A rather tight, simple premise that blossoms under the influence of Charlie Chaplin's expert touch, like a majority of his timeless classics. This go-around, he happens upon a traveling circus, inadvertently stumbles his way into becoming a star attraction, falls for the trapeze girl and finds trouble with her father, the ringmaster. Sprinkled along the way are frequent doses of brilliant physical comedy, inventive and original as ever, which playfully goof around with the trappings of daily life around the carnival grounds.

Chaplin suffered several personal hardships during filming - a messy public divorce, a ruinous studio fire, the death of a parent - and tucked in amidst all the hijinx and gags I found a tinge of quiet sadness and reflection. Particularly late in the picture, when the plucky Tramp falls into the friend zone and struggles with jealousy over his girl's new fling, he emits an air of desperation, then acceptance, that organically develops into a sweet, unexpected climax. It's easy to get the sense that he worked through quite a bit with this picture, both behind the camera and before it, which elevates the product from a very good silent comedy into something more significant, something lasting. The parting shot, in which the show noisily rides off to the next town while Chaplin is left in the dust, serves as a potent metaphor for his fears over the steamrolling arrival of sound cinema (The Jazz Singer opened a mere three months before The Circus) and adds yet another layer to the complex emotional undercurrent. A phenomenal, and oft-overlooked, bit of understated work from one of Hollywood's brightest stars.