CHARLIE CHAPLIN. In the End, Everything is a Gag, Vol. 3

Chaplin ’s desire to become independent and free from obligations to employers was so strong that, shortly after the premiere of The Kid, he offered to buy out his contract with First National, with which he was still bound. However, the studio’s financial managers declined the offer, knowing that even Chaplin’s less successful productions would undoubtedly bring them significantly higher profits.

Chaplin spent about five months working on his next film for the studio. However, in the case of The Idle Class, it’s clear that the level of engagement wasn’t the same as in The Kid, where the Tramp takes in a lost child. It’s easy to see that The Idle Class was made by Chaplin on a sort of craftsman’s autopilot, using well-worn formulas and ideas to create a story that would satisfy both the audience and the person signing the check for the completed work. The result is a classic comedy of errors, even by the standards of the time, where the resemblance between Chaplin’s Tramp and a wealthy man arguing with his wife (a double role for Chaplin) creates significant confusion among the local elite enjoying their time at golf courses and lavish balls.

In February 1922, Chaplin’s next production for First National debuted on screens. Pay Day is a less-than-half-hour story about a laborer who hides part of his wages from his domineering wife so he can enjoy a night of fun once a month. The escapade stretches into the morning, and the man returns home at dawn, pretending to his wife that he is not just coming in but has already finished his morning routine and is ready to head to work as a model citizen. Sleeping in a water-filled bathtub does not, of course, help him maintain this carefully crafted version of events. Like The Idle Class, Pay Day is a typical comedy for its time, offering a few moments that could still amuse modern audiences but primarily serving as evidence that Chaplin wanted to quickly and elegantly say goodbye to First National.

The film that allowed him to do so was The Pilgrim, which, due to conflicts between Chaplin and the studio, did not hit theaters until 1923. Unlike the two previous films Chaplin made after The Kid and the founding of United Artists, The Pilgrim stands out for its inventiveness and the boldness with which Chaplin tackled a delicate subject—religion. The story’s protagonist is a petty criminal who escapes justice in a stolen priest’s robe. By a series of unusual coincidences, he ends up in a small village in Texas, where he is immediately mistaken for the new pastor meant to take charge of the local church. Rather than fleeing, Chaplin’s character decides to stay in the town and play the role of the clergyman. His approach to conducting services and organizing church activities, however, is more reminiscent of music hall performances than the sacred traditions of liturgy.

Initially, the humor of The Pilgrim was intended to be even more pointed. Chaplin wanted his character to revolutionize the church in a way that would shock any fallen angel. To increase the institution’s appeal, the new pastor would organize games and activities more suited to a casino than a church. The sound of church organs would be replaced by a jazz band. Although Chaplin ultimately decided to tone down the satire, The Pilgrim still remains a biting satire on American provincialism and its values, often distorted by those who spend their time on their knees in church. The mere idea of juxtaposing a criminal and a clergyman seems enough to cause a minor scandal. When it turns out that a group of devout Southern citizens is easily fooled by a common criminal, things really heat up.

The Pilgrim is also a showcase of situational humor, far from the slapstick tendency to reduce comedy to characters unexpectedly encountering obstacles that knock them to the ground. Much of the contemporary audience, however, did not appreciate this. By the time The Pilgrim premiered, Chaplin was already dealing with the celebrity burden that eventually affects every star. His private life began to interest viewers as much, if not more, than the films he made. As rumors swirled in the press about Chaplin’s social escapades and younger companions frequently appeared by his side, The Pilgrim became, for many, proof that the world’s most famous comedian’s morality was as barren as the Texan desert. The quality of Chaplin’s last film for First National, however, is evident in the fact that almost a century after its premiere, it still surprises viewers with its relevance. How can one not think of Trump’s America, when the Texas sheriff’s solution to deal with the crook posing as a pastor is to deport Chaplin across the Mexican border, where he, unsure of which direction to go, walks along in the film’s finale?

Chaplin’s Serious Side: A Woman of Paris: A Drama of Fate

After completing The Pilgrim, Chaplin traveled to Europe. Some say the inspiration for the script of his first fully independent film came from his observations of Parisian streets, while others attribute it to a brief romance with Peggy Hopkins Joyce, which allegedly occurred on the Continent in 1922. Each version likely contains a grain of truth, but the primary motivation behind A Woman of Paris was unfulfilled ambition. Despite box-office successes, immense popularity, and positive press from critics, Chaplin was inextricably linked to comedy, often leading to a devaluation of his achievements in advancing the language of film. Chaplin wanted to prove to critics, audiences, and perhaps most importantly to himself, that he could create a film that would succeed not just because of his image but because of the genuine value of the production. This is why he conceived the idea of making his first film under the United Artists banner a departure from comedy. Moreover, Chaplin minimized his role in the production, appearing only briefly as a porter at a train station. A Woman of Paris is thus a completely unique entry in Chaplin’s filmography. Not only is there no room for humor, but there are also just a few glimpses of Chaplin himself, who steps aside to focus on directing and writing.

