Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator as Propaganda
By Nathan Hubanks, Edited by Zachariah Steele and Sophia Fijman
Preface
A film is a series of moving images. There are no specifications on what those images must contain, how long they must move for, nor how quickly they must be in motion. Even if we must assume the most ‘standard’ film to be roughly one hundred and twenty minutes in length, that leaves a seemingly never-ending collection of frames to compile together. An infinite number of films. And yet, perceptions of what a film must be are limited. Filmmakers are expected to meet a series of standards concerning subject matter, pacing, writing, lighting, acting, and editing or else have their work deemed ‘poor.’ For the purposes of this essay, I shall refer to these as the ‘cinematic standards,’ or simply, ‘cinema.’ If we were to examine all the theoretical compilations of frames totaling one hundred and twenty minutes in length, we could only consider an incomprehensibly minute amount to be true ‘cinema.’ Thus, cinema can be perceived as a particular shape within the medium of film, but it mustn’t be taken as all the medium can be–a mistake critics made in 1940 when they failed to see the shape of Charlie Chaplin’s film, The Great Dictator (here forward abbreviated/referred to as TGD) was one of propaganda.
The dark comedy written, directed, and acted by Chaplin tells a dual narrative, the first following Chaplin as Adolf Hitler and the second as a Jewish barber subjected to his tyranny. In the climax of the film (1:58), Chaplin violates cinematic standards by seemingly stepping out of his shy barber character to deliver a fiery six-minute call to arms directly to the audience advocating for kindness and democracy–henceforth to be referred to as ‘the Speech.’ Upon the film’s release in 1940, critics collectively blasted TGD for failing to reach conventional cinematic standards. While reviewers generally agreed the film had its comedic moments; overall, they felt TGD–specifically, the Speech–was a preachy, redundant, and contradictory mess. Though when scrutinizing TGD through cinematic standards, the critics may have been wholly correct, the purpose of this essay is to reveal that reviewers were ill-considered to apply a cinematic shape to Chaplin’s film. Moreover, it will argue that Chaplin never intended for TGD to take the shape of cinema at all in favor of another form entirely: one of propaganda. Following in the logic of the preface, this essay will then evaluate TGD for its achievement as a propaganda piece. By the paper’s end, it will have proven that critics, because they viewed the film through a misused lens, mistook a quality work of propaganda for an incoherent mess of cinema.
The Great Dictator’s Quality as Cinema
This essay will first evaluate TGD through traditional cinematic standards, supplementing its assessment with initial reviews of the film, to ultimately illustrate why, as cinema, the work is a fundamental mess.
Firstly, TGD repeatedly violates cinematic pacing rules, choosing to spend significant portions of its runtime mocking its fascist villains instead of advancing a plot. Traditional cinematic pacing decrees that scenes within a film, particularly longer scenes, must further the film's narrative–something that many scenes in TGD fail to accomplish. The phenomenon is most present in the two-minute sequence in which Chaplin, as Hitler, silently plays alone with a balloon of the Earth until it pops (0:53). While the segment is played for laughs, it serves no greater purpose in the narrative of the film; it is not the balloon sequence alone that violates pacing standards, but the totality of the film's indulgence in this type of stalling. The messy food fight (1:47), the runaway train segment (1:30), the silly incomprehensible speeches (0:15), the portrayal of Hitler’s daily routine (0:37), and the endless physical comedy of Jack Oakie’s Mussolini can all be cited as large portions of the film that fail to advance the narrative–a mark against TGD’s integrity as a piece of cinema. Twentieth Century critics agreed with the sentiment: The New York Times described the film as “overlong” (Crowtherwallace) and Variety wrote that Chaplin often “took time out to make fun of (Hitler)” (Variety Staff). The use of the phrase, “time out,” implies that Variety believed that when Chaplin poked fun at “Hitler,” he was taking a ‘timeout’ from the real narrative of the film–an observation that correlates with The NYT’s analysis that the film was “overlong” and suggesting it did not justify its own length. These reviews exhibit that TGD failed to meet cinematic pacing standards.
