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Taylorology Issue 67
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* T A Y L O R O L O G Y *
* A Continuing Exploration of the Life and Death of William Desmond Taylor *
* *
* Issue 67 -- July 1998 Editor: Bruce Long bruce@asu.edu *
* TAYLOROLOGY may be freely distributed *
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CONTENTS OF THIS ISSUE:
Louella Parsons Interviews with Directors:
J. Stuart Blackton, Herbert Brenon, William De Mille,
Abel Gance, D. W. Griffith, Ralph Ince, Rex Ingram,
Ernst Lubitsch, Fred Niblo, John S. Robertson, Victor Seastrom
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What is TAYLOROLOGY?
TAYLOROLOGY is a newsletter focusing on the life and death of William Desmond
Taylor, a top Paramount film director in early Hollywood who was shot to
death on February 1, 1922. His unsolved murder was one of Hollywood's major
scandals. This newsletter will deal with: (a) The facts of Taylor's life;
(b) The facts and rumors of Taylor's murder; (c) The impact of the Taylor
murder on Hollywood and the nation; (d) Taylor's associates and the Hollywood
silent film industry in which Taylor worked. Primary emphasis will be given
toward reprinting, referencing and analyzing source material, and sifting it
for accuracy.
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A dealer of autographed photos is advertising a photo of Taylor which was
autographed to Minter at http://www.pioneer.net/~jonelen/WilliamDTaylor.html
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And regarding autographed photos, if you are seeking an autographed photo of
Mary Miles Minter, you should be aware that most early autographed photos do
not contain her true signature. In an interview, she stated that her mother
had always signed her autographs. Samples of the common fake autograph and
the real autograph can be seen on the Silent Ladies web site. The typical
fake is at http://www.uno.edu/~drcom/Silent/MMM16.jpg and the real signature
is at http://www.uno.edu/~drcom/Silent/MMM18.jpg The real signature can
also be seen on a photo at http://www.public.asu.edu/~bruce/MMMPhoto.pdf
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Louella Parsons Interviews with Directors
Between 1918 and 1923, Louella Parsons conducted the following interviews
with silent film directors who were contemporaries of William Desmond Taylor.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
J. Stuart Blackton
May 9, 1920
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
Twenty-three years ago James Stuart Blackton was an artist on the
Evening World. Some weeks his name was in the salary pot and other weeks he
did not fare so well. It all depended how his creative mind was working and
whether or not an elusive idea proved practical enough to be transferred to
paper and sold. These little stories illustrated by young Blackton were
called gold bricks, but it wasn't until later years that the commodore was
able to see any joke in the name.
While he was digging for material the new machine invented by Thomas
Edison came to his attention. He picked up his drawing board, his crayon and
his new gloves and sallied forth to meet the inventor. He was told politely
but firmly by a pompous individual in charge of Mr. Edison's engagements he
must not limit his stay beyond five minutes.
"That is enough for any story," said the secretary, scornfully, eyeing
the drawing board.
But Thomas Edison had something to say about his engagements and he kept
the artist there for two hours. He even volunteered to give an imitation of
his own skill with the crayon and drew a square pig with a curly tail for the
edification of his guest. The drawing Mr. Blackton says is probably as bad
as anything in the world. He still has it among his treasurers, also the
sketch he did of Mr. Edison that Summer day twenty-three years ago.
The inventive mind of Thomas Edison asserted itself that very afternoon.
Like many folk he had a profound admiration for a talent he did not possess.
Mr. Edison was fascinated with the sketches. He asked the young man if he
could draw pictures life size, large enough to be photographed, and Mr.
Blackton, who at this time in his life would have agreed to reproduce a
correct imitation of a Botticelli painting, said he certainly could. Mr.
Edison, Mr. Blackton now thinks, must have been a gullible soul--he told him
to be there the following afternoon. He was there and only three hours in
advance of his appointment.
"The Edison studio in those days," said Mr. Blackton, "was on wheels.
Science at that time figured direct sunlight was essential in getting
photographical results! The moving machine followed the sun--and it was one'
man's job to keep track of the erratic movements of Old Sol."
The gold brick days of young Blackton were destined to be short.
He fell in with Albert E. Smith about this time and together the two youths
contracted with Thomas Edison for one of his first machines. He had taken a
fancy to the artist chap, and when six months later the machines were ready
for the market young Smith and Blackton were the first to have their order
filled.
The days following the association with W. E. Rock, known affectionately
as Pop Rock, form one of the most illuminating passages of screen history in
the world. Its all been told again and again. It has all been used as the
foundation for motion picture history by historians in search of material
describing the juvenile industry. But oft told as it has been, both
Commodore Blackton and A. E. Smith have expressed a hope that some day they
may get time to put down the real romance in a book.
What a book these two men could write. J. Stuart Blackton has started
as many stars on the road to screen fame as David Belasco has stage
favorites. The Vitagraph Company became a sort of legitimate screen-training
school for girls. Hundreds of pretty school girls called there for
engagements, and the commodore, who has a sixth sense for divining screen
faces, used to select these applicants. There are names today rated among
the famous screen stars of the world whose first peep at a studio was
Vitagraph and whose first introduction to the camera was made by Commodore
Blackton.
"Anita Stewart came out to the studio and was put in a historical
pageant," said Mr. Blackton. "One days the girls passed me on their way to
the dressing rooms, and as I stood upon a raised dais with the cameraman I
noticed a beautiful girl with a sensitive, shy face and I called her to me
and asked her name.
"'Anita Stewart,' she replied timidly, apparently frightened at my
voice. 'Would you like to act in pictures?' I asked her. 'Oh, yes, indeed,'
and her face lighted up with an animation I knew could be reserved for the
screen. I made an appointment with her to come to the studio the next
afternoon at 2 o'clock. I engaged her at $25 a week, and she was speechless
with joy. I did not know for two weeks after I had engaged her she was Ralph
Ince's sister-in-law.
This is supposed to be an interview and not a chronological list of
Vitagraph happenings. But the old Vitagraph days are so rich in film history
and film adventure one feels the half has not been told. It was while Sidney
Drew made his first Vitagraph picture he wooed and won his wife.
"Mrs. Drew used the nom de plume in those days of Jane Morrow," said Mr.
Blackton. "I introduced her to Sidney, who was working for us, and she went
to Florida as a member of his company. The trip did the rest--they came home
engaged.
"Sidney Drew," went on Mr. Blackton, "wanted to make serious pictures.
We knew his forte lay in comics, but I decided after talking with him to let
him have full reign in the matter. He made a serious play called
'Conscience.' He played an old miser, and while the picture had its strong
points it could not be compared with his comedy work, which later he was
sensible enough to see was his particular niche in the film world."
Commodore Blackton--the commodore is derived from his association with
the Atlantic Yacht Club. He was commodore for many years, during which time
he entertained Sir Thomas Lipton and hundreds of other celebrities.
Commodore Blackton, although still a stockholder in Vitagraph and director,
makes his own pictures independent of Vitagraph.
"Mr. Smith and I, contrary to general opinion, are the best friends in
the world," he said. "We do not always agree on policy, but we have been
close friends too many years to let business interfere in our personal
relationship.
"Mr. Smith," admitted Commodore Blackton, "is a far better business man
than I am. I like to make pictures, but when it comes to dollars and cents I
have to confess to a loathing for the commercial side. Even now I have a
manager who looks after that end.
"I never talk business to the people I engage. All contracts are made
through my business office. I feel I can direct my players artistically with
much better results if we let the commercial side remain separate and
distinct."
After twenty-three years of devotion to the screen James Stuart Blackton
might be said to know pictures. He knows their virtues, their faults, their
tricks and their many ways of deceiving the public.
"Take a story," said Mr. Blackton, "that by every reason in the world
should make a beautiful and artistic picture. The producer puts his heart
and soul into its production. He brings out all the beauty of the story,
emphasizes its strong points and tones down its weak places--and then when it
comes out to have the public believe it lacks the essential punch.
"That happened to me last year," said Mr. Blackton. I followed that
story with a crook play of melodramatic type with enough action to start a
train in motion. The picture after it was finished was a disappointment.
