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.

Scarface (1932)

QFS No. 149 - The invitation for August 21, 2024
In 1931 and 1932, there were a few gangster pictures that helped established the genre – Little Cesar* (1931), The Public Enemy (1931) and this week’s selection Scarface. Any of those would’ve been fun to watch, especially with stars like Edward G Robinson and James Cagney (who you may remember as being wonderfully bonkers in White Heat, 1949, QFS No. 74). So perhaps we’ll visit one of these other Pre-Code gangster films in the future.

“Pre-Code” of course refers to a film that predates the Production Code Administration censorship era that befell Hollywood starting in 1934. In 1932, the year Scarface was released, the film industry’s distribution oversight commission – called the Hays Code – had no real authority to mandate the removal of controversial elements from a film. Their notes were suggestions which were adhered to or not adhered to depending on the filmmaker’s or the studio executive’s muscle. This self-policing model gave rise to conservative vanguards of moral decency who threatened widespread boycotts of films with content they deemed immoral. The PCA was established and its stamp of approval began in 1934 and aimed to quell the discontent from these voices. That system continued for the next 36 years, finally replaced by a rating system that’s a precursor to our letter-based one we use today.

So there was a window of time from about 1922-1934 where many films pushed the boundaries of content, tone, style, and story. Scarface fell in that realm and faced real opposition with heavy censorship efforts from the studio. The PCA code intended to make sure that films didn’t glorify gangsters and other evil-doers, and instead they should receive comeuppance. Crime doesn’t pay, is the acceptable moral takeaway. To be somewhat fair to these censors, the 1930s was still rife with mafia-driven crime in major cities. Al Capone – upon whom Scarface is apparently based – was still very much alive and influential in Chicago in the ’30s.

Speaking of Capone – though loosely based on a novel, the Scarface script is co-credited to the legendary Ben Hecht who is almost certainly the most prolific writer in movie history (though he was one of five writers on this script – five!). Hecht apparently had once met Capone and based the main character on him, so much so that Capone had two men “visit” Hecht in Hollywood to make sure it wasn’t … too much based on Capone. (We’ve watched a Hecht penned film before, Alfred Hitchcock’s masterpiece Notorious (1946, QFS No. 117)

All of this is compelling enough to want to see Scarface, and that’s before mentioning that it was produced by the most famous wealthy future recluse of all time, Howard Hughes. With Hawks at the helm, you’ve got a double Howard film. The Full Howard, as it’s known by no one.

Watch the 1932 Scarface (not the 1983 one!) and let’s discuss!

*Not to be confused with the pizza, though both are made out of celluloid (ZING!).

Scarface (1932) Directed by Howard Hawks

Reactions and Analyses:
“The World Is Yours.” This is the advertisement Tony Camonte (Paul Muni) – the titular “Scarface” – sees when he looks out the window of his gaudy new apartment, financed from moving up in the ranks as the strongman to Johnny Lovo (Osgood Perkins). There it is, a literal big, bright, shining sign, illuminating his vision forward.

If there’s a thesis statement for Scarface (1932, and by extension the 1983 version), it would be that exact statement. The ambition of a man low on the totem pole, seeking more power, more money, more women, more of whatever it is he desires. You can take it – after all, it’s yours. “Do it first, do it fast, and keep doing it,” Tony says early on in the film.  

The World Is Yours according to this advertisement outside of Tony Camonte's window in Scarface (1932).

And throughout, Tony appears to be angling, smiling, grifting, posturing. His charm and charisma are obvious and as officially the muscle of Lovo’s operation, it’s clear that this is a problematic staff hire Lovo has made. Tony’s proving that he’s not really someone who follows orders and we see the two different dynamics of gangsters – a dynamic that plays out in gangster films for decades to come. The shrewd, calculating and often cautious puppet-master/chess player on the one hand and the violent, unpredictable, hot-headed reactionary who’s not afraid to dive headlong into battle. This is the Michael Corleone/Sonny Corleone dichotomy that’s at center of The Godfather more than 40 years later, for example.

Tony Camonte (Paul Muni) is charismatic, but it's clear that Johnny Lovo's hiring of a maniac like Tony is short-sighted at best.

Scarface, along with the other Pre-Code gangster classics Public Enemy (1931) and Little Cesar (1931), all released within a few years of each other, form an origin triumvirate of the gangster genre that continues all the way through today. Throughout the film there are familiar faces, ideas and themes – but in 1930s, they were likely novel. You’ve got the second-in-command Rinaldo (George Raft) with his coin-flip as a signature tic, the woman who is attracted to criminals and bad boys, the clownish sidekick Angelo (Vince Barnett), the attempt to go out in a blaze of glory, the relentless gunfire, the psychopathic and heartless killer, and so on. It’s actually sort of thrilling to watch this genre in its infancy.

