I Am Taking a Break

UPDATE: Well, I’m back, tan and fat and possibly still drunk on mojitos.

It’s a shame too I had lazier things to accompany myself with than monitoring my own blog, since I vanished just as an interesting debate was fomenting concerning what constitutes a film series, especially as regards characters with non-cinematic origins. (I have no simple answer to this question at the moment, and hope to utilize some upcoming movies – possibly Robert Downey’s second go-around as Sherlock Holmes – to explore the issue.)

Meanwhile, in light of those concerns, it seems by 3 to 2 that Conan just may be worth considering. Hell, when the “remake” (or latest adaptation) arrives in August, I’ll just go ahead and run through the Conans, genuine series or no. Gives me something to do between Spy Kids 4 and Final Destination 5.

And come tomorrow…regular updating resumes!



I am tired of sequels. It’s time for a vacation, time to go to the most exotic place that still counts as a domestic flight: Puerto Rico! I expect heat, humidity, and possibly a hurricane.

In the meanwhile, feel free to come over and steal my television. Alternately, I am open to series suggestions, to be squeezed in whenever this Summer of the Sequel allows.

Lastly, I have a dilemma. With a Conan the Barbarian remake coming up, I am on the fence about its eligibility as a series – that is, added to Schwarzenegger’s original Conan the Barbarian, Conan the Destroyer, and the rather nebulous Red Sonja. Hell, let’s use this as an excuse to test out polling on the right. Go to town!

And I’ll see you all (so to speak) in a week or two.

I Am Taking a Break

UPDATE: Well, I’m back, tan and fat and possibly still drunk on mojitos.

It’s a shame too I had lazier things to accompany myself with than monitoring my own blog, since I vanished just as an interesting debate was fomenting concerning what constitutes a film series, especially as regards characters with non-cinematic origins. (I have no simple answer to this question at the moment, and hope to utilize some upcoming movies – possibly Robert Downey’s second go-around as Sherlock Holmes – to explore the issue.)

Meanwhile, in light of those concerns, it seems by 3 to 2 that Conan just may be worth considering. Hell, when the “remake” (or latest adaptation) arrives in August, I’ll just go ahead and run through the Conans, genuine series or no. Gives me something to do between Spy Kids 4 and Final Destination 5.

And come tomorrow…regular updating resumes!



I am tired of sequels. It’s time for a vacation, time to go to the most exotic place that still counts as a domestic flight: Puerto Rico! I expect heat, humidity, and possibly a hurricane.

In the meanwhile, feel free to come over and steal my television. Alternately, I am open to series suggestions, to be squeezed in whenever this Summer of the Sequel allows.

Lastly, I have a dilemma. With a Conan the Barbarian remake coming up, I am on the fence about its eligibility as a series – that is, added to Schwarzenegger’s original Conan the Barbarian, Conan the Destroyer, and the rather nebulous Red Sonja. Hell, let’s use this as an excuse to test out polling on the right. Go to town!

And I’ll see you all (so to speak) in a week or two.

The Tramp, Prologue - Short Films (1914 - 1917)

If film franchises can be defined by something as simple as one recurring character – that is, if they do not depend upon overarching narrative or universes or any of that heady stuff – then we must eventually look to one of cinema’s earliest recognizable characters. That would be the Tramp (or the Little Tramp), the most beloved creation of silent film comedian Charlie Chaplin.

It’s important to realize how revolutionary a recognizable “character” is for film. In the silent era, with the mere technical fact of filmmaking still in its infancy, there was some question about just how these people on screen should come across. Could audiences connect to these shadows any better than to a stranger outside the window? How much personality and humanity could an actor get across, especially with the limitations of silence?

Sir Charles Spencer Chaplin was born into British vaudeville tradition. Like so many early silent performers, he came of stage experience, with film becoming just another extension of that. There was little in particular to distinguish Chaplin upon his arrival in the United States, circa 1910. He entered film under Mack Sennett’s Keystone Kops comedies, just another in that studio’s massive roster of comic performers – over time, Harold Lloyd, Fatty Arbuckle, assorted names now lesser remembered. Film was initially an uncomfortable medium for Chaplin, and he barely even stayed on through his first “Keystone Kop” short, Making a Living.

The Tramp was yet to materialize. Rather, Chaplin weathered the Keystone komic approach: exaggerated physical buffoonery, the broadest possible slapstick. Chaplin’s background in pantomime – almost classical miming itself – didn’t stand out in such an environment. So Sennett requested Chaplin develop “a comedy make-up,” and here is the real revelation. In silent film, all is visual, and so costume dictates things to an extraordinary degree. With Keystone’s manic turnaround, with films conceived and shot in days, a perfect assembly line, Chaplin had little time to craft a careful look. Rather, the look to become associated with the Tramp is quite legitimately piecemeal…baggy pants and a derby (Fatty Arbuckle’s, humorously outsized on Chaplin), big shoes (Ford Sterling’s), cane (Chaplin’s own), and a small mustache to give that hint of indeterminate age combined with a pragmatic of mime makeup.


