CHARACTERS
GRANVILLE REDMOND — About fifty; large, powerfully built, slightly overweight, and handsome, with a mane of dark hair beginning to gray and penetrating blue eyes. He wears a smock over a tweed sport coat and open-collared white shirt; he paints left-handed.
CHARLIE CHAPLIN — Early thirties, youthful and vigorous, with impeccably groomed dark hair and mustache. He wears a gray suit, pressed white shirt, and silver tie; he carries a cane in his left hand and a black derby hat in his right.
GOTTARDO PIAZZONI — About fifty; similar to Chaplin in appearance, size, and fastidious dress. He wears a suit and gray porkpie hat and carries a cane. He appears in his own light as letters are read; “Piazzoni’s Voice” is heard but not seen. He often announces himself with a few bars of a Ticinese Swiss-Italian tune.
MUSICAL NUMBERS
ACT I
Waltz of Brushes — PIAZZONI
Teach Me — CHAPLIN AND REDMOND
Mimes — CHAPLIN AND REDMOND
Song to Charlie — REDMOND
Life of Redmond — REDMOND
ACT II
Paris — REDMOND
Tears in the Rain — REDMOND, CHAPLIN, AND PIAZZONI
The Mustache — CHAPLIN
Talk on the Beach — REDMOND
The Entertainer — PIAZZONI, REDMOND, AND CHAPLIN
MUSIC
Victor Nocelli · Scott Joplin · Léo Daniderff
LYRICS
Piotr J. Flatau; “The Mustache” — Marian Hemar
ACT ONE
For the beginning, an indeterminate location. During the opening song, in dreamlike light, Charlie Chaplin, cane in left hand, stands behind Granville Redmond, brush in left hand, sitting before an easel, staring at a canvas.
Gottardo Piazzoni comes on humming a few bars of his song “Lu-fi de-la/foo-yah yu-sca/ de-gon de-yah.” He’s almost a mirror image of Chaplin, small, straight, well dressed. He stops singing the folk ditty, then sings with a slight Italian accent as Chaplin and Redmond remain still.
PIAZZONI:
Once in the gallery of art, There were paintings of shadows and clouds. There were brushes with ochre and greens, But they're dry now, They sleep and they dream.
About stories of battles and guns, About dunes and Monterey pines, Little girls who play hopscotch, You don't believe me, Monsieur, Oh God.
There are paintings abandoned and sad, In the corner, in inclement light, Their story will never be seen, You don't believe me, Monsieur, Oh God.
Let us dance that waltz with the stars Let me bow at the turpentine cans, On the throne of papier-mâché, There is a jester Oh yes, Monsieur.
PIAZZONI: Dear Charlie, I introduce Granville Seymour Redmond, friend and artist. Recently relocated to Los Angeles. Looking for a temporary place to paint until he finds a studio. You once told me you had space on your studio lot. Could you help him for now?
People say they feel silence in his work. Perhaps they’re simply reading what they know about him into his painting... He’s attracted to the landscape — dreams of building a studio someday “at the foot of rolling hills.’’ (Pause.) Might you find parts for him in your films? He’s a talented pantomimist.
Oh, don’t tell him you feel a silence in his work — irritates him.
Sincerely, Gottardo Piazzoni.
CHAPLIN (Coming forward): Dear Gottardo, we’ve met! We’re getting along though we can’t talk — you forgot to tell me he’s deaf and mute! But of course that’s my world too. I chose it, he didn’t. I told him he could paint here on the film lot till he finds his dream studio. Meanwhile, we’re having fun — I think!
(Chaplin studies painting from several angles, holds his hands up to frame it. Redmond leans back to study painting, flipping brush back in his painting hand — his left hand. Chaplin pantomimes being hit in eye by paint. Redmond leans forward to paint.)
CHAPLIN (Good-naturedly cleaning his eye with a handkerchief): Visited his home. Paints in cramped quarters, terrible light, children running through the room — his wife Carrie tries to control them but it’s a home, not a studio... Anyway, can spare this space for a week or two.
(Piazzoni goes off, singing a refrain from his opening song.)
(Redmond gestures dramatically at painting. Chaplin nods, studies it intently. Redmond stands, takes Chaplin’s cane from him, and, as Chaplin, preoccupied, continues to study the painting, Redmond twirls cane, pulls off many stunts and routines while improvising dance steps, then he loses his grip on the cane and it goes flying off. Loud crashing sound. This does not bother him. It does Chaplin and he jumps. Redmond goes off as Chaplin gives him a look.)
CHAPLIN: Dear Gottardo, maybe just one week — he sent a cane flying through the props department window!
(Redmond returns, happily twirling cane.)
He can read my lips most of the time, but difficult for me to make myself understood without pencil and paper... (Gestures.) Found myself being loud to make myself understood the other day. Rude of me... looked at me with those blazing blue eyes of his...
(Redmond turns and fixes Chaplin with a stare.)
CHAPLIN (Uncomfortable): Well, we made it up... He showed me a walk the other day —
(Redmond stands, does a heavy-footed character walk. He looks at Chaplin and breaks into a broad smile.)
— I thought the Little Fellow might put to good use.
(Chaplin follows Redmond, imitating the walk. Pantomimes twirling a cane, then comes to a stop.)
Vanity aside, I’d have to do it better — he’s a bear, twice my size.
(Redmond comes up behind Chaplin, lifts him in a joyous bear hug, twirls him around, then sets him down, sits at easel and works. Chaplin catches his breath, straightens his clothing.)
Hug’s lethal — next time I have a crying scene ... (Dabs at his eyes)
Sincerely, Charlie.
(Chaplin studies Redmond, comes up behind and taps him on shoulder. Redmond looks at him quizzically.)
CHAPLIN (Mouthing words, trying too hard): That... is... a... nice... picture. Nice California hills.
(Redmond looks at him blankly.)
CHAPLIN (Worried, too quickly): Not California? Then France? French hills?
(Trying to read Chaplin’s lips, Redmond is bewildered, looks at painting, back at Chaplin, perhaps worried he doesn’t like it.)
CHAPLIN (Sensing that): It’s lovely!... But not France? Piazzoni told me you were in France together, so I assumed... Said you lost money to a priest in a poker game.
(Redmond jumps up, gestures vigorously, holds hands together prayerfully, eyes blazing, gestures to Chaplin to repeat himself.)
Yes — well, a priest ... Piazzoni said he... (Angelic gesture or pose.)... blessed you!
(Redmond, reading Chaplin’s lips correctly, indicates he knows this is a lie. Indicates impatiently he wants the truth.)
CHAPLIN (Sighs): Very well. (Puts hands together praying.) Priest... (Deals cards.) ... poker game... (Pulls a pocket inside-out) ...You lose your last franc. (Sniffles, wipes his eyes.) All gone.
(Redmond, embarrassed, blushes, is furious, mouths the name “Piazzoni,’’ followed by an expletive.)
CHAPLIN (Quickly, gesturing “holding” a paint brush): Shouldn’t have brought it up. What I meant... You’re — a — great — artist!
(Redmond, still angry, thinks about that moment, is mollified, jumps up, pantomimes cranking a film camera, indicates Chaplin is a great filmmaker. Chaplin bows, Redmond bows back.)
CHAPLIN: Nice of you to say so! Well, not say... gesture, rather... with talent, mind you!
(Redmond indicates he should relax, not try so hard, smiles graciously and sits back down to paint.)
PIAZZONI’S VOICE: Charlie, have Granville teach you American Sign Language. It will make things easier. Besides, you’d be a natural... Oh, and don’t bring up the story of Granville losing his last franc to a priest in a poker game — infuriates him.
Sincerely, Piazzoni.
(Chaplin, after submerging his irritation, approaches Redmond.)
CHAPLIN (With gestures and exaggerated enunciation): Will — you — teach — me — to — sign?
(Redmond puzzles.)
