Even into the early 1950s, Charles Chaplin had never truly recovered from the cinematic conversion from silents to talkies, which took place in the late 1920s. As late as 1936, Chaplin continued to produce his trademark silent slapstick comedies, with great critical and commercial success. Even his much-lauded 1940 effort, 'The Great Dictator,' alternated between dialogue (mainly to satirise Adolf Hitler's manner of speech, and to deliver the Jewish barber's rousing final speech) and silent slapstick, the latter very much reminiscent of the Little Tramp. By 1947, with 'Monsieur Verdoux,' Chaplin had finally adapted to the times, but there's no doubt that he still believed the silent to be the purest form of film-making. 'Limelight' is Chaplin's almost-autobiographical reflection on a once-great artist who has fallen from grace, but who wishes to hear the passionate applause of an audience just one last time.
Unlike his previous films, most of which found a delicate balance between pathos and humour, 'Limelight' pretty much disregards any major notions of slapstick comedy and focuses primarily on sentimentalism. With perhaps the exception of Frank Capra, Chaplin was the finest in Hollywood when it came to such things, and it's impossible not to feel for his Calvero, the aging comedy stage performer who is over-the-hill and struggling to adapt to changing times. Having descended into crippling bouts of alcoholism (he regularly claims that he needs to have alcohol in him to be funny on-stage), Calvero's life and career is slowly withering away, and his name despite being well-known and revered back in his day is now considered poison to organisers. The character is relatively autobiographical, offering an insight into the feelings and personalities of Chaplin, who was, just like Calvero, beginning to lose many of his once-devoted fans (in part, due to his attitudes toward World War II and America-Russia relations, which led to his being labeled a Communist sympathiser). These parallels were quite obviously intentional, with faded posters in Calvero's apartment declaring him to be the "tramp comedian," and the character remarking at one point that he enjoys street performances, perhaps because of "the tramp within me."
When he rescues a depressed ballet dancer, Terry (Claire Bloom), from committing suicide, Calvero convinces her that life truly is worth living, inspiring himself in the process. While Terry eventually achieves great success as a dancer, Calvero determines himself to captivate the audience once more, though his comedy routines often end disastrously, and he is simply unable to capture the magic of a passed era. This time, as the aging performer sinks into bouts of heavy drinking, it is up to Terry to return the favour to the man who saved her life, and she ultimately falls in love with Calvero, despite a massive age difference (this particular scenario, once again, mirrors one of Chaplin's own relationships, his (fourth) marriage to Oona O'Neill, 37-years his junior). Calvero's final performance is before a packed-house, accompanied by an old partner (played by fellow silent comedy genius, Buster Keaton, in their first and only appearance on screen together), and the pair finally receive the enthusiastic reception that they had waited so long to experience just once more.
There is something very bittersweet about Calvero's stage performances. They are so sweetly innocent that you can understand why an advancing society has shunned them in favour of more sophisticated entertainment, but they genuinely exhibit the performer's passion and enthusiasm. Most of them are played out before a completely silent audience, giving them an almost dream-like feel (indeed, several of the performances are played out as dreams), allowing us to focus entirely on the actual comedy routines, and also keeping us in suspense as to how the audience will actually react to what they are seeing. A very memorable routine has Calvero as a flea-trainer, an idea he recycled from an unfinished 1919 short, 'The Professor.' Buster Keaton's influence is really quite minimal Chaplin naturally gets most of the good gags but they work together so wonderfully that you wonder why they had never previously collaborated on any film projects. Chaplin's slow, mournful, sentimental score (also by Ray Rasch and Larry Russell) won him his only competitive Oscar, though it didn't come until 1973, one year after 'Limelight' finally made its Los Angeles debut.
Unlike his previous films, most of which found a delicate balance between pathos and humour, 'Limelight' pretty much disregards any major notions of slapstick comedy and focuses primarily on sentimentalism. With perhaps the exception of Frank Capra, Chaplin was the finest in Hollywood when it came to such things, and it's impossible not to feel for his Calvero, the aging comedy stage performer who is over-the-hill and struggling to adapt to changing times. Having descended into crippling bouts of alcoholism (he regularly claims that he needs to have alcohol in him to be funny on-stage), Calvero's life and career is slowly withering away, and his name despite being well-known and revered back in his day is now considered poison to organisers. The character is relatively autobiographical, offering an insight into the feelings and personalities of Chaplin, who was, just like Calvero, beginning to lose many of his once-devoted fans (in part, due to his attitudes toward World War II and America-Russia relations, which led to his being labeled a Communist sympathiser). These parallels were quite obviously intentional, with faded posters in Calvero's apartment declaring him to be the "tramp comedian," and the character remarking at one point that he enjoys street performances, perhaps because of "the tramp within me."
When he rescues a depressed ballet dancer, Terry (Claire Bloom), from committing suicide, Calvero convinces her that life truly is worth living, inspiring himself in the process. While Terry eventually achieves great success as a dancer, Calvero determines himself to captivate the audience once more, though his comedy routines often end disastrously, and he is simply unable to capture the magic of a passed era. This time, as the aging performer sinks into bouts of heavy drinking, it is up to Terry to return the favour to the man who saved her life, and she ultimately falls in love with Calvero, despite a massive age difference (this particular scenario, once again, mirrors one of Chaplin's own relationships, his (fourth) marriage to Oona O'Neill, 37-years his junior). Calvero's final performance is before a packed-house, accompanied by an old partner (played by fellow silent comedy genius, Buster Keaton, in their first and only appearance on screen together), and the pair finally receive the enthusiastic reception that they had waited so long to experience just once more.
There is something very bittersweet about Calvero's stage performances. They are so sweetly innocent that you can understand why an advancing society has shunned them in favour of more sophisticated entertainment, but they genuinely exhibit the performer's passion and enthusiasm. Most of them are played out before a completely silent audience, giving them an almost dream-like feel (indeed, several of the performances are played out as dreams), allowing us to focus entirely on the actual comedy routines, and also keeping us in suspense as to how the audience will actually react to what they are seeing. A very memorable routine has Calvero as a flea-trainer, an idea he recycled from an unfinished 1919 short, 'The Professor.' Buster Keaton's influence is really quite minimal Chaplin naturally gets most of the good gags but they work together so wonderfully that you wonder why they had never previously collaborated on any film projects. Chaplin's slow, mournful, sentimental score (also by Ray Rasch and Larry Russell) won him his only competitive Oscar, though it didn't come until 1973, one year after 'Limelight' finally made its Los Angeles debut.