Hollywood Spectator (1931)

August 29, 1931 it The moment in Agua Caliente when all seemed lost and then — lo and behold number 13 came up. The expression of amazement on the countenance of Groucho Marx when, in the Brown Derby, a little girl came up and asked for his autograph. Joan Bennett taking tennis lessons on the courts at the Beverly Hills Hotel — and I hope she’ll be at it soon again, as she’s a treat to the eye. The sketches of scenes for Howard Hawks’ production, Scarf ace. The recitation of these recollections might easily go on all the way across the continent, but I must mail this copy to-night in Albuquerque, so I shall forget for the moment to remember. Street Scene ▼ ▼A lot will be said and written about King Vidor’s superb direction of Street Scene, and about the forceful performances by Sylvia Sidney, Estelle Taylor, Beulah Bondi, William Collier, Jr., and David Landau, among many others — and the general expressions of praise will be deserved. But I doubt that sufficient credit will be given to A1 Newman, who arranged the musical score which enhances immeasurably the strength of this fine picture. Mr. Newman has supplied some genuinely interpretive music. By means of a few blue chords, inserted here and there, he has added a note of operatic grandeur to the drama of Elmer Rice’s play. It is a wonderful achievement to get the audience into the soul of a story even before the main title has faded from the screen. ▼ ▼I think that King Vidor’s direction of the dialogue in Street Scene should be studied and imitated by all other directors. For here is a demonstration of perfect timing and perfect emphasis. All the cuts, from one character to another, and all the camera angles, are dictated by consciousness of the importance of what is being said or thought by the characters at the moment, rather than by the desire to create arty pictorial effects. ▼ ▼ The next chatty little article that I contribute to this journal will be mailed from New York which, henceforth as previously, will be my residence. If in the future any of my host of friends on the West Coast wish to communicate with me they can best do so through the medium of an advertisement in the Hollyivood. Spectator. Nearing Albuquerque ▼ ▼ For the time being, as my final farewell to Hollywood and to all those within it whom I like and admire and respect (and that goes for you too, Mr. Beaton), I can only say this, as my unalterable opinion: Good or bad — and new inventions or no new inventions — it will matter a hundred years from to-day. T T ▼ About Pioneers and Indians and Summer By Arabella MacInnes THIS time of year always seems to imbue me with an appreciation of the pioneer spirit. There may be a reason for it, — I don’t know. Perhaps it is because it is just past graduation time in the schools, or because so many people decide to get married in the summer; or simply because I am so thankful I am living now instead of in that period when my ancestors were so busy settling things with the Indians. My tender regard for the Indian does not include the whoop-ee he used to make, and I still contend that a scalp on the head is worth nine at the belt. I have known some very fine Indians and do not mean to disparage their character; indeed I count some of them as very loyal friends. One of the great thrills of my life was that my companionship was eagerly sought by one or two generations of them who arrived one day in a sailboat near the spot where a party of us was camping and fishing. They wanted to take me with them. I looked at them for some moments and wondered whether I could honestly say in my heart, “Whither thou goest, I will go,” but the old squaw who attracted my attention at the time did not in the least resemble Naomi and my name was not Ruth, so I remained where I was. I attribute the friendliness on their part to the heavy coat of tan I had acquired, the fact that I never talked very much, and that their dogs liked me. The unromantic part of this occurrence was that the Indians departed as soon as we had complied with their request for a box of matches, apparently preferring these to my flaming personality. ▼ ▼ Who was it who sold his birthright for a mess of pottage? Well, I kept mine for a box of matches, and shortly afterwards I caught the gamest black bass we had seen that season. Indians or no Indians, in a sense we are all pioneers, provided we are actively engaged in something; but you can’t just sit down quietly and be a pioneer,— unless you happen to be a writer. To mention pioneers and motion pictures in the same breath is scarcely conceivable, and no one would ever think of such a thing were he to judge solely from the pretty, little pioneer cabins tucked away in Beverly Hills, but the film industry is still in the pioneer stage. There have been numerous raids on the peace of mind of the film colony recently which have caused considerable bloodshed. Salaries have cried for mercy, writers have tortured themselves with the idea that they should have more recognition, producers have tried to trade everything they know for motion pictures, critics have been on the war-path, and directors have been riding the talent they have at their command as fast and as hard as they can. When some of the gun-smoke from gangster films clears away and the arrows of contempt for poor productions are hacked out of the walls of the various studios, someone will stroll leisurely down Hollywood Boulevard with a pipe of peace, Wall Street will hold another pow-wow, — and then, Oh, what a glorious opportunity for some cheerful medicine-man to appear with some good stories which he will tell in time-honored sign-language, with little audible dialogue, and an honest regard for the essentials of screen-art! MOTION PICTURE OPERATING Old established school offers practical training on Western Electric and R. C. A. Sound equipment at special summer rate of $50. Class closes the 28th. Phone DRexel 9382 for appointment. WE DELIVER GLADSTONE 1603 HOLLY -VINE TAILORS CLEANERS FURRIERS WE DO WEAVING ON MOTH HOLES ETC. REFITTING REMODELING RELINING 6280 HOLLYWOOD BLVD. TAFT BUILDING