CHAPLIN (Kind of signing): Sign! — Sign!... (Salutes, to a few bars of “The Star-Spangled Banner’’ from off. ) American... Sign... Language!
(Redmond laughs. It is clear he knows what Chaplin wants, but enjoys drawing it out. Chaplin senses this, too. Redmond finally relents.)
(Redmond signs, then points to himself.)
CHAPLIN: Me!
(Redmond signs, then points to Chaplin.)
CHAPLIN: You!
(During following sequence Redmond’s ‘voice’ is heard from off as he signs the words and moves his lips. It is distant, metallic, as if coming from a steel drum — it is Redmond’s inner voice.)
REDMOND (Signs): No!
CHAPLIN: No!
REDMOND: Yes.
CHAPLIN: Yes!
REDMOND: World!
CHAPLIN: Round!
REDMOND: World!
CHAPLIN: World!
(They pick up the pace, their intensity building, to the rhythm of a quickening strobe light. Redmond holds up a brush as he signs the object, cranks a camera, etc., also pointing to the object if it is present. Both say following, Chaplin repeating — or trying to repeat — Redmond.)
Brush! Brush!
Film! Film!
Painting! Canvas!
Painting! Picture!
Painting! Painting!
(Redmond beams, then is off again, beginning with waddle walk and sign.)
Little Fellow! Little Fellow!
Artist! Artist!
Star! Star!
(They both laugh. Crescendo.)
Love! Love!
God! God!
(Clash of cymbals. Strobe ceases, they fall back from each other.)
CHAPLIN (Exhausted, signs, saying): Well, well.
REDMOND (Always signing, nodding — Redmond the character onstage speaks): You ... fast... learner!...
(For a while, Redmond’s voice retains that metallic quality. We should understand we are hearing what he is thinking and signing. His voice eventually becomes more ‘natural,’ but in ways distinctive from the way hearing people speak.)
CHAPLIN (Signing, beaming): Thank you.
REDMOND: Oh, one more —
(Hand under his chin, palm down, he waves his fingers.)
CHAPLIN (Trying it): Hello?
REDMOND: No — frustrating. Frustrated.
(Does it again.)
CHAPLIN: Goodbye?
REDMOND (Making the sign): Frus-trat-ing. (Sign spelling, Chaplin repeating the letters.) F - r - u - s - t - r a - t - i - n - g.
CHAPLIN: ...F- r - u - s - t - r - a - t - i - n - g. Ah — frustrating!
(Chaplin comically “pulls a face,’’ looking frustrated, makes sign. Redmond nods, grins. Chaplin grins. It’s a sign they will use often.)
REDMOND (Relaxes): Now we can... talk!
CHAPLIN: Talk?
REDMOND: ... Get to know each other... better.
CHAPLIN: Oh, yes?
REDMOND: Well...
(They both pause, considering the possibilities, pro and con, of this commitment, and showing it in their expressions.)
(From here on, the signing is just suggested — unless specifically directed — and may become almost negligible. But it’s understood that’s how they’re communicating, along with Redmond’s lip reading. When Chaplin is looking directly at Redmond, and the thought being expressed is not a difficult one, he does not even attempt to sign.)
(After some initial clumsiness, Chaplin’s signing becomes graceful and animated; he enjoys it as much as a character walk. He’s not as proficient at ‘reading,’ and sometimes stumbles a bit. Redmond’s signing is second nature to him.)
CHAPLIN (After thinking hard, signing thoughtful): I know — let’s do a walk!
REDMOND (Disappointed): A walk?
CHAPLIN: I do walks, you do walks. Can’t we? Walk now, talk later?
REDMOND (Giving in, grins): A walk — fine! Other people go for a walk, we do one.
CHAPLIN: Follow me!
REDMOND: You me!
(They both laugh at the argument.)
(“Dance of mimes”. In this playful song Chaplin and Redmond walk and sing together.)
Oh, be a mime like that Chaplin Do Pantomime like that Granville Two shadows dance, the story bold... (they speak and bow) Chaplin and Redmond ... a tale unfolds.
(they tap dance)
Step by step and turn by turn With cane in hand and brash in jaws Across the stage, a dance of mimes... (they speak and bow) Chaplin and Redmond ... they shine divine!
(Chaplin is thrown aside by Redmond, the look at each other and tap dance)
Now Chaplin leans, a darling tilt! A story told walking adrift In every step and twirl of cane... (they speak and bow) Chaplin and Redmond ... without a doubt!
(ending, slow, music gradually dying; recitando)
A pause, a look In art’s embrace Another step in silent haste.
(To continuing music from the song, Chaplin continues his walk, looking over his shoulder at Redmond, who follows him step for step. Chaplin tries to throw him off with sudden moves, successful half the time, the other Redmond negotiates the move successfully. They cross the stage several times, then Redmond cuts in front of Chaplin.)
(Redmond taps him on shoulder, indicates Chaplin should follow him.)
(Chaplin bows. Redmond strides, twirling the cane, Chaplin pantomimes twirling the cane. Redmond sneaks a look.)
(Redmond leans on the cane, looks back to see how Chaplin will handle this. Chaplin pantomimes leaning on the cane, his body at an acute angle. Redmond applauds. Chaplin nods, nearly falls.)
(They laugh.)
(Redmond looks at his easel, something in the painting riveting his attention. Music stops. Redmond sits in front of easel, picks up brush, begins to paint quickly, intently.)
(Chaplin approaches, so Redmond can see him.)
CHAPLIN: Very nice.
(Redmond nods, but absorbed, a little absently.)
CHAPLIN (Begins to rattle on, pointing with cane perilously close to canvas, which alarms Redmond): Lovely sky! Gorgeous hills!... reminds me of something wanted to ask you —
(Redmond is becoming exasperated, quickly and on the sly does frustrated sign.)
— which is, why don’t you put people in your paintings? People in everything I do!
(Redmond stands, a plea — indicates his hands are full, so he can’t talk.)
Oh, yes! Of course!... Sorry.
(Redmond resumes painting, watches Chaplin suspiciously from the corner of his eye.)
REDMOND: Dear Gottardo, how Charlie can go on — has a theory on everything. To think I taught him to ‘speak’! Signs to complete strangers. sometimes these people — hearing people — understand him! What a waste he wasn’t born deaf — wouldn’t have stood in his way at all!
(Chaplin, as if he understood that Redmond is up to mischief, takes off his hat, perches it on Redmond’s head.)
(Takes off his jacket, hangs it on Redmond’s easel.)
(Pulls off his mustache — for the first time we realize it is false — sticks it to Redmond’s upper lip.)
(Looks at Redmond for a reaction. Redmond sets down palette.)
REDMOND (Continuing letter): But keeps me stimulated!
(Redmond removes hat and sails it offstage.)
(Chaplin quickly puts jacket back on.)
(Redmond stands, removes mustache from his upper lip and sticks it to the plain end of his brush, dips it in paint, and tries painting with it. Chaplin stands behind him to see the result. He frowns, as does Redmond, who removes the mustache, now orange, from the brush, and hands it to Chaplin, who sticks the mustache back onto his upper lip.)
(Chaplin sniffs the mustache, twitching his nose, grows faint from the oil paint fumes, rolls his eyes, faints, falling to the floor.)
REDMOND (Concluding letter, alarmed): Your friend, Granville!
(Redmond jumps up, kneels by Chaplin, takes him in his arms. Chaplin opens his eyes, bats them.)
CHAPLIN (Signing weakly with one hand): My friend...
REDMOND (Signing fervently with one hand): Yes?
CHAPLIN (Batting his eyes): Will you please...
REDMOND: Anything!
CHAPLIN: Remove this damn mustache — I can’t breathe!
(Redmond rips off mustache with a flourish, hurling it away. Chaplin jumps to his feet, excited. Signs:)
Granville, I just had an... uhm...
REDMOND: Revelation?
