Archive for Marta Golden

The Further Adventures of Commodore Slick

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 12, 2021 by dcairns

Last we saw, Charlie was waking up in a strange bed. “This is not my beautiful house,” sings David Byrne in the movie trailer. (Why do trailer editors keep doing that?)

We’re at about 11.30 in the above.

Albert Austin, with his upper lip uncharacteristically nude, enters as a butler. Charlie receives fine clothes. Impostures and mistaken identities are as central to Chaplin’s work as they are to Wodehouse’s. Wodehouse may have felt like an imposter in the upper class scenes he described. Chaplin surely must have sometimes felt he didn’t belong amid the riches of Hollywood. And, though his screen character had a magical transformative power — he becomes a lampstand in this one — the comedy demands that he should struggle to adapt his behaviour to such settings.

Eric is flirting with Edna, but his hideous bifurcated beard is tickling her bare arm. The conjoined beard makes him look like two Rasputins standing close together, (each with one eye closed). A hopeless romantic prospect in any sane world.

Attired in a tux, but with giant flapshoe boots, our man descends to join the other guests. The name’s Chaplin. Charlie Chaplin.

Charlie has the same approach as me when it comes to free drink. When there’s free drink, one should attempt to drink all of it, because later there will be no free drink. This approach has a flaw in it somewhere, but looking at it in black and white (or white and black) I’m not sure just what it is.

Albert Austin’s role here, as ever, is to stand by looking vaguely appalled. He’s great at it. Chaplin relies a little less on a stock company from here on, or at least he mixes things up more, but Austin will still be around.

Edna welcomes Charlie eagerly — he’s rescued her from drowning and now he’s rescuing her from a tickly beard. Eric and Charlie square off. We get another iteration of Chaplin’s cigar-burn gag, a rather ouchy piece of supposed slapstick that’s fallen well out of favour today. The last comic cigar burn I recall was in TIME BANDITS, and there David Rappaport merely singed little Craig Warnock’s hair by mistake, and apologised afterwards.

A bit of arse-kicking here, which is funnier because it’s being done covertly. A curtain is introduced so the men can boot each other from adjoining rooms. Since Chaplin gets many effects using contrast, his traditional arse-kick gets funnier when performed in polite circles, discreetly between pleasantries. Also, an innocent party gets kicked, by Eric, naturally.

Henry Bergman is Edna’s dad, his second role in this one. Usually if he’s doubling up, one role will be in drag, but only social class and an inextinguishable pipe separate his twin characters here.

Eric discovers Charlie’s secret: the newspaper carries a story on the recent escapee, complete with incriminating mug shot. Note that Chaplin is quite keen to keep his character nameless. Here, he’s Convict 23, alias “The Eel,” and at the party he’s assumed the pseudonym of Commodore Slick.

Eric resolves to expose his rival, but foolishly leaves Charlie alone with the newspaper. When he presents it, triumphantly, to his fellow guests, it’s been cunningly altered.

Hilariously, the beard is clearly not drawn on to the photograph: Chaplin has had two photos taken and printed up as two newspapers, only in one of them he’s wearing Campbell’s beard.

Unlike in most Hollywood movies, the full text of the news article seems to have been typed out — it doesn’t turn into Latin when the print gets small, it doesn’t turn into a completely unrelated story. “Officials Completely Baffled.” Chaplin has anticipated that I will be freezeframing his work 105 years later. Further evidence of time travel to compliment that woman with the cell phone.

The threat seemingly defused, “Commodore Slick” mingles, continuing to soak up all the free drink he can swipe, even tipping the contents of Loyal Underwood’s glass into his own.

Meanwhile, one of the prison guards from reel one is being entertained by the cook. This twist is borrowed from POLICE and THE COUNT — cooks may be relied upon to entertain kops and the like, bringing fresh jeopardy into the scenario. It’s hardly necessary here. But since the guard is an interloper it not only adds jeopardy, it produces the irony of the guard hiding from Charlie rather than the other way around. The natural order is subverted. We’re through the looking glass here, folks.

Charlie is left on edge. This guard is prowling around the house. Every champagne cork is now a threatening shotgun. With relief, he allows himself to be escorted upstairs to the ballroom by Edna.

