I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932) **

Get your mind out of the gutter—I’m not that type of girl!

Paul Muni plays James Allen, a returning WWI GI who finds unemployment and then is unjustly convicted of theft and sent to a southern prison to serve on a chain gang, in this classic 1932 film directed by Mervyn LeRoy. One of Warner Bros. social conscience films, and the recipient of three Academy Award nominations (Best Picture, Best Actor (Muni), and Best Sound), the film depicts the harsh world of the southern penal system in the 1920s. Based on the autobiographical story of Robert E. Burns, a man who became a fugitive from a Georgia chain gang, this is an excellent indictment of an abusive prison system.

When James Allen returns home from the Great War he wants to do more than go back to his clerk job in a shoe factory. Instead he wants to go to engineering school so he can build bridges. The problem is his mother (Louise Carter) and his reverend brother (Hale Hamilton) want him to stay at Mr. Parker’s (Reginald Barlow) shoe factory and pick up where he left off before the war. Not the arguing kind, he finds himself back at that factory, but is distracted by a bridge being built outside his office window and he decides to head north to find construction work. This sets him off on a transient existence, moving from place to place looking for work. Things become so bad that he tries to pawn his war medals to no avail; the owner already has a drawer full—a nod to the dire circumstances that war veterans faced at that time.

Eventually he finds himself back in the South and ends up meeting Pete (Preston Foster), the man who will fatefully change his life forever. When they go to a diner for hamburgers, Pete pulls a gun and orders a bewildered Allen to take the money from the till (a whopping $5). When the police arrive they kill Pete and assume Allen was his accomplice. He is convicted of armed robbery and sentenced to ten years of hard labor. Now, Allen is the member of chain gang that manually splits boulders at a rock pit. He endures blazing heat, vindictive guards, and substandard food and living conditions. When Allen makes the mistake of coming to the defense of another prisoner, he is flogged in his place. Though the actual beating takes place off-screen, LeRoy uses shadow silhouettes and agonizing screams to make his point.

After seven months of relentless work on the chain gang, Allen decides to escape. He has a fellow prisoner bend his shackles so he can slide it off his foot and he borrows $7 and the address of a former inmate from another. While taking a bathroom break in the bushes, Allen slips off his shackles and sets off for freedom. He exchanges his prison clothes for some hanging on a clothesline and uses the swamp to evade the bloodhounds. In an often imitated scene, Allen uses a hollow reed to breathe underwater while guards and digs pass by.

Allen ends up in Booneville and meets up with Barney, a former inmate who gives him a place to sleep for the night. The next day while he is waiting for a train he orders a hamburger (evidently bad luck for him) and hears that the police are looking for the escaped prisoner. In a near-miss episode, Allen finds himself scrambling onto a train as the police point in his direction but run past him for another man.

Free, Allen journeys to Chicago, where he gets a job (under an alias) at the Tri-State Engineering Company and works his way up the company ladder. He ends up boarding with a scheming landlady, Marie (Glenda Farrell), who sees a man on the rise and sets her cap for him. When Allen works his way up to a supervisor position he decides to get another place to live. This angers Marie and she reveals to Allen that she knows about his past and blackmails him into marrying her.

After years of hard work and study, Allen become a field superintendent and falls in love with Helen (Helen Vinson). Yet, he can’t get rid of Marie, who doesn’t care that he loves another woman. When he threatens her with a divorce she turns him in and he is arrested. His friends and the newspapers try to block his extradition to the South, especially after he describes how horrible the chain gang is. This causes a min-civil war between the northern and southern justice systems. Finally, Allen agrees to return to the prison for ninety days to work as a clerk, where thereafter he would be given a full pardon.