The Tramp is now called “the Tramp” for lack of a proper name, and by his central characteristic: the character is a down-on-his-luck hobo, a vagrant. Retaining the notion of contradiction which was Chaplin’s guiding principle in devising the Tramp’s wardrobe, he nonetheless carries himself with a refined swagger, to create comic contrast in his earthy antics. So clad, Chaplin could now pursue his favored subtler form of humor. Such traits didn’t emerge right out of the gate; rather, it took Chaplin years of evolution to build the Tramp up.

A recognizable look helps audiences single out Chaplin (and the Tramp) as a definable quantity, something seen from film to film. This identifiability (both though familiarity of look, and relatable traits) made the Tramp himself perhaps the first cinematic superstar – and with him Chaplin, who took on greater artistic duties, eventually writing, directing, even composing his own movies (then, further down the line, creating his own movie studio – United Artists is still around!). The Tramp’s early appearances are all in short film, mostly one or two reelers (for sake of comparison, a one reeler is equivalent to a YouTube video, only artful).

Chaplin made dozens of films per year for most of the teens, during which the Tramp solidified and Chaplin rose to prominence. Because of the vagaries of the sound era, where characters are given generic descriptor names and there is no connection from film to film, it would be impossible to gauge just how many of Chaplin’s early shorts inarguably star the Tramp. For want of actually poring over his entire Keystone, Essanay and Mutual filmography, I have limited myself to films which overtly claim to feature the Tramp (even so, there is some question here, for how nebulously the Tramp evolved). So be it.


Kid Auto Races at Venice (1914) – For instance, the Tramp’s filmic debut in Kid Auto Races at Venice is not the movie Chaplin created his costume for. Yet this one, though filmed second, was released first.

At roughly six minutes long, Kid Auto Races is an odd beast. Nearly the first thing we see is Chaplin clad as the Tramp, and…that’s it. Almost as though the costume were itself enough to merit laughter, there is little added comic business. Mostly, a roller derby race goes on in the background, and the Tramp continually gets in the way of racers, viewers, even a camera crew. Officials push him back into the crowd, the Tramp persistently returns to the center, repeat. It’s admirably elegant, arguably even a commentary on a fictional character forcing himself into existence, and yet…

What’s most interesting about Kid Auto Races is how modern it is, in creation. This is a real race Chaplin is interrupting here, done cinema verité guerilla style, like Godard, or “Jackass.” In truth, film had yet to adopt the stage-bound ethos of manufactured realities, which we have largely the sound era to thank for. It stands as an example of the general Keystone approach, the fly-by-their-seat nature of this studio.


Mabel’s Strange Predicament (1914) – Now this is why Chaplin devised his costume. And yet it is the sequel, released a full two days after Kid Auto Races (on February 9, 1914), which goes to show the sort of filmmaking pace we’re talking about.

The situation is simple: The Tramp is drunk in a hotel lobby, and disturbs the matronly hoi polloi. There is much that, in hindsight, is atypical, centrally the Tramp’s convincing drunkenness. No doubt the character was still being formed, though Chaplin’s use of his derby and cane prop anticipate future refinements. So does the targeting of the upper class, what would become Chaplin’s bread and butter. Also, in contrast to Kid Auto Races, Mabel’s Strange Predicament (yes, there is a “strange predicament” involving a gal we assume is called Mabel) is entirely interior, demanding tighter shots. This favors Chaplin’s performances, always so heavy with the facial expressions and minute physical tics.


The Star Boarder (1914) – Six films separate this from Mabel, bringing us up to April. In the interim, Chaplin has played characters known as “a Policeman,” “a Masher,” “the Film Johnnie,” and “Tipsy Dancer.”

Another short, another situation: The Tramp (or arguably just a “Star Boarder”) battles several other tenants for the attentions of the landlady. Most silent shorts, much like the Disney and Warner Brothers animated shorts they would inspire, offer up location change as their central variation. Comedians were still experimenting with film, specifically with how laughter could be engendered through pure pantomime. Switching setting allows a shifting canvas for experimentation, to learn lessons that can then be applied more carefully to later features.

Even in this short span, we see Chaplin refine the material surrounding his Tramp. A staggeringly vast cast (for a twelve minute movie) battles the Tramp, each with a different set of relationships and wants. Naturally, some pretty broad gesticulations are needed, in want of title cards (which Chaplin’s work wisely minimizes). Here one can see how the Tramp differs from the more grotesque archetypal figures he’s up against. The Tramp seems more at home in silence, with a unique walk and mannerisms. And by now (and with Chaplin’s other similar shorts in between), a distinct physical idiom develops. Audiences recognize through familiarity what the Tramp’s actions mean. The other actors, in one-off roles without established personas, haven’t that fortune.

Actually, the challenge becomes separating Chaplin’s own filmic presence with the Tramp’s as a separate identity. He may not even be the Tramp in this case…though the character’s persona is all that matters. Like with Mickey Mouse, there is no grander continuity.


Recreation (1914) – By now, well into August of 1914, Chaplin is writing and directing, thus dictating his Tramp character more fully.

