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Orson Welles, Stanley Kubrick, and Andrei Tarkovsky agree on something when they all cite City Lights (Charles Chaplin, 1931) as one of their favorite films of all time. With an eye to the fact that TCM will be screening it this Wednesday, I decided to check out Charles Chaplin: My Autobiography and bee-lined to the chapter that discusses the events leading up to the release of this film. It’s a fascinating read wherein Chaplin describes the end of the silent-film era as the film industry transitioned toward sound. Chaplin’s first experience with sound films were so jarring and wretched that he originally thought “the days of sound were numbered.” Then came The Broadway Melody (Harry Beaumont, 1929), which although Chaplin found it “a cheap dull affair” was a huge box-office success, and “overnight every theatre began wiring for sound. That was the twilight of silent films.” Thankfully, Chaplin’s resolve to champion the art of silent films would result in the genius of City Lights and also Modern Times (1936). Even his first “talkie”, The Great Dictator (1940), squeezed out a lot of joy at the expense of the sound era. But the writing was on the wall, and it came with an ominous soundtrack.
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For one thing, with the talkies now three years in, Chaplin found that “the actors had almost forgotten how to pantomime.” It was getting harder to find people with the right chops. But Chaplin was a perfectionist and didn’t mind putting in the time. He would spend five days on a scene that would only last 70 seconds. Then came the stock market crash, which Chaplin side-stepped thanks to reading a book called Social Credit by Major H. Douglas “which analyzed and diagrammed our economic system”. This convinced Chaplin to keep his capital fluid, which was important as City Lights was being financed by his own money.
One of the last elements to be added was the synchronized music. “Nothing is more adventurous and exciting than to hear the tunes one has composed played for the first time by a fifty-piece orchestra,” Chaplin recounts. Once synchronized Chaplin was anxious to see how it all gelled together and an unannounced preview was held at a downtown theater. The film was slapped onscreen to a half-empty house, before a bewildered audience that thought they had come to see a drama rather than a comedy. For Chaplin it “was a ghastly experience,” one that held a few feeble laughs and sporadic walk-outs. Chaplin realized he really needed to sell this one, and remained confident: “With a full house it’ll be great – of course it needs one or two cuts.”
Even with all the changes being wrought by the sound era, it’s sobering to think that Charlie Chaplin, a man whose iconic presence is as globally recognizable as Mickey Mouse, was now having problems with film exhibitors. “In the past exhibitors had always had a lively interest in a new film of mine; now their interest was only lukewarm. Moreover, difficulties arose about getting a New York showing. All the New York movie houses were booked up, I was told. So I would have to wait my turn.”
Undaunted, Chaplin decided to four-wall a 1,150-seat theatre in New York that was off the beaten track at (and these figures are not adjusted for inflation) $7,000 a week. The George M. Cohan Theatre was not even a cinema house, so Chaplin would also have to provide the manager, cashier, ushers, projectionists, stage hands, rent electric signs, and handle all the publicity. “As I was financially involved to the extent of two million dollars – and of my own money at that – I might as well take the full gamble and hire the theatre.”
In the meantime a deal had been settled for the LA opening at a new and beautiful theater. Chaplin invited Albert Einstein and his wife as his special guests, and come show-time Chaplin’s dream of a full-house was fully realized with streets packed with people several blocks thick. When City Lights hit the screen Chaplin was a bundle of nerves. “My heart pounded,” he recalls as the opening scene with the unveiling of the statue was shown. “They began to laugh! The laughter increased into roars. I had got them! All my doubts and fears began to evaporate. And i wanted to weep. For three reels they laughed. And from sheer nerves and excitement I was laughing with them.”
Now comes the part that I, as a film exhibitor, can’t even begin to fathom:
Then a most incredible thing happened. Suddenly in the middle of the laughter the picture was turned off! The house lights went up and a voice over a loudspeaker announced: “Before continuing further with this wonderful comedy, we would like to take five minutes of your time and point out to you the merits of this beautiful new theatre.” I could not believe my ears. I went mad. I leaped from my seat and raced up the aisle: “Where’s that stupid son of a bitch of a manger? I’ll kill him!”
The audience were with me and began stamping their feet and applauding as the idiot went on speaking about the beautiful appointments of the theatre. However, he soon stopped when the audience began booing. It took a reel before the laughter got back into its stride. Under the circumstances I thought the picture went well. During the final scene I noticed Einstein wiping his eyes – further evidence that scientists are incurable sentimentalists.
Then came the New York screening at the four-walled Cohan Theatre, which – like the L.A. theatre – also had 1,150 seats. The staff at United Artists thought Chaplin might have a problem due to the admission Chaplin wanted to charge: $1.50, this at time when most first-run cinemas were charging 85 cents. Chaplin refused to compromise, spent $30,000 on newspaper ads, another $30,000 on electric signs, and proceeded to oversee all aspects of the projection of the film. This time he would watch parts of the movie standing anonymously along with the crowds in the back of the theatre to ensure all was well. It was beyond well. The result was a runaway hit with traffic-blocking lines that took in $80,000 a week for three weeks, staying onscreen for three months during which time it made a net profit of $400,000. It was only taken offscreen after three months at the request of New York theatre circuits who “did not want to have it played out before it reached their circuits.”
Playing directly opposite City Lights at the Cohan Theatre was a talkie with Maurice Chevalier in-person at The Paramount. The Paramount had 3,000 seats. Even with a theatre almost three times bigger, even with a talkie, even with Maurice Chevalier in-person, The Paramount did less than half the business of City Lights. The master pantomime of the silent film era had triumphed over sound, and he wasn’t done yet.