CHAPLIN: No. How do you say —?
(Does frustrated sign, then begins playing Charades.)
REDMOND: Inspiration? Inclination? Don’t panic. Think.
(Chaplin pauses, thinks, points to his head, “pulls a light switch.’’)
REDMOND (Signs): Idea!
CHAPLIN: What?
REDMOND (Signs): I-de-a?
CHAPLIN (Sheepishly): Yes.
REDMOND (Nods): Which is?...
CHAPLIN: Which is? Oh, yes... I wonder if you’d consider ...
REDMOND: Yes?
CHAPLIN: ... doing some scenery painting for us now and then.
REDMOND (Excited): Moving pictures? I’d be honored!
CHAPLIN: You wouldn’t think it... beneath your talent?
REDMOND: Of course not, but I’d be paid?
CHAPLIN: Of course. (Signs and mumbles vaguely.) But not much...
REDMOND (Peering, trying to read his lips): Not what? I missed that.
CHAPLIN (Clearer): Not much. Economy’s a little slow.
REDMOND: Well, yes. (Signing with emphasis:) But something?
CHAPLIN: Of course!
REDMOND: Because I have a family ... money’s important.
CHAPLIN: Naturally. (Too nonchalant:) And you might want to...
REDMOND: Yes?
CHAPLIN: ... move your studio in here permanently — canvases and paint and easels... you know, an artist’s studio at a film studio!
REDMOND: Permanently here? (Thinks about it.) Thank you, but no thank you, Charlie.
CHAPLIN: Why not?
REDMOND: Look at us — wouldn’t get anything done! Either of us! Making moving pictures takes lots of people, art’s done alone... Anyway, you know my dream’s a studio at the foot of rolling hills — stepping outside the door and taking in nature all ‘round me.
CHAPLIN: But I wouldn’t bother you! Go to the hills when you want. The desert, anywhere! And rent’s free.
REDMOND: Free?
CHAPLIN: Well, negligible. Save money for your family.
REDMOND (Difficulty with the word): Neg- li —
CHAPLIN (Irritated, but...): Well, free! And you can visit the sets whenever you like. And this just occurred to me: you’re a natural comedian — you break everything. Maybe act a part now and then. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
REDMOND (Interested but cautious): If it’s a good role ...
CHAPLIN (Stiffly): There are only good roles in my moving pictures... You want to do some acting, don’t you?
REDMOND: I think so.
CHAPLIN: Piazzoni says you do. In Paris, they say you made Manet laugh, and he doesn’t laugh at anything.
REDMOND: Because he’d been dead for years. It was Monet — laughs at everything, specially other artists.
CHAPLIN (Begins pacing and signing quickly): And film’s a natural avenue of acting open to people who can’t speak — in fact, it’s the only kind of acting in which they can ‘speak.’ You’re probably a natural! (Strides back and forth, signing with flair) Think about it, Granville — you move your lips and people in the audience will think you’re speaking... Imagine the sensation!... ,
(Redmond is not happy about that, so is noncommittal.)
And you’d be paid — I said that, didn’t I?...
REDMOND: But not much? Because of hard times?
CHAPLIN: More, more than... And there’d be... compensations. I’d bring in — when you’re not painting, of course — movie people who might become clients. Would become clients!
REDMOND: Might? Would?
CHAPLIN (Easily, smiling charmingly, showing off): I can be persuasive.
(Redmond nods in agreement, suddenly beams then puzzles.)
REDMOND: But why?
CHAPLIN (Thinks about it): I like you. Visiting your studio. It’s a refuge from, well, I’m not sure... something...
REDMOND: I’d be gone a lot — hills, desert.
CHAPLIN: Oh, I realize ...
REDMOND: Because while I paint from memory, it’s important to paint from nature too.
CHAPLIN: Understood.
REDMOND (Pause): Well...
CHAPLIN: Well?
(They agree with a look, clasp hands. Redmond kicks up his heels, pantomimes cranking a camera, ‘focusing’ it on Chaplin as Chaplin — followed by a spot — moves Redmond’s easel and painting to another area of the stage. Looks at him for approval of the location, Redmond considers, nods approval.)
REDMOND: Dear Gottardo, I’m in show business! Charlie’s given me the most wonderful studio — on his film lot — at La Brea and Sunset — old props room with skylights! Soon I’ll have that studio near rolling hills I’ve dreamed of. Until then, this space is everything I could ask for. And I save money!
(To music studio space comes dramatically alive. Shafts of sunlight from the skylights. Suggestion of paintings and color from the walls.)
With the natural light I almost feel out of doors... cabinets for paints and brushes ... A little refrigerator. Hot plate, to make coffee. Little musty, but open windows and smell of oil paints will change that... I cross a little plaza — feels like an English village — to watch Charlie’s crew shoot moving pictures. Or act in them... lunch in the commissary with the actors and crew. Many of them with Charlie’s help have learned to sign!... the best Charlie’s camera man, Roland. We’ve a joke between us — Roland and I. When Charlie’s excited he goes from graceful to clumsy. Tripped over a cable today, had to hobble through a scene. Naturally, made it funny. No wonder people love him!
(He happily looks up at the skylights.)
(Granville Redmond “Love Song to Charlie Chaplin”.)
There’s a skylight in my studio, There are brushes There and paints. There is a fridge there in the corner, and a warming plate.
Across the plaza, Quaint like a veil There is Hollywood There are dreams.
I joked just once Behind your back But I always Will love you, my dear. bis
CHAPLIN (Hobbles, then suspiciously): Granville, were you and Roland making a joke about me on the set? Thought I saw you signing and laughing.
REDMOND: No, no — we were saying how wonderfully the scene went.
CHAPLIN: Nothing to do with my little accident?
REDMOND (Innocently): Accident?
CHAPLIN (Suspiciously): Thought I saw Roland signing “two left feet.’’
Wouldn’t take that kindly because, you know, I’m lefthanded!
REDMOND (Sits at easel, picks up brush): So am I.
CHAPLIN (Surprised): Oh?
REDMOND (Hoisting brush with left hand): How long have you watched me paint, oh observant director?
CHAPLIN (Confidence shaken): Well...
(Chaplin grimaces; embarrassed, resumes preparing Redmond’s studio.)
REDMOND (Continuing letter): Despite a few rocky patches, Gottardo, all goes well. I’m an artist, actor, scene painter and —
(Redmond suddenly thinks of something, jumps up, circles in front of Chaplin, signing excitedly.)
REDMOND: Charlie, Charlie, an idea for a film’s come to me!
CHAPLIN (Groans): Not another — the third this month. Granville, I don’t tell you what to paint.
REDMOND (Signing excitedly): Story about spies — hero a deaf mute! Don’t know where these ideas come from —
(Chaplin puts his hands over his ears to not ‘hear’ Redmond, but looking still ‘hears’ him, pulls his hands away, looks at them, then Redmond.)
REDMOND (Posing): — gallant, self-assured. This is the thing: reads lips of enemy agents a mile away!
(Chaplin figures it out, hits himself on the head, then clasps his hands over his eyes. Redmond pauses, then when Chaplin removes his hands, smiling broadly, says — )
REDMOND: Well, Charlie — what do you think?
CHAPLIN: What do I what?
REDMOND: Think!
CHAPLIN: Have to think about it ... Who’d you have in mind for the lead?
REDMOND: Somebody handsome, maybe a mustache...
CHAPLIN (Musing): Handsome... (Pulls a fresh mustache from his pocket, sticks it on.) ... maybe a mustache...
REDMOND: Barrymore, Powell.
CHAPLIN: Barrymore?! Powell?!
(Rips mustache off — has some pain from the action — puts it in his pocket.)
REDMOND (Wide grin): Chaplin!
CHAPLIN (Grimly, still tending upper lip): Better... (Reconsiders.) Maybe.
(Looking front so Redmond can’t see him, Chaplin rolls his eyes.)