It lacked artistic merit. But the public likes it. Where I had sold one
print of my first picture I sold twenty of my last one.
"What do you think a condition like that signifies?" asked Commodore
Blackton, earnestly.
"That the public wants to be entertained, not uplifted, and that it is
generally wise to give the public what it asks."
"My intentions in that direction," answered Mr. Blackton, "can be
answered in three words: Please the public."
But a man who has labored to get, like Commodore Blackton, the best in
pictures may believe in his heart he is going to seek the path of the least
resistance in films, but unconsciously he is constantly trying to make his
pictures within the understanding of the mass mind and at the same time
artistic. He has recently invented a photographic appliance he calls
painting the lens. It gives the film the appearance of having been really
painted and does away with some of the crude black and white in the print
that is sometimes too sharp to be entirely satisfying to the eye.
Although one of the oldest men in point of screen service Commodore
Blackton is still a comparatively young man in years. He was only 19 when he
tried to find ideas for the Evening World. That was twenty-three years ago.
Figure it out for yourself. He has, in addition to his success in the
picture world, a beautiful home in Brooklyn, a charming wife, a talented son
and daughter. What more can man ask? The average man might feel he had made
the most out of life, but Commodore Blackton will never think so until he has
satisfied himself with his own picture-making.
In summing up his motion picture career one might feel if at any time
the commodore decided to rest on his laurels he could give a very excellent
account of what he has done to promote pictures. We hope, of course, he will
not want to resign. He is still a necessary factor in our cinema progress,
but in speaking of what he has done we might mention "The Battle Cry of
Peace," the first picture on preparedness, and later effectively used as
propaganda. His taking over with Albert E. Smith the Criterion as a motion
picture theatre in 1913. This, so far as any one knows, was the first time
motion pictures were put on with a stage presentation. The Vitagraph
pictures were shown at this theatre and they were supplemented with acts in
which Vitagraph starts participated. The Criterion Theatre in 1913 furnished
the foundation for the picture theatres to come, like the Strand, Rivoli,
Rialto and Capitol.
That deed in itself entitles Commodore Blackton and Albert Smith to
eternal recognition. What would our lives be without these theatres now?--
a place where pictures can be seen in appropriate settings.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Herbert Brenon
October 6, 1918
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
Herbert Brenon sends the following chatty, entertaining letter from
London. It was not send for publication, but there is so much of interest,
we are risking Mr. Brenon's displeasure and passing it along to the many
people who will be glad to hear first-hand of his picture making efforts for
the British Government:
Grosvenor Hotel, Chester
12th September, 1918.
Miss Louella Parsons,
Care of Morning Telegraph.
My dear Miss Parsons--This is the first letter about my picture to any
one outside of my family. I shall write to you as a friend.
I came here very quietly, as you know, quite unheralded. One does not
wish to advertise the fact that one is doing national work. While I consider
it the crowning honor of my career that I should have been invited over here
to do this work I also realize the very great sense of responsibility; there
were many messages from this war to the world, and if I could but bring home
one of these to the masses I would have done a little bit, so I came. On the
boat I imagined that the whole army and navy, indeed, the entire civic
population would assist me. I had not been here one week before I realized
that I was the one that had to fight. I began by seeing the fourth assistant
secretary to the secretary of the first assistant of the chief secretary of
the Director of the Cinematograph Division to the Ministry of Information.
I was quite a stranger, the high officials of the government were beginning
to realize the importance of the motion picture camera as a great
demonstrator of propaganda, but the under officials scorned it.
I gave up officialdom for a while and spent a few days with Sir Hall
Caine. There is a man who does things. We went over the story together; we
made up our minds we would see it through no matter what happened, and we
went ahead.
At first all the actors volunteered, and then one by one they dropped
out. I had to make a beginning, so I began with the sub-plot, and with minor
actors. I was waiting for the leading man and the leading lady and also the
heavy man, with names. There was one leading woman above all others that I
wanted. Her name was Miss Marie Lohr, the youngest and most charming woman
star in England (like our sweet Elsie Ferguson). She had refused motion
picture offer after motion picture offer. At first she was adamant, and then
she melted. "I am putting on a new play," she said. "If it is a success I
will play the lead for you." It was a failure, she had to put on a new play;
there was one hope gone, so thinks I to myself, thinks I, "This sub-plot is
getting too important, I must start on the main plot. I must hie me for
leading man." Matheson Lang was the most popular leading man in England.
"Certainly," says he, "if my play is a success, not just now. I am off to
Brighton to put on the 'Purple Mask' next Monday." On Sunday night I prayed
in every different language I knew. On Tuesday morning I got a telegram.
"Play a success, will need six weeks to whip it into shape; will then be glad
to play for you."
I was wearing the sub-plot threadbare, so I started on some of my
spectacular scenes.
Dear old Ellen Terry, bless her heart, came along and did a little
sequence for me. I shall never forget those few days as long as I live.
What charm, what everlasting youth, what talent, what beauty, what an angel!
She bucked me up a whole lot, and the mere fact that she had done her bit
encouraged the others.
It was drawing near to Mr. Lang's London opening. It was drawing near
the time for Miss Lohr's opening. I had finished nearly all the scenes
except those that they were in, when, one day, I come home from my exteriors
and find a note to me from my secretary. "Factory burned up at 2 o'clock
today," it said, "every foot of your negative is burnt." I do not think I
shall ever forget those next few moments. I wanted to give up. I wanted to
come home to America, I wanted my family, I wanted my friends; I felt my
loneliness terribly; I felt weak for a second or two; I lacked courage, but
only a second or two. A few comforting telephone messages came in: one from
Miss Marie Lohr, who said, "Whether my play is a success or not, Mr. Brenon,
I shall play that part for you." In another five minutes I decided to do it
all over again, and the next morning, with a pretty heavy heart, but with as
cheerful a face as I could dig up, I went to the studio, and, bless their
hearts, my staff all set to with me again and in an hour we were in full
swing again. That week Miss Lohr opened in London in "Nurse Benson" and Mr.
Lang in "The Purple Mask," and both were great successes; in a few days they
were both down at the studio, and although not paid one penny, they gave
their hearts and souls to their work.
The cast was now practically complete, with a lot of big names. I have
never had so fine a company in my life. I do not think I ever shall again.
Sir Hall Caine had given me the finest foundation for a plot I have ever had
(not excepting "War Brides").
The great difficulty has always been in making the times when the
various stars could act fit in with each other, all having different
matinees. Sometimes a star could only come for one hour, while another star
could give six hours, but all their scenes were together, so we had to adjust
circumstances to them.
It was weeks before the War Office or the Admiralty would give us
facilities, but when the officials began to see some of the dramatic scenes,
they melted and soon all sorts of doors were opened.
The plot calls for the German occupation of entire city. Not a village,
mind you, but a city; imagine if you can, a city, say as large as Albany,
overrun by the German army. I shall never forget the first day the German
army marched into the city! I had the cooperation, of course, of the
military and civil officials; in fact, I had with me in the car the Mayor,
the chief of police, and the general commanding the Western Home Forces; a
small army of military and civil police were also with me. We took
possession about 10 o'clock without a word of warning or without any
notification to the newspapers. Can you imagine the people's amazement! One
headquarters officer, mind you, went to the chief of police and said that it
was an outrage for German prisoners to be allowed to march through Chester
under arms, even if it was for the cinema. Although he belonged to
headquarters they had kept the secret so well that even he thought it was a
private enterprise, and not official. In one street we passed a few hundred
German prisoners on their way to work, and when they heard the band playing a
German tune, and the German army marching through the entire town, their
faces lit up with joy, they actually saluted the passing officers. They
quite thought they had won, for it was during that terrific advance when the
Germans got so close to Amiens. Their joy was very short lived, however;
they soon found out it was play acting.
We halted our German army once near the castle, when a woman shook her
fist at a group of our German soldiers standing at ease, and cried out,
"Curse you, you brutes, you killed two of my boys." I shall never forget
her. I soon explained it, and her face in a moment was wreathed in smiles.