Once back in prison, Allen soon learns that this agreement won’t be kept by the Tuttle County Prison Camp. Instead, he is assigned to even harsher chain gang than before. After 90 days, his pardon hearing reveals that the state is angry with his public criticisms of their justice system and his pardon is denied but he is given the option of parole in nine months. Allen resigns himself to this nine month fate and is a model prisoner. Yet, when his case comes up again and a decision is suspended indefinitely, Allen decides he has to attempt another escape. He and another inmate escape the chain gang and steal a truck carrying dynamite, which they use to blow up a bridge to cut off the guards. It is interesting to note that LeRoy used the image of the blown up bridge to illustrate that Allen had now burned all his bridges of ever living a normal life again. A year later, we find Allen ragged and hunted. In a final meeting with Helen, he explains that they can never meet again. In one of the crueler instances of movie fate, when Helen asks him how he lives, he answers, “I steal.” All of this misery over $5! You won’t forget the image of this last scene.

This is the granddaddy of prison-break films. When you watch Cool Hand Luke, The Defiant Ones, or O Brother Where Art Thou?, you are watching films inspired by this one. It unapologetically exposed the horror of a system of forced labor in the South, which ground men down into nothing or into their graves. It angered southerners so much that it was actually banned in Georgia—where the real-life story of Robert E. Burns took place.

Paul Muni is excellent as a man who wants nothing more than to be a productive member of society. He always had the ability to encompass the true nature of all the characters he played, whether it be an escaped convict or Prime Minister Disraeli. In addition, the maliciousness of Glenda Farrell as Marie is something to watch.

A classic prison break film and one of Muni’s best performances.

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Boudu Saved From Drowning (1932) **

Are you someone who saw Down and Out in Beverly Hills back in 1986 (attired in some form of stone-washed denim or Lycra skirt) and thought it was hilarious? Yet, somehow, today if someone were to mention it you would say it was terrible and that contrary to what others might say, you never crimped your hair or made the mistake of thinking hair mousse was edible. Oh, the inescapable 80s.

Down and Out in Beverly Hills was a remake of this 1932 French black comedy directed by Jean Renoir and starring the irreverently funny Michel Simon as Boudu. Based on a play by René Fauchois, the story follows Boudu, a dirty, shaggy bum, who is saved from drowning himself in the Seine by bourgeois Parisian bookseller Edouard Lestingois (Charles Granval). The Lestingois family decides to adopt Boudu and make him a “respectable” member of society. They takes him into their home and he (and we) learn just how respectable middle-class Parisian society is!

It would seem that the respectable Edouard is a gentleman. He has a family, a business, and a maid (Séverine Lerczinska), who also happens to be his mistress. At first, his prim and proper wife (Marcelle Hainia) is disgusted by Boudu’s hygiene and poor table manners. Yet, over time she becomes strangely attracted to Boudu (after a haircut) and they have an affair. Meanwhile, Edouard can’t understand why Boudu isn’t more grateful to him for saving him and giving him a chance at respectability. Instead, what he finds is ingratitude from a man who just keeps asking him for more of everything: clothes, food, and money (as well as his wife). What’s comic about Edouard’s bewilderment is that Boudu has become just like him and, in a way, is unhappy. Another humorous turn happens when Boudu finds lottery tickets in one of the jackets Edouard gives him. When he shows them to Edouard the bookseller tells him to keep one for himself. This turns out to be a one-hundred thousand franc winner. With his newfound wealth Boudu is now respectable and marries the maid. Yet, at their wedding party something strange happens. While riding a skiff down the Seine, Boudu reaches down for a water lily and causes the skiff to overturn. While the wedding party swims to the banks, Boudu lets the current carry him away from them. He happily returns to his old, carefree life. In the end, he is saved from drowning in bourgeois respectability.

This film was not released in the United Stated until 1967, but when it got here it became an art house staple. What attracts most to this film is its biting criticism of middle class respectability. It was so scathing that it was banned in France only after a few days in release. Today it seems ridiculous that such a film could get banned, but evidently middle class Parisians couldn’t handle the truth of what they were really like.

Michel Simon is a comic genius as the unkempt Boudu. My favorite scene is when instead of spitting on the floor because he was told it was rude, he spits in a copy of Balzac's Physiology of Marriage. You need only know that the sub-title was Petty Troubles of Married Life to get the joke. Throughout the film Simon displays his adeptness at physical comedy and his perfect comic timing.

