Charlie & Buster: What Might Have Been

Jazz musicians used to get together, usually after hours, for jam sessions.

It was a thrill to see and hear these jazz greats sitting in with each other.

Charlie Parker and Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie and Stan Getz, Oscar Peterson and Lester Young. Guys who played with their own groups, but still enjoyed the challenge and stimulation of interplay.

What does this have to do with Charlie Chaplin? A lot, I believe. Charlie retained control of his films for most of his life. His final film here, in 1952, was Limelight. It was then, at the age of 63, that he decided to work with Buster Keaton. And that's what I can't understand. Why did it take so long for these two giants of silent film to get together in a movie? Surely someone must have had such an idea.

During the last weekend of September (about a week from now), fans of Keaton will convene in Kansas for the annual Buster Keaton Celebration. Buster Keaton Celebration in Iola, KS    

This year the focus is on Keaton and Chaplin. I'll be there, as I was last year when I learned to appreciate Keaton even more than I had before. Relatives of Keaton, friends, academics (or is it academicians?), an actor who worked with him, the head of the Association Chaplin in Bologna, Italy... they'll be there. I look forward to what they have to say about Buster and Charlie.

In the meantime:

Life Magazine ran an 11-page spread on "Chaplin at Work" in its March 17, 1952 issue. It contained a lot of photographs of the Limelight production, but only a couple show Buster. Here's a short paragraph from that article.

     "Chaplin had carefully planned what to do in his dramatic scenes. But the comedy routines often had to be developed through trial and error and patient improvisation. The scene below with Buster Keaton, himself a star of the silent comedies, began with only the meager idea of a nearsighted pianist and an acrobatic violinist. The two, who had never appeared together before, spent a day of preparation in shirtsleeves organizing the piece of business which would form their act. With utter disregard of their ages (Keaton, 56, Chaplin, 63), they danced and tumbled, experimented, repeated. Over and over Chaplin twirled, tripped, rolled across the footlights into the orchestra pit where worried grips stood by to catch him. Time and time again Keaton staggered from the wings, crashed awkwardly into the piano and fell to the floor in a flutter of music sheets. Stagehands, dancers, musicians sat in bemused groups breaking into laughter, applauding as they watched a show no one else would ever see."

When I've watched Limelight, I'm struck by the number of single shots in what was essentially a duo performance. I prefer the shots where you see both of them on stage.  Instead of including both Buster and Charlie in the shot, Charlie frequently went to the single shots. I think that's a shame, considering that the appeal of this sequence is watching two of the greatest film artists working together.

David Robinson, in "Chaplin: His Life and Art," explains.

     "Keaton worked on the film for three weeks.... It was a sweet gesture of Chaplin's to employ him: Keaton had not worked in comedy for years and was all but forgotten. He arrived, Jerry Epstein recalls, with the little flat hat he had worn in his own films, and had to be gently told that Chaplin already had a costume and business worked out for him. The whole unit was enchanted to see, however, that once on stage, Chaplin and Keaton became two old comedy pros, each determined to upstage the other.... Claire Bloom felt that 'some of his gags may even have been a little too incandescent for Chaplin because, laugh as he did at the rushes in the screening room, Chaplin didn't see fit to allow them all into the final version of the film.'"

Of all the Chaplin out-takes and alternate scenes that have been uncovered and discovered, mainly by Kevin Brownlow, none - as far as I know - show all the magic and inventiveness that certainly occurred between Charlie and Buster during those three weeks. I wonder about Charlie's motives, especially since he did not see fit to mention Buster in his autobiography. But I shouldn't complain. At least he brought Buster in for these few glorious moments. Rather than wonder about what's been left unseen, better to fully appreciate the two greatest comic stars of the silent era.

The applause and laughter will ring forever.

Woody on Charlie

After reading an article about Woody Allen in a magazine recently, I decided to watch some of his old movies. I checked out three from the library: “Hannah and Her Sisters,” “Crimes and Misdemeanors,” and “Sweet and Lowdown.” I love the Django-style music in that last one - and Sean Penn’s performance -, but I think “Crimes...” is one of his best. 