CHAPLIN (Not signing, jamming his hands into his pockets): Maybe not.
(Turns back to Redmond.)
REDMOND (Cheerily): I’ll put together a treatment.
CHAPLIN (Forcing a smile): Wonderful. (Turns away again.)
(Content, Redmond sits down before easel and paints.)
CHAPLIN (Coming front): Dear Gottardo, amazing how much Granville talks since I’ve learned to listen. Suggestions for everything, including how to make films!... even suggests camera angles to Roland!
(Chaplin returns to watch Redmond paint. Redmond leans back, studies painting, scratches his head. Chaplin mimics this unconsciously, scratching his own head.)
Still, he’s settled in nicely.
Your friend, Charlie.
(Redmond senses Chaplin is mimicking him. He scratches his side — Chaplin mimics this.)
(Redmond turns suddenly. Chaplin pretends indifference, looks away, pretends to whistle.)
(Redmond resumes painting, but is self-conscious; tries to pick up if Chaplin is imitating him. Tries to paint, can’t.)
REDMOND: Dear Gottardo, this may not work. Charlie watches my every move! Mind you, collects my paintings, finds collectors for me. Been wonderful. But mimics me. If I ponder...
(Redmond ponders. Chaplin sees this, he ponders)
... Charlie ponders — hoping he can use it later in a film, he says. Does it so well I imitate him! (Doing so.) It’s ... confusing.
CHAPLIN (Looks at Redmond): You know how troubling that can be?
(Redmond a quizzical gesture.)
CHAPLIN: Don’t play dumb.
(Redmond glares.)
CHAPLIN: Sorry — mimicking me!
REDMOND: You mimic me!
CHAPLIN: For my art — for film!
REDMOND (Ironically): Oh?
CHAPLIN: It’s a different thing, Granville.
REDMOND: Is it?
CHAPLIN: Of course — my films are about people, your paintings ... well, nature.
REDMOND: Don’t like the way you say “nature.’’ It’s not a disease... You ever think I don’t do people because I don’t want to, not that I can’t?
CHAPLIN: Let’s not argue, shall we. (Pause — an arresting hand movement.) Granville, what’s the worst thing about being deaf?
REDMOND: People saying “How are you?’’, then moving on before the deaf person can tell them ...
CHAPLIN: They do that to you?
REDMOND: All the time — don’t want to take the trouble... question not sincere. You know what it’s like — being walked away from like that? Time after time.
(Chaplin nods sympathetically, moves off thoughtfully, returns.)
CHAPLIN: If you don’t mind — how old were you when you got ... scarlet fever?
REDMOND: Two or three.
CHAPLIN: Where?
REDMOND: Philadelphia. Eventually ended up at the Berkeley School for the Deaf ... how I got to California. (Suspiciously.) Do you really want to hear?
CHAPLIN: I do!
REDMOND: Because...
CHAPLIN: I won’t walk away — promise!
(Redmond studies him, considers, stands, walks back and forth, then turns to Chaplin and begins singing.)
(Life of Granville. Granville Redmond sings.)
I, was born in the heart of the Philly town in the world of sounds.
And, then scarlet fever came And a silence fell in the world of sounds.
Paint, brush whisper their song To succeed somewhere To succeed somehow.
So, here Here, I stand in this studio light With the poppies red California sky. And uncertain And uncertain what will future bring.
I, was born in the heart of the Philly town in the world of sounds.
(Redmond looks away, takes a few steps, head down.)
CHAPLIN (Pause): So sorry, Granville... I remember being three. Gaunt little boy living in a tenement on East Lane, Walworth. Did you know?
REDMOND (Pause, emotionally spent, turns): Of course.
CHAPLIN: How’d you know?
REDMOND: Read about you.
CHAPLIN: You do?
REDMOND: Hard not to. Newspapers, magazines — you’re everywhere.
CHAPLIN: Don’t believe it all. There are some things...
REDMOND: You lived in an orphanage. Overcame a lot.
CHAPLIN: You did, too. Did your family have a butler?
REDMOND: A butler? My family?
CHAPLIN: Just curious. Your family had some money.
REDMOND: Enough to get by, but a butler? Why do you ask?
CHAPLIN: Well...
(Lighting change.)
REDMOND: Dear Gottardo, Chaplin has offered me a movie role as a butler! I said no, but he persisted.
CHAPLIN: Why won’t you — Class issue?
(Redmond shakes head.)
CHAPLIN: You’d rather play a cop — that’s it?
(Redmond shakes head.)
CHAPLIN (Turns away, makes frustrated sign, turns back): The supervisor?
(Redmond more vigorously shakes head.)
CHAPLIN: Play the butler!
(Redmond more vigorously shakes head and also signs.)
CHAPLIN: Do it!
(Redmond dramatically shoves his hands deep into his pockets — effectively “sealing his lips’’ — and glowers.)
CHAPLIN (Pause): The silent treatment again! How ridiculous you look — sulking like a child.
REDMOND (Considers not responding, but instead pulls his hands free and signs): Learned it watching your moving pictures.
(Then jams his hands back into his pockets.)
CHAPLIN: Two can play this game.
(Chaplin shoves his hands into his pockets and purses his lips.)
(They glare at each other, hands jammed forcefully into their pockets. Redmond paces, Chaplin watches, then whistles a tune, rising on his toes.)
(Redmond pantomimes whistling, making it appear as absurd as he can, rising on his toes, doing it in a way as to make it appear slightly affected.)
(Chaplin stops whistling, can’t make himself stop rising on his toes without a sudden, violent action, which throws him slightly off balance.)
(Redmond grins triumphantly, but doesn’t get much satisfaction from it. He paces back and forth, then suddenly yanks his hands from his pockets.)
REDMOND (Signs angrily): Oh — OK! I’ll play the —
(He signs fitfully.)
CHAPLIN: My, the language.
REDMOND (Concluding): — butler!
REDMOND (Continuing letter): I tell you, Piazzoni, he’s a bulldog!... Speaking of, he’s cast me in another film. “A Dog’s Life.’’
REDMOND: I would play what?
CHAPLIN: Keeper of a dance hall.
REDMOND: And I...?
CHAPLIN: Keep the dance hall.
REDMOND: Empathy for my character?
CHAPLIN: Just the dog — and the Little Fellow, naturally.
REDMOND: Naturally.
CHAPLIN: After all, if he doesn’t like the dog — or the Little Fellow!...
REDMOND (Thoughtfully): He’s a real bastard then?
(Chaplin nods hesitantly.)
REDMOND (Musing, smiling): Well, well, a real bastard — I’ll do it!
(Music. Under soft lighting Redmond grins and breaks into a soft shoe.)
CHAPLIN (Surprised): No argument?
REDMOND (Continuing his soft shoe): Well ... (Thinks about it as he continues to dance while signing.) I’m enjoying myself, Charlie! I’ve played a butler, a thief, and now I’ll be a real bastard, giving the Little Fellow the boot, I enjoy our arguments, and...
(Chaplin falls in with him, dancing They cross the stage in unison.)
CHAPLIN: And? Don’t keep me in suspense.
REDMOND: I’ve been one of the lucky ones ... In my hearing friends... Gottardo, you, many others... learning to speak with your hands! At the School for the Deaf, a teacher — himself deaf — introduced me to the world of hearing and speaking artists... How fortunate I’ve been, how blessed!
(Stops dancing, eagerly sits at his easel, then stares at the canvas as Chaplin continues dancing, deep in thought.)
CHAPLIN: Dear Gottardo, I know he would hate me saying this, but I think the silence in which Granville lives has nurtured in him a different capacity for happiness... which we hearing people lack. (Pauses in thought and dance, then continues dance.) If this joy comes through in Granville... in his paintings... why not in my films, which are also, of course, silent? I’m learning so much from him!
(Pauses his dance, then resumes it slowly, thoughtfully.)