Nevertheless, the greatest mark against TGD as a work of cinema is the Speech–which sacrifices the film’s narrative integrity for the sake of a message. Even through an application of modern cinematic standards, Chaplin’s Speech does not age well. Still today, a conventional narrative must be consistent within itself; TGD’s Speech is anything but, as it contradicts the protagonist’s established character traits. Throughout the film, TGD’s protagonist, the barber, is meek and hardly utters a word; and yet as soon as the Speech begins, in an instant, his entire character is rewritten into one of a brave and fiery public speaker. Critics at the time were quick to take note of the contradiction: Hollywood called it “out of character” (Votsis) and The NYT described it as “completely out of joint with that which has gone before” (Crowtherwallace). These reviews evidence that the Speech contradicts the film’s narrative, thus violating cinematic narrative standards. Furthermore, the Speech also fails to meet the cinematic expectations of a climax, as the film’s abrupt ending after the Speech leaves many plot threads unresolved. Traditionally, climaxes are expected to be a culmination of all the elements in a film’s narrative, and by the climax’s end, it should resolve those elements. Yet, TGD fails to meet this expectation as well, as the Speech falls short of addressing any portion of the film’s narrative before concluding the film itself, leaving all running plot threads unresolved. On these grounds, critics were unsatisfied with the ending: The NYT wrote that “what should be the climax becomes flat” (Crowtherwallace), Variety held that it was “a peculiar and somewhat disappointing climax” (Variety Staff), and Hollywood lambasted it as an “unnecessary and anti-climatic attempt to arouse emotion” (Votsis). The three reviews all share the same sentiment, thereby highlighting how the Speech failed as a cinematic climax. In essence, the totality of the Speech’s breach away from the cinematic standards of narrative and climax, alongside the film’s repeated violation of conventional pacing, goes to show that fundamentally, TGD acts as a messy piece of cinema.
The Great Dictator’s Propagandist Origins
And yet, Chaplin never intended for TGD to be a piece of cinema at all–as this segment will reveal, Chaplin deliberately created the film with a hyper-awareness of his own influence, hoping to craft a work of propaganda that would sway audiences towards democracy–ultimately evidencing that TGD should be viewed as a propaganda piece. Providing a window into Chaplin’s intentions, history professor Robert Cole’s 2001 article, “Anglo-American Anti-fascist Film Propaganda in a Time of Neutrality: The Great Dictator,” catalogs TGD’s historical production and subsequent circulation in Western countries. In order to appreciate Cole’s piece, one must understand that, in TGD’s release year of 1940, Hitler’s invasion of Europe was well underway; straining a Western taboo on propaganda created after its abuse during World War One. A 1937 quote from the British Board of Film Censors illustrates this taboo: “we may take pride in observing that there is not a single film showing in London which deals with any of the burning questions of the day” (Cole 137). In other words, before TGD was released, film censors strided to repress the polarizing complications of domestic and international politics, as doing so provided audiences with an escape. Cole even claims that during TGD’s production both the British and American governments attempted to shut the film down, and Chaplin himself received letters threatening to shoot the screens of cinemas that played TGD. The animosity towards Chalpin’s film from censors highlights the historical moment of 1940: one of total aversion to propaganda.
This animosity towards propaganda is paramount to understanding Chaplin’s intention in creating TGD: he hoped to release a film that would erode the stigma against propaganda by creating pro-war sentiment. In other words, he hoped to create propaganda of his own. TGD’s screenwriter once claimed that Chaplin would “sit for hours watching newsreels of the German dictator, exclaiming: ‘Oh you bastard, you son-of-a-bitch, you swine. I know what’s on your mind!’” (Cole 143). The testimony of the screenwriter shows that Chaplin had a hateful obsession with Hitler, and thereby, a powerful motivation to do damage to his reputation. Fortunately for Chaplin, he was in a unique position of incredible influence over Western audiences; if he wished to tear down Hitler within the populace, he could like none else. With Chaplin’s influence in mind, Cole himself asserts that Chaplin’s intention in creating TGD was simply to “persuade viewers that Germany and Italy, but especially Germany under Hitler, posed a clear threat to world peace” (Cole 145). Cole’s analysis further depicts Chaplin as a motivated individual deadset on influencing a mass audience–an individual seeking to create propaganda.
Therefore, given the testimony of the screenwriter, Chaplin’s influence, Cole’s insights, and the significance of the historical climate, it can be reasonably concluded that Chaplin was far more interested in persuading the public with a piece of propaganda than he was in following traditional cinematic standards. In short: it would be more accurate to view TGD in the shape of propaganda, rather than hammer a square peg into the round hole of cinema.
The Great Dictator as Propaganda
Unlike cinema, propaganda’s sole purpose is to persuade an audience into holding a certain belief; thus, this essay will now reanalyze the elements of TGD for their ability to sway audiences, ultimately demonstrating that the work is far more cohesive when viewed in the shape of propaganda.
