Hollywood Spectator (Apr-May 1939)

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Bryn Mawr Cockney, but it is both charming and appropriate. Costumed by Valentina in all manner of brilliant and flowing elegance, she is. lithe, and very desirable. And it should be evident — if it hasn't' been evident before — that she has a fine, beautiful face for the theatre; a strong face, quite unlike any other, which can hold its own against the footlights."" * * ' Less Hopping About, Please HEN dialogue is carrying the story, there should be as little visual distraction as possible. Nearly all our directors confuse physical and filmic motion. It is the latter, not the former, which is the life-blood of a screen creation. When two characters are reading lines which carry the story, the majority of directors think they are infusing action in the scene by having their players move about the room, sit for a moment in a chair, change to another. Such movement in reality impedes action by diverting audience attention from what the characters are saying to what they are doing. The only excuse for such dialogue passages is the fact of their carrying the story, that through them runs the filmic motion which always should preserve an unbroken thread from the first fade-in to the final fade-out. Hollywood's greatest need is a school to teach producers, writers and directors the fundamental principles of the medium in which they work. No director who knows what filmic motion is, would permit one of his players to bob up and down when delivering a speech which should engage the full attention of the audience. And no one in the audience would notice the lack of physical action or consider the scene flat when his mind was on the import of the speech. ★ ★ * Getting Too Much of It OVERINDULGENCE in a good thing is an established picture producer habit. At present the screen is resorting too frequently to "double take" technique, that of a character taking some time to get the import of a speech or a situation. It is good comedy technique, but, like everything else, it can be overdone. * ★ * Where to Look for It HOLLYWOOD despatch in variety (New York) opens with this paragraph: "Talent for Hollywood is where you find it. This is the consensus of talent scouts, casting directors, producers, and executives on the various lots. Recapitulation on new talent for the past year shows that around 75% of the players are brought here from the professional stage; 20% from little theatres (which, of course, means also the stage); and the remainder from radio and other sources." When all other fields are exhausted, perhaps talent scouts, casting directors, producers and executives will stand outside the doors of their casting departments and pick their new talent out of the parade of extras coming out after being told there is nothing doing. ★ ★ ★ No Use Rubbing It In ONE of the funny arguments advanced in defense of so much dialogue in current pictures, is that the public has been taught to expect talk. It also has been taught to expect whooping cough, hurricanes and gangsters, but would be better off if it could get less of them. * * * Goes a Bit Too Far ONE of Jimmie Fidler's recent columns takes screen players to task for avoiding the autograph seekers who. make such nuisances of themselves as preview audiences are filing out of film theatres. He cites the instance of "two of the industry's top stars," who, "five minutes before the screening was finished, started to fidget. With the fine', clinch, they slipped furtively from their seats, darted .or a side exit, made a bee-line for their car." Obviously Jimmie thinks they should have gone out the main entrance to be rushed by an unruly mob, pushed, clawed, have their clothes torn — not by real picture fans, but by audacious youngsters who seek autographs for the purpose of selling them. I once walked out of a preview house with Barbara Stanwyck and Bob Taylor, and what happened to them quite convinced me they would be justified in arming themselves with clubs when setting out for another preview. Of course, a writer who must turn out a column every day can be excused for occasionally writing rot, but in this instance Jimmie puts quite a strain on the privilege. * * * Mental Meanderings ATTER of major importance at the moment is the flower garden. I am really excited about it. Everything is coming along in the most extraordinary manner, better than in any previous year. That probably is due to the fact that we used fertilizer more generously than usual and prepared our beds farther in advance of the new planting. As I write this, fertilized pits are awaiting dahlia bulbs, some choice varieties, which will be in before this Spectator reaches you, and then every bed will be complete. We have an extraordinary display of blooming carnations, and the Golden Emblem rose, which stretches for thirty feet, along the front fence, is a mass of yellow nuggets. But everywhere there is bloom, and I could go on and on, but I am afraid I would bore you. However, I use this column to register what I think about when I am off shift, so I will tell you that I think chiefly about the garden, so that's that. . . . But I must tell you about the spinach. Apparently the place once was a vegetable garden, for three clumps of spinach are emerging to maturity in it. I believe in the live-and-let-live theory, and as the guest clumps of spinach are close together, we have enclosed them in a circle of pansies, and Mrs. Spectator and I tend them carefully even though neither of us likes spinach. . . . Logical Hollywood marquee: Time Out for Murder, While New York Sleeps. ... As the weather gets warmer, it takes me some time to get over the regret that wood fires are off the list until next fall. But we remained loyal to them as long as possible. We finally gave up when one made the living room so hot we had to sit outdoors. ... I am having difficulty in filling my usual Meandering space this morning; notes on several exceedingly clever things to say have gone to the laundry in the pocket of the sport shirt I was wearing when I thought of them. I am writing in the garden; started early, before the sun grew warm; now it is hot and I am in it, and am determined to sit right here until I reach the bottom of the column, even if I broil. . . . Luckily I was saved from broiling by the opportune arrival of Billy in distress. Billy is one of my best friends among those who live along our dirt road. He is fourgoing-on-five and has a wise old Scotch terrier friend and constant companion. When I was submitting myself to the broiling process, Billy and Jock came to a stop outside the fence upon which is draped the Golden Emblem display of gold and green. They gazed at the bloom, then Billy, spying me, poked his head through the fence and informed me that his mother liked roses. Since then I have been cutting a big bunch, so big, in fact, that Billy could not manage it, so he and I and Jock and my Spaniel and Mrs. Spectator's Pekinese toddled down the road to Billy's house, and while his mother and I sat on the porch and talked of gardens, Billy played with the dogs until they got excited and started to fight, at which time I departed with our two. And now I am back on my garden chair which sits in the sun — and here is the end of the column. APRIL 29, 1939 PAGE FIVE