The Tramp and his Girl are out on the town, swing dancing at the local speakeasy, or something. Now…this seems a little odd, for how inarguably it is the Tramp this time, as one doesn’t expect to see him in a frivolous, moneyed context. Further, he’s not even in the right costume! No mustache, no derby, even while the physical mannerisms remain the same. While Recreation is an amusing enough work on its own, it feels like a significant miscalculation for the character. Which is perhaps necessary, to evaluate what the Tramp’s proper milieu truly is. We associate him with poverty, not with the headier excesses of pre-Depression America.

Minus those concerns, Recreation is a decent showcase for some of Keystone’s other talent. Fatty Arbuckle appears against the tramp, as does (I think) Al St. John – this assumption based simply on that actor’s ubiquity. Conflict arises over the Girl, a stock situation that would soon define silent comedy. A little of that earlier Keystone mania is back, as comedy comes through physically flailing dance moves, all seemingly improvised.

Of note, in late 1914 Keystone put out their first feature length film comedy, Tillie’s Punctured Romance. Though it stars Chaplin (and a bevy of Keystone’s descending roster), he is unequivocally not the Tramp here – the movie has far too many of its own concerns for that. And while it comes at nearly the end of Chaplin’s Keystone kareer, its length and ambition might be the inspiration for some of what is to come.


The Tramp (1915) – Starting in 1915, Chaplin moved on to Essanay Film, where he enjoyed greater artistic autonomy (mostly making two reelers), far from the maddening fields of frantic, flailing Keystone – the lone company in Chaplin’s biography which would’ve done quite well enough for itself without Charlie’s aid.

The Tramp is a landmark film in the evolution of the Tramp, as evidenced by that title. In fact, it could be argued that all prior were but experiments, and it is here where the Tramp truly emerges – an itinerant transient, hungry and desperate and nonetheless humanist. Chaplin is identified with pathos, with pioneering comedic emotion. Keystone gave Chaplin a baggy-pantsed leg up so he could explore these new avenues.

There is no question now as to whom the Tramp is. He emerges idly along the country road, homeless and without prospects. The Tramp endures some scenes of familiar silent film slapstick, as Chaplin knows now from experience how to dress most any situation with such shenanigans. Yet the film’s point doesn’t end there. We’re meant to connect with the Tramp over his predicament, making the jokes come from recognition. We are no longer above this comic buffoon, but on his level laughing at the oddities of life.

Such is the intent, and surely that’s how viewers at the time took it. For all our current economic woes, the world is no longer a Schwartzwelderian realm of bindle-carrying hobos and sad clowns. I say this because I find a certain remove in the realities Chaplin deals with, which make his films more distant than their necessary technical limitations make them. (Truth be told: I am a diehard Buster Keaton fan, whose dry, stoic ingenuity is a lot easier to enjoy on an immediate level. Chaplin is a little alien, easier to appreciate intellectually than in actuality. Though many feel the opposite, so just take that as a confessed author prejudice.)


The Tramp happens upon a farm, where the Girl lives – as played by Edna Purviance, Chaplin’s emerging regular female costar. Unrequited love is what keeps the Tramp on as a hired hand, thus setting the emotional stakes for what would otherwise be a series of disconnected farm gags: antics involving pitchforks, flour, a barn, cows.

As a two reeler (clocking in at twenty-six minutes, roughly equivalent now to a half hour TV episode), there must needs be further plot complications. Criminals threaten the farm. The Tramp retaliates. His physical confrontations with threatening oafs – many a silent film counters its miniscule comic star with oversized human gorillas – follow the standard Chaplin outline. The Tramp uses quick wits to triumph over his bullies, employing many a swift kick to the rear – which must’ve been hilarious to 1915 audiences, to hear it told. In fact, critics warned against the outright vulgarity of Chaplin’s Little Tramp, so one assumes such innocuous anal assault – plus examples of the Tramp’s sensuality and lust – were more substantial worries in the day. (Really, hardly any great comedy arises without breaking barriers, so we must assume Chaplin did so, even if we’re no longer able to ascertain those sacred cows.)

It’s The Tramp’s conclusion which really depicts Chaplin’s new artistic leaf. In an earlier comedy involving the Tramp and a Girl (so capitalized because it’s a stock role), he’d get her at the end. Happy ending, all leave happy. Here, Chaplin goes maudlin and denies his Tramp immediate pleasure. The Girl already has a beau, with whom she is deeply in love, in an arm-waving silent film sort of way. The Tramp is decent enough, for all his comic desires, not to stand in their way. Rather he departs on the same road as before, a reversal of the opening, to go on unfulfilled.

Now…that ending suggests when we see the Tramp again, in his latest misadventure, it’s the same guy. This isn’t a necessary reading. A more modern audience expects narrative unity, though I’d wager in Chaplin’s case this is just the creation of an eternal cycle. The Tramp shall always find a Girl, vie for her, kick some butts, then fail. It’s like the endless Sisyphean struggle, rendered comic. For all of Chaplin’s humanism in light of Keaton’s cynicism or Harold Lloyd’s regularity, there is a substantial strain of tragedy to his films. It’s telling about the world at the time that addressing such commonalities comedically made him the world’s most beloved icon.