She knew I was trying to bring home a message.
Of course, you heard about the drowning incident. That was really
dreadful. A young girl, Renee Mayer, a very popular actress over here, had
to jump off a 45-foot bridge, a suicide, and her sweetheart is supposed to
jump after to try and save her. She hit the water very hard, falling on her
face, which was slightly cut. For the moment she was quite stunned. I was
standing off on the bank watching the scene, but as I had told her not to
come up for a long while, giving her rescuer time to jump in after her before
she came up, I was not worried. She stayed under for a long while, then came
up and threw her hands around the man's neck. Not until they went down for
the fourth time did I realize that there was something wrong. I screamed to
the boats to pick them up, but they could not hear me, in fact, they thought
it was all part of the scene, and it was only after I dived in that all the
boats moved forward and picked all three of us out of the water a little the
worse for wear. Miss Mayer had lost her head and put her arms around the
actor's neck and her legs around his body, gripping him like death, so that
he could not move. The reason she had stayed under so long was that she had
caught her legs in the weeds, which abound at the bottom of the English
rivers. It was very nearly a tragedy, and it was some days before the actor
recovered. Miss Mayer and I were soon all right.
The picture is nearing the finish now, and it will only be a few weeks
before it is completed. In fact it will be in the market over here in
England early in December, and it should reach the American market about
Christmas.
I may be going to France next week with Roy Hunt, my photographer, to
get some scenes of the British advance. I shall not be over there very long,
but hope to get some interesting scenes.
I hope this is not too long a letter. I shall look forward to seeing
you again. I am awfully glad you are with The Morning Telegraph. With
kindest regards
I am, very cordially yours.
Herbert Brenon
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
William De Mille
March 12, 1922
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
If William De Mille has his way the villains of the screen will soon be
as dead as yesterday's newspaper. He has personally eliminated all the
Desperate Desmonds of the screen for the past three years because he thinks
the wily, wicked scoundrel who formerly laid low all the virtue that came his
way is a menace to our film literature.
Mr. De Mille did not express himself in exactly those preachy words.
He is not given to extensive moralizing. What he really said was:
"I never have a villain in my picture. Any man who would do the vicious
things attributed to him in some of our earlier films would be a moron, and
it is unpleasant to describe such a character. Most wickedness springs from
a diseased mind, and I do not believe disease should ever be featured.
People are not usually given to extreme viciousness unless they are sick.
People who are perfectly sane do not commit these continual crimes against
society for the pure pleasure of being evil."
William De Mille, who has been described again and again as one of our
most spiritual directors, makes four pictures a year, spending three months
on each one of his creative efforts.
"I do not attribute any success that I may have with my pictures as a
personal triumph," he said. "I know without my staff I could not get
results. We have our little company, and every member feels it is his
picture. They are as upset over any mistake I may make as I am myself. They
watch every move, and if I do something they feel is detrimental to the final
results they never hesitate to tell me."
In this little group mentioned in the William De Mille closed
corporation is included not only the scenario writer, but the cutter, the
cameraman and all the technicians who have any part, however small, in making
the production.
The De Mille brothers are curiously unlike in their method of presenting
the photo-drama. Cecil specializes on the spectacular and emphasizes it to
the nth degree at every opportunity. He is the Robert Chambers of the screen
and furnishes a best seller every time he makes a picture. William De Mille
makes the spectacular only incidental, and seldom thinks it necessary in his
type of film drama. He is more of a dreamer and a poet, unconsciously
seeking the more subtle problems of life as material for his photo-dramas.
He would probably resent being thought a propagandist, and yet he borders
very close on the edge in his interpretations.
Take "Miss Lulu Bett." Was anything ever a deeper psychological study
of a homely girl, with plenty of propaganda served deftly, it is true, but
none the less effectively in her behalf? One feels William De Mille has
never reached his greatest height. That one day he will make a picture
that will stand alone as an example of the highest type of screen art.
He sighed wearily when I suggested this.
"But I put my best in every picture I make now," he said.
A needless remark. One has only to see a William De Mille picture to
recognize the truth of this simple statement.
"The masterpiece will be inspirational," was the answer made to his
objection.
"Bought and Paid For," Mr. De Mille's latest offering to the Paramount
cause, is being shown today at the Rivoli. Some one who saw it in the
projection room spoke of the delicacy with which he handled some of the
scenes that might have been suggestive at the hands of a less skilled
director. Mr. De Mille came East purposely to bring the print of the
Broadhurst play and discuss the scenario of "Nice People" with Clara
Beranger, his scenario writer.
"I discuss the story with Miss Beranger, then she makes a rough draft
and we discuss it again," said Mr. De Mille. "I am able to follow her script
scene for scene when I make my picture. With a less capable writer I could
not do this. While I am finishing our picture Miss Beranger is getting the
scenario ready for my next one."
The De Milles returned home last Wednesday after burning the midnight
oil in an equal distribution of pleasure and business. Mrs. De Mille, who is
as charming as her husband and as big a social asset, was the daughter of
Henry George. So naturally she is well equipped to talk on the subject of
single tax. Mr. De Mille is equally conversant with the subject. He says
not that he was converted by his wife, but because his father was an advocate
of Henry George, so it is a matter of heritage with them both.
"Nice People" in the hands of a director like William De Mille should
fare well. It is in a way a preachment, although on a subject the world will
find timely now. The universal flapper and the danger of turning her loose
without restriction in circles where money is a menace is all taken up by
Rachel Crothers. The stage play fell down after the first two acts and
became a little obvious in its effort to drive home its message. This
undoubtedly will be obviated in the picture by Mr. De Mille, who sees great
possibilities in the story. The screen frequently, despite all that has been
said of its painful license with plays and books, takes a mediocre play and
elevates it to a position it would never attain in its original form.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Abel Gance
August 14, 1921
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
Not even in the good old pre-war days when Germany was looked upon as a
possible business and social companion, were there so many foreign film
producers as we have had with us this Summer. Every boat brings an influx of
foreign competitors, all of them prepared to exploit their motion pictures.
After meeting most of them and classifying them as to their place in this
great cinema world, we are forced to admit Abel Gance brings an agreeable
personality not often found in this drab workaday hemisphere, where the
pursuit of gold so often robs a man of his native charm.
Of course Mr. Gance comes to us from Paris with the halo of a playwright
and poet. He is not essentially a motion picture producer, combining rather
his film perquisites with his reputation as one of France's rising young
dramatists. In the course of four months he has succeeded in establishing
himself in New York in a manner that most foreigners would consider a feat in
four years. But that is due to the Gance personality--which is a tangible
thing--a force no one can gainsay after meeting the maker of "J'Accuse."
In was in fact "J'Accuse" that first brought Abel Gance to America.
That he came for three weeks and remained four months speaks well of our
country. His purpose originally was to place "J'Accuse" on the market. This
he succeeded in accomplishing by virtue of a contract with United Artists.
Still he lingers, impelled this time by a desire to see a Broadway
presentation of his picture, when it opens at the Strand later this month.
After seeing "J'Accuse" and Mr. Gance's treatment of the war, a subject
that has perhaps suffered from clumsy interpretation more than any event in
recent years, one instinctively knows there is something in this young French
producer that is not ordinary. He thinks in a plane not usual in our best
motion picture circles, and he understands the spiritual power of the cinema.
His idea is to portray on the screen what the eye cannot see--to put it more
simply, to give people something to think about and not to have their mental
labors performed for them.
These things he told me over the luncheon table with the aid of his
efficient secretary, Pierre. At times lapsing into his own French tongue he
told something of his early life in Paris. His love of literature was born
with him, and at the age most boys were devouring their "Nick Carter" dime
novels he was reading Shakespeare, Goethe, Corneille and Hugo. Some times he
dipped into Ibsen and Tolstoi, broadening out his literary foundation day by
day until he acquired a speaking acquaintance with all these famous writers.
A familiarity with these authors one would not think would inspire a
youth to leave home, still about this time young Gance ran away to Brussels.
