Hollywood Spectator (Apr-May 1939)

ture's phenomenal rise: the business man, the scientist, the artist." The only quarrel I have with the above statements is that the book is not a "critical history of the American movie ... as an art." It accepts the talking picture as the ultimate in the screen's development as a medium of entertainment, and does not concern itself with the fact that when the film industry ceased making silent pictures it abandoned the art which created it and gave us a bastardized product of a misalliance between film ignorance and the sound device. But the book is none the less one which should be in the library of everyone interested in th physical history of the screen. * * * DEAF SUBSCRIBER AGREES WITH US TELL a director a picture he made was harmed by 1 the manner in which his players almost shouted their lines, and he will tell you the fault lies in the hands of theatre proiectionists who step up the sound beyond the point of its being easy to listen to. The Spectator always has contended it is not the volume of the sound which irritates an audience, that the irritating quality in too loudly read lines cannot be eliminated even if the sound be stepped down to the volume of a whisper. From Joseph R. Adams, a Des Moines, Iowa, subscriber to the Spectator, comes support of its contention. "I want to tell you of one of the many things about which you are correct," writes Mr. Adams. "I am hard of hearing and to some extent rely upon lip reading to follow what the actors on the screen are saying. Only when they talk in loud tones can I hear everything clearly. But when two actors, standing close to one another and not quarreling, speak so l<3ud I hear them distinctly, I know they are talking more loudly than there is reason for, and I do not like it. I did not know why until I read what you wrote about it not being possible to take out what irritates me, even by lowering the tone when the picture is being shown. I thought this would interesi you. Tell the people who make the pictures that even deaf people don't like to be shouted at." * * * WE SUGGEST AN AWARD THIS being the open season for Academy award 1 suggestions, I would like to make one. It is that one of the largest Oscars should be presented to the director who first shows us a football coach addressing his squad with his back to the camera and facing his listeners. Or it might be awarded to any director who stages a huddle of any sort in which all the people in it are not looking at the back of a person making a speech to them. * * * "LADIES FIRST" A GOOD RULE f) F COURSE, if I were an actor I no doubt would v behave as actors behave, but, not being an actor, I feel if I were one and were a male star co-starring with a female star, I would insist upon her getting first billing. Possibly it is because I am old-fashioned that it gripes me when I see such billing as "Robert Taylor and Greer Garson" in something or other. It gives me the feeling that Bob is guilty of displaying bad taste. And it is a safe bet that outside Hollywood, where provisions in stars' contracts are unknown and the rules governing credits also are unknown, there are a few million other old-fashioned people who would be pleased more with Bob if the billing were "Greer Garson and Robert Taylor." Social conventions, you know, have some box-office value, too. * * * MENTAL MEANDERINGS TIGHT-FORTY-FIVE A.M.; in a I awn chair, pad on ^knee, the Spaniel lying at my right, the Peke in front of me, my pipe drawing nicely, not a blessed idea in my head, the bottom of the column a long distance away. ... A pause while a bumblebee, built like a battleship, landed on the wrist of my sweater, applauded me with his hind feet, continued on his wandering course as if trying to baffle any submarines which might be lurking underneath him. Do not see many bumblebees, but there are a lot of the honey kind zooming from flower to flower a few feet from me. . . . Started the day by helping Tom, the manabout-the-place, put the last of the firewood in the back of the garage where the winter rains will not reach it. There is a lot of comfort and illuminated warmth for Mrs. Spectator and me stored away in the blocks of wood which on winter nights will achieve their destiny in the living-room fireplace, recreated warmth of the sun they absorbed during the decades they were reaching for the sky. ... A few nights ago a friend dropped in, made directly for the radio, explaining he wanted to get a Berlin broadcast, and in a minute he had it, as clear as if from a local station. We have had the set for three years, and had no idea it could perform like that. Since then I have been exploring the world, but swore off last night to relieve the strain on Mrs. Spectator's nervous system. . . . Sixteen years ago, on the night the station first went on the air, I stepped to the KNX microphone and said, "This is KNX, the voice of Hollywood," and the phrase became a permanent announcement. . . . Our rural district has taken on city ways; as I was leaving a Van de Kamp bakery a young fellow entered, attempted a hold-up and was killed by a policeman's bullet — just a newspaper item for a day, but endless sorrow in some home. . . . Our apricot trees have laudable habits; early in the spring they sprout leaves and blossoms, then bend their branches beneath the weight of golden fruit; follows the summer during which they provide generous and welcome shade, and not until now, with Christmas so near, are the last leaves falling to give right of way to the rays and warmth of the sun without interfering shade, while on our cellar shelves the gold of their fruit shines from glass containers. . . . Winter nights are cold in the Valley along which our dirt road runs; I wear long flannel nightshirts and don't care a gol darn who knows it. DECEMBER 9, 1939 PAGE FIVE