Twin billing for Charlie Chaplin in this delightful case of mistaken identity. Charlie plays both an upper-class husband, slave to alcohol, and the more familiar role of a dusty, scrappy, opportunistic tramp who merely goes with the flow, stumbling wherever the wind may blow. There's a mix-up, a confused wife, an irate father, fisticuffs at a costume party - simplistic stuff - but the star's effortless charisma, elaborate attention to detail and smooth physical charms lift it to another level.

When he's on a roll, I could spend hours watching Chaplin riff on everyday life, and in that sense _The Idle Class_ represents a creative peak. He's irresistible in this picture; shrewdly thieving clubs on the golf course, craftily dodging the law at a ritzy banquet, sneaking rides on trains and cars; floating into trouble and then floating right back out again, largely unscathed. His physical comedy is a riot, continuously inventive, with deep, genuine belly laughs at every turn. It’s marvelous.

While obvious concerns over classism linger on the fringe (this was the onset of the roaring twenties, after all), Chaplin lets those simmer in the viewer's mind rather than addressing them too head-on. The snooty, wealthy types are justifiably lampooned, the point is made, no need to harp on at the expense of the light-hearted laughs that are flowing so freely. An instant favorite.