Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Jul 1929)

92 Continued from page 21 Clyde Cook is another example of what's wrong with the wags — only Cook has learned his lesson. For a brief period a few years ago Cook was taken into the Keaton studio to be starred in a series of short comedies. It did not take Cook long to put the scenario men in their places. And, in spite of their chagrin, the gag grinders were compelled to laugh loudly at the cleverness of Cook's clowning. He is one of the most agile acrobatic dancers, and the stuff that he had done in the "Follies" certainly looked amusing. But when it was shown in the cold light of the projection room later — that was a different matter. On the screen the sparkle of the Cook comedy gems had turned a sickly yellow, and it was not long before he went the way of most Christmas jewelry. But Clyde Cook was made of the right stuff. He started over again, with a clearer vision and an open mind. Gradually he worked his way back up, doing comedy relief in feature pictures. In this field he has slowly been winning his way back to the heights. His caperings with Victor McLaglen, in "Captain Lash," deserve remembrance. Now to return to Chaplin. Charlie is a living contradiction of Their Chaplin Complex every sound rule of commercial enterprise— perhaps the exception that proves the rule. Chaplin is madness without method. At least it is madness for any one to emulate his method. Charlie might start a picture to-day and complete it a year from to-day. He might start out for the studio of a morning with plans for the day's shooting all mapped out, and lose the map before he arrives. Or he may play a scene calling for a hundred or more extras and keep those extras waiting day after day, with the salary-meter clicking ; and eventually the anguished production manager hears that Charlie is over at Catalina spearing flying fish. There is nothing elaborate in a Chaplin film in comparison of production value with the average program picture. His sets are drab and meager against the Byzantine splendors of a DeMille bathroom, or a Von Stroheim saturnalia. And yet $1,000,000 is less than average in the cost of a Chaplin comedy. Crazy? If Charlie is crazy it is with the wiliness of those ancient Egyptian Pharoahs, who get all the credit for the building of the pyramids. For it is not on his own pocketbook that the burden of Chaplin's seeming extravagance falls. When Chaplin was producing "The Gold Rush" more than a million dollars was taken into the coffers of United Artists, the company of which Charlie is one of the owners, before the picture was completed. This money came as deposits on advance bookings from exhibitors who, in some instances, would not have the picture to run in their houses for at least a year after its release. But they put up their quota of the million in advance, without interest. It is a recognized fact that the output of a few stars are staple products. Like sugar, bread, butter, and certain advertised commodities, their pictures must be shown in the dominant theaters whether they bring a profit or not. The public demands them, and for an exhibitor to let them go to the opposition would bring a loss of patronage and prestige. Imagine a grocery store refusing to sell butter and sugar, because the margin of profit is too small ! Many of the popular slang expressions of the day have been coined in Hollywood. One of them is "Be yourself." The comedians have uttered it often, never dreaming that it would profit them to take heed of their own words. They must all be Charlie Chaplins. Hoxtf to Break Into Talkies Continued from page 52 tral now has so many names on its Dorothy Ward, knew she'd be good books that it won't accept another unless the applicant is referred to the bureau by an assistant director, at least. If you haven't any assistant directors, or their equivalent, on your list of acquaintances, there's no hope there. But remember that, since voices are taken into consideration, you'll have far more opportunity to make an impression than you would have had in the past. You'll no longer be just a face and a figure. Bryan Foy suggested that the best way to break in would be as a member of a vaudeville act, or a theatrical production. Rather a limited field ! But why not use a little intelligence, as well as a good bit of courage, and crash the gates by a roundabout route ? They have telephone operators in Hollywood, and motion-picture folk, like the rest of us, use telephones. Hint No. 1. They have demonstrators of everything from cold cream to windshield wipers, as do other towns. Hint No. 2. They have waiters and waitresses and clerks. Probably you've heard about how Phyllis Haver wandered into a five-and-ten store, and seeing in pictures, and asked her if she wouldn't like to have a test made. Miss Ward thought that Phyllis was just having a little joke, and highhatted her. Not till Phyllis sent a studio scout to talk business, did Miss Ward believe that she was serious. The result of the negotiations was a contract with Pathe. Hint No. 3. If you're a good stenographer, carpenter, electrician, or bookkeeper, there's a chance that you may get a job in one of the studios, and once in, you may have a chance to play in pictures. At least, your voice will have an opportunity to register with the powers that be. And to be on the inside of a studio looking out, instead of on the outside looking in, is all important. Alice White was a stenographer for First National before she ever faced a camera, you know. Hint No. 4. Of course, there's always the chance that, once in Hollywood, you'll be smiled on by Lady Luck, and just casually run into somebody who is somebody in pictures, and can give you a hand up. James Murray got his part in "The Crowd," because King Vidor gave him a lift in his car one day, and liked him. But you can't depenc on chances like that. Charles Farrell and Richard Arlen can tell you that; they both had to stand the gaff before they broke in. Here's another thing. Doubling in talkies is going to be a pretty wellpaid profession. The man who sang for Richard Barthelmess, in "Weary River," didn't do it for nothing, you may be sure. The screams that curdle an audience's blood, when mystery pictures are shown — and heard — have to be screamed by some one, and it might as well be you. Incidentally, one of the first of the Metro-Goldwyn pictures that came East to have a sound accompaniment made had to have a scream, and when the work was being done there wasn't a good dramatic screamer available. Major Edward Bowes, who has charge of audible effects for M.-G.M. was in a quandary. So he called in his wife, who in her day was famous as an actress under the name of Margaret Illington. And she very obligingly did the screaming. Now I'm not saying that if you have a good voice and real personality, that you're going to find the studio gates open wide if you invade Hollywood. It won't be easy to break in. But it's likely to be easier than it has been for the past few Continued on page 106