Although Variety labeled them “time outs” (Variety Staff), when viewed as propaganda TGD’s comedic elements serve the film’s greater purpose of persuading audiences. Firstly, let us hark back to the sequences deemed violations of cinematic pacing standards: the Earth balloon, the food fight, the runaway train, the incomprehensible speeches, Hitler’s daily routine, and the physical comedy of Oakie’s Mussolini. While it is true these scenes all fail to advance the narrative, thus failing to meet conventional cinema standards, through a lens of propaganda the sequences no longer need to advance a plot–they simply need to convince audiences to align with democracy. Thus, reanalyzing these sequences reveals another similarity: they each degrade a fascist dictator. Because this essay has already established that it was Chaplin’s intention to persuade audiences via propaganda, it can be reasonably inferred that these sequences are not “time outs,” but rather deliberately inserted mockeries designed to deter the populace away from fascism.
In addition, Chaplin specifically designed the film’s slapstick sequences to instill sympathy for those oppressed under fascism–further actualizing the film’s purpose of persuading audiences, and hence its shape of propaganda. In his inquiry, Cole notes that the physical comedy in the film is designed so that “violence by the Jews against the stormtroopers is slapstick–but when the stormtroopers attack the Jews, the context is straight tragedy” (Cole 146). Essentially, Cole highlights that when Jewish people attack the stormtroopers the comedy is lighthearted–such as the scene in which a Jewish girl repeatedly hits a group of stormtroopers on the head with a frying pan (00:31); the technique depicts the oppressed as gentle people willing to fight back if forced, granted through ethical means. On the contrary, all violence in TGD against the Jewish is “straight tragedy,” such as when the barber is nearly hung in the street (00:35); another effort by Chaplin to deliberately characterize the Germans as immoral savages–to pull an audience towards democracy.
Lastly, when viewing TGD as a propaganda piece, the Speech fits perfectly within its confines as a powerful final attempt to persuade the audience. As previously stated, the Speech was largely criticized for eroding the integrity of the film’s narrative–a cinematic standard. However, as propaganda, it has no need to maintain this narrative integrity–it solely has to influence its audience. And so, in analyzing the film as propaganda, it actually appears that during the Speech, Chaplin literally steps out of character, transcending the confines of any cinematic shape, to give a dire message from his candid self directly to the viewer. Through this lens, the Speech is Chaplin’s final–and strongest–attempt to influence TGD’s audience. Hence, although the Speech and other pro-democratic sequences in the film are fundamentally flawed when perceiving TGD as cinema, as a film of propaganda the scenes solidify themselves as a compelling and cohesive effort to arouse real-world change within audiences.
The Great Dictator’s Quality as Propaganda
Nevertheless, while cinema can be evaluated by the quality of its craft, the greatness of a propaganda work is not found within its parts: the true measurement of propaganda–the standard with which we determine its merit–is how effective it is or was in creating real-world change. Thus, this essay will now finally prove that, as a work of propaganda, through measuring the extent of actual change the film brought, TGD is quality in its craft.
To revisit the propaganda taboo of the 1930s, TGD’s caliber as a piece of propaganda is perhaps best demonstrated by how the film entirely eroded it. In Cole’s aforementioned article, he writes that, after its release, “[TGD] paved the way for a rush of American propaganda pot boilers which began after 1941” (Cole 138), and that, “by 1942, propaganda feature films were a standard part of popular cinema” (Cole 150). According to Cole, TGD served as a turning point so impactful it “paved the way” to normalcy for propaganda to become a “standard part of popular cinema” by 1942, quantifying its gargantuan influence over the American public–thereby proving itself to be a ‘quality’ work of propaganda. Furthermore, Cole claims the release marked a historical turning point in America: “it represented the transition from a peacetime America […] to a wartime America in which films that caricatured enemy leaders were received with enthusiasm” (Cole 138). A propaganda piece influential enough to mark a national “transition” point, one from total aversion to embracement of propaganda, should most certainly be classified as highly effective. Indeed, pro-war sentiment is what got America into war against Hitler in 1942, exactly as Chaplin wanted; while not strictly measurable, TGD’s influence on the nation's decision should not be understated. Because TGD managed to sway American audiences with such profoundness that the propaganda taboo was repealed, it thereby earns the label of ‘quality’ as a work of propaganda.
