The Spectator’s 50 Essential Films: Part One

Peter Hoskin and Matthew d'Ancona

27 June 2009

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Peter Hoskin and Matthew d’Ancona count down the first 25 of The Spectator’s 50 Essential Films

26.
City Lights
(Charlie Chaplin, 1931)

Really, all you need to know about Charlie Chaplin’s masterpiece is that it’s a silent film shot three years after the dawn of sound. He could have made City Lights a talkie — but he didn’t, and had no need to. After all, the story is simplicity itself: Chaplin’s iconic Tramp character falls in love with a blind flower girl (Virginia Cherrill), who mistakenly takes him for a millionaire. So why bother with words when a glance, a comic shuffle or the twirl of a cane says everything that needs to be said? Why risk detracting from the sheer cinema of it all?

The end result, a ‘comedy romance in pantomime’, contains more memorable scenes than most dialogue-laden films can manage: the introduction of the Tramp, asleep on top of a statue; those masterful camera pans during his first encounter with the flower girl; the crowd of dogs following Chaplin after he swallows a whistle; and the beautifully choreographed, utterly hilarious prize-fight sequence.

As with most of Chaplin’s work, the individual moments don’t just hang in isolation. Instead, they coalesce, swell, and hit the viewer like a tidal wave. You can’t help but be caught up and swept towards one of the most joyous conclusions that Hollywood has ever produced. In a way, it’s obvious what’s coming: she’ll get her eyesight back, see that he’s not a millionaire and love him all the same. But you can’t second-guess the actual impact of that scene: a perfection of form, theme and emotional resonance, topped off with a luminous final shot. ‘Yes, I can see now,’ reads the last title card. And we can see, too, the full extent of Chaplin’s genius. PH