With a title card promising “A story of industry, of individual enterprise, humanity crusading in the pursuit of happiness,” we’re introduced to a Factory Worker (Charlie Chaplin) at the Electro Steel Corp. His job is to tighten bolts on an endless assembly line.

Work has left him with a nervous tick, which causes him to knock over his co-worker’s soup, and to chase after a woman to tighten the buttons on her blouse. The Factory Worker goes nuts and falls into the assembly line, where he’s memorably dragged through the wheels, gears and cogs of the great machine. He’s then hustled away by the men in white suits, unsuited for the work force.

Now wearing that familiar small hat, tight coat and baggy pants, Chaplin is instructed to take it easy and avoid excitement. This proves impossible on streets choked with massive unemployment and discontent. Chaplin picks up a red flag that’s fallen off a truck and finds himself in front of a demonstration by Communist protestors. The police mistake him for the lead agitator and haul him off to jail.

Meanwhile, a Gamin (Paulette Goddard) – “a child of the waterfront who refuses to go hungry” – steals bananas from a freighter, throwing some to the other hungry kids on the dock. She returns home to share the food with her motherless sisters and unemployed father.

In jail, Chaplin unwittingly foils a jailbreak and saves the life of the sheriff, who grants him a pardon. But our hero is afraid of the outside world. He asks “Can’t I stay a little longer? I’m so happy here.” Alone and hungry on the streets, he’s determined to be sent back to jail. That changes when he crosses paths with the Gamin. He becomes smitten with the lovely homeless girl, and sets out to get a home for the two of them, “Even if I have to work for it!”

Written, produced and directed by Charlie Chaplin – who also labored to compose the brilliant musical score – Modern Times was his follow-up to City Lights. We get to hear Chaplin’s actual voice singing gibberish at one point, and along with sound effects, the film is not entirely silent, but this was Chaplin’s final foray in pantomime. The AFI recently ranked it #81 on their list of 100 greatest American movies of all time.

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Capitalism, Communism, unions, strikes. These issues belong to America of the early 1930s as opposed to now. True, the great machine gobbling up the working man is still relevant, but I found myself enjoying this less than City Lights. Paulette Goddard (Chaplin’s wife and kindred spirit at the time) is magnificent, as is Chaplin, and there are a number of wildly inventive, beautifully choreographed comic sequences that do make this a classic.

After twenty minutes devoted to the monotony of the factory, the story perks up after the Tramp is introduced, and Chaplin & Goddard wander the city as outcasts of society. The highlight finds Chaplin getting a job as the night watchman at a department store and sneaking Goddard in, where they stuff themselves on cake, and rollerskate through the toy department. Chaplin’s struggle with a ramshackle cabin Goddard has found also made me laugh.

I found it funny how Chaplin just wants to be thrown back in jail – where he can escape the insanity of the world – but finds that easier said than done. The climactic Red Moon Café sequence – where Chaplin tries to keep a job as a singing waiter by singing French-sounding gibberish – is great, and the final scene, where Chaplin tells a despondent Goddard to “Never say die” and walks arm in arm into the sunset with her, is a beautiful ending.

In an unnamed big city, a dignified civic group is set to unveil a monument dedicated to “Peace and Prosperity.” The event goes awry when the sheet is pulled back to reveal a Tramp (Charlie Chaplin) sleeping in the statue’s lap. He tries to climb down but his baggy pants get caught, and he ends up mocking the ceremony before slipping away.

Bopping around the city in his tight coat, large shoes and small hat, the Tramp climbs into a limousine to avoid a police officer. He steps out, and there on the sidewalk is a beautiful Blind Girl (Virginia Cherrill) selling flowers. She assumes the Tramp belongs with the car and offers him a flower. He’s smitten with her, and gives her his last coin for a flower on his lapel.

While the Blind Girl goes home to her grandmother, turns on the victrola and dreams of another visit from her prince, the Tramp encounters an Eccentric Millionaire attempting to throw himself into the harbor. The Tramp saves his life and becomes the drunken Millionaire’s new friend. He’s invited back to the man’s mansion and then out for a wacky night on the town.

The next morning, the Tramp sees the Blind Girl. With a wad of cash from the Millionaire, he purchases all of her flowers. Then the Tramp borrows his friend’s car and drives the girl home. She’s flattered by his attention but mistakenly believes him to be rich. Unfortunately, whenever the Millionaire sobers up, he doesn’t remember who the Tramp is. Undeterred, our hero makes it his mission in life to restore the Blind Girl’s sight.

Written and directed by Charles Chaplin, City Lights is subtitled “a comedy romance in pantomime.” It was released three years after the advent of sound, but Chaplin – who was also responsible for the film’s art design, editing and music – completed and released it as a silent film, despite pressure from the industry to make it a talkie.

The AFI recently ranked this #76 on their list of the 100 greatest American movies of all time. Orson Welles had called it his favorite film of all time, while in the mid-’60s, Stanley Kubrick placed it at #5 on his list of favorites. It’s viewed by many others as the quintessential Chaplin film, a masterpiece in slapstick comedy, romance and pantomime.

It’s impossible to argue with any of that. City Lights is amazing. Without even reading that much into it, it’s a great comedy. I laughed out loud more times than I can remember. The Tramp’s inebriated visit to a danceclub, where he confuses party string for pasta, then gets a bit saucy and whirls a woman around the dance floor until he falls down, cracked me up every time I watched it.

A boxing sequence – with Chaplin, the ref and a prizefighter moving in perfect comic synchronization – is a big highlight. Even more hilarious is a scene where the Tramp swallows a whistle and disrupts a recital with his chirping hiccups. He removes himself from polite society, but ends up attracting every dog in the neighborhood and busts up the performance when he runs back in.

The Tramp is one of the most recognizable figures in the movies. Any visit to Hollywood will find Chaplin among James Dean and Marilyn Monroe as the icons most associated with Tinseltown. These are images of mystique and romance, and the Tramp belongs in that class. There’s something about a guy who doesn’t follow the rules of society, yet has a heart, and manages to treat others better than they treat him, that resonates universally.

City Lights has an episodic structure that follows the Tramp as he shuffles around town, falls in love with the Blind Girl, becomes friends with an Eccentric Millionaire, and the consequences – and suffering – that result. One is blind, the other is sober only half the time. Neither see him for who he really is, but he persuades them both that life is worth living.

The film has one of the best climaxes of all time. The Tramp is released from a nine month jail stint and crosses paths with the Blind Girl. Simple expressions and ten words exchanged between them on title cards said more to me than anything put into the theaters recently.

When I think of silent movies, I think scratchy, unwatchable film and lots of melodrama, but few, if any, modern day romantic comedies can compare to the beauty of this film.