Picture Play Magazine (Sep 1921 - Feb 1922)

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The Wildest Day in Hollywood When all Hollywood turns out to hold carnival it is some show! You'll be thrilled by this description of the greatest of all movie carnivals, and interested in learning what your favorites contributed to the gayety of the affair. By Herbert Howe THERE has been a bloodless revolution in the film capital, as recorded in the Grill of this issue. I suspect Petrograd was like this after the czar took bootlegger's leave and the muzhiks cut out vodka to put on their own show. Many of the Hollywood nobles have gone into retirement, and those who remain have cast off formality. Daniel Frohman is the great leader who succeeded in staging a real democratic demonstration — of the players, by the players, for the players. Princes smiled at proletariats, and one man's money was as good as another's. Heretofore if a star recognized me upon second meeting I asked him for an autographed photograph. I have five such. But now — oh, my clear ! — they wave at you. Sometimes they even offer to pick you up in their equipages. But that's dangerous. You never know how many payments have been made. The sheriff is likely to evict you at any moment and leave you hanging on the brow of Lookout Mountain or clasping the epidermis of the Arroyo Seco. Only yesterday I saw Eddie Sutherland and May MacAvoy sitting on the curb. "What's happened to your droskky?" I cried gayly to Eddie. He said they were just resting. That's what most actors are doing now. Unlike Mr. Sutherland and Miss MacAvoy, however, the majority are in no need of rest. Those who tell you they are "between pictures" have been so for five months. No longer are there two weeks' vacation between stellar efforts, no matter what contracts may say. Either one works all the time or one vacates permanently. Those who have not joined the great democracy of the unemployed are fearful of the draft. Hence Mr. Frohman caught Hollywood in a fraternal mood. Naturally there was sympathy for the Actors' Fund charity. No actor knows at what time he may be journeying to the Thespian home in the East. A few months ago the million-a-minute men would have scorned the need for a fund to protect them against possible poverty. But now, with palaces and motor cars and other necessities of life going at auction, the spirit of sweet charity comes into her own. The carnival for the benefit of the Actors' Fund was held in the hippodromic stadium in Beverly Hills. It was a regular actors' fair. All the birds and the eggs were there. The hyperbole "all-star" was never so literally true. The Lady Who Does Not Care and I set forth in a piratical fliv just as cafeteria trays rang out high noon in Hollywood. Although we arrived early we had to dock the tug about three miles out — and it wasn't because we carried anything either. Ranged for leagues and fathoms and kilometers about were handsome machines, richly upholstered and mortgaged. Lowering ourselves over the sides, we soon were struggling in the tides of humanity, as the subtitle would say. "Human Elinor Glyn, attired as an Egyptian seeress, officiated as a fortune teller. ity," sniffed the Lady Who Does Not Care. "Well, if this is what the war was fought for, I'm a conscientious objector." The head of a family platoon had just taken a stand on the rhinestone buckle of my lady's slipper. I fear the Lady Who Does Not Care will never become a true democrat short of the guillotine. As for me, 'twas a glorious sight. Not even in France have I seen such a splendidly undisciplined army. All the tourist populace of Los Angeles had responded to the call. Iowa must have gone way over its quota. The first onslaught was staged by the program sellers at the gate, and well-nigh routed the shock troops from Missouri. The next attack almost caused dissension in