The Silent Film

Heavy haze loomed on the town where Charlie Chaplin dwelled in a hundred years ago. I wandered in awe at this historic site. The street was lined with dusty antique stores hoisting flags that galloped with the wind. A hollow atmosphere lingered. I stopped as a black cat sauntered out of a shop, crossed through my legs and ran off in the deep dusk.

Locals call this place the “First Hollywood,” a quaint locale where silent films were made in bunches during the early 1900s. The town still has businesses open, but to this day, you won’t find a Starbucks or McDonalds in sight. This tiny dot in Northern California seems frozen in time. 

The walk down its main street was intriguing. I passed several artifacts and relics displayed in storefront windows; the smell of baked cheese and pepperoni from Bronco Billy’s Pizza Palace; the freshly roasted coffee beans at the cafe that used to be a gas station back in the day. I read about all these establishments and their history, fascinated by how they stood the test of time. 

At the end of the street, I reached my destination and entered the rustic doors of a worned-out building. 

“Welcome to The Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum!” A strange looking man greeted me from behind the counter. He had a huge beard and wore a dark brown top hat and a Hawaiian shirt. Odd outfit for an autumn night. The man gave out a big smile and gestured with his arms spread out as if posing for a photo. 

“Hey,” I said and greeted with a smile back. “Could I get a ticket for your 7:30 showing?” 

“The mystery movie showtime! Yes, you may! And a great choice! We’re playing a rare one tonight!” The man was still holding his arms out in the same pose and didn’t move until he had to work the register when I paid. I heard the theater in this museum plays a randomly selected film once a month—kind of like a blind date, but with movies instead of a date.

“Thanks,” I said. “Mind if I look around the museum a bit?”

“Oh, feel free to browse! The movie won’t start for another 15 minutes.” The man looked so jolly. He stared at me for a bit. “Is it your first time in town?” He asked. 

“Yeah, just visiting. Found out about this place online. I came from Portland and planned a trip to the Bay Area. Already checked out SF a few days ago.” 

I didn’t want to get too detailed with the man, but the real reason I came to the Bay was more somber. Visiting these spots was just to kill the extra time I had during my trip. 

“Interesting!” He said. “I hope your car didn’t get broken into when you were in the city!” The man laughed. “It’s been bad over there the past couple years.”

“I guess I’m one of the lucky ones,” I said and shrugged. “No break-ins when I went. Although I do appreciate how different a town like this is compared to the city.”

“Ha!” The man said. “Niles has its dark side, too,” he continued with a creepy smile. He noticed a confused reaction on my face from his comment. “… I’m kidding. Enjoy the museum and the movie.” 

“Thanks?” I said, still puzzled at him.

I turned around and scanned the museum section. Dozens of old movie cameras. Items you wouldn’t commonly see in-person, only in books or photos. Souvenirs from early films were on display in glass boxes yet I had my hands behind my back in fear of accidentally touching and breaking any of the items. 

On the walls were vintage photos, archived newspapers, all kinds of preservation of film from the silent era. I was surrounded by the early history of movies. We’re accustomed to modern Hollywood and blockbusters that it’s easy to never think of the origins of filmmaking. 

Time passed as I browsed. I took some photos on my phone as well. The movie was about to start in a few minutes. I ambled back to the front desk area where the bearded man was still standing. 

“Sadly, it looks like you’re the only one for this showing,” he said with a frown. 

“What do you mean?” 

“No one else got tickets after you came. And no one before you, too. Weird. October weekends are usually busy, but I guess tonight is just one of those nights.” The man frowned again. “I guess you’re not a lucky one after all.”

“Ah, it’s fine. I like being alone. That’s why I’m here by myself in the first place.” 

“No worries,” the man said. “At least you’ll have the pianist around!” 

“Oh, I forgot these silent films have live music.” 

I did find it a pleasant surprise to have a soundtrack played in person like in the old days. This would be my first time experiencing something like that. I made my way toward the auditorium when the man at the counter yelled in excitement.

“Well, look who’s coming in!” He said.

I turned back around to find the man doing that silly arm pose again. His eyes beamed at the entrance; in came a black cat who then jumped onto the counter. The man began petting the cat and I could tell he was used to this guest coming in. At this moment I wondered if it was the same black cat I saw earlier. 

