A Max Linder Double Feature: Seven Years Bad Luck & Be My Wife

As mentioned in my review for The Kid, while Charlie Chaplin may have been the premier slapstick comedy filmmaker of the 1920s, it was Germany’s Max Linder who truly fathered the art form. Though a lot of his work is now lost, as is unfortunately the case with many films of the decade, there still remain three prominent feature films intact – each released within a two-year span. These films are the incredibly influential and oft-hilarious Seven Years Bad Luck and the sweet and goofy Be My Wife.

Before the Marx brothers would eventually borrow the mirror gag, Linder did it first with Seven Years Bad Luck. As with both of 1921 features, he played a dumbed-down and exaggerated version of himself that would serve as inspiration for Charlie Chaplin and especially Buster Keaton. With his signature pencil-thin moustache, his silly top hat and cane, and a general dumbfounded and down-on-his-luck attitude, Linder brought slapstick to life by crafting such ridiculous (and worst-case) scenarios for his protagonist and then allow him to struggle his way back to a happy ending. In the case of Seven Years Bad Luck, the story follows Linder who wakes after a heavy night of drinking (something many can still relate to today!) as he accidentally breaks a mirror before his eventual marriage to Betty (played wonderfully by Alta Allen) and begins to sense that bad luck is headed his way, potentially dooming his marriage. Chaos ensues, as it often does in slapstick, and Linder masterfully weaves his way through each scenario with both physical finesse and charisma that must have certainly been an inspiration for many aspiring slapstick filmmakers of the day (maybe even now).

The film is not as sweet or heartfelt as the likes of Chaplin nor is it as visually stunning or provocative the way Buster Keaton’s films often are, but it still offers plenty of laughs and the infamous mirror gag (which you can find on YouTube) is some of the best stuff I’ve seen in a slapstick comedy to this day. However, after the first fifteen minutes go by, there is not much of a plot as the film simply moves from gag to gag. What would have worked better as a short film simply drags out the story until it’s over – which could potentially be why Linder never found success with his three features. For what it is, though – and if you’re a fan of slapstick – the film is still quite funny and offers a shred of genius that you could see why he was so inspirational to other artists of the time.

Be My Wife, his second 1921 feature, does not have the same spark of creative hilarity that Seven Years Bad Luck (save a pretty hilarious scarecrow scene), but it does attempt to tap into the heart and relatability of his characters. It could just be me, as has been the case since I would watch Tom and Jerry as a kid, I always hated watching protagonists get treated or accused unfairly even if just played for laughs. I always found myself rooting for Tom to beat that little brat Jerry, but it never happened and it made my heart hurt watching that show as a little kid. The same goes for a lot of slapstick comedy where I find the humor funny, but it irritates me to no end seeing a good character be accused of something he didn’t do. Sure, in the end, everyone gets their just desserts and the protagonist gets the girl, yah-dah yah-dah yah-dah… But when the entirety of the film is about a character being unfairly accused, it makes it difficult to watch. It’s a personal thing, I’m aware, but it’s a big reason why I found the humor less funny this time around and the film itself less pleasant. For what it is, though, it still has a lot of heart and shows a softer side to Linder – even if the ending feels super rushed.

All in all, though he was successful for a brief period in the 1910s, the 1920s brought him little in the way of success. His victorious reigns were then handed to the likes of Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd who would all find greater success in Hollywood borrowing inspiration from his films and better utilizing the framework he set.

As with an unfortunate number of great comedians in the world, his life was marred by anxiety, depression, and ultimately tragedy. In 1925, four years after these two films were released, he and his wife were found dead of an apparent murder-suicide at a hotel in Paris. Though it’s difficult to imagine the same man who made such lively films full of hilarity and love could ever end his life in such a way, at least his work will live on and (just as he most likely would have wanted) will be remembered through his art instead. So for what it’s worth, I’m thankful for Max Linder. Even though these two films were not as great as other slapstick I’ve seen, they were still a delight and his influence on many others in the art form is admirable. As Linder stated after the premiere of his final film, “I don’t feel funny anymore;” if it’s any consolation, I think the world and many other artists may disagree.

