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The Gold Rush Clippings 299/363

George Herriman, Motion Picture Classic, N. Y., October 1925.

The daily doings of „Krazy Kat“ are now conceived at the

Hal Roach Studio, where George Herriman

(right side) keeps his drawing board in the office of his old

newspaper pal, H. M. „Beanie“ Walker.

(...) Photo, Screenland, March 1930

& „KRAZY KAT“ Title, King Feature Syndicate,

April 19, 1942, detail

& POW ZIP „KONTACT.“ – George Herriman, Krazy Kat,

1913, Private Collection, detail


„Why say that he made us laugh?“

Editorial content. „,The Gold Rush‘

      as Seen by KRAZY KAT

      By GEORGE HERRIMAN

      (Mr. Herriman, the famous creator of the internationally

famous comic supplement characters, Krazy Kat and Ignatz Mouse,

has written this ,krypticism‘ of Charlie Chaplin and The Gold

Rush exclusively for THE CLASSIC.)

      So it‘s Komical Komments on The Gold Rush you wish

I should make, eh. Mr. Editor, just that, and nothing more, he?

      That‘s a nice business you want me to engage in,

Mr. Editor. I don‘t mind telling you that it‘s going to be a fine

failure, yes sir, Mr. Editor, and about as useless as that

extra R in fish.

      Me, make kritical remarks, me analyze, me krack wise animadversions about holy shux. I should be so loose with my language, I should be so kareless with my khirography,

I should get so free with fustian. There be them, Mr. Editor,

who make it a business to be kritics, dramatic kritics,

that‘s a fine business, and there‘s a heap of dramatics in the

world to get kritical about – there‘s dramatics on the

stage even, and it‘s beginning to sprout among the movement

pictures.

      The opening khorus in The Gold Rush is very, very

dramatic – in fact, it is The Gold Rush – men milling in the snow,

hurling themselves into the white maw of the Arctic –

fleas scampering across a klean sheet – you just know it‘s

dramatics. So is a line of ducks flying from the pole

to the pampas to lay an egg, or a ribbon of ants krossing the

sidewalk to dissect a roach‘s kadaver, a Bowery bread

line on Xmas Eve, a world‘s parade of airplanes, nose to tail,

girdling the carth.

      But about that Gold Rush, was it a thousand men,

or a million – with their frozen sweat about them, panting up the

Khilkoot – there was ages of snow beneath them. and

the skies were ready to hurl ages more of it upon them – yet

the writhing string moved on, squirming its way into the

open jaws of the North to pry from its white fangs  bit of its

yellow fillings.

      A large, healthy, meaty bone upon which to do some

kritical gnawing, Mr. Editor. But, out it faded, like a veil dissolving

– and the march of a million men was something that

had transpired eons ago – and on the echo of the last man‘s

foot beats, the magic of transmutation takes place –

from the musty metal in the krucible – arises enchantment –

whitchery in large flat shoes, baggy trousers, swishing

a reed, a billycock hat doffed to the universe, a gracious salutation,

and the world acknowledges it with the smile of a child.

      There is no question of why he is here, slipping, sliding

or scampering over the ice, no talk of the danger all

about, depths below, heights above, bears behind, and ice all

about – and we following, following. ever following. We

have waited long to katch this sprite at play, so let no one stay

our step while we have him – we will follow – wither

he wills until he loses us in the mists and we flounder back

to earth again. Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief

– leveled to a kommon denomination.

      Why say that he made us laugh? Why say he made us cry?

Why boast of this braveries?

      A knight in armor on a horse aglitter with regal trappings

never went into the fray for the love of his lady, or the

advancement of chivalry with lighter heart than he. No social

lion ever graced a banquet hall with more inspiring

gentility – no friend ever stood by a pal with more self-sacrifice.

No elf made more mischief – and, kould any maker of

dreams have better awakened into the souls of a brace of buns

stuck on the end of a pair of forks, the dance of a Pavlowa.

What chef kould have brewed a stew from a shoe, from which

would arise such gastronomic ecstasy – and what more

perfect host than he – the white meat giving to his ,guest,‘ with

the grand gesture. No favorite kourtier of a Stuart, or

a Bourban, kould have been more graciously served – and all

this in a desolate kabin in the Klondike.

      A king of Babylon conjuring a royal fete for his

queen kould not have more bravely battled the bitter bite of

disappointment of finding her seat empty at the feast.

      What Midas better born to his wealth.

      Let all the kobblers of earth fashion flat shoes, all awry

– and all the tailors trim trousers as loose as gunny sacks, put

all the reeds of the world into kanes, and let the hatter

go mad making Derbies – then pour into them the genius of

another Chaplin. It is as easy as writing kriticism –

mes amis –

      Twice as easy!!!!

      And now, Ignatz!! The BRICK!!!“

      Three drawings, one photo.

     The Gold Rush opens June 26, 1925

      at Grauman‘s Egyptian, 6712 Hollywood Bld., Los Angeles.

      The Gold Rush opens August 15, 1925

      at Strand Theatre, B‘way at 47th St., New York.

    

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