Charlie Chaplin: 100 years of silence

Charles Spencer Chaplin stands on the edge of the SS California, holding the railing. It’s a foggy September day in 1910, and the poor theatre performer from South London has just made his first journey across the Atlantic, aged 21. “America! I am coming to conquer you. Every man, woman and child shall have my name on their lips!”.  

Charlie Chaplin conquered America to conquer the world. By 1915, the planet’s population was just under two billion, over three-hundred million had seen a Charlie Chaplin film. Britain’s first silent film star had become the world’s most heard of performer. He was at the birth of Hollywood, and in the early stage of his career, he had the Midas Touch. So it’s only right, come 1925, that he makes The Gold Rush. Chaplin’s iconic, comedic masterpiece was written, performed, and directed by himself. It follows The Little Tramp, his famous recurring character, trying to strike gold in the Klondike Gold Rush of the late 1890s. 

He is of course renowned as a slapstick comedic performer. So, it may come as a surprise that many standout moments in The Gold Rush display Chaplin’s skill in subtler acting. Take the scene of the townhall dance: The Tramp enters a room of gleeful people dancing and socialising, and he is immediately different. He wants to join in, but doesn’t have the courage, so blends in instead. His desire for connection is only portrayed by the smallest facial movements, and his expression of sad, but optimistic, loneliness. His performance is so strong, that he is not only silent, but invisible. 

That’s not to say there isn’t a flurry of standout moments that fit the Charlie Chaplin stereotype. For example, when The Tramp and his gold mining partner are stuck in their cabin during a blizzard. Freezing and starving, The Tramp plates up his boot, and gives the leather to his larger friend. He is left with the laces, which he swirls up on his fork like a piece of spaghetti, and slurps down Lady and the Tramp (1955) style. It’s simple, but hilarious, even to a modern audience. The silence is there to make the laughter louder. 

In the background of The Gold Rush, you may spot a young extra named Lita Gray, Charlie Chaplin’s second wife. She was 15 and had known Chaplin since she was eight. He married her to prevent criminal prosecution after impregnating her. He was 35. This was not an isolated event in Chaplin’s life. His previous wife Mildred Harris was only 16 when Chaplin impregnated her, and his final wife was 18 when Chaplin married her at 53. 

Despite this appalling stain on Chaplin’s legacy, he and The Gold Rush are still celebrated to this day. It’s one of the 126 perfect films on Rotten Tomatoes, and was recently named by the BFI as one of the great films of 1925. Throughout history too: 1958 it was rated the second-best film ever at the Brussels World Fair, and in 1972 Chaplin received an honorary Oscar for his role in making cinema the artform of the century.  

So, while Chaplin is celebrated in the cinematic history books as one of the most influential figures his ghastly actions are like his films, kept silent. After 2018’s Me Too movement, we have become more aware of abusive figures, such as Chaplin, within the film industry. This that proves the institutional problem of powerful men taking advantage of vulnerable women and girls, is a historical one too.  

Charlie Chaplin is beloved, and for good reason. Film’s like The Gold Rush are fantastic, and have managed to retain their quality over the course of a century. People may be willing to overlook his atrocious behaviour in favour of pure appraisal for his creativity. But this is wrong. We can give Chaplin the praise he deserves, while equally, the criticism he is due.