There was a time, not too long ago, when Charlie Chaplin was seen as the most famous man on earth. His films transcended borders, languages, and cultural barriers. Everyone knew who he was; his image held firmly in the minds of movie audiences around the world. He wrote, directed, acted, and scored his films; they were the ultimate illustrations of his sensibilities. The Tramp, one of the great, most lovable underdogs of the movies, was a character that everyone knew once they saw him. Even for people who have never seen any of his films, they somehow recognize the bowl hat, the large floppy shoes, the cane, the bowtie, and, of course, the mustache. Chaplin has ingrained himself in the public conscience like second nature, perhaps for all time. Of all the masterpieces he made, of all the memorable moments and fantastic comedic touches that inhabit his movies, City Lights (1931), to me, has remained the most perfect showcase of his brilliance, an even balance of hilarity and emotion, of laughter and tears. It is one of the great achievements of the silent era.