Film Spectator (1927-1928)

Page Eight THE FILM SPECTATOR July 23, 1927 industry of all its ills, yet evei-y studio pays big salaries to supervisors who stand in the way of perfect scripts. Writing a screen story differs very little from writing a novel. The major tasks are the same, the telling of a logical and entertaining story. It is no more difficult for an author to write without assistance a manuscript for a publisher than it is for another author to write without assistance a scenario for a director. But I suppose when Louis B. Mayer reads a book by Booth Tarkington he wonders how in God’s name Booth ever managed to write it without Harry Rapf’s advice. There will be some hope for Mayer as a motion picture producer if he can be made to see that when Harry Rapf becomes qualified to tell Booth Tarkington how a novel should be written, he will be qualified to tell a screen writer how a scenario should be written. The kind of pictures we are getting now is the kind of books we would be getting if every author had to work under a supervisor who knew nothing about literature. Supervisors will resist any effort to improve screen conditions. Perfect scripts will eliminate them. They will argue that perfect scripts are impossible to secure because there are no people trained to write them. They do not know this to be true. They have not allowed authors to demonstrate how far they could go in writing directly for the screen, the way every screen story should be written. But I’ll grant that there may not be now a sufficient number of sufficiently trained writers to provide enough perfect scripts to keep production programs moving. Then it is up to producers to allow writers to train themselves. In the very first Spectator published, number one of volume one, I advocated this training, so the idea is not a new one with me. Any manufactured article to be perfect must be made of perfect raw material. The story is the raw material out of which a picture is made. In the case of the screen it happens to be an industry that can manufacture its product economically only to the extent that the raw material has been perfected before the process of fabrication begins. ^ ^ * Colman Great in “The Magic Flame” Ronald colman as both the hero and the heavy in a picture is a cinematic novelty. In Magic Flame he plays a circus clown who looks like a prince, and a king, formerly the prince, who looks like a circus clown. The clown role is the heroic one. In it Colman is the same suave, polished actor who has a tremendous following among picture patrons. At best, however, all leading roles are pretty much alike, and everything that Colman does as the hero of this story we have seen him do many times before. And he always does them well. He has an air of refinement and distinction about him that no other leading man can match. He carries that same air into his characterization of the prince, a particularly vicious libertine, and in the role he gives the only really notable performance that has been permitted him in pictures, the only one in which he was not called upon mainly to be himself. As a heavy he is splendid, bringing to the part the same finesse that has made him stand out as a leading man, and adding to it a sinister quality and a callousness that prove him to be a really admirable actor. His characterization as the profligate prince and Henry King’s direction are the features of this latest Banky Colman picture which Sam Goldwyn soon will present to the public. It is a good picture, except for its impossible titles. It is a romantic drama, and is strong in both romance and drama. There are several big scenes in it and they are directed most effectively by King, who more than atones in this picture for any of the weaknesses of Barbara Worth for which he may have been responsible. Goldwyn maintains a higher quality in his pictures than any ' other producer, and it is greatly to his credit that he never presents Miss Banky and Colman in a production that tends to detract from their box office value. He has given The Magic Flame a superb setting, and George Barnes and Thomas Brannigan have photographed it wonderfully well. The lighting is a striking feature. In fact, I never saw lights and shadows handled more effectively in any American picture. Henry King is one of the most intelligent directors we have. He commits none of the standard faults that mar so many pictures. There is not a foot of film in Magic Flame that bears witness to carelessness or lack of intelligence in direction. The circus atmosphere of the opening scenes is established admirably, although in their first love scene the circus performers speak titles that detract from it. They are beautiful titles — much more beautiful than such people would speak. There are titles that could not have been written by George Marion, Jr., and there are others which could have been written by no one else. When I saw the picture there were no credits presented on the screen, and I have made no inquiries since, but if Marion did not write the offending titles they were written so nearly in his style that it is all right to blame him for them. The chief fault of many of them was that they struck a jarring note. At times when the” whole spirit of scenes demanded that Colman should preserve a kingly attitude he was given spoken titles that were cheap and inane wisecracks. They showed that Goldwyn committed a mistake that is committed so frequently: he regarded the titles, not as an integral part of the picture, but as something that should stand out as a separate feature. The mood of the titles did not even remotely match the mood of the scenes. They stood out like knotty protruberances on the smoothness of Henry King’s direction, and were about as much in place as a drunken man at a church wedding. And I am quite satisfied that Sam Goldwyn will not have the slightest idea what I am talking about, for he approved the titles and my line of reasoning is too deep for anyone who could not see at a glance that such lowbrow titles have no place in such a highbrow picture. * * * Von Sternberg Scores With “Underworld” JUST one year and one day ago I said in The Spectator that Josef von Sternberg “some day will be one of the outstanding figures of the screen”. I had seen two pictures directed by him, A Woman of the Sea and The Exquisite Sinner. I have not seen his first bid for fame. Salvation Hunters. But I thought I saw enough in the < two pictures that I did view to give me confidence in the young man’s future. My confidence is strengthened by his latest picture. Underworld. It is a remarkable exhibition of screen craftsmanship, and stamps Von Sternberg as a really capable director. He is a master, dramatist and builds his drama with every means at his