One of the things I most remember about the film is how Renoir shot the scenes at the Lestingois’ home and business. Most of the shots are very tight and the set is over-cluttered, which gives these scenes a claustrophobic feel. No doubt, Renoir was making a statement with this approach. And when you contrast the interior scenes to the exterior ones, which are airy and full-framed, you see an entirely different world.

Biting and irreverent, this is a black comedy worth watching.

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Love Me Tonight (1932) **1/2

But what about tomorrow?

Directed by Rouben Mamoulian, this 1932 romantic musical set the bar very high for subsequent musicals. Many critics cite it as one of the greatest and innovative musicals of the 1930s. Song and dialogue are cleverly woven together to tell the unlikely love story of a very frustrated Princess Jeanette (Jeanette MacDonald) and a handsome Parisian tailor named Maurice (Maurice Chevalier).

The beginning of the film is unforgettable, with a symphony of noises that captures the sounds of an awakening Paris and Chevalier singing “That’s the Song of Paree”. We learn that Maurice has just completed a job that will establish him as a first-rate tailor: 15 suits for the Viscount de Varese (Charlie Ruggles). The problem is the viscount can’t pay his bill, as he is financially dependent on his uncle the Duke (C. Aubrey Smith). While discussing his problem with his friend Emile they get on the topic of love and Maurice begins singing, “Isn’t It Romantic?” This launches one of the greatest musical numbers to grace the silver screen. Because the tune is so catchy it sticks in Emile’s head, and when he leaves the shop he starts humming it and as he does this it is picked up by a taxi driver and his composer passenger, who takes the song on a train where soldiers hear it and use it as they march in the fields, where a gypsy hears it and plays it on his violin back to his camp, where it finally carries over to the de Varese estate of Princess Jeanette, who sings it on her balcony. This song and its far-flung travels, now links Maurice and Jeanette even before they have met. The passing of the song from person to person was seamless and very cleverly done—sort of like what will later take place in Gigi.

The Princess it would seem is very unhappy and well, sexually frustrated. Just 22, she is the widow of a very old man. If she is to marry again she must find someone of equal royal rank, but this holds problems in itself, as there are only two eligible suitors: ages 85 and 12. What is an attractive widow to do?

While the Princess is busy being bored at the chateau, Maurice decides to take the Count’s 15 suits to the estate and collect payment. When he arrives at the chateau and gives his name, Maurice Courtelin, he is mistaken for a Baron Maurice Courtelin. He meets the princess and immediately falls in love with her. Not knowing he’s just a lowly tailor, the family and their guests are enamored with him and his singing of "Mimi"—so much so that they all begin singing it. The only two people who don’t quickly embrace his charms are the Princess and her would-be suitor the Count de Savignac (Charles Butterworth). One particular person who finds him irresistible is the Countess Valentine (Myrna Loy, in an outlandishly funny turn), who seems to be nymphomaniac. It was enjoyable to watch Loy as a man-hungry woman chasing after Maurice—especially when you consider Chevalier’s reputation as a ladies man.

Somehow a rumor emerges that Maurice is not a baron but a full-blooded prince traveling incognito. This changes everything and sends hope to the Princess, who now allows herself to open up to the charming Maurice. What is a love-stricken tailor to do? It’s obvious that she can’t marry a commoner…let alone a a common tailor. Will he tell her the truth? In the end all is revealed, but love conquerors all.

All together there are nine fantastically staged musical numbers by Richard Rogers and Lorenz Hart. The songs are extremely catchy. If you have seen this film, you might just be humming “Mimi” or “Isn’t It Romantic” as you read this. Both MacDonald and Chevalier are delightful singers and carry their songs off very well. Some of the lyrics are quite racy for 1932, but somehow most of them, along with the double-entendre laden dialogue, got past censors—though 15 minutes did get cut (one can only wonder how far Mamoulian actually tried to go). In addition, the supporting cast of Myrna Loy, Charles Ruggles, and C. Aubrey Smith are tremendous.

If you love musicals, you will love this movie. A thoroughly enjoyable classic.

