Archive for Police

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.

Unstarry Nights

Posted in FILM, MUSIC, Painting with tags , , , , , , , on July 3, 2021 by dcairns

Maurice Pialat’s VINCENT is, for some reason, the first Pialat movie I’ve gotten around to. I’ve owned the Masters of Cinema Blu-ray of it, and POLICE, for ages. This should prompt me to watch more.

I mean, one could complain — the movie is long and often slow and one ends with no huge sense of understanding the main character — it’s not clear whether he’s ill or mad, his eventual suicide comes out of left field, and although he was clearly not a happy man, there’s no obvious MOTIVATION behind him suddenly shooting himself. So any desire for narrative neatness is defeated.

Pialat in interviews seems obviously complicated, a tricky customer, but he never says anything that would help guide you through his movie. He never discusses the large fictional elements he inserted into VVG’s life. Some of the movie’s deleted scenes seem like they might have helped a little, and that may be why they were deleted.

But it seems churlish to me to complain about the movie’s length (it’s not THAT long but it does SEEM quite long) when so much that’s good in it wouldn’t be there if there was a serious attempt to chip away everything that doesn’t look like a story. In the hostelry where VVG has taken a room, we see people in the back bar, and then a big hay cart comes by the window, VERY CLOSE.

(Had to photograph it off TV because I can’t frame-grab Blu-rays currently.)

“That’s amazing,” I said.

“I was about to say that,” said Fiona. But neither of us could decide exactly WHY it was amazing. The reverberant trundle and rattle of the cart in the night street is part of its gentle ominous loveliness. Certainly it relates to one of the film’s major strengths, its evocation of time and place. Without trying to transform the landscape into a Van Gogh painting, as Minnelli and Kurosawa in their own ways do, it creates an immersive beauty. Paul Verhoeven once said that when you make a period movie, you often can’t afford to pan an inch to the left or an inch to the right for fear of exposing something modern (CGI has almost removed that problem). Pialat’s filmmaking makes it feel like the painter’s world surrounds us completely, and everything we see is real.

He seems to have had a fair bit of money, but there are no Parisian street scenes, so the budget wasn’t unlimited. He’s just really good. The performances are startlingly informal, they feel present-tense but at the same time they’re never anachronistic (the prostitute singing Carmen with da-dum da-dum raunchiness). It puts you inside Van Gogh’s world but can’t or won’t put you inside his head. But it succeeds so exceptionally at the former that it still impresses no end.

Clip Joint

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 9, 2021 by dcairns

Essanay released TRIPLE TROUBLE in 1918, over two years after Chaplin had left the studio, and they claimed in advertisements that it was a complete Chaplin film they’d been hanging on to. In fact, it’s a couple of sequences from the abandoned feature LIFE, a few bits of POLICE, and the last shot of WORK, patched together with new footage specially filmed by Leo White.

Chaplin sued, arguing that this fraudulent Frankenstein of a film would damage his professional standing. Essanay successfully argued that critics, many of whom reviewed the film favourably, couldn’t tell the difference, and so neither could the public. So much for newspaper reviewers.

I’m writing about the film now since all the Chaplin footage in it was shot in 1915. I’m writing about it at all because it does include material, the LIFE outtakes, which is not available elsewhere. (Cutting together the scenes Chaplin himself repurposed for POLICE with the scenes here would give us a stronger idea of the unfinished movie’s narrative.)

The film begins with a chaotic series of random shots of context-free characters — a mad scientist, a count, a butler, a cook, Charlie and Edna as a skivvies. Which is pretty much how it continues. In the fuzzy print on YouTube, few intertitles seem to survive, so White’s plan, if he had one, is obscured. He himself is playing a count, though, and he’s trying to buy the radio-controlled explosives from the scientist. The scientist is refusing — we can imagine him saying “I intended my radio-controlled explosive to be used for peaceful means!” (credit to Simon Kane for this joke) — and so White seems to send hired thug Wesley Ruggles to achieve something or other.

As David Robinson says, some of White’s scene matching is quite clever — Charlie exits carrying a bin, and White cuts to new footage of himself in typical silk hat mode, walking down the street, only for the bin to rise over a high fence and tip its contents over him. The montage makes us believe Charlie is wielding the second bin, and that there’s in fact only one bin. As with his mangling of A BURLESQUE ON CARMEN, White is also reasonably adept at match-cutting entrances and exits filmed some time (two years?) apart. He doesn’t have much of the original cast to play with, but Billy Armstrong, extravagantly moustached, matches his own exits with new entrances and ties the various separately-shot sequences together, bodily. The trouble is, White — as we know from ABOC, is really shit at narrative.

