Object #58 - Spinning Table - The Circus (1928)

Dir. Charlie Chaplin

After the opening pickpocket sequence of The Circus, we see The Tramp (Charlie Chaplin) flee his pursuers into the middle of a circus show. The Tramp falls onto a spinning table being used in the show, and in his care-free way, he continues to run, getting nowhere as the circular table continuously rotates. The policeman jumps on to give chase, and the two run on the spot - the pursued and the pursuer, captured in live motion. The circus audience laughs and laughs and laughs, it's the funniest thing they've seen in the show so far. 

Viewing the film, you're struck by how much of a true clown Chaplin really is. This short sequence symbolises it for me, as we see Chaplin, here at the height of his stardom, creating a film in which early in we see him running on the spot for an audience's amusement. Is it personal commentary? Does Chaplin feel that this is his career - running in circles for laughs? But surely for a clown such as he, this is what he lives for? And is there a better symbol for cinema adapting the circus conventions than a moving image of what is, essentially, a literal moving image of the pursuer and the pursued?  

As the film develops it's clear that Chaplin understood the resonance of setting his latest comedy at a circus. It's a deeply personal film, and in a time of personal strife (Chaplin had divorced his second wife, experienced the death of his mother, and suffered studio strife such as a fire burning down the set) for Chaplin, his choice to bear his soul and craft not only a superb comedy is secondary to his elevation and commentary on the nature of comedy and its relationship to film.

Take for example, the central conceit of the story - that The Tramp is only funny when he isn't trying to be. When he attempts comedy he fails miserably, failing even to perform the 'standards' of clown comedy - but crucially, it is in his failure that he is funny, as he misinterprets situations, sabotages routines with clumsiness, and generally suffers the bad-will of Lady Luck. But as a filmmaker it is plainly obvious that each 'failure' of comedy he performs is carefully staged.

A fine example of this comes midway through the film where The Tramp is tasked with helping set up the magician's act, but in doing so he spoils the secrets of the entire act - as the trick table he brings on opens to reveal bunny rabbits, birds, and inflatable balloons. Chaplin makes a mockery of the pre-cinematic comedy staples of magic shows and clown routines, but in doing so adapts them in arguably a better fashion to the screen. His physical comedy routines are not a far cry from clown comedy, but the fake parlour-trick magic as shown in circuses and to children is replaced here by that ever elusive and hard-to-define concept of 'movie magic'.

Each scene of the film is movie magic. The Tramp is arguably, the image of the silent era, and whether this 'magic' comes from that cultural history, or the actual artistry of Chaplin's film-making, or a hybrid of the two, is irrelevant, as what appears on screen is nonetheless magical. The two key sequences of the film - the lion-cage and the tightrope are cinema classics for good reason, but they also display Chaplin's daring nature. It's clear that the lion is drugged or sedated to be safe, and the shots only contain both Chaplin and the lion together briefly, but nonetheless, Chaplin put his life on the line and crafted a scene where he would be threatened both in character and in reality, by possible death-by-lion.

The tightrope sequence does not have Chaplin himself in nearly as much physical danger, as due to ingenuous camera work The Tramp appears far higher, and in more danger, than Chaplin was in reality. Again however, we see Chaplin suffer for his craft, as monkeys crawl all over him - and as we all know you can't control wild animals very well. He has to kick off his trousers while balancing on the rope, keeping the pole balanced, and ignoring the monkeys - all the while acting his socks (or should I say trousers) off! Even 'simple' tricks such as performing hand-stands on the tightrope are evidence of Chaplin being a superb classic clown and performer, let alone a cinematic one.

The Tramp becomes egotistical as he realises his value to the show, and demands a pay rise and fair compensation for his colleague and love interest (Merna Kennedy). He becomes very relaxed in the nature of the show, goading the donkey that chases him every time, and generally acting very snobby to the 'supporters'. It isn't until he takes up the role of the tightrope walker to impress the Ring-master's step-daughter does he feel in danger again. If this isn't a commentary on Chaplin's career at this point then I don't know what is. The tightrope sequence is the product of a man pushing himself not only physically but artistically to put himself on display and create something never-before-seen in cinema, not even in his previous cinema output, which themselves are classics in their own right.

With the coming of sound, here we have a Chaplin who fears that his time has passed - best shown in The Tramp's solitary figure at the close of the film - as the circus moves on, leaving the silent-era film-star alone, in the past. This is the last hurrah of Chaplin's silent output by design, but it would not be his last, as the superb City Lights (which I've previously explored) was to come, and we know that Chaplin performed one last masterpiece in the sound era - the great, and ever more timely, The Great Dictator. However, as glad as I am for those films, it would have been an outstanding bit of poetry if this was Chaplin's final film, as he would have gone out on one of the greatest autobiographical films of all time.