We who have nothing implore you who have much.
I think this might be the message.
And yet, whatever the message, there is no denying the beauty of the department store scene.
The breathtaking Paulette Goddard, a grease-stained child of the streets, asleep beneath a fur coat on a feather bed.
Tucked in by The Little Tramp…only to be ripped from the bedrooms of the rich by that opening whistle.
It was a valiant stand.
At the lunch counter.
Ravenously eating tomorrow’s sandwiches. A piece of cake. Eat up!
It is sad. It brings me back. To art. To a time when a meal was a religious experience.
A moment of companionship shared by artists on the run.
But as Neil Young so wisely sings in the song “Ambulance Blues,”…”It’s easy to get buried in the past/when you try and make a good thing last.”
And so The Little Tramp would probably say, “Buck up, cowgirl!”
Indeed, it’s not the end of the world.
It ain’t over till Yogi Berra sings.
And Chaplin sings too.
Up till now he had no voice.
The purest artist going.
So entrenched that he continued with silent films well after their demise.
Yet this is really a sound film.
And, it really is (also), a silent film.
Most of all, it is a brilliant film!
She sleeps so cozy. Perhaps. In Denmark they would comment thusly. Hyggeligt.
Denmark…where amber washes up on the beach. Not ambergris…but that too.
And the sheer magnetism of Chaplin. All a’flurry on his rollerskates.
We “oooh” and we “ahhh” as he rides a wave of serendipity.
It’s not all smooth sailing for The Little Tramp, but it’s always interesting.
And so we can laugh with him.
And we can dream with the auteur Chaplin behind the camera…what vision to concoct such consolation for so many.
I can’t put it any better than that.