Even still, TGD not only influenced American audiences but also altered the socio-politics of Latin America–further proving itself. In her 2018 article, “Slapstick Diplomacy: Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator and Latin American Theaters of War,” historian Willie Hiatt claims that TGD’s hectic release in Latin America left a permanent impact on mass audiences, writing that the film became so well known, “Charlie Chaplin was arguably the most recognizable authoritarian figure–real or fictional–in Latin America during WWII” (Hiatt 149). In other words, Chaplin’s propaganda was influential enough that he not only corrupted Hitler’s image in the region but went so far as to replace it. In addition, Hiatt addresses the value of the Speech, writing that it was so powerful “fascist protestors interrupted [it]” (Hiatt 777). Put simply, the speech was so effective at rousing audiences the opposition found it dangerous. And finally, Hiatt even reports that Peru’s ban of TGD “provoked a duel of honor between a senator and a justice” (Hiatt 778). Significant, because the duel demonstrates that Chaplin’s propaganda gained enough traction to “provoke” a battle between two high-ranking government officials, exhibiting its vast influence–and thereby, its vast quality. Thus, because history suggests TGD’s influence over real-world audiences in the United States and Latin America was profound, the film, if nothing else, must be a high-caliber work of propaganda.
Conclusion
With the entirety of the aforementioned historical significance and analysis of TGD, the initial critical disappointment with the film, and specifically with the Speech itself, can appear woefully shortsighted. Early critics failed to view Chaplin’s film in the shape it was intended to be perceived, and in consequence, found the work incoherent, messy, and overlong. Had the critics’ influence been slightly more powerful, it is possible that TGD never would have actualized its potential nation-altering influence over audiences. Nevertheless, TGD’s shape as propaganda defied the cages of cinematic standards and went on to be perceived by the public in its true, quality, unapologetic form.
And so, one might perceive this essay as an attempt to advocate for a total doing away with conventional cinematic standards in favor of a laissez-faire approach to film criticism. Yet, on the contrary, this essay does not advocate for anarchy in critical journals. The shape of cinema serves its purpose, and for the most part, critics who enforce that shape help maintain a level of quality in the industry, evidenced by the often direct correlation between the quality of a film’s reviews and its box office revenue.
Rather, the concept of cinema as art, as discussed in this essay, mustn’t be mistaken for the entirety of the film medium. As the preface stated, film is a never-ending collection of images without constraint. Cinema is a set of standards designed to reward high art. In essence, the ‘cinematic shape’ needs to either be broadened, or more shapes need to be used in the evaluation of a film. Thankfully, Chaplin’s propaganda piece was powerful enough to defy the reviews of critics, but perhaps more films with the power to sway audiences with the potency of TGD would be platformed if judgments of a film’s quality came in more forms than tradition.
Works Cited
Chaplin, Charlie, and Charlie Chaplin. The Great Dictator. United Artists, 1940.
Crowtherwallace, Bosley. “The Screen in Review; 'The Great Dictator,' by and with Charlie Chaplin, Tragi-Comic Fable of the Unhappy Lot of Decent Folk in a Totalitarian Land, at the Astor and Capitol Chaplin at the Premiere.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 16 Oct. 1940, https://www.nytimes.com/1940/10/16/archives/the-screen-in-review-the-great-dictator-by -and-with-charlie-chaplin.html
Hiatt, Willie. “Slapstick Diplomacy: Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator and Latin American Theaters of War.” Cambridge Core, 18 June 2018, https://www.cambridge.org/core/services/aop-cambridge-core/content/view/65194A4F18 33610E0766857B09DA3F2C/S0022216X18000366a.pdf/div-class-title-slapstick-diplom acy-charlie-chaplin-s-span-class-italic-the-great-dictator-span-and-latin-american-theatres -of-war-div.pdf
Cole, Robert. “Anglo-American anti-fascist film propaganda in a time of neutrality: The great dictator, 1940.” Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television, vol. 21, no. 2, 2001, pp. 137–152, https://doi.org/10.1080/01439680120051488. https://www-tandfonline-com.libproxy1.usc.edu/doi/pdf/10.1080/01439680120051488?n eedAccess=true
Staff, Variety. “The Great Dictator.” Variety, Variety, 1 Jan. 1940, https://variety.com/1939/film/reviews/the-great-dictator-1200412984/
Votsis, Joan. “Hollywood (1941).” Lantern, https://lantern.mediahist.org/catalog/hollywood30fawc_0020