What caught my attention in “Crimes and Misdemeanors” (1989) was a quick shot of Woody in his apartment, talking to Mia Farrow. He walks into another room and on the wall behind him is a large poster of Charlie Chaplin’s “The Kid.” Not the usual studio produced poster but something that looked like an original work of art. I had the feeling it was Woody’s personal possession.

That started me wondering, “What is Woody’s opinion of Charlie? How does he view him as a filmmaker? What are his favorite Chaplin films?” And other questions. So I put on a documentary produced by Richard Schickel, “Charlie: The Life and Art of Charles Chaplin” (2003) and made some notes.

Here, in order, are some of Woody’s comments.

About the Mutual short “Easy Street”:

It’s a wonderful, wonderful short. 

And because - it’ll always be funny.

It’ll be funny a thousand years from now.

“The Circus”:

“The Circus” is just a wonderful good time. The jokes and the execution of them are so brilliant and so uncluttered by anything that can date it. Social ideas and satire on the mores of the time date all the time. His stuff is so beautifully done, and it’s as fresh as can be.

“City Lights”:

I often said it’s harder being a talking comedian on the screen than a silent comedian. The example I gave was the difference between chess and checkers.

It’s like checkers, to do it silently, you can figure out the gags and painstakingly write them and then execute them, but as soon as you have to speak you’re plunged into a reality that’s much more complex and the demands become much different.

Then of course the guy with all the money who’s got all the possessions and

all the money in the world and is on the verge of suicide all the time because his feelings are unrequited in love... It’s such an interesting exploration of all those feelings, in a non-verbal way. It’s one step removed from music. For me, it’s his best picture. I again am impressed that he was such a good actor as well because the serious side of that movie he handled with legendary brilliance.

“Modern Times”:

It is brilliant in following the story, and it kind of peters out, it doesn’t go anywhere. It’s just a brilliant trip and each skit is very funny and brilliantly executed and it goes along on the momentum of his genius, the fact that he’s funny and the bits are funny.

And finally, about “The Great Dictator”:

(Referring to the scene of Hynkel with the world as a balloon) People just fall down dead over an alleged metaphor but I don’t find it funny or a brilliant metaphor.  90% of America opposed war... one-half was to some degree anti-semitic. The film was courageous.

I found Woody’s observations on silent comedy versus spoken quite interesting. Those are two different worlds of humor. Yet, Woody and Charlie are possibly America's greatest two filmmakers. So I didn’t stop with this documentary. I checked out a couple of books about Woody and his films. He has a lot to say about Chaplin. I’ll cover some of that off in a future blog. 

In the meantime, I’m waiting for someone to return “Manhattan” and “Stardust Memories” to the library.

Chicago Chill Chases Charlie Chaplin

That might have been the headline almost one hundred years ago, especially if the writer was hung up on alliteration. Here’s the story behind the line.

A rather ordinary, residential street runs east and west on Chicago's north side. It's Argyle Street, just a couple blocks north of Lawrence Ave. I mention this because I was in Chicago over the July 4th weekend. My wife and I, along with our son Greg (who lives in Chicago) and our daughter Holly, who was in from NYC, spent about two hours one night at The Green Mill, Al Capone's storied speakeasy and now a jazz club at Broadway and Lawrence. The band was Alfonso Ponticelli and Swing Gitan. That’s a name to remember if you like Django Reinhardt and Paris jazz. I do.

Charlie between Francis X. Bushman and "Bronco Billy" Anderson

The following morning I started thinking about Charlie Chaplin's brief stay in Chicago, after he had signed with Essanay Pictures. By brief I mean a little over a month. Charlie had left Mack Sennett and Keystone in 1914 for a supposedly better deal from George Spoor and G. M. Anderson. Hence the "S" and "A."  They promised him a lot, but it took some time for them to deliver. In the meantime, Charlie moved to Chicago. Talk about bad timing. He arrived in December of 1914, just as winter was settling in. 

The Essanay Film Manufacturing Company had been in business for seven years before they signed Chaplin, for the unheard of amount of $1250 a week plus a signing bonus of $10,000. Charlie went to work on his first film, appropriately titled "His New Job." It would be his only film completed in Chicago.

Winter in Chicago, during January of 1915, would prove more than he could stand. In February, he packed up his few belongings and headed west to Niles, California, about 20 miles south of Oakland, where Essanay had another studio. Charlie didn't  care for the working environment at either place, but at least the temperatures didn't sink below freezing in Niles.

