Picture-Play Magazine (Mar-Jul 1929)

100 Continued from page 94 charmingly in evidence here. Between them, the two principals sustain interest unmistakably. The story begins during the war when Hugh Drummond, nicknamed ''Captain Swagger," is an American daredevil in the French aviation service. He is assigned to bring down Von Stahl, Germany's ace. He succeeds, but risks capture in saving the German from death. In gratitude Von Stahl gives Captain Swagger his engraved revolver. Years later, the American is at the end of his finances in New York and is keeping up appearance only by his wits. In desperation he holds up an automobile, thereby rescuing a girl from the attentions of a sheik. A romance results, with Captain Swagger and the girl lending picturesqueness to it by dancing as a team in a night club. The place is held up by — yes, I'm sorry to say it — by Von Stahl. His gratitude to Captain Swagger enables the latter to gain possession of the jewels and return them to the guests. This is the gist of the story, and very "gisty" it is, but, believe it or not, it has charm. At least the acting of Mr. La Rocque and Miss Carol has. A Jungle Jumble. It is nothing less than painful to record the appearance of Lon Chaney in a role that doesn't ring true. But how is one to avoid that in reviewing "West of Zanzibar"? It can't be done. But at least he must be absolved from all blame, because of past performances. This is just one of those accidents. Probably there was not enough preparation ; perhaps he started the picture sooner than his good judgment dictated. You never can tell. At any rate, "West of Zanzibar" has loads of weird atmosphere— jungle atmosphere. Its fault is that you believe nothing that happens there, and instead of sharing Mr. Chaney's torment you regard it impersonally. You see, it begins with Mr. Chaney as Phroso, a vaudeville magician, whose wife elopes with Crane, his assistant. Next Phroso is seen as an ivory trader in Africa, or rather a robber of the natives who procure the ivory. He is bent on revenge. This seems likely of fulfillment because Crane, his enemy, has also quit the stage for the jungles. Phroso has discovered the existence of a beautiful, though disreputable, girl in a dive frequented by the riffraff of all nations, and concludes that she is the daughter of Crane and his wife. It is his scheme to bring Crane and the girl together after he has reduced her to degradation through her craving for drink. But it doesn't quite work. A derelict doctor, whose presence in the jungle is unexplained, The Screen in ReViev? pities and then loves her. At the moment when Phroso confronts Crane with the girl, it develops that she is Phroso' s own. In expiation, he sacrifices his life to the fury of the natives, thus permitting the girl and the doctor to escape to civilization. Much is left unexplained in this jumbled plot, and in spite of good enough acting, the plights and problems of the characters do not matter. Lionel Barrymore is Crane, Warner Baxter, the doctor, and Mary Nolan the girl. Puppets and Fine Feathers. "Dream of Love" is as empty as its title and as real as a lace-paper valentine, with a pink heart and a gold arrow. It takes place in a mythical kingdom overrun with uniforms, fancy costumes for the ladies, conventional intrigue, and lush sentimentality. It has the substance of musical comedy, without the swing and lilt of appropriate solos, duets, and choruses. Crown Prince Maurits falls in love with Adrienne, a strolling player decked out like an operatic gypsy. Diplomatic pressure is brought to bear, so Adrienne has a rude awakening when she receives a note from Maurits inclosing some money. She flings it from her with proper repulsion, whereupon she is next introduced as the greatest actress in all Europe and is as ritzy about it as a parvenu chorus girl. Meanwhile the kingdom is ruled by a dictator and Maurits is only the pretender who, again for those diplomatic reasons, makes love to the dictator's wife. This sort of thing goes on while Maurits attempts to regain the favor of the actress, is treated to a display of her bad manners, and succeeds finally in winning her and the throne as well. As a concession to sophistication, she hangs on as the king's official mistress instead of becoming a queen, or perishing of a broken heart. The picture has glitter, of course, but no sincerity. Joan Crawford is not convincing as the actress, and Nils Asther finds the role of the prince unworthy of the skill he has displayed in other films. Aileen Pringle, Carmel Myers, Warner Oland, and Harry Myers are others in the parade. A Romp with Laughter. Colleen Moore is a staple commodity, like eggs and potatoes. While her pictures may vary in the cooking, their integral quality remains the same. All this is by way of saying that "Synthetic Sin," her latest, is lively and amusing — and distinctly staple. It will perplex no one by its departure from precedent, but will entertain many by its skillful adherence to formula. It is all about a prankish girl, a Fairfax of Virginia, who is so innocent that when she finds herself in the midst of a gunmen's shooting affray she thinks it is just a lark for her entertainment. Because of her failure as an actress, which she thinks is due to her ignorance of life, she comes to New York in search of experience, or, as she puts it, "to sin." It is hardly necessary to say just how closely a Colleen Moore heroine ever comes to sinning. So a Cinderella finish finds her safe in the arms of her playwright-lover, with many a snuggle and show of teeth. The playwright is acted by Antonio Moreno, whose boyishness is quite as synthetic as Miss Moore's sinning. With the assistance of Montagu Love, Edythe Chapman, Kathryn McGuire, Gertrude Astor and others, their efforts make for agreeable, standardized entertainment. A Lady Crook Reforms. Did you ever hear of the spirituelle lady crook who marries the man to trim him, and then falls in love and confesses all? She makes her appearance again in "A Lady of Chance," and Norma Shearer tries to make her both a noble lady and a hard-boiled comedienne. The result is hardly calculated to quicken one's pulses and evoke audible huzzahs. But I suppose, with routine pictures what they are, this one will be swallowed as easily as many like it. At any rate, Dolly, the heroine, wears lots of expensive dresses and, in spite of her misdemeanors, achieves a happy ending in the arms of her husband. So there is not the slightest chance that susceptible spectators will be depressed. Unless, of course, they are depressed by the machine-made quality of the picture and the self-conscious overacting of Miss Shearer and her partners in crime, Lowell Sherman and Gwen Lee. Even Eugenie Besserer, one of the most reliable character women, strays from the path of reticence and piles on the simplicity, quaintness, and sweetness of a country mother by the spadeful. The John Mack Brown cult certainly does not include me among its votaries, so his usual impersonation of a clerk will stand on its own merits with those who see the light. Polly Moran starts a new paragraph, because in the bit she plays in a single scene, she brings a refreshing breath of vitality and spontaneity. Her bit is low comedy, of course, but that is its virtue. She dares to be funny, without giving a whoop for the refinement and daintiness so sedulously cultivated by ladylike stars. She succeeds thereby in capturing sympathy for her efforts.