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Chicago, 1921
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CHARLIE CHAPLIN'S BURLESQUE ON CARMEN
Carmen was originally intended to be released as a two-reel film on December 18th, 1915 but was held by Essanay until Chaplin left the company. In April 1916, an expanded four-reel version of the film was released. Essanay had inserted Chaplin's discarded material back into the film and padding out the rest with new scenes, shot and assembled by Leo White, featuring Ben Turpin. This altered version of the film disgusted Chaplin so much that it sent him to bed for two days. He attempted to sue Essanay for damages but lost the case. He later wrote that Essanay’s dishonest act “rendered a service, for thereafter I had it stipulated in every contract that there should be no mutilating, extending or interfering with my finished work.”
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Charlie and Paulette playing backgammon on the Panacea, 1933
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Christmas card, 1923
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| Motion Picture, December 1923 |
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Charlie doodles in court during the Mann Act trial, March 23rd, 1944
The end result:
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World Tour Revisited: Charlie & Syd's Skiing Adventure
Illustration by Robert Gellert from "A Comedian Sees The World,"
A Woman's Home Companion, December 1933
This was only Sydney's second time on skis and the guide assured him he had nothing to fear. But, in fact, twelve of the group started down and only eleven arrived. "After I came to," Sydney remembered, "I found myself buried in snow at the bottom of a ravine. The rest of the party had disappeared. I had visions of being left there for the night and frozen to death. I managed to pick myself up and continue on. I arrived an hour later at the station just as the rest of the party were about to take the train back to St Moritz" looking like a snowman. Icicles were hanging from his nose and eyelashes. Everyone roared with laughter and Sydney was the joke of the evening. "I decided I had had enough of skiing and would confine my future activities to the bobsleigh, which I did. It's funny the different fears that people have," Sydney wrote. "Charlie would not go on the bob run for a £1000 and no one could persuade him to and yet he would go on night skiing expeditions that I would not have for any sum." --Lisa K. Stein, Syd Chaplin: A Biography
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| Syd in St. Moritz (source: Syd Chaplin: A Biography/Lisa K. Stein) |
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Each morning we went up on a beginner's slope to ski. I accompanied Charlie on his first attempts. He wobbled and held me responsible for the slightest fall. He was afraid of breaking an arm or a leg, and got up moaning each time instead of accepting his apprenticeship with good humor. When we came to the trail where all the children practiced skiing, he took a tumble over some horse dung and fell flat. This was a catastrophe. "What are you thinking of, May," he roared, "leading me onto this slippery trail? Keep in mind that I'm not a champion yet." I could barely suppress my laughter, because the trail was already so flat that one had to put one foot in front of the other to move anywhere; there was no question of it being slippery. --May Reeves, The Intimate Charlie Chaplin
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| Charlie & May (far right) |
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Douglas Fairbanks insisted that I be initiated into the art of skiing. I always thought it was easy, but oh, boy! I never knew how many knots I could tie myself into! For the first two hours I suffered with impediment of the legs and was continually standing on my own foot. Turning was most difficult, but this I mastered in my own fashion, deliberately sitting down and pivoting in the direction I wished to go. Sometimes, however, the sitting was not deliberate. To a beginner, skiing down a hill is very simple, especially if there are no obstacles in the way. But the problem is stopping. This is most difficult. You are instructed to assume a knock-kneed position, at the same time spread your feet apart and turn your ankles in, digging the sides of your skis into the snow. When I attempted it, I invariably went into the splits.
To give you an idea of the enjoyment of my first day's skiing, you must imagine yourself starting slowly down a hill developing speed as you go, thrilled and exalted with a sense of your own motive power and the icy breezes blowing against your cheeks. As the speed increases, however, your exhilaration changes to a growing anxiety, especially when the hill becomes precipitous and the going increases to about fifty miles an hour. You go flying past rocks, trees and other obstacles that miraculously escape you. After such gymnastic triumphs, you accumulate confidence and go whizzing on, resolved to see it through to the bitter end.
Then a sinister rock approaches and comes rushing at you menacingly. This time it is determined to get you. Your heart leaps into your mouth. You become philosophic. You relish the sweet memories of life before skiing. Death is contemplated. You see your skull crashed against the rock and your body flung over it like a pair of empty pants. But you are not killed. You survive. You go on living, crippled for life.
Then a miracle happens. Some metaphysical force moves the rock to compassion and lets you skim by it, and you go shooting onward, relieved. Your mind gains control of your reflexes and you make a decision to sit down, not perhaps as gently as you’d wish. So plunk!
You extricate your head from the snow. You discover you’re still conscious. You involuntarily sit up and look around for fear somebody has seen you. But a superior individual in slow tempo comes gliding up with the query, “Are you hurt?”
And you sally with a cheery, “No, not at all, thank you”.