Oh, he’s helped by something else — Wesley Ruggles apparently was to appear in LIFE as a thug, wearing the same costume he has on in POLICE, but with bigger fake eyebrows. And his trousers don’t seem to be torn yet in LIFE. Curiously, Chaplin shelved all the Ruggles material from LIFE, but kept other footage for use in POLICE, along with Ruggles and his pinstripes. So White is able to use film of Ruggles in both LIFE and POLICE (optically flipping the latter into Looking Glass Land, which shows a certain scrupulousness about disguising his perfidy) along with new material of Ruggles running around firing his gun indoors, which he cuts together with Charlie reacting in unflipped POLICE shots.

Actually, this may not even be Ruggles in the LIFE footage, just a guy wearing his suit.

None of this micro-cunning matters because on a macro level the film is a mess. But let’s look at the Chaplin bits.

The stuff in the house which isn’t from POLICE shows Charlie being incompetent with a bin, which he tips on Edna through carelessness. It’s not particularly inspired, and is interestingly mainly because we discover that, in LIFE, Charlie was to have worn a top with striped sleeves, revealed whenever he removed his tiny jacket. Why this insignificant change in the customary costume? We may never know.

The flophouse scenes, a different batch from POLICE’s, are much more interesting. In LIFE, there were apparently to have been two flophouse nights, a contrasting set. TT uses the second sequence, in which Charlie arrives with a cigar, probably filched from his new employer. He was penniless in the scene that appeared in POLICE, now he has money to hide from a thief who’s robbing the snoring schnorrers.

The IMDb mentions Snub Pollard, who’s evidently too well-disguised for me to identify, and also Albert Austin, in what would be his only Chaplin Essanay appearance, as “man.” Didn’t clock him either.

Ruggles’ motivation here is opaque, but he’s evidently a bad guy. No sympathetic character could sport such caterpillarish eyebrows.

Charlie is pretty nasty too, using one drunk’s mouth as an ashtray, and later silencing the fellow with one of Essanay’s sugar-glass beer bottles. It’s a return to the viciousness of THE PROPERTY MAN — interestingly, both derive from Chaplin’s early life experiences — the workhouse dormitory and backstage life. This seems to bring out his sadism.

“A laugh is an elegy for the death of an emotion” ~ Nietzsche.

“Chaplin is a very simple case. He is compelled to endlessly reenact the humiliations of poverty” ~ Freud.

There are more extravagantly outlandish rags being worn in this sequence — Chaplin could give Terry Gilliam a run for his money when it comes to using the homeless as set decoration.

I’m not 100% sure than Chaplin intended LIFE to be a feature, but that’s what the sources say. What survives looks like maybe half a two-reeler. Charlie struggles to get a place in the flophouse, then gets a job emptying bins at a house where Mabel works, returns to the flophouse (comparatively) flush with money.

The scientist thing is entirely White’s invention, but forms an interesting antecedent to Laurel & Hardy’s DIRTY WORK, where the boys are chimney cleaners arriving at the home of a mad scientist, an odd juxtaposition of story elements which may have been inspired by White’s desperately improvisations here.

The scientist’s invention is accidentally detanated at the “climax” of TRIPLE TROUBLE, a sequence which, for obvious reasons, barely involves Charlie. The most interesting shot in the film shows the kops (of course there are kops) apparently tumbling through the air, having been blasted skywards by the almighty boom. The crummy print and video interlacing render the image almost incoherent, but it seems like an interesting effect.

And then Charlie pokes his head from an oven, stolen from the end of WORK. Ruggles, in a new shot, lobs a brick at him — a callback to Keystone days — White cuts back to Charlie reacting to random rubble in WORK, and the thing ends.

I find repurposed footage movies sort of interesting, from WHAT’S NEW, TIGER LILY? to HERCULES UNCHAINED to DEAD MEN DON’T WEAR PLAID and TRAIL OF THE PINK PANTHER. They never really work, though. You would think that those which have the luxury of being able to shoot new material with some of the same actors would be the most coherent, but Blake Edwards and Leo White can prove the contrary.

On Sunday, we begin Chaplin’s Mutual period — I’m excited! These are the Charlie Chaplin films I grew up with, or failed to grow up with, on BBC2, accompanied by the Goed Nieuws Orkest. Alas, their lovely Chaplin violin theme is nowhere to be found today…