City Lights (1931)
QFS No. 159 - The invitation for December 4, 2024
It’s that time again at Quarantine Film Society – time to watch a Silent Film! Long time followers may recall our first one The Freshman (1925, QFS No. 20) and our most recent Sunrise: A Tale of Two Humans (1927, QFS 104) – both exemplary works of filmmaking, especially F.W. Murnau’s Sunrise. So now we return to the land of not speaking words out loud as we do about every fifty or so selections it seems.
City Lights is one of the classics of the Silent Era (or any era), directed by and starring the most iconic personality of the beginning of Hollywood. The funny thing is that this film was made after “talkies” have taken over movies. City Lights came out four years after The Jazz Singer (1927) introduced sync sound into motion pictures, but Chaplin preferred staying in the silent realm and made arguably his two greatest films in the decade after movies became almost universally a full sound-and-picture affair. His fantastic Modern Times (1936) incorporates some sound effects and voices in the film to enhance the storytelling, but his character and the others in the film communicate mostly nonverbally.
This week’s selection City Lights is not only one of Chaplin’s finest as The Tramp character, but also considered one of the greatest films ever made, to the extent that you trust the oft-cited/derided British Film Institute Greatest Films of All Time list. City Lights checks in at No. 36, just after Pather Panchali (1955) at No. 35 and tied with M (1931), Fritz Lang’s early sound film masterpiece from Germany the same year. This is one time where I feel like maybe, just maybe, the BFI list has got it right.
In any case, City Lights is a film I haven’t yet seen. Mostly because, you know, silent film and I’m late to watching the great ones. Still I continue to learn more and more how important these silent movies are to watch for today as a filmmaker. Without language and dialogue as a crutch, the filmmaker is forced to be visual, innovative, and engaging to keep the audience interested. Framing and juxtaposition of actors in space become crucial to tell the story without sound. In that era, Hollywood, too, was in its infancy so there was no “algorithm” (to use today’s parlance), no accepted structure to make a successful film. So the films have a loose, free feel, unmoored by storytelling convention and cliché. And if a movie has endured until the next century, as City Lights has, then all the more reason to watch, study and, more importantly, enjoy it.
So let’s cozy up with Chaplin and City Lights – and join us to discuss.
City Lights (1931) Directed by Charles Chaplin
Reactions and Analyses:
Everything in City Lights (1931) pays off in the final shot – the very final shot – of the film. This is a remarkable feat of filmmaking and storytelling. The entire film, of course, contains and exhibits Charlie Chaplin’s extraordinary command of the medium and there are moments throughout that contain beauty and pathos and humor and realism.
But it’s the final image that pays it all off. How few films can claim that, that everything builds to a final, joyful, emotional apex? There’s little wonder City Lights has endured into the sound era, through the ubiquity of color films, and into the next. And what we see that allows this film to endure is Chaplin mastery of setups and payoffs. The entire film is a masterclass in paying off the ending, but he does it throughout in ways big and small. There’s not a wasted moment in City Lights.
Along the way, we’re treated to Chaplin’s Tramp, the downtrodden, well-meaning everyman and the first image we see of him sets the tone. City officials are unveiling a new statue, giving meaningless self-important speeches. We don’t even know what they’re saying, but Chaplin uses a sort of “kazoo” in this hybrid silent-sometimes-sound film, as he does later in Modern Times (1936). The kazoo sound has the officials quacking away – which is perfect on so many levels. First, Chaplin was pressured into using sound for City Lights so we put ourselves in the mindset of the 1931 viewer, this is both a nod to that pressure and also a jab at it. (Or, a middle finger, if you will.) It’s Chaplin saying oh you want sound? Here ya go!
The Tramp (Charlie Chaplin), with the prefect place to sleep overnight in City Lights (1931).
But also, this is a clever use of sound. How often do we hear city officials blather on about the unveiling of a new public work or a monument, as opposed to using what they can to prevent people from sleeping on, say, that new monument during it’s unveiling. And here is where Chaplin is a visual comedic genius. He juxtaposes city elites proclaiming greatness all while a homeless man sleeps on that very symbol of greatness, bursting their bubble so to speak.
This man only speaks kazoo.
It’s all about the class divide and class struggle in this and other Chaplin films. Although specific for the 1930s, it’s definitely recognizable today and it’s the underlying theme of City Lights. Take the storyline with the Eccentric Millionaire (Harry Myers). When drunk, he’s magnanimous, grateful that the Tramp save his life by preventing him from committing suicide. He treats him to a drunken night on the town and even later offers him his car. Not to use, to have. He doesn’t need it.
Alcohol has removed the live between the classes, has removed class distinctions and instead allows the Millionaire to see the Tramp as a human, a person worthy of being seen as someone good and decent. But when sober, he has no idea who the Tramp his. He’s never seen him before and he definitely would never ever been seen with someone of Tramp’s standing.
This man (Harry Myers) should probably not be driving. “Am I driving?” he even says.
Again, this is all set up for the ending of that storyline. Later when the Tramp is given money by the drunk Millionaire to save the Blind Girl (Virginia Cherrill) and her grandmother (Florence Lee) from being evicted, it’s all thwarted when the Tramp is accused of being a burglar due to sober Millionaire realizing his money was missing.
