Laurel and Hardy Murders by Marvin Kaye Page B

The Hoose-Gow.
    I took a seat on the aisle and saved the next place for Hilary, who was not quite finished admiring The Lambs’ library. She missed the opening greetings of the master of ceremonies, Phil Faxon.
    I was interested to see that O. J. had found an innocuous way to give Phil something to do.
    The lights went out and the “magic lantern show” began. It consisted of slides and film clips that introduced the boys and the guests of the evening. Excerpts from “The Tonight Show” spotlighted Rodney Dangerfield and Bob and Ray, and there were brief excerpts from The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter and Gone With the Wind in honor of Chuck McCann and Butterfly McQueen.
    “The next thing you will see,” Hal’s voice said over the microphone, “is the only remaining footage of The Knifethrower starring our own Mae Busch.”
    There was an appreciative murmur from the members who knew their film history.
    “ The Knifethrower ,” Hal explained, “is generally considered a lost comedy, one of the first that Mae appeared in for the Famous-Kennett Studios. To the best of my knowledge, this incomplete segment is all that still exists of what was probably a two-reeler. The music you’ll hear was put on magnetically when the original was transferred to more permanent stock.”
    The screen flickered to life. It was hard to make out the image. Mae, looking as white as Carl Dreyer’s vampire, sauntered out onto the platform of a carnival stage wearing spangly briefs, the costume of a showgirl. A tall man with a long bristly mustache stood glowering at her, knives in hand.
    “In the missing opening reel,” Hal said, “the knifethrower sees his wife, played by Mae, fooling around with Elmer Parrott, the comedy star of the flick.”
    Mae wiggled her way to the bull’s-eye target, evidently oblivious to the fact that her mate contemplated murder.
    CUT TO : shot of Elmer Parrott, his goggle-eyes wider than ever, as Mae’s maid whispered in his ear. I gathered she was telling him the awful truth.
    CUT TO : the carnival sideshow. The crowd watched eagerly as a small boy walked onstage and stood beside the knifethrower. The child took the knives and held them while the showman limbered up. Mae laughed at the ridiculous spectacle when he bent his bandy legs.
    CLOSE-UP : the knifethrower glowered straight into the camera.
    CUT TO : Elmer Parrott hopping onto his bicycle to hurry to the carnival. The front wheel fell off.
    The knifethrower selected a dagger from the boy, aimed it—
    “Now watch this,” Hal said. “He actually throws the knife. The camera doesn’t cut away!”
    It was a medium shot, enough to contain Mae and the back of the male actor. Z-z-zip—the knife whizzed across the intervening space to imbed itself forcefully in the target scant inches from Mae’s head.
    CLOSE-UP : Startled expression on Mae’s face.
    And back to Elmer Parrott, riding a giddily tilted bike on the back wheel only. Needless to say, he arrived in time to save his beloved—only to see her make up with hubby at the fade out.
    There was a round of applause when the tantalizing fragment ended and an even heartier burst of clapping greeted the final film, an early copy of a TV kinescope of Black and White’s classic routine, Robin O’Hood (the Irish pub lazzi ).
    The lights came up. Del James, the pianist we always paid to play at meetings, struck up “The Cuckoo Song” and the show’s first live act began. It was Hal Fawkes “lip-syncing” Barbra Streisand singing “People.” He’d covered his Brillo-pad hair with a hideous orange wig and wore a balloon of material meant to be interpreted as a dress. I knew that was the idea because of the immense twin protrusions at top. During the routine, he dropped one, and it turned out to be a cantaloupe.
    It wasn’t my brand of humor and I would have gone to the john, but I didn’t want to miss any of the skit.
    The playlet was excellent, funny and meaningful all at once. Jack Black’s