10 Films to Watch if You Like: Limelight

Given the events of recent days, which have seen the passing of Queen Elizabeth II and the accession of King Charles III, it seems fitting for Cinema Paradiso to bridge the span of the last 70 years by recalling a film that was made in 1952. It also marked the end of one era and the start of another and its legacy continues to endure into the second decade of the 21st century.

By 1952, the man who had once been the most famous person on the planet was at a crossroads. Charles Chaplin's personal reputation had been besmirched during two trials relating to his relationship with Joan Barry, an actress half his age who had been placed under contract with a view to starring in the unrealised 1942 feature, Shadow and Substance. Moreover, his politics were under scrutiny, as the FBI had opened an official file after Chaplin had campaigned throughout the Second World War for Britain and the United States to support the Soviet Union in its fight against Nazism. He had also made evident his disdain for the House UnAmerican Activities Committee that was investigating Communism in Hollywood.

As if things weren't bad enough, Chaplin was still recovering from the first critical and commercial setback of his entire career. He had earned an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor for his dual performance as a Jewish barber and Adenoid Hynkel, the tyrannical ruler of Tomania, in The Great Dictator (1940), which had openly mocked German leader Adolf Hitler and had done much to prepare the United States for its entry into the Second World War. But Monsieur Verdoux (1947), a dark comedy about a French serial killer, had failed to find favour and Chaplin had greeted the backlash by condemning the HUAC and insisting that he was a 'peacemonger' rather than a covert supporter of Joseph Stalin and his regime.

As he started work on Limelight (1952), Chaplin no longer felt at home in the country where he had lived and worked (without ever taking citizenship) for almost four decades. He sensed it would be his last film in Hollywood and perhaps even his cinematic swan song. Consequently, he decided to tell the story of a once celebrated clown who had fallen on hard times. Rather than set the action in the present, however, Chaplin returned to 1914, the year that had seen him cross the Atlantic in the hope of making a living through laughter.

The Kid From Kennington

Charles Spencer Chaplin was born in London on 16 April 1889 to music-hall singer Charles Chaplin and onetime performer Hannah Hill. When his increasingly alcoholic father drifted away, Charlie lived in Kennington with his mother and half-brother, Sydney. Another half-sibling, Wheeler, was raised by his entertainer father, Leo Dryden. Hannah's fragile mental health meant that the young Chaplin spent periods in workhouses and pauper schools before he eventually followed his parents on to the stage.

Having debuted at the age of five, he joined the clog-dancing troupe, Eight Lancashire Lads, before landing his first acting role in Jim, A Romance of Cockayne in 1903. He had more luck playing Billy the page boy in a touring production of Sherlock Holmes, alongside the first actor to take the role, William Gillette. But Charlie's ambition was to become a comic like his brother Sydney.

In 1908, Sydney wangled Charlie into Fred Karno's company and he soon became one of its star turns. Indeed, when Karno sent a party to the United States in 1910, Chaplin made the cut, along with newcomer Stan Laurel. Despite being away from London for 21 months, Chaplin couldn't wait to return and his second visit Stateside brought about a meeting with Mack Sennett, the Canadian who had cornered the market in film slapstick. Cinema Paradiso users can discover some of his knockabout capers in Robert Youngson's wonderful anthology, When Comedy Was King (1960), The Keystone Comedies and in the two volumes of Keystone Komedies 1 and 2.

Having made his screen bow in Henry Lehrman's Making a Living (1914), Chaplin rapidly became Keystone's biggest star. His outings can be seen on the BFI's four-disc set, Chaplin At Keystone (2010). During his time at the studio, Chaplin began to devise his own scenarios and direct the action himself. Such was the demand for his two-reelers that he didn't have long to refine the gags. But he had impeccable comic instincts and had studied Karno alumni like Fred Kitchen and Billie Ritchie, as well as French film icon Max Linder, whose work can be found among the six superb volumes in the Retour de Flamme series. Moreover, Chaplin had created a recurring character, whose everyman struggles with an uncaring world gave him a universal appeal.

According to Chaplin, the Little Tramp's costume was thrown together during a prop-room panic while working with comic legend Mabel Normand. Among the items he grabbed were Ford Sterling's shoes and Roscoe 'Fatty' Arbuckle's trousers, as well as a hat belonging to the father of actress Minta Durfee. His toothbrush moustache was cut down from one belonging to Mack Swain and the ensemble was first seen in Kid Auto Races At Venice, which was released two days earlier than Mabel's Strange Predicament, which was the first film to feature 'the Little Fellow'.

