Review of A Woman of Paris: A Drama of Fate

Previously my picture of Mr Charlie Chaplin in my mind's eye had been the following: a tiny clownish fellow who kicks other actors in the ass and gets thrashed and kicked in reply. In the course of time my perception changed. His music was playing as the background for the movies he participated in. Surprise. It was not Mozart but the clown himself. Now there is this film and it's definitely cinematic art. So many present-day directors cannot reach even 1/100th of the effect that is achieved by this black-and-white film that is even mute. It has no fountains of blood, no slo-mo, no bullets hitting foreheads, no explosions, no sex scenes, no *beep* words, no crude toilet humour, no trash-talk, no flat melodramatic elements, no crocodile tears, no stupid laughs. What more should a viewer want? The bitter irony and drama are scattered here and there. Its quality can be compared to the quality of the famous "Jeeves and Wooster" before it hit the appalling cast changes (hope, you know what is meant here).

Here goes mine 10.

Thank you for attention.