Shanghaied (1915) – What once was revolutionary now becomes formula. Again Chaplin’s Tramp (arguably – drat that silent intertitles are rarely consistent – see Nosferatu’s Orlok/Dracula mix-up) seeks the Girl (Purviance). Like a more physically-minded romantic comedy, events conspire to keep them apart, in this case the Tramp’s conscription upon Her Father’s ship. (The Father is another common role, to oppose the hero’s romance without being a romantic rival.) But the Girl sneaks aboard as well. Hilarity ensues.

Most of Shanghaied recalls the Keystone experimentation, by making the setting switch the most substantial element. Almost as though Chaplin assumed audiences would now be over-familiar with The Tramp’s framework, which is mostly glossed over in favor of ship-bound gags. The Tramp’s obliviousness leads to others’ injury, often those who’d wish him injury.


Shanghaied plays well with comic escalation, milking a simple idea for all it’s worth. Chaplin working in the galley would be amusing enough, with half the crew out for his blood, on the face of it. Add in some waves, some rocking to send objects back and forth throughout, and this scenario exacerbates. It’s always impressed me with silent comedies how well they explore such complications, in an attempt to exhaust potential.

Then, in contrast to The Tramp, the Tramp gets the Girl. At least, he doesn’t conclusively not get her. Though have no doubt he’ll be back on the bottom in no time.

In total, Chaplin made fifteen films for Essanay, then twelve more for Mutual, a movie which granted Chaplin even more artistic autonomy, up to and including complete access to his own personal full-time studio (compare this to Keaton, who’d have to struggle for each one of his movies). Chaplin’s Mutual output, from 1916 to 1917, is considered possibly his most fruitful (certainly in terms of quantity). The lone demand put upon Chaplin was a demand for speed, with deadlines forcing formula where he’d otherwise avoid it – something which our brief pick-and-choose overview already reveals.

No doubt in Mutual two-reel movies like The Floorwalker, The Pawnshop and Easy Street, Chaplin’s mostly Tramp-like persona remains and refines. The niggling fact lingers that it’s hard to ascertain just which of these films feature the actual tramp; credits list all Chaplin’s Mutual roles by some job title, though possibly just the Tramp’s latest day-long career. Owing to the limiting purpose of this blog project, without a definite Tramp entry, we’ll have to pass over the Mutual era in silence.

But the Tramp’s true era is about to begin, as Chaplin moves on to another studio, more freedom, and retools the Tramp for feature length (i.e. six reel) films.

The Tramp, Prologue - Short Films (1914 - 1917)

If film franchises can be defined by something as simple as one recurring character – that is, if they do not depend upon overarching narrative or universes or any of that heady stuff – then we must eventually look to one of cinema’s earliest recognizable characters. That would be the Tramp (or the Little Tramp), the most beloved creation of silent film comedian Charlie Chaplin.

It’s important to realize how revolutionary a recognizable “character” is for film. In the silent era, with the mere technical fact of filmmaking still in its infancy, there was some question about just how these people on screen should come across. Could audiences connect to these shadows any better than to a stranger outside the window? How much personality and humanity could an actor get across, especially with the limitations of silence?

Sir Charles Spencer Chaplin was born into British vaudeville tradition. Like so many early silent performers, he came of stage experience, with film becoming just another extension of that. There was little in particular to distinguish Chaplin upon his arrival in the United States, circa 1910. He entered film under Mack Sennett’s Keystone Kops comedies, just another in that studio’s massive roster of comic performers – over time, Harold Lloyd, Fatty Arbuckle, assorted names now lesser remembered. Film was initially an uncomfortable medium for Chaplin, and he barely even stayed on through his first “Keystone Kop” short, Making a Living.

The Tramp was yet to materialize. Rather, Chaplin weathered the Keystone komic approach: exaggerated physical buffoonery, the broadest possible slapstick. Chaplin’s background in pantomime – almost classical miming itself – didn’t stand out in such an environment. So Sennett requested Chaplin develop “a comedy make-up,” and here is the real revelation. In silent film, all is visual, and so costume dictates things to an extraordinary degree. With Keystone’s manic turnaround, with films conceived and shot in days, a perfect assembly line, Chaplin had little time to craft a careful look. Rather, the look to become associated with the Tramp is quite legitimately piecemeal…baggy pants and a derby (Fatty Arbuckle’s, humorously outsized on Chaplin), big shoes (Ford Sterling’s), cane (Chaplin’s own), and a small mustache to give that hint of indeterminate age combined with a pragmatic of mime makeup.


The Tramp is now called “the Tramp” for lack of a proper name, and by his central characteristic: the character is a down-on-his-luck hobo, a vagrant. Retaining the notion of contradiction which was Chaplin’s guiding principle in devising the Tramp’s wardrobe, he nonetheless carries himself with a refined swagger, to create comic contrast in his earthy antics. So clad, Chaplin could now pursue his favored subtler form of humor. Such traits didn’t emerge right out of the gate; rather, it took Chaplin years of evolution to build the Tramp up.