The character went with Chaplin when he signed a lucrative new contract with Essanay in December 1914. With the Great War raging in Europe, questions were asked about his failure to return to Britain to do his bit for King and Country. But Chaplin now belonged to the world, as he slowed down his production rate to ensure that all 14 of the pictures on the BFI's two-volume, The Essanay Films (2003), were honed to perfection. The Tramp grew more complex in shorts like The Bank (1915), while he also forged a teasing romantic partnership with Edna Purviance.

By the end of the year, Chaplin had become a global superstar. He virtually invented movie merchandising single-handed and major studios like Universal, Fox and Vitagraph were clamouring for his signature. But he joined Mutual on a record-breaking $10,000 per week in order to maintain control over such masterpieces as The Floorwalker, The Pawnshop and The Rink (all 1916), in which he combined balletic (if occasionally cruel) slapstick with pathos and social comment. Now working at his own pace, he reached new heights with Easy Street, The Cure, The Immigrant and The Adventurer (all 1917), which should be on the Must See list of every Cinema Paradiso member. Check out the BFI's two-volume set, The Mutual Films Vol.1 and Vol.2 (2003), to see what we mean.

It's been suggested that a fear of returning to poverty prompted Chaplin to negotiate his bumper contracts. But his 1917 deal with First National also enabled him to build his own studio and, in 1919, join pioneering director D.W. Griffith and married stars Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford in forming the United Artists distribution company that is still a major player in blockbuster Hollywood over a century later.

New titles like Shoulder Arms - which can be found on Charlie Chaplin: Volume 7 - kept fans happy. As did illicit releases like Triple Trouble (both 1918) - see Charlie Chaplin: Volume 6 - which was cobbled together by Essanay from footage of the unfinished feature, Life. But some were disquieted by Chaplin's marriage to 16 year-old Mildred Harris and the speed with which they divorced after their infant son died. The loss had a profound effect, however, and prompted the production of Chaplin's longest film to date, The Kid (1921), which made a star of young Jackie Cooper and revisited Chaplin's own impoverished and often parentless childhood.

More social critique informed The Idle Class (1921), which is also on Volume 7. But Chaplin was getting restless and wanted to be seen as a screen artist on a par with Erich von Stroheim and Cecil B. DeMille. Hence, he retreated behind the camera to direct Edna Purviance in A Woman of Paris (1923). The public wanted The Tramp, however, and Chaplin took him to Alaska for The Gold Rush (1925), which he would later claim was his finest achievement.

Lita Grey had been among those Chaplin had considered to be his leading lady. However, the 35 year-old decided to marry the 16 year-old instead, raising eyebrows about his penchant for teenage brides. Despite being the father of Charles III (now there's a coincidence) and Sydney, Chaplin started finding excuses to avoid his wife. She responded with a divorce petition that was leaked to the press and Chaplin had to fight for his career while working on The Circus (1928), which earned him a special trophy at the inaugural Academy Awards.

By that time, however, Alan Crosland's The Jazz Singer (1927) had ushered in the sound era and Hollywood held its breath as it waited to see whether Chaplin would fare better than fellow silent clowns Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd and Harry Langdon, who, unlike the more adaptable Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, also relied on pantomime rather than wisecracking. Audaciously, Chaplin kept his audience on tenterhooks until 1931, when City Lights demonstrated that the art of silent cinema was still valid in the hands of a true master. Five years later, he resisted giving the Little Fellow dialogue in Modern Times (1936), although he did get to sing a gibberish song. But this would be his final appearance, as Chaplin and third wife Paulette Goddard sought new directions.

The Clown and the Dancer

Once upon a London time, Calvero (Charlie Chaplin) was the talk of the town. Now, in 1914, the laughter has died away and he is a forgotten man. Staggering drunkenly back to his rooming house, he finds neighbour Thereza Ambrose (Claire Bloom) unconscious after trying to gas herself.

On the advice of a doctor (Wheeler Dryden) and against the wishes of landlady Mrs Alsop (Marjorie Bennett), Thereza remains in her room, where Calvero reminds her of the preciousness of existence. Dozing off, he dreams that he is delighting an adoring audience with a flea circus routine. But, when he comes to take a bow, he sees that the auditorium is empty.

When Mrs Alsop rents out her room, Calvero invites Thereza to stay with him. She explains that rheumatic fever has prevented her from working as a ballerina, but Calvero raises her spirits and persuades her that she still has much to live for. That night, he dreams of them giving a triumphant comic performance and spends the following morning encouraging Terry to stay strong, even though she can't move her legs. He urges her to keep battling, as he has been forced to do since his popularity started to wane after he tried to introduce dignified pathos into his routines.

