Director / writer: Charles Chaplin
Photography: Karl Struss, Roland Totheroh
Music: Charles Chaplin, Meredith Wilson
Editors: Willard Nico, Harold Rice
Cast: Charles Chaplin, Paulette Goddard, Jack Oakie, Reginald Gardiner, Henry Daniell, Billy Gilbert, Maurice Moscovitch
Getting back to this movie after decades, I was reminded of the old chestnut that “history doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes” when a character named Epstein showed up. He’s Jewish and a powerful financier who must be turned to for assistance by the fascist and openly antisemitic regime of Tomainia, which is basically Germany in director and writer Charles Chaplin’s clonking sendup. Chaplin is Adenoid Hynkel, the Phooey (Fuhrer) of Tomainia, which happens to be in an uneasy alliance with Bacteria (Italy). The Tomainian swastika is two X’s, called the double cross. You can tell Chaplin was not holding back here (though an editor or collaborator might have come in handy). For a 1940 Hollywood picture it’s unusually blunt about its points, which is not to say always inspired. Chaplin also plays a Jewish barber and veteran of World War I who lives in the ghetto of an unspecified Tomainian city (he probably couldn’t think of a Warsaw gag ... where are Mad magazine writers when you need them?). The Jewish barber must endure the problems you would expect.
The picture is bloated at over two hours, ham-handed to an infinite degree (did I mention Rome here is called Aroma?), and so self-righteous it verges on chest-pounding narcissism, which are reasons I haven’t been back to it in a long time. In retrospect, this is the beginning of the end for Chaplin. I hated to see it and all that followed—some, admittedly, with bright moments, but it was also the period when he ruined The Gold Rush by trying to add sound. Still, nevertheless, I could not deny that The Great Dictator hits different in 2026. That’s what made the details of a relatively background character named Epstein so eerily remarkable.
Getting back to this movie after decades, I was reminded of the old chestnut that “history doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes” when a character named Epstein showed up. He’s Jewish and a powerful financier who must be turned to for assistance by the fascist and openly antisemitic regime of Tomainia, which is basically Germany in director and writer Charles Chaplin’s clonking sendup. Chaplin is Adenoid Hynkel, the Phooey (Fuhrer) of Tomainia, which happens to be in an uneasy alliance with Bacteria (Italy). The Tomainian swastika is two X’s, called the double cross. You can tell Chaplin was not holding back here (though an editor or collaborator might have come in handy). For a 1940 Hollywood picture it’s unusually blunt about its points, which is not to say always inspired. Chaplin also plays a Jewish barber and veteran of World War I who lives in the ghetto of an unspecified Tomainian city (he probably couldn’t think of a Warsaw gag ... where are Mad magazine writers when you need them?). The Jewish barber must endure the problems you would expect.
The picture is bloated at over two hours, ham-handed to an infinite degree (did I mention Rome here is called Aroma?), and so self-righteous it verges on chest-pounding narcissism, which are reasons I haven’t been back to it in a long time. In retrospect, this is the beginning of the end for Chaplin. I hated to see it and all that followed—some, admittedly, with bright moments, but it was also the period when he ruined The Gold Rush by trying to add sound. Still, nevertheless, I could not deny that The Great Dictator hits different in 2026. That’s what made the details of a relatively background character named Epstein so eerily remarkable.
Obviously that’s pure happenstance, but I was already unsettled by scenes of the fascist troops in the ghetto. They didn’t wear masks but they otherwise disported themselves much like scenes we’ve seen in our country in recent times. Chaplin plays his dictator as the predictable (because so typical) pompous strutting buffoon. But the movie hits different now that we have one of our own and the usual fools following him blindly. “These men are skilled craftsmen,” one aide says when Hynkel orders their execution. “Why not let them work till they can train others, then shoot them?” Hynkel responds, “We can’t afford to be lenient!” Yeah, how’s that Reflecting Pool prosecution going?
In 2026 we have to keep wondering, sometimes it seems like our best hope, when does the kool-aid and/or bunker suicide happen? That aspect of The Great Dictator, the hopelessness of being trapped in fascism, may not always hit so hard. It didn’t when I saw it in the last century. But it does now. It’s just a matter of the historical contexts in which it’s viewed. No matter how much preening and lampooning and pies in the face, this one now feels uncomfortably real. It’s recognizably the OG “the cruelty is the point.”
