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Groucho looks at
CHARLIE
The maddest Marx recalls the day when he "discovered" the genius in Chaplin
By Grace Simpson
CHARLIE CHAPLIN'S latest picture, Modern Times strikes a new note in screen humor. Its theme concerns the career of a little tramp caught in the mechanism of factory routine. It's a real treat !
The country is becoming Chaplin conscious all over again. It's remarkable how Chaplin has lasted, as an actor, all these years. You know him as he is today, but did you know him as he was yesterday ? Let us draw aside the curtain of the past and see him as he really was "yesterday", struggling along as best he could, trying desperately to get a foothold on the ladder of success. Let's turn back the clock of time.
It was snowing in Winnipeg, Canada. In a dusty corner of the depot, a tattered vaudeville troupe huddled around a glowing stove. One hour till train time. And then back on the road. That was the routine.
With a chilly gust and a flurry of snowflakes, the door rattled on its hinges. The trained animal act shivered. A lifting of eyebrows censored the invader from a frigid world without. The newcomer Groucho Marx, slammed the door shut, stamped his feet, then smiled around at the crowd. Despite the ill protection afforded by a threadbare overcoat, he felt very little cold. Excitement warmed him.
T_I E FLEXED the bamboo cane in his hand. A bit of soot ^^ from the chimney sufficed for a mustache. He rumpled his hair. He spread his feet fan-wise. Then, with the strange shuffling walk that was later to make millions all over the earth laugh, he put on a hasty little act.
But no one laughed. As a matter of fact, no one paid any attention. This peeved him a little. "Look," he cried suddenly, "I just saw the greatest fellow I've ever seen on the stage in all my born days!" But who cared what a little known comedian like Groucho Marx thought about actors — or thought about anybody for that matter.
And who ever heard about the comic that he was talking about. That strange, wistful creature who always wore a big, black, flowing necktie, because his shirt was often dirty, and he only had one.
His name ? Oh, yes. Charlie Chaplin !
"They evidently thought I was crazy," said Groucho, recently, smiling. "I said then he was the greatest fellow on the stage. I know now there will never be anyone like him. He's in a class all by himself, just as he has always been."
It's usually pleasant to visit at Groucho's big house, especially if brothers Harpo and Chico are there. [Continued on page 82]
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