Posted in 1920s, Movies, Silent film

When avoiding bad luck creates even worse luck

Though Max Linder (né Gabriel-Maximilien Leuvielle) made hundreds of films between 1905–1925 and was the original screen comedian, he’s sadly not nearly as well-known today as Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd, or Roscoe Arbuckle. Even the overrated, creepy Harry Langdon seems to be more popular.

Like too many silent stars, Max also suffers from the misfortune of lost films. More than a few survive, but many others are lost. Thankfully, his daughter Maud (1924–2017) did a lot to resurrect his legacy and preserve his films.

Seven Years Bad Luck, released 6 February 1921, is not only one of Max’s best-known films, but is also widely considered one of his very finest among his surviving body of work.

Max gets absolutely schnockered at his bachelor party, and is so drunk he doesn’t even realize he’s in his own house when he comes home. In the morning, he awakens with a terrible hangover. But that isn’t the least of his troubles. Max woke up at the noise of a mirror breaking, caused by his amorous valet and maid.

John, the valet, immediately calls for a new mirror to be delivered to Max’s house, and lies to his employer that the noise was nothing but Mary, the maid, dropping a napkin. While Max is still in his room, John gets the chef, who very much resembles Max, to dress up as their employer and pretend to be him on the other side of the now-empty mirror frame.

The ruse works very well at first, as the chef exactly copies Max’s every single movement. However, Max eventually realizes there’s another person on the other side. When he leaves the room, the deliveryman arrives with the new mirror.

Max returns and throws a shoe at the mirror, thinking his chef is still standing there. Alas, the new mirror immediately breaks, and Max is horrorstruck. Being very superstitious, he believes he’s been dealt seven years of bad luck.

Max decides to call for his horse instead of taking his car to visit his fiancée Betty (Alta Allen), then imagines himself getting into a terrible accident and decides to just walk there. This proves even more dangerous than either driving or riding a horse, and Max barely makes it there in one piece.

While waiting for Betty, Max asks her supposed psychic maid to read his palm. She says she sees a dog threatening his happiness, and Max promptly grabs Betty’s cute little fluffy white dog Frizotto and sticks him in a vase.

Max tries to prevent Betty from seeing this, but she discovers it sooner rather than later, and is so outraged she calls off their engagement.

Betty’s mother phones Max and says Betty changed her mind and wants him to come back, then tells Betty she ought to give Max a second chance and not behave too rashly over something so silly. This attempted reconciliation ends in another breakup when Betty walks in on Max jamming on the piano to a jazz record as the maid dances. Betty is horrified by such “scandalous” behavior.

Max asks his best friend to pay a call on Betty and try to get her to relent in her cruel edict, little realizing his supposed buddy has designs on Betty. His friend, who isn’t named, lies to Betty that Max decided to marry an ex. Betty then asks how she might get revenge, and the friend suggests she marry him.

Before Max can find out about this shocking new development, he steps into a fight between two strangers on the street and ends up robbed of his wallet. Max had been planning to take a train trip, but now has no money to pay for it, and must find a way to sneak aboard.

The comic situations only escalate from there, as Max continues to court bad luck in his attempted pursuit of avoiding it.

Will Max ever defeat his string of bad luck and reconcile with Betty?

Author:

Writer of historical fiction sagas and series, with elements of women's fiction, romance, and Bildungsroman. Born in the wrong generation on several fronts.

Share your thoughts respectfully

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s