Informed by the doctor that Terry's paralysis is psychosomatic, Calvero attempts to find the reason behind her distress. She tells him that her sister had become a prostitute in order to pay for her dance lessons and he realises that she has been stricken with guilt since bumping into one of her former classmates. Terry also confides that she had once been in love with a young composer, Ernest Neville (Sydney Chaplin), and Calvero convinces her that they will meet again.

Out of the blue, Calvero receives a telegram from his agent, John Redfern (Barry Bernard), offering him a spot on a music-hall bill. Despite having to play under an assumed name, the old clown is thrilled and his excitement conveys itself to Terry, who manages to stand and take some tentative steps. Calvero stops drinking and takes to the stage on a wave of optimism. But he flops and has to hide his dismay when Terry declares her love for him. He insists that he is too old for her, but vows to remain by her side.

Six months later, Terry lands the lead in a ballet and persuades the producer to find a minor role for Calvero. During rehearsals, she discovers that Neville has been hired to compose some new music and, having initially pretended not to recognise him, Terry fibs that she is engaged to Calvero. She has to keep her emotions in check, however, when she dances a piece about Harlequin and the dying Columbine.

On the first night of the show, Terry's legs buckle during the interval. But Calvero slaps her and she dances sublimely. Amidst the celebrations, the old man gets drunk and overhears Neville telling Terry that she only remains loyal to Calvero out of pity. The next day, he discovers that Postant (Nigel Bruce), the producer, is trying to recast him and he slips away to avoid embarrassing his protégée.

Months pass and Terry becomes a star. On her return to London, she discovers Calvero performing on a street corner and pleads with him to let her take care of him. He refuses, but accepts Postant's invitation to appear at a benefit concert. Determined to go out on a high, Calvero drinks heavily and is rapturously received for a sketch with an unnamed stooge (Buster Keaton).

On reaching the wings, Calvero suffers a heart attack and is carried to his dressing room. Terry reassures him that he will recover and that they will travel the world together. As she takes to the stage, Calvero asks to be moved so he can watch her and dies as she dances.

From Footlights to Twilight

Chaplin was 63 when he made Limelight. In preparation for the screenplay, he wrote a 100,000-word, 750-page novel entitled, Footlights, which not only told the story of Calvero and Thereza, but also provided detailed information about their background and personalities. It has been assumed that there is a good deal of autobiographical detail in the scenario, as Chaplin not only drew on his own experiences, but also those of his parents and the comedians he had admired as a young performer.

The setting of 1914 is highly significant, as it was in this year that Chaplin started his screen career at Keystone. But Calvero's decline also reflects his insecurity at a time when the medium he had helped to popularise was starting to leave him behind. Having amassed a fortune, Chaplin had no need to worry about providing for his young family. However, having grown up in abject poverty, the spectre lingered and manifested itself in the mournful images of Calvero sitting in his bedsit with posters reminding him of his 'Tramp Comedian' heyday.

As his father had turned to drink after his fortunes dipped, many have recognised elements of Charles, Sr. in Calvero. Indeed, in Footlights, he even dies at St Thomas's Hospital, where Charles had passed away at just 38 in 1901. Moreover, the 12 year-old Charlie had watched his father perform at a benefit show shortly before his demise. Yet, in both My Autobiography (1964) and My Life in Pictures (1974), Chaplin insisted that the character was based on American blackface comic Frank Tinney (1878-1940) and the Spanish clown, Marceline (1873-1927), both of whom he had known during his music-hall apprenticeship. Likewise, his death was modelled on another legend of the boards, The Great Vance, who has expired on stage at the Sun Music Hall in Knightsbridge in 1888.

There's no doubt that Chaplin shared some of Calvero's despair, as the Barry paternity case, the failure of Monsieur Verdoux and the hounding over his political views must all have conspired to remind him that he was no longer the darling of the crowds. He may well be acting in the scene in which Calvero stares at himself in the dressing-room mirror after being booed off the stage, but Chaplin clearly felt his pain.

Personal memories also helped shape the character of Terry, who was an amalgam of both Chaplin's mother, Hannah, and his first love, Hetty Kelly. Claire Bloom recalled how often Chaplin would link props and costumes with his mother during the shoot and told one interviewer that 'I quickly realised, even then, that some composite young woman, lost to him in the past, was what he wanted me to bring to life.' However, the French film-maker Louis Delluc had already detected Chaplin's fondness for his mother and his fear of sharing her fate, when he wrote after the release of The Kid: 'I stand amazed at the immense sadness of Chaplin…This man will be lucky if he doesn't die in a madhouse.'

