Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb 1914 - Sep 1916 (assorted issues))

176 MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE (Continued from page 174) acts as if he felt awkward and didn't care a hang who knew it. In "Judge Not" he even went up a peg in my estimation. Here was a man who took the downward path as a duck takes to the water, but he was all right inside, all the time. Why, lie was just like one of the fellows you used to play baseball with, who got a crack from the husky hand of Fate and went away to think it over, revenge himself with bad whiskey, and be ready to face the future like a man. And all the time he was drinking and gambling, he was thinking it over behind those quiet eyes of his, balancing the good and the evil against each other, and never letting himself go completely. You could tell by his face just what he was thinking of; but for all that he didn't roll his eyes and draw down his mouth, like he was going to pass the contribution box, and knew you had but one two-bit piece in your jeans. He's a chap that kinder sizes up the situation from all sides before he wades in, and when he wades in, say, it's a sight for sore eyes. I feel like saying with the adoring newsboy, "Sav, dat guv's de real t'ing." The other night I saw "The Knight of the Range," and that was the king-pin. That's the kind of a fellow I'd like to be if the Fates hadn't decided I should be a pen-pusher. It was "Arabian Nights," and "Treasure Island," and "Robinson Crusoe" combined, and the rippingest thing I ever saw. And every time Carey appeared on the screen the small boys went wild, the big boys pounded their knees, and the girls sighed rapturously, for he sure came as near being what God intended a man should be as anything I ever expect to see this side of St. Peter's game preserve. He's human, with a streak of good and a streak of bad, like the rest of us, and that is why he makes so powerful an appeal to all of us who have red blood instead of dish-water in our veins. He falls occasionally, but he takes his punishment like a true soldier, and you are sure that at the proper time he'll shed his worst faults and come up, bruised but unconquered, master of himself and of the situation. He's the sort of a chap that makes you feel as if the world was a pretty good place to hang around in, after all. If any one disagrees with me, let him name his favorite method of dying, and stake off six feet of consecrated ground before I meet him; he wont have time afterward. The writer of the following refers to a limerick which should not be taken seriously. Perhaps it was a little severe, however, and our, as well as its author's, apologies are offered. Jessie Egan says in the Motion Picture Magazine, July number, that Mary Miles Minter has nerve and gall — the greatest she has ever seen — to sav she is onlv fourteen years old. Now, I am Mary Miles Minter's grandmother. She, her mother and sister have lived with me always. When she came into the world four teen years ago, on that bright April morning, I was the first one to take her in my arms. I could have no motive in deceiving the public about her age. She is truly just fourteen years old. Her grandmother, Julia B. Miles, 610 W. 139th St., New York City. Wade Cummings, of Douglas, Arizona, comes forth in breezy Western fashion to give careless directors a few hints on "How a cowboy would do it." I have been a reader of your Magazine for two years, and find it one of the best of its kind published, as it deals most thoroly with the most important subject of the present day — namely, Motion Pictures. I want to express my opinion on a few matters. I haven't the least idea that the public will ever see this letter, but I suppose you will read it thru. I saw a picture a few days ago that really made me laugh, despite the fact that it was a very deep drama. It was entitled "How the Kid Went Over the Range," a Reliance picture. In one place the pay-roll check is given to a cowboy to take to town and cash. After getting the money, he engaged in a game of cards with an ex-gambler. The latter was caught cheating, after he had won nearly all the payroll money, and the cowboy shot him and escaped. When he was pursued by the sheriff he shot the officer, and the latter fell off his horse; but he arose and mounted his horse again, and he was only wounded slightly in one arm. A fellow must not have much nerve for a wound in the arm to knock him from his horse. Having seen a number of men wounded in my life, I find thru personal experience that a man will not really fall off his horse unless he is more seriously injured, because the fall may hurt him worse. Then the officer returned to the town and a doctor dressed his wound, and five minutes later he was again in pursuit of the murderer, and was using both hands with ease. Then, as he was hunting the outlawed cowboy, the latter's horse stuck his head in the scene, right beside the officer. Looks like the horse might have been tied some place where he couldn't butt-in. Oh, you Western directors, will you ever learn? I enjoy the letters in your Magazine very much, but when every one is praising different players they seem to forget sweet Dorothy Gish. Of course every one has their own opinion, and mine is that little Dorothy is so far ahead of Mary Pickford for real acting that there is no comparison. And Francis Bushman is a good actor, I know; but he never will, nor never did, come up with Richard Travers or "Dusty" Farnum. William Farnum is also very good, and for real Western acting, in my opinion, it is hard to beat William S. Hart, because he has lived in the West and knows. "Margy" Clark, Ethel Clayton, June Day, Anne Schaefer, Ruth Roland, Henry King and Romaine Fielding are all good players, and all of them are my favorites.