Even in the scene when the Blind Girl and the Tramp first meet, there you get the perfect set up for the main premise of the film. In it, Tramp is smitten by the flower girl. But how to convey to a person who is blind that the Tramp is someone rich? With sound, oddly enough. She hears a car door slamming and driving away, assuming it’s the Tramp who left without taking his change. And only wealthy people have cars, so it stands to reason that’s what he is - one of the elites.
And the Tramp plays this up – shows up later in a very fancy car, buys all her roses with money from the Millionaire, then later still promises to save her from eviction. (This too shows Chaplin’s attention to detail – when at her home, the Grandmother is never around because she would’ve seen the Tramp’s clothes and know he’s destitute.)
The Tramp with the Blind Girl (Virginia Cherrill) who has no reason to believe he’s anything other than a wealthy elite.
So later, when the Blind Girl has gotten surgery to give her vision, thanks to the Tramp’s money “stolen” from the Millionaire, she does not know what the Tramp looks like but only believes that he’s wealthy. And he, having spent time in prison for that alleged theft, can’t find her at her usual corner. He doesn’t realize that he helped them start a corner flower shop. So when he sees her and knows who she is, she doesn’t think he’s anything but another homeless man shuffling along, picked on by the same kids who picked on him earlier in the film.
The Tramp, seeing her, astonished, realizes she can see. But speechless – I found myself urging out loud at the screen for him to say something – surely the sound of his voice will be what makes her realize this is her long-lost love. (I realize the irony in this, a silent film.) And then finally, it’s not words but touch that do it – how perfect in this film that Chaplin is making at the start of the sound era. He doesn’t use sound at all, but the tactile visual. She feels his hand and knows – this is the hand she felt before, when she couldn’t see.
It’s touch not speech, not sound, that let’s the Blind Girl know that this is the man she fell in love with before she could see.
And then, the delicate last lines. You can see now? Yes, I can see now. Followed up by that masterful final shot, that endure close up – probably the only real close up in the film – in which the Tramp, overcome with glee, joy, and also something of a bit of sadness or maybe regret. The grin, the flower. It’s utterly perfect. I found myself unable to restrain tears from welling up.
The very final, masterful shot of the film.
And it’s the final shot of the film. No embrace, no kiss, no montage of them falling in love or getting married. We just know that this, this is the most satisfying, earned conclusion to this story.
When you eat soap, you talk in soap bubbles - that’s just science!
All of this would be enough of a fantastic dramatic narrative, but I’m leaving out the thing that sets it apart as a film – the humor. There’s the entire boxing sequence – also rife with setups and payoffs – that is an uproarious balletic performance. One QFS discussion group member pointed out how this is clearly inspiration for Looney Toons cartoons that emerge about a decade later. The soap versus cheese bit, when the man eats the soap and bubbles come out of his mouth – this becomes a cartoon convention for the rest of time, but City Lights must be where it began. The entire boxing sequence could be straight out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Even the drunken revelry at the club shows Chaplin’s astonishing gifts as a physical comedian.
Bugs Bunny was likely in the audience of this fight, taking notes.
The Tramp launching himself at his opponent is a spectacular feat.
The boxing sequence does get special note in that there’s a moment in which we think that the Tramp might win, might then get the money he needs to save the Blind Girl’s home. But he’s knocked out and loses – his opportunity lost. One member of the QFS group pointed out it would’ve been disappointing and too easy if he won. The Tramp was unlikely to win but by pure spirit and moxie had a chance. In the end, though, reality settled in and he was defeated.
And that’s what Chaplin also does extremely well – he doesn’t live in sadness for too long, but also not in joy. His pacing is superb and we don’t spend time in one emotion for too long. He stares longingly at the Blind Girl after she think he’s left and he’s now cowered nearby by the fence. But the revelry doesn’t last – she dumps her dirty flower water towards the fence, not knowing it’s his face that gets hit. After he’s knocked out, he runs into the Millionaire again and this leads to maybe there’s a chance he’ll give him the money to save the Blind Girl’s home.
The drunk Millionaire, social and class boundaries dissolved by alcohol, permit him to see the Tramp as a human, a friend, and, apparently, worthy of a smooch.
Chaplin brings us high and low and we end where he intends – in joy, as seen in the Tramp’s eyes and expression. I tried to think of other films where the final shot, the very final shot, pays off the entire film and I’m struggling to find one that’s as satisfying as this. Planet of the Apes (1968) is probably the greatest final shot in its surprise and punch. The last image of Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) is clever and ingenious. THX 1138 (1972) gives us the glorious sun, the final escape of 1138. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) is certainly a candidate in its enigmatic way. Inception (2010) is a great one that leaves your head scratching and debating. Before Sunset (1999) – the last line of the film, when I saw it in the theater, elicited an audible gasp and reaction. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969), the duo going out in a blaze of glory is certainly memorable. I’d even throw in The Wrestler (2008), with his the final leap from the ropes in what we assume is his last is truly terrific.
(Below - spoiler alert: final shots of note from THX 1138, 1971, Before Sunset, 1999, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, 1969, Planet of the Apes, 1968, The Wrestler, Raiders of the Lost Ark, 1981, and of course City Lights.)
And on that list belongs the last moment of City Lights. Earned, a climax, simple. And, importantly, nothing more to be said. Which is how Chaplin wanted it.
