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Alfred Eaker's Fringe Cinema

CHAPLIN’S EASY STREET (1917)

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Easy Street (1917) is ‘s most urbane comedy. Some critics claim it to be his most perfectly composed film, with shrewdly chosen ingredients of minimal pathos, well developed characterizations, the Tramp’s quintessential antagonist and his most frequent leading lady, balanced slapstick, drug addiction, attempted rape, domestic violence, mockery of status quo, with social and political satire thrown in as the cherry on top of the icing on top of the cake. Easy Street is evolved Chaplin: a series of astute contrasts in this, his ninth and final Mutual short.

The Tramp is desperate and, upon hearing hymnals coming from Hope Mission, he seeks temporary solace. Unfortunately for Charlie, the collection plate passes him by, but the revivalists do try to save his soul. Of course he would rather have a good meal, a place to sleep, and clothes on his back. , as the church organist, provides inspiration in the way of  pure, divine beauty. As usual with Chaplin, his film is actually dated socialist propaganda edifying the poor and destitute, who we now know have no real reason to live.

In order to win Edna, the Tramp takes on a dangerous job as a Keystone Kopper whose beat is the violent slum haven known as Easy Street. The lord of this slum is Goliath (, who was never more menacing or three-dimensional than he is here, in what turned out to be his final role before dying in an automobile accident). Goliath has an inherent problem with authority figures, even one so obviously ill-suited to the job as Charlie. When the Tramp comes a walkin’ down Easy Street, he has entered the Philistine’s domain, and here it is the giant who sees himself as the good guy with the kopper as an intruder in his skid row utopia.  A brief glimpse into Goliath’s domestic situation reveals a plethora of kids and a weakened wife, on the verge of starvation; it is not that simple, however. Goliath’s Wifey proves to be an aggressor, fully capable of domestic abuse upon her husband (who is more than willing to reciprocate). Wifey’s aggression even hones in on Charlie after he gives her food (because women can be aggressive, and because her inherent hatred of authority figures goes across the board).

The beatings Goliath receives daily from Wifey translates into his rage against Charlie (and every other Kop who dares to walk Easy Street). With the gas from a light post, the tramp dispatches Goliath, but jail cells do not hold one such as this long. Soon, Goliath is back on the street and seeking revenge. All this leads to the virginal Edna being nearly raped by a heroin addict. When Charlie collapses on a protruding needle, he gets a burst of strength, and instantaneously morphs into a Speedy Gonzales type who cleans up the town like a cyclone ordered by Wyatt Earp.

It all ends in a new utopian landscape complete with Goliath, Wifey, Charlie, Edna , and all the townsfolk attending church together.

What do you know? Easy Street is socialist propaganda.

Alfred Eaker's Fringe Cinema

A CHAPLIN CHRISTMAS: THE IMMIGRANT (1917)

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It was approximately 44 years ago this Christmas that my grandfather introduced me to  with an 8mm film of The Immigrant (1917). Although the film has nothing to do with the actual holiday, I felt, even at that young age, that Charlie Chaplin and (never more beautiful than here) felt like Christmas. I believe my grandfather liked Chaplin, but no more than he liked , whom I was also introduced to that same day. For me, it was different .I was later to learn that The Music Box (1932) was actually a sound film, but the 8mm version we saw (from BlackHawk films, I think) was silent. Perhaps that was one initial reason for my stronger response to Chaplin, but it was far more than that. I was not sold on preconceived notions regarding Chaplin’s superstar status because I knew next to nothing about him.

Today, as I approach the half century mark, my viewing habits have changed considerably and yet, having gone full circle, I find they ultimately—and paradoxically—remain the same. Apart from re-familiarizing myself with a film (in order to write on it), I have arrived at a point where I almost never watch a film more than twice. Chaplin seems to be the sole exception. I return to him again and again, like an obsessive childhood passion. On the surface, I should have outgrown him. In my own work, I vehemently avoid overt sentimentality. Chaplin, of course, is apt, at times, to wallow in it.