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M (1931) **

The original title of this classic 1931 German film was Murderers Among Us. Though Hitler had not come to power yet, his little friends, the Nazis, had achieved great success in recent Reichstag elections. So, when they saw this title they naturally assumed it was about them--you would think this admission would have had a bigger effect on the German population. Anyway, they tried to derail director Fritz Lang’s production, via, not surprisingly, death threats. Though they weren’t right about many things, the Nazis and their reliance on mob mentality were essentially a key underlying theme. In the end, the name was simply changed to M. Two years later, with the Austrian madman fully in charge, Lang thought it best if he leave Germany. Unlike the Nazis, he was right.

Based on the real-life case of the Monster of Dusseldorf, Peter Kurten, this German Expressionistic film about the hunt for a child killer is Fritz Lang’s greatest talking picture. Not only was it provocative storytelling at its best, it was also one of the biggest influences on the development of film noir. Darkness, both internal and external, is at the core of this picture.

Peter Lorre plays Hans Beckert, a pathologically-driven serial killer of children. In the beginning of the film we learn that 8 children have been murdered over the past year. We see a blind man (Georg John) selling balloons and a little girl, Elsie Beckmann, taking the hand of a whistling man who buys her a balloon. A ball, the simple toy of a child, rolls down a hill and comes to a rest—and so has little Elsie. The murder takes place off-screen, but Lang uses Elsie’s balloon to show us all we need to see: now separated from her empty hand it ends up ensnared in telephone wires.

With angry parents demanding justice, the police begin to feel threatened and turn their investigation toward the seedier side of town: the criminal underworld. Seeing their activities strongly scrutinized by the police, the criminals, led by Shranker (Gustaf Grundgens), must now join in the search for the killer to ensure their own survival. Lang uses intercut scenes to show how both police and criminals plot strategies to get the killer—in essence saying there is no difference between the two groups. They decide to place those least likely to be noticed to set up surveillance: beggars. Again, Lang is making a social comment, especially when you consider what was going on in Germany at this time.

When the balloon seller hears a man whistling Edvard Grieg’s “Hall of the Mountain King” he remembers that a man was whistling the same tune the day of Elsie Beckmann’s murder. He tips off a nearby beggar, who follows Beckert leading a girl into a candy store. After Beckert throws an orange peel on the sidewalk the beggar pretends to slip on it. Catching Beckert as he slips, he places a “M” on Beckert's shoulder, via his chalked palm. Beckert is now, literally, a marked man. In addition to this, the police have now tracked a postcard sent to the newspaper by the killer to Beckert’s apartment. When they search his room they find clues that link him to the crimes: Ariston cigarettes and a red pencil.

When the little girl he’s about to kill notices the “M” on his back and offers to wipe it off Beckert realizes he’s caught and runs into an office building. Schränker sends his men to search the building. Not knowing what is happening, a night watchman sounds the alarm. Just before the police arrive, the criminals find Beckert and leave the building—all except Franz (Friendrich Gnass), who now becomes the suspect. To save his own skin, Franz tells the police his friends have taken Beckert to an abandoned distillery to stand trial.

At his trial, Beckert attempts to explain that he can’t be held accountable for his actions because he does them unwillingly. It is an evil inside him that compels him to kill. He utters the classic line, “Who knows what it feels like to be me?" I find it especially interesting that his judges, the criminals, are wearing long leather coats instead of robes—another nod to the Nazi’s? Yet, before the criminals can inflict their brand of justice, the police arrive and take Beckert away. At his “real” trial, crying mothers await the verdict of the killer of their children and one says, “One has to keep closer watch over the children. All of you." No wiser words were ever uttered in Germany in the 1930s!

There are very few German films of the 1930s (with good reason) that capture the sense of doom that looms during this period. Lang uses lighting, specifically chiaroscuro, and high-angle shots to emphasize the evil that looms above. It is a menace that can’t be seen, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist. It is foreshadowing (literally) at its best.

