I really can't say much about The Great Dictator. More than almost any other film, it speaks for itself louder and more succinctly than any human other than Mr. Chaplin himself ever could. Also, I don't want to add anything to it, nor do I have the capacity. Doing so would dirty up the pristine honesty and earnestness Mr. Chaplin obviously poured into it. This is his soul laid bare, and then flayed open. It feels almost sacrilegious to try and augment or dissect it, at least personally.

The only commentary I have is that watching The Great Dictator caused a terrible sensation of depressed hilarity. I'm not angry at Mr. Chaplin for causing that strange and disorienting feeling. I'm angry at that vague notion of evil, then and periodically still personified, that necessitated that message. I'm angry at how desperate and pleading that final monologue was and how it seemed to be forced out of him like the last bullet shot from a gun fired in self-defense. I'm angry at how unfair life has been and still is for a great many people. But I'm immensely grateful for Charlie Chaplin (and the folks like him that followed) that he could remind the world that sometimes it's still okay to laugh even when all you want to do is cry.

For a much more insightful review, please check out Cinebro's excellent take on the film.