My Autobiography (64 page)

GIRL: How little you know about women.

VERDOUX: You’d be surprised.

GIRL: That isn’t love.

VERDOUX: What is love?

GIRL: Giving… sacrificing… the same thing a mother feels for her child.

VERDOUX
[smiling]
: Did you love that way?

GIRL: Yes.

VERDOUX: Whom?

GIRL: My husband.

VERDOUX
[surprised]
: You’re married?

GIRL: I was… He died while I was in jail.

VERDOUX: I see… Tell me about him.

GIRL: That’s a long story…
[a pause]
. He was wounded in the Spanish Civil War… a hopeless invalid.

VERDOUX
[leans forward]
: An invalid?

GIRL
[nods]
: That’s why I loved him. He needed me… depended on me. He was like a child. But he was more than a child to me. He was a religion… my very breath… I’d have killed for him.

She swallows her tears and is about to drink the poisoned wine
.

VERDOUX: Just a moment… I believe there is a little cork in that wine Let me get you another glass.

He takes her wine and puts it on the sideboard, then takes a clean glass and from his bottle fills it with pure wine. For a moment they drink in silence. Verdoux then gets up from chair
.

VERDOUX: It’s very late, and you’re tired… Here…
[giving her money]
this will tide you over for a day or so… Good luck.

She looks at the money
.

GIRL: Oh, this is too much… I didn’t expect…
[buries her face in her hands and weeps]
. Silly… carrying on this way. I was beginning to lose faith in everything. Then this happens and you want to believe all over again.

VERDOUX: Don’t believe too much. This is an evil world.

GIRL
[shakes her head]
: That isn’t true. It’s a blundering world, and a very sad one… yet a little kindness can make it beautiful.

VERDOUX: You’d better go before your philosophy corrupts me.

Girl walkes to the door, turns and smiles at him as she exits, saying ‘Goodnight’
.

I quote a few of the censors’ objections to the above scene:

‘The dialogue between Verdoux and the girl, “To be out on a night like this, you must be an optimist” as well as the dialogue, “How long have you been at this game?” and, “An attractive girl like you would have done better”, should be changed.

‘We would like to state that the reference to the Salvation Army is likely, in our opinion, to give offence to that group.’

Towards the end of my script, Verdoux, after many adventures, meets the girl again. He is down and out, but she is quite prosperous. The censors objected to her prosperity. The scene is as follows:

Fade into exterior of café. Verdoux is sitting at a table reading a news-paper about the war being imminent in Europe. He pays his bill and leaves. As he crosses the road he is almost run down by a smart limousine which swerves to the kerb. The chauffeur stops and toots his horn, and from the limousine window a gloved hand beckons to him, and to his surprise he sees at the window of the limousine the girl he once befriended smiling at him. She is elegantly dressed
.

GIRL: How do you do, Mr Philanthropist.

Verdoux is puzzled
.

GIRL
[continuing]
: Don’t you remember me? You took me to your apartment… one rainy night.

VERDOUX
[surprised]
: Really?

GIRL: And after feeding me and giving me money, you sent me on my way like a good little girl.

VERDOUX [
humorously
]: I must have been a fool.

GIRL
[sincerely]
: No, you were very kind – where are you going?

VERDOUX: Nowhere.

GIRL: Get in.

verdoux steps into car
.

Interior of limousine
.

GIRL
[to chauffeur]
: To the Café LaFarge… I still think you don’t remember me… but why should you?

VERDOUX
[looking at her admiringly]
: There is every apparent reason why I should.

GIRL
[smiles]
: Don’t you remember? The night we met… I was just out of jail.

Verdoux puts finger to lips
.

VERDOUX: Shhh!
[He points to chauffeur, then feels glass.]
It’s all right… the window’s up.
[He looks at her bewildered.]
But you… all this…
[indicating car]
. What’s happened?

GIRL: The old story… from rags to riches. After I saw you, my luck changed. I met someone very rich – a munitions manufacturer.

VERDOUX: That’s the business I should, have been in. What sort of chap is he?

