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c.1919
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Della Steele
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| Filming The Circus. Merna Kennedy is standing at center with Harry Crocker (tall man with hat), Toraichi Kono (behind Crocker) & Henry Bergman behind the camera. Seated in front of Bergman is Della Steele. |
I've always been curious about Della Steele, Chaplin's continuity secretary from c.1924 to 1936. She can be spotted in numerous behind-the scenes-photos from this period (like the one above)--sitting behind the camera (usually off to the side somewhere) writing her meticulous notes, no matter where they were filming. She was among the crew who accompanied Chaplin to the snowy mountains of Truckee, CA during the filming of The Gold Rush. Lita Grey Chaplin remembered that Steele was one of the first crew members to catch a bad cold.
Steele's notes provide valuable insight into Chaplin's filmmaking process. Sometimes they included little tidbits of info about late-night meals and who visited the set on a particular day:
Midnight supper served on stage. Shooting in Dynamo set. Worked all night from 7:30PM to 4:45AM. Paulette Goddard, King Vidor and Betty Hill [Vidor's girlfriend] visitors on set. (October 15th, 1934)The production report for the next day is a little more dramatic:
Shooting in Dynamo set. Hard rainstorm stopped work for an hour and a half. Rain came through tarpoleon [sic] overhead and caused some damage to the sets. Hot supper served at 1 A.M. and worked balance of night to 5:10 Wednesday morning. [work began at 6:30PM the previous day]
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| Production Report, Oct. 16th, 1934. Source: Modern Times: Project Chaplin n. 2 |
Usually the secretary just filled in the start and end time for the day on the production report. Maybe it's just me, but the fact that Steele reiterated that the crew had to work all night both nights in her notes makes it sound like she wasn't too pleased about it.
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Charlie directs a scene for Modern Times: Rollie Totheroh & Ira Morgan are behind the camera. Della Steele is behind Chaplin. Assistant director Carter De Haven is seated with his legs crossed on the left. Standing at far right is Paulette Goddard. Charlie appears to be in street clothes except for his shoes. |
According to a 1936 article by Sara Hamilton,* Steele stood in for the actors during a story conference for Modern Times. The article also reveals how Chaplin could bring an audience to tears even during rehearsals (and even when he wasn't playing the Tramp)**:
About the table gather Charlie, Henry [Bergman] and Della and the situations are then acted out one after the other. Charlie begins by taking his own role of the little tramp, closely watching their reactions to his every move. Henry, who weighs the better part of a ton, [poor Henry!] is then called upon to play Chaplin's role, Della takes Miss Goddard's role of the little street waif and Charlie is the factory foreman. They go into the scene, silently moving about the room.Not much is known about Steele's personal life. A lifelong Californian, Della Elizabeth Dosta Steele was born in 1890 and died in 1955. She was married once (as far as I can tell) to a man named John Steele. They were divorced sometime in the 1920s. She is buried at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale. I don't believe she had any children. She was among the few women who worked for Charlie who wasn't an actress. It's a shame she was never interviewed (to my knowledge) about her time working for him. I'm sure she had some great stories to tell.
Swiftly they change parts again. Della is Charlie the tramp. Henry is the policeman and Chaplin becomes the street waif, a look of pathetic wistfulness stealing across his face as the Chaplin features fade into some vague mist and the hungry child of the streets emerges in perfect form. Trying to hide their tears Della and Henry watch the character before them. Not Chaplin. Certainly not Chaplin. But a strange and terrified child.**
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| Chaplin's crew circa Modern Times. Back row: Mark Marlatt (asst. cameraman), Girwood Averill (projectionist), Ira H. Morgan (cinematographer), William Bogdonoff (construction). Front row: Joe Van Meter (production asst.), Henry Bergman (asst. director), Roland Totheroh (cinematographer), Della Steele, Allan Garcia (casting) |
*"Charlie Chaplin and Charles Chaplin," The Straits Times, March 20th, 1936
**Alice Davenport had a similar reaction while watching Charlie film the scene from The New Janitor where the Tramp pleads for his job because he has a large family to care for. Afterwards Davenport told Charlie, "I know it's supposed to be funny, but you just make me weep." Henry Bergman also recalled the crew members getting misty-eyed while watching Charlie film the final scene of City Lights.