Ben Turpin & Charlie

In less than a year, Chaplin would leave Essanay and sign with Mutual Films, to begin one of his most productive and satisfying segments of his creative life. What he accomplished at Essanay, however, was significant. He continued developing his “Little Tramp” character, refining it, getting a clearer picture of who the character was. He also met one of the most gifted comics of that time, Ben Turpin, who he convinced to move from Chicago to California. And he met Edna Purviance in San Francisco. Edna became, professionally and personally, an integral part of Chaplin’s life. So Essanay and Chicago, while a brief stopping point in his career, had significant long-term benefits for him.

Now comes the part under the heading of "Small World." Many years ago, in 1973, when I was working at D'Arcy Advertising, we had to shoot some cat food commercials for Ralston-Purina. The product was a small tin of meat for cats called Purina 95. That meant it was 95% meat, although I didn’t know, nor did I want to know, where the meat came from. For budgetary reasons, we decided to shoot in Chicago instead of L.A. The winning bid was submitted by Wilding Studios. The shoot took place - you guessed it - at the old Essanay Studios. It was now a rental studio for commercial production houses. I even remember the director's name. Lutz Hopke. He spoke with a heavy German accent. I always wondered what Lutz was doing 25 years before our meeting.

I could find no trace of Chaplin on the stage or in any of the offices and storage spaces I wandered through. Chaplin had left the premises over 50 years before this. Still, I was on hallowed ground that was slightly desecrated by cat food.

I now read occasional articles that attempts were made, are being made, will be made, to establish some sort of tribute or memorial to Chaplin at the 1345 W. Argyle address. I’ve even seen something about a Chaplin Theater in one of

the buildings. The building today is owned by the St. Augustine College. The Chicago Tribune posted a fascinating video last year about Essanay. It runs only 5 minutes. Tour of Essanay Studios

So here I was last week, almost one hundred years after a young Charlie Chaplin got off the train in Chicago for a brief stint. I stood outside the gates of Essanay, beneath the terra-cotta Indian head logo. If it hadn't been a holiday weekend, and I could have entered the building, I know I would have picked up a trace of The Little Tramp. A shadow, a gesture, a twitch of the mustache, a flip of the derby, a twirl of the cane. Because, as we all know, some things never die.

Charlie, Adolph and Orson

A divided America. Certainly this describes our condition today. Other similar times? Two come quickly to mind: the Civil War (aka The War Between the States) and Vietnam. A third has been added to my list, thanks to a new book by Lynne Olson, which gave me a sense of just how divided we once were. "Those Angry Days: Roosevelt, Lindbergh, and America's Fight Over World War II" covers 1939, 1940, and 1941... the slow run-up to our eventual participation in World War II. "Those Angry Days"

Before Pearl Harbor, America was torn apart by two committed factions: The Interventionists and The Isolationists. Essentially, the issue was should we become involved in the European war, take a stand against Hitler, rescue Britain; or should we secure our own shores, strengthen our defenses, turn our back on England and Europe?

Charlie Chaplin took a stand during those years, and followed it with his most profitable film to date.

Olson's book paints a vivid picture of FDR, Charles Lindbergh, Winston Churchill, and a supporting cast of colorful players on both sides. She even includes events in Hollywood. It seems, with few exceptions, none of the studio heads wanted to touch the subject of the Nazis or German aggression. For two reasons: Most of the studio moguls were Jewish and didn't want to stir up any more anti-Semitism than already permeated the U.S.; and they didn't want to lose overseas box office revenue. I'm not sure which one was the deciding factor. 

The first film out of Hollywood to tackle the subject was "Confessions of a Nazi Spy" in 1939, starring Edward G. Robinson and produced by Warner Brothers.  A year later, another film also named the enemy and the danger. "Foreign Correspondent" starred Joe McCrea and Laraine Day. Alfred Hitchcock directed, Walter Wanger produced, and United Artists distributed (the company Chaplin helped found). 