He hadn't any money and he had to eat. A chance to become an actor was
offered him and he accepted it, not because it appealed to him but because
gentlemen as well as ladies must live. This little flier before the
footlights gave him an opportunity to keep in touch with the drama. As it
turned out later it became an excellent preparatory school for what was to
follow.
The young Frenchman about this time changed his mode of mental attack
and feasted on the philosophers, choosing Nietzsche, Confucius, Schopenhauer
and others of this school for his daily diet. And Mr. Gance hasn't forgotten
his philosophers; he talks about them quite as intelligently as he does about
motion pictures, uniting the two in an amazing fashion, although we do not
usually think of Schopenhauer and motion pictures as having any relative
association.
About this time motion pictures appeared on the horizon and he accepted
a job to write scenarios. Mr. Gance said when he began to make pictures to
the tune of a time clock he found the same difficulties that we have here--
a demand that all screen stories have a happy ending regardless of logic.
His only hope was that one day he would have a chance to produce a film
without all these obstacles, and finally one day along came Louis Nalpas, at
that time manager of the Film d'Art, France's most important film company,
with the very chance he wanted.
At the end of three days Mr. Gance was ready to produce "Mater Dolorosa"
from his own scenario. That it is one of the most successful films ever made
in Europe and shows the young man was born with a dramatic instinct that
needed only a little cultivation to encourage, a little experience to bring
out his latent talent as a producer.
Of course, he has followed "Mater Dolorosa" with other productions, and
while making pictures as he believes they should be made he has taken time to
write two stage plays. One is a mystery play, "La Dame du Lac," a drama of
the Middle Ages. The other "La Victoire de Somothrace," a tragedy, in five
acts will be produced at the Comedie Francais. To the Frenchman having a
play produced at the Comedie Francais is like an American having an opera
accepted at the Metropolitan Opera House--it has the same significance.
A contest held by the Comedia, a Paris newspaper, shows how Mr. Gance
stands in his own home town. The purpose of this contest was to determine
the most popular pictures in Paris. "The Cheat" received seventy-six votes,
Chaplin seventy-two and then came four of Mr. Gance's pictures, "J'Accuse,"
"The Tenth Symphony," "Mater Dolorosa" and "The Zone of Death," proving it is
not a case of one production that induces the admiration of France's output
of Gance pictures.
Although Mr. Gance has received a very cordial invitation to remain in
New York and produce his next three--"Ecce Homo," "The End of the World" and
"The Kingdom of Earth"--he evades this issue very politely by remarking he
loves America but hasn't decided yet whether or not he will make pictures
here. He is young, only 30, and yet with a future that impresses his
admirers as being one of the pivots that will turn the tread of film art in
the proper direction. He is ambitious, he is eager and he is enthusiastic--
this with his personality and his ability should make it possible for him to
achieve what he desires--a chance to redeem the screen from the banalities of
life, to show things as they are, and use some of the terrific power he says
he knows the motion picture offers. It has always been his plan to develop
social idea--a psychological situation--doing this gives him a field in the
broad area of the cinema possibilities almost untouched. After hearing him
talk and seeing "J'Accuse" it is no fulsome praise to say he will do those
things--he is doing them. He is taking the weak and heretofore undeveloped
side of pictures, the spiritual, mental side, and giving them the attention
they should have if the new art is to endure.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
D. W. Griffith
November 26, 1922
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
What is the matter with the movies will be answered when some theatre
owner invents a remedy for the present handicap in the theatre of permitting
the public to see the last half of a picture before the first has been
unreeled, David Wark Griffith says. He believes conditions in the film world
will continue as black as some of our most erudite writers have pictured them
in the recent scathing magazine articles, until this crying evil is overcome.
"How long could David Belasco hold his supremacy as the stage's most
artistic producer," asked Mr. Griffith, "if his audiences straggled into his
theatres all during the performance, some of them seeing the big dramatic
climax before they had seen the events leading up to it. Brilliant as he is,
he would be a lamentable failure if the public were permitted to see the
surprises in his plays first; if the denouement was presented before the
first act was seen, he could not possibly survive.
The greatest dramatic producer in the world of any age could not have
any appeal to his public if he had to plan his plays with the idea in the
back of his mind that he must work out his plot step by step with the thought
it could be seen backward as well as in its logical sequence of acts and
scenes.
"Take my picture, 'One Exciting Night.' It is full of unexpected
moments. The audience is not supposed to know who murdered Johnson. The
name of the arch villain who is constantly killing some one is not known.
If the patrons of a theatre walk into the house and see the whole plot
exposed with the murderer brought to justice and the reason for all this wild
excitement, what is there left for him when the first scenes go on again?
The picture is ruined. You could not expect any one to find an evening's
entertainment in a mystery play with the mystery explained in advance."
Mr. Griffith feels so keenly on the evil of continuous performances he
believes it is as grave a problem as censorship.
"I talked with Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks on the harm that has
been wrought by this backward presentation," said Mr. Griffith. Mary talked
for half and hour and agreed with me something should be done.
"If any theatre owner," said Mr. Griffith, "blazed the trail and
announced he would show his features only at certain hours, he would probably
lose money. His fellow exhibitors would laugh at him for his visionary plan,
but he would be doing a big thing for the artistic future of motion pictures.
A plan might be devised on Broadway," went on Mr. Griffith, "whereby no one
would be seated after the feature had been on half an hour. If any one
arrived that late he would have to wait until the end of the photo-play.
There are comfortable divans and commodious lobbies to take care of the late
arriving patrons, but I am not sure this plan would be practical in the
smaller towns, where the theatre owner has no way of taking care of his
patrons outside of the theatre."
Mr. Griffith feels it is highly essential for some way to be devised for
a picture to be seen as the producer intended it when he made it, that he is
willing to award a prize to any one who can work out a practical solution of
the difficulty and offer some substitute for the haphazard plan that so upset
the soul of those who are striving to give the world better pictures.
"One Exciting Night" is not the sole motive for prompting Mr. Griffith
to make this plea, but every other production, he says, that has been made
with a care and earnestness that gives its producer the right to expect a
different presentation.
"We ask ourselves what is the matter with motion pictures. Why do some
of our most brilliant minds ridicule the motion picture as cheap and
ridiculous? Simply because many producers purposely make their pictures with
an obvious theme. They figure if they try any subtlety it will be submerged
when the films are run off with the last scenes first and the first scenes
last.
"There must be some way to overcome this evil that is holding the motion
picture down to a lower level and preventing it from attaining the place it
was destined to reach," said Mr. Griffith. "Even the stumbling over pairs of
feet in the dark is minor compared with the irreparable harm being done our
finest productions by the vogue now existing in the theatres where the films
are run off as quickly as the operator can operate the machine in order to
seat as many people as possible."
Some one suggested to Mr. Griffith that a system might be evolved
whereby the exhibitor would send out to his patrons postcards with the hour
the feature would be shown, asking that the patrons try and get to the
theatre at the time mentioned on the cards.
"Naturally the theatre owner wants to make as much money as he can,"
said Mr. Griffith. "No one blames him for that. The postcard might keep
people away. He would not want to do anything that would work a hardship
against his business. But I feel there is some brave soul somewhere who for
the sake of what it means to motion pictures will try the experiment of not
permitting his patrons to take their seats after the feature has been on for
half an hour. He would be doing a great good and every producer would rise
up and call him blessed."
Mr. Griffith says he will be happy to receive any suggestions either
from men who are in the film business or from outsiders. He is confident
there is some solution to this evil which threatens to be so disastrous to
the finer productions and he asks that every one who is sincerely interested
in giving not only New York, but Keokuk, Iowa, or Oshkosh, Wis., the best in
motion pictures try and help find the solution.
What is the matter with the movies, as Karl Kitchen and other writers
have asked in articles in the various magazines is not a desire on the part
of the producers to make cheap films with tawdry subjects, but an inability
to get away from these subjects so long as the films are presented backwards.
