Chapter 64 – The Chaplin Brothers

During high school, my ethics teacher once showed us Charlie Chaplin's Modern Times.

It must have been around early 2010, just after the release of the first Avengers film. Or perhaps even a bit before that? In any case, it was definitely after watching the first Avatar.

Even though I had a refined taste in films for my age, I was moved by the black-and-white film. That's how great it was.

It was classic slapstick comedy, so clear in its influence on later animations like Disney's Looney Tunes or Tom and Jerry.

The film starkly revealed the harsh labour conditions of the Industrial Revolution, yet it remained a high-quality satire that wasn't unpleasant.

Despite being a talkie, it was effectively a silent film, but the acting conveyed every word with exceptional skill.

And amidst a bleak era, it held on to hope for the future, culminating in an open-ended hymn to humanity.

Charlie Chaplin, who directed, produced, wrote, composed, edited, and starred in this masterpiece, was truly a great filmmaker.

But now, Charlie Chaplin… in a minor role in my work? Even more so.

"Ha, Hanslow Jin, the writer!?"

"Y-Yes."

"Remarkable…!"

To see someone's eyes sparkle at me like that. My goodness.

Naturally, he didn't have the moustache. Well, he's only six years old.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Writer. My brother…!"

"Oh, it's fine. Mr. Sydney Chaplin."

And here was Sydney Chaplin, who, after passing the initial document review for the role of Peter Perry, was working as a labourer while preparing for the second round of auditions.

Sydney Chaplin, in his mid-teens, was Charlie Chaplin's older brother and practical guardian.

The reason why these siblings, despite having parents, were in an orphaned state was that their father, Charlie Chaplin Sr., who had legal custody, was an alcoholic and had divorced their mother without providing any support, while their mother, Hannah Hill, was in a mental asylum… Truly, this damned neighbourhood.

"We were originally staying at the daycare you set up."

"Oh, you mean the Alice and Peter Foundation."

Wow. Charlie Chaplin at the foundation I established? Yes, this is why I do welfare!

But then Sydney Chaplin's face darkened as he spoke.

"Yes. But suddenly the entire district is undergoing construction…"

"Is it that redevelopment!?"

"Yes, that's right."

Lionel, you fool!! What were you doing!? You were supposed to handle the clean-up well!?

However, it turned out that the foundation had indeed handled the clean-up properly. The problem was that the new temporary lodging was too far from the mental hospital and the Savoy Theatre, making it impractical for the siblings to afford transportation. They had been barely managing by working as labourers at the Savoy Theatre.

So… there was no other choice. The foundation couldn't find temporary lodging just for these two, and it was unfeasible to let them stay in the construction zone of Whitechapel.

Nevertheless, apart from that.

"Was there a particular reason you had to endure working at the theatre? I mean, there were many places where you could have worked and found accommodation without being in a theatre."

"Of course. But…"

Sydney Chaplin glanced briefly at his younger brother, Charlie. Charlie, with sparkling eyes, said to me,

"I wanted to work here."

"Hmm, why is that?"

"I didn't want to risk losing this job I barely got if I left."

"... Hmm."

In Charlie Chaplin's eyes, I could read a certain dark, intense determination.

It resembled, in some ways, the determination of Strauss or Wilde. But it was even more so, an obsession, a tenacious will that seemed almost strange for such a young child.

An obsession with success.

That's how I interpreted it.

Indeed, Charlie Chaplin was known for his extreme perfectionism. He was known to have clashed with fellow actors over his obsession with perfection.

Is this what they call a prodigy from birth? Having glimpsed it, I couldn't just stand by.

"Then… may I see your acting?"

"Acting?"

"Yes."

This is honestly my personal interest.

Who wouldn't want to see the young Charlie Chaplin's acting? For those who know, like me, it's impossible to resist.

"Then, let me show you my performance as Lys for a moment."

"Alright, I'm looking forward to it."

Just as he finished speaking, Charlie picked up a pamphlet from nearby and covered his face with it.

And when he revealed his face again.

The child was no longer the six-year-old Charlie Chaplin.

"<… Who are you?>"

With wide, blinking eyes. An expression mixed with curiosity and fear.

A little child peeking over while blinking only their eyes.

The voice trembled, but the pronunciation was clear. Even with a high pitch, the ending was precise, conveying a pure, childlike curiosity.

Even without fairy wings or pointed ears.

At that moment, Charlie Chaplin had perfectly embodied the persona of the sylph Lys.

"<A... human?! Is it really a>"

The six-year-old flawlessly re-enacting the lines from Peter Perry and the Fairy Forest.

Without a doubt.

That child is definitely Charlie Chaplin.