But the problems of The Great Dictator remain. The vibe can veer dangerously close to icky Life Is Beautiful realms, notably in the romance between the Jewish barber and Hannah (Paulette Goddard) or whenever children are onscreen. There is a long and mostly pointless preamble showing the Jewish barber in World War I. There’s an arc about underground resistance which tries to inject tension and suspense but only makes a long picture longer. There’s another pointless arc where Hynkel fights with the Bacterian dictator Napaloni (Jack Oakie).
Many scenes look and feel familiar, as if Chaplin were recycling sets and locations and even blocking. A lot of the bits seem recycled. You can name the sources they’re so obvious. One bit harks to the roller-skating scene in Modern Times. Streets are familiar from Modern Times and City Lights. The well-known dance with the globe may be the most famous part of The Great Dictator, but seeing it again reminded me of the dance of the dinner rolls in The Gold Rush, which was better. Chaplin also narrates Dictator in voiceover (as usual he wrote some of the music too)—but his voice is hard for me to take somehow, maybe a result of the botched Gold Rush redo. Then there’s the humor. Pratfalls and mugging are expected to do a lot of heavy lifting here. Maybe I’d like some of it more with an appreciative crowd, but not all or even many of the jokes seemed to really land. After wiping out the Jews, for example (cynically, knowing they are innocent), the Tomainian plan is to go for brunettes next. Wut?
Chaplin gives himself a speech at the end, where he breaks character and tries to stir us up for fighting fascism and preserving democracy. He’s not Hynkel anymore. My cynical side registered it as full of platitudes, though I was not entirely unmoved. I remembered my understanding of what it was like in the US in 1940—in short, fascism and isolationism were on the rise then too, which is why we stayed out of the fight for more than two years. That makes Chaplin’s speech brave on its face in a way, and good for him, though I suspect then as now it would have been taken by the permanently entrenched US conservative powers more as predictable Hollywood limousine liberal blather. Me, I’m still suffering PTSD from 2024. I wouldn’t recommend this one if you are too.
In 2026 we have to keep wondering, sometimes it seems like our best hope, when does the kool-aid and/or bunker suicide happen? That aspect of The Great Dictator, the hopelessness of being trapped in fascism, may not always hit so hard. It didn’t when I saw it in the last century. But it does now. It’s just a matter of the historical contexts in which it’s viewed. No matter how much preening and lampooning and pies in the face, this one now feels uncomfortably real. It’s recognizably the OG “the cruelty is the point.”
But the problems of The Great Dictator remain. The vibe can veer dangerously close to icky Life Is Beautiful realms, notably in the romance between the Jewish barber and Hannah (Paulette Goddard) or whenever children are onscreen. There is a long and mostly pointless preamble showing the Jewish barber in World War I. There’s an arc about underground resistance which tries to inject tension and suspense but only makes a long picture longer. There’s another pointless arc where Hynkel fights with the Bacterian dictator Napaloni (Jack Oakie).
Many scenes look and feel familiar, as if Chaplin were recycling sets and locations and even blocking. A lot of the bits seem recycled. You can name the sources they’re so obvious. One bit harks to the roller-skating scene in Modern Times. Streets are familiar from Modern Times and City Lights. The well-known dance with the globe may be the most famous part of The Great Dictator, but seeing it again reminded me of the dance of the dinner rolls in The Gold Rush, which was better. Chaplin also narrates Dictator in voiceover (as usual he wrote some of the music too)—but his voice is hard for me to take somehow, maybe a result of the botched Gold Rush redo. Then there’s the humor. Pratfalls and mugging are expected to do a lot of heavy lifting here. Maybe I’d like some of it more with an appreciative crowd, but not all or even many of the jokes seemed to really land. After wiping out the Jews, for example (cynically, knowing they are innocent), the Tomainian plan is to go for brunettes next. Wut?
Chaplin gives himself a speech at the end, where he breaks character and tries to stir us up for fighting fascism and preserving democracy. He’s not Hynkel anymore. My cynical side registered it as full of platitudes, though I was not entirely unmoved. I remembered my understanding of what it was like in the US in 1940—in short, fascism and isolationism were on the rise then too, which is why we stayed out of the fight for more than two years. That makes Chaplin’s speech brave on its face in a way, and good for him, though I suspect then as now it would have been taken by the permanently entrenched US conservative powers more as predictable Hollywood limousine liberal blather. Me, I’m still suffering PTSD from 2024. I wouldn’t recommend this one if you are too.
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