Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator

If you're the type who finds Buster Keaton’s timing a bit too precise and wants something that feels like it was put together with nothing but sugar and sheer panic, you might actually get a kick out of Happy Heels. It’s not high art, it’s not even medium art. It’s just noise and limbs flailing in a nightclub.
Skip this if you need a plot that makes sense. Or if you have a headache. The energy here is relentless.
Buster West and Tom Patricola are basically human pinballs. They show up to see these two singers, Thelma and Ruth, and proceed to ruin the entire vibe of the room within seconds. It’s funny because they’re trying so hard to be cool, but they look like they’re fighting invisible swarms of bees. 🐝
There’s a specific bit where they get thrown out of the club—again—and the way they just sort of tumble into the alleyway feels like it went on for three days. You can almost see the stunt guys getting tired of hitting the floor. It reminded me a bit of the frantic energy in Trouble Busters, though with significantly less horses and way more questionable dance moves.
The pacing isn't so much a flow as it is a series of collisions. They crash, they get up, they repeat. One reaction shot of the club manager looks like he’s staring into the abyss, and honestly, I don't blame him. He looks like he’s wondering if the check is going to clear so he can go home and stare at a wall.
It’s a very simple kind of movie. You aren't going to find any deeper meanings here about the human condition or whatever. You’re here to watch two guys act like absolute idiots in fancy suits. And they are very, very good at being idiots.
By the time it wraps up, you’ll be exhausted just from watching them. It’s not the best thing you’ll see all year, but it’s certainly one of the most active. Sometimes that’s enough.
Year
1936
IMDb Rating
—

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Deciphering the legacy of transgressive cult cinema.
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