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interstices in the skin around the eyes that all changes of expression are registered. If this is so, it would seem to be bad practice to fill up those tiny interstices and almost invisible wrinkles with greasepaint. It is robbing the artists of their best means of telling the story.
The ban did not, of course, forbid the accenting of such things as eyebrows or even, a little, the lips. But apart from such minor repairs as nature had forgotten, the rule was: leave yourself as God made you; that's good enough for me.
About those tears. I occasionally read of certain mechanical or even chemical means of inducing them artificially — which is perhaps why the effect on the screen sometimes looks rather false. In all the years I worked with Alma Taylor I always found that whenever she had to express an emotion which, in real life, might result in tears she always felt it strongly and the tears came without any urging. It may not be generally so on the stage, of course, for there an actress is night after night re-enacting by memory the emotions she felt deeply in some far-away rehearsal. But in filmmaking we strive to record that actual rehearsal when the feeling is very real and the tears come naturally.
This was rather too poignantly illustrated once when I was rehearsing Alec Worcester for the film called, I think, At the Foot of the Scaffold. Worcester was a very good actor though he was rather a strange fellow in some ways. In one of the scenes in this film, in which he was impersonating a man who had evidently got himself into very serious trouble and become accused, falsely we must suppose, of murder, he had to work himself up, or be worked up, into a highly nervous condition at the thought of his impending fate. He did get worked up so very thoroughly that just at the moment we were ready to take the scene he suddenly went off into a violent fit of hysterics. Just for an instant I thought he was still acting, and then I went for him, hammer and tongs. I called him all the names I could think of, and that was plenty, and finished up with cold-water treatment. When he came round he was no further use that day, and I felt very queasy about the way he might behave on the morrow. He was, however, considerably chastened, and although I do not think he put up as good a show as he would have done the first day had he been able to go on, he did not do at all badly.
Alec Worcester was the husband of Violet Hopson, a good actress and a very nice woman, and they had two lovely children.
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