As a fresh 35mm print of Charlie Chaplin's quintessential 1947 thriller Monsieur Verdoux begins circulating through revival houses around the country, it seems like a good time to remind people that while the late actor is mainly known as a star of the silent screen, he definitely didn't die with it. Although the greatest slapstick artist of all time initially rejected the development of sound film, mocking it with hilariously exaggerated voices in City Lights, he eventually adopted it after realizing that resistance was futile. However, he refused to simply throw in a few lines of dialogue to accompany his beloved tramp shtick, choosing instead to take his career in a fresh direction. While Chaplin made many sound films over the course of several decades, only two of them really qualify as classic talkies (except for Limelight, which deserves a category of its own). Late flops like A King of New York don't really hold together, but Chaplin's initial forays into the world of sound film display his talent as a composer of distinctive prose.

His first work of this era, The Great Dictator, remains a masterpiece that broadened the potential of his tramp character with a modified Prince and the Pauper tale applied to World War II, and Chaplin doing double duty playing both a Jewish barber and an exaggerated Adolf Hitler (or "Hinkel," rather). Monsieur Verdoux, in which he plays a frustrated man whose losses during the Great Depression lead to a twisted scheme where he marries, murders and robs rich women, represented something else altogether: Chaplin's only brooding melodrama, the occasional laughs are almost incidental.

Sam Peckinpah's Straw Dogs is an extremely divisive movie. While some people view it as one of the finest explorations of violence and the nature of man on film, others find it offensive and misogynistic. Famed critic Pauline Kael famously dubbed it "the first American film that is a fascist work of art." The 1971 film stars Dustin Hoffman as a mild-mannered professor living in the English countryside with his attractive wife (Susan George). A gang of locals harasses them both, graphically rapes the wife and attacks their home. Hoffman fights back with great vengeance and furious anger.

I saw the movie again very recently in its excellent Criterion edition and found it to be just as powerful and gripping and challenging as I had remembered. As Christopher told you in March, Rod Lurie (director of The Contender and Resurrecting the Champ, which opens Friday) plans to direct a remake of Straw Dogs. Lurie recently spoke with ComingSoon.net about it, calling Peckinpah's work on the film "a little lazy" and the film itself "very imperfect." He says, "It's sort of a classic film in the sense that it's infamous. It's a good not great film by a great director."

"It's an interesting film, isn't it?" Lurie adds. "But it was pretty much killed by a two-second moment on screen where his wife is being raped and she smiles. That was the end of that movie. You can be certain that she's not going to be smiling in the rape in my film." If you ask me (and you didn't), a huge reason the 1970s is referred to as a golden age of cinema is because the films were gritty and uncompromising. They didn't tie everything up with a pretty bow; they left questions. And often, as is certainly the case with Straw Dogs, the questions don't come with easily acceptable or digestible answers. Straightening out the film's politics, making the film clearer morally -- that doesn't strike me as a particularly great notion. What do you guys think? Is Lurie blaspheming here? That "two-second moment" he's referring to is a major reason that people still heatedly debate the film to this day. Will Lurie de-fang the movie by taking that away? Or is he setting things right?

Update: Jeff Wells of Hollywood Elsewhere takes issue with Lurie's statement about the rape scene.

Well, darlings, tomorrow marks the one month anniversary of this column, and to celebrate the occasion, I've put together a bit of a grab bag for you. Because there's nothing I find more celebratory than a good argument, this first milestone seemed like as good a time as any to go through my hate mails and answer trackbacks and post a few thoughts and responses. If you're dying for new(er) content, come back next week, when I'll have some thoughts on how the success of V for Vendetta breaks every rule in modern Hollywood.

On to the brawls...

Andre Soares was kind enough to link to my last column, in which I connected a few tidbits from SXSW to the ever-evolving relationship between consumers and critics, over at the Alternative Film Guide. But, taking exceptions with a few points, he went on to file what looks a lot like a counter-argument. The thing is, I think Soares and I actually agree on most every aspect of the issue. Soares starts off by pointing out that Hollywood makes the lion's share of its profits off of a consumer roughly 30 years younger than the average critic: "film critics can't be expected to represent the tastes of a film audience composed mostly of teenagers and very young adults -- unless, of course, The New York Times, The Washington Post, and The Nation were to hire fourteen-year-olds to write film reviews." That's a valid point, but it's also just a little fatalistic -- he's essentially saying that any hope for a connection between the people who write about movies and the people who pay to see them is doomed.