The Great Dictator 1939 1940 next previous
The Great Dictator Clippings 342/369
Al Hirschfeld, New York Times Magazine, N. Y., July 26, 1942.
Don Freeman (creator), Al Hirschfeld – Caricaturist,
Traveler, Collector of Masks and Sculpture, Hot Record
Connoisseur, Intense Enjoyer of Life, Humorist,
Keeper of Open House to Multifarious Friends, Lithographer,
and Drum Beater, At Work in his Barber Chair
Making a Drawing for The Sunday Drama Sections, 1940,
National Portrait Gallery
„He is a man with both feet firmly planted in the clouds“
Editorial content. „A Man With Both
Feet in the Clouds
Two Hirschfeld Hollywood Drawings
Even without props, Charlie Chaplin is artist and dreamer.
An interview illustrated with pantomime.
By Al Hirschfeld
HOLLYWOOD.
THE creative accident of combining Fatty Arbuckle‘s
pants and Ford Sterling‘s shoes is responsible for
the picture easily recognized by most of the world as Charlie Chaplin.“ (...)
„On my arrival in Hollywood some weeks ago I tried
unsuccessfully to ,contact‘ Chaplin. It seems there are more
stories in Hollywood about Chaplin than there are
people. His eccentricities are legendary. Any one who has spent
an evening with him, and there must be thousands, will
boast of their intimacy with him. The contradictions in the terms
people apply to him are phenomenal, ranging all the way
from generous to miserly, democrat, anarchist, tyrant, recluse,
playboy, intellectual, dope, inspired plodder, creator,
opportunist. All these appraisals may be true. I am inclined
to think they are. It all depends on which Chaplin
you meet.
I had just about given up the idea of seeing him when Tim
Durant, Chaplin‘s closest friend and companian,
informed a friend of Durant‘s and mine that Charlie was ,dying
to see me.‘ I had previously phoned his house twice
a day since my arrival only to be told by his secretary that
,Mr. Chaplin has just this minute stepped out.‘ So with
some suspicion I drove to his Summit Drive home and rang
the bell in great trepidation. A man servant appeared
and I asked to see Mr. Chaplin. He did not ask my name
or business but merely said, ,I have no idea where
he is at the moment but you may find him asleep somewhere
on the grounds.‘
Being unfamiliar with the terrain I set out on this peculiar
adventure. I had not far to go. In a hammock alongside
the swimming pool was the great man curled up asleep. Near
by were some orange peels and on his chin were further
evidences of a recent snack. He awoke on my approach and
bounded up to greet me. We talked of many things.
He was in great form.
I DON‘T remember what he said. He was dancing, laughing
and being the greatest pantomimist I had ever seen.
White hair, honest blue eyes, a laugh more eloquent than
any prose. Young in a way that few youths have ever
been. Old with a rare dignity. I watched this man who dares
to be simple, as fascinated and amused as the first
time I saw him in the movies. He talks and thinks pictorially,
knowing every second how he looks and not caring
what he says. To listen is to lose everything. He uses words
for the same purpose as a magician. He plays tennis
with his left hand and writes with his right.
We strolled over his six-acre estate. It was a barren hill
when he bought it twenty years ago. Today it is a
veritable forrest resembling the Adirondacks rather than Beverly
Hills. His house is comfortable and unpretentious.
A glass-enclosed porch affords an unobstructed view of the
Pacific. The landscape has been so ingeniously invented
that no other house is visible from his.
WE had tea in the living room when we returned from
our walk. There was a roaring blaze in the fireplace,
without reference to the semi-tropical climate. I restrained
myself from asking ,Why the fire?‘ because it seemed
to mean so much to him. It wasn‘t the heat he needed. It was
the flames. They quieted him in a strange way.
He talked of his plans for the future with the enthusiasm
of a young talent.
,You know, I don‘t know a damn thing about writing,‘
he said, .that is, words divorced from action. When
I write I invariably think of the pantomime and translate this
into words. Unsuccessfully,‘ he added, ,because the
words are constantly restricting the movement. As you know,
every actor is supposed to stand still when he talks.
Stage actors know this and empress themselves through
the spoken line. But in the movies there should
be greater scope for movement and action to express
an experience.
The light of the crackling fire made him appear like an old
flickering movie. His small and neatly manicured hands
were still. The flames were talking to him, making him humble,
uncertain, lonely.
,Lines spoken from the screen are easily forgotten. It‘s
the action that is remembered. Movement is liberated
thought.‘ He said this slowly as though he had discovered
a great truth. He stood up to clarify this point to himself.
,For instance, a spiral staircase goes this way‘ – and he made
a quick gesture with his hand and wrist. ,Or a Balinese
dancing girl is like this‘ – and with the elegance of a ballet
dancer he hopped about in staccato movement, his
eyes wide and shifting back and forth like those of a spectator
at a tennis match, his fingers nervously describing
a delicate Chinese fan, his head imitating the easy rhythm
of a cobra. There she was, the little Balinese dancing
girl, and I knew what he meant.
Chaplin is an inveterate reader, plays the violin, piano
and organ and has an honest taste in pictures.
A Ralph Barton caricature and a Hokusai print hang side
by side on his living room wall. He collects ceramics
and small objects of art. His books which line the walls were
not bought to match the carpet and no photograph
of this room will serve as a guide for fashionable interior
decorators. Nondescript easy chairs carelessly
inhabit this room, reflecting in a wonderful way its tenant.
It is a room designed by necessity and as personal
as a derby.
He is working and has been for some months on Paul
Vincent Carroll‘s Shadow and Substance. He won‘t
appear in the picture himself, but he will produce, direct and
write the screen play. He said he didn‘t understand it.
I ASKED him why he bought the story. He answered
unhesitatingly, ,Because it‘s great.‘
He trusts his instincts rather than his intellect. If a thing
seems right or feels right he accepts it. His art is not
cerebral, it‘s natural. Chaplin looks right because he is. I do
not mean that he has not worked hard. I merely wish
to point out that like Cleopatra, El Greco or Diamond Jim
Brady, Chaplin has exploited to the full his endowed
talents. He trusts and never underrates his genius. He will
sometimes do nothing for months, waiting for the
custard pie of creation to smack him. He is a man with both
feet firmly planted in the clouds.“
Redaktioneller Inhalt
The Great Dictator 1939 1940 next previous
