Friday, the 13th

A labyrinthine foray into early 20th-century cinematic idiosyncrasy, *Friday, the 13th* (1921) entwines the mundane with the macabre as its protagonists, Harry McCoy and Sidney Smith, navigate a series of absurdist misfortunes culminating in a visit to a chiropractor’s office. The narrative, helmed by writer-director Leo S. McNutt, unfolds as a chiaroscuro of slapstick and existential dread, where each mishap—be it a recalcitrant horse or a misplaced valise—functions as a metatextual nod to the fragility of urban order. The chiropractor’s sanctum, rendered in stark monochromes of shadow and light, becomes a liminal space where bodily and societal malaise converge, evoking the silent film era’s preoccupation with mechanized modernity and its discontents. McNutt’s script, though sparing in dialogue, relies on expressive pantomime and intertitles saturated with Freudian undertones, suggesting that the boys’ physical ailments are mere symptoms of a deeper psychological rot. The film’s denouement, a haunting coda in which the chiropractor’s instruments take on a life of their own, lingers as a testament to the era’s nascent horror sensibilities, bridging the gap between vaudeville comedy and gothic surrealism.