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Della Steele (left) & Kathleen Pryor at the Chaplin Studio gate
Thanks to Dominique Dugros for this lovely photo.
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Pryor was also a secretary with the studio. The above photo accompanies the following article from the Los Angeles Times dated January 15, 1927:
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| Note: the Chaplin Studios had been placed into receivership by the I.R.S. at this time and had literally been padlocked. |
Click here to see pictures of Charlie with "Bill" (scroll down).
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ONE A.M., released August 7th, 1916
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World Tour Revisited: "Charlie Chaplin Not Hurt By Motor Crash"
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| Boston Globe, August 8, 1931 |
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"Charlie Chaplin Remembered"
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| Portrait by Nishiyama, New York, c. 1925 |
In honor of Louise Brooks' passing 28 years ago today, here is her 1966 essay about Chaplin in its entirety:
"Charlie Chaplin Remembered" by Louise Brooks
When Kevin Brownlow wrote me his account of an afternoon spent watching Charlie Chaplin direct A Countess From Hong Kong, I was astonished at his disciplined concentration which registered a thousand sights and sounds and emotions spread before him. I was astonished at his ability to remember every technical detail and everybody’s dialogue reconstructed from a few hasty notes he dared jot down in Chaplin’s prohibiting presence. But, at the end of his brief report, what more than astonished me was his insight into the character of Chaplin who is the most bafflingly complex man who ever lived. Kevin’s description and the shadow of my memory came together in pure Chaplin. If we knew nothing more of Chaplin than his subtly sweet and cruel method of reducing the sound mixer’s arrogance to submission, we would touch his essence. Beyond that, however, beyond his conflict with Marlon Brando, his seventy-seven years and grinding work, we find a man “happy” in the element of his genius, dancing a gay funny rumba, remaining forever young in the adoring smile of a lovely young actress.
As I envisioned this scene, forty-one years were stripped from my life. It was New York, August, 1925. Chaplin, aged thirty-six, was in town for the premiere of The Gold Rush at the Strand Theatre on Broadway. I, aged eighteen, was dancing in the Ziegfeld Follies round the corner at the new Amsterdam Theatre on 42nd Street. Submerged in my own fascinating being, I was only vaguely aware that The Gold Rush had brought Chaplin his greatest triumph; that he was the toast of all intellectual, cultural and social New York; and that for a week the tabloids ran front-page pictures of Broadway beauties, asking: “Who bit Charlie’s lip?”* Then, one afternoon at a cocktail party given by Walter Wanger, I met him.
His physical presence revealed an exquisiteness the screen could not reflect. Small, perfectly made, meticulously dressed, with his fine grey hair and ivory skin and white teeth, he was as clean as a pearl and glowed all over. Inside he was glowing too with the radiant gaiety released by the successful conclusion of two year’s work on his film. Taken at this time for Vanity Fair magazine was the Edward Steichen photograph which has been reproduced in Chaplin’s autobiography. He is grinning with infectious naughtiness into the camera at the same time Steichen has caught his horned curls in a faun shadow on the background.
As if to receive him, New York had also put on a new glow of luxury, grace and elegance. Gone were the Scott Fitzgerald exhibitionists, the hip flask, the flapper and the Charleston. 1925 was the year that marked the beginning of Café Society. Photographs of English duchesses advertising Pond’s Cold Cream appeared in Photoplay magazine, and New York society men dined with Follies girls unmolested at the exclusive Colony restaurant. Harry d’Arrast, Chaplin’s assistant was staying with him at the Ritz, and they took Peggy Fears, my best friend in the Follies, and myself to all the smart new night clubs. Swirling in chiffons of pink and blue, Peggy and I danced the tango with them at the Montmartre where the head waiters bowed reverently before Charlie and the haughty patrons pretended that they were not thrilled at the sight of him. Charlie and Harry took us, Peggy shining in crystal beads and me magnificent but itchy in gold lace, to the Lido for the opening of the great dancer Maurice with his new partner Barbara Bennett--my second best friend. Beneath the composure of his public face, Charlie had an hilarious time because, in the opening waltz, Barbara muffed a step and giggled. Glaring with rage, Maurice did not kick her then only because he was reserving his punishment for their final Apache number at the end of which he sent Barbara skidding on her face to the very edge of the dance floor.