It is apt that Lang would use Edvard Grieg’s “Hall of the Mountain King” from Peer Gynt to identify Beckert to his victims and the viewers. As this opera is all about identity crisis. I suppose Lang took great pride in the fact that he himself was the actual whistler of this tune, since Lorre couldn’t do it himself.

Finally, the choice of Peter Lorre, with his bulging, sad eyes and strange ability to make sympathetic (and creepy) grimaces, was a wonderful choice for Beckert. This role elevated his career, but also typecast him as the villain for years to come. He, like Lang, had to flee Germany and the Nazis.

A must-see on many levels: cinematic, societal, and historical.

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Vampyr (1932) *1/2

If only the scythe had come before I watched this!

Some critics regard this 1932 gothic horror film Danish director Carl Theodor Dreyer’s greatest work and one of the greatest horror films of all time. I don’t know if I’m actually an expert, but I have to strongly disagree. I think his The Passion of Joan of Arc is truly a good film, but I hated Vampyr. The way Dryer incorporates imagery is interesting, but the story was just too all over the place for me.

Based on the Sheridan Le Fanu short story”Carmilla,” the film follows traveler David Gray (Julian West) to a a provincial village outside Pairs, where a series of supernatural murders are taking place. Thinking the villagers ignorant and superstitious, David soon learns what happens in this village is no joking matter.

A series of strange (and at times unexplainable) incidents befall David. Whilst sleeping at an inn, David is awakened by a man (whom he doesn’t know) who places a packet in his room that reads: To Be Opened upon My Death. Later, David follows shadows to an old castle where other shadows are dancing. This is where he sees a doctor (Jan Hieronimko) and an old and not so attractive woman (Henriette Gerard), who we will later learn is Marguerite Chopin, but more importantly, both are vampyrs. As he walks to a nearby manor David sees the man who left the package in his room. Suddenly, the man is shot dead and David is ushered into the manor by servants. He is invited to stay the night and he meets Gisele (Rena Mandel) and her seriously ill sister, Leone (Sybille Schmitz).

After finding Leone lying unconscious outside the house with bite wounds, David remembers the mystery package. When he opens it he finds a book about vampyrs. As he reads it he realizes Leone has been the victim of one of these demonic creatures. When it is determined by the doctor that Leone must have a blood transfusion to survive, David offers his. This drains David of all his energy and he settles down to restless sleep. He awakens suddenly, sensing danger, and goes to Leone’s room to find the doctor about to poison her and Gisele missing. David pursues him to the castle, where he has a vision of being buried alive. After this unpleasant vision ends, David rescues Gisele, but the doctor gets away.

When a servant reads in the vampyr book that the only way to kill a vampyr is to put an iron bar through its chest, he and David go to Marguerite Chopin's grave. When they open her grave they find her creepily laying there and they kill her with an iron bar. They then track the doctor to a mill and somehow suffocate him to death with flour—I guess this kills vampyrs, too? The vampyr curse is lifted and Leone is saved. And, in one of the most bizarre endings I can think of, David and Gisele somehow end up in a boat on a fog-laden river and then find themselves coming into a bright clearing. Was it all just a dream? Your guess is as good as mine.

There are no explanations to what transpires in this movie; things just happen. The imagery of the menacing scythes, eerie fog, and silhouette shadows are captivating, but that’s the only thing I found appealing. Dreyer definitely creates a very austere and sterile setting: it looks and sounds like a gothic horror movie. Yet, I was just too confounded by the strange narrative that Dreyer chose to follow. My rule about film is this: if after watching a film you ask yourself at the end, “What the hell was that?”, then it wasn’t good.

Some like, and even love, it—I did not. I most assuredly could have died without having seen it.

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The Public Enemy (1931) **

What an apt title for the film that eventually brought us the Hays Production Code. Too bad Chuck D, Flav, and Terminator X weren’t around to help directors “Fight the Power” in the 30s…then again, I can’t imagine them having much say in an atmosphere where overt racism could still pass censors. Oh, the ironies of Hollywood!