(Redmond tries a brush stroke, can’t, tries again, can’t, sighs, sets brush down. Lighting darkens with focus on Redmond’s face.)
REDMOND: Dear Gottardo, don’t know about movie making after all. Finding it difficult. Not the doing — but the leaving ... parting from people working together in an artistic endeavor — it’s intoxicating — to painting alone. Artists are mostly alone, as you well know. But I haven’t gone onto the desert in months. Nor into my rolling hills. I miss them, yet... hadn’t expected this. It’s ruining me for painting, finding it lonelier than used to be, so more difficult... do feel a melancholy painting coming on though ...
(He paints. On wall upstage, a Redmond misty landscape of solitude; Chaplin stares at it, transfixed, moves closer. The music stops.)
Losing my way... You’re shaking your head, Gottardo... but I’m not the great artist you are... still searching... looking... so dark...
CHAPLIN (Looks at painting, moving to where Redmond can see him): Granville, it’s wonderful — the mood... Do you know what today is? Our fifth anniversary — five years ago you moved into this studio.
REDMOND: I was going to be here a few months, remember? Has my art progressed? Yours certainly has.
CHAPLIN: Of course yours has! What an odd thing to say. Look at your sales!
REDMOND: Many I owe to you.
CHAPLIN: Sorry that makes you unhappy.
REDMOND: Artists should cut themselves off from the world when they’re working.
CHAPLIN: Not if their work’s about the world. (Pause.) I like this painting. Moody, the other side of you. Sell it to me...? A sense of quietude.
REDMOND (Nettled): Charlie, how many times must I tell you? — people say that about my paintings because...
CHAPLIN: Oh, if they knew the clamorous you I do.
REDMOND: Are your films silent?
CHAPLIN: No — they’ve music!
REDMOND: You know what I mean.
CHAPLIN: There’s still a difference. Some of my films are set where there’s noise. Cities with trucks and cars and people. I’ve never seen a truck in a Granville Redmond painting... When you do have people, they’re often shepherds, so maybe for sound we can imagine sheep going “Baa, baa,’’ hardly a truck going “Beep, beep.”
(Has trouble signing or getting this across, Redmond smiling.)
So, your paintings are quiet! Why I like them. Quiet’s disappearing from our lives. (Pause, twirls his cane, signs with one hand, all too nonchalantly.) By the by c— did you know they’re experimenting with films that talk?
(A brief lighting change, casting a moving shadow, as if a cloud had passed swiftly between the earth and the sun. The studio momentarily goes dark, then light again. They both start.)
REDMOND: Excuse me — what did you say?
CHAPLIN: Experimenting — with talking films.
REDMOND (Alarmed): You are?
CHAPLIN: Not me — people in the business.
REDMOND (Relieved, but only for a moment): Oh.
CHAPLIN: A year or two before anything happens. There’s the technology, then what does the public think.
(They are both silent, inward.)
REDMOND (Finally): What do you think about it?
CHAPLIN: Don’t know. You?
REDMOND: Wouldn’t be able to get work in films that talk.
CHAPLIN: I’d use you.
REDMOND: You’d make films that talk?
CHAPLIN: Might — (Unsure.) — think I couldn’t?
REDMOND: Of course you could.
CHAPLIN (Pleased, clears his throat): Still not happy about it. Everywhere you go, people talking! Not like movies. That’s their secret appeal, you know — the human voice silent. ‘Someone talking your ear off —?’ ‘Well, get away, go to a moving picture!’
REDMOND: What use would I be in films that talk?
CHAPLIN: What do you mean?
REDMOND: I’d just be there — like a fence post!
CHAPLIN: Stand up!
REDMOND: Why?
CHAPLIN: To be a fence post!
(Straining to pull him to his feet.)
You never do anything without an argument. Follow me!
(To music, Chaplin does a character walk. Chaplin gestures — Redmond hesitates, but performing instincts take over and he follows Chaplin’s lead.)
(Chaplin does a dance. Redmond imitates it. Chaplin speeds it up. Music becomes almost frenetic. Redmond keeps up for a few moments, but then falters, tries to hang on, but runs out of breath, gasps, bends over.)
(Realizing he’s gone too far, Chaplin pretends not to notice Redmond’s condition, slows gradually — until both come to a stop.)
CHAPLIN (Moving away): See? Few have your physical gifts.
REDMOND (Catches his breath, bent over, signing with one hand): Or waist line! (Subconsciously makes frustrated sign.) I’m getting fat, Charlie.
CHAPLIN: Don’t understand. You’re out on painting expeditions, walking and climbing.
REDMOND: Less these days.
CHAPLIN: Then you’ll need to exercise more. Follow me. One two, one two...
(Chaplin exercises, making a game of it, touching his toes, but watching Redmond, worried.)
REDMOND (While doing bends): Dear Gottardo, talking films!
(Again, the passing ‘cloud’ casts a moving shadow.)
Be out on my deaf ear! Times are tough. Art’s first to go when the world’s not right. Acting brought in money, but now... How will I support Carrie and the children?... We’ll end in the poorhouse!
(Piazzoni is heard singing a few bars of his song “Lu-fi de-la/foo-yah yu-sca/ de-gon de-yah”; then he appears in his own light. He looks a little older, his hair graying.)
PIAZZONI (Surprised): Dear Granville, terrified — you? — the young Granville Redmond who goes to France to paint? Travels alone in the countryside... exhibits at the Official Salon? Wins more honors than anyone at the Ecole des Beaux Arts?
REDMOND (Bitterly): Is denied a medal of recognition by the Paris Salon!
PIAZZONI: But given permission to copy paintings in the Louvre ... as hundreds look on... that Granville Redmond’s terrified?
REDMOND: You’re damn right he was!
PIAZZONI: The Granville Redmond who balanced wine bottles on his head in front of Cezanne?... Challenged Du Abu to a duel to the ‘death’ —
REDMOND: — with paint brushes! Granville was in a drunken stupor most of the time... wine weakened his head.
PIAZZONI: And fell in love for a time...
REDMOND (Sad smile): Oh, that...
PIAZZONI: A country girl you met in Paris, lonely like you... you did a painting of a barge on the Seine as she watched from behind...
REDMOND (Dreamily): Daphne — sometimes resting her chin on my shoulder...
PIAZZONI: ... she learned to sign.
REDMOND: Just a little... a ‘bonjour’... ‘je t’aime’... and then, ‘au revoir’...
PIAZZONI: Tell me again...
REDMOND (Unsure): Really?
PIAZZONI: Please.
(Lighting change. Redmond walks a moment, looks at Piazzoni, turns, begins song with signing.)
I took a train to Paris To paint On the Seine I met a girl in Paris with hair Like robin’s tail We talked together On Île Saint-Louis I do not know what happened but we walked on the Seine. October grey, and rain Nocturnal lights, on the Seine Paper and box, easel and frame L’Académie Julian I met a girl in Paris with hair Like robin’s tail Now, it is all gone It’s all lost in time Even that barge On the river Seine It is all gone It’s all in the past Only this painting remembers you The river, the sky Nocturnal light Under the sky of Paris
(Chaplin approaches as the lighting brightens.)
PIAZZONI (Turning front): I ran out of money — left Paris. Granville also ran out of money but refused to leave. Would have signified failure. Lost the girl. Took to living among street people, haunting the darkest corners of Paris, trading paintings for bread. For a night in a monastery bed he let monks lecture him on his ‘dissolute ways.’ Never forgave the monks for that.
Granville, the children ask after you. Come to San Francisco. Been too long.
Your friend, Piazzoni.
(Piazzoni sings a few bars of his song as he leaves.)
(Redmond begins to approach easel then notices Chaplin is glum. approaches him.)
REDMOND (Signing): What’s the matter, Charlie? Quiet lately. Not yourself, here or on the set. Roland remarked on it.
(Chaplin keeps hands in pockets.)