“Is that your regular?” I asked.

“Why, yes he is. This is Spencer.” He’s a stray, but he loves coming in.

I laughed. This was my first time in Niles and was already witnessing such characters. I grinned and the man looked at me. He looked serious now. His cheerful smile descended into a straight face as he was petting the cat. I felt my ears twitch and then the cold. The wind outside seemed to bring chills into the building. 

Suddenly, the man smiled again. 

“You might have a visitor during your movie.” He said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Spencer. This guy here. He likes to sneak into the screenings sometimes.”

“Oh. Yeah, I don’t mind the company,” I said without really knowing how to respond. “I’ll be catching the movie now.” 

I entered the auditorium and sat in the middle row. It was a small room with empty rows of seats. The screen had rounded corners and a worn out piano was situated to the left side of the stage. The lights dimmed and the room got almost pitch black. I noticed it smelled like dirt and grime inside.

I saw a man who limped his way down the aisle and to the piano. He could barely walk and looked like it pained him to move. He sat down, softly tapping on the keys in a steady motion without casting noise. He waited for the film to start playing, looking exhausted before he even started. Once the movie flickered onto the screen, he began his music.

The film began and there was Charlie. His signature look: the top hat, mustache, poignant expressions that conveyed emotions better than any words could. 

I wasn’t the most familiar with silent films, but the one they played wasn’t one I could recognize. There was something off with this movie. About ten minutes into the film, the images seemed to slow down and shift for a moment. The pianist began playing notes in odd tempos. His music accompanied the movie in an eerie way—a low octave note with each glitch of a frame; both piano and film in ominous harmony.

On the screen, the film’s speed later returned to normal. It went to a shot of Chaplin on a dirt path, his back facing the camera. The setting turned to night. He seemed stuck in this pose, almost like the movie was paused. The only movement was from the trees and bushes around him. The pianist kept playing his odd notes in erratic tempo. 

Charlie’s back continued to face the screen. In the corner of my eye I saw the frail pianist get up as he played his instrument. He began moving his hips to the music as if in a subtle and painful dance. The room was now frigid. I heard scratching from behind me, then as I turned my head I saw Spencer, the black cat, prance down the aisle and leap on top of the dilapidated piano. 

The music in the room got more disturbing. I focused back on the movie when I noticed Charlie’s back was still to the camera, but he began to slowly turn around. As he was turning, the piano got louder and louder. I glanced at the pianist again and he was now full-out dancing with the music and maniacally banging on the keys. 

The movie zoomed in on Charlie’s head as he slowly turned toward the camera. His face finally appeared on the screen. He was smiling. But not like any regular smile, but the most horrific smile imaginable. Like it was woven onto his face and forced in this shape out of palpable fear. I could see it in his eyes. 

He was looking at me.

Charlie began walking toward the camera. 

More shivers struck my body and I wanted to leave. However, my eyes couldn’t peel away. It was like something held my head in place and forced me to watch.

The shot zoomed out to show Chaplin’s full body in the frame again.

He was now pointing at me. Not at the camera, but to me. 

He kept walking toward me with the smile still plastered on his face.

I felt a rumble beneath my feet. The room shook. Lights flickered on and off and I had a hard time seeing the movie. It seemed as though the film reel was getting damaged in the projector as the images on the screen began pulsing with dust and scratches and flares, then a mysterious splatter right before the film shut off completely. 

The lights went out and the room was pitch black. 

In the darkness, I heard footsteps tapping in a rhythm like some type of dancing.

My heart banged in my chest as I couldn’t see and couldn’t hear anything other than that dancing. The smell of dirt and grime grew stronger. A moment later, the piano began its music once more. The incessant keys reverberated as the room shook again. I fell to my feet, holding out my arms to feel my way around in this blindness. 

The lights flickered on and off and finally lit the auditorium in a dim enough light for me to see. 

I rubbed my bleary eyes as the piano kept banging and banging in the background. Once my vision was clear, I regretted to see the light again. 

In front of me. The signature look. The poignant expressions that conveyed emotions better than any words could.

I tried to scream, but the only thing that came out was silence.