Unknown Chaplin reveals that the director considered two added elements for the ballroom, but deleted both. There was to be a sexy Spanish dancer, and a malfunctioning radiator. Charlie would find himself getting hot under the collar, think it’s the result of the tarantella lady, then discover he’s sat next to the radiator which is spurting steam up him. You can still see the radiator, but he deleted this curious gag.

Instead, he disinterestedly contemplates sticking a pin in a big lady’s backside, but doesn’t, only because Edna’s watching. We’re all glad he restrained himself. This kind of active malice is being eliminated.

Meanwhile, Eric phones the prison with a tip-off.

The ballroom has provided only spot gags, but a more promising invention is the balcony/ice cream gag. Chaplin wrote a fairly long analysis of this for the press, emphasising that dropping ice cream down the back of a fat lady’s dress works on TWO LEVELS.

Firstly, the audience is familiar with the cold wetness of ice cream, so they can relate to the gag on a tactile level. He compares this to the gooeyness of the cream pies of yore, harking back to some mythical, prelapsarian age of incessant pie throwing which seems to have been a dim cinematic memory even in 1917. Which is curious, because film historians have found no evidence that it ever really happened.

Secondly, dignified fat rich ladies are fair game. Like rich men in silk hats, the exaggerated dignity of the dowager demands to be taken down a peg or three. So the gag combines, in dynamic tension, the opposite qualities of empathy and alienation. Surprise and not-me.

(All explanations of comedy are only partial at best, and so the one devised by the desensitized dystopia-dwellers of Nigel Kneale’s TV play The Year of the Sex Olympics is as good as any: a gag must be surprising, and it must be befalling someone else.)

But what makes the ice cream gag funny in this case, is its effect on Eric Campbell. He’s just teased the dowager with his ice cream spoon on her bare back, and been gently scolded, but it’s all in good fun.

Then Charlie has an ice cream accident, depositing the whole of his dessert down the front of his trousers. This is traumatic enough to provoke a sympathy-seeking glance at his chums in the audience ~

The ice cream globule completes a shiversome odyssey down the baggy pants leg, and is chuted out by trouser cuff over the edge of the balcony — SPLAT!

The poor lady gets the dairy bombshell down her dress, and Eric gets the blame. “You’ve gone too far this time, Campbell!” His shamed squirming is very funny, and he’s a much more deserving victim than the lady. She’s just collateral damage. His attempts to help out, rolling up a sleeve to retrieve the offending item like some dapper veterinary surgeon, get him deeper into social disgrace.

Very funny reaction when she sits down. You can tell exactly where the melting ice cream has gotten to, just from her acting.

And this is the same woman Eric kicked earlier, doubling his disgrace.

But who is it? The IMDb has May White, the big lady from A BURLESQUE ON CARMEN, in this, but she’s not. But the IMDb is fatally confused about White, misattributing one of her roles in A NIGHT IN THE SHOW. I *think* this is Marta Golden, playing Edna’s mother, in which case it’s quite strong mistreatment for a heroine’s mother. But Chaplin could be like that.

Edna, incidentally, has not much of a role in this one — the romance doesn’t really develop into anything we care about, maybe because Chaplin knew he was going to end it by running away.

Nicely judged aftermath to the ice cream incident. Charlie hastily leads Edna back into the ballroom, Loyal Underwood innocently wanders out onto the balcony, and Edna’s dad comes up and assaults him in vengeance for the ice cream drop. Charlie watches nervously — NOT gleefully, as he had as recently as THE RINK, when someone else gets the blame for his blunders. The character, and Chaplin’s grasp of him, keeps improving.

Frank Coleman and his prison guards turn up en masse. An absolutely brilliant chase ensues — it’s the opening pursuit restaged for a house. Suddenly all the features of the home reveal themselves as having been chase-landscape-in-waiting. The staircase allows Charlie to run up, vault off, and hide under the grand piano while his persecutors pursue thin air. The lampshade can be placed over his head as a cunning disguise (the first time this was done?). The balcony can be leapt off of, Fairbanks-fashion.

A chaste kiss on Edna’s cheek is a nod to romance. Then Eric, throwing off the shackles of civilisation amid the melee, attempts to seize Edna, so Charlie lays him out with arse-kick, lampshade over head, and a slug to the massive gut that makes the antagonist collapse like a dynamited tower block.