A recognizable look helps audiences single out Chaplin (and the Tramp) as a definable quantity, something seen from film to film. This identifiability (both though familiarity of look, and relatable traits) made the Tramp himself perhaps the first cinematic superstar – and with him Chaplin, who took on greater artistic duties, eventually writing, directing, even composing his own movies (then, further down the line, creating his own movie studio – United Artists is still around!). The Tramp’s early appearances are all in short film, mostly one or two reelers (for sake of comparison, a one reeler is equivalent to a YouTube video, only artful).

Chaplin made dozens of films per year for most of the teens, during which the Tramp solidified and Chaplin rose to prominence. Because of the vagaries of the sound era, where characters are given generic descriptor names and there is no connection from film to film, it would be impossible to gauge just how many of Chaplin’s early shorts inarguably star the Tramp. For want of actually poring over his entire Keystone, Essanay and Mutual filmography, I have limited myself to films which overtly claim to feature the Tramp (even so, there is some question here, for how nebulously the Tramp evolved). So be it.


Kid Auto Races at Venice (1914) – For instance, the Tramp’s filmic debut in Kid Auto Races at Venice is not the movie Chaplin created his costume for. Yet this one, though filmed second, was released first.

At roughly six minutes long, Kid Auto Races is an odd beast. Nearly the first thing we see is Chaplin clad as the Tramp, and…that’s it. Almost as though the costume were itself enough to merit laughter, there is little added comic business. Mostly, a roller derby race goes on in the background, and the Tramp continually gets in the way of racers, viewers, even a camera crew. Officials push him back into the crowd, the Tramp persistently returns to the center, repeat. It’s admirably elegant, arguably even a commentary on a fictional character forcing himself into existence, and yet…

What’s most interesting about Kid Auto Races is how modern it is, in creation. This is a real race Chaplin is interrupting here, done cinema verité guerilla style, like Godard, or “Jackass.” In truth, film had yet to adopt the stage-bound ethos of manufactured realities, which we have largely the sound era to thank for. It stands as an example of the general Keystone approach, the fly-by-their-seat nature of this studio.


Mabel’s Strange Predicament (1914) – Now this is why Chaplin devised his costume. And yet it is the sequel, released a full two days after Kid Auto Races (on February 9, 1914), which goes to show the sort of filmmaking pace we’re talking about.

The situation is simple: The Tramp is drunk in a hotel lobby, and disturbs the matronly hoi polloi. There is much that, in hindsight, is atypical, centrally the Tramp’s convincing drunkenness. No doubt the character was still being formed, though Chaplin’s use of his derby and cane prop anticipate future refinements. So does the targeting of the upper class, what would become Chaplin’s bread and butter. Also, in contrast to Kid Auto Races, Mabel’s Strange Predicament (yes, there is a “strange predicament” involving a gal we assume is called Mabel) is entirely interior, demanding tighter shots. This favors Chaplin’s performances, always so heavy with the facial expressions and minute physical tics.


The Star Boarder (1914) – Six films separate this from Mabel, bringing us up to April. In the interim, Chaplin has played characters known as “a Policeman,” “a Masher,” “the Film Johnnie,” and “Tipsy Dancer.”

Another short, another situation: The Tramp (or arguably just a “Star Boarder”) battles several other tenants for the attentions of the landlady. Most silent shorts, much like the Disney and Warner Brothers animated shorts they would inspire, offer up location change as their central variation. Comedians were still experimenting with film, specifically with how laughter could be engendered through pure pantomime. Switching setting allows a shifting canvas for experimentation, to learn lessons that can then be applied more carefully to later features.

Even in this short span, we see Chaplin refine the material surrounding his Tramp. A staggeringly vast cast (for a twelve minute movie) battles the Tramp, each with a different set of relationships and wants. Naturally, some pretty broad gesticulations are needed, in want of title cards (which Chaplin’s work wisely minimizes). Here one can see how the Tramp differs from the more grotesque archetypal figures he’s up against. The Tramp seems more at home in silence, with a unique walk and mannerisms. And by now (and with Chaplin’s other similar shorts in between), a distinct physical idiom develops. Audiences recognize through familiarity what the Tramp’s actions mean. The other actors, in one-off roles without established personas, haven’t that fortune.

Actually, the challenge becomes separating Chaplin’s own filmic presence with the Tramp’s as a separate identity. He may not even be the Tramp in this case…though the character’s persona is all that matters. Like with Mickey Mouse, there is no grander continuity.


Recreation (1914) – By now, well into August of 1914, Chaplin is writing and directing, thus dictating his Tramp character more fully.

The Tramp and his Girl are out on the town, swing dancing at the local speakeasy, or something. Now…this seems a little odd, for how inarguably it is the Tramp this time, as one doesn’t expect to see him in a frivolous, moneyed context. Further, he’s not even in the right costume! No mustache, no derby, even while the physical mannerisms remain the same. While Recreation is an amusing enough work on its own, it feels like a significant miscalculation for the character. Which is perhaps necessary, to evaluate what the Tramp’s proper milieu truly is. We associate him with poverty, not with the headier excesses of pre-Depression America.

