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For many years Charlie has been the mighty little man of the movies, cheering world audiences with his inimitable comedy. A man of the people himself, he seemed to understand the problems of "the little fellow" and to champion his cause. His greatest quality was always true humility. In declining an award as "best actor of 1940" by New York film critics, has Chaplin turned as pompous as those slapstick policemen he used to kick in the pants?
DEAR MR. CHAPLIN: We can't call you Charlie any more. By "we" I mean all of us who have known and loved for years the wistful little man with the mustache, the baggy pants, the big shoes; the little man who somehow seemed the soul of all the other humble, hopeful little men in the world. We loved that little man because we knew him; we laughed with him rather than at him; we applauded until our palms were red when he kicked sham and pretension in the pants. He was, in a word, one of us.
That was in the days of "Shoulder Arms"; later of "The Gold Rush," and "The Circus," and "City Lights." Some of us can remember as far back as the two-reelers — indeed, even today's children know that little man from the home-movie editions of his early comedies. But — where is he now?
There's an interesting motion picture called "The Great Dictator" playing on some screens, starring Charles Chaplin. According to most critical standards it may not be a great picture. But the star gives a brilliant performance in a difficult dual role — and so the New York Film Critics' Circle, composed of the metropolitan newspaper reviewers, honored the star with their award for "best performance of an actor in 1940." "The Grapes of Wrath" was voted the best picture, John Ford the best director, and Katharine Hepburn the best actress for "The Philadelphia Story." All the winners gratefully acknowledged their honors — the hitherto indifferent Miss Hepburn, in fact, expressed herself as "hysterically happy" over hers.
But you, Mr. Chaplin, declined, in the following words among others: "In justice to myself and my fellow actors, I cannot
An Open Letter to CHAPLIN
accept your award, for in so doing I feel I would be acknowledging the fact that actors are competing with each other. And such an approach to one's work is not very inspiring. . . ." Somehow that phrase, "actors competing with each other," seems to contain more than a trace of the bombast at which you used to thumb your nose. Aren't you an actor, Mr. Chaplin, a great actor — and proud of it? True, you are a producer, a tycoon, a social lion, too — but is all that so important? Can it be that you aren't Charlie any longer, but a Genius above all evaluation? If that's so, then goodbye to the great little man who has done so much to make millions happier. We'll miss you!
The art of the actor reaches a new high in Charlie's scene with Paulette Goddard, below, from his newest film. "The Great Dictator."