Close Up (Oct 1920 - Aug 1923)

CLOSE-UP JUNIOR REVIEWS “THE FLAME OF LIFE” Our visit to the Symphony this week to see Priscilla Dean in “The Flame of Life,” drove home to us very explicitly hew many things can possibly disturb the audience during the showing of a really good picture. For despite the fact that “The Flame of Life” is, to our mind, an unwise attempt to attain a box office title by replacing the real title, “That Lass o’ Lowries,” by Miss Burnett, this is a rattling good picture. It is a story of the English collieries of the last century, with an interesting, although not too obtrusive, sermon on the iniquity of unregulated labor conditions. Hobart Henley, the director, kept this sermon down to a minimum, and he is also to be praised for his direct and forceful continuity, as well as the several human touches which recall his intimate handling of “The Flirt.” Unfortunately, “The Flame of Life” has been released after “Tol’able David,” because the scene where Wallace Beery and Hobert Ellis stage their catch as catch can battle in the cellar, with the rest of the cast looking on from above, is very reminiscent of the fight in the Barthelmess picture. In each case the outcome is known only when the successful survivor emerges. We understand that Henley did this scene without having viewed the earlier released picture, so that he deserves considerable credit for this idea as well as Barthelmess’ director. In support of the star Wallace Beery plays one of his regulation man-eater roles. Bob Ellis is his usual handsome and righteous self as the overman at the colliery, and Kathryn McGuire sacrifices her modern youthful charm to portray the old-fashioned type of minister’s daughter, with a bustle, a tight fitting bodice and a little pancake hat, along with the manner which went with this costume. Incidentally, Miss McGuire seems to be becoming a Symphony habit; she was co-featured with Ben Turpin in “The Shriek of Araby,” which preceded the present attraction for an extended run at the same theatre. The scenes which stand out in our mind are those where Miss McGuire gives Miss Dean a rose, thus bringing the first touch of beauty into the sordid life of the colliery girl; the ending of the fight between the marvelously freckled Micky Daniels and Frankie Lee; the first clash of wills between the inebriated and infuriated Beery and his daughter (Miss Dean) over his finding “a filthy rose” in his drinking mug; the episode where Miss McGuire realizes that Ellis is really in love with the colliery girl and promises to help her all he can; and the final shot in the picture, where Ellis, himself, realizes his love and runs over the hill after Miss Dean to the fadeout. Two other interesting scenes of lesser degree are those showing the colliery girl running over hill and dale to the mine, after the explosion, and the good night farewell at her door between Miss McGuire and Mr. Ellis. To return to the distractions — first and foremost, the Symphony theatre must be charged with the grievous crime of cutting a feature, for we understand that “The Flame of Life” is a seven-reel picture, and the theatre shows its entire program, including a newsreel and a comedy in addition to the feature, in the space of exactly one hour. The second crime to be charged to the theatre is the presence of what is undoubtedly the worst orchestra west of Jersey City, which struggles in feeble defiance against the laws of harmony, and in as equally feeble defiance against the loud-toned radiophone in the lobby of the theatre which is supposed to attract customers to the box office, and which certainly distracts them after they get into the house. But the chief distraction of all was what we first thought to be a young police dog, but which, on second inspection, turned out to be merely a very healthy rat, who promenaded up and down aisles of the theatre — probably just as worried as the feminine patrons. There may be a division about the quality of music, but we believe in the unanimity of sentiment regarding the advisibility of having rats as theatre companions. Barring these distractions, “The Flame of Life” was real entertainment. We certainly wish we could have seen it in its uncut length and under more propitious conditions in general. Such exhibition works great injustice to such artists as Director Hobart Henley, Miss Dean, Miss McGuire, Mr. Ellis and Mr. Beery. We should also mention the very beautiful photography by Virgil Miller and the capable handling of the excited mobs in the picture by Assistant Director A. C. Smith. “The Flame of Life” is a Universal Jewel. FIRST NATIONAL PRESENTS “MIGHTY LAK’ A ROSE,” DIRECTED BY EDWIN CAREWE; PHOTOGRAPHED BY PHILLIP WEST; SCENARIO BY CURTIS BENNETT. PREVIEWED AT THE ROOSEVELT THEATER BY CLOSE-UP JUNIOR, JR. It is rather difficult to say anything except that this production is one of the very few good ones. It is something of “The Miracle Man” type, and nearly as great a theme. Of course there is comedy — plenty of it — and real comedy at that. Mr. Carewe has made a wonderful picture and it only proves what a great director he is. An excellent cast of unknown players were assembled and expertly put through their difficult roles. Sam Hardy, as Trevor, was not the villain this time. Dora Mills Adams, as Mrs. Trevor, did fine work. A number of very beautiful sets were unnoticed because of poor lightings. J. H. Lewis, as “Slippery” Eddie Forster, is a natural comediana and one of the best in the picture. Helene Montrose, as Molly Morgan, was fine as “the tough dame who always relents.” Anders Randolf, as “Btull” Morgan, established a new type of villain on the screen. Dorothy Mackall had the feminine lead and should be a star very shortly. Her work was beyond words. James Rennie played opposite her and displayed some remarkable ability. Harry Short was also good. Some of the kid scenes were poor, but the dog stuff was wonderful. The titles wer? splendid and the underworld scenes deserve great comment. Although it is a trifle long, the way the laughter and tears are woven together is the big thing, isn’t it? And Edwin Carewe has proved himself to be a master at that.