The weakest, most conventional of Buster Keaton’s silent features, and—it almost goes without saying—the most commercially successful by far (1926). The plot is a heavy thing about prizefighting and mistaken identity, with Keaton as a rich twit who learns his lesson the hard way, and there’s no room for Buster to stretch out; none of the rhythms are remotely like his own. With Snitz Edwards and Sally O’Neill; Keaton directed.