With his Dickensian early life in impoverished London orphanages, however, Chaplin earned some of that sentimentality. Perhaps this is why, when he does cave into it, he feels authentic; convincing us to care for the little fellow, his girl, and the world they inhabit. Chaplin invites us to root for the underdog, the underprivileged, and societal outcasts of his world (and ours). It’s a far cry from 2013’s seasonal message of “gays are gonna burn in hell” or “the Pope, saying we shouldn’t be so materialistic, must be a commie.” Chaplin’s worldview seems tragically alien even to the little man of today (that is, if the little man is indeed accurately represented by the plethora of commentators on internet news forums posing as “arch conservatives”). Naturally, they are anything but conservative in their morals (or lack thereof). Rather, they are extremist right-wingers (big difference), who buy into the myth that everyone gets a fair shake and if he or she falls short, “it’s their own damned fault. Let them die in the streets.”

Perhaps that is another reason Chaplin increasingly means more to me. Although he was a skeptic in matters of dogma, Chaplin conveys the essence of Christmas as poignantly as Charlie Brown’s forsaken Christmas tree (needles not intact). Simultaneously, Chaplin and his ensemble also bespeak that Easter message of rising against oppressive odds. Mind you, mine is not an opinion tainted by misplaced nostalgia. It is, rather, a stubborn preference to Mel Gibson’s 21st century, two-fisted, Lethal Jesus perversion of Easter’s message, which effectively seeks to mute the author of beatitudes espousing the meek.

Although many people (myself included) find Chaplin’s Easy Street (1917) to be the best film of the Mutual period, The Immigrant was Chaplin’s personal favorite, and it is easy to see why. It is, along with The Kid (1921), his most autobiographical work.

The Tramp is aboard a steamer crossing the Atlantic. Chaplin returns to the miserable, poverty stricken conditions of Easy Street (1917) with his rough and tumble fellow immigrants. Amidst the grime, the Tramp finds beauty in the unnamed feminine (Purviance). The Tramp, stirred, eventually gifts his earnings, from a hilarious poker game, to the woman and her terminally ill mother. After seeing the Statue of Liberty, symbol of New World Freedom, the Tramp, woman, and immigrants are treated like cattle, corralled behind a rope. The Tramp’s response is to kick an immigration officer in the daily duties. This scene later was used against Chaplin and cited, by J. Edgar Hoover, as proof of the filmmaker’s dangerous promotion of disrespect of authority and his inherent anti-Americanism.

The Tramp is separated from the woman and her mother but finds her wearing the black armband of mourning in the film’s second half.  Both are destitute in an American dream turned nightmare, but, finding a quarter, the Tramp treats her to a meal. Eric Campbell, pitch perfect as the villainous waiter, Goliath, necessitates havoc will follow. (Unfortunately, Campbell would only appear in one more short, The Adventurer (1917), before being killed in an automobile accident at the age of 37). With Campbell’s untimely death, Chaplin lost his greatest foil, and with him an enigmatic comic milieu that later films lacked.

Some have criticized Chaplin’s euphoric ending: the pair’s rush to a justice of the peace, amidst a downpour. It’s unquestionably a better message than the all too familiar news of seasonal avarice in the form of holiday shoppers trampling yet another department store employee to death, in their rush to acquire stuff. Chaplin’s admittedly tacked-on ending has been seen as overtly naïve—a bare half-step removed from an antiquated belief in love at first sight. It is all too easy to succumb to 21st century cynicism. Perhaps, we could use a dose of Chaplin’s sincerely felt sentiment. Although I cannot say I outright believe in a fairy-tale happily-ever-after from such an accelerated encounter, Chaplin inspires me to want to believe that I could indeed believe.

* Charles Chaplin died 36 years ago this Christmas day at the age of 88 in his beloved Switzerland home.

