I’ll confess, political satire isn’t usually my thing. Often, it feels too on-the-nose, too preachy. But then there’s Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator, a film that manages to be both hilariously absurd and profoundly moving, a tightrope walk few could manage. Released in 1940, as Europe was already engulfed in war, it’s a film that took guts to make, a defiant act of artistic courage. And decades later, its punch still lands, maybe even harder.
The story, for those unfamiliar, is a double act. We have a Jewish barber, a sweet, unassuming soul who suffers from amnesia after fighting in the First World War. Then we have Adenoid Hynkel, the puffed-up, power-mad dictator of Tomania, a thinly veiled caricature of Adolf Hitler. Through a series of farcical events, the two are mistaken for each other, leading to a climax where the barber, disguised as Hynkel, delivers a speech that is a soaring plea for humanity.
Now, let’s get to the heart of why this film endures. It’s not just the slapstick, though Chaplin was the master of that. It’s the way he uses comedy to expose the terrifying underbelly of fascism. Look at the scene where Hynkel “flies” around the room with a globe, like a child with a new toy. On the surface, it’s pure Chaplin physical comedy. But beneath that, it’s a stinging comment on the megalomania and childishness of dictators, their detachment from the real world. He treats the entire world as his plaything, and it’s both funny and chilling to watch. The film shows us that dictators may look huge and scary, but in their hearts, they are small, insecure men terrified of not getting their way.
Chaplin was not afraid to poke fun at the Nazi’s absurdities, particularly their obsession with racial purity. The scenes with Herring and Garbitsch, Hynkel’s top advisors (a spoof of Göring and Goebbels), are full of ridiculous military jargon and over-the-top salutes. It’s funny, yes, but it also highlights how empty and hollow these ideologies are. Chaplin uses humor as a weapon, stripping away the aura of invincibility that the Nazis were so desperate to project.
Consider the moment when Hynkel is visited by Benzino Napaloni, the dictator of Bacteria (a jab at Mussolini). Their interactions are a masterclass in comedic rivalry, filled with petty squabbles over chairs and photo ops. They bicker like children, highlighting the absurdity of their power and the fragile egos that drive their actions. It’s a scene that understands that dictators, underneath the uniforms and the medals, are simply insecure and childish.
The film also has a strong romantic core. The barber’s relationship with Hannah, played by Paulette Goddard, adds warmth and humanity to the story. Their scenes together are tender and hopeful, providing a counterpoint to the darkness of Hynkel’s regime. This shows the hope that the audience should cling to, the idea that kindness and humanity can be found even in the darkest of times.
The technical aspects of The Great Dictator are also worth noting. This was Chaplin’s first true talking picture, and he uses sound to great effect. Hynkel’s speeches, delivered in a gibberish language that sounds vaguely German, are both hilarious and disturbing. Chaplin understood the power of rhetoric, and he uses it to satirize the empty pronouncements and manipulative language of demagogues.
Speaking of performances, Chaplin is, of course, brilliant in both roles. As the barber, he’s gentle and vulnerable, a symbol of the ordinary people caught up in the chaos of war. As Hynkel, he’s a whirlwind of manic energy, a cartoonish villain who is both funny and frightening. But let’s not forget Jack Oakie as Napaloni, who brings a wonderfully over-the-top energy to the role. His exaggerated gestures and booming voice are a perfect complement to Chaplin’s more subtle performance.
Some have said that the film’s ending, with the barber’s impassioned plea for peace, is too sentimental, too preachy. And maybe it is, but I think it’s also incredibly brave. In a time of war and uncertainty, Chaplin used his platform to deliver a message of hope and unity. It’s a message that still resonates today, a reminder that we must fight for a world based on compassion and understanding.
Now, let’s acknowledge the elephant in the room: this film is over 80 years old. Some of its humor might feel a little dated, and its portrayal of certain groups might seem simplistic by today’s standards. But to dismiss it for these reasons would be a mistake. The Great Dictator is a product of its time, but it’s also a timeless work of art that speaks to the human condition. It’s a reminder that while times change, the dangers of hatred and intolerance never really go away.
What makes The Great Dictator truly remarkable is its courage. Chaplin released this film when America was still hesitant to enter the war, when many were willing to appease Hitler. He put his career and his reputation on the line to make a statement against fascism. That takes guts, and it’s one of the reasons why this film remains so powerful.
Even today, as we face new challenges and new forms of extremism, The Great Dictator remains relevant. It reminds us to be vigilant, to question authority, and to stand up for what we believe in. It’s a film that challenges us to be better, to be more compassionate, and to never forget the lessons of history. It’s a film that understands that laughter can be an act of resistance.
It’s a film that stays with you, not just for its humor and its heart, but for its unwavering belief in the power of humanity. And in a world that often feels bleak and uncertain, that’s a message worth holding onto.