"Wow…"

It's terrifying that he can do that at just six years old, without even any training. Terrifying, but…

"Hmm. Charlie. That's enough for now. Could you come here for a moment?"

"Didn't you like it?"

"Hm?"

I looked up. Charlie Chaplin, now free of Lys's persona, was looking at me with fearful eyes.

"I just thought, maybe you weren't satisfied…"

"Oh, no, no! It was very good. Your acting is impressive. It's just that…"

Um… How should I put this?

Scratching my head, I decided to ask directly.

"Have you read the seventh volume of Peter Perry and the Radiant Light?"

"The seventh volume is out?"

"... Um, yes."

So he doesn't know.

It makes sense. When the redevelopment started, and the Chaplin brothers were evicted, I had just finished writing the seventh volume. There was some time before it was published, so it's only natural that Charlie hasn't read it.

That's why he doesn't know the secret hidden inside Lys, the evil Demon King.

Which means he's only portrayed Lys as the pure friend described in volumes one through six.

Hmm… What should I do? I can't tell him here. No matter how much I'm the author, neither the heavens nor I would forgive such wickedness.

Besides, this flawless performance is only possible because Charlie doesn't know Lys's secret.

So, for now, I'll keep quiet.

"Well, Charlie."

"Yes, sir?"

Sir?

Sir! Charlie Chaplin is calling me sir!

This feels different from being acknowledged by Arthur Conan Doyle or Mark Twain…!

"Ahem. Yes. From what I saw, it was excellent. Absolutely perfect."

"Really…?"

"Yes. But…"

I slowly looked into Charlie Chaplin's eyes and asked,

"You didn't seem satisfied with your performance… Did you?"

"What? Author, what do you mean…?"

"How did… you know?"

Even Sydney Chaplin hadn't noticed.

Of course, if I had just watched the performance, I wouldn't have noticed either. After all, what do I know about acting?

But after meeting so many geniuses recently, I've started to get a sense of what kind of people they are.

They don't believe their actions are ever wrong. For an ordinary person, unwarranted confidence is arrogance, but for geniuses… just the fact that they've done something gives them confidence.

But if that's the case…

Why does Charlie Chaplin, this genius, lack confidence?

"Author, could you tell me what I'm lacking?"

"That's impossible."

I cut him off immediately. If I knew that, I'd be an actor, not a writer.

And I'm not a genius like Oscar Wilde who transcends genres.

"I'm sorry, Charlie, but I can't critique your acting. To me, it seemed perfect."

"Is that so…"

"But, I can tell you someone who might be able to point it out."

I thought, my eyes shining.

If I'm not a genius, why not connect him with one?

Is Charlie Chaplin simply a great actor, or is he a genius who devoured an entire chapter of film history? No. He was an actor, a director, a screenwriter, and a producer.

If I introduce him to Oscar Wilde, who has a similar aesthetic sense, and suggest he use Charlie as both a student and a regular actor…?

After all, Charlie's already handling his livelihood at the theater, and they're both geniuses, so they could resonate like Strauss.

And if I entrust his management to Sydney Chaplin and Mr. Carte, the theater manager, so he doesn't do anything strange…?

This could work. It has to.

I smiled, looking forward to the future.

***

Bentley Publishing.

"Well, if the author is satisfied, it should be fine, but… Are you sure?"

"It's fine. This is definitely going to be big."

Since Mr. Bentley is also involved with the theater, I came to explain the situation.

I understand why he's worried since the arts can be so hit or miss. But I'm confident.

Oscar Wilde as the adapter, Richard Strauss as the composer, and Charlie Chaplin as the actor.

Honestly, what could fail against that? The Dark Knight Rises? Parasite?

Oh, right.

"If you're still worried, you can join us at the theater, Mr. Bentley. We need to finalize the contract with Oscar Wilde."

"Oh…! Can I really sign a contract too?!"

"Of course."

I smiled. Honestly, I'm serializing three works simultaneously, and if Oscar Wilde writes more than me, it's not like Strand Magazine alone will suffice, right? He'll have to serialize in The Weekly Temple and Temple Bar too.

"Thank you so much. Actually, we wanted to ask but felt it might be presumptuous…"

"Oh, come on, there's no need for that."

Bentley Publishing has worked hard for me all this time. Mr. Bentley deserves his share. Wilde having a hard time? Not my problem.

"Oh, and I received a telegram from the American side saying that Mr. Mark Twain has finished writing and started selling."

"Oh, really? How's it doing?"

Well, given the author, I'm not worried. I asked casually, and Bentley scratched his head, looking troubled.

"Well…"

"What, is it not doing well?"

"It's sold a million copies."

"… What?"

I think there's an extra zero in there.

The End of The Chaplin Brothers