Charlie Chaplin died on Christmas Day, exactly 30 years ago. His magic will live so long as the art of making movies lives. Forever.
RAJGOPAL NIDAMBOOR Charlie Chaplin was to comedy what Sir Don Bradman was to the game of cricket. Inimitable. Timeless.
Chaplin was born in London to Charles Sr., and Hannah Harriette Hill — both small-time entertainers. When Charlie’s parents separated soon after his birth, the little kid was left to the care of his mother who, through years of mental upheaval, suffered a mental breakdown. She went to an asylum, and died in 1928. Charlie and his older half-brother Sydney were brought up at an orphanage. His was, doubtless, a traumatic childhood — and, it provided the ground swell for his creative flair and genius to sprout, with more than a sense of Freudian "chutzpah."
Chaplin [1889-1977] sure inherited from his parents “stage” genetics, or gift of the gab on the sets, of entertaining people. He could mime superbly and also dance with consummate skill — both mandatory qualities in the silent era. Besides, he also drew on his own poverty and fight for survival to fashion his legendary character — the tramp.
Chaplin got his first major break in 1913, when he signed up with Fred Karno Company — a British vaudeville unit that was touring the US. He made immediate impression and was signed on by Mark Sennet of Keystone — renowned makers of slapstick one-reelers. It was actually Sennet that inspired Chaplin to make his first film, Kid Auto Races At Venice, a movie which also marked the debut of Chaplin’s famous alter ego, the tramp.
How did the character evolve? In Chaplin’s own words:
“I had no idea of the character. But, the moment I was dressed, the clothes and the make-up made me feel the person he was. I began to know him, and by the time I walked on to the stage he was fully born. When I confronted Sennet I assumed the character and strutted about, swinging my cane and parading before him. Gags and comedy ideas went racing through my mind.”
Chaplin explained to Sennet: “You know, this fellow is many-sided, a tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure. He could make you believe he’s a scientist, a musician, a duke, a polo player. However, he’s not above picking up cigarette butts or robbing a boy of its candy. And, of course, if the occasion warrants it, he will kick a lady in the rear — but, only in extreme anger.”
Within a short time, Chaplin went to Essanay Films on a contract of $1,250 a week — a huge sum those days. And, in 1916, Mutual signed Chaplin for a whopping $10,000 a week.
The impoverished lad from London had come a long way. However, the inner urge of every artist began to propel him in a new direction — Chaplin was anxious to make his own films. As he was indulging in slapstick and sentiment in his earlier films, he was also experimenting. He was always trying to create a poetic celluloid movement through settings and props, through mime, and through his elegant though seemingly "clumsy" excursions. Soon, he was in a unique position of being able to script, produce, direct, and star in his own films.
Chaplin sure expressed his cinematic genius with universal empathy, because his highly imaginative mind allowed him to mix sentiment, pathos, humour, and lyricism like no one else. Result? Classics followed in quick succession: The Kid, City Lights, The Gold Rush, Modern Times, The Great Dictator — a dig at Adolf Hitler’s megalomania – and, so on. Although some of his last feature films — Monsier Verdoux, Limelight, and A Countess From Hong Kong — did not become great hits, Chaplin’s cinematic genius and humanism continue to enthral newer generations of audiences all over the world — in a language everyone understands. Chaplin’s own.
Chaplin, of course, made his own kind of movies and on his own schedules. He made them in the old-fashioned way, insisting on seeing to every detail himself. He did not like sound — not music though — and, resisted changes in Hollywood and its film-making process. This did not affect him and his talent for making wonderfully hilarious films. This explains why Chaplin came to be — and, still is — idolised with unreserved directness. His scenery is a collage — not a metaphor. It’s a cocoon of Chaplin’s expressions which one has always tried to break through to the reality outside. As a critic commented, "Chaplin’s work resembles a hall of mirrors reflecting only one image, Chaplin himself."
The rest is pure magic. Chaplin gave the tramp and his psyche a new identity. The way he wielded his walking stick; the pattern of his splay-footed, shuffling walk; or, the waltz which would get transformed into a hurried sprint when pursued; his shy and almost restrained smile; the mercurial swiftness with which he would dodge someone, not to speak of his ability to skate at the edge of the precipice — all these images urge us to rewind and witness every bit of it over and over again.
Chaplin’s magic is eternal too — it has audiences laughing at his antics even before one gets to know that the little fellow, with the bowler hat, baggy trousers, toothbrush moustache, and delightfully expressive cane, was a transplanted cockney entertainer.
However, for a great man, Chaplin’s life was mixed — of triumph and trauma. Chaplin attracted as much attention for his films as for his affairs and marriages — three of which were disasters. The only happy marriage that lasted was his fourth with playwright Eugene O’Neill’s 18-year-old daughter, Oona, when Chaplin was aged 54. Besides this, Chaplin was in the public eye for his not-so-consistent sympathy for communist ideals. He once made a stormy exit from the US on “political grounds,” and returned to the land that had made him a celebrity like no other only to receive his Oscar.
All the same, whether he was at home or on the sets, Chaplin ran the show. Acting, for him, was all artistry, and reels of celluloid captured its essence and more. What was also amazing about Chaplin’s consummate excellence was his own sense of beliefs and the amazing measure he was able to achieve with subtle realism.
Chaplin remains a class act. More importantly, his everlasting mosaic celebrates his imperishable status as Comedy’s First Knight — no more, no less.