Charlie makes some noble and romantic declarations to Edna — think of the lines Chaplin overdubbed on THE GOLD RUSH if you like: “I am going, but when I return, I shall come back again.”

He flees, taking the lampshade with him.

But we’re not done. Coleman chases Charlie back upstairs, and the ballroom’s sliding doors are turned to Charlie’s advantage. The best architecture-as-gag yet. It builds fast and brilliantly. The doors, refusing to behave like normal doors (Charlie’s only just gotten used to hinges) are at first a menace, then a weapon. By the time our hero has used Coleman’s stolen handcuffs to trap both a revived Eric and Coleman himself, a disembodied head and a matching headless body, things have reached an intense pitch of invention, panic and hilarity. It takes less than a minute but it’s absolutely perfect.

There’s only one more gag. Edna spurns Commodore Slick, who is now unmasked as the mere Eel. No time for pathos, though. Collared by Coleman, Charlie uses the airs and graces of the class system to make his escape: formally introduced to Edna, Coleman has no choice but to take her hand, at which point our man legs it.

You could make a case that having Edna play a more active, willed role in Charlie’s escape would be much better from a character arc viewpoint. Instead, Charlie/Chaplin kind of reduces her to another prop.

The abrupt fadeout leaves us laughing, though I could probably do with a shot of Convict 23 on the open road, heading for the sunset. But there’ll be time for that later.

The Sunday Intertitle: Imposture Exercises

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 11, 2021 by dcairns

THE ADVENTURER marks the end of Chaplin’s amazing run at Mutual. It also marks the end of his collaboration with his Goliath, Eric Campbell, and of Campbell’s life.

Nobody got hurt making these films, Chaplin reports, except Chaplin himself, who received a cut requiring stitches after a mishap with the bendy streetlight on EASY STREET. Offscreen, it was another matter. Campbell’s wife died suddenly of a heart attack. His teenage daughter was struck by a car and seriously injured. All within a couple of months. His drinking got out of hand. He met a girl at a party and married her five days later. Within two months, she sued for divorce. Driving home drunk from a cast party after making THE ADVENTURER, Campbell crashed and was killed. He was thirty-seven. There were two other women in the car, whose fates seem to be generally not recorded.

The “gentle giant” monicker is often used to describe Campbell. Even his last wife, seemingly a gold-digger, alleged profanity and drunkenness in the divorce, rather than violence. But I’m a bit cross with him for throwing his life away and depriving his daughter of a father and maybe getting other people killed too. But the man was grieving — in a very Hollywood way.

The movie opens with Charlie on the lam — a good start. It mirrors the prison release at the start of POLICE, and sets up the character’s rootlessness in a fresh way. He’d return to the idea in THE PILGRIM. Although, despite said rootlessness, Charlie emerges from the ground like a stripey tuber. Fiona’s interpretation was that he’d burrowed out of prison, whereas I figure he’s escaped by some unspecified means and buried himself in the sand to elude his pursuers. Of course he emerges looking down the barrel of Frank J. Coleman’s shotgun. If there is a gun barrel around, Charlie will find himself looking down it.

Actually, Charlie most resembles a crab at this moment, a pair of ragged claws and a head, the same bits he’s reduced to in the dance of the bread rolls (THE GOLD RUSH). He tries to rebury himself but that just underscores the impossibility of him having completely buried himself in the first place. In a nice gag, he flees, leaving a good hole in the sand for Colemanto fall into.

Then he scampers up a steep incline with the aid of a little wirework. Coleman doesn’t have a wire so the hefty circus clown struggles to follow, while Charlie watches from the cliff edge, clapping politely at the perspiring prison guard’s efforts. And another guard creeps up behind him…

There follows one of those slow-burn discoveries… Jackie Coogan does roughly the same thing with a looming kop in THE KID. The initial discovery is tactile. Then the brain puts together, from the initial touch, the potential outlines of an antagonist, confirmed by some exploratory groping. One doesn’t want to use the eyes yet because it would be too alarming to see the fellow, and it would mean he could see YOU.

Diving through the guard’s legs, Charlie knocks him off the cliff by butting him on the butt with his butt. Off course he slides down the sandy face and crashes into Coleman.

