The ending of neither story [Heart of Darkness] nor film [Apocalypse Now] is confused, just bifocal. In Coppola we find writ large, for Willard as well as for us, what Conrad seems to keep from Marlowe by ironic distance: that the return to civilization from primitive haunts can never lay the ghostly image of that bestial horror lurking within us, the horror that finds such kinship, regressed beyond any ethical restraint, in the jungle's heart of darkness. It is a horror (...) which the tropical rain droning on the sound track as the film's last trace can scarcely wash clean. For just before, staring straight at the camera and through it at us for one final time, confirming earlier suggestions of the universal complicity in evil, Willard's disembodied face - the reflective mind as if unmoored from its whole self, decapitated - slides out of view to the right behind the dead but deathless carved image. With the film's narrator absorbed into the immemorial icon of that anthropomorphic vanity and villainy which has comprised his tale, Kurtz's "horror" comes onto the sound track as a primal echo in the soul, an echo drenched from without by the sounds of a world that outlasts but cannot quench it. Garrett Stewart, professor of English at the University of California, Santa Barbara, is the author of Dickens and the Trials of Imagination. His previous contribution to Critical Inquiry, "Modern Hard Times: Chaplin and the Cinema of Self-Reflection," appeared in the Winter 1976 issue. (shrink)

Damian Sutton Photography and Cinema from Birth to Death _Film-Philosophy_, vol. 5 no. 8, March 2001.

Charles Chaplin, like Charles Dickens, knew the deep allegiance between theme and visual symbol, and the greatest popular genius of our century, when he began a film called Modern Times with a nondescript clockface upon which the second hand inexorably spins, negotiated this alliance between satiric narrative and its props with the bold assurance of the nineteenth-century master. To have seen Modern Times again for the first time in nearly a decade, as I did recently, after in the interval having (...) reread, taught, and written about Dickens' Hard Times, was to see Chaplin's masterpiece virtually for the first time—and to wonder anew at the critics. I will shortly return to the symbolic devices by which the pervasive motif of modern time is propped and propelled in both Chaplin's film and Dickens' novel, but it is important to question first why the very thirst for overt social satire which draws a certain kind of reader to Hard Times, often one who has little converse with the other and greater Dickens novels, tends to go bafflingly unsatisfied where Modern Times is concerned. In the most recent book-length study of Chaplin, by noted film historian Roger Manvell, we hear that "Though highly entertaining, Modern Times had little social comment and no political party implications whatsoever."1 To grieve over this would be like dying of thirst in a rainstorm. Although Walter Kerr, in his far more searching treatment of Chaplin in The Silent Clowns, observes "at least two dazzling opportunities for the ironic social comment" in the opening factory sequence, on the whole he decides that "Chaplin's true theme lies elsewhere and is much more personal."2 Yes and no; more than any other artistic predecessor, Dickens can help us see the deeply-rooted grip of industrial satire on the apparent discrete, episodic comedy of Modern Times. · 1. Roger Manvell, Chaplin , p. 143.· 2. Walter Kerr, The Silent Clowns , p. 357. Garrett Stewart, associate professor of English at the University of California, Santa Barbara, is the author of Dickens and the Trials of Imagination, Film on Film, and a book on the symbolism of death in modern British fiction, Point of Departure: The Death Scene since Dickens, as well as essays on film. He has contributed "Coppola's Conrad: The Repetitions of Complicity" to Critical Inquiry. (shrink)

Induction -- Secondary vocality -- Errands of the ear -- Imp-aired words -- Splitting the difference -- Talking room -- After wording.