The Great Dictator - Part 2
Ever since my first viewing of Modern Times (1936), I have been enraptured by Charlie Chaplin, and with each film that I experience in his filmography, my love grows. From Shoulder Arms (1918) to City Lights (1931), his infusion of comedy and pathos has never failed to both charm and move me. In his Little Tramp character, we see humanity peeking through a veil of suffering, a tricky balancing act at which one can only be successful through personal experience. Encapsulating all of Chaplin's films is his own story of man who survived a squalid, Dickensian childhood, becoming an enormously successful Hollywood figure, using his power and artistic voice to be an advocate to the voiceless and the nameless (as his characters so often are), humanizing the rapidly dehumanized working class in the age of industrialization. With that always in mind, it's difficult for me to refrain from weeping at the mere sight of Chaplin.
While Modern Times was the first time Chaplin's voice was heard in one of his films, it was still a largely dialogue-less endeavor. The Great Dictator is a much more familiar form of sound film by today’s standards. I didn't know what to expect from a "talkie" by the most famous silent film star of all time, but I'm a bit ashamed of how surprised I was that the dialogue was so funny. Of course, as we all know, Chaplin can do anything. The first thing that I noticed at the sound of Chaplin's voice was how perfectly it fits the Little Tramp character, at least in the "Trampish" character of the barber (he can shed this loveable voice quality in his turn as Hynkel the dictator). The lightness of his voice and innocence of the barber's tone precisely match the kind eyes and slight frame of Chaplin's loveable, childlike characters. Even with the new addition of voice to his performance, the audience remains gifted with several physical gags that are entirely visual, in Chaplin's tried and true style.
I also found that this film allowed Chaplin to share the spotlight vis-a-vis comedic moments. While in many other Chaplin films, the Tramp is one silly little man in a world of “heavys,” The Great Dictator contains an entire sequence in which Commander Schultz (Reginald Gardiner) slips in and out of consciousness in a capsized plane with Chaplin, resigned to death as they run out of fuel. Throughout the sequence, Chaplin is certainly funny as he politely attempts to snap Schultz out of his daze and ends up dangling from the airplane as Schultz continues to lose his mind, but in the end, it is Schultz who steals the show in this scene. It is a wonderfully restrained moment on Chaplin's part, that also showcases Chaplin's ability as writer and director to create a highly comedic persona apart from the Tramp.
In addition to Chaplin's emergence into dialogue performance(s), The Great Dictator enabled him to engage in a new form of film comedy through his writing. Chaplin plays with puns, timing, and sound effects to great success in the film, allowing sides of his comedic artistry to emerge that never before had. The commentator remarking on Hynkel's speech at the beginning of the film was particularly hilarious, as the broadcaster pares down the dictator's tirade to digestible and impartial summations. This moment, along with so many others, caught me by surprise at how genuinely hilarious it was. I often find with Chaplin's other work that the moments of gravitas resonate more with me than the comedy, but in this film, practically every element hit the mark. In addition to the comedic elements of the writing, that classic Chaplin pathos similarly shines through. The decision to make the barber an amnesiac who is thrown into this world of fascism is sheer brilliance. Unlike the other resigned residents of the ghetto (and every real-life Jewish citizen during the Nazi occupation) the barber has not slowly and systematically come to anticipate fear and violence. He is confused and outraged by the madness that has suddenly befallen him, unaware of the reality of the drastic shift in the state of the world. It's a striking and heartbreaking indication of how quickly and extremely people were forced to take fear for granted in those horrible times.
In speaking of Chaplin's gravitas, I'd be remiss to not mention the final speech that the barber, assuming the identity of Hynkel, gives to a cheering crowd of Hynkel's followers that is simultaneously broadcast on the radio. The barber, a powerless, voiceless man is given an audience and makes an initially timid and progressively more impassioned plea for peace among all of mankind. Through the duration of the speech, Chaplin's quiet and innocent voice of the tramp becomes louder. It is not the harsh shouting of Hynkel, but the earnest cry of a man desperately trying to reach the hearts of those that are helpless. While in other Chaplin films, the message usually boils down to, "things will inevitably be hard, but we must go on," or, in terms closer to his own, "smile, though your heart is breaking." However, in this final speech, Chaplin's message of hope is one of action and resistance, as he shouts, "You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy, let us use that power, let us all unite!" This speech is all the more moving because it has traveled through time and space to address the world today. Chaplin talks of technology's potential for human good and how it has been corrupted to serve hate. He mentions the airplane and the radio as such technologies, but I'm sure we can all agree that the internet would seamlessly fit into this speech today. This speech, and the film as a whole, speaks to humanity's perpetual imperfections, but for as many people who have not heard, or do not care to heed Chaplin's message, there are so many more that will continue to be moved as long as there is injustice in the world. It is an eternal message of hope from one man who stood as an advocate when many in his position would not. It's an immeasurable inspiration.
After viewing The Great Dictator, it is undeniable that Chaplin's influence has been widespread in film and television. From the Monty Python-esque commentator at the beginning of the film, to the absurd physical and timing gags that clearly influenced Mel Brooks, there are little bits of Chaplin, and more specifically, The Great Dictator, that can be seen throughout the history of film. As I have mentioned before on this blog, I find Taika Watiti, director of last year's Jojo Rabbit (2019), to have come the closest to hitting that perfect balance of laughs and sentiment that Chaplin so excelled at, and I can't wait to see how Chaplin's legacy continues to evolve. Move over, City Lights, Bailey has a new favorite Chaplin film. - Bailey
What is your favorite Chaplin gag? Where do you see his influence in cinema today? Share your thoughts in the comments below and be sure to check back soon for the announcement of our November Film Club Pick!
Copyright © 2020 Bailey Lizotte