For both films: 7/10

The Kid : The Tramp's Sweet Feature Debut

Despite Max Linder (whose films will be reviewed shortly) being the true father of the slapstick silent comedy, Charlie Chaplin is the one to truly take advantage of all of its incredible possibilities on the big screen. He may not have had, at least in his 1921 feature film debut The Kid, the most elaborate gags, but he almost certainly had a gigantic heart that made his films incredibly charming, lovable, and most of all relatable. Using his ever-popular Tramp character that he had developed over the past decade through a variety of short films, Charlie Chaplin decides to take his goofball character with a heart of gold to the big screen. While it may be a small story – a man finds an infant on the street and decides to care for it – the emotions are played up in a big way and the comedy is pure slapstick gold.

Having heard many, many, many things about Chaplin’s films for many years and having never gotten around to them, it was nice to finally make my way into his filmography with such a pleasant start. However, it’s difficult to shake the feeling that the film almost certainly would’ve worked better as a short film. Okay, I get it; a fifty-minute film is already pretty much a short film – especially by today’s standards (where anything under 60 is pretty much declared a short film). That being said, I feel like the first two-thirds of the film are full of wonderful little cutesy moments that draw you in, but the last third (after such a beautifully moving climax involving a rooftop chase scene and what has to be Chaplin at his emotional best) merely lingers until a predictable resolution.

It’s probably unfair to criticize such an early film for predictability, as predictability is something mostly a by-product of living in the 21st century after millions of films have rehashed the same stories for audiences for many decades. Certainly, that’s not what I dislike about the film – which isn’t much I dislike by the way, I still quite love the film – but it’s how it plays out. After such an engaging climax, there’s a lengthy dream sequence that – while funny and light-hearted – does not do much to serve the actual story and feels completely out of place. Once that ends, the film pretty much ends without any heartfelt emotional resolution. It just kind of ends.

At the same time, though, one has to remember this was early cinema and Chaplin’s film was pretty much a breakthrough in terms of blending slapstick comedy and drama together. Perhaps he was still working out the kinks of crafting a feature film and while its last third has flaws, it’s still quite moving and funny – something almost entirely unheard of back in the early 1920s and before (as far as feature films were concerned).

Chaplin perfectly communicates this incredibly heavy and melodramatic story with a fitting light-hearted touch. The two complement each other so well that it’s no wonder the film was such a large hit with audiences back in 1921 (being the second highest grossing film of the year and with a budget less than half of the typical money-makers of the decade). Chaplin, in complete creative control of the product (director, writer, actor, and even composer), uses each of these aspects to deliver on the promise of its opening title card: ”A picture with a smile—and perhaps, a tear.”

Of course, it’s not just Chaplin alone that makes this film work. In what has to be one of the superior child performances, Jackie Coogan does outstanding work as the titular kid. He’s equal parts cute, affecting, and well-coordinated on par with Chaplin’s Tramp. Both he and Chaplin have incredible chemistry that you believe the credibility of their five-year relationship and it only makes the poignant scenes more effective. Edna Purviance also works wonders here as the “woman,” who had given the kid up but soon became a renowned celebrity and charity giver.

While there are undoubtedly many other Chaplin films to explore, this is certainly a film that shows a lot of potential for Chaplin both as a filmmaker, actor, and composer. His biggest strong suit is obviously his care for his audiences, how he wants to offer a story that both makes them smile and cry in equal doses, but he doesn’t play them for fools. He lets plenty of the action in his films speak louder than words, using very minimal dialogue in his films, and the stories hold quite a bit of weight to them. If Keaton was the thrills, then Chaplin was certainly the heart and this film has no shortage of that here.


8/10