As hundreds of prospectors rush to the Alaskan permafrost in search of buried fortune, Charlie Chaplin tags along to misguidedly seek their scraps. Entirely unprepared for the harsh climate, he soon finds himself trapped in a small cabin during a snowstorm, along with an on-the-lam criminal and an increasingly insane fellow gold-seeker. That setup is good for a stretch of claustrophobic mayhem, but it's not until the storm ends and the trio split up that things start getting really good.

The pace can feel slow at times, pausing to squeeze as much anticipation from each scene as possible, but that all seems worthwhile when everything comes together in the final act. At worst, it's a little drawn-out. At best, a brilliant display of creative scene-setting and cinematic trickery. Chaplin is able to do so much with such limited means, it doesn't even matter that we can see through a few of his visual illusions. In a way, that makes it even more endearing, like a magician who lifts the curtain mid-trick for a sly wink. The Gold Rush is loaded with such ideas; crazy, larger-than-life concepts that work through hustle and sheer power of will. It also bubbles over with little personal moments from the star, whose aloof charisma still shines like a beacon through so many years.