David Griffith always has something to say when he speaks, and we
believe this is worthy of consideration. We should like to hear from some
one else on the same subject.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ralph Ince
January 29, 1922
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
When February rolls around Ralph Ince always goes to the attic of his
country place and looks up the Lincoln disguise. He knows it is wise to be
prepared, for if there is a Lincoln picture he will be called upon to play
the martyred President. I suspect he would be rather hurt if any one else
was given that job; it has grown to be sort of a tradition with him. He
started it in the old Vitagraph days when "The Battle Cry of the Republic"
was being exhibited as an urge for patriotism, and he has continued it now
that he is with Selznick and the subject of Americanization is still a
favorite topic.
Every February--that is the last three since Mr. Ince made his famous
"Land of Freedom" for the Selznick company, playing his favorite role of
Abraham Lincoln, this picture has been brought out for the churches and
schools to help celebrate February 12 in fitting style.
"Are you getting your Lincoln picture ready for its annual revival?"
I asked Myron Selznick. A question that brought up the subject of Mr. Ince
and ended with my promise to go to the Selznick studios and meet the official
Lincoln of the screen.
Now a glance at the photograph on this page will prove Mr. Ince does not
look like Lincoln in the least. The late President, according to his
photographs, was very plain and in no sense an Apollo. Ralph Ince is very
good-looking. He has light curly hair, blue eyes and a well-shaped profile.
"You do not look like Lincoln," I said. "Why have you specialized in
Lincoln roles?"
"I suppose because I mastered the make-up in the first picture and
convinced every one I could look like him," replied Mr. Ince. "It was J.
Stuart Blackton who first gave me that part, and it has clung to me ever
since, frequently interfering with my directorial duties. Another reason may
be my interest in the man. I have read every book available."
Ralph Ince is one of the famous Ince brothers. The other two, Tom and
John, having distinguished themselves in the motion picture world as producer
and director, making the name Ince trebly valuable in the film world.
"I was the first Ince to go into pictures," said the official Lincoln of
the screen. "We were all on the stage. Our parents were of the theatrical
world, so it was natural we should follow their calling. I went out to
Vitagraph and acted in one-reel stories. I always liked to write, so I spent
all my leisure time pounding out scenarios. I wanted to direct, but for a
long time there was no opportunity given me."
"I heard," went on Mr. Ince, "that I could make a picture on my own and
sell it. One Sunday I went over to New Jersey with a cameraman, collected a
friend who had a car, and with his wife and my wife, produced a 500-foot
comedy. I made the picture in a day. Pat Powers saw it and paid me $300 for
my day's work, and I felt like a millionaire. I wrote another story and
filmed it on a pleasant Sunday. But this time I wasn't so lucky. I could
not sell my picture and I had to pay for the film I used without making a
cent."
This, Mr. Ince believed, was the turning point in his career. He knew
he had a good story, and if he had proper facilities for producing it he
could make a good one-reel picture.
"I had talent in my family," he said. "My wife, Lucile Stewart, could
act, and George Stewart, her younger brother, who was just a kid in those
days, was very good on the screen. All I needed was the opportunity."
That came when Albert Smith and J. Stuart Blackton turned him loose on a
story and he directed it to their satisfaction. From that time on his job as
leading man was gone. He was made a bona fide director and was one of the
brave souls who experimented with two-reel pictures in the early days. Those
Vitagraph dramas of 2,000 feet were the joy of all pioneers. They were the
first step forward for better pictures and were hailed as a triumph in the
new art.
Mrs. Ince, as Lucile Stewart, played in many of her husband's pictures
and became one of the well known screen actresses. About this time Anita
Stewart, Mrs. Ince's younger sister, in all her youth and beauty, flashed
across the horizon and became a sensation. Almost overnight she was welcomed
as another Mary Pickford and within a year she had become internationally
famous. Her first work was for Ralph Ince in "The Wood Violet."
But these rattling the skeleton reminiscences have nothing to do with
Ralph Ince's Lincoln. Still one cannot delve into his history without
mentioning a few of the outstanding facts in his career.
Mr. Ince remained with Vitagraph for some time, later joining the
Selznick company. He has been with Selznick for four years and was deep in
the throes of "Who Cares," a story by Cosmo Hamilton, when I saw him at the
Selznick studios.
"Are you going to do Lincoln this year?" I asked him, as he settled down
in a big chair with a Lincolnesque attitude.
"No; I am going to direct. Not even a chance to get out the old make-up
is going to interfere with my other duties," he replied, settling the
question of love and duty by choosing a capital D.
Mr. Ince says his wife has practically deserted the screen. She is so
contented and happy with her home duties at Bayside she prefers the life of
domesticity to that of the studio, he said.
Mr. Ince aimed the working side-by-side idea a terrible wallop when he
said he was delighted she had decided to remain at the home fireside.
"I come home worn out from work at the studio and I like a change of
atmosphere. If Mrs. Ince has been working with me she has been a part of the
day's happenings. As it is I go home, find her mind refreshed, and I forget
my work. I think that is as it should be. Although we were very happy in
our work together."
Mr. Ince says he thinks his brother Tom a great director.
"More than that, he is a great organizer and a fine business man. He is
the best business man of the three of us. He seems to combine his talents
with a practical side of pictures, a gift few directors possess."
While we were talking the assistant director, the cameraman, the
telephone and even the players were trying to coax Mr. Ince down on the
floor. After all these efforts I felt I should not interrupt any longer.
But Mr. Ince knows so much about the picture world--knowledge gained in his
fourteen years in the industry--if one is also a pioneer it is very
interesting. He can say he knew the film business "when" and since he has
profited by his many experiences one might say he has won the race. Only the
directors and players who have been able to weather the storm have survived.
Running the risk of being thought of having a Dulcy mind, we must say the
survival of the fittest, has been particularly true in the picture business,
and Mr. Ince is one of these survivors.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Rex Ingram
February 13, 1921
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
His name is Rex Ingram. He is the director of the "Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse." That may have meant very little to you in the past, but it is
going to be a tremendous force in the artistic creation of motion pictures in
the future. In the few hushed moments of appreciation following the
unreeling of Ibanez's story, the name Ingram was on every one's lips.
The imagination, the technique, the splendid conception of the four
horsemen, the symbolic Christ figure--is not the work of a mere motion
picture director--it is the expression of genius.
The scattered groups of motion picture players, directors, producers and
writers stood waiting to look at this Rex Ingram who had wrought this
marvelous screen play. He did not appear. One after another of our most
prominent men and women in the theatrical and picture world passed down the
wide steps of the Ritz, but the star of the evening was nowhere in sight.
He had disappeared, as panicky and unwilling to face the crowd, as an
author on a first night. I was not only disappointed, I was personally
aggrieved. Jack Meador had made an engagement for me to meet Mr. Ingram at
that time. I had shown only a polite interest in Mr. Meador's suggestion
that I might like to talk with the director of "The Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse." I had not seen the picture then.
"Where is he," I demanded.
"He isn't here," said Mr. Meador.
"But you said--"
"Sh! Sh!" whispered M. Meador. "Come with me."
Mr. Meador must have whispered this mysterious sh! sh! to other folk,
for presently we found ourselves in the apartment of Mr. and Mrs. Tommy
Geraghty, with Luther Reed, John Emerson, Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Hatton,
Winifred Westover, Victor Fleming and other kindred spirits.
"Where is he?" I again demanded.
"He isn't here," said Mr. Geraghty.
Just when I had made up my mind to try and forget this elusive young man
who never seemed to be where he was expected Jack Meador brought up a
slender, boyish looking youth and presented him as Rex Ingram.
Just at first I thought it was a joke. It did not seem possible this
boy could have created the marvelous screen story we had just seen.
"Mr. Ingram?" I repeated questioningly?
"Yes," he said, " I came over here to meet you."
That sentence won me.
I expected him to say: "Here I am; what do you want to say to me?"
"But you are so young," I began. "Surely there is some mistake. You
did not direct 'The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse."
"I am not so young as I look," was his quiet answer. "I am 29 years old
and I have lived a long time."
"How did you do it?" I asked him, still under the spell of the picture.
"In the beginning June Mathis furnished me with a splendid continuity.
She knows more about construction than any writer in the world." For ten
minutes he spoke of what a large factor continuity is and how much of the
credit belongs to Miss Mathis.
