International photographer (Jan-Dec 1935)

I welve T h INTERNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPHER April, 1935 The Old Timer Associate Editor HE sun of a Hollywood day has faded. It is the night of a premiere at Grauman's Chinese I on the Boulevard. Shining out of the fore™3 court of the theater is the glaring, blinding brilliance of many klieglights. In this circle of magic is acclaim and fame, top hats and tiarras. To the star of the picture, tonight is the culmination of a breathless dream. To be the high priestess of the premiere ritual at the Chinese Theater, to be recognized and worshiped with the whole world at her feet has long been in her heart. She has won; she reigns. In her heart is a song. Outside the magic circle in the half-light of the shadows is a packed throng of worshippers who are pushing, perspiring, and grumbling at each other trying to get a glimpse of the Hollywood elect. Staring out of the darker shadows are the stars of a day gone by. Their bodies clothed in shabby cloaks and frayed gowns, they look on wistfully. Once, in a day gone by, they were the center of the cinematic world ; they were the stars of a premiere of yesteryear. Now they are forgotten and part of the shadows of the outer circle. They stare hauntingly — and remember. Gone is the public demand for their pictures and gone is their peace, for those who knew stardom and the heights in Hollywood can never know peace. Now Hollywood doesn't seem to want them. They are labeled with a stigma of "old-timer." They have left only courage, and their art. For, do not forget, the old-timers have courage and are, one and all, grand troupers. In their day, these troupers got there because they were willing to carry furniture, to paint scenery, and then to act — anything to make pictures. The old-timers rose through sheer ability and fell through a change in fickle public taste which was of course beyond their power to control. The public took them to the heights, and then callously shoved them oft". They are human beings, they have hearts and souls and they have bodies that must be fed and clothed, and loved ones to care for. Go down any side street in Hollywood and there will be found persons whose names were on every tongue. Now they are hardly more than an echo in the twilight of the public memory, and that of the motion picture producer. On the Hollywood side streets these old-timers will be seen like gaunt shadows flitting along. They walk with lowered heads, not that they are shamed, but because they have been made to feel lost and unappreciated and unwanted. Often they have talked to me, just to talk, with tears in their eyes. One old-timer, a strong and not too old a man, came to me. Yesteryear his name had blazed on every screen. He wanted just to talk. He had tried everywhere to get work. First the casting direc B\ Earl Theisen tors had turned him down, even for extra parts, then the boss laborer told him he had nothing. Work of no kind could be found, and he had a wife and two children that needed clothing and food. More than that, his furniture had a promissory note against it which was coming due. He had taken the loan against the furniture not for himself but for a friend, also an old-timer, who needed money for medical attention. When I tried to loan him money he looked at me and said: "No, all 1 want is the chance to work." Another old-timer, a former prop man, was talking to me. He had just tried to get a job at a studio. "I walked five miles to the studio," he told me, "and when I got there I waited three hours before the personnel man would see me. I didn't mind, because 1 suppose he was busy. When finally I was ushered into the personnel office, the personnel man, who was rather young, looked at me like I was an old-timer. It just took the heart out of me — and I did not get the job. I could not give him a good talk." The stigma of old-timer is like a burning iron brand. It doesn't mean age because many, many of those branded old-timers are no more than forty or forty-five years of age, neither does it mean incapability. The old-timer is anything but incapable, for you see, he grew up in the motion picture industry and he knows nothing else. He started when very young. I admit both the mechanics and art of the motion picture have made great strides, perhaps too great a stride for the old-timer. The strides of the motion picture, in fact, have been that of a Gulliver while that of any particular individual has been like the steps of the dwarf Lilliputian chief secretary, Reldresal. There was a time, however, not so long ago when the old-timer was in step and helped set the present stride of the motion picture Gulliver. The old-timer was in step when he was a leader in the motion picture ; he is no longer a leader and he knows that, but he still must eat. He gets mighty hungry. Even though the old-timer is no longer at the top of the motion picture pile, there is still needed a lot of persons to keep the pile together, and the old-timer would be satisfied and happy too, with a small part in the pile. He would be satisfied with an extra part, or a furniture mover job. He was both in the old days. The old-timer would be satisfied with anything just to be able to be around the motion picture. It's in his blood. It is not enough to point to the charities. The oldtimer wants to work. A few of the big shots know that, among them Cecil B. De Mille and Jesse Lasky, and they are thanked and praised for their understanding of the man of yesteryear ; their pictures do not suffer because they hire an old-timer who in many instances has nothing more than a bit part or atmosphere in a mob scene. The old-timer is satisfied with the part, too ; I know, because I have talked to him. Time after time, my attention was called to incidents wherein a friend of a producer, one unexperienced before the camera, was hired for a bit part and after the loss of much valuable time and amazing sums of money an old-timer was called on to do the part. And (Turn to Page 27) Please mention The International Photographer when corresponding with advertisers.