This is a bravura sequence of fleeing, ducking, diving, butting. Many variations on a limited set of moves. The reason for the lack of on-set injuries, Chaplin says, is that they rehearsed everything like a dance. And like a dance, the comedy is made up of recurring movements. Charlie engages so well with kids because he’s childlike himself, usually dwarfed by his opponents and armed only with cheek, and because of this repetition-with-variations. Little kids especially love repetition.

All this was shot on the Sierra Madre coast, a favourite location of John Carpenter — see also THE FOG, for instance. The next sequence was shot last, as Chaplin needed a bridging scene to join together the two main parts of his film.

Charlie escapes the guards, for now, by diving into the sea. They pursue with a handy boat but a huge wave immediately slaps them all underwater.

Cut to Venice, California, per the IMDb. A location familiar to Chaplin from the Tramp’s first appearance, but we’re now on a pier rather than at a race track, where Eric Campbell is pitching woo to Edna Purviance. She is invited to admire his bicep. But suddenly Edna’s mother is drowning! One of those long, drawn-out drownings which invites the participation of a rescuer. Eric stalls and blusters. Edna heroically but not so brightly dives in herself, and commences to drown also.

A collapsing railing now precipitates heavyweights Campbell and Henry Bergman, as a pipe-puffing stoic, into the drink. Now everyone is drowning, except the buoyant Bergman, who simply relaxes in the water, exhaling clouds of improbable tobacco smoke.

Fortuitously, Charlie happens along. “I don’t mind coincidence,” he said of his unlikely plotting, “but I despise convenience.” Vince Gilligan, Breaking Bad creator, put it less epigrammatically when he said that wild coincidences are fine as long as they make things worse. Problems must be solved with engenuity equal to the craziness of the original coincidence, not with more coincidence. It has to be said, this moment is pretty convenient. Charlie has stolen a bathing costume so he doesn’t attract suspicion. He swims up to Edna’s mum but, like a particular fisherman, rejects her in favour of Edna. Charlie’s diving and life-saving technique is quite poor, but he gets the job done. Then he must go back for mom (Marta Golden from WORK and A WOMAN). Finally Eric is hauled to the pier by his elaborate Middle Earthian beard. Henry B. is left contentedly bobbing on the brine.

There’s a magnificently mean gag where Charlie lifts one end of Big Eric’s stretcher and unintentionally tips him back into the ocean. Very Simpsons, somehow. It follows the lesson Chaplin has learned that his nastiest mistreatment of other characters should be purely accidental, brought about by the Little Fellow’s fundamental fecklessness, with the only malice being behind the camera and in the audience.

The documentary series Unknown Chaplin shows an outtake where Eric’s mountainous belly causes him to get stuck under the fence, rather than sliding smoothly to sea like a liner.

Eric, in a feat of perfidy beyond even his usual infamous behaviour, callously kicks his rescuer, Charlie, off the pier ladder and leaves him to perish. He even shakes a fist at the waterlogged wretch, adding insult to fatal injury.

There now follows a kind of guest appearance. The opulent Locomobile into which the half-drowned parties are loaded is Chaplin’s own, recently-purchased limo driven, and it’s driven by Toraichi Kono his Japanese chauffeur, who now rescues Charlie. This is his only appearance in a film, because his wife objected to this low-grade kind of activity. But Tom Harrington, Chaplin’s valet, can be seen at the end of THE IMMIGRANT as the snooty clerk at the marriage bureau, and later in SUNNYSIDE.

Charlie is now conveyed to Edna’s rich parents’ house. He’s able to claim that his clothes are all “on his yacht”. Exhausted by his ordeal he awakens in a guest bedroom, where his stripey pajamas and the bars of the bedstead suggest to him at first that he’s back in the clink. A really nice touch.

Now, since this film, like several Chaplin two-reelers, falls neatly into two halves, and since I have some editing to do, I’m going to continue this tomorrow. Hope to see you then.

The Sunday Intertitle: Promising a Young Woman

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 16, 2021 by dcairns

A WOMAN was Charlie’s last drag act, building on earlier entries at Keystone. The versions on YouTube are sadly defective — the restored version is there with annoying pop-ups, and my internet connection was playing up, making the action herky-jerky, ruining the smooth movement. The unrestored one is missing the sarcastic opening intertitle. Still, proper movement is essential, so I watched that one. I should really have bought the box set for this project… maybe I will for the Mutual films.

