Blind Spot: City Lights

[This post is apart of Ryan McNeil's Blind Spot Series at The Matinee. On the last Tuesday of ever month you watch and write about a movie that is considered important in the cinema lexicon, but that you've somehow missed along the way.]

This year marks the 100th anniversary of when Charlie Chaplin made his film debut and thus introduced the world to one of the most recognized cinematic figures of all-time: The Little Tramp. The character is immediately recognizable regardless if you have seen him in one of his many adventures or not: The baggy pants cinched at the waist, the derby hat perched atop his head, the swinging cane, the awkward, turned-out stance as he walks, and, of course, the iconic mustache. (It's unfortunate that another historical figure also gained notoriety with the same facial hair. Luckily, Chaplin was able to use the similarity to his advantage in the satiric film, The Great Dictator. Which is the only film that earned the star an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor.) The Tramp made many appearances throughout the years, but the film most often cited as Chaplin's greatest achievement with the character is 1931's City Lights.

Released as a silent film, 4 years after The Jazz Singer started to bring in the new wave of "talkie" pictures, it was an art form of filmmaking that was becoming out-of-style. The film was a labor of love for Chaplin, who not only directed, but wrote the score, edited, and produced, spending almost 3 years making the film. At times throughout the filming, there were questions about whether or not it should be made with sound. But, Chaplin felt that the Tramp character and the film would be more universal without sound, able to connect across language barriers. So, it makes sense the film, despite the trademark humor come to be expected from Chaplin, is at its heart, an old-fashioned love story not afraid of sentimentality. 

This film was actually my first time experiencing a Charlie Chaplin film, so I had high expectations for it. Not only is Chaplin considered one of the greatest comedians to ever grace the silver screen, but the film itself is regarded as not just Chaplin's best but one of the greatest films ever created. After watching this film and The General last year, I think I've come to the conclusion that the comedy in silent films just isn't something that I appreciate. I find it to be too repetitive (I know, comedy comes in threes) and too reliant on slapstick (which is a type of comedy that I've never been a fan of). What saves me from disliking the film altogether, is the sweetness between Chaplin and the Blind Girl (played by Virginia Cherrill) and an ending that shocked me in how effective it was in its simplicity. But, I'm getting ahead of myself...

As the movie opens, a group of officials are dedicating a new statue in the city square. Despite there not being any spoken dialogue, Chaplin still incorporated sound effectively in the film. As a commentary about the speeches made by people in government (and also in response to those new talking films), the officials make unintelligible noise that sounds a lot like the adults in "Peanuts". As the statue is unveiled, there asleep among the monument is The Little Tramp himself. As he tries to get down off the statue, his pants become stuck on a sword and we get the first of many comedic bits of the film as he struggles to free himself.

Later that day, he first encounters a blind girl selling her flowers. She mistakes him for a man of wealth as he exits a fancy car after trying to avoid a policeman. As the audience we know that the way Chaplin is dressed, one would never mistake him for a man of money. But because she's incapable of seeing him as we do, she's able to look past that to see what he could be. 

In the evening along the river, the Tramp saves a drunken millionaire from committing suicide. The man ties a rope around his neck and ties the other end around a large rock that he intends to toss into the river. Somehow the Tramp finds the rope around his own neck and finds himself in the water (several times). As you can suspect, hilarity ensues. Except that the same thing keeps happening over and over again without any variation. If you found it to be funny the first time, it might wear thin the more you see it. Unfortunately, I didn't find it all that funny the first time.

The man is so grateful to be saved that he befriends the Tramp and takes him home. The only problem is that whenever he sobers up he doesn't recognize the Tramp at all. Like the blind girl, the millionaire is never able to see the Tramp the way he really is. For this reason, the Tramp character is seen as the ultimate outsider and loner. Not only does he live outside society's norms without a home or job, but people also see right through him.