Minus those concerns, Recreation is a decent showcase for some of Keystone’s other talent. Fatty Arbuckle appears against the tramp, as does (I think) Al St. John – this assumption based simply on that actor’s ubiquity. Conflict arises over the Girl, a stock situation that would soon define silent comedy. A little of that earlier Keystone mania is back, as comedy comes through physically flailing dance moves, all seemingly improvised.

Of note, in late 1914 Keystone put out their first feature length film comedy, Tillie’s Punctured Romance. Though it stars Chaplin (and a bevy of Keystone’s descending roster), he is unequivocally not the Tramp here – the movie has far too many of its own concerns for that. And while it comes at nearly the end of Chaplin’s Keystone kareer, its length and ambition might be the inspiration for some of what is to come.


The Tramp (1915) – Starting in 1915, Chaplin moved on to Essanay Film, where he enjoyed greater artistic autonomy (mostly making two reelers), far from the maddening fields of frantic, flailing Keystone – the lone company in Chaplin’s biography which would’ve done quite well enough for itself without Charlie’s aid.

The Tramp is a landmark film in the evolution of the Tramp, as evidenced by that title. In fact, it could be argued that all prior were but experiments, and it is here where the Tramp truly emerges – an itinerant transient, hungry and desperate and nonetheless humanist. Chaplin is identified with pathos, with pioneering comedic emotion. Keystone gave Chaplin a baggy-pantsed leg up so he could explore these new avenues.

There is no question now as to whom the Tramp is. He emerges idly along the country road, homeless and without prospects. The Tramp endures some scenes of familiar silent film slapstick, as Chaplin knows now from experience how to dress most any situation with such shenanigans. Yet the film’s point doesn’t end there. We’re meant to connect with the Tramp over his predicament, making the jokes come from recognition. We are no longer above this comic buffoon, but on his level laughing at the oddities of life.

Such is the intent, and surely that’s how viewers at the time took it. For all our current economic woes, the world is no longer a Schwartzwelderian realm of bindle-carrying hobos and sad clowns. I say this because I find a certain remove in the realities Chaplin deals with, which make his films more distant than their necessary technical limitations make them. (Truth be told: I am a diehard Buster Keaton fan, whose dry, stoic ingenuity is a lot easier to enjoy on an immediate level. Chaplin is a little alien, easier to appreciate intellectually than in actuality. Though many feel the opposite, so just take that as a confessed author prejudice.)


The Tramp happens upon a farm, where the Girl lives – as played by Edna Purviance, Chaplin’s emerging regular female costar. Unrequited love is what keeps the Tramp on as a hired hand, thus setting the emotional stakes for what would otherwise be a series of disconnected farm gags: antics involving pitchforks, flour, a barn, cows.

As a two reeler (clocking in at twenty-six minutes, roughly equivalent now to a half hour TV episode), there must needs be further plot complications. Criminals threaten the farm. The Tramp retaliates. His physical confrontations with threatening oafs – many a silent film counters its miniscule comic star with oversized human gorillas – follow the standard Chaplin outline. The Tramp uses quick wits to triumph over his bullies, employing many a swift kick to the rear – which must’ve been hilarious to 1915 audiences, to hear it told. In fact, critics warned against the outright vulgarity of Chaplin’s Little Tramp, so one assumes such innocuous anal assault – plus examples of the Tramp’s sensuality and lust – were more substantial worries in the day. (Really, hardly any great comedy arises without breaking barriers, so we must assume Chaplin did so, even if we’re no longer able to ascertain those sacred cows.)

It’s The Tramp’s conclusion which really depicts Chaplin’s new artistic leaf. In an earlier comedy involving the Tramp and a Girl (so capitalized because it’s a stock role), he’d get her at the end. Happy ending, all leave happy. Here, Chaplin goes maudlin and denies his Tramp immediate pleasure. The Girl already has a beau, with whom she is deeply in love, in an arm-waving silent film sort of way. The Tramp is decent enough, for all his comic desires, not to stand in their way. Rather he departs on the same road as before, a reversal of the opening, to go on unfulfilled.

Now…that ending suggests when we see the Tramp again, in his latest misadventure, it’s the same guy. This isn’t a necessary reading. A more modern audience expects narrative unity, though I’d wager in Chaplin’s case this is just the creation of an eternal cycle. The Tramp shall always find a Girl, vie for her, kick some butts, then fail. It’s like the endless Sisyphean struggle, rendered comic. For all of Chaplin’s humanism in light of Keaton’s cynicism or Harold Lloyd’s regularity, there is a substantial strain of tragedy to his films. It’s telling about the world at the time that addressing such commonalities comedically made him the world’s most beloved icon.


