Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1920)

Photoplay Magazine George, with his clothes of British cut, his spats, his smooth hair, his perfect ties. The studio people looked him over and said, "Some nut." Not that Fitzmauricc knew the first thing about a studio. He only remembered what he had seen on his estate in France, and the life attracted him. Never having had any dramatic experience, he went in to learn. He did — from the lowest rung of the ladder. It only happened that the particular studio to which he was recommended was presided over by the ex-French director. George clung to his spats. He did not see any reason why one should dress clumsily simply because one worked in a studio. And by and by the studio hands began to admire him for it. One of them started to calf him "George" one day — but caught himself in time. . Young Mr. Fitzmaurice kept right at it. He was a scenario writer at first. He says in those days you not only had to note on paper to the directors what to do; you had to give them very careful instructions what not to do. "Once," he says "there was a ship-wreck scene to write about. The hero and some other people are set adrift and have to stay on a small raft for weeks, after having been almost drowned. But when the hero — in the scene as( the director took it — finally climbed on board the rescuing ship — he accepted a cigarette and carelessly took a box of matches out of his pocket to light it with. I remonstrated with the director. I said, "But the man would not have the matches in the pocket after he has been shipwrecked and tossed about in the water.' 'Well,' growled the director, 'why the — didn't you write that in'?" In spite of the fact that his efforts for realism were irritating to the slap>slick craftsman of that period, he persevered. Pretty soon he had some real things to direct, including "The Naulahka," the vivid Indian ta!e of Kipling's, with Doraldina; "Sylvia of the Secret Service," with Mrs. Castle, and "Innocent" and "Common Clay," with Fannie Ward. But even here his style was cramped. He couldn't do all that he wanted to do. He is as temperamental about sets as a prima-donna is about orchestration. His expense accounts were checked within an inch of his life; he couldn't spend ail the company's money on real settings and real effects. It was a shame. He was called to Famous Players to direct Elsie Ferguson. They got along famousiy — I defy any woman, to quarrel with Fitzmaurice. He brought to his new work all his knowledge of the continent, of the orient and the isles. He knew when a property man was trying to pass off a queer piece of pottery from the prop room for a Ming vase of the 'nth dynasty. He was given the exclusive right to use his own expert judgment on things of that sort, and intelligent people began to know and watch for Fitzmaurice films. (Continued on page X25) Mr. Fitzmaurice, and his equally talented wife, Ouida Bergerc, who writea the scenarios of all his productions, in their studio apartment. French in appearance, French in Speech, and Irish in wit. George's mother demurred at first hut finally yielded to the wishes of her son, who wanted to learn, firsthand, what actors were like, anyway. Pictures in France did not then have much prestige. So the company came and camped on the grounds, and sjiilled their make-up and their props all over the place, while George looked curiously on and wondered. The director thanked them, when his company had finished, for their courtesy, and hnwcd himself gratefully out, whiskers and all — Not many years later, George Fitzmaurice — the same, but having learned that there is more in life than polo, sunshine and debutantes — was looking for work. He sought it in the studios. The man who finally engaged him was the same director who had exjiressed himself as grateful for his courtesies, long ago in France! For, you see, George came to America and went into tratlc, and trade failed him, and he turned to the pictures —