I did not argue that point because the construction of "The Four
Horsemen of the Apocalypse" is so fine a piece of scenario workmanship it
establishes a new era in screen adaptation.
Then he spoke of Rudolph Valentino, the boy whose charm and Latin
warmth, contributes so largely to the colorfulness of the picture, and of
beautiful Alice Terry--whose Marguerite is gorgeously real and vital. After
all of these preliminaries with many promptings and questions on my part he
finally told me something of himself.
Rex Ingram was born in Dublin. He lived in the romantic atmosphere of
Ireland until he was seventeen when he came to America to seek his fortune.
That career he believed lay in becoming a great sculptor. He entered the
studio of Lawrie and there attempted to reach his ambition. We were just
going nicely on the young man's ambitions when he suddenly switched the
subject and started telling me about Lawrie.
"I owe anything I am to him," said Mr. Ingram. "He is a great genius, a
real artist. I only wish I had seen his statue of the Four Horsemen before I
made my picture. Saint John, in his Revelations, must have had Lawrie's idea
of War, Famine, Pestilence and Death in his mind."
"But your Four Horsemen is undoubtedly one of the high lights," I
interrupted. "Your conception is magnificent. The drawings of Albrecht
Durer are so horribly real."
"They might have been better," he insisted, "if I had seen the statue
first."
Continuing, Mr. Ingram said he had made pictures for two reasons; first,
because he needed the money and then because he had always liked photography,
and there was something about picturing an idea that appealed to him.
Despite his apparent youth he has been directing pictures for seven years.
He made "The Black Orchid," one of the first Bluebird pictures for Universal,
and managed to escape censorial wrath by an eyelash.
"Stroheim worked for me," he said. "I think he is one of our greatest
directors. We have had few better or finer screen dramas than 'Blind
Husbands.'"
Again this impulsive young Irishman was off on another subject. For
fifteen more minutes he spoke of Stroheim's mental qualifications and wide
literary knowledge. Before I had time to coax him back on the subject of Rex
Ingram he had launched into a discussion on why David Griffith is the
greatest of them all.
"We are all pupils of his. He leads and we follow. Any time any
director believes he has made a picture as good as Griffith, along comes a
new production with something new and again we are all followers. He creates
and we copy."
Coming after "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," the best production
of the war ever made, and as fine a translation of a fine story as any of us
have ever seen, he paid David Griffith a real tribute.
Rex Ingram will go far. He has youth, he has brains, he has ambition,
and he has temperament. He is also very handsome. The latter may be
incidental, but none the less interesting. He has the blue-gray eyes of
Ireland, and the whimsical wit of the Irish. He sympathizes so deeply with
his country he longs to put on a big film play and let the world see how
Ireland has been oppressed.
All Mr. Ingram's affections are not centered on motion pictures. As a
recreation he occasionally models. Interesting as this may be, his career as
a sculptor will now fade in the background. He has found himself in pictures
--and when the public sees "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," there will
be many laurel wreaths for young Mr. Ingram. We need him, his fine sense of
proportion and his artistic idea of screen drama.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ernst Lubitsch
January 1, 1922
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
The eyes of the American film industry have been focused on Ernst
Lubitsch, the young German director, who more than any other foreign maker of
pictures has established himself as a man of international reputation. From
the moment Mr. Lubitsch stepped off the American steamship from Bremen he has
been followed by newspaper reporters and film men, who have lingered to hear
from his own lips the question of his success.
Unless they speak German or have an interpreter, they will fare very
badly, because Mr. Lubitsch speaks no English. His German is spun off so
quickly, the German one learned at school is absolutely of no use, except to
catch an occasional phrase.
I met Mr. Lubitsch in the offices of the United Plays. Offices that
looked more as if they might have belonged to the suite of a grand duchess or
a member of the reigning family. Whoever thought to find a grand piano with
a cerise-colored drape, with curtains and heavy carpets to match, marble
statuary, pictures and other visible semblance of elegance on Broadway?
I rubbed my eyes to see if I had not suddenly stepped into an Arabian Nights
chapter instead of in a business office. But no, apparently business is
transacted in these luxurious offices.
Then Mr. Lubitsch came and I forgot the background in my interest in the
young German, who is about 29 years old and has a smile that is infectious.
He was dressed in a light-colored suit, apparently ready-made, and only a
distant cousin to the producer that comes from our Fifth avenue tailors, but
his clothes were only incidental.
He started speaking German at a rate of forty miles a moment, asking me
long questions, and punctuating each remark with a flourish of his arms.
"Please translate," I asked Mr. Blumenthal. "He is speaking so fast I
cannot catch a word he is saying."
And so Ben Blumenthal stepped into the breach and followed Mr. Lubitsch
with a literal translation.
I did manage to understand before Mr. Blumenthal started his
interpretation that Mr. Lubitsch believes our American films are "sehr gut."
"Take 'Forbidden Fruit' as an example, the little things (Mr. Lubitsch
meant the details) are amazing. I noticed a girl troubled over the proper
fork to use. She stopped short at her fish fork and waited for her hostess
to proceed so she would make no mistake. Such care for the minor things is
wonderful and is typical of the excellence of American direction."
Mr. Lubitsch spoke of "Broken Blossoms" as being very popular in
Germany. "It is so beautiful," he said, "so artistic. Mr. Griffith is a
wonderful director to be able to put such beauty on the screen."
Through Mr. Blumenthal's apt interpretation I gathered that things had
not been so rosy in making "Pharoh's Wife" as Mr. Lubitsch had expected. A
little of the spirit of American unrest crept into the studio. "Pharoh's
Wife," which Lubitsch made for Famous Players-Lasky, is an Egyptian story, a
mammoth spectacle in which 25,000 men and women are employed. A great battle
was in progress when one side of the army suddenly stopped work and refused
to go on with the picture.
"What is the trouble?" demanded Lubitsch.
"More money--money like the Americans get," was the cry.
This faction had no more been quieted with bigger salaries than the
other side of the army stopped short and staged a little strike of its own.
Both armies quieted, the picture progressed until the entire outfit put their
heads together and with due accord furnished a strike that took the entire
studio force to quiet.
"Pharaoh's Wife" will not be the cheap picture every one expected. Its
cost is on a par with any spectacle made in America. And it seems likely,
now that the Germans have learned not to work for nothing, that pictures made
on Teutonic ground will hereafter rank in price with our American-made
product.
Mr. Lubitsch was taken on a tour of inspection of the American motion
picture theatre. He saw the Capitol, the Strand, the Rivoli and the Rialto.
"They are very beautiful," he said. "Much more pretentious than
anything we have in Berlin. Our theatres have no such elaborate programs and
are not designed with so much thought and care. They are but simple
playhouses compared with these theatres."
In fact Mr. Lubitsch is the sort of young man who is prepared to give
his unqualified endorsement to anything American. He is very good-natured:
smiles continually. He has a personality that is both gracious and pleasing.
He says he likes Charlie Chaplin better than any actor he has ever seen and
the last time a Chaplin picture played in Berlin he went three times. Harold
Lloyd is also a great favorite of Mr. Lubitsch. He thinks he is one of our
best actors.
Perhaps one reason for his interest in our comedians is the fact he
started in life playing comedy roles. It was Max Reinhardt who discovered
him and engaged him for his own theatres. His success was rapid and he
toured Europe with the Reinhardt company. At the time when Lubitsch had made
a place for himself on the European stage Paul Davidson, owner of numerous
German film undertakings, saw him acting the leading role of the devil in
"The Green Flute." Impressed by the young man's talent, Mr. Davidson talked
films to the young actor, and a contract was signed making young Lubitsch
director and scenario writer, as well as actor of his own company. His first
undertaking was "Lubitsch Comedies." It was not until after that he became
identified with bigger features, but it is as an historical director that he
has become recognized in this country. It was he who discovered Pola Negri,
who was at that time an unknown cabaret singer. Her charm and her talent,
combined with his directorial skill, made "Carmen or Gypsy Blood" one of the
best-known pictures in the world market. Then followed "Passion,"
"Deception," and "One Arabian Night."
