Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Jul 1929)

98 Continued from page 25 Independents, quickies, a serial — nineteen weeks of it — then finally "Lights of New York." Another hit ! Vaudeville. Sanctuary. Deafening applause as he steps on the stage. Not press agent stuff, but real. I saw him in three, different cities and it was the same story each time. Through ? Right now, he's sitting on top of the world, or pretty close to it. There is nothing of the actor or "ham" about him. Here is a man who rings true, clear down to the core of his being. Usually his face is masked either with a smile, or an expression of stolidity, but occasionally in an unguarded moment the mask is forgotten and you read a tragedy of hurt and disillusionment in his eyes. As we parted he said, "I wish, if you could, you would tell those fans who still remember me, how very, very deeply I appreciate their interest and regard. It's one of the things I've not been able to do for myself. I have no way of letting them know." Kenneth Harlan. He has a breadth and girth of stature belied by his appearance on the screen. His voice is a light baritone, with a curious huskiness to it. Kenneth Harlan, too, has found sanctuary in vaudeville. "I'll never go back to the screen without a contract in my pocket," he declared. "Free lancing is too heartbreaking." "What happened after your contract with Constance Talmadge ? You were going pretty well then?" He grinned. "We were both going pretty well then. Too damned well, in fact, to keep us together. After that I started free lancing. No, wait a minute. I had one — no, two — more contracts, and then I began free lancing. I made pictures here and there and everywhere — all over the place. None of them were particularly outstanding. Marie and I made a picture together, 'The Beautiful and Damned.' Say, did you read those love-life confessions of hers? "I left Hollywood last August. They weren't doing anything out there then. Few talkies, because they weren't equipped for them, and \ not many silent pictures, because they didn't know how they'd be received. I came to New York, vacationed a while, started out in this sketch the first of October and have been playing it ever since. Booked until next August. I'll play Los Angeles in about eight weeks and we'll see what happens then. If nothing happens I'll continue in this, or a play. I prefer a comedy. He talked reluctantly of himself, or rather of anything at all. And yet What's Become of Tkem? his reticence is not the reticence of taciturnity, but rather that of groping for a common ground. There is no great depth to his nature, but this is offset by his sincerity and his indifference to what people think of him. Charles Ray. Lights outside the theater — vaudeville again — displayed the information that Charles Ray, in person, not a movie, was appearing there. I went inside. Before he ever appeared on the stage, when merely his name was flashed on the announcers at the sides of the stage, there was applause any star might have been proud of. When he actually appeared, he received such an ovation as I have never before witnessed in a theater. Cheers, whistles, huzzas. And yet, when he left the stage scarcely fifteen minutes later, there was merely a desultory ripple of applause. His act falls flat. With every chance to come back in a really big way, he misses fire just as surely as a ten-cent cigarette lighter. If memory serves correctly, it was his ambition to be the whole show — star, producer, and director — which wrecked him. It is the same story in vaudeville. He cannot resist the temptation to display what he considers his amazing versatility, by singing songs of his own composition. It is a toss-up which is worse. His voice is singularly toneless and usually more or less off key. He has been described as "an apostle of futility," and I can think of no more apt description. He talks glibly — too glibly. You have the feeling that it has all been written out and learned long ago. Charles Ray speaks volubly of his contributions to the screen. He gave a very definite characterization to the public, although it "peeves" and "irks" him to have that character referred to as a "hick," or a "rube." When that wore out and the public no longer cared about seeing him play rustics, he began to wonder what it was all about, he says. He refers proudly to the fact that he made the first and almost only movie without subtitles, "The Old Swimmin' Hole," though I am still not certain just why that should support a claim to greatness. He links his name not infrequently with that of Douglas Fairbanks and I surmise that the word "genius" is the cream in his coffee. Herbert Howe once wrote that "doing the right thing is a fetish with Charles Ray." I do not believe it is so much a question of doing the right thing as it is of doing what he believes the public will consider the correct thing. Where Cullen Landis and Bert Lytell display native intelligence in expressing more or less original ideas, Charles Ray's talk rambles along disconnectedly in an effort to impress his listener with his cleverness. "The Story of Philosophy" and "Israfel" occupy an ostentatious position on his dressing table, and he naively confesses that he carries the former and a couple of volumes of Shakespeare about with him. He also confides that he takes singing lessons and "a language or two" when he has time. A couple of scouts are looking for a play for him, either comedy or musical comedy, and if these fail to materialize there is always— Heaven help us ! — the concert stage. Music has always been very near and dear to him, he says, and in this I believe he is sincere. When you recall his marvelous characterization in "The Girl I Loved," and going back further, his appealing acting in "The Clodhopper," you lose all patience with the smug poseur of "The Garden of Eden" and "Vanity." For the real Charles Ray there is still a large public and an enviable place on the screen, but for the merely capable actor who overestimates his ability to the extent of confusing talent with genius, there is only oblivion. I know of no one of whom I would enjoy writing pleasantly more than Charles Ray, for he has contributed some of the finest acting the screen has ever known, but Charles Ray as he is to-day leaves me cold. Here, then, are four prime favorites of a few years ago. Somehow I have a feeling that one of these days you will see Cullen Landis back on the screen in a bigger way than ever. With a sympathetic director and good stories, there is no limit to what he could do. Bert Lytell is too clever a showman ever to permit himself to drop entirely from sight. His appearances on the screen will be intermittent, but you'll see him. Kenneth Harlan comes from a stage family and, with his peculiar voice, it seems more likely that he will be seen henceforth on the stage more than on the screen. Charles Ray is too well known ever to drop entirely from the minds of producers. It is probable that he will appear from time to time as suitable roles are found, but as he has learned little from his experiences and has already let pass many chances to come back, it is improbable he will have another big chance. Drop the curtain, fans ! For some of our favorites the play is over but, for others there will be a second and third act still to come.