Da: Blackhawk Collection.

The Vagabond is often described as two-dimensions prototype of the Chaplin norm: on the one hand the hitherto pratically inconceivable combination of laughter and pathos, with emotion infiltrating the comedy, brusquely interrupting it (but then leaving it free to express itself in even richer and more subtle ways); on the other hand introducing an element of romance (and in this case a triangle relationship, the first in what would be a recurring theme), which would transport Chaplin once and for all out of the world of British vaudeville and Sennetstyle slapstick, into more complete storytelling, where form and content progressively evolved and converged. In The Vagabond this process has clearly begun, even if some ‘vulgar’ elements may persist, which some critics of the time were quick to point out. There was also praise, however, that specifically contradicted this view and ultimately contributed to legitimizing Chaplin’s artistic vision, in particular in the magazine “Harper’s Weekly” which published an article by the theater actress of note at the time, Minnie Maddern Fiske, which began: “An increasing number of artists and men and women of culture are beginning to consider Chaplin an extraordinary artist and comic genius”, and continued, “Chaplin might be vulgar but there is vulgarity in the comedies of Aristophanes and in those of Plautus and the Elizabethans, not excluding Shakespeare. Rabelais is vulgar, Fielding and Smollet and Swift are vulgar. Vulgarity and distinguished art can exist together. Those of us who believe that Charles Chaplin is essentially a great comic artist look forward to fine achievements. We are confident that he will attain the artistic stature to which it seems he is entitled”.

The Vagabond, marked a huge leap forward. It was a well-turned miniature drama, in which Charlie’s adoption of a friendless girl anticipated The Circus, Modern Times, City Lights and Limelight. Gag comedy is skilfully juxtaposed with a subtler comedy of character and with a sentimental theme which, though it may seem a trifle heavy to modern tastes, is handled with a delicacy and judgement superior to most dramatic cinema of the period. Charlie is a street musician and we are able to see, if not to hear, his accomplishment as a left-handed violinist. Out in the country, he rescues a little blonde drudge from villainous gypsies. Their life together in a stolen caravan is a (very chaste) idyll until a handsome young artist chances along and wins the heart of the girl. The artist’s portrait of her is exhibited and recognized (thanks to the inevitable birthmark) by her long-lost mother. The girl is whisked off to a new life, leaving Charlie alone and disconsolate, unable even to manage the usual recuperative flip of his heels. (…) Chaplin’s sentiment was invariably saved from mawkishness by comedy and the belligerence underlying his despair. His jealousy as he watches the girl dancing with the artist is not entirely impotent the maliciously flicks a fly in the man’s direction, and later manages to drop an egg on his shoes.

David Robinson, Chaplin: His Life and Art, Penguin, London 2001