The Electric House

Fresh college grad Buster Keaton grabs the wrong diploma and is hastily offered a job before he realizes the mistake. He's a trained botanist, but there's quick money in this fancy electrician's gig and the pushy recruiter is awfully anxious to get started. So, after taking an evening to read a fat beginners' manual, he promptly outfits a client's estate with all manner of silly gadgets and inessentials. This pleases everyone, from the dazzled, superficial homeowner to the cocksure Keaton, who takes delight in nonchalantly demonstrating all the bells and whistles. The rightful recipient of Buster's stolen degree is less enthused, though, and soon sneaks into the basement to perform some spiteful sabotage. The outcome is just what one might expect: malfunctioning Rube Goldberg machines on the rampage, with a desperate crowd of confused onlookers racing to be the next one flung through a second-floor window or knocked, repeatedly, off their feet. The story doesn't have a modicum of depth or any resolution, really, but as an exercise in simple, prop-driven physical comedy, it's a good time. Pretty light fare, but still worthwhile.