Alfred Eaker's Fringe Cinema

CHAPLIN’S THE KID (1921)

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The Kid (1921) was ‘s first and most autobiographical feature film. Produced for First National, it fulfilled his ambition to move beyond shorts. Critics immediately hailed it as a masterpiece, but its reputation has since suffered due to its many flaws. Of course, no work of art is flawless and the film’s status remains intact. It is, in many ways, a synthesis of Chaplin’s previous work and the work which followed. Chaplin began filming shortly after losing his infant son with first child bride, Mildred Harris. The Kid is, in part, a fantasy about what might have been, which Chaplin wedded to his own bitter childhood memories. The film was also a blueprint for Chaplin’s work process. He took his time filming, much to the chagrin of the studio, who applied considerable pressure on him to speed up the process.

It opens with  as a (single) woman “whose sin was motherhood.” Chaplin, who was himself illegitimate, edits the image of the suffering woman with a shot of Christ carrying the cross. This is visual storytelling, of course, so Chaplin’s not done with the manipulation yet. Our Scarlet Letter-styled heroine sees a couple coming out of a church. The bride, looking shell shocked, is all of about 16 years old. She drops a withered flower, symbolizing her loss of virginity. Her groom emerges, a white-bearded man who is at least 70. The minister and congregation bless the wedding. Edna, empathizing with the bride from afar, is accentuated with a halo round her head as she holds her bastard son. Within a few seconds, Chaplin takes his big swipe at hypocritical American piety, puritanism, and organized religion.

Edna sees an open limousine, darts in through its door (a device he reworked in 1931’s City Lights) and dumps her shame in the back seat, with a letter: “please love and care for this orphan child.”

Now Chaplin has fun. Two robbers steal the car, find the squalling brat in the back seat, duck into an alley and dump him in a nearby trashcan. Cue the Tramp. He finds the bundle of joy and does everything imaginable to dispatch of it, including contemplating throwing the infant into a street grating. This vignette is, often, hilariously cold-blooded. Finally, the Tramp accepts his fate and unofficially adopts the Kid, christening him “John.” The Tramp ingeniously turns a tea pot into a milk bottle and, with a pair of scissors, transforms an ordinary chair into a potty training seat. Meanwhile, the grief-stricken Edna has seen the error of her ways and will, henceforth, lead a life of charity.

Five years later, the infant is : the first and probably greatest child star actor in cinema history. The Kid is dressed in oversized clothes, a reflection of the Tramp. Daddy  Tramp is teaching junior Tramp the fine art of swindling, which puts them under the radar of resident cop Tom Wilson. High octane slapstick follows.

Loss of mother, poverty, fear of the orphanage, and surreal amorous escapades are all movements in Chaplin’s opus. The Tramps do get plenty of pancakes to eat with the money they swipe from gullible patrons. Little doubt this is fantasy from Chaplin’s own destitute, half-starved London childhood.

John’s fight with a bully neighborhood kid leads to a further fight between the bully’s brother (Charles Reisner, in shoulder pads) and the Tramp. Edna, now a worldwide star (!) arrives to preach the gospel of turning the other cheek. Good news for Charlie that the bully listens, and the second that said bully gets soft, Charlie takes full advantage with a brick in his hand.

Still from The Kid (1921)When the Kid gets sick, a visiting doctor discovers Edna’s old letter and contacts the authorities. Orphan Control soon arrives and kinetic slapstick is masterfully blended with pathos. Coogan’s acting is simply stunning. Only an ice cube would remain unaffected.

The Tramp flees to a flophouse and, again, the cruelty of poverty blended with inventive slapstick is nearly seamless. What follows has long been a source of controversy: the Heaven dream sequence. Having lost his child, the Tramp dreams of heaven. The Tramp gets his wings and, it turns out, heaven’s not that different from the earthly realm. Temptation arrives in the form of 12-year old Lita Grey, whom Chaplin would marry and bitterly divorce in real life (Grey was the source of inspiration for Vladimir Nabakov’s “Lolita”). Jealousy leads to a brawl and celestial murder. To some, it is an ill-fitting surreal sequence. Yet, it is an aesthetically potent bridge to the finale, which is, thankfully, a happy one.