In theory, A Woman of Paris was meant to be a showcase for Chaplin’s screen partner, Edna Purviance, who was expected to break free from the confines of entertainment cinema by playing a serious dramatic role. Time would show that this goal was not achieved, as Purviance never rose above the level of fame she had gained from her earlier roles in Chaplin’s films before his United Artists period. Furthermore, disagreements between the actress and Chaplin led to their creative split, making A Woman of Paris the last stop on their joint artistic journey. This outcome was unfortunate, as among the many things one could criticize about Chaplin’s first fully independent film, the quality of the acting was certainly not one of them. For its time, and considering the melodramatic style of the production, the acting was truly at a high level. It’s important to remember that A Woman of Paris was released in 1923, just over a decade after the Lumière Brothers’ screening at the Indian Salon. Cinema was still learning its language, which posed the greatest challenge for serious films requiring more complex techniques than comedy. It was difficult to create complex psychological portraits without non-linear narratives, dialogue, and the full arsenal of narrative tools that today seem as natural and unnoticed as breathing.

A Woman of Paris: A Drama of Fate had more to offer the audience than just a sentimental tale of tragic love between young people separated by fate working against their feelings. From a technical and narrative standpoint, the production stood out well above the mass-produced love stories of the time, particularly for its mature and thoughtful editing, in which many things were not shown directly but rather through subtle comparisons or associations. Critics appreciated Chaplin’s craftsmanship, recognizing in his melodrama many elements that proved A Woman of Paris to be an exceptional film, offering something new in the way of storytelling through visuals. However, the public didn’t share this enthusiasm. Audiences who came to see a Chaplin film expected to see the Tramp or a variation of that character on screen. Despite positive press, the film was a financial failure, prompting Chaplin to return to his iconic role.

The Birth of a Legend: The Gold Rush

Chaplin’s next film, The Gold Rush, would not only become one of the best films of his career but also one of the highest-grossing productions in the history of silent cinema. One could wonder how much of the film’s reception was influenced by the fact that the audience, disappointed by the absence of the Tramp in A Woman of Paris, flocked to the theaters as soon as they realized the beloved character had returned. In that sense, A Woman of Paris might be considered one of the best marketing strategies in the history of cinema. However, setting aside such speculations, the esteem surrounding The Gold Rush over the years is entirely justified. The film masterfully balances a melancholic love story, a drama about a simple, poor man, and wild situational comedy, all executed with clockwork precision. By telling the story of the Tramp, who somehow becomes part of the legendary gold rush near Canada’s Klondike River, Chaplin managed to eliminate the flaw of his previous productions, such as the famous The Kid. In The Gold Rush, there’s no room for the naive sentimentality of pulp tales about great loves. The affection in this story is simple and almost childishly innocent, like the Tramp himself. However, scenes in which the eternal outcast dreams of finally ending his wandering and leading a normal life with the girl of his dreams still strike a deep emotional chord.

With The Gold Rush, Chaplin proved that cinema could be a medium for telling nuanced and subtle stories—an achievement that was no small feat given the times in which the film was made. The story seems simple and obvious on the surface, but without using words, Chaplin manages to immerse the audience in the inner world of the Tramp, whose perceptions shape the reality around him. Chaplin’s comedy doesn’t rely on the same principles as most gags in silent cinema, where it’s usually about characters clashing with hostile objects or a series of unfortunate events leading to increasingly bizarre escapades. For Chaplin, the focus is on the protagonist and how he perceives the world. If we agree to take a journey with the Tramp, Chaplin almost forces us to see the world through his eyes, which, when contrasted with our daily habits and ways of solving problems, leads to smiles. The Tramp often behaves in a completely unpredictable yet oddly logical way. The essence of Chaplin’s iconic character is that he is, in many ways, present in all of us. Charlie is a child in the body of a grown man. If we stripped away all the burdens we carry to fit into the surrounding society, we would likely find that, even after almost a century, the Tramp’s desires could easily be considered our own.

That’s why so many scenes in The Gold Rush are so deeply moving. Though cinema was still in its infancy, Chaplin managed, with great maturity and poetic sensitivity, to tell us something universal and timeless. Everyone has felt as small as the Tramp when he enters a lodge full of strangers and sees a woman who literally knocks him off his feet. Everyone has also fantasized about a day when everything will fall into place—when nothing will be missing, when we won’t be lonely, and life will be filled with conversation and laughter. The Gold Rush, however, is also an expertly staged comedy that laid a rock-solid foundation for the development of this often undervalued genre. Its greatness is evident in the vast array of gags and ideas that have been copied and reinterpreted countless times in similar films. Without exaggeration, one could say that Charlie Chaplin created an alphabet of sorts, one that continues to be used to write many comedic stories to this day.

The enormous and well-deserved success of The Gold Rush was accompanied by yet another scandal—something that was becoming a regular occurrence for Chaplin. This time, however, it wasn’t about the content of the film, as with The Pilgrim, but about what happened behind the scenes.

Born in 1908, Lita Grey first met Chaplin on the set of The Kid, where she appeared as a twelve-year-old child. After a brief role in The Idle Class, Grey distanced herself from Chaplin, only to return at the age of fifteen to audition for The Gold Rush. Despite the actor being thirty-five at the time, the two began an affair. What’s more, Lita suspected she might be pregnant. To avoid legal trouble related to having relations with a minor, Chaplin arranged a marriage with Grey in Mexico. Their relationship fell apart after just over two years, and the divorce proceedings continue to cast a shadow on Chaplin’s reputation to this day. Grey accused him of multiple infidelities with random women and of forcing her to engage in perverse sexual acts she didn’t want to perform. The truth of these allegations was never confirmed. While the infidelities are almost certain, other accusations could be viewed with skepticism, perhaps as an attempt to secure a high divorce settlement, which ultimately amounted to nearly a million dollars. It’s not my place to pass judgment, but it’s not an overstatement to say that even the Tramp wasn’t entirely spotless.