The Circus (1928)

The Circus (1928)

Written and directed by Charlie Chaplin

Runtime: 1 hr, 11 min

As goes my motto, “I need to watch more silent movies.”  I find unacceptable that I didn’t see a silent picture until the summer before my senior year of high school (Speedy).  I find it unacceptable that I’ve only seen Buster Keaton in a cameo role in Around the World in 80 Days.  I could go on, but the question always on my mind regarding the subject is, “Why haven’t I viewed more Chaplin movies?”  After all, I’ve seen two and liked both; what am I waiting for?  Well, here’s to addressing that issue, and here’s a review of The Circus.

Chaplin, who wrote, directed, produced and later composed the score for the movie, stars as the Tramp.  After a run-in with the authorities rife with laugh-out-loud pratfalls, the Tramp winds up at a circus, which is struggling to get the audience to laugh.  Chaplin’s efforts to evade the cops, however, bring down the house, and the ring master (Allan Garcia) offers him a job.  The Tramp accepts and soon falls in love with Merna (Merna Kennedy), the ring master’s mistreated step-daughter.  Being a Chaplin film, hilarity ensues.

And hilarity does indeed ensue, but there’s a twist to this story.  See, the Tramp is only an accidental comedic genius.  When the ring master has him audition with the clowns, he has no idea what he’s doing.  Therefore, the Tramp must be put into situations where he must improvise his survival.  There’s a bit of dissonance at work—the audience is supposed to believe that Charlie Chaplin isn’t a natural funnyman.  Yet Chaplin pulls it off, largely because his failure to be funny is itself hilarious: never give clueless actors shaving cream, am I right?

Furthermore, the times where the Tramp is funny on accident are uproarious.  My personal favorite sequence occurs early in the film, where the Tramp is hiding from the cops in a funhouse.  Caught outside, he pantomimes being one the robotic figurine on the funhouse with such precision and timing—with punctuation from the score—that the feat alone is a riot.  He’s forced to work on the spot, which in some ways mirrors Chaplin’s method of filmmaking, where improvising from a vague premise was a frequent tool.

This contrasts nicely with the atmosphere of the circus, which is tightly managed and authoritarian.  It’s telling that before the Tramp arrives, the circus performance scenes are shot largely from backstage, highlighting the artificial nature of the material.  It is only when the Tramp barges in and inadvertently shines a light on the machinery (such as accidently activating the magician’s apparatus) that the audience begins to laugh.  In fact, by making the Tramp an unconscious comedian, Chaplin may be arguing for an unscripted form of comedy.

Arguments about the nature of comedy aside, The Circus can also be enjoyed as a fairly straightforward love story with a slew of zany hijinks thrown in for good measure.  Despite some early brusqueness towards her, the Tramp quickly takes a shine to Merna and stands up to her abusive stepfather.  However, when Rex (Harry Crocker), a new tightrope act, arrives at the circus, Merna is immediately drawn to him.  The Tramp doesn’t take to kindly to this; he wishes for Rex to take a spill on the tightrope while he and Merna watch the show.

This incident indicates that the Tramp is not a flawless figure and Chaplin’s reactions as he watches Rex go a long way to humanizing his character.  Sure, I love how the way the Tramp eludes the authorities casts the powers that be as incompetent and wrongheaded, but at the same time it’s good to see the scrappy everyman with legitimate faults.  In the end, though, one can count on the Tramp to do the right thing, get well away from the police’s path, and make the audience fall from their seats in mirth.

Chaplin’s so good in this role that the rest of cast suffers by comparison.  Garcia plays the typical mustachioed villain, Kennedy is charming but a little bland as the stepdaughter, and while Crocker has his moments, he doesn’t get enough time on screen to flesh out a fully formed character.  That they don’t turn in great performances does drag down the more pathos driven sequences of the film, but I realize that to do more justice to these roles would mean diluting the screen presence of Chaplin—and that is, after all, why we ultimately are here.

Yes, the audience is here because of Chaplin, and Chaplin delivers the goods.  I’m not sure what else the audience would be able to ask for.  Sure, The Circus doesn’t have the same social awareness as the other two films I’d seen (The Kid and The Great Dictator), but then, this film, like the title attraction, exists to entertain.  And it does precisely that.  If you are like me, then you will be laughing, laughing, pondering the film’s position on the role of spontaneity in comedy, and laughing.