New York also produced dozens of new plays that season. We sat in a box at "The Cradle Snatchers" looking at Mary Boland, Edna May Oliver and a young actor, Humphrey Bogart on the stage while the rest of the audience looked at Charlie. From the Ambassador Hotel, where Charlie moved after Harry returned to Hollywood, we walked seventy blocks down to the Greenwich Village Theatre to see "Outside Looking In," a play about tramps which Charlie had already seen twice. In the cast were James Cagney, Charles Bickford and Blyth Daly who played a young girl disguised as a boy hobo. Her performance might have interested me more had I known that I would play her part in the film renamed Beggars Of Life after the title of Jim Tully's book which Maxwell Anderson had adapted for the theatre.
This passion of Charlie's for long walks led to two curious incidents. The first was a night walk to the Jewish ghetto on the lower East Side where, to get rid of a mob of fans following Chaplin, we ducked into a little white-tiled restaurant. Four hours passed before we came out because inside Chaplin had found a wild Hungarian torturing a violin, and Chaplin's absorption in his performance kept us there till closing time. Twenty-seven years later I saw the Hungarian violinist come to life again in the person of Chaplin in his variety hall act with Buster Keaton at the piano in Limelight. The second incident was a mystification of only minutes. Walking up Park Avenue one afternoon, I recognized the unmistakable figure of Chaplin more than a block ahead of me. Swinging his cane, he was strolling with his usual grace except that at intervals he would snap his head back for a quick look behind him. Running to catch up with him I asked: "What in the world is the matter with you?" Looking back once more, Charlie whispered, "Mr. Hearst is having me followed!" and then vanished through the Ambassador's lobby door. Ever since he had become a friend of Marion Davies and Mr. Hearst, because Mr. Hearst guarded Marion so closely, Charlie was sure that he too was spied upon. This, I could never believe, although I had first-had knowledge of the surveillance which prevented Marion from too frequently "dipping the bill." One day at the Warwick Hotel after Mr. Hearst had gone out and a group of girls had retired to her bedroom, Marion had barely time to say: "B-b-brooksie, get the gin out of the bathroom" and I had barely time to produce the bottle before Mr. Hearst stuck his head through the door, piping pleasantly: "Well, hello!"
After d'Arrast's departure, he was replaced in our foursome by A. C. Blumenthal, the tiny film financier. It was September now and Charlie was sick of being watched in public, sick of entertaining society and the intellectuals who numbed his soul. Most of our time together was spent in Blumie's big airy apartment atop the Ambassador. Blumie played the piano, Peggy sang, I danced, and Charlie returned to reality--the world of his creative imagination. He recalled his youth with comic pantomimes. He acted out countless scenes for countless films. And he did imitations of everybody. Isadora Duncan danced in a storm of toilet paper. John Barrymore picked his nose and brooded over Hamlet's soliloquy. A Follies girl swished across the room, and I began to cry while Charlie denied absolutely that he was imitating me. Nevertheless, as he patted my hand, I determined to abandon that silly walk forthwith.
And then, as fluidly as they had taken form, those exquisite Chaplin days dissolved. Peggy went on the road with the Ziegfeld Follies, I began my first film role in The American Venus at Paramount's Long Island studio, Charlie returned to Hollywood, and the Ambassador apartment was left alone with Blumie.
In his autobiography, Chaplin gave less than a page and less than a week's time to this period.** "Were we too dull to be remembered? or had the actress who bit his lips spoiled the memory?" I wondered until I read Kevin's fresh view of Chaplin and found him again in my past, realizing how hopeless it was to ponder the motives of a faun.--Film Culture, Spring 1966
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*Evidently Charlie tried to kiss an entire line of chorus girls and one was not very cooperative.
**This omission must have miffed Louise more than she lets on here because two years before this essay, she wrote scathing letters about Chaplin to a friend after she read his autobiography. Click here to read them (if you dare).
