The Film Renter and Moving Picture News (Sep-Oct 1922)

12 THE FILM RENTER & MOVING PICTURE NEWS. October 21, 1922. STAGE STARS AND SCREEN ROUTINE What the “ Big Noise” from the Theatre has to Learn. By FRANK H. CRANE. In America Frank H. Crane has directed the following stars: Dorothy Phillips, Alice Brady, Robert Warwick, Lew Fields, Vivian Martin, Molly King, Elaine Hammerstein, Eugene O’Brien, Mary Garden in ** Thais,’’ Irene Castle, Florence Reed, Kitty Gordcn, and Petrova. In England he_ has made the following pictures: ‘‘ The Puppet Man,’’ ‘‘ The Pauper Millionaire,’ ‘‘ The Lonely Lady of Grosvenor Square,’’ and ‘The Grass Orphan,’’ etc. Frank H. Crane. ae. TAGE. artistes rarely make good screen players, and vice S rersa—although there are notable exceptions to prove the rule on both sides. The real reason for this is that in standing on two stools you always stand a remarkably good chance of ‘crashing ’? between them. Avain, temperament has much to do with the matter, and the temperaments required for the two great branches of the entertainment world are almost as far apart as the poles. Another great reason is that given every cther requirement appearance often lets the stage ‘* star ”’ down badly—there are no soft lights in the studio, and the pretty pink and white make-up of the ingenue or the bronzed tone of the leading man are worthless. It is popularly supposed that the camera cannot lie, but recent photographic advancement has proved that the camera is a imechanica! successor to Ananias, althonvh in some things it may be pitilessly frank and truthful. Unfortunately the photographic artist cannot retouch the thousands of tiny pictures which go to make the screen play. The Demands of the Studio. The legitimate player cannot always give his mind entirely to his screen work—there's always the show at night and perhaps one of those infernal matinees to think of, and as time slips on he gets worried with the persistent thought—'* How an I going to get to the theatre? ’’ You cannot do justice to one thing while your mind is perpetually harping on another. Films upset the stage-players’ routine. He has to be up early and may have to work all night, and he isn’t used to it. He’s been trained to coming down for the show after the rehearsal period and of leaving it for whatever pleasures he desires when the curtain falls. The money of the studio is all right and very welcome, but the work does cut into his spare time. Teaching the Theatrical ‘‘ Big Noise.’”’ The technique of the studio is absolutely different from that Digitized by Goc gle It is a thing apart. * stardom,” of the stage. The player arrives at theatrical hoardings proclaim his greatness to a gratified world, admirers throng around the stage door to watch him leave; then he accepts a tempting offer from some producing concern who realise that his name will be a draw; he arrives at the studio and finds that most of the things he’s learned have got to be unlearned-even the art of make-up is a different matter. The ** big noise ’’ from the theatre has to be taught, taught what to do with bis hands, how to walk even, while others stand around wearing expressions of varying degrees of boredom. That’s hard on the legitimate ** star,’’ and it’s apt to make him irritable and self-conscious. It is bad also for the producer and the financial end of the concern he’s working for, because you cannot very well fire or allow a man to fire himself half-way through a picture. You cannot put the understudy on because the principal has thrown down his part and walked out in a “ huff.” Tedious Technique. Being new to pictures, studio methods and requirements, the newcomer frets at what he considers the great waste and loss of time. Yet if he would only pause to think for a moment. In his own business he thinks nothing of long and tedious dress rehearsals. Now, in pictures, every scene rehearsed and taken is tantamount to a dress rehearsal. It is all dress rehearsal. As in the theatre, everything has to be gone over and over again until everyone is fed up and tired, while nerves are all on edge. Everything has got to be arranged and rearranged, and while this is happening some people must stand by apparently idle. The true screen player recognises this as part of the job, he's drawing a salary for it, but the stage player chafes. ‘* Not a Hand.”’ The stage ‘‘ star ’’ is used to his orchestra and his applause —both are missing! He feels this more than anything. He knows, or thinks, he’s doing well, he feels every passion of the scene, every mood of the character he is portraying, then a voice says curtly ‘' Cut,’’ and all is over for the moment. Not a hand from the stalls, not a whistle from the gallery! No curtain falls, simply a crowd of players, electricians luechanics, property men, carpenters, hurrying about and arranging for the next ‘‘ shot.” A Wide World Public. In pictures everything is cold-blooded; it has to be or the preduction would never run to its scheduled allowance of capital and time. Tho legitimate ‘ star’? misses his opening n‘ght. yet every scene he plays for the pictures is an opening night. If he can imagine that, and always keep himself up to concert pitch, always letting it ‘‘ go,’’ never flagging as he would upon that other ‘‘opening night,'’ he’ll one day do as big things on the screen as he has done on the stage, perhaps bigger. For his screen public is the wide world, whereas his theatre audience is restricted to numbers and more or less localised. Original from NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY