by R.D. Finch
When in the late 1920’s the entire film industry raced to embrace the addition of sound to movies, one notable film artist, Charles Chaplin, resisted. Chaplin’s 1931 picture City Lights was made without dialogue, although Chaplin did include sound effects and compose an original music score for the film. His next picture, Modern Times, was not released for another five years, and still Chaplin resisted the pressure to add dialogue to the story. By 1940, he was at last ready to tackle the task of incorporating dialogue in his next project, the political satire The Great Dictator, and to audiences and critics of the time his efforts proved successful. Chaplin received the Best Actor award from the New York Film Critics Circle (which he declined). The movie was nominated for an Academy Award as Best Picture, and Chaplin received nominations for Best Actor and Best Original Screenplay.
Today it’s a movie loved by many critics and filmmakers. But when I finally saw The Great Dictator a few years ago, I found it disappointing. Parts of the movie are appealing in the ways Chaplin’s silent movies are, alternately touching and funny, but in the end it simply falls short of Chaplin’s greatest work. Throughout the film one gets the sense that Chaplin believed he could merely graft words onto what he was already doing without rethinking his approach to comedy or screenwriting. The subject might have been daring for its time, but the resulting movie often seems awkward and anachronistic.
Many of the film’s shortcomings can be attributed to Chaplin’s use of sound, for the addition of dialogue makes all the more apparent the pitfalls that were always inherent in Chaplin’s sensibilities. A character like the heroine Hannah (Paulette Goddard), whose sketchiness might have been acceptable in a silent movie, begins to look shallow and sentimental when made too specific by speech. Amplified by dialogue, the casualness of Chaplin’s narrative logic—easy to overlook in the feature-length silents, where individual episodes often seem interchangeable—here becomes glaringly obvious. Then there’s the film’s finale. When Chaplin’s little barber impersonates the dictator Hynkel to make a globally broadcast policy speech, the result is an earnest but protracted and embarrassingly preachy Big Statement that brings the film to a sudden conclusion without any real sense of resolution.
What a contrast Chaplin’s second sound film, Monsieur Verdoux (1947), which took him four years to write, is to The Great Dictator. In the interval Chaplin seems to have completely mastered the art of writing comedy for sound films, and the movie is a complete delight.
This was not the way audiences and critics felt at the time of its initial release. In the movie Chaplin plays a victim of the Depression who, unable to find work, becomes a bigamist who maintains marriages with several wealthy women and, when he needs cash for his stock purchases, murders them for their money. He does this not so much for himself as to support his disabled wife and young son. The movie’s subject, a serial wife-killer, and its approach, to make this seem funny, were perceived as a mismatch when it was released. It is perhaps understandable that in the aftermath of the Second World War critics and audiences were uncomfortable with the depiction of murder as comedy.
When it was rediscovered in the mid-1960s, the film was proclaimed an overlooked masterpiece. Two decades later, critics and audiences had become familiar with the concept of black comedy, even in film, and were more attuned to the picture’s mordant humor. In fact, it hadn’t taken long for other filmmakers to follow the example set by Chaplin in Monsieur Verdoux. Only one year later Preston Sturges made a very black comedy called Unfaithfully Yours, based on an idea he had first conceived fifteen years earlier but never followed through on, in which orchestra conductor Rex Harrison fantasizes about taking revenge on his unfaithful wife in three different ways, each method inspired by a piece of music he is conducting in a concert. And in 1949 the British comedy Kind Hearts and Coronets, in which a distant relation to nobility methodically murders the eight relatives who stand between him and the title, became a cult favorite and launched the heyday of the Ealing comedies. Monsieur Verdoux paved the way for these and subsequent black comedies.
From beginning to end Monsieur Verdoux is a film of great assurance: Chaplin knows exactly the effects he wants to create and is in full control. Never before had Chaplin used irony to such an extent or to such comic effect. He carefully calibrates the exact proportions of opposing elements and blends them flawlessly. In the opening scene the foppish Monsieur Verdoux cuts roses in the garden of his villa on the French Riviera, almost prissily sampling their fragrance, while in the background the incinerator, apparently containing his murdered wife’s body, spews black smoke into the air and the next-door neighbors complain of the stench. Elements that might have seemed bizarrely incongruous in other hands are used by Chaplin to create a humorously ironic counterpoint. Like so much else in the film, Verdoux himself is a fusion of opposites, a man of great sensitivity and equally great ruthlessness. The simple Little Tramp has been transformed into something complex and paradoxical—a genteel monster.
In Monsieur Verdoux Chaplin masters the use of dialogue to give his characters individuality and to create scenes that define them. Directly after the opening sequence, Verdoux impetuously selects at first sight his next mark, the wealthy widow who has come to view the villa, which he has just put on the market. His unsuccessful attempts to seduce Mme. Grosnay (gros nez is French for “fat nose”) are entirely verbal, the effusive flattery of a would-be Lothario. His unctuousness is so hilariously over-the-top that it immediately arouses the suspicion of Mme. Grosnay, who skillfully parries his every attempt at the rhetoric of seduction. Chaplin allows himself one pratfall at the end of this scene, when in his enthusiasm he falls backward from the second-story window of the bedroom to which he has guided his intended prey. In his zeal has he fallen to his death? No, for there is a roof outside the window and after a moment Chaplin hauls himself back through the window, regains control of himself, and abandons his plan—at least for the time being.
Another telling detail that shows how far Chaplin has progressed since The Great Dictator is his use of Martha Raye as the most hilariously awful of the many wives of Monsieur Verdoux. In The Great Dictator Jack Oakie was able to steal every scene he was in with Chaplin (as Hynkel) because Chaplin had written the part, a spoof of Mussolini, as a rival to Hynkel who is supposed to upstage him. In Monsieur Verdoux he does something similar with Raye, an apparently hare-brained lottery winner, but instead of making the two characters rivals, he makes Raye’s Annabella in every way opposite and complementary to Verdoux. He is worldly, she is provincial. He is controlled, she is impulsive. He is subdued and refined, she is raucous and vulgar. The appalled expression on his face each time she addresses him with the pet name “Pigeon” is priceless.
He carefully lays plans—at first to fleece her, then out of desperation to murder her—and watches helplessly as time after time she thwarts him with the spontaneity born of her belief in her infallible good luck. Her unpredictability and complete self-absorption deflect his designs every time. She may appear stupid, but she is actually the shrewdest of all his victims, and Verdoux’s underestimation of her is his greatest miscalculation in the movie. And aside from the one very funny sequence on the lake when he tries unsuccessfully to drown her (she ends up saving him from drowning), the humor is almost entirely derived from their verbal encounters. Even Raye’s voice is funny.
Chaplin uses the irony that pervades the movie as the means of bringing it to its conclusion. Most of the movie occurs during the early 1930’s. Near the end, the movie jumps ahead several years, presumably to 1947. Verdoux’s wife and son are now dead (victims of the war?) and he has lost all his money in a stock crash. Years before he had encountered a homeless young woman on the street late at night and taken her home with him. His aim was to test a new poison on an anonymous stranger, someone new to Paris whom nobody would miss. When he finds that she has been driven to despair by a husband wounded in WW I (gassed?) who later died, he suddenly relents and instead of poisoning her, gives her money and sends her on her way.
Years later they meet again by accident on the street. Now the rich wife of a munitions manufacturer, she insists on treating the penniless and emotionally broken Verdoux to a lavish meal. But Verdoux’s earlier act of kindness to her rebounds with irony when she becomes the unwitting agent of his destruction, for while dining, Verdoux is spotted by the obnoxious and vengeful relatives of one of his early victims. He is arrested, tried and convicted of murder, and sentenced to death. On his way to the guillotine, Verdoux makes a brief statement to a reporter: “Wars, conflicts, it’s all business. One murder makes a villain, millions a hero. Numbers sanctify, my good fellow.”
What a contrast this speech is to the one that ends The Great Dictator. There is nothing protracted or didactic about this statement, and it is delivered to a reporter, not spoken directly to the camera as in the earlier movie. But what really distinguishes this statement from its predecessor is its tone. This is not an impassioned Big Statement, but a detached observation. Verdoux’s final statement is one of calm acceptance of the duplicity inherent in codes of morality and the hypocrisy inherent in judging the actions of others. And Chaplin’s perception of war as business, which at the time must have seemed sacrilegious, today seems more prescient then ever.
I don’t get the impression that Chaplin is attempting to justify the actions of Verdoux. Verdoux seems fully aware of the nature of his crimes, but equally aware that in other circumstances they would be acceptable. The Little Tramp has become, if not exactly a cynic, at the least a moral relativist who recognizes that right and wrong are no longer absolutes, but rather are defined by circumstances. It’s a very modern attitude and a world away from the sentimental optimism of Chaplin’s earlier work. “I know what I am,” Verdoux seems to be saying to the viewer. “What makes you think you are any better?” Chaplin is no longer offering solutions, only asking questions, for in this postwar world there are no longer any easy answers.
How Monsieur Verdoux made the Top 100:
Roderick Heath No. 12
James Uhler No. 24
Pierre de Plume No. 25
R. D. Finch No. 27
John Greco No. 30
Jason Marshall No. 31
Maurizio Roca No. 47
The speech and the heavy-handed moralising about the girl ruined it for me, I’m afraid
A little more subtlety, and ditching the speech completely might have made for a more cohesive film, and better helped get the message across.
Some truly marvellous humourous scenes in the first half of the film, though
Yes, I agree on almost every single point the author makes.
Yes, this is the first film that successfully blends Chaplin and sound on film. Yes, it’s a much over-looked and maligned film in Chaplins canon. Yes, it’s a daring film for it’s time considering the subject matter.
Chaplins performance, as well as Martha Ray’s turn as the worst of his many wives in the film, is terrific and totally engaging.
The problem with Monsieur Verdoux has nothing to do with the well written screenplay, the acting or the technical. No, not any of that could be held as a fault.
The problem, is Chaplins posturing at the end as the great voice of reason, almost as if he’s our chosen voice to illustrate to us what is best for us and what we should be thinking. His whole view of things comes off as way too sanctamonius.
The other problem is that the film, although labeled a “dark” comedy, really isn’t all that funny. Yes, I admit that I am moved by this film, I relish it’s ingenuity and bizarre charm and I applaud the writing, direction and the performances.
I just cannot say this film makes me laugh.
Yeah some of the posturing that basically makes Chaplin step away from his character and pontificate near the end could of been handled better or more subtly. I know many people that complain about that aspect (including you and Jim) as a strike against Verdoux. Chaplin still had a strong message he wanted to convey to his audience… and I feel his overall clarity is diamond sharp in this film. Some of his strengths as a technical filmmaker had started to waver at this point (or just passed him by with time/cinematic advancements), but he still put it all together one last time.
Brilliant writing here, very insightful and on target. I love this film and don’t mind Chaplin’s messages one iota. He has a bully pulpit as once the most famous man on the planet, and he chose to use it to advocate peace. It is the counter-programming for the jingoistic, patriotic films that get produced by the bushel, some of them very good but slanted nonetheless.
I’m afraid I’m a bit with Dennis on this. I think of Monsieur Verdoux as a fairly straight melodrama with some funny bits. What I remember most is the scene where he takes the poisoned wine from the girl for supposedly having a bit of cork in it. That scene just knocks me over. And when he goes in to murder Raye, ’tis truly a shocking moment. I just don’t remember the comedy.
I think this is a great Chaplin film. But as a comedy countdown placement I’d say it is borderline. I always found the film preachy, but still it’s delicious fun, and Chaplin is at the top of his game. Mr. Finch has written with authority and verve.
When it was rediscovered in the mid-1960s, the film was proclaimed an overlooked masterpiece. Two decades later, critics and audiences had become familiar with the concept of black comedy, even in film, and were more attuned to the picture’s mordant humor.
One of the internet’s best film writers, most tenacious bloggers and most generous supporters (his comments under the reviews of others are incomparable) makes an excellent qualification here, and while I did not myself support this film for the countdown, I do see it as a valid choice as a black comedy. This sub-genre is usually a reliably provocative type, and frankly nothing by Chaplin could really be dismissed when comedy is broached. I like the comparisons with THE GREAT DICTATOR, a film that arguably has some similar issues, and I completely share your past experiences by way of slow appreciation of both films. Neithier for me can match the masterpiece comedies, but as you note VERDOUX has increased in regard to the point where many consider it in the upper tier. You frame this film marvelously and make a strong case for a re-viewing. I saw this at the Film Forum months ago, and I’d say that was definitely the best screening of the film I’ve enjoyed.
R. D. –
Your post here is beautifully and engagingly written, and I’m with you on most of your points. Chaplin’s command of writing dialogue certainly took a quantum leap from THE GREAT DICTATOR to this film. Like Marilyn and Dennis, however, i don’t find MONSIEUR VERDOUX to be all that funny; also, as others have noted, I find it a bit sanctimonious. Am I alone in detecting a note of misogyny in this film ? It puts me off that the “good” women are universally young and beatiful, while less attractive, more difficult middle-aged women are entirely disposable, and we’re encouraged to laugh at their deaths (Martha Raye’s very funny performance notwithstanding.) It’s not that I find the black comedy of serial wife-killing distasteful or offensive in and of itself, but the clear dichotomy between which female characters are worthwhile and which get killed off without apparent remorse does offend me a bit.
There are sanctimonious aspects, but in the end they are lessvital than the elements of black comedy that allow the film to move away from the preachiness. But I can understand people feeling that it bogs it down. I think R.D. Finch has offered an exceptional defense of the film’s attributes and why the black comedy rules.
The dryness of the comedy and the subtle application of it make the film stand alone. I’d say it’s one of Chaplin’s best film. Finch is really on target. Great writing.
David, If I might add, the film bears a kinship to KIND HEARTS AND CORONETS and ARSENIC AND OLD LACE methinks, two films I voted for on my own ballot.
I’m a big fan of this film. Were it not for the sanctimoniousness and preachiness mentioned in some of the comments above, I’d have rated it even higher than #25. The use of Martha Raye as great — a little Martha goes a long way, but here it works perfectly.
Many thanks to everyone who left comments and contributed their own thoughts on the film. Several people who left comments had similar thoughts about “Monsieur Verdoux.” Chaplin’s statement at the end of “Verdoux” doesn’t strike me as speechifying or as sanctimonious, especially not when compared to his similar effort in “The Great Dictator,” and I explained why in the last two paragraphs of the post.
Whether or not “Verdoux” is a comedy is a strictly subjective matter. Some of the films that have already appeared in the countdown don’t seem to me to be comedic, and I would not even have considered them for inclusion on my ballot. There are several instances on my own ballot where I agonized over whether a film I wanted to list was really a comedy or not. Some films I dropped from my preliminary ballot because of this uncertainty in my own mind, and on the final ballot some of those ended up being reinstated. In the 30s and 40s, the distinction between comedy and drama was generally pretty clear. But for me, ever since WW II, comedy hasn’t been the same, comedy and drama have become ever more intermingled, and this makes the matter of deciding what’s comedic and what isn’t even more subjective.
The comedy in “Verdoux” is less the physical humor of Chaplin’s silent movies than it is situational and conceptual. It doesn’t make me laugh out loud, and I don’t think it was intended to. But its predominant mood and mode of expression seem to me comic. And I think that is a notable accomplishment because it is done without much reliance on farce or satire, two sure-fire cues to the viewer that something is intended to be funny. The humor in “Verdoux” is of a very subtle variety, the kind that doesn’t telegraph its comedic intent. I emphasized the use of irony in “Verdoux” because I think this is Chaplin’s primary means of communicating his comedic intent.
Pat raised an interesting issue about Chaplin’s treatment of women. It’s a valid observation, one that’s true not only of “Verdoux” but of most of Chaplin’s films. The ingenue is always the focus of Chaplin’s adoration no matter what character he’s playing. But I would hesitate to call Chaplin’s attitude toward women misogynistic. I don’t think Chaplin hates women, but tends to portray them in a naive and simplistic way. Throughout the history of art women have been idealized in such a way that youth and external beauty symbolize goodness and admirable qualities. You could make this same criticism of an awful lot of art, both highbrow and popular, produced before recent decades. Today we may be too sophisticated to buy into this idealized view of women, but in other times it was a typical view and there’s little escaping it if you want to enjoy movies made in pre-feminist times. Of course, part of this is just Chaplin’s notorious fascination with youthful females. I’m thinking of the scandals of his early Hollywood days and the fact that one of his Hollywood nicknames was “Chicken-hawk Charlie”!
That the film provided fertile material for such intelligent and insightful comments is certainly something in its favor. A bit of controversy in the countdown provides more vigorous discussion than films that everyone pretty much agrees on.
Thanks for your insightful comments, R.D. I really appreciate your examination of the nature of the comedy in this film that draws me to it.
Mr. Finch,
You’ve certainly penned a great essay here and provide some great commentary to both this one and to The Great Dictator. I prefer TGD to Verdoux, although I voted for neither of them on my countdown. They both pale to me compared to Chaplin’s 3 best….Modern Times, The Gold Rush and City Lights. I actually like The Circus and The Kid more than Verdoux though. It’s good but not great but that’s me. I know many consider this film to be top notch and underrated. This is probably the only time that Chaplin really broadened his scope of comedy….as far as going this route with the black comedy aspect, which is nice to see.
Superb essay R.D. – you make many very good points. It’s a sound Chaplin that I can admire for those very reasons that you’ve articulated but not one I could get lost in and wonder where the time went, and of his sound films the one that I found really superb was ‘Limelight’. As for black comedy, I’d have to place Lubitsch’s ‘To Be or Not To Be’ as a distant fore bearer, though the idea that this film led to ‘Unfaithfully Yours’ and ‘Kind Hearts and Coronets’ I find very intriguing, forceful and utterly plausible considering Chaplin’s status in the film community.