Something I’ve done?
(Chaplin thinks about it, plays with this a little bit, but his heart isn’t in it — he turns glum again.)
REDMOND: Something about talking films?
(Chaplin smiles, pulls hands from pockets, stands slowly.)
CHAPLIN (Signing and speaking slowly, moodily): Sometimes I get down. You’re not the only one who gets sad or... (Frustrated sign.) you know.
REDMOND: Something I’ve done.
CHAPLIN: Extinction comes to mind, not people but what we do. Granville, do you think someday no one will care about art? Paintings go the way silent movies are going? Neglected, thrown away? (Pause, sudden change): Do me a painting, please — a quick sketch. An idea. Please, while it’s still in my head — I’ve seen you do sketches like that!
(Redmond, wanting to please, places blank canvas on easel, looks at Chaplin with anticipation, brush poised.)
REDMOND: Ready!
CHAPLIN: Twilight...
(Lighting dims. Redmond with vigor paints a darkening sky with quick, broad strokes; it appears on the upstage wall. Looks at Chaplin.)
CHAPLIN: ... setting sun reflecting off the underside of dark clouds.
(Redmond paints tinges of red, looks at Chaplin.)
CHAPLIN: A slough or pond... water dark and still...
(Redmond paints, looks at Chaplin.)
CHAPLIN: Poplars along one bank... reflected...
(Redmond paints, looks at Chaplin.)
CHAPLIN: Your specialty — rolling hills in the distance...
(Paints, looks at Chaplin, puts brush behind ear, signs.)
REDMOND: Psychology?
CHAPLIN: Don’t know... perhaps none... The Little Fellow walks into the water... walks and walks... no need to paint him... until you see only his hat... floating... miraculously... like a lily pad... think Monet.
REDMOND (Sadly, his brush slowing): The end of you...
CHAPLIN (Shrugs): Little Fellow perhaps... outlived his usefulness... Some think so. It’s me they object to. Talk too much. The Little Fellow says nothing but suffers for it. (Smiles sadly.) Or the end of silent films... my films. Haven’t thought it through. (A beat.) Just invent ... one thing leading absurdly to another — that’s my story.
(Redmond a few more strokes and a derby hat, floating.)
CHAPLIN (Circles, circles again, looks, wonderingly): It’s as I imagined — as if you were in my head. We’re one, Granville!
REDMOND (Wonderingly also, staring, signing free hand): Painted itself!
CHAPLIN: Did it?
REDMOND: Never painted a hat I recall.
CHAPLIN (Pause): That can happen?
REDMOND (Thinks, looks at his brush): It happens... just did...
(Redmond joins him, they stand shoulder to shoulder, stare at the image as the light narrows to just the painting, and then just the hat and water. They look at each other affectionately, and...)
(Chaplin, illuminated by a soft spotlight. He begins with a playful tone:)
My dear Redmond, there was a chap, Wearing a hat, he clacked and clapped.
(As Chaplin walks forward, Redmond joins him.)
(Redmond aligns his walk with Chaplin's, and they sync rhythmically.)
His friend stepped in with a joyful grin, With a tip and a tap, they formed a band.
(Piazzoni joins in. Together, they continue walking, symbolizing the march to the sea. CHAPLIN, REDMOND & PIAZZONI (in unison))
They marched to sea to drown the hat, To crab's delight, a seahorse sat. The chap submerged to depths, to fate, While the floating hat emerged.
(As they reach the climax of their walk, Chaplin and Redmond turn towards the audience, signaling a shift to a more introspective mood. They sing in turn, exchanging lines in a reflective manner.)
CHAPLIN: What do you want
REDMOND: a meaning for?
CHAPLIN: You think too much
REDMOND: so feel some more.
CHAPLIN: Walk in the rain
REDMOND: you can’t see tears,
(Finally, both join together, center stage, for the concluding lines, their voices merging as they offer a comforting resolution.)
CHAPLIN, REDMOND, PIAZZONI: Let all your worries disappear.
(Lights dim slowly as they hold the final note, before the curtain falls.)
END ACT ONE
ACT TWO
Chaplin’s “The Gold Rush’’ playing on the screen. The scene: “The Dance of the Oceania Rolls.’’ With three young women looking on in a cabin in Alaska, Chaplin’s Tramp creates a little dance with dinner rolls on the ends of forks, basically a reprise of Redmond’s dance with the brushes and sponges. The women laugh and applaud.
Image fades out to reveal Chaplin’s silhouette against the screen. He comes forward in hat, twirling cane, jaunty. He’s aged a bit; his eyes darker, gray streaks in his hair.
CHAPLIN: Dear Gottardo, was just looking at one of my old films. Remembered you and Granville gave me the idea for “Dance of the Oceana Rolls.” You said he performed it for your daughter Mirielle at the dinner table. People love it. I owe you both so much.
By the way, Granville’s gotten it into his head he’s a star. Recently had his hair styled — head looks like a pillow... In another new talking movie. Imagine if he could talk...
(Spot on Redmond entering, wearing a topcoat; he keeps his right arm under his coat. He moves slowly. He wears an ascot and sunglasses. His hair’s totally gray, and he’s gained weight.)
CHAPLIN (Continuing letter): But I’m being petty — he deserves every success...
(He turns. They see each other. Chaplin starts, pulls off his mustache, sticks it in his pocket.)
CHAPLIN: Well, who’s this — Barrymore? Mae West...?
(Redmond forces a smile, poses to fit the latter.)
REDMOND (Signing sexily with his free left arm): Monsieur!
CHAPLIN (Not biting): Dark glasses? Now people will think you’re blind, too.
REDMOND: Wouldn’t want to embarrass you, Charlie ...
(Removes sunglasses, drops them into pocket.)
CHAPLIN (Pause — trying again, pleasantly): How’d the shooting go?...
REDMOND (With a gesture): Fine — everyone says hello.
CHAPLIN: My, everyone says hello. Granville, I hope you’re not neglecting your real gift to hobnob with film types. None of us is given limitless time, you know.
REDMOND: Meaning?
CHAPLIN: Maybe you’ve noticed... odd behavior going on in this town — great novelists turn into mediocre screenwriters, talented actors sing badly
... and word’s out there’s a gifted artist who’d rather be a struggling actor.
REDMOND: What’s that? Your signing’s gotten sloppy, Charlie.
CHAPLIN (Signing emphatically, with some anger): Oh, this is low of you, Granville. Did you pick it up from the talking-film people?
REDMOND: The talking-film people say if you weren’t so stubborn you’d make films that talk. Some call you “The man who would not talk.’’
CHAPLIN: My friends who’ve experienced your obstinacy call you “The man who would not hear — in every way possible!’’
REDMOND: I’m afraid you’ve lived too long in this silent make-believe world of yours.
CHAPLIN: What about you?
REDMOND: Mine’s real. Besides, you shouldn’t want me to shrink from the world.
CHAPLIN: It’s you who shrinks from the world — while you hobnob with bad actors, our world approaches doom, or haven’t you noticed? (Upset.) You say my signing needs work — tell me, does American Sign Language have a meaning for this? (Shooting his right arm out.) Heil!
REDMOND (Startled): That’s no sign!
CHAPLIN: A salute Germans use to honor a politician named Adolf! It’s called... it’s spelled like this —
(Chaplin sign spells.)
REDMOND: H - e -... They yell “Hell’’?
CHAPLIN: Now who’s being sloppy? (Sign spelling slower, more emphatically.) H - e - i — eye— as in — (Points to his eye.) — l. Heil!
REDMOND (Irritated by his manner): What’s it mean? I’ve never heard of — well, this person you just said.
CHAPLIN: My very point! (Subconsciously makes frustrated sign.) Get your head out of the sand! Adolf Hitler! (Bitingly.) A painter!
REDMOND: Oh — him.
