The Real Charlie Chaplin - Louella Parsons interview | clown ministry

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(interview with Charlie Chaplin, by Louella Parsons, September 4, 1921, originally published in the New York Telegraph)

So deeply rooted is Charles Chaplin‘s aversion to being questioned by reporters, it is doubtful if he would have expressed himself on any subject if Nathan Burkan had not invited me to dine with Mr. Chaplin and himself. My conversations with the comedian--when there is an interview in the offing-- usually start and end this way:

“Oh, you know what I think. Say what you like.”

A terrible responsibility and one of the penalties of knowing the hero in the story well enough to be fairly conversant with his ideas on socialism, art and marriage. Still, when a man has the active, scintillating brain of Charles Chaplin there is always fresh material, and it is always a source of genuine regret to me he dislikes being questioned, and that I have to remember his dislike of anything that borders on an interview.

But when one is a guest at a dinner party, seated next to the guest of honor, there are many subjects that come up and many ideas that present themselves, spontaneously and naturally, without any thought of being forced. This is what happened at Mr. Burkan’s dinner. We talked of everything under the sun from divorces to Japanese literature. Charlie expressing himself on each subject with an amazing aptitude and a knowledge of life learned from experience and from his wide acquaintance with the books on philosophy, science and literature.

“One of the newspapers this evening,” said Mr. Burkan, “carried an editorial on your desire to make serious plays. They quoted you as saying you wanted one day to play ‘Hamlet’ or ‘Beau Brummel’ to eliminate your comedy and devote your attention to something deeper.”

“I wouldn’t say serious plays,” answered Mr. Chaplin. “I want to make beautiful plays. I am eager to bring poetry to the screen such as we have never had. My experiment with ’The Kid‘ taught me there is a limitless field for the expression of poetry through the motion pictures.”

If Mr. Chaplin expects to bring the beautiful into pictures he will have to wait for several months. He sailed yesterday on the Olympic for a holiday abroad, and he is looking forward to it with all the zest of a boy. After nine years he is returning to his home town with fame and fortune. He left a poor boy, he comes back the uncrowned king of comedy, the best known man in the world and the favorite of the motion picture public from darkest Africa to civilized England. He will visit his birthplace in France, take a look at Seville, Spain, and rest in sunny Italy. He has no intention of thinking or talking work--and if any one wants to be his Santa Claus they will just let him enjoy his vacation in his own way. As for the repeated hints that Mr. Chaplin will make a picture on Socialism there is nothing to it.

“Why should I bother with propaganda?” he asked. “I have no message to deliver.”

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Charlie Chaplin is like a boy in many ways. He seems very young despite his gray hairs acquired within the last year, and very appealing in his repeated remark that he knows very little about women, that they frighten him. His late matrimonial disaster evidently prompted these words. He is very sensitive about his divorce and mentions it as one would speak of a great holocaust or a terrible murder.

He is at his best when he is with the people who know and love him or when he is talking with a child. A Japanese lad aged 13, Shijo Tamura, son of the great Tamura, came up to Mr. Burkan's apartment to see Mr. Chaplin. The boy is a prodigy and will one day rival his gifted father and his mother, who is an actress in her own country. He has written several books in long hand and illustrated them with drawings. Charlie sat down on the divan next to the boy and talked with him on his ambitions, his impressions of America and what he intended to be when he reaches manhood. The child, fearless and frank in his conversation, captivated the comedian, who spoke of Shijo as one of the most remarkable children he had ever met.

T. Yoshida, a Japanese photographer, was so intrigued with his young countryman's brilliant dissertation he insisted upon making a picture of the boy and Mr. Chaplin. He likewise photographed our host and Mr. Chaplin. The picture on this page is by T. Yoshida, who stayed up half the night to get it ready for The Morning Telegraph.

While we were waiting for the smoke to clear out so we could dine and get to the theatre, the janitor came in on some pretext or another. Seeing his hero, he beamed and said:

"Hello, Charlie."

This informal greeting did not embarrass the much-sought-after comedian, who put out his hand in a most democratic fashion and said, "How are you?"

It is these little unaffected ways that makes Mr. Chaplin the fascinating person he is. Unspoiled, lacking in conceit and with the discrimination of an artist, he is a genius. There is something lovable about him, more so because, despite his fame and his enviable position in the world, he is pathetic. To explain that pathos would be difficult, but it is there and refuses to leave even when he is at his merriest and his eyes twinkle over some bon mot or other.

Our conversation was very serious. Most people believe because a man is a comedian on the stage or the screen he should bring his humor with him wherever he goes. Mr. Chaplin is much more at ease discussing Freud, Shakespeare, Neitschi or Lloyd George's latest message to the Irish than he is in discussing custard pie tactics. Any actor who believes Charlie Chaplin is an accident should hear him talk; he has the mentality of a giant, and is without a shadow of a doubt as brilliant as any man with whom I have ever talked.

Our dinner party broke up with Charlie and Mr. Burkan rushing to see "Liliom" while I made tracks for the Plymouth to see Marjorie Rambeau's opening.

"I want to see the heaven in 'Liliom'," said Mr. Chaplin. "It has always been one of my favorite subjects."

"Is that why you featured heaven in 'The Kid'?" he was asked.

"One reason," he answered.

And the last I saw of him was at the entrance to the Fulton Theatre, with the doorman hastening to get a better look. And come to think of it Charlie does have his troubles with photographers, reporters and a constant mob trying just to look at him. But wait until he reaches Paris--the town will go mad with the real Charles to entertain.

We will hear all about it when he comes back.

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