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Aboard the SS President Coolidge, 1936
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THE BANK, released 98 years ago today
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Chaplin conducts the Abe Lyman Orchestra
As a publicity stunt in 1925, Charlie guest conducted the Abe Lyman Orchestra for a gramophone recording of two of his own original compositions: “Sing A Song” & “With You Dear, In Bombay." The songs may have been played in cinemas before screenings of The Gold Rush or the sheet music to the songs used by cinema musicians to accompany certain scenes during the film. Additional note: Charlie himself plays a short violin solo on both songs: “Sing A Song” (around the 1:40 mark) & "Bombay" (around 4:05).
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World Tour Revisited: "Charlot At A Bullfight"
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| Illustration from "A Comedian Sees The World," A Woman's Home Companion, 1933. Drawing by Robert Gellert. |
But once the day of the bullfight arrived and Charlie entered the arena, he became agitated. According to May: “The first bullfighter bowed to him, made a fiery speech, and tossed him his hat and his mantle, which we displayed on the balustrade. Since the crowd was almost more interested in Chaplin than in the bullfight, he began to act in a film, ‘Charlot At A Bullfight.' Gradually the playacting became serious, however, for he can scarcely bear to see an animal suffer.”
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| A matador tosses his hat to Charlie. |
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| Charlie waves to the crowd. Harry d'Arrast and May Reeves are seated next to him. |
May relates Charlie’s reaction to this brutality: “As the picadors plunged their lances into the bull and tore out scraps of bleeding flesh, Charlie lost his composure and covered his eyes in horror. When the bull, attracted by the cape, lunged at his adversary, he cried, ‘Help, Help!’ Then he turned his face away and asked me, ‘Is he gored?’ When two banderillas were lodged into the neck of the bull, Charlie cried, ‘Help, I’m going to faint!’
Finally the bullfighter exchanged his red cape for the muleta which concealed the sword of death. During some difficult passes, Charlie turned to me and asked in a pleading tone, ‘Is the bull finally dead? Is he still alive? May, why don’t they kill him?’”
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| Charlie observes the bulls before the fight. |
In the silence of the arena one heard a wagon passing outside. As the sound died away the beast crumpled to the ground and thirty thousand people broke spontaneously into wild enthusiasm and applause.”
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| At the bullring El Chofre |
When the spectacle was over, Charlie tried to leave the arena unnoticed, but hundreds of fans and autograph seekers blocked his way. When a reporter asked him whether he had enjoyed the bullfight, he replied courteously, “I would rather say nothing.”
“All that night, he couldn’t sleep peacefully," wrote May. "In his dreams he cried, ‘Help! Help!’”
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Sources:
May Reeves, The Intimate Charlie Chaplin, trans. by Constance Kuriyama, McFarland 2001
Charles Chaplin, "A Comedian Sees The World Part 4, A Woman's Home Companion, Dec. 1933
New York Times, August 10th, 1931
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Did Charlie work as an extra in the 1928 film The Woman Disputed?
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| Washington Post, Nov. 24th, 1928 |
Charles Chaplin visited the set one day and was asked by assistant director Robert Florey to play a practical joke on Talmadge. The scene in question called for the actress to come down a dark street and ask a stranger for a match. When the actress saw it was Chaplin, she could scarcely keep from laughing before director Henry King could call 'cut.' After lighting the cigarette, he tossed the match over his shoulder and kicked it in his characteristic fashion. The cameo was not publicized and because the kick part was cut, the bit went largely unnoticed. Chaplin was paid $7.50 by Florey for the scene in an elaborate ceremony.I have never seen this film and couldn't find it online to watch. Have any of you seen it? Is Charlie's cameo in the film?
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THE FACE ON THE BARROOM FLOOR, released August 10th, 1914
Chaplin burlesques the poem "The Face Upon The Floor" by Hugh Antoine d'Arcy & uses several lines from the poem as title cards. The film's flashback storytelling technique is unusual for Chaplin (he uses it only twice more in Shoulder Arms& Limelight). It was also an early attempt by to draw sympathy as well as laughter from his audience.
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screenshots: Chaplin At Keystone (Flicker Alley)
screenshots: Chaplin At Keystone (Flicker Alley)
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Charlie with Pola Negri, 1923
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Lou Costello & Charlie, 1942
According to the book Abbott and Costello In Hollywood by Bob Furmanek & Ron Palumbo:
Who Done It? [a 1942 Abbott and Costello film] was supposed to be dedicated to Lou's idol, Charlie Chaplin. Before the production, Lou was a guest of honor at Chaplin's Beverly Hills home. According to a newspaper clipping, Chaplin entertained his guests with an impersonation of Abbott & Costello and the two great comics discussed the possibility of doing a picture together. Lou asked about the possibility of buying the rights to The Kid. Later, Lou explained: "Charlie told me he planned to remake The Kid with me playing the role he created. Then I guess the whole thing was dropped because he got involved in this political situation and left the country."