The Kid is, indeed, awash in mawkish sentiment. However, fused with the fierceness of street survival, apathetic institution, and surrealistic hope, The Kid is a landmark in film as visual storytelling.

Alfred Eaker's Fringe Cinema

CHAPLIN AT FIRST NATIONAL, PART TWO

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The second and final installment of our survey of s work for First National looks at two shorts which spotlight the Tramp vs. piety.

Sunnyside (1919) opens with a not so subtle Chapliesque swipe at the hypocritical reverence inherent in Americana. Chaplin’s iris opens on a church steeple cross. This dissolves into a frilly plaque, which reads “Love Thy Neighbor.” The owner of the plaque is tyrannical farmer Tom Wilson. Tom wakes early to give the sleeping farmhand, Charlie, a forceful kick in the daily duties. That accomplished (after a few, predictable false starts), Tom returns to bed.

After breakfast is served, we learn that it is Sunday morning. All the true Christians are where they are supposed to be: in church. Charlie’s loaded down with work, so he can’t (and won’t) join them. However, he will peek into what it’s all about, by taking a look-see at the Good Book. While doing so, the herd of cattle he is leading wanders off and disrupts the church service, driving the parishioners out the doors. Chaplin’s nose-thumbing at the the facade of rural reverence is about as subtle as a pair of brass knuckles. So much the better.

Next, Chaplin inserts a surreal dream. Some commentators assess it as an ill-fitting sequence; the same was said of Chaplin’s heaven vignette in The Kid (1921). I disagree here as much as I do to those objections re: The Kid. The Sunnyside dream is pure Chaplin and well suits the character as an escape from the phony piety to which he is subjected daily. After falling off a bridge, the Tramp dreams he is frolicking with flowered nymphs on a bucolic hillside. This is his idea of heaven, and more than justifies W.C. Field’s astute observation that Chaplin was “a goddamned ballet dancer.”

Still from Sunnyside (1919)Unfortunately, the dream sequence is far too brief. Chaplin, in a much smaller way, was to American Protestantism what Luis Buñuel was to European Catholicism. However, Bunuel did it better. The true ill-fitting element in Sunnyside is the romantic subplot between the Tramp and leading lady . Edna has another suitor: the Fat Kid, who is clearly slow on the uptake. The Tramp takes advantage of that weakness, cruelly ridiculing his rival.

Although it is an bad fit, and an extremely uncomfortable one at that, it does take us back, albeit briefly, to the Tramp of Keystone, who often revealed an inherent selfish, mean streak. So, in that sense, the revelation of a less than saintly Tramp is a bit refreshing, while admittedly wrecking the composition of the film.

The ending has a rushed feel, partly due to Chaplin’s constant battling with First National.

The Pilgrim (1923) was Chaplin’s last film for First National. It was also his final short. This is Chaplin’s anti-clericalism at it’s best. Audiences identified, making it a bona fide hit, much to the chagrin of the Evangelical Ministers Association and the Klu Klux Klan who teamed up (imagine that) to denounce The Pilgrim as a blasphemous mockery to organized religion.

Chaplin does not play the Tramp here. His character is the Pilgrim, an escaped convict disguised in clerical attire. At the train station, he purchases a ticket to Devil’s Gulch, Texas. Meanwhile, the residents of that town are awaiting a Rev. Pim to fill in their newly open position of pastor. Unknown to them, and most convenient for the Pilgrim, the real Rev. Pim is running a week behind. Charlie, of course, steps off the train just in time for a case of mistaken identity.

Still from The Pilgrim (1923)The small congregation, lead by the Deacon () are on hand to welcome their pseudo-pastor. Unfortunately for Charlie, he has stepped into the clerical shoes just in time for Sunday-go-to-meeting.

The Sunday promenade with Deacon Swain is highlighted by our Pilgrim swiping the elder’s Southern Comfort. However, the Pilgrim doesn’t even get in a swig before an inconvenient banana peel wastes that much-needed elixir.

