The educational screen (c1922-c1956])

September, 19^3 The Theatrical Field 345 Hughes of a bit of action at the table involving a large cushion, and there was prolonged deliberation over its proper placing. Patiently the two repeated the thing till every move was as it should be, the actor's serious countenance an odd contrast to the incongruous mixture of medieval rags and modern sweater he wore; to say nothing of shell-rimmed glasses with their nose piece swathed in cotton to protect his make-up. Spanish soldiers began to wander in from outside, evidently in anticipation of being needed, for in a few minutes the call came: "All soldiers in the places assigned to them last night!" They stood behind their stools at the table, and with Brennon facing them in military posture, gesturing energetically, and shouting, "Sa-lutc!" they rehearsed again and again the business of dragging swords out of scabbards and bringing them to the correct position at the right time. The director marched around to the chair and seized a goblet. "Gentlemen," he cried, "I give you the king!" "The king!" echoed the soldiers, and raised their cups. Antonio Moreno, the hero, brave in maroon brocades and velvets, laces and plumed hat, came strolling in, and watched while the soldiers performed. All at once there came a pause. Nobody seemed to be doing anything at all. I looked for the cause: found it in a little group around the camera, a buzz of talk, a laugh. The famous Pola Negri had arrived! She was not to work that day, and so was not in costume, and after a short conference, she left the set. I was sorry, for I had heard rumors of magnificent costumes and a wonderful bridal procession. The whistle sounded a new signal, and the lights buzzed, and flashed for the first time. Toot! Mr. Moreno started down the steps to salute his guests, dofif his plumed hat with a wide sweep, and propose the toast to the king. Mr. Brennon was not satisfied — it would seem from my observation to be the fate of directors never to be satisfied! "Let's try it with the cloak on, Tony," he suggested. It was forthwith done, and then the question of cloak or no cloak was debated. "I think it's much better without," was Tony's opinion, and so it was settled. Then it was decided to add two guards and a captain to Mr. Moreno's business of entering, which necessitated choosing and rehearsing three men — "fine, big fellows," the director stipulated, "men who've had military training." At last everything really seemed to be ready for final rehearsal. Toot! went the whistle — lights. Toot! Music. Entered the captain, followed by the hero and his attendant guards. A bridal magnificent in costume and setting "One, two, one, two. Left, right, left, right/' I heard them murmuring as they passed me. They reached the table; the guards drew back with precision. Click! The swords snapped to salute, the plume swept the floor. Captain and guards marched out of the picture — one, two, one, two. The host passed to his place, raised his cup. His voice rang out merrily: "Sefiores, salutamos, el rey!" (What Spanish I knew came to my assistance.) "El rey!" responded the soldiers, drank the toast, and followed it with laughter and talk. A series of short, vigorous blasts from the whistle brought the action to a sudden stop. Brennon spun down from his vantage point beside the camera in a brief rage of disapproval. "Why the laughter?" he demanded. "What is there to laugh at? You are toasting your king! People who have monarchies don't laugh at their king!"