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Charlie & Edna sharing a bed...
...on the set of A Woman Of Paris (1923)
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With a visitor on the set of A DOG'S LIFE, 1918
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“Rhythm”
This short story, written by Chaplin, first appeared in Rob Wagner’s Script magazine in January, 1938:
Rhythm : A Story Of Men In Macabre Movement
by Charles Chaplin
Only the dawn moved in the stillness of that small prison yard--the dawn ushering in death, as the young Loyalist stood facing the firing squad. The preliminaries were over. The small group of officials had stepped to one side to witness the end and now the scene had tightened into ominous silence.
Up to the last, the Rebels had hoped that a reprieve would come from Headquarters, for although the condemned man was an enemy to their cause, in the past he had been a popular figure in Spain, a brilliant writer of humour, who had contributed much to the enjoyment of his fellow countrymen.
The officer in charge of the firing squad knew him personally. Before the civil war they had been friends. Together they had been graduated from the university in Madrid. Together they had worked for the overthrow of the monarchy and the power of the Church. And together, they had caroused, had sat at nights around cafe tables, had laughed and joked, had enjoyed evenings of metaphysical discussion. At times they had argued on the dialectics of government. Their technical differences were friendly then, but now those differences had wrought misery and upheaval all over Spain, and had brought his friend to die by the firing squad.
But why think of the past? Why reason? Since the civil war, what good was reason? In the silence of the prison yard these interrogative thoughts ran feverishly through the officer’s mind.
No. He must shut out the past. Only the future mattered. A world in which he would be deprived of many old friends.
That morning was the first time they had met since the war. But no word was spoken. Only a faint smile of recognition passed between them as they prepared for the march into the prison yard.
From the sombre dawn streaks of silver and red peered over the prison wall, and breathed a quiet requiem in rhythm with the stillness in the yard, a rhythm pulsating in silence like the throbbing of a heart. Out of that silence the voice of the commanding officer resounded against the prison walls. "Attention!"
At this command, six subordinates snapped their rifles to their sides and stiffened. The unity of their action was followed by a pause in which the next command was to be given.
But in that pause something happened, something that broke the line of rhythm. The condemned man coughed and cleared his throat. This interruption broke the concatenation of procedure.
The officer turned, expecting the prisoner to speak, but no words came. Turning to his men again, he was about to proceed with the next command, but a sudden revolt took possession of his brain, a psychic amnesia that left his mind a blank. He stood bewildered before his men. What was the matter? The scene in the prison yard had no meaning. He saw only objectively — a man with his back to the wall facing six others. And the group there on the side, how foolish they looked, like rows of clocks that had suddenly stopped ticking. No one moved. Nothing made sense. Something was wrong. It must be a dream, and he must snap out of it.
Dimly his memory began to return. How long had he been standing there? What had happened? Ah, yes! He had issued an order. But what order came next?
Following "Attention!" was the command "present arms," and after that, "to aim," and then "fire!" A faint concept of this was in the back of his mind. But words to utter it seemed far off--vague and outside of himself.
In this dilemma he shouted incoherently, jumbled words that had no meaning. But to his relief the men presented arms. The rhythm of their action set his brain in rhythm, and again he shouted. Now the men took aim.
But in the pause that followed, there came into the prison yard hurrying footsteps, the nature of which the officer knew meant a reprieve. Instantly, his mind cleared. "Stop!" he screamed frantically at the firing squad.
Six men stood poised with rifles. Six men were caught in rhythm. Six men when they heard the scream to stop--fired.
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RECREATION, released August 13th, 1914
screenshots from Chaplin At Keystone (Flicker Alley)
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Hollywood party at Max Linder's
The names of Gouverneur Morris & his wife Ruth Wightman are misspelled in the caption.
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Charlie with Canadian soldier Harold Peat & his wife, 1918
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