Screenland (Oct 1923-Mar 1924)

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on yioney, Undress and Eyebrows Sometimes we wonder how an actor can do this and still retain his sense of humor. And we wonder what Mae Murray thinks of this encroachment upon her own particular cuticle field of endeavor. Yet Doug always sets a screen style. Doubtless it will be a bad year for tailors in Hollywood. Mere thought of the possibilities startles us. Suppose, for instance, that Charlie Chaplin becomes an adventurer in a Turkish bath. Or Bill Hart plays a dramatic he-man masseur. dozen or so children are earning salaries that are well nigh mythical. News Heel t II ^HE way the news reel is han , , died in the bigger theatres of IVlenace our iarger cities is becoming a real menace. These managers now extract the scenes which please them from the various current news reels, incorporating the chosen interludes into one reel. And, in selecting these bits, the managers are usually influenced by what can be handled most effectively by their large orchestras. So we are given soldiers marching, battleships at target practice, artillery guns booming and so on, solely because of their noise value. All this injures the program. It extracts what little personality the news reel possesses. It turns it from a medium of news to a background for music and noise. Something needs to be done about it. Million Dollar Movies T IHE motion picture world is again talking in terms of money. It wasn't so long ago that filmdom heralded each new production and each new contract in million dollar figures. The dollar mark predominated in everything. That is, until Eric Von Stroheim tossed a fortune into Foolish Wives. That deed marked the end of the first money era in pictures. But the second money era apparently has dawned upon us. Cecil De Mille's emissaries have been blazing the way for his The Ten Commandments with gilded tales of record breaking sets, armies of extras and whole fortunes spent in making a single dramatic sequence. We are told — in all seriousness — that the Biblical portion of the productions cost exactly $1,030,000. All of which may be true, for the ornate Mr. De Mille seems to have been piqued by James Cruze's simple investment in prairie schooners, The Covered Wagon, and to have set out to eclipse it at any cost. Be that as it may, we do not hold with the exploitation of the silent drama in terms of dollars and cents. Millionaire Kids F |AR be it from us to doubt the truth of these stories coming out of Hollywood, but we're getting tired of the fulsome tales of certain young stars and their lavish gifts to their parents. No longer do we get a thrill out of the story that Baby Peggy has just bought a lavish Beverly Hills show place for her hard working parents or that little Farina has just presented her — or is it his? — dusky parents with a Rolls Royce. The thing has started to pall upon us. It is a curious commentary upon this new art that a half ho the Poor Child ITTLE Jackie Coogan is a millionaire. Baby Peggy's salary, according to her press agent, is close to a million a year. Let us further quote the gentleman: "Baby Peggy's contract makes her the queen of the child performers, of whom there are more than 200 in Hollywood. Their salaries range from $40 weekly upward, and many are able to support their families." Somehow we can't forget an automobile ride we made with Jackie Coogan last winter — nor can we lose our recollection of the haunting look in his eyes when he saw a little boy sliding down hill, untrammeled by fame or millions. Hollywood has too many potential Mary Miles Minters. THERE is a significant lesson in the failure of Norma Talmadge's Ashes of Ven We Are of Today geance on Broadway. Here was a costume piece obviously fashioned after the best Germanic standards — and which, despite all the king's men and all the king's horses, couldn't approach them. Ashes of Vengeance had big sets but big sets aren't mellow atmospheric backgrounds. Bewhiskered gentlemen in furbelows and laces can become far from real — when they aren't played with a sense of the spirit of the period. No, America hasn't equalled Passion or Deception or Peter the Great yet and isn't likely to. Isn't it about time that we realize our forte isn't the drama of yesterday? We are part and parcel of today. And, by the way, Miss Talmadge is an interesting example of what_ is the matter with our stars. The bugbear of restraint and the fear of photographing badly keeps her from acting. The placidity that comes with success keeps her from striving onward. No New Blood SOMETHING is radically wrong with our screen when it does not produce a single new directorial figure in a year. Yet that is exactly what has happened in the world of the screenplay. Not one new force in the making of pictures in twelve months ! Why aren't producers training men for the task of motion picture direction? Is it going to be left to chance? How can any business or any art advance when no new blood is injected into it? The answers are self evident. At the same time, it is interesting to note how three old timers — perhaps we should say pioneers — have been running away with the directorial honors. The trio numbers James Cruze, Sidney Olcott and Fred Niblo. The first two have been making pictures since the very first pictures; Cruze since Thanhouser was a household word among movie fans and Olcott since old Kalem sent almost the first screen troupe of players across the sea, to the Holy Land. It is reassuring to know that some of our directors are marching onward but the directorial menace is still there. We need young blood among our directors. 49