In February 1951, Chaplin took out a newspaper advertisement, which read: 'WANTED: Young girl to play leading lady to a comedian generally recognised as world's greatest. Must be between 20-24 years of age. Stage, ballet experience preferable but not necessary. Apply Charles Chaplin Studios, Hollywood.' He later told the press that he had personally auditioned nearly 300 hopefuls, one of whom had been spotted by playwright Arthur Laurents during the West End run of Ring Around the Moon. When the production took a week-long break, Bloom flew to New York for a screen test, only to be made to wait four months before Chaplin confirmed her in the part of Thereza. As she had only previously appeared in Harold French's The Blind Goddess (1948), Chaplin forbade her to do any advanced publicity, as he wanted his new star to be an unknown.

He was also keen to reproduce the London of his youth. Production designer Eugène Lourié was entrusted with recreating the Empire Theatre at the RKO-Pathé studio, while a standing set at Paramount was made over for the street on which Calvero lodges. The bulk of the action was photographed at Chaplin's own studio, however, with back projections reinforcing the atmosphere of a city that Chaplin had not seen for two decades.

Bloom recalls him reminiscing on the set about the nights he had spent huddled against the cold with his mother and brother. But he seemed happy during a shoot that only lasted 55 days over six months, even though he had confided to his older sons that Limelight might well be his swan song. It clearly helped that he had his family around him, with half-brother Wheeler Dryden playing the doctor, second son Sydney co-starring as Ernest Neville and third son Charles cameoing uncredited as a clown in the ballet. Moreover, younger siblings Geraldine, Michael and Josephine appeared in the opening street scene, while even wife Oona O'Neill doubled for Bloom in a retake of a doorway shot of Terry lying in bed.

What's more, Chaplin found roles for some of his friends from the silent era. Snub Pollard and Loyal Underwood can be seen as street musicians, while rumour has it that Edna Purviance is among the audience watching the ballet. Most significantly, Chaplin asked Buster Keaton to partner him in the benefit sketch. Despite their careers running parallel during the silent era, they had never worked together before. Consequently, Chaplin hadn't written the foil part with Keaton in mind, as he didn't think it was big enough for such a comic titan. However, Keaton had not made a successful transition to talkies and was grateful to be offered such a prestigious part.

It was stated in some circles that Chaplin had been annoyed by Keaton drawing focus during the skit and had left much of his hilariously improvised business on the cutting-room floor. But this rumour was started by Keaton's business partner, Raymond Rohauer, who seemed to overlook the fact that it would make no dramatic sense for Calvero to be upstaged by a character with no other part in the narrative. Indeed, Chaplin went out of his way to relax his usually rigorous directorial style in order to allow Keaton an element of free rein.

One sequence that was trimmed, however, was a four-minute routine featuring Stapleton Kent as an armless violin player. This was slotted back into a 1993 laser disc edition, but it has since been consigned to DVD extras packages. Strings were used extensively, however, in the film's score. This was composed by Chaplin himself. But, as he couldn't write music, arranger Ray Rasch was hired to spend five to seven hours a day for nine months trying to make sense of the snatches of melody that Chaplin would hum while pacing the room.

'I was sure that I had met up with a madman,' Rasch later admitted. 'I couldn't believe that this was genius at work. He would bellow for hours at a time and all that I could hear was a senseless jumble. But suddenly he would strike a note or sometimes a whole phrase and would scream at me to play it and jot down the notes.'

Chaplin had first conceived the 'Death of Columbine' ballet for Alicia Markova and Anton Dolin in 1950. When he came to make Limelight, however, the parts were danced by

Melissa Hayden (doubling for Bloom) and André Eglevsky. He was mightily relieved when he heard that the score could be choreographed, as he had already expended two and a half years on the screenplay and was facing another year of post-production. By the autumn of 1952, however, Chaplin was ready to unveil what he considered to be his most personal achievement.

Biding Its Time

At the very moment that Hollywood was launching CinemaScope in a bid to lure audiences away from their television sets and back into theatres, Charlie Chaplin returned to a time when the screen was boxy, actors mimed and feature-length films were still a rarity. He even opened Limelight with a caption that recalled the intertitles that had been a key component of films back in 1914. In revisiting his past, it was almost as though Chaplin was squaring the circle before bidding farewell.

In retrospect, it also feels as though Chaplin was returning to his roots because he realised that his time in the United States was drawing to a close. After all, he hadn't set a film in the country since Modern Times in 1936 and much had happened to sour his relationship in the interim. Yet, Limelight can also be seen as a token of gratitude, as Calvero represented what Chaplin might have become had cinema not made him 'world famous at a dreamlike speed'. It also provides an insight into the anxiety and insecurity that had driven Chaplin during his period of intense creativity, as he reflected on the fate of his parents and how narrowly he had avoided sharng it through the caprice of celebrity.

