Hearkening back to those genial Keystone messes. The Rink is gleefully sloppy, even nonsensical. Everything is an excuse for the cheerful violence, which is maybe not as sublimely executed as elsewhere. (The actual rink sequence, for all of it’s many happy roller skating accidents, is the messiest of all. On the other hand, can this guy ever skate!) It’s pretty great how Chaplin calculates the bill from the food that Eric Campbell has been spilled on his tie. For me, Henry Bergman’s Mrs. Stout sneaks in and steals the entire movie.