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Geraldine, 17, has her mother's upswept eyes and her father's grace. A student at London's Royal Ballet School, she got only reluctant permission from Charlie to go there—since he knows all too well the dangers that threaten pretty young girls in show business. Michael, 16, whom Chaplin regards as his artistic heir, goes to Geneva's International School; he speaks very little, and has the brooding look of Eugene O'Neill. Little Eugene Chaplin, 8, is known as Tadpole and is always talking, always in trouble. Charlie is a strict disciplinarian, and all seven children have felt the palm of his hand. They are amiable and well-behaved — not one sophisticated international brat in the group.
Once, when the Chaplins were indulging their habit of flickering a Chaplin film on the portable screen, ten-year-old Victoria asked: "Is that my grandfather?" Victoria herself never stops acting. If Charlie tells her to laugh, she can howl uproariously; when he tells her to cry, tears well and flow.
No Smoking. Chaplin has much more than his swarm of kids to keep him busy.
He maintains strong control over the global distribution of his countless films.
He is writing his memoirs, which are now all but complete and are only a few paragraphs shorter than the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle; the first volume will be published in London next year. He has gone over the manuscript again and again, tearing up thousands of sheets of paper, never happy with the often hazy images that his memory has supplied. Also, he is supposedly working on a screenplay about an aristocratic steamship passenger and a female stowaway, intending to star his son Sydney. He has also talked of a comedy about space travel. But most of that is idle whimsy. His last film, 1957—3 A King in New York (made in London), was a total critical failure and almost certainly put to death any serious desires Chaplin might have had to do anything else in motion pictures.
Oona and Charlie sleep in twin four-posters. He rises at 10 a.m., has his daily Turkish bath and, in winter, jogs around his property wearing three sweaters and an overcoat. He has taken up skiing, and he falls all over the slopes like a six-year-old, but he is trying hard to conquer the sport. In warm weather, he plays tennis and does calisthenics every day on the lawn. Sometimes he sips bourbon, which he once called "the only good thing America produces," but he never smokes and will not permit visitors to light up in his presence.
Chaplin collects abstract expressionist paintings, but spoofs himself to visitors by explaining: "That's the horrible taste of Charlie Chaplin." Unable to resist his old-master impulse, he mimics everyone who crosses his threshold. When the traveling circus makes its yearly visit to his village, Chaplin takes all the children and reverts to nostalgia: he prances about like his old rubbery-legged self, apes the clowns, and offers them professional advice as well. On these days, light-years shine out of his eyes. At home, like the average American husband, he loves to cook delicious steaks on an outdoor grill.
"He's Loaded." One of the first movie actors to make a million dollars, Chaplin is more than ever a rich man. "He's loaded," says his son Sydney appraisingly.