Showing posts with label Elsie Codd. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Elsie Codd. Show all posts

Friday, May 9, 2014

Random Excerpt

"Charlie Takes The Air: The Screen Comedian Describes His First Experiences"

By Elsie Codd

Photos and text from Picture Show, March 27th, 1920:
One of the most delightful things about Charlie Chaplin is his quality of unexpectedness. You never know beforehand what he's going to say or do next. Sometime ago, for instance, he made his first trip in an aeroplane. Now, on such occasions it is generally considered the correct thing amongst celebrities of the Chaplin order to comment in glowing terms upon "the wonderful sense of freedom," " the thrill of high adventure," and kindred sensations.
When asked how he had enjoyed himself, Chaplin promptly answered, "Not at all." Moreover, he candidly admitted that he was terrified out of his wits, and only stuck to his resolution to see the job through because he has always been interested in trying a fresh experience.
"I remember the thing that worried me most," he said, when describing the affair, "was all the padding in those clothes they helped me into. I didn't mind so much the idea of being killed outright, as falling to earth with the usual dull, sickening thud, and surviving the experience. You see, I harboured the suspicion back of my mind that the garments which made me feel like a human pincushion were ingeniously designed for this very purpose." Then the cheerful nonchalance of my pilot got on my nerves. It was just as though he know he'd got me in his power, and intended to make me realise that he was going to do jolly well what he pleased with me."
"'Like to loop the loop, Charlie?' he'd ask carelessly, just by the way, you know. And because I felt he knew I was scared stiff, I gave him a sickly smile, murmured a feeble 'Ye-es,' set my teeth, and--thought of those padded clothes. But when, contrary to all my expectations, we landed safely, I mentally registered the vow 'Never again!'"
But Charlie, being an unexpected sort of person, has changed his mind. The accompanying "snaps" show him starting for San Diego for another trip, and, judging by the dazzling display of Chaplin dentistry, he wasn't worrying much about those padded clothes.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

"A Charlie Chaplin the world has yet to know"

                                                                                                                                        

In 1919, Chaplin’s British publicist, Elsie Codd, wrote the following impression of him after a dinner at his home:

He and his wife [Mildred Harris] had entertained a few friends, and after dinner we adjourned to the music-room, with its quiet, intimate atmosphere of shaded lights.
In one corner stood a magnificent concert grand. Charlie loves music. It seems to be the natural outlet for his restless, eager spirit, and whenever I have seen him in that room, sooner or later he invariably responds to the lure of the instrument.
 On this particular evening he sat there for nearly an hour, playing snatches from “Butterfly,” “Carmen” and the “ Valse Triste,” improvising sad, wistful little melodies of his own, and trying some new records on the pianola.
“And this is my favourite,” he said, having after a long search at last discovered one he particularly wanted to try.
I glanced at the title. It was the celebrated theme with variations from one of Haydn’s string quartettes, the melody to which we English have learnt to sing the hymn, “Praise the Lord, ye heavens adore Him.”
“I remember I used to think it the most beautiful thing on earth when I sang it as a little boy at Sunday school,” Charlie said. “But now it seems wonderful things to me. I seem to see a whole Russian army on a great wide plain, thousands and thousands of them as far as the eye can reach. They are all kneeling in prayer, and the priest passes slowly down their ranks and blesses them with the sacred icon in his hands.”
And as I watched him lose himself and all sense of his surroundings in the beauty of that music, I realised that this was a Charlie Chaplin the world has yet to know. (Pictures & Picturegoer, Oct. 1919)