Rewriting the Script of Power: Charlie Chaplin and "The Great Dictator"

The silent rebellion and cinematic legacy of Charlie Chaplin. Reflections on leadership, the importance of words, and the battle between light and shadow.

My fascination with the shadow side of authority began in a tiny classical studies class in high school. Our class was a group of misfits that eerily matched the energy of Dead Poets Society. We were consumed by the stories of Homer and Sophocles, dreaming about how the stories of our own lives would unfold. That classroom left a lasting impression, as it was where themes that continue to shape my thinking first emerged, particularly the consequences of the corruption of power.

Everything I did for my senior projects carried this underlying theme, and I always managed to weave in my love for film, especially Charlie Chaplin. For my Year 13 speech, I gave a dramatic monologue and critical analysis of Chaplin’s The Great Dictator. Today, fifteen years later, I return to that seed to see what has grown.

In 1940, Chaplin released his first talkie, “The Great Dictator.” For those not well-versed, Chaplin fought hard against the film industry for years, refusing to let his defining character, the Tramp, talk. He believed that silence equalised his character to the masses, so that no matter where you were in the world, you could see a version of yourself giving the rich a “kick up the backside.” One scene from the 1992 biopic “Chaplin” starring a young Robert Downey Jr. embodies the magic and power of the Tramp at a dinner with J. Edgar Hoover. This scene masterfully shows how comedy and calculated silence can be used as a tool of rebellion against hateful rhetoric. He reinforces that if, through his films and with laughter, he could change things for the everyday person, so much the better.

But as the world darkened and war broke out, he felt it was time to finally let the Tramp speak for something worth saying, even if it meant sacrificing the magic of his beloved character. And at the heart of “The Great Dictator” lies this speech where the Tramp, mistaken for a dictator, speaks not of hate, but of unity and humanity. If you’re new to Chaplin’s work, I’d begin with “Modern Times” or “City Lights” first to see the magic of the Tramp. But still, the speech deserves your attention as it remains timeless.

There is something deeply poetic about the mechanics behind this speech, the importance of its content, and why it was worth the sacrifice. Leadership and power require structure, discipline, and intentionality. Yet, these qualities are uncomfortable when they bring our shadows to light. At the same time, there is a warmth and care in understanding why we lead, what we protect, and the human tenderness behind our choices. The contrast between discipline and care asks the question: “Why do we care?” rather than “Why do we lead?”

While researching, I explored the birthdates of both Chaplin and Hitler, as they were born just four days apart. Both came from impoverished, unstable childhoods, were rejected for their creativity at one time or another, and wielded enormous influence. Both built empires, but one chose to embrace his shadow with laughter, while the other let it consume him to incite fear and control. Every coin has two sides, and this contrast reminds us that power alone is empty. It requires integrity of purpose to withstand the test of time.

Going back to Chaplin, there’s another scene in the 1992 biopic where he is rehearsing this now-famous speech. He’s standing alone in a darkened room, staring up at Hitler on the screen. It’s intimate, quiet, charged, and full of confrontation. “I know you.”

In this rehearsal scene, we see how inner fear can twist authority into a weapon if not recognised. Fear and insecurity can make us lash out at the world, trying to reclaim lost safety through control. But real security comes from softening inwardly and listening to our vulnerability rather than battling it. True power isn’t about dominating others, but having the courage to face ourselves.

It marks a perfect moment for private rehearsal before your own mirror of authority, allowing yourself to touch your shadow without being consumed. Stand up, structure your message, and prepare with authority, while also remembering why you speak at all; to protect what you love, to honour the tenderness of being human, and to care enough to try.

Chaplin knew speaking would end the magic and accessibility of the Tramp. He accepted that this loss was a chance at integrity, as he said:

“I’ve got to give it a try. Otherwise, what have I been doing all these years? I know talking would be the end of the Tramp, that’s for sure. But at least he’ll go out saying something I believe in.”

But still, some pushed back against his integrity. During this time, Chaplin was accused of being a communist and was threatened many times for being “anti-American,” even though he described himself as a humanist. And yet, he was deported from the United States later in his life under suspicion of communist sympathies. But maybe Hoover was right; maybe Chaplin was talking about America in his speech. He was just 80 years too early.

We’re seeing that history doesn’t simply repeat. It reincarnates and loops itself with unfinished business. The archetypes in the play remain the same, but the faces change, the weapons evolve, and the costumes shift with the times.

“You, the people, have the power.”

That’s what we’ve forgotten. All too often, we hand our authority to others, overlooking that agency and equality are our birthright. We’re not mere spectators in someone else’s play; we’re the directors and editors of our own story, choosing what stays in the frame, what falls to the cutting room floor, and which lines we deliver or refuse to say.

Perhaps the true purpose of the lessons we learn from Chaplin is to end what’s comfortable in service of what’s true. To rehearse quietly, prepare our voices, and build legacies that actually matter.

I’ll leave you with a thought to rehearse. If someone handed you a microphone, would you recite the old script or write a new scene? Whether you're standing under a spotlight or sitting at a table with unspoken tension, what would you say? Remember, calculated silence and comedy are possibly more powerful than being the loudest in the room.

So, are you a Tramp or a Tyrant? (Swap one letter and you become both.) And yet, the choice is always yours.

And I return to the comfort of my Dead Poets Society, to quote Robin Williams quoting Walt Whitman:

“‘That the powerful play continues, and you may contribute a verse.’ What will be your verse?”