Broke and destitute apart from an adorable tag-along bulldog, Chaplin’s hard luck Tramp decides to take up prize fighting. Or rather, target practice, as he agrees to play sparring dummy for a boxing contender with a reputation for injuring his overmatched opponents. Charlie subsequently (and accidentally) turns the tables, chases the ruffian from town, mysteriously scores a title fight on sheer notoriety and buys into his own hype as the big match approaches. The sweet science wasn’t a novel subject for Chaplin. He’d already stepped through the ropes with Fatty Arbuckle in _The Knockout_ and would do so again as a solo act in _City Lights_. You’d think this might identify him as an ardent fan, brimming with droll observations about the sport, but _The Champion_ has very little to say. Here, the boxing is just drapery, an opportunity to don a set of enormous gloves, bounce around an outrageously small ring and swing for the fences. Though the production demonstrates Chaplin’s growth as a filmmaker, stringing together locations in a straighter, more cohesive story, it lacks his usual wit and whimsy. Feels like the superstar comic is just going through the motions in that respect, chasing easy gags like the villainous fixer who literally twirls a gigantic mustache or the cute trainer’s daughter who serves no purpose beyond the occasional fluttered eyelash, where hustle and reckless ingenuity were enough to carry his previous efforts. Honestly, I was more amused by the hundred-year-old training techniques and stone age exercise equipment than the light humor and loosely-regulated fight scenes.