William Wellman directed this penultimate gangster film starring James Cagney as amoral thug Tom Powers. Based on the John Bright and Kubec Glasman novel, Beer and Blood, the film was a huge success for Warner Brothers and made James Cagney a star (it also typecast him for several years). The film bears many similarities with the lives of real-life Chicago gangsters Hymie Weiss, Nails Morton and Deanie O'Banion—though Warner was careful to say the names and characters of the film were purely fictional. It is perhaps the most important gangster film ever made, as it went on to influence countless directors in the gangster-film genre, most notably Francis Ford Coppola.

The story begins in 1909 South Side Chicago and introduces us to the life of Tom Powers (James Cagney). The son of an abusive policeman (Purnell Pratt), Tom is a juvenile delinquent and petty thief, along with his pal Matt Doyle (Edward Woods). Both boys admire a local criminal, Putty-Nose (Murray Kinnell), who hangs out at the Red Oaks Club. As the boys grow older Putty-Nose introduces them to more advanced crimes and gets them involved in an armed robbery at the Northwestern Fur Trading Company. When a nervous Tom shoots a stuffed bear’s head, he alerts a policeman to the scene and the cop kills a thief by the getaway car. Tom retaliates and shoots the cop, but not before Putty-Nose deserts them. This is where Cagney calls him a “dirty, no-good, yellow-bellied stool!" and vows to take revenge.

A few years later Tom and Matt, now truck drivers, team up with saloon owner Paddy Ryan (Robert Emmett O'Connor) and when Prohibition hits in 1920 they become bootleggers. In one memorable scene they use their gasoline delivery truck to drain impounded beer from a government warehouse. This heist gives them a taste of what big money can buy: flashy clothes, fast cars, and even faster women, like Mamie (Joan Blondell) and Kitty (Mae Clarke). They eventually hook-up with local crime boss Nails Nathan (Leslie Fenton) and start making booze and selling it (forcefully, if necessary) to speakeasies.

Meanwhile, Tom’s older brother Mike (Donald Cook), a wounded WWI vet, returns home to find Tom hasn’t done such a good job of staying out of trouble and has been lying to their Ma (Beryl Mercer) about where he gets his money. At his welcome home dinner, with a huge keg of beer donated by Tom, Mike calls his younger brother out in front of Ma, calling him a murderer. This causes Tom to leave home for good.

The next morning we find Tom in a very bad mood. This sets up one of the most memorable scenes in film history. When girlfriend Kitty talks back to him at breakfast he shoves a grapefruit into her face. Apparently, this was his way of saying their relationship was over. He soon finds a new one in Gwen Allen (Jean Harlow). He takes her to Matt and Mamie’s wedding reception, where he spots the double-crossing Putty-Nose. Later, he and Matt follow him and after making Putty plead for his life on hands and knees, Tom cold-bloodedly shoots him point blank.

Though he avoids his brother like the Plague, Tom tries to give his Ma money, but she refuses. When Mike returns home, he tells Tom they don’t need his “blood money” and punches him in the face. Though it is safe to assume that Tom is a sociopath, I find it interesting that when his brother hits him he doesn’t retaliate. I do, however, always find it entertaining to watch him rip the money in half and throw it in his brother’s face—I think this sends more of a message.

You add this complicated familial relationship with the strange one he has with Gwen, and you can see why he becomes unhinged. To say that Jean Harlow’s Gwen is the epitome of a Flapper doesn’t go far enough. Her aloofness combined with her overt sexuality is enough to drive any man crazy, and Tom didn’t need any help. For his own sanity, he decides to leave her forever when he learns that Nails has been killed in a riding accident. In a scene that reminds me of both The Godfather and The Sopranos, Tom buys the horse that killed Nails and then kills it.

Nails’ death leads to a gang war with their rival Schemer (appropriate name if I ever heard one), and Paddy’s bar is bombed and the brewery burned down. The gang goes into hiding with an old whore named Jane (Mia Marvin). When Tom gets drunk she seduces him and then taunts him with this fact the next morning. Repulsed, Tom, with Matt in tow, leaves the safety of the apartment, not knowing that Schemer’s gang has machineguns outside. Matt is killed and Tom swears vengeance. After stealing two 38s from a pawnshop, Tom walks through the rain to Schemer’s hideout and in a bone-chilling scene, kills the entire gang, while incurring several deadly wounds himself. He stumbles from the building and lands appropriately in a rain-soaked gutter.