Smitten with the girl he met earlier in the film, the Tramp begins to see her on a regular basis. Although, she still believes him to be a wealthy man. He discovers that there's a surgery that could cure her of her blindness and he vows to get the money for her. The Tramp gets a job as a street cleaner. There's a bit where a troop of horses prance by and you wait for the mess to occur for him to clean up. Luckily the horses don't leave anything behind, but an elephant (huh?) comes into view just as they leave. The film is full of gags like this that are juvenile in their humor. There's no easier way to get a laugh than a good poop joke.

After getting fired from his job for being late, the Tramp must make money another way. Which leads us to the comedic centerpiece of the film. The Tramp enters a boxing-match with a 50 dollar cash prize for the winner. He's in over his head, but he tries to hold his own in the ring. There's lots of mistaken identity play as he deftly switches places with the referee several times, confusing his opponent. And he accidentally keeps ringing the bell to signal the end of the round. The entire sequence is about 15 minutes long and serves only to highlight Chaplin's work as a physical comedian. It seems to draw out a little too long for me. Then at the end, he doesn't even win the money and we have to endure another comedic situation of errors.

The Tramp runs into his friend the drunk millionaire who gives him one thousand dollars to give to the blind girl. The only problem is, there are burglars in the house as well (of course, why wouldn't there be?) and the police try to arrest the Tramp for "stealing" the money. Because, wouldn't you know, the millionaire sobers up and doesn't recognize the Tramp. I think you'll notice a pattern in the comedy. Chaplin seems to enjoy returning again and again to the same devices and jokes. But, instead of making them different or building, they are literally just the same thing. 

Luckily, he's able to give the blind girl all the money right before he's arrested. After he is released he sees her again. Generally, I'm not one to spoil endings, but this one is so poignant that it made me reconsider my entire opinion of the film and I can't go without discussing it. After the boxing match, I started to get a little bored with the repetitiveness of the film. It never seemed to be going anywhere. But his reunion with the girl once she's gained her sight almost makes it all worth it. 

The girl, now able to see and working in a high-end floral shop, is spotted by the Tramp. He looks at her with such astonishment and wonder. For the first time we are seeing honest emotions from him and it awakened something in me as I watched it all unfold. He never thought he'd see her again and now here she is. Looking at his appearance (after leaving jail his clothes are even more tattered), she offers him some money and flower. But as she touches his hand she recognizes the Tramp as her benefactor. "You see now", he says. And she replies simply and heartfelt, "Yes, I can see now." 

It all sounds pretty cheesy, but Chaplin and Cherill pull it all off in a way that makes it touching and heartbreaking. What I love most about it, is how still it all is. There's minimum movement and everything is expressed in their faces and eyes. (It's like Norma Desmond said, "We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!") And all the mugging Chaplin has been doing for the last hour and a half melts away to the last image of him grinning at the girl. Its a smile filled with hope and fear (can she really care for him the way he does her?), but it's also a look of love. It's a moment that feels so real and perfect that although I hadn't cared for the rest of the film as much, the perfection of this moment made me reevaluate the whole film and appreciate it for the magic it could create. Even 100 years later, Charlie Chaplin and the Tramp can still surprise you.

Blind Spot: The General

There's a theory among cinephiles that when it comes to the comedians of the silent film era, you fall into one of two categories: You're either a fan of Charlie Chaplin and his "Little Tramp" character or a fan of Buster Keaton–"The Great Stone Face". Having never seen a film from either of them, I could never accurately make an educated opinion on the matter. But, having finally caught up with Buster Keaton's The General–what some consider to be the greatest silent film ever made–I guess I'm gonna have to declare myself a Chaplin fan, sight unseen. Because the truth is, well, here goes: I didn't care for The General.

I'll be the first to admit that my education and knowledge of silent film extends to only a handful of pictures, but the thing is, I really enjoyed those other films (Metropolis, Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, and The Passion of Joan of Arc). So, it's not that I'm against silent films as a whole. Nor do I think the label of "Greatest Silent Film...EVER!" was making my expectations impossibly high. After all, Citizen Kane is considered by most to be the "Greatest Film Ever. Period" and it more than lived up to whatever baggage can come with such a lofty title. (And, believe me, I was prepared to be disappointed. But, damned if it doesn't live up to its hype.)

