Hey, Peter Bogdanovich. Good to see you for the second week in a row in my reviews.

Once upon a time, Bogdanovich was a wunderkind film director, like his idol, Orson Welles, riding the crest of the American New Wave movement of avant-garde directors in the 1970s, but he’s since found a third act as a chronicler of cinematic history, which is how he came to direct and narrate the documentary “The Great Buster: A Celebration,” about silent film star Buster Keaton.

Keaton was nicknamed “The Great Stone Face” for his signature deadpan facial expression that somehow nonetheless managed to convey a full spectrum of everyman pathos, and, even if you’ve never seen one of his films, you’ve almost assuredly felt his influence through whatever films or TV shows you have seen, as attested to by Bogdanovich’s impressive lineup of talking-head commentators.

Whether it’s classical vaudevillians like Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner, sitcom actors like Dick Van Dyke, sketch players like Saturday Night Live’s Bill Hader, legitimately paradigm-shifting filmmakers like Werner Herzog and Quentin Tarantino, or even reality-show crash-test dummies like Johnny Knoxville of MTV’s “Jackass,” every one of them credits Keaton’s literally death-defying stunts and utterly unflappable comedic persona with serving as personal inspirations to them.

Keaton was a second-generation vaudevillian, the child of two stage performers who incorporated him into their act from an early age, with his father even installing a suitcase handle onto his son’s clothes to throw the boy at hecklers in the audience.

Having normalized stunt performances that many critics deemed child abuse, the young Keaton then set about learning all he could about the art and craft of filmmaking from one of the biggest comic stars of the day, Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, whose Renaissance Man blend of acting, directing and screenwriting Keaton would go on to successfully emulate.

What’s perhaps most tragic about Keaton’s lifelong career, since he kept on working right up until he died, is how all his best work is concentrated in the 1920s, before he signed on with Metro-Goldwyn Mayer Studios, and before silent films gave way to “the talkies.”

Everyone interviewed for the film agreed that MGM’s rigidly scripted style of film production was the worst possible fit for Keaton, who believed in taking advantage of what Welles would later refer to as “happy accidents” in his own filmmaking.

And yet, the habitually humble “Stone Face” refused to raise a fuss, even as his pay was slashed and he was shoehorned into projects for which he visibly had little enthusiasm.

Amusingly enough, Keaton’s third-act turnaround would come, in part, from his unexpected turns as a pitchman in TV commercials, and his well-received cameo appearances in the teen-targeted “beach party” films that were such a hip trend during the 1960s.

Given that Keaton’s career arguably stalled out because the silent film star was too ahead of the curve for the studios who’d brought sound to film, it’s heartening to learn that the jowly, porkpie hat-wearing senior became cool with the kids all over again.

Aside from hearing so many great, influential comedians in their own right share their insights on what made Keaton’s comedy work, perhaps the sweetest treat of this film is its liberal inclusion of clips from Keaton’s best films, whose deceptive simplicity belies a considerable intelligence behind their construction, like a haiku made out of pratfalls.

I’m glad to have this tribute to Keaton, and I look forward to seeing Bogdanovich continue to preserve the history of cinema for future generations.

You did good, Last Picture Show kid.