The lost art of film high comedy has been revived recently with increasing frequency at local theatres, notably in re-releases of Chaplin favorites and a fine, frenzied W. C. Fields double bill. The latest example of the days when Screenland was funny is now on view at the Mayflower and Pilgrim, unobtrusively inserted between showings of a feature film on Africa, called "Savage Splendor." This is neither savage nor splendid, though a good-enough documentary.

"Movie Crazy," an early talkie, brings back one of the first and finest silent comedians, in one of his last and best productions. Harold Lloyd, the man who invented horn-rimmed glasses, lurched and fumbled his way to an improbable success in film milestones like "The Freshman," against competition from such adept funnymen as Buster Keaton and Chaplin himself. "Movie Crazy" shows what happened when sound hit the screen, and the champions of the gestured word had to adjust. Most of the time, they didn't bother.

All of the better gags in "Movie Crazy" are visual, and the most inspired scenes need no sound at all. One such shows Lloyd, wearing one shoe and a-straw hat, pursuing his other brogan through a rainstorm as it is carried along in a gutter millstream to the inevitable sewer inlet. Later on, the hero inadvertently dons a magician's dress coat, complete with eggs, mice, sausage, rabbits, and the traditional squirting carnation, and has himself a time on a crowded dance floor.

As in his earlier, voiceless appearances, Lloyd retains throughout "Movie Crazy" the pristine simplicity of mind, uncomplicated by thought or experience which, with face to match, always puts him on the top by the last reel.