At the time of its release in December 1926, The General was actually considered a flop. So much so, that it cost Buster Keaton the freedom he had as a filmmaker and he was forced to enter a contract with MGM that severely restricted his control. It wasn't until recently that its status has grown to be included among the greats. But, I'm gonna have to take the side of the critics from the 20s who found the film to be tedious and, worst of all, just not funny.

Set in the South at the start of the Civil War, Buster Keaton plays Johnnie Gray a train engineer who has two loves in his life, his engine–The General–and his girl, Annabelle Lee. After the firing on Fort Sumnter, Annabelle's father and brother go to enlist in the army. Johnnie, wanting to impress his lady, goes as well, but is dismissed. They believe he'll be better for the cause in the position he's already in. Annabelle tells him she doesn't want to see him again until he's in uniform. A distraught Johnnie sits on the rod of the engine's wheels and, in the most iconic moment of the film, he begins to move up and down with the rod as the train pulls out of the station.

If you know anything about this film, you know about this scene. But, it was over so quickly that it barely had time to register as a moment. Just when the train begins to pick up momentum, it enters into a tunnel and we lose sight of Keaton. I understand how dangerous it is to sit on a moving train the way he did, I just wish it had been just slightly longer.

A year has passed. Annabelle takes The General to visit her wounded father, but little does she know that the Northern army intends to hijack the train from Johnnie when the passengers are at dinner so that they can take it back North and destroy the track and bridges along the way. Unfortunately, she's in the train at the time and taken hostage.

Johnnie sets about trying to get his train back first by foot, then by bicycle, and then finally takes another train to pursue them. An almost 20 minute "chase scene" ensues involving one train right behind the other. On a track. I gotta say, nothing could be more exhilarating than two slow moving trains in hot pursuit.

There's plenty of business to fill the time. Including a bit with a canon, that's not particularly funny if you've seen a Looney Tunes cartoon. (Come to think of it, I never found it funny in the cartoons either.) But, it all just starts to seems like business. And in another daring stunt, Keaton sits on the front of the train and deflects falling railroad tracks. I have to admit, it's pretty impressive when he's able to knock them out of the way of the track, but it's bit that falls flat comedically. Is it supposed to be funny or are we just supposed to applaud this feat of daring do?

After rescuing Annabelle and overhearing about a plot to invade and take the Southern troops by surprise, we now get a second train chase that's also over 20 minutes long. This time the Yankees are in pursuit of Johnnie, who has taken back The General. Have I mentioned that the film is only about an hour and 15 minutes long. The entire length of the film is practically made up of train chase sequences. Once the second one started, that's when I started getting an incredible felling of deja vu and my mind began to wander.

Keaton's comedy is known for two trademarks: his incredible stunt work in which he literally risks life and limb. The other, his stoic reaction to things at a time when the norm in silent films was to be over the top–especially in comedy.

The film is filled with dangerous stunt work. In addition to the feats mentioned before, he flings himself about the moving train and runs across the roof with such abandon, it's amazing he made it through filming alive. But how is almost killing yourself for comedy worth it? Especially when the stunts aren't exactly funny, but more a test of endurance.

A classic example of his stoicism, occurs at the end of the film when he's made a lieutenant. Trying to kiss Annabelle, he is constantly interrupted by soldiers saluting him–a higher ranking officer. When an entire troop passes by, he calmly turns and blindly starts to salute as he finally gets the kiss he's after. It's actually one of the funnier scenes in the film. But instead of laughing out loud (which I never did the entire film), you find yourself thinking it's funny instead of actually finding it funny. And that is ultimately the disconnect for me regarding Keaton and the film. There is much to admire. All the elements are there. But, in the end, the admiration isn't enough. You don't want to think something is funny–you want to actually let loose with a laugh of approval.

This post is apart of Ryan McNeil's Blind Spot Series at The Matinee. On the last Tuesday of ever month you watch and write about a movie that is considered important in the cinema lexicon, but that you've somehow missed along the way.