GIRL: Very kind and generous, but in business he’s quite ruthless.

VERDOUX: Business is a ruthless business, my dear… Do you love him?

GIRL: No, but that’s what keeps him interested.

The censors’ objections to the above scenes were as follows:

‘Please change the underlined dialogue: “You sent me on my way like a good little girl”, and the rejoinder, “I must have been a fool”; this to get away from the present suggestive flavour of the dialogue; and please inject into the dialogue some reference to the munitions manufacturer as the girl’s fiancé; this, to avoid the suggestion that the girl is now a kept woman.’

Other objections were to other scenes and sundry bits of business. I quote:

There will be no vulgar emphasis on the ‘outlandish curves, both in front and behind’, of the middle-aged woman.

There must be nothing offensive in the costumes or dance routines of the show girls. Specifically, there must be no showing of the bare leg above the garter.

The joke about ‘scraping her bottom’ is unacceptable.

There should be no showing of, or suggestion of, toilets in the bathroom.

Please change the word ‘voluptuous’ in Verdoux’s speech.

The letter concluded by stating that they would be only too happy to place themselves at my disposal to discuss the matter and that it might be possible to bring the story within the requirements of the Production Code without seriously impairing its entertainment value. So I presented myself at the Breen Office and was ushered into the presence of Mr Breen. A moment later one of Mr Breen’s assistants, a tall, dour young man, appeared. His tone was anything but friendly.

‘What have you against the Catholic Church?’ he said.

‘Why do you ask?’ I replied.

‘Here,’ he said, slamming a copy of my script on the table and turning its pages. ‘The scene in the condemned cell where the criminal Verdoux says to the priest: “What can I do for you, my good man?” ’

‘Well, isn’t he a good man?’

‘That’s facetious,’ he said, waving a disparaging hand.

‘I find nothing facetious in calling a man “good”,’ I answered.

As we went on discussing, I found myself enacting a sort of Shavian dialogue with him.

‘You don’t call a priest “a good man”, you call him “Father”.’

‘Very well, we’ll call him “Father”,’ I said.

‘And this line,’ said he, pointing on another page. ‘You have the priest say: “I’ve come to ask you to make your peace with God.” And Verdoux replies: “I am at peace with God, my conflict is with man.” You know that’s persiflage.’

‘You have a right to your opinion,’ I continued. ‘I also have a right to mine.’

‘And this,’ he interrupted, reading from the script. ‘The priest says: “Have you no remorse for your sins?” And Verdoux answers: “Who knows what sin is, born as it was from Heaven, from God’s fallen angel, who knows what mysterious destiny it serves?” ’

‘I believe that sin is just as great a mystery as virtue,’ I answered.

‘That’s a lot of pseudo-philosophizing,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Then you have Verdoux look at the priest and say:
“What would you be doing without sin?” ’

‘I admit that line is a little controversial, but after all it is supposed to be ironically humorous and will not be addressed to the priest in a disrespectful way.’

‘But you have Verdoux continually scoring off the priest.’

‘What do you want the priest to play, a comedy part?’

‘Of course not, but why don’t you give him some worth-while answer?’

‘Look,’ I said, ‘the criminal is going to his death and attempts to go with bravado. The priest is dignified throughout and his lines are appropriate. However, I’ll think up something for the priest to answer.’

‘And this line,’ he continued: ‘“May the Lord have mercy on your soul.” And Verdoux says: “Why not? After all it belongs to Him.” ’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ I asked.

He repeated laconically: ‘“Why not!” You don’t talk to a priest like that.’

‘That line is said introspectively. You must wait until you see the film,’ I said.

‘You impugn society and the whole state,’ he said.

‘Well, after all, the state and society are not Simon pure, and criticism of them is not inadmissible, surely?’

With one or two other minor changes the script was eventually passed. And in all justice to Mr Breen a lot of his criticism was constructive. Said he wistfully: ‘Don’t make the girl another prostitute. Almost every script in Hollywood has a prostitute.’

I must confess I felt embarrassed. However, I promised not to stress the fact.

