Motion Picture Classic (1923, 1924, 1926)

A Thousand Dollars a Day ! By JIM TULLY A THOUSAND dollars a day ! There are those who claim that Jim Cruze receives that much for directing pictures. No one would think of calling Cruze James. He is Jimmy to most people. This forty-yearold ex-vagabond and fisherman is undoubtedly the most dynamic and vivid personality in pictures. I would call him the ideal director. Long vigils on fishing vessels plying Alaskan waters, gruelling rides on freight trains as a youthful hobo, long days spent traveling over Utah and Montana deserts with a wagon show, in which months passed without seeing a railroad, the descendant of a long line of DanishAmericans who trekked across valley and mountain in covered wagons and on foot — this man Cruze was for thirtyeight years absorbing the masterpiece which he later made and called "The Covered Wagon." It was my good fortune to be down among men from my twelfth birthday. One learns much from such a training— the most valuable thing being — to appreciate the genuine because it is so rare. Jim Cruze is all man in the highest sense of that much abused term. It is only once in a while that destiny meets the man. Napoleon fretting his heart away over love for a Parisian demimonde whom he later married, was vaulted into the saddle by Paul Barras — a lover who was tired of her. The man whom Josephine laughingly dubbed her "little corporal" then dashed away to fame and fortune as Commander of the Army of Italy. I should apologize to Jim Cruze here — he would allow no Josephine to bother him for twenty years . . . but when the epic of the West was ready to be filmed — Cruze was accidentally vaulted into the saddle by Jesse Lasky, who knows men. Lasky felt that the job of directing "The Covered Wagon" would require a man who could obtain the required effects of distance and primeval backgrounds. Cruze had directed some pictures which gave evidence of this knowledge, among them "The Valley of the Giants" — but he was known principally as a high-class comedy director. Lasky had faith. Cruze was born in Ogden, Utah, and left home at fifteen to travel with a medicine show. It was during these days while bumping over yellow leagues of desert that destiny prepared the boy for the man that was to be. Out of the vast caldron of life an atom is now and Heavy shoulders, quick observing eyes, a dark complexion, not at all revealing the Scandinavian background, James Cruze is a Rabelaisian character with great gusto and a fine sense of humor. Right: Working on the script of "Merton," his last picture then thrown up that is charged with more energy — more vitality — more tremendous lust for surviving. Cruze was such an atom. Heavy shoulders, a restless mentality that pounds at things, quick observing eyes, a dark complexion, not at all revealing the Scandinavian background, Cruze is a Rabelaisian character with gusto and a fine sense of humor. In other words, he knows what everything is about. He puts life into films but there is no film over his eyes. He was just born a thorobred and he cannot be explained. It is seldom that I meet a man that I feel instinctively that women would like — for men are a sorry breed — but I can imagine how women would like Jim Cruze — like him for the reason that he is the master always. For men who lose their hearts to women, lose the women. Housekeepers for ages — women always place doormats outside the door. The real men walk over the doormats with the dust of life on their feet, and chant compelling songs in the hearts of women and lock the doors. Cruze is that kind of man. Jim Cruze knocked about the West with the medicine show for some time and then tramped about the country, meeting another chap on the road who was destined to become known. The two young hoboes exchanged their views on things in general and told one another of countries where sandwiches grew on bushes and lager flowed from the hills and then went on their devious ways ribald in the joy of their picturesque existence. The other chap's name was Jack London. We talked for a moment of Jack London. "Jack was a poseur always. He died one. He was a poseur as a hobo. But he wrote some damn fine things." These are Jim's words about London — no sentimentality, no film over his eyes, just a plain statement. Cruze became weary of tramping, as smart tramps will, and became a fisherman. He lived thru tales of death and disaster, and saw fanatics at prayer being swept into the sea and oblivion, and battles with whales and the elements — all too long to record here — but they made Jim Cruze. We talked a long time. Cruze, the man who carries his life locked up within him as a strong man will, had met a fellow rover. His secretary said when the chat wa> over, "I never knew him to talk so much — what did you do to him?" "Nothing," I answered. "We're blood brothers, that's all." There were certain things about directing I wanted to (Continued on page 77) (Forty*