Limelight

I do not like it. The limelight, I mean. No, much as I wish for it, sometimes, I am not one for liking to be the center of attention. The coppice gate, and all that.

But this blog post is about Limelight, the movie. The first Charlie Chaplin movie I watched. It was some eight or nine years ago, and I'd laughed away at his wisecracks ("Oh, how would you know, have you ever appealed to their sense of humour?" in response to "Worms can't smile!") at the landlady's bluster ("you take your hands off me!"), and there was always that performance on stage with the dysfunctional piano and violin.

Lately, however, all that humour has been washed off my memory. No, all I can think of is its ending. Chaplin's had a heart attack at the end of afore-mentioned performance. He wishes to see his love dance (she's a ballerina). And so she dances, Chaplin dies, and the limelight fades on her, still dancing away.

Somewhere in the movie, he says, "Life can be wonderful if you're not afraid of it." Sometimes, though, it just hurts.