Edna Purviance is in the park with her folks, silk-hatted swell Charles Inslee (the boss in WORK) whose moustache has a remarkable wingspan, and Marta Golden (the deshabille housewife, also in WORK). The parents are snoring unattractively until Inslee spies a floozy (Margie Reiger) and sneaks off to woo her.

The park this time is Lincoln Park, LA. Chaplin now has a new studio, Majestic, nearishby on Fairview Avenue. Seems to be less draughty.

Here comes Charlie now — backlit, seen through the haze of a lawn sprinkler, the sun eating away at his familiar silhouette to make it strange, spidery. It suddenly doesn’t feel like him.

Then he’s flirting rather creepily with Reiger and, yes, that’s Charlie all right. His cane has a life of its own, snagging her ankle and dragging her off the bench, tripping him at the same time.

Inslee, barging in, jealously brains the Little Fellow with a bottle and Charlie stiffens into rigor mortis, with the odd inverted spasm thrown in. Slowly crawling back to consciousness, he’s joined on the bench by two more twerps in toppers, regular co-stars Leo White and Billy Armstrong (puffing out his chest to create a very particular type). Leo has no reason to be in the film at all, but he was a valued co-star, so Chaplin tries to find him some work.

More bottle-smashing on the noggins. Sugar glass seems to be a new discovery for CC — at least I HOPE it’s sugar glass — maybe it was something Majestic Studios made on-site?

Charlie’s first female impersonation in the film comes here — Inslee is playing blind-man’s-bluff with Eiger, who’s wandered off, and when Charlie steals his (root?) beer, he thinks its her.

Charlie now follows the dictum about revenge being a dish best served cold: he leads Inslee by the crook of his cane up to a pond, testing the water to make sure it’s deep enough… at a carefully planned moment he lets CI remove his eye-mask, then smashes him with his own bottle and kicks him into the drink. He doesn’t mess about… except in the sense that everything he does is messing about.

A kop shows up, doing the dramatic knee-bend thing that British bobbies are famed for. Never seen it in a US film (and never understood its meaning). Did Charlie instruct him in this? Neither IMDb nor Wiki seem to have identified this actor. It’s not Paddy McGuire and I don’t think it’s Lloyd Bacon. Obviously a good trick falls man by the way Charlie judo-throws him into the pond after Inslee.

As for Reiger, Wiki says: “Margie Reiger, the youthful actress who played the pretty girl in the park, is a bit of a mystery. Her acting credits show 13 appearances in silent films—all in 1915. Why her career suddenly ended and what became of her is unknown. Furthermore, no researcher has been able to find a date of birth or death for her.”

The mystery would be accounted for, but not dispelled, by the use of a stage name.

Note that when Charlie throws the kop into the water, his derby follows — clearly unplanned. But Chaplin makes a bit of business of it, rescuing the hat with a deft swipe of his cane. Who wants to wait around while your supporting cast dry out for a retake? Just plough through it, it’ll work.

Mystery solved, I think: when the cop staggers out of the lake, he has Billy Armstrong’s face. Armstrong playing two roles, kop and souse in topper? With almost the same moustache?

Charlie is now flirting with Marta Golden, but mainly, one suspects, so that he can subcontract his flirting in Edna’s direction, Humber Humbert fashion. Despite his appearance, it seems we’re not meant to see him as a tramp here, since the women seem flattered by his attentions, which tends not to happen if you’re a tramp, even an unusually pixieish one. Now that I get a better look at him, Charlie is smarter than usual — same basic costume, just neater, less ragged versions of the familiar baggy pants etc.

The girls invite Charlie home. Odd. But who are we to judge? Let him that is without sin cast the first cream pie. Elaborate flirtation: a doughnut briefly becomes a wedding ring.

Meet papa: Charlie’s double-take when he realises Edna’s dad is the bloke he kicked backwards into a duck pond is a form of comedy we don’t generally see him do. His features are more antically mobile in these early shorts, but this is a real gawp, the jaw dropping as the blood rushes from his face and then his knees go noodle-limp…

FIGHT! Charlie is literally flung about by his face, then goes into the strangling routine he’d refine to whiplash-perfection later with Eric Campbell. He retaliates with condiments. Armstrong joins the fray and Charlie loses his trousers.