Shanghaied (1915) – What once was revolutionary now becomes formula. Again Chaplin’s Tramp (arguably – drat that silent intertitles are rarely consistent – see Nosferatu’s Orlok/Dracula mix-up) seeks the Girl (Purviance). Like a more physically-minded romantic comedy, events conspire to keep them apart, in this case the Tramp’s conscription upon Her Father’s ship. (The Father is another common role, to oppose the hero’s romance without being a romantic rival.) But the Girl sneaks aboard as well. Hilarity ensues.

Most of Shanghaied recalls the Keystone experimentation, by making the setting switch the most substantial element. Almost as though Chaplin assumed audiences would now be over-familiar with The Tramp’s framework, which is mostly glossed over in favor of ship-bound gags. The Tramp’s obliviousness leads to others’ injury, often those who’d wish him injury.


Shanghaied plays well with comic escalation, milking a simple idea for all it’s worth. Chaplin working in the galley would be amusing enough, with half the crew out for his blood, on the face of it. Add in some waves, some rocking to send objects back and forth throughout, and this scenario exacerbates. It’s always impressed me with silent comedies how well they explore such complications, in an attempt to exhaust potential.

Then, in contrast to The Tramp, the Tramp gets the Girl. At least, he doesn’t conclusively not get her. Though have no doubt he’ll be back on the bottom in no time.

In total, Chaplin made fifteen films for Essanay, then twelve more for Mutual, a movie which granted Chaplin even more artistic autonomy, up to and including complete access to his own personal full-time studio (compare this to Keaton, who’d have to struggle for each one of his movies). Chaplin’s Mutual output, from 1916 to 1917, is considered possibly his most fruitful (certainly in terms of quantity). The lone demand put upon Chaplin was a demand for speed, with deadlines forcing formula where he’d otherwise avoid it – something which our brief pick-and-choose overview already reveals.

No doubt in Mutual two-reel movies like The Floorwalker, The Pawnshop and Easy Street, Chaplin’s mostly Tramp-like persona remains and refines. The niggling fact lingers that it’s hard to ascertain just which of these films feature the actual tramp; credits list all Chaplin’s Mutual roles by some job title, though possibly just the Tramp’s latest day-long career. Owing to the limiting purpose of this blog project, without a definite Tramp entry, we’ll have to pass over the Mutual era in silence.

But the Tramp’s true era is about to begin, as Chaplin moves on to another studio, more freedom, and retools the Tramp for feature length (i.e. six reel) films.

2011 Officially the Most Sequel-Happy Year in History!

This has been news for a great long while already, but my elaborate, foolish posting system means this is the first I'm commenting upon it. Somewhere around 28 sequels are scheduled for 2011 release, and most of those have attendant franchises as well. Even ignoring those series which aren't yet up to 4 entries, here is what my filmgoing schedule looks like for the next year. Pray for me.

Scream 4 (April 15)
Madea's Big Happy Family (April 22)
Fast Five (April 29)
Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (May 20)
X-Men: First Class (June 1)
Transformers: Dark of the Moon (July 1) (Because I count The Transformers: The Movie towards the franchise, and am a glutton for pain.)
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 (July 15)
Winnie the Pooh (also July 15)
Spy Kids 4: All the Time in the World (August 19)
Final Destination 5 (August 26)
Piranha 3DD (September 16) (Because the original series counts, making this #4.)
Puss in Boots (November 4) (aka Shrek 5)
Rise of the Apes (November 23)
The Muppets (also November 23)
Mission: Impossibe - Ghost Protocol (December 16)
Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (also December 16...though this one may not count)

And one that's still up in the air: Halloween III

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 1 (November 18) does not count, THANK GOD, because there is a final one coming in 2012. NOOOOOOO!!!

That's ignoring Part 2 and 3 sequels, which I am not listing. Though the world trembles that there may soon be a fourth Alvin and the Chipmunks movie. Gentlemen, to creative stagnation!

2011 Officially the Most Sequel-Happy Year in History!

This has been news for a great long while already, but my elaborate, foolish posting system means this is the first I'm commenting upon it. Somewhere around 28 sequels are scheduled for 2011 release, and most of those have attendant franchises as well. Even ignoring those series which aren't yet up to 4 entries, here is what my filmgoing schedule looks like for the next year. Pray for me.

Scream 4 (April 15)
Madea's Big Happy Family (April 22)
Fast Five (April 29)
Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (May 20)
X-Men: First Class (June 1)
Transformers: Dark of the Moon (July 1) (Because I count The Transformers: The Movie towards the franchise, and am a glutton for pain.)
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 (July 15)
Winnie the Pooh (also July 15)
Spy Kids 4: All the Time in the World (August 19)
Final Destination 5 (August 26)
Piranha 3DD (September 16) (Because the original series counts, making this #4.)
Puss in Boots (November 4) (aka Shrek 5)
Rise of the Apes (November 23)
The Muppets (also November 23)
Mission: Impossibe - Ghost Protocol (December 16)
Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (also December 16...though this one may not count)

And one that's still up in the air: Halloween III

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 1 (November 18) does not count, THANK GOD, because there is a final one coming in 2012. NOOOOOOO!!!

