone for "the little elf," his type of comedy had passed.

A bigger question is why does Langdon remain obscure today. Just watch the film above and you'll see a master on par with Chaplin's "The Kid" or Lloyd's "The Freshman." Schelly opines that besides the public criticism from Capra and Sennett, Langdon's relatively brief time as a super-star in the 1920s makes his era seem like a blip, rather than the consistent success during that decade of Chaplin, Lloyd and Keaton. It's true Langdon made too many films to quickly. Another reason may be he died before the 1950s and 1960s, where television and future acting opportunities would have brought him newer, and younger fans. That was a positive development for Keaton, for example.

In any event, Schelly's book is a treasure; well worth the steep price. Harry Langdon needs to have his comeback. I'll be pestering TCM to have a Langdon night on Silent Sundays. Hope the rest of you will, as well.