New to the Collection: Modern Times

Every time Saucy adds a new DVD to his increasingly mammoth film collection, he will take the time to provide five indelible scenes that convinced him to spend his hard-earned sheckles on something he could have gotten for free with a DVD burner and a Netflix subscription. Unless he doesn't want to do that, at which point he will just do something else. This installment discusses Modern Times, the 1936 comedy by Charles Chaplin.

So I now own the Criterion Collection's edition of Charlie Chaplin's 1936 semi-silent skewering of big business, Modern Times. The problem is I don't really like it.

This is tough for me to admit. For a film snob, Charlie Chaplin is someone who you feel you SHOULD like. And there are moments in Modern Times that are indeed transcendent. They live in cinema lore for good reason. There's the moment where he tests the system that is supposed to feed the workers lunch while they work. There's the iconic trip through the assembly line machinery. There's the part where The Tramp gets arrested because a flag that falls off a passing truck gets mistaken for a banner leading a Communist Party march. There's Paulette Goddard, looking simply stunning in black-and-white, being lovingly photographed by then-beau Chaplin's lens. And then there's the ending with Chaplin and Goddard walking down the road to a future of undetermined happiness, set to the music of Chaplin himself. It could be the signature image in all of Chaplin's distinguished oeurve.

But here's the thing: For all these great images, it must be said that, for the second time, I fell asleep while trying to watch the film. Now, I don't think that falling asleep during a movie is necessarily a condemnation of the material. Several times, I have fallen asleep while watching 2001: A Space Odyssey. It's the slow rhythm of the movie. The soothing classical music. The sound of H.A.L.'s voice. In fact, there have been times when I wanted to take a nap and I turned on 2001 to help me. It just puts me in a really mellow place. Another example is Courage Under Fire, the Edward Zwick film that stars Denzel Washington, Meg Ryan, and a young Matt Damon. I enjoyed the film with its Rashomon-style structure. Thought Denzel was great and Ryan brave in trying something different. But I fell asleep with about a half-hour left. I attribute this to going to see it at around midnight. Even when I was in my early twenties this was a recipe for a movie theater snooze.

But twice? At this point, I have to come to the conclusion that there is something about Chaplin's masterpiece that just doesn't do it for me. I think there are points where he is simply way too in love with his own cleverness. For instance, the aforementioned scene where The Tramp tests the feeding machine. Watching it, I got the distinct feeling that it could have been two or three minutes shorter. There is also the very tricky idea of a mostly silent film (Chaplin for the most part does not have characters speak, but he does allow for atmospherics, such as machine noises, etc.) in 1936, nearly a decade after The Jazz Singer broke the sound barrier. While I am aware that Chaplin chose not to immediately accept the dialogue revolution because he felt it would be death for his Tramp character, his choice smacks of willful stubbornness. Especially in light of two things: the effectiveness of the scene toward the conclusion when Chaplin's character sings a gibberish Italian tune and the quality of The Great Dictator, Chaplin's 1940 entry into the world of sound cinema. The singing scene shows to me that Chaplin knew that sound, when strategically applied, could enhance his work and The Great Dictator reveals The Maestro's expert use of sound to bolster mood. The scenes in Dictator where Chaplin's Adenoid Hynkel addresses his maniacal masses (this time in gibberish German) are hilarious, scary, and viciously satirical all at the same time. And it quite simply makes me wonder how, if he had applied the available technology to Modern Times, the film could have been improved. At the same time, I am aware that my opinion here is not in the majority AND I am not one of these people who cannot watch a silent picture simply for the fact that there is no talking. I am also aware that it is tough to take my opinion as informed at face value due to the fact that I entered a state of unconsciousness while I was viewing the feature.

Bottom line: While it is now a permanent member of my collection, I cannot say that I am a fan of Charles Chaplin's Modern Times. And when you are buying a film from Criterion Collection, which usually cost a pretty penny indeed, it is probably a good idea to make sure that you approve of the film before making the cash transaction. It is a mistake that I would love to say that I will not make again, but my lifelong addiction to film snobbery leads me to think that I will one day be recording a similar lament to the one in this story.

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New to the Collection: Up

Every time Saucy adds a new DVD to his increasingly mammoth film collection, he will take the time to provide five indelible scenes that convinced him to spend his hard-earned sheckles on something he could have gotten for free with a DVD burner and a Netflix subscription. Unless he doesn't want to do that, at which point he will just do something else. This installment discusses Up, the 2009 animated film by Pixar Studios.

I had prepared a really long, pompous, snobby, interminable screed about the "Married Life sequence" in Up, the scene that I consider to be the greatest single piece of filmmaking in movies during the year of 2009, and probably one of the five or so best examples of film editing during the last decade. It was basically just a restating of the events that take place during the sequence, only I inserted some really absurd terms, like "meet-cute," "human condition," and "haunting image." Seriously, the thing really blew. I figured I would just scrap it and allow you to watch the scene for yourself. Follow the link and enjoy!

New to the Collection: The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

Every time Saucy adds a new DVD to his increasingly mammoth film collection, he will take the time to provide five indelible scenes that convinced him to spend his hard-earned sheckles on something he could have gotten for free with a DVD burner and a Netflix subscription. This installment discusses The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, the 1948 film starring a deliciously crazed Humphrey Bogart and directed by that manliest of men's directors, John Huston.

1) "Can you stake a fellow American to a meal?"
Three times, Bogart's Fred C. Dobbs hits up the same unfortunate fellow (Huston, in a memorable cameo) for money to get himself something to eat. However, despite the fact that the benefactor agrees to give Dobbs not only three donations, but a fourth to simply leave him alone, Bogart's character never manages to buy that promised meal. Either he's hitting a bar or luxuriating for a nice shave and haircut. In the first ten minutes, the scene not only entertains, but shows Dobbs' hunger, his greed, and his basic immorality, all of which will lead him toward madness as he hunts for gold flakes later in the picture.

New to the Collection: Milk

Every time Saucy adds a new DVD to his increasingly mammoth film collection, he will take the time to provide five indelible scenes that convinced him to spend his hard-earned sheckles on something he could have gotten for free with a DVD burner and a Netflix subscription. This installment discusses Milk, the 2008 biopic of gay icon and San Francisco revolutionary Harvey Milk by iconoclast director Gus Van Sant.

1) Harvey Milk meets Scott Smith
Other than the provocative opening sequence that shows actual footage of gay men being harassed by police, this is the first scene of the movie, and the thing that makes it so interesting is that it is so...boring. It's just a simple meet-cute scene between two men filmed in matter-of-fact fashion by Van Sant, who with this opening states that he doesn't plan on treating two men meeting each other and agreeing to a tryst as anything out of the ordinary. No swelling orchestra music. No winking concessions for the straight audience. Just two people running into each other and falling in love...kind of. Just like straight people do. That is sort of the point, I think.

New to the Collection: The Great Dictator (1940)

Every time Saucy adds a new DVD to his increasingly mammoth film collection, he will take the time to provide five indelible scenes that convinced him to spend his hard-earned sheckles on something he could have gotten for free with a DVD burner and a Netflix subscription. This installment discusses The Great Dictator, a 1940 satire of Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich by silent film legend Charles Chaplin.

1.) The Globe Sequence
Easily the film’s most indelible scene, it shows a mad man in love with his own ambitions, oblivious to (or more likely, unmoved by) the calamities his megalomania is having on thousands of “Tomanian” citizens. Also, it is just an incredibly shot, choreographed, and acted sequence by a man as graceful as he was bold. Even showcases some early wire work.