black sheep
by Douglas Messerlil
Charles Chaplin (screenwriter and director) Modern Times / 1936
So much has been written about
Charles Chaplin’s great 1936 film, Modern
Times, that I should perhaps just express my admiration for this movie,
which I revisited again the other day on the occasion of his birthday and close
my mouth to let the record stand. Anyone who knows me well, however, will
understand that such a response would be impossible, seeming to me like an
abandonment of my somewhat autobiographical representation of the cultural
events of my lifetime. So, please forgive me if I repeat long repeated
observations about Chaplin’s comic masterpiece. I might, however, have one
insight that can help further appreciate the little tramp’s encounter with
modern life.
Let me begin where Chaplin’s film does: immediately after his
inter-title statement— somewhat ironically, it appears to me, declaring this
film to represent a “story of individual enterprise, crusading in the pursuit
of happiness”— before the director represents the factory workers on their way
to work, through a rather obvious metaphor, as a group of sheep, in the center
of which is a single “black” one. The tramp is, obviously, the “black sheep,”
as the Belgium directors Luc and Jean Pierre Dardenne pointed out in their
commentary screened after the TCM showing. Yet, the
These early scenes are among the most famous of the film and seem to
indicate that Chaplin’s work is primarily a statement of the inhumanity of new
industrial usage as humans are transformed from individual artisans into mere
mechanical robots—much like the workers in the new Ford automobile plants. But
Chaplin, one must always remember, is at heart a romantic, and despite his
early statements about worker abuse—issues Chaplin had explored and written
about in the year just before the making of this film, as he travelled about
Europe and met with legendary figures such as Mahatma Gandhi—he presents the
rest of his film very much in the context of the cultural romanticism of his
earlier works.
The Tramp may be an outsider, but he is, Chaplin reminds us, time and
again, a citizen of the community who might, given a chance, be committed to
the most bourgeois aspects of society. Although incarcerated in prison, the
Tramp, as we know, is a complete innocent, even though he consumes a large
salt-shaker full of cocaine, he ultimately saves the prison guards and officers
from a group of escaping fellow-prisoners. His award for his acts, a lovely
decorated prison cell, along with a radio and regular visitors, represents
perhaps the most normative world in which he has ever existed. In a time of
complete unemployment and brutal attacks on poverty-stricken
individuals—portrayed so vividly through the experiences of the homeless gamin,
Paulette Godard—the Tramp is
In the deepest sense, this is the problem, always, with Chaplin’s works.
The hero, finally, is less a rebel than a conservative figure who is simply
projected—often quite literally through accidental movements through space—into
outsider positions. The moment he is given pardon and freed from jail, an
accidental drop of a red flag from a rig, the Tramp’s attempt to return it, and
a group of radical strikers—which, without even comprehending, he leads into
action—results in another arrestment, this time for his being a radical!
Freed again, and after a disastrously short-lived job as a
ship-builder’s assistant, the Tramp is literally felled by the young gamin, who
has stolen a loaf of bread. As always, the Romantic Chaplin figure attempts to
protect her by claiming he is the thief, but societal forces, brutally
un-Romantic, foil him, as they re-arrest the nearly starved girl. It is finally
at this point that the Tramp seems to realize that his problem lies in his good
intentions, as he determines to taste nearly every dish a nearby café offers,
without paying. It is important, it seems to me, that so much of this film is
centered simply upon the possibility of being unable to eat, as the Dardennes
brothers clearly described it. If the Tramp is often impervious to the unpredictable
events with which society throws at him, he is, almost always, hungry,
desperate to fulfill a hunger that is not only of the stomach but involves his
needs of love and societal fulfillment!
Hoping to be re-arrested for his unpaid gluttony, he is again foiled by
the reappearance in the police van of the beautiful Gamin. Again, quite by
accident, they van is overturned, with the couple escaping. He insists that she
go on without him, that she run from the imprisonment which he has sought. But
again, another first in the Tramp’s life, everything changes, as she motions
him to escape with her. Suddenly, the loner, the black sheep, is no longer
alone.
The rest of the film, for the first time in Chaplin’s work, tells the
tale of two outsider individuals, not merely one. Together, they even dream
together about a bourgeoisie life: imagining themselves intertwined in what
later might be described as The American Dream, in a small suburban house. If
the Tramp’s vision is highly paradisiacal—a tree of knowledge at his doorstep,
a cow hobbling alongside the house to provide fresh milk—it is also an absurdly
preposterous world, realized in reality by a shantytown house, where floor
boards break under broken-down chairs and tables, and where the roof is held up
by a utensil that might have been used to help clean it. Whatever this couple
might aspire to is represented through the Tramp’s and the Gamin’s night—in the
apotheosis of any consumer’s delight—where they locked in a large metropolitan
Department Store where the Tramp works briefly as a night watchman. There, once
more, they can eat, play—another of Chaplin’s major tropes—in the toy
department, and sleep wondrously in the bedroom display, if only temporarily. A
group of unemployed workers, one having been a torturous partner of the Tramp’s
factory working days, attempt to rob the store, admitting, finally, that they
are not thieves but simply hungry men!
Again arrested, Charlie is released once more to find that the Gamin has
obtained a job as a dancer in a local café. She helps him get a job as a waiter
and singer. We know in advance how it will end. The tramp is an absolutely
resolute waiter but given his needed entries in and out of the kitchen and the
dancing activities of the joint, he can never deliver up anything that he has
promised, including a much-requested duck.
As fate would have it, however, the police catch up with the vagabond
Gamin, and the Tramp, finally committed to a new world, must suddenly attempt
to protect her, sending the two on another run from societal order—away from
the police who represent that order. In another on-the-road sequence, the two
sit side by side, in dismay, the Gamin finally admitting—despite her previously
energized resistance of all authority—complete despair. What’s the use of going
on, she proclaims? But the “black sheep,” a member of the herd nonetheless,
speaks out from the cultural refrains of the period: “Buck up, put on a smile,”
as the two go trudging down the highway—the Tramp, for the first time engaged
with another—into the sunset, a conformist unable to find a society to which he
can conform!
It is quite obviously the end of the
Tramp, a man who has found conformity outside of the very society in which he
seeking to be part of, an outsider who has, nevertheless, found an inner
contentment with those who have kept him so isolated. Sadly, it is a bit like a
heavily bullied man finding peace with those who have perversely attacked him
again and again, somewhat like a beaten wife coming home to her husband’s
drunken fists. I now think Chaplin meant the first words of his film seriously,
even if I can never comprehend how his trek down the California highway
represents anything near to “the pursuit of happiness.”
Chaplin’s later paternity suits with actress Joan Barry, and the final
attacks by US authorities for his supposed Communist involvement, forced him to
leave the US, suggesting what his perceptive 1936 film had already predicted.
Smile as you might, there was still a white line dividing that highway, which
symbolized the strict divides of American society.
Los Angeles, April 17, 2013
Reprinted from International Cinema Review (April 2013).
*Modern
Times, one of the last of silent films, was not completely silent.
Originally, Chaplin had planned it as a “talkie,” but felt that the myth of his
Tramp figure would disappear with the realization of a voice. Accordingly,
throughout most of the film, only the “machines”—the food-eating machine, the
large-screen images of the factory’s owner, radios, etc.—“speak.” The final
performance, in gibberish” is Chaplin’s first on-screen voice premiere.
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