After being found he is taken to the hospital, where he has the chance to tell Mike and Ma that he’s sorry and he’s going straight. Later, Tom is kidnapped from the hospital by rivals. In a sick twist of irony, someone calls his relieved Ma and tells her he’s on his way home. When the doorbell rings, Mike answers it to find a bullet-ridden and gift-wrapped Tom dead at the door. What a way to end a film!

In 1931, with Prohibition still lingering and the Depression marching on, this film forced audiences to examine why boys like Tom and Matt turned to crime. Yes, it is a gangster film, but it is also a social conscience one as well. What are the roots of crime? No one is born a criminal. The famous last line of the film: “The Public Enemy is, not a man, nor is it a character--it is a problem that sooner or later WE, the public, must solve,” is telling. Of course, it’s 2010 and this problem still hasn’t been solved, but through films like this and more recent ones like Precious, the viewer sees a world in which that may not be familiar and learns something.

James Cagney was electrifying in this performance. It’s easy to see why he was typecast for so long after this film, because he plays a sadistic sociopath very well. I also think Jean Harlow and Mae Clarke do nice jobs in their roles as his girlfriends. While Harlow is more remembered that Clarke in this film, I think her reactions in the grapefruit scene are priceless.

As for the story itself, it is compelling on many levels. It’s difficult for viewers today to believe that people behaved like this in the 1920s, but most of what happened in this film can be tied back to real-life occurrences. It’s sort of a time capsule to the age of Prohibition and speakeasies. Of course, I have a hard time figuring out why this film was so shocking to would-be censors, as most of the violence takes place off-screen. Perhaps the realism of the film made them uneasy. Who knows.

In any case, this a good film. It is one of Cagney’s best performances and it is historically relevant. In addition, it had a significant impact on the development of the gangster film genre.

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City Lights (1931) **

I suppose Charlie Chaplin had never heard the adage “silence is deadly” before 1931. He soon heard it from Academy voters when it came time to nominate the best films for that year. It would seem that people were a bit testy that some British chap didn’t want to showcase his wonderful accent and prove to everyone that the most famous actor in the world wasn’t too big for talkies. He was.

Many critics view City Lights as Chaplin’s greatest film. I don’t agree with this assessment, as my choice falls on Modern Times, but it is one of his best productions. He was involved in all elements of the production: direction, editing, music, and screenplay. To say that Chaplin was an all-around gifted artist would be an understatement.

I’m not sure, but I suspect that the opening scene was all Academy voters needed to see before making their minds up about this picture. Using kazoos and other irritating noises as voices most probably didn’t go over well. Whatever may be the case, we find the Little Tramp sleeping in a just unveiled statue at the start of this film. The on looking crowd is aghast—he has sullied the purity of the statue! When he tries to remove himself from the statue he finds himself hooked, by the back of his pants, to a sword. In a comic turn of events, he has to listen to the “Star Spangled Banner” (hat off, in respect of course) while in this unpleasant position.

Later, we find the Tramp trying to elude a motorcycle cop by entering and exiting a parked limo. This is where he first encounters the blind and beautiful flower girl (Virginia Cherrill). She seems to know the sound of a slamming limo door, and so she assumes he’s a rich man and offers him a boutonniere. He pays for it with his last coin and pretends to leave. While she goes on with her flower duties he watches her. In a bit of anti-stalker justice, she throws her dirty bucket of water on him.