Hollywood remained silent. But not Chaplin. Supposedly, a chance remark prior to these years by Alexander Korda suggested that Charlie's Little Tramp bore a striking resemblance to Adolph Hitler. It isn't my purpose to recount the long road from concept to release of The Great Dictator in October of 1940. Much has been written about this subject, including a rather incredible book, "Chaplin: The Dictator and the Tramp," edited by Hooman Mehran with articles by him and several noted Chaplin academics. Unfortunately, the British Film Institute - the publisher - printed only 500 of these important books. Which means a used copy of this paperback on Amazon will cost you $50 on up. Still, it's a valuable addition to the Chaplin lexicon. Chaplin: The Dictator and the Tramp

Chaplin, in his autobiography, says, "Halfway through making 'The Great Dictator' I began receiving alarming messages from United Artists. They had been advised by the Hays Office that I would run into censorship trouble. Also the English office was very concerned about an anti-Hitler picture and doubted whether it could be shown in Britain. But I was determined to go ahead, for Hitler must be laughed at. Had I kown of the actual horrors of the German concentration camps, I could not have made 'The Great Dictator;' I could not have made fun of the homicidal insanity of the Nazis. However, I was determined to ridicule their mystic bilge about a pure-blooded race."

Chaplin's courage added another dimension to the stature of this unique artist.

Chaplin's final speech in the film, when he speaks directly to the camera, has its supporters and detractors. When I first saw the film, I was uncomfortable with the "stepping out of character" device. Since then, I've come to appreciate what he said and applaud its importance at the time. Final Speech in "The Great Dictator"  

The other night I watched Compulsion, the 1959 film based on the Leopold and Loeb murder case. It starred Brad Dillman, Dean Stockwell and, as Clarence Darrow, a forcefulOrson Welles. The final summation delivered by Welles was based on a transcript of the original trial. I was struck by the similarity in message between that and Chaplin's final speech in The Great Dictator. They both spoke of love replacing hatred, people learning to live together. 

Here is the conclusion of Welles speech.

"The world has been one long slaughterhouse from the beginning until today, and the killing goes on and on and on. Why not read something, why not think, instead of blindly shouting for death. Kill them because everybody's talking about the case? Because their parents have money? Kill them? Will that stop other sick boys from killing? No. It's taken the world a long, long time to get to even where it is today. Your Honor, if you hang these boys, you turn back to the past. I'm pleading for the future. Not merely for these boys, but for all boys, for all the young, I'm pleading, not for these two lives, but for life itself, for a time when we can learn to overcome hatred with love, when we can learn that all life is worth saving, and that mercy is the highest attribute of men. Yes I'm pleading for the future. In this court of law, I'm pleading for love."

Orson Welles in "Compulsion"

So what do you think? 

Have we learned anything over the last several decades?

The Best of Times, the Worst of Times, and Charlie

Charlie Chaplin was born on April 16, 1889. It was a Tuesday. The calendar for 1889 is identical to 2013, so his birthday falls on a Tuesday this year. That made me wonder what London was like in 1889. I tried to find some first-hand accounts, but the closest I got were by Charles Dickens, who wrote 40 to 50 years before Chaplin was born.

Still, it was a start. The Victorian London he wrote about was a dirty city. The capital's sewers poured filth into the Thames; mountains of rubbish accumulated in the slums; the streets were thick with mud; the very air was poisoned by fog. "We have," said one journalist in 1889, "an accumulation of matter in the wrong place unexampled in the world's history." Fighting this rising tide of dirt was an army of workers, from crossing-sweepers, chimney-sweeps and dustmen, to those in less well-known occupations, such as dust-yard sifters, sewer flushers and street orderlies. 

In “Oliver Twist,” Dickens writes: "It was market-morning. The ground was

covered, nearly ankle-deep, with filth and mire; a thick steam, perpetually rising from the reeking bodies of the cattle, and mingling with the fog, which seemed to rest upon the chimney-tops, hung heavily above. All the pens in the centre of the large area, and as many temporary pens as could be crowded into the vacant space, were filled with sheep; tied up to posts by the gutter side were long lines of beasts and oxen, three or four deep. Countrymen, butchers, drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves, idlers, and vagabonds of every low grade, were mingled together in a mass; the whistling of drovers, the barking dogs, the bellowing and plunging of the oxen, the bleating of sheep, the grunting and squeaking of pigs, the cries of hawkers, the shouts, oaths, and quarrelling on all sides; the ringing of bells and roar of voices, that issued from every public-house; the crowding, pushing, driving, beating, whooping and yelling; the hideous and discordant dim that resounded from every corner of the market; and the unwashed, unshaven, squalid, and dirty figures constantly running to and fro, and bursting in and out of the throng; rendered it a stunning and bewildering scene, which quite confounded the senses."

