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Charles Chaplin began the 1930s with his classic silent "City Lights" (1931) and spent the mid-Depression years working on his classic silent-with-a-soundtrack (and some incidental speaking), "Modern Times" (1936). As the dangers of Hitler became apparent — to Chaplin, if not to world governments at large — Charlie set his sights on the Fuhrer. Chaplin had an uneasy awareness of Hitler; born four days apart in 1889, and similar in stature, Hitler had chosen to adopt the already-famous Chaplin mustache. More recently, Hitler's henchmen had publicly denounced Chaplin as a disgusting Jew (which he, as it happens, wasn't). All told, the two seem to have found each other mutually distasteful.

In 1939 Chaplin turned his attention to his first full-dialogue sound film, The Great Dictator [Criterion]; shooting started just one week after the German invasion of Poland, which is to say that Chaplin planned his production and wrote his script prior to the beginning of the War. (He clearly revised the script as he went along). The story tells of a Jewish barber — a clear facsimile of Chaplin's Tramp — who bears a strong physical resemblance to Adenoid Hynkel, dictator of Tomainia. Hynkel's henchmen are Garbitsch (Goebbels) and Herring (Goring); he has an unholy alliance with Benzino Napaloni (Mussolini), of the neighboring country Bacteria. And so on.

"The Great Dictator" was a major event when it was released in October 1940; not only was it controversial — he United States had not yet entered the war — but it marked the first time Chaplin talked on screen (other than his nonsense song in "Modern Times"). The film went on to become one of Chaplin's most successful movies. And no wonder; it is pretty wonderful. Smart, provocative, and seriously funny.

It seems trivial to talk of highlights, but Chaplin gives us many. The famous ballet of world domination, Hynkel dancing with an oversized globe-balloon to the Prelude from Wagner's "Lohengrin." The raucous meeting of Hynkel and Napaloni (Jack Oakie), with the two dictators — or is it the two star comedians? — jealously one-upping each other in every shot. The bravura barber shop scene, with Charlie-the-barber shaving an extra to Brahm's Hungarian Dance No. 5. (Chaplin's music man was Meredith Willson, of all people, who received an Oscar nomination for his efforts.)

Most chilling are the two radio broadcasts delivered by Charlie. The first has Der Phooey shouting, screaming and bullying; you can almost see steam blowing out of Chaplin's ears. (So violent is his rage that at one point the radio microphone bends away from him in fear.) The second speech, which ends the film, has the barber — mistaken for Hynkel — make a plea for world peace. This begins with the barber masquerading as Hynkel, but it soon becomes clear that it is Chaplin as himself: "Do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass and dictators will die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish." As good and provocative and astounding as the film is, this last sequence makes an astonishing ending. Today, and most especially in a United States which was still neutral and chose to remain on the sidelines for more than two years after Hitler started his march.

The 2003 DVD release was carefully restored and in fine condition. Criterion's Blu-ray edition is even better, with a new high-definition digital restoration; eight years is a long time, technology wise. Special features — some of which appeared on the 2003 DVD — include new audio commentary by Chaplin historians Dan Kamin and Hooman Mehran; "The Tramp and the Dictator," Kevin Brownlow and Michael Kloft's 2001 documentary looking at the lives of Chaplin and Hitler; a piece on Chaplin's never-to-be-realized Napoleon project, which figured into his planning for "The Great Dictator"; and two silent barbershop sequences, from 1919 and 1921. Plus there is 27 minutes worth of (silent) color footage, shot on the set by Charlie's older brother Sydney. This is totally fascinating; Charlie Chaplin in full color! Who knew that his storm troopers wore scarlet trousers?

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Also coming our way on Blu-ray is a film that ranks high on our list, and everybody's list, of the funniest movies ever: Billy Wilder's Some Like It Hot [M-G-M]. Brilliant comedy; Wilder and his co-author I.A.L. Diamond are at their very best, and they are joined by three stars who are at their comic best. Arguably in the case of Marilyn Monroe and the great Jack Lemmon; certainly in the case of Tony Curtis, who rarely hit such heights. (Three consecutive Curtis films — "Sweet Smell of Success" in 1957, "The Defiant Ones" in 1958 and "Some Like It Hot" in 1959 — suggest that perhaps he was a finer actor than his overall reputation suggests.)

One wonders what the reaction would be of a modern-day viewer watching "Some Like It Hot" for the first time. Would he or she find it so irresistibly funny? It does seem an altogether perfect film to me, and perhaps to you. And it stands as a warning to those intent on taking cinema classics and turning them into Broadway musicals. "Some Like It Hot" was adapted into Sugar, in 1972, without the participation of Wilder and Diamond. And with an enormous amount of trouble, all down the line. Take it from me: it was lousy, with only Bobby Morse living up to memories of the film.