Film Spectator (1927-1928)

July 23, 1927 THE FILM SPECTATOR Page Thirteen with a scene showing that she had halitosis, but there was no such tie-up, leaving no other conclusion than that the gargling was included for its own inherent artistic qualities. When Gwen dies she lives up to movie traditions by closing her eyes, which is not the old established method of dying. In the opening sequence we are teased into anticipating a close-up of Norma scrubbing her teeth, but just before she sticks the toothbrush into her mouth there is a quick cut to a close-up of Gwen curling her eyelashes. Norma and Gwen are sisters. Norma is a tight-wad and Gwen a live wire. Norma laboriously saves one thousand dollars and buys a Liberty bond; Gwen gets a Liberty bond as a favor at a wild party, which makes Norma conclude that she is a fool. To prove it she gets soused. I have seen, or read, the same situation somewhere else, but can not recall just where. Lawrence Grey is the leading man. First we see him as a hold-up man who operates with a piece of lead pipe, which he forces Norma to buy for ten dollars. Quite properly she beans him on the dome with it, and quite improperly she takes him to her room after midnight to minister to the resultant scalp abrasion. The instant he comes to Be falls in love with her and decides to go straight. I seem to recall that that also has been done before. They are going to get married, the fact being planted in a pretty love scene on the sidewalk in front of the display window of a furniture store, an ideal place for such a scene. As they stroll away Norma sees some baby carriages in another window and is embarassed, still another incident that helps to establish the fact that either Monta Bell, as author of the story and director, or Lorna Moon, who wrote the continuity, has a splendid memory. Lawrence later sees Norma with another man and gets drunk and spends all the money he had saved to buy a taxicab. Norma previously had seen him necking with another dame, and reverses the debauch idea. She blows in all the money she had saved first and then gets drunk. Oh, it’s a lovely picture, all right! When it is released, by all means take the children to see it. It teaches a great moral lesson: that it is quite all right for a girl to get drunk and kill her sister by forcing a car over a bank, for no doubt the surviving sister can find a Liberty bond in the drawer where her deceased sister kept her underwear. The only redeeming feature of the production is a fine performance by Gwen Lee, to whom goes all the acting honors. Norma is not convincing in any of her scenes. Even if the story had any merit, and if Norma’s acting ability had been equal to it, her performance would have been ruined by the long parade of meaningless closeups of her. The atmosphere of the picture is disgpasting. DUDLEY MURPHY ORIGINAL STORIES IN CONTINUITY Now Doing Another Original for De Mille If under the supervisor system M.-G.-M. has to descend to such depths to find material for the screen, it is time Mayer was doing away with his supervisors and giving people with clean minds an opportunity to show if they can turn out some pictures with entertainment in them and which people can view without holding their noses. The only clean thing in this picture is Gwen Lee’s gargling. t * * “Ritzy” Is a Sorry Affair WHEN It was released by Paramount the screen gave credit to Elinor Glyn for both story and supervision. When Ritzy was released the screen gave credit to Madame Gljm only for the story. It was an amusing comedy that is making a great deal of money. Ritzy is the silliest thing imaginable. Eliminate a clever characterization by William Austin and there is nothing left — no comedy, drama, nor sense. I refuse to believe that Elinor Glyn wrote the story as we see it on the screen, or that she had anything to do with the screening of it. She sometimes writes stories on trivial themes, but she makes them amusing, human, or alive. Ritzy is tiresome, unreal and dead. Madame Glyn made a notable pictxire out of her Three Weeks. She made the screen version of her book and supervised every sequence, consequently we may accept that production as the measure of her screen mind. And the mind that conceived such a picture, or such an amusing one as It, could not have been responsible for a terrible thing like Ritzy. No doubt the theme was hers, a trivial thing that required her entertaining touch to give it any value. As it reached the screen it is treated in a manner that emphasizes its triviality. The theme is treated seriously, lacking the literary touch that glosses its inherent unreality and makes it amusing to an extent that would make us forget its faults. In any picture the story is of less importance than the manner in which it is told. What Ritzy needed to make it tolerable was the touch that Madame Glyn gave It, a touch of cleverness that made it a better picture than Ritzy although the story did not have much more merit. In Ritzy we are given an American girl who determines to marry a duke for the sole purpose of spiting her friends. Told with a sense of humor such a situation might get by, and it might be possible to retain for the girl a semblance of sanity. But as we see her she is a senseless little fool, totally devoid of a sense of humor. Until Paramount develops an ability to put some wit into a picture that needs it, it would please its patrons better if it stuck to slapstick and objective drama. Ritzy gets off to a false start. Betty Bronson, as the American girl, gives a party at which James Hall, a duke incognito, is the guest of honor. We are supposed to be gazing on real society, but the hostess insults her guests and the guests insult the hostess. It is absolutely ludicrous, but not funny. The high point of asininity is reached when the hostess resents the desire of her girl guests to meet the guest of honor. No doubt Richard Rosson followed the script in directing the scenes, but as we see it the whole sequence is impossible. It needed a touch of humor to make it plausible. The thing gets more ridiculous as it proceeds, and not in one scene is any sympathy gained for the heroine, who remains a half-wit until the end. Joan Standing, sporting an extraordinary collection of freckles.