About the psychopathic and heartless killers, Hawks and screenwriter Ben Hecht likely had portray antihero Tony as someone who would inevitably have no chance of ending up on top. This is a contrast of course to Michael in The Godfather who does succeed by vanquishing his foes, killing his sister’s traitorous husband, consolidating his power and earning the respect of his underlings. The Pre-Code censors in 1932, however, would not permit a positive portrayal of a ruthless gangster. He has to have his comeuppance, and Hawks concedes to the censors and places a plea for help in the opening title card:

This picture is an indictment of gang rule in America and of the callous indifference of the government to this constantly increasing menace to our safety and our liberty. Every incident in this picture is the reproduction of an actual occurrence, and the purpose of this picture is to demand of the government: 'What are you going to do about it?' The government is your government. What are YOU going to do about it?

There’s also this aspect of Tony that he isn’t just cruel, but that he must also have a psychosis in the way that James Cagney has in White Heat (1949, QFS No. 74). At the time, Hawks likely couldn’t portray Tony as simply an ambitious Shakespearean tragic figure, about one man’s pursuit of power because that would in a way be an indictment about the American dream. Fifty years later, Brian DePalma and Oliver Stone have nothing in their way to prevent them from reimagining this tale as a saga of an immigrant coming up from nothing and earning his place in a twisted version of the American dream. The World Is Yours, after all. Both go down in a blaze of glory, but Tony Montana in 1983 goes down, guns blazing, crashing into a pool. Tony Camonte in 1932 goes down sniveling, afraid of being alone and distraught at what will happen to him. A “hero’s” end in 1983 but a coward’s end in 1932. This is perhaps the biggest distinction between the films and between the eras. We sort of admire Tony Montana, ruthless as he is; it’s hard to say that same about Tony Comonte.

In 1932, Tony Comante dies sniveling and begging. 

In 1983, Tony Montana (Al Pacino) goes out in a more "heroic" or honorable blaze of glory in Brian De Palma's Scarface.

In the 1932’s Scarface, Tony gets his hands on a new weapon of mass destruction – the Tommy Gun, ubiquitous in gangster films from here on out. And he’s filled with murderous glee, looking to turn the North Side into Swiss cheese. He lashes out furiously at his sister Cesca (Karen Morley) for dancing with men at a club and strikes her. Later, he kills his best friend Rinaldo in a rage later on when he finds Rinaldo and Cesca together not knowing that they secretly were married while Tony was away. Perhaps a way to show that this is not a man to admire is to show that all of this behavior is aberrant. In a way, it ends up being an anti-gangster film. A member of our group pointed out that for about two-thirds of the way into most gangster films, the lifestyle seems pretty great. It’s the downfall that’s brutal.

Look how similar these two images are! And the joy in Tony Comante's face.

Both the 1932 and 1983 version feature weapons capable of doing maximum harm and serve no appropriate civilian purpose - more explicitly addressed in Howard Hawks' film than in De Palma's. And here, in this photo, Tony Montana (Al Pacino) has a little friend. You must say hello to it.

Members in the discussion group pointed out one particularly unfortunate and dispiriting aspect of Scarface, but not in a story sense. Mid-way through the film, a publisher and a politician who appear in essentially only this one scene, lament that these automatic weapons gangsters are now using have no purpose except for mass murder – and that they’re powerless against them unless the government does something about it. We’re still having this problem now, in 2024! It was actually a very depressing scene – and overtly racist unfortunately, arguing that half of these Italians aren’t even American citizens and thus should be rounded up and deported. We’re still having people argue this now, in 2024! The scene goes on to have one of the characters enumerate other ills of society in a list that almost exactly mirrors the text in the Hays Code of 1932 and the Production Code in 1934 – a scene clearly meant to appease the censors. The scene also features the publisher of the Chicago paper defending their work, saying that they have to report on the news while the government takes the position that the newspapers are simply glorifies gangsters and violence. We’re still having this discussion now, in 2024!

If you're a gangster, just don't down sit near windows during a gang war. 

Gun control debates, racist tirades and media complicity aside, Scarface is surprisingly advanced for 1932 and artistic in the seasoned hands of Hawks. The car stunts are exciting and clearly dangerous. The gunfire is realistic because, well, we learned they had to use real bullets firing around the actors to create bullet hits since this film predates the use of squibs. Nearly every single picture window gets utterly demolished, which leads one to question why any gangster would openly sit near a window at all during a drug war. They are liberally spraying bullets all over the place in the film and it’s quite thrilling, I have say. Hawks is an underrated artist in the grand arc of American cinema history, but this film showcases his artistry as a director – the use of the letter “X” somewhere in the frame whenever someone is about to die might be the first ever Easter Egg in a movie? But his use of action is very effective and it’s clear that he’s mastered the use of early special effects to simulate cinematic reality – all only a handful of years after the end of the Silent Era, which is amazing.