Naturally, the service reveals this Rev. Pim  as untried and uncomfortable, but he’s not so awkward when it comes to making sure the collection plate is abundantly filled. Perhaps he is a true cleric at heart after all.

The homily is classic Chaplin. The Pilgrim picks the David and Goliath story to tell, but his Bible interpretation is refreshingly free of embedded theology. In buoyant pantomime, the good reverend depicts little shepherd boy David provoking the Philistine warrior Goliath. However, rather than a kill shot, David’s wimpy little sling merely manages to provoke a minor headache in the giant. Provoked, rather than defeated, Goliath promptly draws his sword and decapitates the irksome gnat. A child in the congregation, who has not yet been conditioned by his religion, gives his new pastor a standing ovation, while the grown-ups stand in abject horror. They have come to the comfort and safety of church, only to have their traditional narrative exposed as myth. The most child-like persons in the church, the Pilgrim and his young fan, are the only two who appreciate it.

The service over, the Pilgrim is told he will be boarding with Edna and her elderly mother. An argument for pro-choice, a discovered wanted poster, and the appearance of an ex- prison cell mate will prove to be flies in the Pilgrim’s ointment.  Fortunately, he has a conscience and a guardian who will notice.

The Pilgrim is short on Chaplin’s trademark sentiment and admirably long on licentious parody.

Alfred Eaker's Fringe Cinema

CHAPLIN AT FIRST NATIONAL (PART I)

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* This is the first in a two-part series.

Charles Chaplin left Mutual Film in 1917 and signed a contract with First National. Their agreement amounted to more than a million dollars per year. Chaplin was the first movie star to sign such a lucrative offer. Loyal to his inner circle, he brought leading lady Edna Purviance and heavy  with him, among others.

Although Chaplin’s first feature length film, The Kid (1921), would emerge from his five years at First National, his relationship with the studio was not an amiable one. The struggles between artist and executives would inspire Chaplin to form his own studio, United Artists. Again, this was a first for Hollywood.

Most critics and film historians consider the First National films a notch below the work Chaplin did for Mutual. In the First national shorts, Chaplin’s level of inspiration often noticeably wanes, so the general consensus is, for once, correct. Still, even lesser Chaplin is worthwhile (well, until we get to the late Chaplin features).

A Dog’s Life (1918) was Chaplin’s first short for First National. It was also the first movie to make a million dollars, more than justifying its considerable budget. Chaplin is in full Tramp mode here. Although an immensely popular film, and containing elements which Chaplin would develop more fully in The Kid, A Dog’s Life is an uneven effort.

Dawn brings only another day of misery in poverty. The Tramp ingeniously tires to steal a hotdog, but policeman Tom Wilson shows up to soil the spoils (Wilson would appear as the same character in The Kid).

Still from A Dog's Life (1918)In flight, the Tramp saves a mongrel, Scraps, from a scrape with a pack of dogs. Scraps, like the Kid (and, the Gamin later still) is a reflection of sorts of the Tramp, creating an identifying bond between the two.

The Tramp is a scrapper himself, fighting desperately for employment, but to no avail, alas. Dog and man enter The Green Lantern bar to find a mother and wife figure in Edna, who, as an amusingly awkward torch singer, has the locals in buckets of tears. (Literally. This scene also includes Henry Bergman in mighty uncomfortable drag).

Edna’s Big Boss Man threatens her with: “flirt or you’re fired! Give them a wink and smile!” Poor Edna’s just no good at flirting. “Do you have something in your eye?” asks the Tramp. Now Edna’s out of a job.

Lo and behold, some local bank robbers have buried some money, which Scraps has located. It looks like Paradise has been found, but not before at least one more scrap (which involves a surreal rendezvous with the crooks in a booth).

An over-written, bucolic finale rings phony. Ambiguity pointing to a release from the hell of poverty would have worked considerably better.

Shoulder Arms (1918) finds Chaplin again in social commentary mode, which was a gutsy move considering that the star was under intense Continue reading CHAPLIN AT FIRST NATIONAL (PART I) →