Screenland (Oct 1923-Mar 1924)

A TRIO OF NEW FILMS: THE CHEAT, BLUEBEARD'S EIGHTH WIFE AND RED LIGHTS John Robertson's Advance John Robertson deserves his share of the praise, too. Heretofore we have looked upon Robertson as one of our best directors in a certain field of endeavor. Charm seemed to be his chief stock in trade. His workmanship had the elusiveness — and the force weakness — of fuzzy photography, if we may be permitted the simile. But his production of The Fighting Blade presents a growing Robertson. This has vigor if any screenplay ever had, along with the old charm. Speaking of one production always reminds you of another. The Fighting Blade brings The White Sister to mind, because it was made by the same organization, Inspiration Pictures. Certainly this company has done a good deal by the screenplay, if only by making Tol'able David. While The Fighting Blade is a romantic picture made in New Jersey, The White Sister is a comparatively modern story made in Italy. Can more satisfactory results be obtained by transporting a company and a technical staff to the distant lands of the original story? I wonder. The White Sister was written by the late F. Marion Crawford who dealt in mild minor romances twenty or so years ago. This was the story of a broken-hearted girl who, upon learning of the death of her sweetheart, an officer in Africa, becomes a nun. Then the lover, who has been a prisoner of natives, returns and the inevitable struggle between religion and love presents itself. The picture ends tragically, with the real death of the officer, although the stage version of the novel, played some fifteen years or so ago by Viola Allen, had a happy termination, a papal dispensation or something, tacked on. White Sister Presented X caught The White Sister first at an out-of-town preview when it was sadly in need of cutting. The picture has since been brought to a Broadway theatre. Far be it from me to comment upon its reception. Doing a drama about religion seems to me to be as relaxing a pastime as tapping a stick of dynamite with an axe. You never can tell exactly where you are going to land. Anyway, The White Sister is hardly a picture for the Ku Klux Klan. I'm not so strong for Henry King's direction — and Lillian Gish's performance strikes me as being several degrees below her best previous work, say her Anne Moore of 'Way Down East or, better still, her slavey of Broken Blossoms. In just one thing has she advanced. Her love scenes are marked by a singularly tender lyric quality. These love scenes are, to me, the high spots of The White Sister. By the way, The White Sister has its histrionic surprise, 44 too. This is the Italian officer, played by Ronald Colman, a newcomer from the footlights. This Colman, who seems a younger David Powell, has sympathy and a singular distinction of playing. But Gail Kane, as the wicked lady of The White Sister, is all over the place, even outdoing old Vesuvius, here presenting a neat character bit. Talmadge Production a Dud X~Xere I reach the edge of the things that interested me during the month. Norma Talmadge's Ashes of Vengeance struck me as pretty much of a dud. Here is a romantic costume piece intended, I suspect, to show the Germans their place as producers. It is one of those old-fashioned stories, of the days of Catherine de Medici and the Huguenot massacre, which were built situation upon situation, with no regard for character drawing. The characters were switched about like puppets to get a thrilling situation. All of which is glaringly apparent when the thing is transferred to pictureology. Ashes of Vengeance is elaborately done but it collapses in appeal and interest because it actually hasn't anything, except massive spick and span sets (which utterly lack atmosphere) and yards and yards of whiskers, there being a theory somewhere in Hollywood that hirsute adornments made the Germanic pictures go. Frank Lloyd reveals a complete lack of imagination in making Ashes of Vengeance but the biggest flop of the picture is the star, Norma Talmadge. Miss Talmadge doesn't even photograph well and her acting never strikes anything. She does, however, present one remarkable instance of versatility. Miss Talmadge makes the heroine, Yoeland, a bobbed hair heroine — except in one scene, when, before a crucifix, she kneels in prayer while the opportune sun shines upon her hair. Then, lo and behold, her hair is in long ringlets. But, in the next flash, Yoeland is bobbed again. Conway Tearle is actually better than Miss Talmadge as the hero but Wallace Beery makes us realize how good a character actor is Emil Jannings when he attempts a part that cries for the Brooklyn German. "Hollyivood" a Real Hit Xt is rather late, at this date, to comment upon James Cruze's production of Frank Condon's delightful story of a screen struck girl, Hollyivood. This is one of' the best pictures of the year — or, indeed, any year. Like — and yet unlike — Souls for Sale, it gives an inside glimpse of the capital of moviedom. Every star in Hollywood and points east trails across the canvas. Moreover, the adventures of the stage struck kid are told with fine humor and a real sense of (Continued on page 81 ).