In so many ways, gangster films have come a long way. But in a lot of aspects, the fundamentals of the genre can be traced to this film and others from this time before American censors really crack down on portrayals of criminals as heroes. One commonality is the idea that if you are ruthlessly committed to the pursuit of power, then glory awaits. The world, after all, is yours.  

End credits of the 1983 version pay homage to filmmakers of the 1932 original.

A Night at the Opera (1935)

QFS No. 132 - The invitation for December 20, 2023
For our final 2023 selection, we’re going to a holiday classic!

Okay fine, so it’s not exactly a holiday classic, but doesn’t this time of year seem like a perfect opportunity to watch a Marx Brothers film? We haven’t yet selected a film by the comedy legends, and A Night at the Opera is widely known as one of their best films.

I know I’ve seen parts of many of their movies, but I believe I’ve only seen Duck Soup (1933) from start to finish. I have a feeling the redeeming artistic value of this movie might be minimal. But movies are a lot of things – and sometimes they’re just pure entertainment. Comedies are difficult and require so much technical skill, so it should be fun to take a closer look at how they pull of the perfect banana cream pie toss.

And with the holiday break and kids are off of school, this might be a fun one to watch with them for all the gags and mayhem and the answer to difficult trivia questions. For example – can you name all of the Marx Brothers? I got three out of five (answers below)*.

So join us for the final QFS of 2023. I’d love to do more before the calendar turns, but wouldn’t you know it? The strike ended and now there is finally directing work. It’s back to the TV mill for me, hence there will be some pauses coming up for the movie group.

Enjoy A Night at the Opera as we wrap up QFS for 2023!

*Chico, Harpo, Groucho, Gummo and Zeppo. I totally missed Chico and Gummo, in part because Gummo was not in any movies. I have no excuse for missing Chico.

A Night at the Opera (1935) Directed by Sam Wood

Reactions and Analyses:
Comedy doesn’t always transcend eras. Some can be very specific to the time in which it was created, with cultural references or styles of speaking that become outdated. The Marx Brothers are among those who have managed to create works of comedy that endures beyond their lifetimes.

True, in A Night at the Opera (1935), there are minor handful of contemporary jokes lost on modern audiences. But even in those – such as the one about “quintuplets up in Canada” – the content of the joke itself may not have lasted, but the delivery and Otis B. Driftwood (Groucho Marx)’s reaction and delivery of the line still gets a laugh: “Well, I wouldn't know about that; I haven't been in Canada in years.”

Any discussion about A Night of the Opera is going to center on the Marx Brothers, of course, because when you get down to it, that’s really primarily what the movie is – a launching point for their comedy. Much of our discussion was about the brothers and almost no talk about the plot or the filmmaking. Which is the point; it is, after all, a Marx Brothers movie.

The cabin-filling sequence in A Night at the Opera (1933) is peak Marx Brothers.

In addition to Groucho’s near-perfect, constant one-liner deliveries, the Marx Brothers are simply the greatest agents of chaos in movie history. Throw them into any situation, and that’s what you get – chaos. That’s the hallmark of a Marx Brothers movie. The difference, perhaps, in this film is with the inclusion of some musical numbers, the attempt at a love story, and only minor social commentary (as opposed to the more direct commentary in Duck Soup, 1933)

Several QFS members pointed out how one can see their influence on future comedians - Martin Short came to mind, the magic of Penn and Teller, and even Mel Brooks. Rodney Dangerfield is the clearest heir to Groucho Marx we could think of and the discovery of that delighted me immensely.

One QFSer felt less sanguine about the film, that it was repetitive and there wasn’t a story – as compared to a Charlie Chaplin film, for example. Chaplin’s films, though often featuring the same Tramp character, had a strong storyline, a social commentary, pathos, and of course groundbreaking visual comedy and sight gags. Marx Brothers movies, however, were merely a way to setup the Marx Brothers wreaking havoc in a straight world around them. Both are funny, both have endured, and both have stood the test of time. Where Chaplin used artistry to enhance his comedy, the Marx Brothers relied on their on-screen personas and vaudevillian skills to enhance theirs.

One way of thinking about this, to me, is there are movies that are funny (Chaplin’s Modern Times, 1936) and there are funny movies (A Night at the Opera). Movies that are funny are films with a compelling driving narrative that’s told in a funny and artful way. Funny movies are comedies that favor humor and gags above the plot and storyline. This is an utterly unsophisticated way of putting this, but a distinction between styles of films that make audiences laugh is worth considering. How do you make someone laugh? There’s no one way and the differences between how Chaplain does it and the Marx Brothers do it provide some insight into that. A deep dive into this comedy would be, of course, a lot of fun.

Generally speaking, the group agreed that though the plot was thin and perhaps unnecessary even, this is a film that you can probably just pick up at any point and simply enjoy the gags – the absurd amount of people in the cabin, the disappearing beds, the contract negotiation, the final opera, and so on. Perhaps a funny movie doesn’t need to be much more than that.