It is well known that this film was Chaplin's final bow in America, and in one way it could be said to be his final bow for England as well; that is, of course, the England which the comedian once knew. He'd left the country for money and fortune, and this is the end of it which never was. No, no, I'm not saying this was what Chaplin wanted to say with the film, because I don't think it is. But it's hard to not think in such terms when presented to Calvero, the sad, reflected, cheerful and extremely talented clown; the latter is particularly evident after he's had a drink. The clown is now washed-up and can't get work anywhere. Then one day he saves a young ballerina from committing suicide, and as he helps her along, eventually he comes to experience one final triumph in the limelight himself. Chaplin captures me completely in his obviously heartfelt role as Calvero, and the rest of the cast is excellent, including Claire Bloom as "Terry," Chaplin's son Sydney as the young musician, Stapleton Kent's somewhat humorous portrayal of manager Claudius, and of course, The Other Biggest Big of The Silent Clowns, Buster Keaton; a special mention goes to Marjorie Bennett as Mrs. Alsop.
Not only did Chaplin as always write and direct this film, he also composed the beautiful ballet to which Claire Bloom dances hypnotizingly. I am not much into ballet, but can't help the effect this one has on me, just as with the entire film. As Chaplin would say, "words seem so futile," and indeed they do as I try to cover what it is which makes me re-visit this film over and over, always wanting it to last longer. When I was in a very desperate stage of my hitherto brief life (20 next autumn), Calvero's speech to paralyzed Terry truly saved me. Most of us do insane things to reach happiness, and even insaner things when we fail in our attempts. Calvero should be here to tell us to quit it, and go on. After all, as long as we're conscious, we can still be in hysterics of laughter at Chaplin's act with Buster Keaton towards the end of this film.
Swedish critic and poet Lars Forssell has remarked that Chaplin with LIMELIGHT says little which he had not already expressed to greater effect in pantomime. I admire the work of Forssell, but think that he here overlooks a radical point; in fact, perhaps the major theme of the story. If we are to sum up the main elements provided in this film, we do indeed have a pretty typical Chaplin-film; a clown falls in love with a girl who in some way is superior to him, this time in the sense that she's got most of her future ahead, while he's old and ill. However, in previous films, Chaplin had been a clown with the mannerisms of a gentleman, always eager to explore further despite life's many defeats. Being a clown on the surface, the Tramp was playful, childish and acted pretty much by instinct. In this respect, Calvero represents his very counterpoint; he is not a fantasy figure able to survive anything as soon as he does a twist with his ankle, but a very real human being who has gained wisdom from the ups and, for the most part it seems, downs of life. We need to do nothing more complicated than viewing CITY LIGHTS as a contrast; whereas the Tramp had helped the blind by pretending to be someone else, Calvero accepted the world as it went, fighting back when he could, but admitting to be "an old sinner." For his entire career, Chaplin had played a clown, and this is his turn to wipe out the make-up and speak to us from underneath. If you think it gets too chatty, that's your problem. A clown is supposed to do pantomime on the stage. Here he's left it.
However, what is particularly fascinating with LIMELIGHT is that it not only speaks for Chaplin, but for the entire music hall-era in which the comedian laid the roots of his art; it is a work based upon a phenomenal life of first-hand experience, hence it does not feel more pretentious or self-centered than it should do. Calvero is the eternal sad clown, whose philosophy is carried through every performer who went the same way as him. (He does in fact bear characteristics of Chaplin's real-life father, who was once a top-bill performer on the stage himself, but eventually drank himself to death while Charlie was a boy.) Although at heart a tragedy, LIMELIGHT is, to me at least, one of the most uplifting films to watch when the clouds of life spread too much of shadow around; I can't say for sure if I'd have felt the same way if I was at Calvero's age, but I really believe there is some hope to be found for whoever needs it in this film. After all, Calvero finally made it, didn't he, even without happiness?
Not only did Chaplin as always write and direct this film, he also composed the beautiful ballet to which Claire Bloom dances hypnotizingly. I am not much into ballet, but can't help the effect this one has on me, just as with the entire film. As Chaplin would say, "words seem so futile," and indeed they do as I try to cover what it is which makes me re-visit this film over and over, always wanting it to last longer. When I was in a very desperate stage of my hitherto brief life (20 next autumn), Calvero's speech to paralyzed Terry truly saved me. Most of us do insane things to reach happiness, and even insaner things when we fail in our attempts. Calvero should be here to tell us to quit it, and go on. After all, as long as we're conscious, we can still be in hysterics of laughter at Chaplin's act with Buster Keaton towards the end of this film.
Swedish critic and poet Lars Forssell has remarked that Chaplin with LIMELIGHT says little which he had not already expressed to greater effect in pantomime. I admire the work of Forssell, but think that he here overlooks a radical point; in fact, perhaps the major theme of the story. If we are to sum up the main elements provided in this film, we do indeed have a pretty typical Chaplin-film; a clown falls in love with a girl who in some way is superior to him, this time in the sense that she's got most of her future ahead, while he's old and ill. However, in previous films, Chaplin had been a clown with the mannerisms of a gentleman, always eager to explore further despite life's many defeats. Being a clown on the surface, the Tramp was playful, childish and acted pretty much by instinct. In this respect, Calvero represents his very counterpoint; he is not a fantasy figure able to survive anything as soon as he does a twist with his ankle, but a very real human being who has gained wisdom from the ups and, for the most part it seems, downs of life. We need to do nothing more complicated than viewing CITY LIGHTS as a contrast; whereas the Tramp had helped the blind by pretending to be someone else, Calvero accepted the world as it went, fighting back when he could, but admitting to be "an old sinner." For his entire career, Chaplin had played a clown, and this is his turn to wipe out the make-up and speak to us from underneath. If you think it gets too chatty, that's your problem. A clown is supposed to do pantomime on the stage. Here he's left it.
However, what is particularly fascinating with LIMELIGHT is that it not only speaks for Chaplin, but for the entire music hall-era in which the comedian laid the roots of his art; it is a work based upon a phenomenal life of first-hand experience, hence it does not feel more pretentious or self-centered than it should do. Calvero is the eternal sad clown, whose philosophy is carried through every performer who went the same way as him. (He does in fact bear characteristics of Chaplin's real-life father, who was once a top-bill performer on the stage himself, but eventually drank himself to death while Charlie was a boy.) Although at heart a tragedy, LIMELIGHT is, to me at least, one of the most uplifting films to watch when the clouds of life spread too much of shadow around; I can't say for sure if I'd have felt the same way if I was at Calvero's age, but I really believe there is some hope to be found for whoever needs it in this film. After all, Calvero finally made it, didn't he, even without happiness?