Given the setting, Chaplin decided to hold the world premiere in London. Before he set sail from New York on 16 October 1952, he applied for a re-entry permit, as he had remained a British citizen throughout his sojourn. His request prompted a visit from the Immigration and Naturalisation Service, which claimed, during a lengthy interview, that Chaplin owed $200,000 in back taxes. He was granted his papers. however, only for them to be revoked as soon as he left US soil.

The Justice Department appointed Attorney General James P. McGranery to investigate Chaplin's ethical and political views and he knew what to expect from the report when McGranery told the press that Chaplin was 'an unsavory character' with 'a leering, sneering attitude toward the country whose gracious hospitality enriched him'. The American Legion also weighed into the debate by insisting that Limelight was withheld until the Department of Justice had returned its verdict.

In past years, a new Chaplin film had been a major event. But Limelight opened quietly in the Astor and Trans-Lux theatres in New York on 23 October 1952. It would do moderate business over the next three months, but there was no nationwide release on the back of indifferent reviews. Variety complained of an excess of tedious dialogue, while the Washington Post admonished Chaplin for tackling topics that should be left to 'philosophers and preachers'. The New York Times, however, considered the film to be 'a brilliant weaving of comic and tragic strands, eloquent, tearful and beguiling with supreme virtuosity'.

With war veterans threatening to picket theatres showing Limelight, RKO owner Howard Hughes urged his cinemas to boycott the film. Unwilling to risk public ire, the Fox West Coast chain fell into line, as venues across the country participated in an early example of cancel culture. Newspaper articles raked over Chaplin's relationships, his political statements and his refusal to co-operate with HUAC. Some even berated him for sitting on his fortune and doing little to help charitable causes.

In Europe, the film was well received and made a tidy $7 million. Despite a warm welcome in Britain, Chaplin's unhappy memories convinced him to take up residence in the Manoir de Ban in the Swiss town of Corsier-sur-Vevey on the banks of Lake Geneva, where he would live out his days. He emerged to direct A King in New York (1957) and A Countess From Hong Kong (1967), which would prove to be his final features. But, apart from a screening in San Francisco in 1955, Limelight remained on the shelf.

On 13 December 1972, however, it premiered in Los Angels before being released by Columbia Pictures. The groundwork had been laid by a song. Back in 1952, Ron Goodwin and Richard Hayman had charted on either side of the Atlantic with their instrumental interpretations of 'Terry's Theme'. Such was its popularity that Geoff Parsons and John Turner added lyrics and the renamed 'Eternally' proved a big hit in 1953 for Jimmy Young in the UK and Vic Damone in the United States. Over the years, numerous artists covered the tune, including Bing Crosby, Petula Clark and Michel Legrand (each of whom contributed to films that are available from Cinema Paradiso. Cue the ever-useful searchline.)

Indeed, it was the film's music that caught the ears of the Academy, when it was realised that Limelight was eligible for the Oscars because it hadn't been screened in LA during the intervening 20 years. Chaplin had received honorary awards in 1929 and 1971. But he found himself up for Best Original Dramatic Score alongside John Williams for Robert Altman's Images and Ronald Neame's The Poseidon Adventure, Buddy Baker for Bernard McEveety's Napoleon and Samantha, and John Addison for Joseph L. Mankiewicz's Sleuth (all 1972).

Despite having vowed never to set foot again in 'that unhappy country', Chaplin had attended the 44th Academy Awards and received a 12-minute standing ovation. He didn't travel to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion on 27 March 1973, however, and actress Candice Bergen accepted the statuette on his behalf. As collaborators Raymond Rasch and Larry Russell had both died, they were respectively represented by their son and daughter. One wonders, however, whether they would have secured victory had the Academy's music branch not ruled that Nino Rota's score for Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather (1972) contained a love theme that had previously been heard in Edoardo De Filippo's Fortunella (1958), which had been co-scripted by Federico Fellini and starred his wife, Giulietta Masina.

On 4 March 1975, the 85 year-old Chaplin was knighted by Elizaeth II at Buckingham Palace, which is not far from his childhood home. He passed away two years later, a quarter of a century after having died on screen for the only time in his entire career. A recurring phrase in Limelight references 'the elegant melancholy of twilight'. This is why the film is apt for the period of reflection and transition that will follow the Queen's demise, as it is, as Senses of Cinema so astutely points out, 'a story of a return to origins, of rereadings, of new definitions, of things passed on'.