"Chaplin: The Musical,' on Broadway

Charlie Chaplin, the charismatic "Little Tramp," is known to all generations worldwide. But Charlie Chaplin, the branded "commie," banished from the U.S. for two decades, is far less known.

That's the merit of Chaplin, the sweeping new musical now playing on Broadway. With the broadest and boldest of brushstrokes, this super-sized musical paints the portrait of a larger-than-life American artist that spans three quarters of a century and two world wars, incorporating some of America's most glamorous decades as well as some of its ugliest.

Chaplin's 75-year career coincided with the rise of Hollywood, the building of the "American dream machine" (i.e., the studio system), and the evolution of film into an art form. This handsome musical, appropriately designed in black and white, seeks to match the grandeur of the story with an epic scale, a soaring musical score, a stellar song and dance ensemble, and (of course) movie projections.

Sinking into madness

Act I deals with the remarkable rags-to-riches chapter of Chaplin's life story (1889-1977), beginning with his impoverished origins in London. We first see Charlie, age five (played by the impish Zachary Unger), singing and dancing away under the supervision of a desperate mother, abandoned by her alcoholic husband and sinking into madness before her son's eyes. We follow young Charlie's artistic development into his 20s, when he is recruited by the Keystone Studios to come to Hollywood in 1913.

Next watch a grown Chaplin (now played by the gifted Rob McClure, a startling doppelganger) on his meteoric rise to Hollywood stardom. He enters into a collaboration with Mack Sennett, the silent film producer/director, and creates his signature "Tramp" character, with baggy trousers, tight-fitting blazer, bowler hat and waddling walk.

By 1917, Chaplin is making more than $1 million a year. With his brother Sidney as his manager, he launches his own studio and begins directing and producing his great silent films, including The Tramp and The Kid.

Defending Communism

True to the arc of rags-to-riches stories, Act II deals with the fallout of fame. How can the persona of the "The Tramp" survive in a changing industry? Chaplin resists talkies, pushing ahead with City Lights (1931) and Modern Times (1936), in which the tramp's voice is heard for the first time (although he speaks gibberish).

He also suffers multiple failed marriages"“ first to a starlet named Mildred Harris, next to another teenage-actress, Lita Grey, then to the actress Paulette Goddard. He also suffers a rift with Sidney, his loyal mainstay. These reverses produce increasing megalomania and paranoia.

Then, fatally, comes Chaplin's political involvement. In The Great Dictator (1940), Chaplin sought to satirize Adolf Hitler. Wearing his signature tramp moustache, Chaplin played the führer himself, with the intent of provoking laughter. Instead, the film sparked controversy and a decline in Chaplin's popularity. At the same time, he began to speak out publicly in support of Communism, attracting scrutiny and ultimately condemnation by the wrathful House Un-American Activities Committee.

Though his personal life improved (he married Oona O'Neill, the American playwright's daughter), that too was plagued by complications (a paternity suit was brought upon him by an ambitious actress, Joan Barry).

Enforced exile

The final blow to Chaplin's public and artistic life occurred in 1952. While he was in London to promote his new film, Limelight, the FBI sought to revoke his re-entry permit into the U.S. Chaplin and Oona spent the next two decades exiled in Switzerland, where they raised eight children.

Chaplin: The Musical flows melodically through these landmark events in Chaplin's roller-coaster life, providing ample entertainment along the way. At the same time, the creative team has enriched the sweeping story with a strong personal dimension provided by the vehicle of Chaplin's demented mother Hannah.

She reappears, specter-like, throughout the story, accompanied by little five-year-old Charlie, as a reminder of the loneliness, hardship and personal suffering that this great entertainer endured. This haunting device deepens our empathy for a tragic hero who suffers an inevitable fall.

Last of the witch hunts?

For me, the fascination of Chaplin: The Musical lies in the curious paradox of that great American value, "the right to remain silent," and its implications"“ both artistically and politically. Chaplin thrived in the silent films and resisted "talkies" for years. And yet, paradoxically, when he did "speak," his career took a fatal turn.

"I miss the days when you didn't speak," says his brother Sid ironically, who warned him not to speak publicly in support of Communism.

Since the communist witch-hunt of the 1950s, there hasn't been a similar conflict between artists and the authorities in this country, thank goodness"“ at least not on that scale. There was the disgracing of "Hanoi Jane" (Fonda) when she visited North Vietnam during the late 1960s, but that was an isolated incident. In recent times, British writers (including David Hare, Caryl Churchill and the late Harold Pinter) have spoken out vigorously for the Palestinian cause without suffering backlash in their country. (China and Russia are another story, as Ai Weiwei and Pussy Riot can attest.)

It's a quiet time in Hollywood now, in terms of individual artists' involvement in political controversy"“ the kind that might put lives and livelihoods at risk. And yet, in the end, Chaplin haunts us with the question: Under what circumstances could it happen again?