The Pawnshop is one of the undisputed masterpieces Chaplin made for Mutual.
Strengthened by a close knit team featuring Edna Purviance, Eric Campbell (in the role of a memorable con-man), Albert Austin and the new entry Henry Bergman (who would stick with him until Modern Times), The Pawnshop seems designed, like One A.M., to explore and offer Chaplin’s physical and mimetic agility, this time within a very limited space.
In the small pawnshop, packed with inanimate objects, Chaplin transforms them as he pleases, transposing their significance and their function, creating a metaphorical and anthropomorphized universe that takes shape around his character (and which fascinated Dadaists and Surrealists). The balancing act on the stairs, a home-made donut that turns into an exercise weight, then becomes a Hawaiian lei, a tightrope number on a rope on the floor, the theft staged to the rhythm of a ballet and the ultimate magnificent gag of the ‘sick’ alarm clock, examined with a stethoscope (shot in two long sequences, many meters of film each, divided by a brief close up of the client’s face) make it impossible to tear one’s eyes from the screen for the duration of the film. “Perfection, equilibrium and harmony between the scenes”, writes Jean Mitry, “the masterful rhythm maintained throughout the entire film, structured classically in three sections and the mastery of execution all contribute to make this film an absolute work of art”.