One of Chaplin's classics and his ostensible comment on the grinding conformity and lack of humanity of the industrial age.

If the story of down on his luck Little Tramp (Chaplin, who wrote, directs and does just about everything else) doesn't convince you of his creative intent, the pre-Golden era sets will, all huge walls covered in switches, cogs and presses that bring the various theatre-of-the-absurd set pieces to life.

The backbone of the story is about the Tramp trying to make it in the factory era and maintain a relationship with a pretty, impoverished girl who makes a living foraging and stealing along the docks, Ellen – played by Chaplin's sometime muse, Paulette Goddard.

We meet him working in a factory doing repetitive manual labour, the stress of which makes him crack, running to and fro in the factory causing trouble and stopping production.

He's sent to a psychiatric hospital where he gradually recovers, but in the first of a series of comic hijinks (many predicated on mistaken identity), The Tramp accidentally finds himself at the vanguard of a union protest, thrown in jail for being a Communist – a topic dear to Chaplin's heart in later years – and finds he likes the peace and quiet.

But circumstances conspire to see him thrown back out in the world repeatedly despite his best efforts, and he finds a new lease on life when he meets Ellen and the pair fall in love... or at least, the 1936 screen version of it.

After several other failed attempts at rejoining the workforce so he can take care of himself and Ellen sufficiently, the Tramp finally gets a job at his old factory, falling straight back into his chaotic old habits as the assistant to a senior mechanic.

There's another abrupt turn into being a cabaret restaurant waiter and singer, and we finally leave the tramp and Ellen striding confidently down the road towards a hopeful future.

Like The Dictator, Chaplin's far less well received 1940 movie (when nobody in the world was in the mood for comedy), there are several hallmarks here Chaplin evidently made his m.o.

The first was biting social satire. Where The Dictator had fascism in its sights, here it was the bitter recent memory of the Great Depression. Modern Times is a comment on the way the industrial age, far from freeing humanity from want as it promised, had become just another system of economic slavery by the rich factory owners.

The other was the set pieces that made him one of the most beloved physical comedians of the interwar years alongside the likes of Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton. I once saw a video online that revealed how the iconic balcony roller skating scene was all done with the clever use of matte paintings and camera angles in the production design.

But along with the mechanic's assistant, settling in to the run-down riverside shack and the opening scene breakdown, it's a great example of old styles and moviemaking arts in action. None of it's side splitting, but you can feel how important a part of film history it is while you want it.

They truly don't make them like this any more.