Charlie Chaplin Hits the Heights with City Lights
A
sublime blend of comedy and plausible sentimentality, 1931’s City Lights
represents possibly writer/producer/director/star Charlie Chaplin’s most
satisfying and moving depiction of one of the most famous and endearing
characters in cinema, his beguiling “Little Tramp,” already a signature of a
roster of durable silent Chaplin hits, including The Kid, The Gold Rush and
The Circus. This innocence, free-spirited drifter persona allows a fitting
showcase for Chaplin’s gifts as a physical comedian and skillful actor in Lights,
with the legend artfully illustrating both impressive dexterity in maneuvering
through scenes wherein his agility is put to the test (such as the introductory
scene with the tramp working his way up, down and around a statue) as well as
compelling, insightful playing during the more emotionally-driven moments,
including an ending that is simply among the most poignant, powerful and
unforgettable in film history. Aided by an excellent group of players,
specifically radiant leading lady Virginia Cherrill and Harry C. Myers as an
inebriated millionaire who befriends the tramp, Chaplin pulls off one of the
greatest (nearly) one-man endeavors ever committed to cinema, majestically
handling the tricky task of combining the scenario’s touching and farcical
components with grace, taste and an unforced, honest sensibility.
Clearly
putting all his substantial talents into Lights, his first film with at
least some sound elements, with inventive synchronized sound effects coming
into play throughout the film, but no clear dialogue meshing with the
subtitles, Chaplin builds a series of cleverly stage, mainly humorous vignettes
around the simple tale of an amiable metropolitan tramp who encounters a
lovely, blind flower girl and devotedly works to help her regain her sight,
assisted in his efforts by the aid of a rich man who, when drunk, considers the
tramp is best friend, while quickly forgetting they’ve ever met once he sobers
up. Leading to a host of challenges for the vagabond. In addition to stellar
work in front of and behind the camera previously mentioned, Chaplin also
provides a playful musical score that sets a nice rhythm for the many bits of
comedic business (with Jose Padilla composing the more touching melody for the
blind girl’s theme music) and, in tandem with Willard Nico, is responsible for
the accomplished editing, which helps present the rapidly-paced incidents over
the 86-minute running time with clarity and the appropriate tonality for each
sequence, sometimes deftly switching from slapstick to heartfelt drama within
the space of a few seconds.
From
the opening scene, it’s apparent Chaplin had honed his most famous screen personage
to perfection since the tramp’s first appearance on screen in 1914. Chaplin
craftily manages to imbue the loveable character with individuality and
believability, using vivid body language, agility and often-bemusing facial
expressions to form a fully rounded character that remains fresh and
entertaining over ninety years after the film’s release. Chaplin’s nimbleness
is on full display in possibly the film’s most colorful set piece, wherein the
tramp is forced into a boxing bout wherein he seems ill-matched to his
replacement competitor (veteran character actor Hank Mann, already nearly
twenty years into his five decades in film), after first agreeing with the
initial boxer to “go easy” and split the take. A title card at the film’s
outset states the movie is “A Comedy Romance in Pantomime,” and this spirited,
uproarious and literally knockabout sequence fully conveys the comic
gesticulation the credits refer to, with Chaplin at his most limber bouncing around
and off his foe in the ring as the match progresses, with an audience on
tenterhooks as they await the tramp's fate facing apparently unsurmountable
odds.
Conversely, without overdoing the
sentiment, Chaplin artfully lends a poetic air to scenes between the infatuated
tramp and the serene object of his affections, who believes he is a benevolent
millionaire, a notion the tramp tries to uphold as he strives to improve the
impoverished girl’s fortunes, creating a captivating chemistry with Cherrill as
this oddball couple’s romance blossoms in a simple, enchanting manner. There’s
a sense of purity and tenderness in the delineation of this relationship that
draws a sympathetic viewer in, making them hope that somehow these seemingly
mismatched societal misfits will be able to overcome their setbacks and find
happiness together. From their first encounter to the unmatched denouement this
duo is among the most winsome in cinema and, whether working in a humorous or
serious vein, Chaplin’s tramp remains a viable figure thorough the film,
admirably mixing the humane aspects of the role with stylized comedy to bring
off a memorable portrait of a down-on-his-luck but decent, understanding and
caring hero.
Although accumulating limited
entries in her filmography during a brief career in movies, the alluring
Virginia Cherrill would gain cinema immortality with her delicate, intuitive
work as the vulnerable, romantic flower girl. Wisely playing the role in a
direct-yet-subtle manner, the sincerity Cherrill infuses into the role and her unfussy
acting approach makes her performance hold up in a manner that allows modern
audiences to feel great empathy towards the girl’s plight, just as strongly as
Cherrill must have affected viewers upon the initial release of Lights. Aided
by Chaplin’s keen direction, she does a wonderful job of suggesting the
character’s blindness without using overly dramatic gestures or blocking that
would have been a normal aspect of enacting such a role circa 1931, and for
some time after that. Cherrill and Chaplin work with exquisite synchronicity
during their few scenes together, creating a satisfying and unique bond that
stays with a viewer. Cherrill’s accomplished, stately work in her first major
role suggested a great career as a leading lady of talent and distinction
awaited her, but after a few more features, including appearing the same year
alongside Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell in Delicious, Cherrill would
abandon movies after 1936 for marriage to an Earl (thereby becoming a Countess
via this third union; her second had been to no less than Cary Grant) before a
long-term fourth and final marriage, with her beautiful portrait of the
tranquil, humane maiden enduring as her most invaluable contribution to the
cinema.
In the key role of the affluent but frequently soused millionaire who
views the tramp as his best friend, except when he’s sober, Harry C. Myers does
a deft job of defining the character’s shifting loyalties in a colorful,
amusing fashion. As his butler James, who tolerates the tramp’s intrusion into
his domain, then relishes the opportunity to treat the poor man with distain in
the most forthright manner, Al Ernest Garcia, in the fifth of his six films
with Chaplin, also sparks his character with an entertaining flourish. In her
final film, Florence Lee adds a nice touch as the girl’s forlorn grandmother.
For years movie folklore had also place Jean Harlow in the film as a party
guest, but it appears her scene was cut from the film.