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THE AMERICAN FILM
Man in the Iron Mask was a false conception of romanticism, despite the Leloir designs, with a prologue and epilogue that were among the worst things ever seen on the screen. The Taming of the Shrew , for all its splendid entertainment and its exposition of Fairbanks, lacked the fire of the earlier films. Alone, The Black Pirate stood out as a brilliant film. Taken for what it was, a glorious collection of impossible situations in delightful settings, it was as good as anything that Fairbanks has ever done. It was rapid in pace, strong in feeling, and, above all, it was stimulating. With The Mark of Zorro, it is his best work.
With the coming of the dialogue film, it became a commercial necessity for both Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford to divert their talent along fresh channels. Miss Pickford went ahead of her husband and made Coquette, a film that raised much controversy, but Fairbanks hung back, contemplating presumably the needs of this new mechanical invention. For some time there had been suggestions that these two famous persons should appear in the same film, a dangerous and perhaps disastrous undertaking. But if ever a suitable occasion arose for their dual picture, then it was in this new species of cinema. Thus, the only way in which a proper appreciation of The Taming of the Shrew could be obtained was by regarding it from a business point of view. It was a superb piece of showmanship. The choice of a Shakespearean play was astute, for it meant that the dialogue was safe from criticism. True, people would complain at the prostitution of the play, but criticism could not be levelled at the lines themselves. That it was Shakespeare's play mattered not one jot. It was a commentary upon husbands and wives; it afforded a chance for spectacle; it was in all ways an admirable vehicle for the two personalities to be launched in a new manner. As a film, it was excellent entertainment, but it could not be considered as a proper cinematic exposition of the talent of either Douglas Fairbanks or Mary Pickford.
Of Mrs. Douglas Fairbanks I find difficulty in writing, for there is a consciousness of vagueness, an indefinable emotion as to her precise degree of accomplishment. In vain she has been described as the Cinderella of the screen, with an air of innocence that touches deeply the chords of the strongest heart. She is said to be 'the sweet young girl that every man desires some day to have for himself.' This may well be, but Mary Pickford as a business woman, acutely
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