CHAPLIN: Him! Herr Artiste! Specializes in dead paintings of dead buildings — prophetic! Fan of the Little Fellow! Grown a mustache — (Slaps his mustache on.) — like mine! (Looks front, shoulders thrown back; signing furiously.) Can’t be coincidence! (Turns on his heel, strides back and forth, building up energy.) Don’t think I’m flattered. A menace to the world — has his eyes on your France! Destroy its art he calls decadent! But first, having ‘stolen’ my mustache, he’ll steal...? (Coaxing.) He’ll steal...? He’ll steal
my character and use it for nefarious deeds!
(Through the verses of this song, we witness Chaplin's realization that amidst his fame and fortune, a new contender has emerged — none other than Adolf Hitler himself, donning a mustache uncannily like Chaplin's own.)
Charm and grace, a derby hat, A lady here, and such a chap, No need for grand introduction, It's obvious: Yes, it's me.
A smile on the face like a lamp, Shining through the world's darkness, And shoes, worn shoes of a tramp, And such an unassuming step, And the mustache, luxury, my style, I flaunt it, and everyone cheers.
That mustache, oh, that mustache, That gaze, that curl ... that shimmy, And charm, and fear, and gesture, And laughter — yes, it's me. Oh gentlemen, oh ladies, A laugh and smile ... it’s healthy Granville, oh Granville, it's my sad, sad song.
Remember, once it was a Saturday, When you were sad, poor as a dog, You were at the cinema for "The Gold Rush", Yet you laughed until tears. And madam remembers, After her mourning for the first time, When she came to my film at the cinema — I saw your face in the dark, I just did this ... and you Began to laugh through your tears.
That mustache, oh, that mustache, That gaze, that curl ... that shimmy, And charm, and fear, and gesture, When a policeman chases me. Oh gentlemen, oh ladies, A laugh and smile ... it’s healthy. Granville, oh Granville, it’s my sad, sad song.
Competition is vigilant. And to my modest throne, A jealous competitor surfaced A new candidate, Sieg Heil.
My silence he replaced with shouting, He wants to turn my laughter into fear, He appointed my derby hat a helmet, The police are after him, oh...
My mustache, my prop, my trick, He took it, twirled it, and everyone cheered.
That mustache, oh, that mustache, That gaze, that curl ... that strut, And charm, and fear, and gesture, And laughter — yes, it's me.
That shout above the crowd, That blood, that anger... it’s healthy,
Granville, oh Granville it's a sad, sad song.
That mustache, oh that mustache, That gaze, that curl ... that strut, Is it his or Chaplin's? — Who gave more to the world? The world laughs at him, Laughter is healthy... yes it’s healthy Granville, oh Granville it's my sad, sad song.
(Walking back and forth in front of Redmond, music — fitting what he describes.)
And then, Granville, there’s ‘The Walk’! He’ll steal! our ‘Walk.’
REDMOND (Incredulous): What would he do with ‘Our Walk’?
CHAPLIN: Must I draw you, an artist, a picture?... Use it — use it for evil purposes! ‘The Walk’s’ riveting — mesmerizing!
(Turns his hat sideways on his head, does The Walk,’ giving the salute with one hand, indicates signing with the other — a kind of mad hallucinatory inspiration has come over him.)
... Plagiarists they are, they’ll all be doing ‘The Walk’!
(He does a sideways goose step takeoff of ‘The Walk,’ glancing over at Redmond as if he should join him)
... They’ll claim it for themselves, call it something else!... maybe ‘The Hessian Hoedown’...
(To Western music he dances this — thumbs in belt, facing out as he crosses the stage twice, again looking over at Redmond. Proclaims, signing it — )
... or ‘Gestapo Stomp’ ...
REDMOND: Ges - ta - po? (In desperation:)...What is ges -ta - po?
CHAPLIN: Something evil!
(He dances the “Gestapo Stomp.” crossing the stage, his steps heavy and rhythmic — dangerously looking back at Redmond as he goes off.)
(A crash.)
(Music stops.)
(Silence.)
REDMOND (A considered pause): Dear Gottardo, Charlie’s come up with a new dance. Will thrill fans and anger dictators.
(Chaplin re-enters, hobbling on his cane.)
CHAPLIN: That bastard Adolf — told you he’s dangerous! Feel a new moving picture coming on, The Great something or another. (Insecure, anxious.) The Great Despot maybe?
REDMOND: Possibly.
CHAPLIN: I may have to finally talk in The Great Despot. You don’t seem excited.
REDMOND: Sorry. Worried about things. This, for one...
(Redmond slowly removes topcoat to reveal his right arm in a sling.)
REDMOND: No evil salutes from me...
CHAPLIN (Moving closer, concerned): How?
REDMOND: What you just did — walking.
CHAPLIN: Our walk?
REDMOND: Normal human walking. One foot in front of the other. (Walking gingerly.) Like this — remember? It was raining.
CHAPLIN (Relieved): Simply walking’s dangerous. Lacks character, no rhythm. Most accidents happen when people walk normally. (Removes mustache, puts it in his pocket:) You’ll seldom see me doing it.
REDMOND (Thinks of something, smiles, almost childlike): But Charlie, before it happened, before the rain, on the beach I saw this woman... and these little girls... stays in my head... can I show you? Paint her for you?
(Redmond gingerly sets palette out, takes brush in his left hand, sits carefully at easel, begins to paint. The image slowly begins to take shape on the screen. A beach, beach tent, arresting figures.)
CHAPLIN: Dear Gottardo, Granville took a fall on wet pavement. Broke his arm — his non-painting arm. We’re not used to rain in Los Angeles like you San Francisco people. Clumsy in it.
(On screen, beach scene begins to form; Chaplin stares at it.)
Still, have to hand it to him, no matter what, he paints...
(A woman with a parasol walking toward the viewer, wearing a sleeveless blouse, a wispy skirt, several little girls intently watching the woman pass, people under beach umbrellas. Chaplin takes a few steps toward the image. Redmond stops painting.)
... recently experiencing numbness in his painting hand, circulation problem, paints through the pain...
(Redmond tries again, in pain sets brush down.)
... or did... worse now... doctors not sure how to treat it... Granville’s joyfulness when painting...
(Redmond furiously hurl brush, hurting his hand doing it.)
... disappearing...
(Redmond gets up, carefully picks up his coat, leaves. Lighting change.)
CHAPLIN (Pause): Haven’t seen him for days... Come into his studio when not filming — no Granville... No one to sign to! (Paces, moving his fingers to suit the following.) Gottardo, it’s nothing to talk to yourself, but to sign to yourself...
(Wills his fingers to stop moving; successful after a struggle, approaches image of the Redmond painting — stares, taken by it.)
He left an unfinished painting — woman on a beach. Rare him doing people, as you know. (Sighs.) Walks with a kind of elegance in a world of her own... quite ... quite lovely.
(Sits, puts elbows on knees, chin on hands, stares at image, sighs.)
I wonder if he’ll finish... don’t know I want him to... fallen for her as is... lovely... unafraid... sure of herself...
REDMOND’S VOICE: Dear Charlie...
(Chaplin sits straight, alert.)
Don’t know when I’ll be back. The circulation thing, painting arm poorly, broken arm better ... still, Venus De Milo... (Pause, shyly.) Might there be a role for me? Running low on money. Play an onlooker...? Need someone in a crowd scene standing there, no arm waving? I take up a lot of room. No false pride now...
(A silence.)
One thing more ... left an unfinished painting, woman walking on a beach... children watching her... Maybe you threw it out. But if still on the premises... well, incomplete work... Someone could sign my name ... Get rid of it for me, please — burn it or something.
CHAPLIN (Jumps to his feet): Burn it?!
REDMOND’S VOICE: Granville.
CHAPLIN: The hell you say, Granville!
(Stares at painting, paces, stops, pantomimes writing, scribbling madly.)