That's ignoring Part 2 and 3 sequels, which I am not listing. Though the world trembles that there may soon be a fourth Alvin and the Chipmunks movie. Gentlemen, to creative stagnation!

Christmas Lull

Christmas holiday. Travelling. No time to post. Several weeks off, in fact (most likely). And when I return, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Or you guys decide. Propose a franchise, and I'll see about squeezing it in.

In the meantime, here's a couple of old posts pertaining to the Christmas season:

The Muppet Christmas Carol
Monty Python's Life of Brian (more of an Easter thing, really)

Happy holidays!

Christmas Lull

Christmas holiday. Travelling. No time to post. Several weeks off, in fact (most likely). And when I return, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Or you guys decide. Propose a franchise, and I'll see about squeezing it in.

In the meantime, here's a couple of old posts pertaining to the Christmas season:

The Muppet Christmas Carol
Monty Python's Life of Brian (more of an Easter thing, really)

Happy holidays!

An Introduction to My Ridiculous Project

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of too much free time must be in want of writing a blog. In so doing, it is necessary to establish a gimmick for said blog. Inspired by other writers intent upon watching all the films in the Criterion Collection of the IMDb Bottom 100, this blog aims to do something similar...

I am going to watch every film franchise ever made. (I am insane.)

For the sake of my sanity primarily, we must define what constitutes a film franchise lest things get overwhelming. My primary guideline is this – A franchise needs at least 4 films. That means self-contained trilogies are off the table, as are any series that didn’t have the longevity or whatever to make it to four.

Secondly, I am only counting films that have been released theatrically in their countries of origin. This means no direct-to-video, no made-for-TV, no other strange hyphenate offshoots. This rule has been created mostly to protect myself from having to watch the entire Leprechaun or Land Before Time series, and surely you will grant me that. However, Pokémon and any of the other flabbergastingly multitudinous anime franchises have been released theatrically in Japan. I still have to watch those!

There is also the question of how to consider remakes, reboots, reimaginings, spinoffs, prequels, interquels, crossovers, and any other oddball variations. There are so many weird permutations out there, and I’m afraid they’ll have to be decided on a per-series basis. This means I can decide, 25 or so Godzilla films in, if I have the stomach to endure that damned American remake. Or how King Kong fits into it all.

Despite these limitations, there are still roughly 181 film franchises I must watch, with nearly two thousand movies in total! And growing! This accounts for everything from well-known Hollywood blockbusters, to old B-movies and serial programmers from the 30s and 40s, to countless obscure foreign creations.

For the sake of the upcoming decade or so of reviews, I have arranged the franchises entirely at random, weighted by the number of films per series. Maybe later on I could list out all these franchises (trying to conserve space at the moment). For the time being, though, here is a taste of my immediate future (again, picked at random):

The Fast and the Furious (4 movies)
Ilsa (4 movies)
Karl May (23 movies)
Andy Hardy (16 movies)

Yeah, I never heard of some of those either. The Fast and the Furious?! Huh?!

This whole exercise is gonna be that way.

An Introduction to My Ridiculous Project

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of too much free time must be in want of writing a blog. In so doing, it is necessary to establish a gimmick for said blog. Inspired by other writers intent upon watching all the films in the Criterion Collection of the IMDb Bottom 100, this blog aims to do something similar...

I am going to watch every film franchise ever made. (I am insane.)

For the sake of my sanity primarily, we must define what constitutes a film franchise lest things get overwhelming. My primary guideline is this – A franchise needs at least 4 films. That means self-contained trilogies are off the table, as are any series that didn’t have the longevity or whatever to make it to four.

Secondly, I am only counting films that have been released theatrically in their countries of origin. This means no direct-to-video, no made-for-TV, no other strange hyphenate offshoots. This rule has been created mostly to protect myself from having to watch the entire Leprechaun or Land Before Time series, and surely you will grant me that. However, Pokémon and any of the other flabbergastingly multitudinous anime franchises have been released theatrically in Japan. I still have to watch those!

There is also the question of how to consider remakes, reboots, reimaginings, spinoffs, prequels, interquels, crossovers, and any other oddball variations. There are so many weird permutations out there, and I’m afraid they’ll have to be decided on a per-series basis. This means I can decide, 25 or so Godzilla films in, if I have the stomach to endure that damned American remake. Or how King Kong fits into it all.

Despite these limitations, there are still roughly 181 film franchises I must watch, with nearly two thousand movies in total! And growing! This accounts for everything from well-known Hollywood blockbusters, to old B-movies and serial programmers from the 30s and 40s, to countless obscure foreign creations.

For the sake of the upcoming decade or so of reviews, I have arranged the franchises entirely at random, weighted by the number of films per series. Maybe later on I could list out all these franchises (trying to conserve space at the moment). For the time being, though, here is a taste of my immediate future (again, picked at random):

The Fast and the Furious (4 movies)
Ilsa (4 movies)
Karl May (23 movies)
Andy Hardy (16 movies)

Yeah, I never heard of some of those either. The Fast and the Furious?! Huh?!

This whole exercise is gonna be that way.