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THE ACTUAL
make that picture popular. He raked up spiritual references from the Bible, and made his horsemen flit about in an eerie manner in the sky. He caused Valentino to slink around with a cigarette dangling from his lips, and established him as an international hero by letting him dance a tango with his natural grace. Above all, by doing these things with an eye to public appreciation, he established himself as a great director in the opinion of the public, of Hollywood, and of himself. From that time onwards it was simply a question of Rex Ingram productions.
Some time after the world-wide reception of The Four Horsemen, he made The Prisoner of Zenda, and thereby reached the highest stage of intelligence that he is ever likely to achieve. He used Lewis Stone, Alice Terry, and Ramon Novarro for his acting material, and he creditably dragged the utmost out of them. The theme was sentimental, as all Ruritanian themes are, but sweetly so, with scope for gentle handling. To-day, perhaps, when held against modern achievements, The Prisoner of Zenda seems dull and old-fashioned. It was far from being so when first shown in this country. It is memorable now chiefly for the clever acting of young Ramon Novarro as the dashing Rupert. Novarro, before his days of stardom, was refreshing and stimulating. His playing in Zenda, against the reserved dignity of Lewis Stone, was beyond reproach. Rex Ingram's direction was capable, in a straightforward manner. His next outstanding success was an adaptation of Sabatini's costume romance, Scaramouche, and this also he handled with competency. He remembered Griffith's Orphans of the Storm and outdid the French Revolution in its own roguishness. This time he made Lewis Stone the villain, Novarro the smiling hero, and his wife again the heroine. As a costume melodrama, of no weight or pretensions to being anything else but pleasant spectacle, Scaramouche was with the best of its kind. It was lavish, crowded, brutal, charming, and amusing all at the same moment. To-day, it is almost forgotten. Of Ingram's other American productions, none was outstanding, but for reference may be mentioned Hearts Are Trumps (1921); Trifling Women (1922); Where the Pavement Ends (1923) and The Arab, after which he transported himself and his wife across to the shores of the Mediterranean. Mare Nostrum, a melodrama of espionage, with dastardly Germans and some good submarine shots, was uneven but of better technique than the Hollywood films. The Magician, with Paul
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