We recently screened Kino International’s new 35mm print of Charlie Chaplin’s City Lights (1931) here at the International Film Series. I’m pleased to announce that the film still draws an appreciative crowd who filled the auditorium with laughter. Our particular print went on to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art where it plays this Friday and Saturday. I also know it’s playing at the Film Forum in New York City on May 1st. So consider this a gentle reminder that a cinematic presentation of one of Chaplin’s most celebrated films might be coming to a theater near you.

These screenings are few and far in between. Why? Well, in part it’s because so many theaters now don’t even have the proper aperture plates to handle a 1.33:1 aspect ratio film (as is the case with City Lights). Mainly, however, it’s because so many single screen venues programmed by owners who also love cinema have disappeared and given way to multiplexes that are programmed by accountants headquartered in some other state who only pay attention to the bottom line. And repertory programming is having a harder time finding a paying audience. After all, nowadays many people can mimic the big screen experience at home via digital projection, and if a film they want to revisit is readily available on DVD or Blu-Ray or even downloadable (be that legally or illegally), well… why bother going out to a theater at all?

Not that I blame them. Many theaters have become a hostile environment for true movie lovers. First, they charge ridiculous prices – oftentimes exceeding what it would cost to buy a used DVD of the same film if you so much as just wait a few months. Plus, the DVD might be loaded with additional features or unrated or uncut or unedited or who-knows-what kind of versions to give you added incentives to completely avoid the theatrical version entirely anyway.

Getting back to admission prices: the other day I went to a weekend matinee and was charged… $7.50? That’s the “special” matinee price? And then I sit down and am rewarded with: commercials. A friggin’ endless stream of digitally projected commercials that make it impossible to simply have a conversation with my date and or friends while I’m sitting there in the theater – and, mind you, these are running on a loop before the start time of the film. Then at the so-called “start” time of the film come the trailers. And I normally love trailers, but when you pack on more than a dozen of them before the feature it does wear my patience down. Finally, the main attraction begins. The theater goes dark. And then you see them; a jittery constellation of lit-up cell phones being operated by people who are oblivious to the fact that the act of text-messaging their friends is, in fact, as distracting as having a gaggle of drunk clowns juggling glow sticks in the dark. I’ll spare you the long version of this rant, which includes detailed exchanges I’ve had with people who talk in the theater while eating popcorn with open mouths while they crinkle their concessions packaging at my ear level – like manic origami makers – pausing only to take a cell phone call.

Speaking of clowns, in case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t written down anything about City Lights. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. What can I say? It’s daunting. On IMDB alone there are over fifty external reviews, including the original Variety review posted on Feb. 11, 1931 whereby Sid Silverman writes that “Chaplin has another good picture. The three-year period since The Circus and sound will give City Lights a percentage of ‘novelty money,’ in that it contains no dialog… City Lights gives indications of being short winded and may tire fast after a bombastic initial seven days.” Wow. I’ve written a lot of bad reviews in my time, and many are (to my eternal shame) easily available on the internet. But, wow. At least I didn’t write THAT one.

Far from tiring after an initial seven days, City Lights would go on to pretty much rule the planet, coming back decade after decade after decade. Ebert himself noted that one of the powers of the silent film was that it traveled “everywhere without regard for language, and talkies were like the Tower of Babel, building walls between nations. I witnessed the universality of Chaplin’s art in one of my most treasured experiences as a moviegoer, in 1972, in Venice, where all of Chaplin’s films were shown at the film festival… One night the Piazza San Marco was darkened, and City Lights was shown on a vast screen. When the flower girl recognized the Tramp, I heard much snuffling and blowing of noses around me; there wasn’t a dry eye in the piazza. Then complete darkness fell, and a spotlight singled out a balcony overlooking the square. Charlie Chaplin walked forward, and bowed. I have seldom heard such cheering.”

Variety and Ebert provide but the first two of over 50 reviews on IMDB. Anyone reading this can easily continue that thread on their own, so instead I decided to cap this blog piece off with another rant against exhibitors that relates specifically to City Lights – on opening night. This one comes straight from Chaplin and from his book Charles Chaplin: My Autobiography.

“The proprietor had built a beautiful theater but, like many exhibitors in those days, he knew little about the presentation of films. The picture started. It showed the credit titles, to the usual first-night applause. Then at last the first scene opened. My heart pounded. It was a comedy scene of the unveiling of a statue. They began to laugh! The laughter increased into roars. I had got them! All my doubts and fears began to evaporate. And I wanted to weep. For three reels they laughed. And from sheer nerves and excitement I was laughing with them.

“Then the most incredible thing happened. Suddenly in the middle of the laughter the picture was turned off! The house lights went up and a voice over a loudspeaker announced: ‘Before continuing further with this wonderful comedy, we would like to take five minutes of your time and point out to you the merits of this beautiful new theater.” I could not believe my ears. I went mad. I leaped from my seat and raced up the aisle: ‘Where’s the stupid son of a bitch of a manager! I’ll kill him!’

“The audience were with me and began stamping their feet and applauding as the idiot went on speaking about the beautiful appointments of the theater. However, he soon stopped when the audience began booing. It took a reel before the laughter got back into its stride. Under the circumstances I thought the picture went well. During the final scene I noticed (Albert) Einstein wiping his eyes – further evidence that scientists are incurable sentimentalists.”

And where do I go from there? How do I top that story? All the gabbing, texting, cell-phone waving, popcorn munching, inane commercial laden, out-of-focus and badly framed film horror stories that I can come up with… they all pale in the wake of that one unthinkably crass maneuver where you have Charles Chaplin, an icon known the world-over, in-person, screening the premiere of a film he worked on for three years, with such luminaries as Albert Einstein in attendance while, outside, a mob of people circled around the block to get in and even rioted, and despite all this; a film exhibitor didn’t think twice about hijacking Chaplin’s work to interrupt the show and then brag about his theater – like that dancing hot-dog that would come years later singing his song of “let’s all go to the lobby, let’s all go to the lobby.”

Maybe, just maybe, it’s not that film exhibition has gotten worse or more crass. It’s simply more of the same, but under new management to fit the new audiences.