Deposed Monarch

By RICHARD SCHICKEL

A KING IN NEW YORK Directed and Written by CHARLES CHAPLIN

A King in New York is regarded in some critical quarters as perhaps the worst movie ever made by a distinguished film maker. Its release in the U.S. for the first time provides no reason to dispute that judgment, although one might nominate Chaplin's most recent picture, The Countess from Hong Kong (1967), as an alternate selection. King does have a certain extrinsic interest, however, as a significant act in the larger drama of its creator's celebrity.

The movie was made in England in 1957, some years after Chaplin, a British subject, abruptly exiled himself from the U.S. rather than submit to threatened McCarthyite inquiries about his politics and morals by immigration officials. The onetime monarch of the box office and American moviegoers' affection typecast himself as the deposed King of a mythical country visiting the U.S. to promote an Atoms for Peace program. From the King's point of view, America's movies are shown to be drenched in sex and violence, its jazz too loud (though what is played is a decade out of date even by 1957 standards), its treatment of the famous crass and importunate.

These muted old man's mutterings are sadly devoid of energy or strong feeling. Surprisingly, so are Chaplin's assaults on witch hunting. His King be comes the protector of a precocious waif (played by Chaplin's son Michael) whose parents refuse to testify before a congressional committee. The King breaks up the deliberations of the com mittee with a fire hose that unfunnily goes out of control.

In short, none of Chaplin's intentional satire comes off. This is in part be cause of an understandable falling off in creative powers. But in larger measure, it is because he obviously wanted to ingratiate himself with and win back his audience, and was therefore careful not to push that audience too hard. Un intentionally, though, the film contains some true and poignant moments as Chaplin, the international celebrity, demonstrates his isolation and unworldliness through his fictional alter ego, and his consequent vulnerability to the prying and exploitation of the press and television. This was a subject Chaplin knew all about. When the King becomes an unwitting participant in a Candid Camera-type TV show or wittingly attempts to make a living by endorsing cheap booze, he finds he cannot control his name and fame. At this point the movie may not exactly ring resoundingly with truth, but it at least manages to make some small, authentic protesting sounds.

An occasional fluttering gesture, an odd grimace or two remind us, as well, of the great Tramp that was. Unfortunately, the spirit of that immortal, an archical figure does not even struggle to emerge from the portly, white-haired world figure and self-appointed deep-dish thinker who disports so uncomfortably before audiences with which he could not help knowing he had lost all connection.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.