CHAPLIN (Urgent): Dear Gottardo, Granville wants to —
PIAZZONI’S VOICE (Quick response): Charlie, it’s his painting.
CHAPLIN: But —
PIAZZONI’S VOICE: Whatever he wants to do with it —
CHAPLIN: You don’t understand —
(Piazzoni, humming his little tune, appears in his own light; his hair and mustache grayer; he moves a little slower, but stands straight.)
PIAZZONI: He created it.
CHAPLIN: Doesn’t give him the right to destroy it.
PIAZZONI: Respect the artist’s wishes. Or would you like those film clips you’ve thrown in the scrap pile played after you go?
(Piazzoni goes off.)
(Chaplin picks painting up off easel, stares at it, kisses it, pauses, checks his lips for paint, goes off with canvas. Crashing sound. Silence. He returns limping. He sits, dabs at his eyes with a handkerchief.)
(Lighting change.)
CHAPLIN (Still dabbing at his eyes): Dear Gottardo, Granville writes... his health worsens. Tries to paint, but in his home or beloved hills... not here, his true studio. When I mention he should return and work here, says he hasn’t the desire... Hasn’t the desire? Saying this to hurt me. Has a hard side, Granville does. Can be cruel to those who look after him.
(Piazzoni enters in his own light. For the first time, he is using a cane.)
PIAZZONI: ... Look after him? Granville’s not a child.
CHAPLIN (As he looks around): This I gave him — could have used it for a warehouse, scenery workshop, dressing rooms, whatever. But no, gave it to the great Granville Seymour Redmond.
PIAZZONI: Don’t forget, it was Granville’s dream to have his own studio.
CHAPLIN: At “the base of rolling hills.’’ Couldn’t have wanted it that much or he’d have it by now.
PIAZZONI (Gently): You don’t know that, Charlie.
CHAPLIN: You speak as if I’ve mistreated him. I’ve found him collectors, bought his paintings, put him in moving pictures...
PIAZZONI (Sadly): There was another thing he wanted to do — the important thing... discover the soul of his art. Has he? I hope so...
(Piazzoni goes off, walking carefully.)
REDMOND’S VOICE: Dear Charlie —
(Redmond appears in his own light. He looks older, tired, but his “voice’’ remains vigorous.)
— I was wrong, want to return. Remember the picture I started of a woman on a beach? Hope you didn’t destroy it as I asked. Title came to me. When that happens, I feel the painting’s a reason for being —
(Chaplin, alarmed, jumps up, hurries off; returns with the painting — the stretcher bars are broken, a small rip in the canvas. He frantically puts it on easel, its damaged image showing on screen, tries to smooth it out.)
CHAPLIN (Panicking): Dear Gottardo, Granville’s wants the painting of the lady on the beach after all! It’s been damaged — by me!
(It falls off the easel, he puts it back on, holds it there as if it were a living thing.)
Can you direct me to these people who fix pictures — what do you call them — conservators? If Granville sees it this way...
PIAZZONI’S VOICE: Dear Charlie I’d forgotten about your accidents. Don’t worry, Granville can probably fix it himself.
CHAPLIN (Hesitant): There’s something else... Granville calls the painting “Talk on the Beach.’’ No one’s talking I can see... another argument around the corner.
PIAZZONI’S VOICE: Which you’ll both enjoy immensely.
(Piazzoni appears in his own light, leaning more heavily on his cane.)
PIAZZONI: Granville worried his art wasn’t important, as if painting from the soul wasn’t enough... It needed to mean something. Had to be able to put words to it... His wildflower paintings made him self-conscious — they were what sold. The more their beauty was praised, the more ashamed he ... Charlie mocked him for this.
CHAPLIN: How odd you are, Granville! What’s wrong with art that make people feel good? Joy’s what your art’s about. You think I resent it if people take pleasure in my comedy?
(Redmond appears, his right arm free of sling, his face sallow and pale.)
REDMOND (Voice at first from a distance): Charlie, people take your comedy seriously. My serious paintings — which I feel are spiritually joyful — don’t sell.
CHAPLIN: People will come round. Give them time.
REDMOND (Picks up brush, looks at it): Haven’t time.
CHAPLIN: You don’t know that. You do know you need money.
(Redmond nods, sits, goes back to his painting, again the woman on the beach. Chaplin settles in contentedly to watch. Lighting soft on both of them. The heightened sound of brush strokes.)
CHAPLIN: Dear Piazzoni, the most restful moments in my life have come watching Granville paint... it’s as I watched my mother apply makeup for the variety stage...the soft sound of the makeup brush on her face, the harsh sound of Granville’s brush on canvas... different but the same... the tension goes out of me...I’m hypnotized...
(Redmond jumps up, elated, gestures to painting, showing on the screen,)
REDMOND: There — finished!... works now.
(Does a little dance step, but stops, short of breath. Frightened, picks up brush, signs the painting, steps back.)
REDMOND: Well? ... still like it?
CHAPLIN (Signing and sighing dreamily): Very much, Granville! Very much indeed! Quite taken with her.
REDMOND (Excited): You see where the title comes from? ... it’s life, just life... The little girls talking about the woman, wondering about her, perhaps wanting to be like her. A moment in time, in children’s lives a telling one... (Pause.) They are me... a curious child from Philly...
(Granville stands, studies the image, sings the waltz:” Talk on the Beach”)
Once in the gallery of art, There was a painting of a woman and sand. She is walking on the beach, alone and far, But she is gone now— She sleeps, and she dreams. About the painter who was painting her eyes, Who was falling in love with her smiles, Little girls who watched her walk— You don't believe me, Monsieur? It is a painting, abandoned and sad, In the corner, in inclement light, Its story was never to be told. You don't believe me, Monsieur? Let us dance that waltz with the stars, Let me bow at the turpentine cans, We are here, at once artists and clowns— Who is who? I do not know, Monsieur.
REDMOND (Gesturing at the image): So, I present to you ... Dear Monsieur clown and artist... “Talk on the Beach”!
CHAPLIN: For me? Oh, thank you, Granville — it’s wonderful! (Studying it.) But since she’s clearly walking ... not talking ...
REDMOND (Shaking his head): Dear Gottardo, Charlie’s contrary again. I must paint from the soul while I’ve time. To do that I must leave... it will be easier to go if we’re arguing.
PIAZZONI (Pause): They never spoke again that we know...
(Redmond glances back, goes quickly. Chaplin looks around the studio. The light dims on it, space begins to turn dark and dusty as before.)
CHAPLIN: Piazzoni, are you there...?
PIAZZONI: I am.
CHAPLIN: Granville’s gone. Not even a goodbye. The space returning to props and costumes... A gift, this goes home with me... (Takes “Talk on the Beach” off easel, image vanishes from wall)... Someday, if you come across it, I’d like another by him, maybe imagined... (Image appearing on wall in stages as he describes them.) ... of twilight... a slough or pond, dark and still... poplars reflected... low hills in the distance ... and on the water... floating miraculously... like a lily pad... a hat, a floating hat...
(As darkness envelops both characters and the scene, the mood shifts to the song "Toss Your Sorrows." Here, all actors join in a melancholic yet hopeful anthem. The lyrics weave together themes of companionship, artistic inspiration, and merging of their separate paths through the metaphors of Chaplin's cinematic art and Redmond's paintings.)
(CHAPLIN, PIAZZONI, REDMOND: Toss your Sorrows)
Toss your sorrows and don’t be sad. For from your side, I will never depart. Silent films, in black and white, In them, look, Charlie Chaplin, my heart. His floating hat of Little Tramp And I am here with my brush in my hand He is there I am here But we will never again We will never again be apart.
For in his gaze my art survives He learns from me, where silence thrives And we are two, sides of the same. Uncertain what comes next, what’s the game In shadows light and our paths combine Let’s flip the coin to fate’s design We are here only once So give yourself a chance Give yourself another chance.
The hat goes dark.
END.