I definitely never imagined his underwear looking like THAT. I mean, I hadn’t given the matter much thought, but I suppose if I’d had to write a piece o speculative slash fiction I’d have gone for boxer shorts with a polka dot motif. Something generic. There are… weird. Long johns with big baggy underpants worn over them? Maybe the pants are a bathing costume? But they’re pinned to his thighs, somehow?

So now Charlie has simply no choice but to drag up. Of course.

“Censors initially refused permission for A Woman to be shown in Great Britain. The reason is not entirely clear, but it could have been because a married man is trying to seduce a much younger woman or because of the transvestitism hinted at by Charlie disguising himself as a female. The ban on the film was lifted in 1916.”

Given the nature of the British music hall, the British panto, and British life in general, the idea that Charlie’s innocuous drag act got the film banned seems preposterous. I think his peculiar taste in underthings is a better explanation. Although the scene where he undresses a tailor’s mannequin (having first started in alarm at the headless apparition) with the sleazy delicacy of a seasoned seducer does seem rather censorable. Charlie makes people into objects and objects into other objects or else people, and so we can SEE the imaginary girl he’s denuding here. Suggestive mime.

Charlie in full femme costume WITH toothbrush ‘tache IS rather subversive and scandalous, unexpectedly. Ron Mael solemnity. His unique walk acquires a wiggle. But it’s the same walk, now rendered feminine and sexy. Luckily for him, the first member of the household to see him is Edna, who laughs herself sick (good mime from E.P.) She advises him to shave off the crepe.

After a couple of awkward cutaways of the kind he used whenever a sequence needed an excuse to be shorter, Charlie is now transformed into Anita Loos as Prince, and is so gorgeous he has to give himself a rare closeup to exploit it. If this is the reason for the UK ban, it says a lot about how uncomfortable Charlie’s feminine side made the bluenose brigade.

Charlie, who had been barely competent when male — unable to operate simple objects like soda syphons without dousing himself, now becomes elegant, chic. True, he can’t walk in heels, but he makes not being able to walk look good.

More transgression — he gets Edna to kiss him, and they dissolve in sapphic giggles, two schoolgirls experiencing their first “pash”.

Now Charlie’s flirting with Edna’s dad. Is this what TEOREMA is like?

Now Billy Armstrong is also smitten. Chaplin comes from the same music hall tradition that leads to the CARRY ON films, where an ugly man dresses up as a woman and all the men fancy him. It’s stupid comedy about male stupidity. But how does it work when the man is beautiful, but disguised to look less so, and then when he’s a woman he’s REALLY beautiful? It’s a lot less silly.

The loveplay with Armstrong alternates endearments from BA and violent, Miss Piggy type thumps from she-Charlie. And Armstrong kisses Charlie, which one can imagine the bluenoses getting flustered about. But you’d think they’d snip the shot — so it can wind up on Philippe Noiret’s outtakes reel — rather than outlawing the whole movie.

Can I just ask who Charlie’s dress originally belonged to? He’s half the thickness of Edna and a third that of her mum…

Charlie’s skirt falls down and somehow Edna’s dad realises he’s a man. Because those are men’s pants? But are they? They don’t even look human to me.

The film now plunges into a strange section where Charlie attempts to unite the feuding family, get everyone’s forgiveness, and ask Edna’s hand in marriage. Father is flabbergasted or fathergasted, but eventually yields, showing that he can take a joke. He offers Charlie his hand in friendship. Then, after stretching this fake-out just past the point where you suspect anything, Chaplin has dad kick him up the arse, deliver a fantastic roundhouse slap to his face, and boot him out into the street, where he joins the previously ejected Armstrong.

This is one of my favourite endings to date. The structure and plausibility of the films to date is erratic enough that the idea of dad welcoming Charlie into the bosom of the family is just about believable as an unbelievable ending Chaplin might have gone for, so the surprise really works. And we’re not emotionally invested enough in the romance for it to matter that things don’t pan out between Edna and her skeezy, cross-dressing beau. A lot of the earlier films, especially the early Keystones, just end on a random gag, as if anything that gets a laugh will do as resolution, but this one genuinely finishes the film off. Chaplin has begun to understand and care about structure.

Now to see what he can do with it.