During my
whirlwind of a week in NYC, I enjoyed an evening of theatre with my newly
acquired friends from New Jersey.
I sat between the couple, front and center, as we watched the story of
Charlie Chaplin’s entire life funnel into a two-and-a-half hour experience
accompanied by intermittent songs.
Up to this point, my knowledge of Mr. Chaplin was next to nothing except
to know of his comedic movies, particularly styled moustache/hat/cane combo and
composition “Smile.” Things I
didn’t know were his British roots that included a highly dysfunctional mother,
his numerous marriages not to mention lovers, his business partnership with his
brother in the film industry, and his desire to move into dramatic films away
from comedy.
On a theatrical
level, the show brought a real humanness to this man whom I’ve always
considered just a caricature and not necessarily real. But you were able to see many glimpses
of the theatrically enhanced truth of Chaplin’s life: the unwillingness to deal
with a very sick mother, the knock-down drag-out fights exiting his numerous
divorces, his dealing with neurotic fans (not to mention gossip columnist), and
his desire for fame and fortune which began to rule his life.
While watching
the finale (giving no plot lines away) there was quite a celebration of
Chaplin’s life that lead me to the question, are we celebrating Chaplin as a
person or are we celebrating Chaplin as an artist? Celebrating Chaplin as an artist I have no problem with, but
Chaplin as a human, I struggle.
One phrase that
kept pervading my thoughts during the show: profession trumps people. My definition is simple: it’s when a
person solely chooses their career over people they claim to love, honor and
value. It’s when the thought or drive of success becomes the hierarchy in one’s
world, and they will sacrifice whatever it takes to attain it. Or, it’s when
one chooses a career as one’s hiding place so there is no dealing with the
everyday of life.
I clearly saw
this effect on both Chaplin’s brother, who he eventually fired from his studio,
and Chaplin’s wives who always begged for quality time but never received
it. Reason being was because
Chaplin was climbing so hard to the top of the success ladder no one could even
keep up. All they saw were the bottom of his shoes.
Have you ever
seen a resume on a tombstone? I suppose if you paid the extra fee for the
engraving of such an expensive honorarium, you could solidify your
accomplishments. But when you are pushing up daisies, what does it matter? And why are the decisions to strive to
the “top” come at so great a cost? It is worth it to undermine, ignore, hide or
hurt those around you for the great gold star of success?
I find it
fascinating that the humans that are so damaged in their upbringings are the
same humans who have the greatest ability to make you laugh. And during that
laughter, we neglect to look back and see the source of where that joke and gag
are arising. Making someone laugh creates peace, it calms the waters, it covers
an atmosphere saying, “everything is ok.” Except that laughter doesn’t heal
hurt, it only ices the wounds for a little while.
Chaplin could
make me laugh. What a gift one human gives another: laughter. What he gift he
gave us. Yet, Chaplin couldn’t live in his movies forever. He had to go home at
night and in the morning wake up beside many people who shared his bed in rapid
rotation. He had to look at his brother everyday at the studio. He daily went
about his life knowing his mother was just miles away and mentally sick. What
did he offer these dying connections: a joke?
He best
describes himself:
Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking.
When there are clouds in the sky you'll get by.
If you smile through your pain and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through
For you.
Light up your face with gladness,
Hide every trace of sadness.
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying.
You'll find that life is still worthwhile-If you just smile.
Chaplin’s life carried sadness, and he covered it with laughter
and success. If only he would have learned to accept the pain and sorrow,
understand the aching of his own heart and make friends with his sadness. Then, he could have truly smiled.
