The victory of the sound picture over the silent was a speedy and decisive one. The first full-length talkies were released in 1928. By 1929 theatres were being forced to convert to sound in order to stay in business. By 1930 silent film production by the major studios was completely discontinued and the medium became generally viewed as an anachronism. But in 1931 a new silent picture was released that, far from being an embarrassing failure, became the fourth-highest grossing picture of the year, being even more popular than such classics as the Bela Lugosi Dracula and The Public Enemy. The picture was City Lights and its producer, writer, director, editor, composer and star was Mr Charlie Chaplin.
Chaplin was of course primarily a comedian, and his humour was of broad appeal, but audiences of the time were not exactly starved of easy comedy. The Marx Brothers were making great strides on the verbal quipping front, and the ever-popular Laurel and Hardy had made a successful transition to sound. What makes Charlie stand out, and what gave him a level of accessibility that allowed him to continue with his slapstick antics well into the sound era, is his equal devotion to story which allowed him a scope for social commentary, empathetic characterisation and deep poignancy. Of all Chaplin's silent pictures, City Lights is probably his least memorable in the funny stakes. The number of classic gags here is fairly small. Not since The Kid a decade earlier has Chaplin given story so much precedence. City Lights is riddled with coincidence and plot contrivance, but it's a tale of such beauty and sincerity that this does not matter. Within this story, the comedy becomes functional, often serving to puncture a schmaltzy moment before it becomes overdone. Ironically it is the occasional forays into slapstick that help keep City Lights real.
As if to snub the talkie, City Lights is a remarkable achievement in complex visual narrative, even only occasionally relying upon title cards and then often only as an embellishment to the more comedy-driven moments. Most plot points and character traits are implied rather than stated, which gives the picture a continual smoothness – another thing that would have gone down well with audiences glad to see the back of the intrusive title card. Out of necessity Chaplin's technical approach is more overt than his usual. He often cuts to a close-up to give us a necessary reaction, and there are even some whip-pans in the scene where he and the flower girl first meet, but all of this is in keeping with the rhythm and tone of the picture. Those whip pans after all reflect an abrupt emotional moment, and are in no way a blatant or showy manoeuvre.
But what really makes City Lights work, what makes it connect, is the man himself on the screen. Those additional close-ups, once a rarity for a man who acted mainly with his body, now show off a capability for intense facial acting. An older, more meditative Chaplin may have been keeping the traditions of silent cinema alive, but his own career trajectory was entering new ground, where emotional expression was increasingly intimate and personal. The result is profoundly moving.
Chaplin was of course primarily a comedian, and his humour was of broad appeal, but audiences of the time were not exactly starved of easy comedy. The Marx Brothers were making great strides on the verbal quipping front, and the ever-popular Laurel and Hardy had made a successful transition to sound. What makes Charlie stand out, and what gave him a level of accessibility that allowed him to continue with his slapstick antics well into the sound era, is his equal devotion to story which allowed him a scope for social commentary, empathetic characterisation and deep poignancy. Of all Chaplin's silent pictures, City Lights is probably his least memorable in the funny stakes. The number of classic gags here is fairly small. Not since The Kid a decade earlier has Chaplin given story so much precedence. City Lights is riddled with coincidence and plot contrivance, but it's a tale of such beauty and sincerity that this does not matter. Within this story, the comedy becomes functional, often serving to puncture a schmaltzy moment before it becomes overdone. Ironically it is the occasional forays into slapstick that help keep City Lights real.
As if to snub the talkie, City Lights is a remarkable achievement in complex visual narrative, even only occasionally relying upon title cards and then often only as an embellishment to the more comedy-driven moments. Most plot points and character traits are implied rather than stated, which gives the picture a continual smoothness – another thing that would have gone down well with audiences glad to see the back of the intrusive title card. Out of necessity Chaplin's technical approach is more overt than his usual. He often cuts to a close-up to give us a necessary reaction, and there are even some whip-pans in the scene where he and the flower girl first meet, but all of this is in keeping with the rhythm and tone of the picture. Those whip pans after all reflect an abrupt emotional moment, and are in no way a blatant or showy manoeuvre.
But what really makes City Lights work, what makes it connect, is the man himself on the screen. Those additional close-ups, once a rarity for a man who acted mainly with his body, now show off a capability for intense facial acting. An older, more meditative Chaplin may have been keeping the traditions of silent cinema alive, but his own career trajectory was entering new ground, where emotional expression was increasingly intimate and personal. The result is profoundly moving.