In “Little Dorrit,” Dickens describes a London rain storm: ”In the country, the rain would have developed a thousand fresh scents, and every drop would have had its bright association with some beautiful form of growth or life. In the city, it developed only foul stale smells, and was a sickly, lukewarm, dirt- stained, wretched addition to the gutters.”

London would undergo significant changes between Dickens’ time and Charlie’s childhood. In 1800 the population of London was around one million. That number would grow to four and a half million by 1880. While fashionable areas like Regent and Oxford streets were growing in the west, new docks supporting the city's place as the world's trade center were being built in the east. Perhaps the biggest impact on the growth of London was the coming of the railroad in the 1830s which displaced thousands and accelerated the expansion of the city. The price of this explosive growth and domination of world trade was untold squalor and filth.

You can read more about Dickens’ London at this excellent website, http://charlesdickenspage.com/dickens_london.html.

Chaplin barely mentions his impressions of London in his autobiography, or at least I couldn’t find any. It seems he forgot, chose to forget, or never knew.

David Robinson, in his monumental work on Chaplin, offers this about Charlie's birth, while talking about Charles Sr. and Hannah: "Charles and Hannah were not so meticulous in registering Charles's birth as Sydney's; and it has tormented historians and biograhers for decades that there is no official record of the birth of London's most famous son. .... In the early days of his cinema fame, Chaplin said that he was born at Fontainebleau, in France. This mlay have been one of the colourful stories with which Hannah seems to have endeavoured to brighten her sons' lives. Later Chaplin was certain that he was born in East Lane, Walworth, just round the corner from Sydney's birthplace in Brandon Street."  "Chaplin: His Life and Art" by Robinson

I discovered this fascinating bit of footage on YouTube, again thanks to the Dickens’ London website. It shows scenes of London in 1903. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-5Ts_i164c&feature=player_embedded#


My friend Carl Sturmer spends a lot of time in London. Which is terrific, because he's a big fan of Chaplin. Here are some photos he sent me a few months ago, places associated with Chaplin.

Carl's description:  "Found the Royal Theatre on Peter Street in an area of some beautiful building surely there in 1899 when Charlie toured. Short walk from my hotel. The theatre is closed up now (was a disco but lobby floor was strewn with old mail etc.) I was able to walk around the entire circumference. Looked for what would have been the stage door but couldn’t narrow it down. Doors have all been replaced with metal ones anyway. Two interesting things I noticed. Statue of Shakespeare on front of theatre matches the pose of Shakespeare statue in London’s Leicester Square directly across from Chaplin statue .  The other thing is that the building right across the street, under renovation, has a sign on it that reads Lancashire House. (as in Eight Lancashire Lads) Hmmmm!"

Carl and I had lunch at this incredible pub in New York's Greenwich Village.

The Olive Tree Cafe shows Chaplin movies from morning until night. And the food is pretty awesome too. He introduced me to it over a year ago, and I returned there with my wife and daughter last September.

The other two photos are of 19th century London, compliments of Google.
The Tower Bridge (right) was built in 1894.

HOW CHARLIE WORKED WITH HIS ACTORS

On March 17, 1952, about a month before Charlie’s 63rd birthday, Life Magazine ran a feature called “Chaplin at Work.” Subhead: “He reveals his movie-making secrets.” It was basically a photo essay showing him at work on Limelight. His secret seemed to lie in the method he employed working with his actors, along with his complete involvement in every aspect of making the film.

Ironically, this would be the last film that Chaplin made as a resident of the U.S. Just six months later, on Sept. 18, 1952, Charlie left the U. S., headed for London and the world premiere of “Limelight.” The following day U.S. Attorney General James McGranery revoked his  re-entry permit. Although Charlie could have fought it on solid legal grounds, he decided he would rather live in Europe.