Mr. Lubitsch was highly amused at the questions asked about the papier-
mache sets, which we have been told are a part of his historical settings.
He laughed merrily and said he had never heard of them.
"Pharaoh's Wife" took six months to produce, but it took a very short
time to cut and edit. Mr. Lubitsch does his own cutting and editing and
believes no director should entrust this work to any one else, whether he is
German, American or English.
After a brief visit here he will go West to look over the studios in
California. He is in favor of our directors visiting Germany and European
directors visiting America for an exchange of ideas. Although his first
picture was for an American concern and belongs to Famous
Players-Lasky, we
understand there are many film offers being made in his direction. Good
directors are scarce.
He said as I was leaving to make room for several other newspaper folk
who were waiting, "Next time we meet I shall try and learn English."
He said most of the sentence in good English, which makes me wonder if
he doesn't know more English than he pretends. Foreigners are always such
expert linguists.
As for Pola Negri, he says she is everything charming a woman should be,
and it is unnecessary for him to say more because she will visit America
early next year. This was said in German, with a twinkle in his eye. In
fact we suspect the young man of having a great sense of humor. He laughed
so frequently and with such enjoyment.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Fred Niblo
August 13, 1922
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
After Fred Niblo made "The Mark of Zorro" and "The Three Musketeers,"
two screen hits in rapid succession, the wise-acres leaned back in their
comfortable arm chairs and, drawing a long breath, said:
"He cannot do it again."
Then "Blood and Sand" burst across the Broadway film horizon in a
skyrocket of phenomenal glory, and the film world took another deep breath
and said with awe:
"He has done it"--wondering what secret method he had used to bring this
miracle to pass. And now Mr. Niblo has come to New York to arrange for
distribution with Metro of the productions to be made by his own company.
Broadway was his playground for a great many years and his coming and going
while events of interest in the past were by no means cause for any special
demonstration. As George Cohan's brother-in-law and an actor himself of
ability, Fred Niblo has always had a host of friends and admirers, but he was
never regarded in the past as one for whom the velvet carpet should be laid.
But with three huge pictorial successes to his credit his arrival in
Manhattan this time has equaled the visit of a foreign potentate--and the
town is his.
Fortunately he has a rare sense of humor and an idea of the fitness of
things, so that all this attention hasn't turned his head and hasn't even
changed his attitude toward life. Having known Enid Bennett, the attractive
and lovable wife of this famous one ever since she came to this country, and
won all hearts by her quaint manners and her English accent, I was curious to
meet her husband--the director of the hour.
An occasion was provided when Metro entertained Mr. Niblo at a luncheon.
Just by way of showing the interest every one feels in his work every seat at
the table was occupied with film writers, all eager to hear from his own lips
how he was able to make the grade three times in succession.
"I had to learn to make pictures," he said, after we were seated at the
table and he had listened to the united praise of some thirty people. "After
I married Miss Bennett, I gave up the stage to direct her. Some of those
first pictures were pretty bad, but by hard work and by profiting by past
mistakes and applying my knowledge of the theatre, I was able to overcome
some of the things that interfered with my progress as a director in the
beginning."
This admission was only obtained after considerable coaxing. Fred Niblo
doesn't talk about himself. He doesn't swagger and he isn't the type of
director who wears puttees and affects a soft silk shirt and flowing tie just
to look the part. He is a sincere, real person, who is honestly trying to
keep his place at the top of the ladder by hard work. He doesn't tell how he
had to teach the actor all he knows, and what difficulty he had in getting
the cameraman to get certain effects. In all the conversation he did not say
any words that detracted from the glory of any one who had a part in "Blood
and Sand." He spoke of Rodolph Valentino in the highest terms, both as actor
an a man. June Mathis's faithfulness to the author's text and her genius in
writing continuity came in for his earnest praise. Douglas Farirbanks's
knowledge of the techniques of films and his ability to make pictures was
another subject to which Mr. Niblo warmed, giving Doug the lion's share of
credit for "Zorro" and "Musketeers."
While Mr. Niblo is full of enthusiasm and high hopes for his future
work, he isn't carried away with his own importance and an idea that he has
conquered the film world.
Our conversation was punctuated with talk of Enid and the baby. The
baby is a year old now and her father admits she is probably the finest young
lady in captivity. As for Enid--he doesn't care how much people talk of her
beauty and charm. It's a subject that does not bore him.
Although Mr. Niblo admits Miss Bennett was instrumental in getting him
to come into pictures, he had considerable experience making travelogues.
During the lifetime of Josephine Cohan, his first wife, he traveled in
Africa, and in remote spots in this uncivilized country he was able to obtain
some exceptional films. He says he would probably have continued to give
Burton Holmes a race for his money, if his funds had not given out and he and
his wife had to return to the States to get some more of that necessary
article--U. S. dollars.
The luncheon brought forth the interesting news that the motion picture
rights to "Captain Applejack" have been purchased for Mr. Niblo and will
serve as his first independent production.
"At first I was a little afraid of 'Applejack,'" he said. "It is a
delicate thing that requires careful handling. The loss of the dialogue may
affect its value, too, but I believe it will make an unusual picture. I want
to make it as a straight story without any obvious comedy."
Mr. Niblo said the part where Wallace Eddinger kills the Chinaman in a
dream will have to be eliminated to please the "wrecking crew"--that elegant
phrase meaning the w. k. censor board.
"We always keep the 'wrecking crew' in mind," he said. "We had some
thrilling scenes in the bull fight in 'Blood and Sand,' when Valentino really
struggles with the bull, but we were afraid of the censorial scissors and so
we cut all that stuff out before they had a chance to ruin the continuity of
our picture"
"Captain Applejack" will be followed by three other equally well known
stage plays, and if Fred Niblo continues smashing records as a director--
well, we shall have him in a class by himself. He doesn't dare hope to have
all his productions 100 per cent, that is too much to expect, but he is going
to try mighty hard to come as near that average as is humanly possible.
And just to prove Mr. Niblo finds other subjects beside his own skill
worth discussing he had many pleasant things to say about "The Tailor Made
Man," Charles Ray's next picture. He also said he hoped to direct Mr. Ray in
a picture some day. He considers him one of the best actors on the screen
and a star whose future will continue to be one of the bright spots in the
industry.
Tomorrow Mr. Niblo will leave the scene of all this glory and hit the
trail back to Enid and the baby and work. He promises to come again and
bring them with him next time.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
John S. Robertson
November 5, 1922
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
John Robertson progressed so far with the formation of his own company
that he even had the necessary capital to finance his project. He resigned
from Famous Players-Lasky and refused five definite offers from five
companies to produce pictures, all because back in his mind was the
overwhelming desire to be his own boss. Every man has that desire. It's one
of the foundations upon which human nature is built. Then without any
warning John Robertson dropped all talk of forming his own company and signed
a contract with Inspiration. Speedy work on the part of Charles Duell, said
one man who will never get over losing Robertson. But most people who know
John Robertson felt there must be something back of this sudden change other
than Charles Duell's persuasive tongue.
At the Algonquin--which is to the actors and directors what 729 Seventh
is to the exchange men and theatre owners--Mr. Robertson explained why he
turned down the five prominent producers and signed on the dotted line with
Inspiration, which is the newest producing company of them all.
"The responsibility of being in absolute control is enormous," said Mr.
Robertson. "When Mr. Duell, as president of Inspiration, came to me with an
offer I said no at first. I did not dread the responsibility exactly, but I
know so little about business. I can make pictures, I can direct stars, but
I cannot sell my product. I was originally an actor, and few actors have any
business ability. Then Mr. Duell and I talked again. He offered me
everything I had planned to have myself, with a freedom of all the business
end, and I accepted."
Mr. Robertson, in explaining why he changed his mind, said the idea of
being held responsible for other people's money was a thing that was too
important to be entered into without looking at it from every angle.
When John Robertson said that he had been an actor I thought I had
misunderstood him. But after repeating the question he assured me long
before he had ever had any hopes of making a picture like "Sentimental Tommy"
he had been an actor. He went out to the Vitagraph and worked as Anita
Stewart's leading man, under the direction of Ralph Ince.