Next, we meet the besotted and depressed millionaire (Harry Myers) as he’s trying to drown himself in the river. The Tramp tries to dissuade the man from this and finds himself accidentally caught in the rope and pulled into the river. Eventually both men rescue one another and the millionaire names the Tramp his friend for life. The millionaire invites the Tramp back to his mansion and they drink a champagne toast to their newfound friendship. Too bad the millionaire becomes depressed again when he learns his wife is divorcing him. Again he tries to off himself, via revolver this time, but the Tramp stops him and they decide to go out for a night on the town. Many outlandish things occur, most notably the Tramp setting a lady’s dress on fire with a cigarette butt and then putting the fire out with seltzer water. Of course, what most people remember about this part of the film is the spaghetti-confetti sequence. Trying to eat his spaghetti, the Tramp takes confetti strings for strings of pasta. And so he sucks and sucks and sucks some more trying to find the end of the noodle—perhaps this is where the Olive Garden got its idea for the endless pasta bowl?

After a perilous ride back to the mansion, the millionaire gives the tramp his Rolls Royce. When he sees the flower girl he gets the millionaire to loan him money to buy flowers. He catches up with her and pays $10 for her entire basket and then drives her home in the Rolls. She is convinced he’s a millionaire and he doesn’t try to change her opinion. When he returns to the mansion the millionaire is sober, but can’t remember the Tramp and he’s thrown out. Don’t worry, the millionaire is soon drunk again and the two reunite and a party is thrown in the Tramp’s honor. Yet, when they wake up the next morning together in bed, the Tramp is kicked out again. This seems like some sort of sick booty call ritual, doesn’t it?

After learning that the flower girl is ill, the Tramp decides he will find the money to pay for a doctor to help her. With the money he earns as a street cleaner, he takes food to her. On one of these trips he reads a newspaper article about an eye specialist who can cure blindness. The girl is overjoyed, the Tramp is a bit anxious. When he is fired for returning late to work the Tramp sees an advertisement for making “easy money” outside a boxing arena. Believing he’s in a fixed fight, the Tramp agrees to a $50 winner takes all match. The problem is his opponent is changed from a lightweight to a muscle-laden beast (Hank Mann). The fight sequence is the best part of the film. It is a masterfully (and hilariously) choreographed. Watching the Tramp dance around the ring, hide behind the referee, and duck at the last moment to avoid punches is an extreme pleasure. You combine these antics with the ring bell gag and you find yourself hurting from laughing so much. Alas, in the end, the Tramp is knocked out cold—no $50 for the operation.

Trying to figure out what to do next, the Tramp happens upon the millionaire again. He’s drunk, so naturally he recognizes the Tramp and invites his friend back to the mansion. When the millionaire learns about the girl he gives the Tramp $1,000. Unfortunately, robbers are stationed in the house and knock the millionaire out. Yet, they don’t take the money from the Tramp. When he calls the police he is viewed as a thief—especially with $1,000 in his pocket. Again, when the millionaire wakes up he doesn’t recognize the Tramp and accuses him of theft. The Tramp runs out with the money and later gives it to the blind girl. He tells her he’s going to be gone for awhile and then leaves—all the while she still thinks he’s a millionaire. The police pick him up and he gets 9 months in prison.

When he returns he finds the blind girl’s sight has been restored. She gets to watch and laugh as newsboys taunt him. In a moment of regret, she offers him a white rose to replace a wilted flower he picked up in the gutter. When she presses a coin into his hand she recognizes his touch. In a very emotional scene, you watch as both (in extreme close-up) experience a multitude of emotions. In the end, she accepts him for who he is as he asks her if she can see now and she answers, quite truthfully, “Yes, I can see now.” What a way to end a film!

The performances of Chaplin, Cherrill, and Myers are superb. Myers does an excellent job of playing two very different characters: uproariously funny drunk and dour, sober millionaire. It is difficult to play a blind character, but I think Cherrill pulls it off well. And, of course, Chaplin is great as usual. That final scene is a testament to how powerful silent acting can truly be.

The gags are fabulous. I am partial to the boxing scenes, but there are countless others that showcase Chaplin’s comic timing and genius. He, Keaton, and Lloyd were masterminds when it came to plotting side-splitting sight gags.

Overall, this a true cinematic gem. Perhaps even more so because it was one of the last great silents made. Chaplin took a great risk in making this film, but it paid off in the end.

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