No More Flat Feet

Sub-Mack Sennett filmmaker,[1] sub-Max Linder actor,[2] Stavisky[3] of weeping unwed mothers and little orphans of Auteil, hail Chaplin, swindler of emotions, master-singer of suffering.

The cinematograph needed its Dellys. You have given it your works -- and your good works.

Since you claimed to stand for the weak and oppressed, attacking you seemed like attacking the weak and oppressed; but some have discerned the cop's nightstick behind the rattan cane.

You are "he who turns the other cheek and the other ass cheek," but we are young and good-looking, and when we hear suffering we reply Revolution.

You are a Max du Veuzit with flat feet, and we don't believe in the "absurd persecutions" you say you are the victim of.[4] The French for immigration service is advertizing agency. The kind of press conference you gave at Cherbourg would turn a complete dud into a sensation, so you needn't worry about the success ofLimelight.[5]

Go to bed, you budding fascist. Make lots of money. Mingle with high society (bravo for the groveling before little [Queen] Elizabeth.) Die soon: we can guarantee you a first-class funeral.

May your latest film be your last.[6]

The footlights have melted the make-up of the supposedly brilliant mime. All we can see now is a lugubrious and mercenary old man.

Go home, Mister Chaplin.

The Lettrist International:
SERGE BERNA
JEAN-L. BRAU
GUY-ERNEST DEBORD
GIL J WOLMAN