When the film was finished, it was shown to about twenty or thirty members of the Legion of Decency, representatives of the censors and religious groups of various denominations. I have never felt so lonely as I did on that occasion. However, when the picture was over and the lights went up, Breen turned to the rest. ‘I think it’s all right… let it go!’ he said abruptly.

There was silence; then someone said: ‘Well, it’s okay by me, there’s no cleavage.’ The others were glum.

Breen with a wry face, addressing the others, made a sweeping gesture. ‘It’s okay – we can let it go, eh?’

There was little response; some nodded reluctantly. Breen quickly swept aside any objections they might have had, and, patting me on the back, said: ‘All right, Charlie, go ahead and roll them’ – meaning, ‘Print your positive film’.

I was a little bewildered by their acceptance of the picture, considering that in the beginning they had wanted it completely banned. I was suspicious of this sweeping approval. Would they use other means?

*

While re-editing
Verdoux
, I received a telephone message from a United States marshal, saying that he had a summons for me to appear in Washington before the Committee on Un-American Activities. There were nineteen of us summoned.

Senator Pepper of Florida was in Los Angeles at the time, and it was suggested that we meet with the Senator for advice. I did not go, because my situation was different: I was not an American citizen. At that meeting everyone agreed to stand on their Constitutional rights if called to Washington. (Those who stood on them went to jail for a year for contempt of court.)

The summons stated that I would be notified within ten days of my actual appearance in Washington; but, soon after, a telegram arrived stating that my appearance had been postponed for another ten days.

After the third postponement I sent them a telegram stating that I had a large organization suspended, causing me considerable expense, and that since their committee had recently been in Hollywood interrogating my friend Hanns Eisler, they could have interrogated me at the same time and saved the public money. ‘However,’ I concluded, ‘for your convenience I will tell you what I think you want to know. I am not a Communist, neither have I ever joined any political party or organization in my life. I am what you call “a peace-monger”. I hope this will not offend you. So please state definitely when I am to be called to Washington. Yours truly, Charles Chaplin.’

I received a surprisingly courteous reply to the effect that my appearance would not be necessary, and that I could consider the matter closed.

D
URING
all my personal problems, I had not given much attention to the business of United Artists. Now my lawyer warned me that the company was $1,000,000 in the red. In its prosperous days it had grossed between $40,000,000 and $50,000,000 a year, yet I do not remember receiving more than two dividends from it. During the peak of this prosperity, United artists had acquired twenty-five per cent equity in four hundred English theatres without paying a penny for them. I am not sure how we acquired them. I believe they were given to us in exchange for guaranteeing them film products. Other American film companies acquired large amounts of stock in British cinemas the same way. At one time our equity in the Rank organization was worth $10,000,000.

But one by one the United Artists stockholders sold their shares back to the company, and in paying for them the company till was almost depleted. In this way I suddenly found myself a half-owner in a United Artists that was $1,000,000 in debt, with Mary Pickford as my partner. She wrote expressing alarm at the fact that all the banks had refused to give us further credit. I was not too concerned, because we had been in debt before and a successful picture had always pulled us out. Besides, I had just completed
Monsieur Verdoux
, which I expected to be a tremendous box-office success. My representative, Arthur Kelly, prognosticated a gross of at least $12,000,000. If this were true, it would pay off the company’s debt and give it $1,000,000 profit besides.

In Hollywood I had a private showing for my friends. At the conclusion Thomas Mann, Lion Feuchtwanger and several others stood up and applauded for over a minute.

With confidence I embarked for New York. But on my arrival I was immediately attacked by the
Daily News
:

Chaplin’s in town for the opening of his picture. After his exploits as a ‘fellow traveller’, I dare him to show his face at a Press conference, for I shall be there to ask him one or two embarrassing questions.

The publicity staff of United Artists deliberated whether it was advisable for me to meet the American Press. I was indignant, because I had already met the foreign Press the morning before, and they had given me a warm, enthusiastic welcome. Besides, I am not one to be brow-beaten.