Then you endeavor to start off again. But when the stranger’s out of sight, reason becomes the better part of valor, so you change your mind, take off your skis and call it a day.
However, dear readers, 'twas not ever thus, for later I became--but there, modesty forbids, so I shall quote from the newspaper, the South Wales Argus: "People at St. Moritz were electrified to see a small man go tearing down a steep village street at a terrific speed, to pull up suddenly at the door of his hotel. He was Charles Chaplin, film clown, says Reuter's correspondent. Perhaps there were painful memories of misadventures with the hotel revolving door that made him stop so sharply. Skiing experts declare that this dash was a very fine achievement. Charlie, in fact, is becoming an adept on skis."
The above is one of my most treasured clippings. --Charles Chaplin, "A Comedian Sees The World"
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Christmas card, c.1969
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With Meredith Willson, c. 1940
Willson was musical director for The Great Dictator. He is best known for writing & composing the 1957 Broadway hit The Music Man. (Photo by Max Munn Autrey)
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Signed photo with sketch
Chaplin inscribed the photo in French:
"A Monsieur Pierre, avec Plaisir et, Merci, Charlie Chaplin"
which roughly translates to:
"To Pierre, with pleasure and, thank you"
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Honolulu, 1917
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| Charlie with Rob Wagner (left) and Edna Purviance |
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| With Goldwyn Pictures executive, Harold Bolster |
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Charlie, c. The Kid
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Christmas With Charlie, Vol. 14
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| Photo from Chaplin family Christmas card, 1973. L-R: Oona, Jane, Christopher, CC, Annette |
Annette Chaplin: Christmas was the best time. My mother's gardener decorated the house. It was never overdone. You couldn't see the tree in the foyer, there were so many ornaments on it. On Christmas Eve the local optician from the village came in dressed as Santa Claus. He sang old carols in French in the most amazing voice, especially in the hall, which had an echo. My father used to stand there with his mouth open.
Geraldine Chaplin: On Christmas Day, the Rossiers, friends of my parents' from Vevey, would come for Christmas dinner, as would Clara Haskil [the well-known Romanian concert pianist]. After dinner Clara would play the piano and Daddy would show his movies. There were always masses of presents. I cannot tell you the number of children and the number of presents, five or six, from each child to each child. Mummy bought them all. We never knew what we were giving anyone until we were quite old and had to buy our own presents.
Michael Chaplin: My father always said he hated Christmas. Whether he actually did, I don't know, because he loved having Clara Haskil there. I think he hated the present part and the Christmas tree and all that.
Geraldine Chaplin: Christmas depressed him. It brought back memories that he wasn't fond of. When he was little and poor, he told us over and over, all he got for Christmas was an orange. He used to try to spoil the day for everyone, and he finally did. He died on Christmas morning.
--Interview magazine, September 1989
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| Christmas, 1955 L-R: Oona, Geraldine, Victoria, Josephine, CC, Michael. |
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World Tour Revisited: Photo of Chaplin at a Christmas party at the Palace Hotel, St. Moritz, 1931
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| Chaplin with Madame Jaucort & Madame Citroen. |
The photos below were taken in St. Moritz and may have been taken the same evening (if not, they are great photos of Chaplin nonetheless). Photographer: Alfred Eisenstadt.
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| Syd is next to Charlie. The woman is most likely May Reeves. |
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Article 1
All the best to you and yours this Christmas,
Love,
Jess
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Article 0
April 16, 1889 - December 25, 1977
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Charlie & Paulette, 1936
The following photos were taken in October 1936 on the lawn of Chaplin's Beverly Hills home.
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| Charlie is shown in this photo purchasing tickets for a charity ball from Maureen Laing. |
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Chaplin, third from right, in America with members of the Fred Karno Company, c. 1910
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The Gold Rush (1925): Original Ending
Here is the original ending to Chaplin's 1925 silent film The Gold Rush. In 1942, Chaplin reissued the film with his own orchestral score and narration. He also made cuts to the original in an effort to shorten the film so it would be booked on double bills, which were popular at the time. These alterations were an attempt to "modernize"The Gold Rush for current 1940s tastes. Among the scenes that were trimmed from the film was the kiss with Georgia Hale. It's anyone's guess why Chaplin did this, perhaps he thought it was inessential or too formulaic. Having Charlie and Georgia walk up the steps and away from the camera gave the film a more ambiguous ending, which was something Chaplin seemed to prefer in his films.
Anyway, here is the ending to the original silent version from 1925, complete with intertitles--and the kiss.
Anyway, here is the ending to the original silent version from 1925, complete with intertitles--and the kiss.
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Lying on the beach, c.1921
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The United Artists Corporation, 1925
L-R: Chaplin, Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, Joseph Schenck. Standing: Dennis O'Brien, Robert Fairbanks (brother of Douglas), Hiram Abrams, & Sydney Chaplin.
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