After studying the technique of direction, Albert Smith permitted him to
try his skill, and he did so well he lost his job as an actor and became a
director. From Vitagraph he went to Famous Players-Lasky, where for five
years he turned out some of their finest productions.
I mentioned "Sentimental Tommy," although possibly of all the pictures
he made for Famous this one brought the least financial return. One of the
most artistic pictures ever made, and one of the few that really reflects the
spirit of Barrie--this film has never been considered a big box office
attraction.
Mr. Robertson said at first there was a suspicion that casting people
who were not stars for the leading roles might have something to do with the
difficulty in bringing people into the theatre to see it, but when the same
fate happened to "Peter Ibbetson," which boasted of Elsie Ferguson, Wallace
Reid, Montagu Love and an entire cast of stars, the fault seemed to be more
with the type of picture.
I was glad to hear Robertson say, even if "Sentimental Tommy" had not
approached the other films in monetary returns, he had never regretted making
it. He said he felt repaid in London when Sir James Barrie complimented him
and told him how much he liked the picturization of his story.
"Footlights" is another pet of Mr. Robertson's. This reversed the order
of things, however, and brought into the Paramount treasury enough money to
make up for the shortage of "Sentimental Tommy." Based on Rita Weiman's
story, "Footlights" is Elsie Ferguson's best and most popular picture.
John Robertson has great imagination; that is one reason the majority of
his pictures have been so successful. He sees things with a picture eye and
measures the possibilities of the camera before he starts work. His actors
all adore him, and enjoy working with him because of his appreciation of the
value of big scenes, and his knowledge of dramatic effects--a thing so many
directors lack.
Having just finished "Tess," Mr. Robertson was full of Mary Pickford's
extraordinary ability.
"She is the most wonderful girl I ever met," he said. "She knows
everything about picture making, from the most technical side to the dramatic
possibilities. I thought with her fame and success she would probably resent
taking direction. But she sought it. She was as nervous as a debutante for
fear she would not get the most out of every scene."
Mr. Robertson said frequently they had appealed to Douglas Fairbanks for
an opinion. When asked for advice he would give it, but he would never
venture a suggestion until asked for it.
"Their married life," said Mr. Robertson, "is ideal. They work
together, play together, and plan their pictures together. Just the way
people should do. I feel strongly on that subject, because my wife has been
such a help and inspiration to me."
Mrs. Robertson, as Josephine Lovett, has written most of Mr. Robertson's
scenarios, and has helped him to visualizing them for the screen.
"I was tempted to accept Miss Pickford's offer to remain with her, and
if Mr. Duell had not persuaded me to come into the Inspiration fold I think I
would have made her next picture.
"Inspiration offers me a big chance," said Mr. Robertson. "I shall have
Miss Lillian Gish, who, like Miss Pickford, is an actress of brains and
experience. I feel having all three of the Inspiration players--Richard
Barthelmess, Dorothy Gish and Lillian--I shall have an opportunity to put all
my ideas into operation."
Mr. Robertson said his first picture would be a Richard Barthelmess
feature. The play has not yet been chose, although Joseph Hergeshimer's
"Bright Shawl" has been discussed as a possible vehicle.
Over at the Algonquin one must always talk fast--there are so many
people to interrupt--and we did talk fast, for we had many things to say, but
an hour came and went quickly and we both had other engagements.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Victor Seastrom
November 26, 1922
Louella Parsons
NEW YORK TELEGRAPH
Victor Seastrom will never win a prize in a talking contest. His
silences are far more eloquent than his conversation. But when he does talk
he has something to say, and what he says is not prefixed with the pronoun I,
and filled with a long account of personal experiences. He is unbelievably
modest, so much so that when he named his salary it is said F. J. Godsol gave
him more than he asked, giving as his reason the man who made "At the Stroke
of Midnight," "Jerusalem," "Eyvinde of the Hills," "Sir Arne's Treasure" and
"You and I" is worth every penny he paid him.
Now you will admit this doesn't sound like a motion picture story. But
Victor Seastrom is unlike a motion picture man--at least not any I have ever
met. He is modest to the point of shyness, and approaches his new job with a
fear that he may not be as good as Mr. Godsol and others who have seen his
work know him to be. Coue would say Mr. Seastrom needs a little Coueism to
give him confidence, and any one meeting him for the first time might agree
with the Nancy pharmacist, but having seen some of the Seastrom pictures I
will have to modify that and say he may need Coue for himself but not for his
work.
After much effort on my own part and some prompting by Howard Dietz, who
went with me to the Plaza Hotel to call on the Swedish director, he modestly
volunteered some of his ideas.
"In Sweden," he said, "we erect monuments to Ibsen, Strindberg, Bjornson
and other famous writers. In America you give your homage to your Senators
and the men prominent in political life. The student body in our country is
very highly regarded; in your country it is not considered important."
Mr. Seastrom, with reservation and without any thought of offending
America, went on to say in his country poverty is no barrier to education.
The poorer classes know art and literature and music as well as the rich.
Swedish audiences are ready for Ibsen and Strindberg, but the American
audience must be prepared by any films in which no attempt is made to modify
a story and give it the usual conventional happy ending. He said it in less
the critical language perhaps, but the meaning is the same.
Being a stranger in a strange country this exceedingly modest director
is feeling his way along the ground and not doing any moving until he is sure
of himself. Coming from a country where he has worked in a badly equipped
studio with no facilities and where he has to do everything from washing the
film to photographing it, he is amazed at the vastness of it all. Instead of
saying:
"Well, here I am. Now American film history will begin." He says: "I
am here and I want to do my best. I hope I can please the American public."
Mr. Seastrom, hearing how fast Americans move, expected to see men walk
over each other on the street, and women trampled under foot in the mad rush
to succeed; expected to be caught in the commercial maelstrom and swept away
in the fast-moving current. Instead he found a calm people who had time to
listen to him, and who had watched his work with interest and admiration.
"I was agreeably surprised," he confessed with a smile. "I am lonesome
for my family, but I have to admit this town grows on one."
After Mr. Seastrom tries a little Hollywood air and begins his motion
picture work, he will send for his family. His wife is Ethel Erastoff, a
famous actress, who is now playing the lead in "Loyalties" in Copenhagen.
"I went to see the American production of 'Loyalties,'" he said.
"How does it compare with your wife's work, we asked him.
"I do not know," he replied, "I have never seen my wife but once on the
stage."
"What?" both Mr. Dietz and I exclaimed in one breath, thinking that
perhaps Fanny Hurst's doctrine had struck the Seastrom home.
"I take her to the theatre and call for her," he said, "but I never see
her on the stage. It makes her so nervous when she knows I am in the
audience she cannot act. 'If you come to see me,' she said, 'you will not
love me.'"
So, modesty, we believe, must run in the Seastrom family.
This man, who was discovered by America in Sweden, and who with Pola
Negri and Ernst Lubitsch has come to the United States to remove the gnawing
fear in the American hearts that there is a threatened foreign invasion, has
directed as well as played in his pictures. The term artist has been
wrongfully applied so many times we hesitate to use it in the case of this
man, who is in reality an artist, but it is the only word we can think of
that properly expresses Victor Seastrom's ability.
Victory Seastrom may bring us just what we need--a little more subtlety,
less obvious explanation and the delicate touches that make his pictures more
than mere films.
"Americans," he said sadly, "do not like beautiful mountains, rivers and
trees. They must have action. In Sweden we can express so much with our
scenery we love to see it."
About this time the conversation began to lag and Freckles, who is
called the Wesley Barry of press agents, began to talk in grandiloquent tones
about the Vikings, asking Mr. Seastrom if he came from a family of Vikings.
But alas and alack our stalwart and handsome hero failed to rise to
Freckles's bait and only shook his head and said:
"My family have followed the sea if that is what you mean."
It wasn't all Freckles meant. He who loves romance smelt a story in
which a noble Viking of the Northland figured and because we hated to have
him disappointed we broke up the party--suspecting Mr. Seastrom was
delighted. He seemed so worried for fear between us Freckles and I would
concoct a story that should not be printed. I hope we have not wronged him.
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