This is one of my favorite Chaplin comedies, but that doesn't mean it's one of his funniest. Gags notwithstanding, The Vagabond is decidedly the most serious film Chaplin had produced up to this time. You might say this short served as a dress rehearsal for his later features such as The Kid, films with melancholy story elements and (in some cases) sad endings. Here, Chaplin tells a melodramatic story in a straightforward fashion, elevating his Tramp to the role of hero. Having already proved that he could provoke laughter, it appears Chaplin wanted to see if he could inspire sympathy, enough so to draw viewers into a dramatic situation, and make them care about what happens to his "little fellow." In my opinion he succeeded admirably, for watching this movie almost 90 years after it was released I find it still works beautifully, like a vintage automobile still in perfect working order.
Although this project marked a new chapter for Chaplin, he assembled it from decidedly old-fashioned ingredients. The plot must have felt familiar to audiences even in 1916: leading lady Edna Purviance plays a young woman kidnapped by gypsies as a child, held captive as their "drudge" ever since. Charlie is a traveling musician who rescues her - - after an exhilarating fight in which Edna takes part. Having fallen in love with her, he is prepared to take care of her forever after. However, the idyll is interrupted when a handsome young artist happens by and paints Edna's portrait, which he takes back to the city to exhibit. Her wealthy mother sees the picture in a gallery, recognizes a distinctive birthmark, and realizes that the portrait's subject is her daughter. With the artist in tow, the mother arrives at Charlie's camp via automobile and brusquely takes her daughter away, leaving Charlie forlorn. Just as we're bracing ourselves for a sad ending, Edna belatedly becomes aware of her feelings for Charlie, and orders the car to turn back and retrieve him.
As a lead-in to the melodrama concerning the gypsies, Chaplin gives us a comic opening sequence set in a saloon. Charlie, a busker with a violin, has a dispute with a band of musicians who are competing for coins from the same clientèle. But even here it's striking how much Charlie has evolved since his Keystone days: when he pockets the coins intended for the combo it's an honest mistake, that is, he sincerely believes the money is a reward for his performance, and when he's confronted he doesn't understand why, but promptly defends himself. Charlie is no longer the aggressor, no longer larcenous, drunk or rude: only two years after his screen debut, he's matured into a likable character.
It's to Chaplin's credit that the recognition device with the birthmark, ever popular in the world of opera, is served up straight and somehow doesn't feel hokey. Maybe that's because The Vagabond plays like a dramatized folktale, what with its strolling minstrel, wicked gypsies, and damsel in distress; the birthmark feels just as natural in this context as Cinderella's glass slipper or Rapunzel's long hair. Charlie's rescue of Edna and their escape together in one of the gypsies' own wagons is a thrilling sequence, splendidly filmed and edited, belying those critics who insist that Chaplin the director was insufficiently "cinematic." This is followed by a poignant scene set the next morning, when Charlie helps Edna clean herself up. The tone is gentle and the gags are mild, and by the time the scene ends we're on his side. Charlie doesn't have to be funny every moment he's on screen. We've been won over: we care what happens to this guy and the girl he's rescued. And when Edna's head is turned by another man, and it looks like Charlie's going to get jilted, it's heart-breaking.
As I mentioned above, this is not the most laugh-packed comedy Chaplin ever made, but nonetheless I believe it's one of his strongest short films, and therefore highly recommended to silent comedy buffs, and to anyone open to viewing great works from the cinema's early days. Personally I feel that The Vagabond is Chaplin's first masterpiece in the two-reel format.
Although this project marked a new chapter for Chaplin, he assembled it from decidedly old-fashioned ingredients. The plot must have felt familiar to audiences even in 1916: leading lady Edna Purviance plays a young woman kidnapped by gypsies as a child, held captive as their "drudge" ever since. Charlie is a traveling musician who rescues her - - after an exhilarating fight in which Edna takes part. Having fallen in love with her, he is prepared to take care of her forever after. However, the idyll is interrupted when a handsome young artist happens by and paints Edna's portrait, which he takes back to the city to exhibit. Her wealthy mother sees the picture in a gallery, recognizes a distinctive birthmark, and realizes that the portrait's subject is her daughter. With the artist in tow, the mother arrives at Charlie's camp via automobile and brusquely takes her daughter away, leaving Charlie forlorn. Just as we're bracing ourselves for a sad ending, Edna belatedly becomes aware of her feelings for Charlie, and orders the car to turn back and retrieve him.
As a lead-in to the melodrama concerning the gypsies, Chaplin gives us a comic opening sequence set in a saloon. Charlie, a busker with a violin, has a dispute with a band of musicians who are competing for coins from the same clientèle. But even here it's striking how much Charlie has evolved since his Keystone days: when he pockets the coins intended for the combo it's an honest mistake, that is, he sincerely believes the money is a reward for his performance, and when he's confronted he doesn't understand why, but promptly defends himself. Charlie is no longer the aggressor, no longer larcenous, drunk or rude: only two years after his screen debut, he's matured into a likable character.
It's to Chaplin's credit that the recognition device with the birthmark, ever popular in the world of opera, is served up straight and somehow doesn't feel hokey. Maybe that's because The Vagabond plays like a dramatized folktale, what with its strolling minstrel, wicked gypsies, and damsel in distress; the birthmark feels just as natural in this context as Cinderella's glass slipper or Rapunzel's long hair. Charlie's rescue of Edna and their escape together in one of the gypsies' own wagons is a thrilling sequence, splendidly filmed and edited, belying those critics who insist that Chaplin the director was insufficiently "cinematic." This is followed by a poignant scene set the next morning, when Charlie helps Edna clean herself up. The tone is gentle and the gags are mild, and by the time the scene ends we're on his side. Charlie doesn't have to be funny every moment he's on screen. We've been won over: we care what happens to this guy and the girl he's rescued. And when Edna's head is turned by another man, and it looks like Charlie's going to get jilted, it's heart-breaking.
As I mentioned above, this is not the most laugh-packed comedy Chaplin ever made, but nonetheless I believe it's one of his strongest short films, and therefore highly recommended to silent comedy buffs, and to anyone open to viewing great works from the cinema's early days. Personally I feel that The Vagabond is Chaplin's first masterpiece in the two-reel format.