In his autobiography, Charlie says:

"Whether I re-entered that unhappy country or not was of little consequence to me. I would like to have told them that the sooner I was rid of that hate-beleaguered atmosphere the better, that I was fed up of America's insults and moral pomposity.”

He would not return until 1972, to be honored at Lincoln Center in New York and at the Academy Awards in Los Angeles.

With old friends Harry Crocker (left) and Tim Durant,
who had bit parts in the film

 But about the article: The photos here reinforced what I had heard about Chaplin’s method of directing actors. Basically, it was to play their part for them, show them exactly what he wanted from them. For the first time in his career, Chaplin gave a photographer the freedom to spend 5 weeks on the set, shooting whatever he wanted.

Demonstrating to Melissa Hayden how he wants her to move

Jeffrey Vance, in his book, Chaplin: Genius of the Cinema, says:

“From his first film to his last, Chaplin remained a man of the theater, and his primary concern was to convey to the audience the action and the emotion of a scene through the performances of his actors, not through innovative or elaborate photography, lighting, or editing. By any standard, Chaplin’s directing style, perfected during the filming of the Mutuals and employed throughout the rest of his career, was unique in the cinema. He simply acted out the parts of all the actors as he wished them to be played, down to the slightest gesture of the hand or movement of the eyebrow. Chaplin and his cast would be in full costume and make-up while he rehearsed scenes and refined ideas over and over again on film. This directorial style was considered eccentric even in 1916, and the time he lavished on his films was the envy of every filmmaker. Yet for Chaplin, a laser-like concentration on performance and perfection to the exclusion of all else was his unyielding obsession, even until the end of his career.”"Chaplin: Genius of the Cinema"

Kevin Brownlow, in his exquisite 1986 “Unknown Chaplin” documentary, clearly reveals the concentration and obsession with perfection that was so much a part of Chaplin’s genius. Unknown Chaplin DVD

Charlie substitutes momentarily for Claire Bloom

I wondered what Charlie had to say about his directing style, so I revisited his autobiography. Here’s how he saw it:

“...Also a brief word about directing. In handling actors in a scene, psychology is most helpful. For instance, a member of the cast may join the company in the middle of a production. Although an excellent actor, he may be nervous in his new surroundings. This is where a director’s humility can be very helpful, as I have often found under these circumstances. Although knowing what I wanted, I would take the new member aside and confide in him that I was tired, worried and at a loss to know what to do with the scene. Very soon he would forget his own nervousness and try to help me and I would get a good performance out of him.

Charlie rolls on the ground to show extras what he
wants of them as an audience in the music hall

“....I do not believe acting can be taught. I have seen intelligent people fail at it and dullards act quite well. But acting essentially requires feeling.... In instructing a true actor or actress about a character, a word or a phrase will often suffice... I have found that orientation is the most important means of achieving this; that is, knowing where you are and what you’re doing every moment you’re on the stage....I have always insisted on this method of orientation with the cast when I’m directing my films.”

Showing Sophia how to play the scene

Fourteen years later, Chaplin would direct Marlon Brando and Sophia Loren in “The Countess from Hong Kong.” Though Chaplin thought the movie was among his best work, most critics did not agree. Here is what Charlie said about his actors, in a 1967 interview with Richard Merryman:

“Marlon Brando is an exceptionally good actor... There were a lot of things he did that I didn’t like - but, you know, they came off 100 percent. Very trifling things, but the sort that loom up to a director, especially for a person like me, I can act, you know, I can act.

“I don’t think either Brando or Loren understood the value of the script that it would work so well. I did. I’m an actor. I wrote it. When you’ve had fifty years experience, you know something about a script.”

Charlie the actor. Charlie the director. Charlie the writer. 

The various faces of Chaplin in "Limelight"

I can only wonder what more he might have accomplished if he had not been forced from the U.S., or if he had decided to fight it and remained here. I wonder where his creative force would have taken him, in an era when silent movies were historic curiosities, when television invaded every home, when the very nature of “what is funny” changed. Yet, looking back at that Life article 63 years later, I am not surprised that his movies are still held in high regard, are shown in theater and festivals and on TCM consistently. Whatever his relationship with actors was, he knew what he wanted. And he got it.