Motion Picture Classic (1923, 1924, 1926)

The HOLLYWOOD of FRANCE his character must be responsible For here you have a mere boy — thirty, or thereabouts — who has done picture after picture on a staggering scale and with superb mastery that has made motion picture history. Such contributions to the screen as "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," "Turn to the Right," "The Prisoner of Zenda," "Scaramouche," "The Arab," "Mare Nostrum" ! Such achievements have brought fame and wealth at an early age. Let me add that he is something of an Adonis. Now a fellow like that should be spoiled by this time. But he isn't — and that is another big thing about him. Ingram's Paradise Prom my point of view, there are several more paradisiacal points about the Riviera than there are about Southern California, and that is saying a great deal. The Riviera has the climate, the flowers, the sea, the hills. The people there live a natural artificial life instead of Oe artificially natural life that one is compelled to live in California. By that, I mean that one has neither to break a law nor a pocketbook if one thinks one would like to serve one or more bottles of genuine spirit If one wants to gamble — go to it, the Casino is just across the Promenade or in the Place Massena. The hotels are filled with real countesses, Russian princes, terrible Turks, British lords with a strong representation from Ioway and Walla Walla always on hand. There's the boardwalk just like Santa Monica, Venice and Long Beach, only on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice you will find the whole world that the motion picture world attempts to represent on the screen come to life! But in. Nice it is all the rtal thing! You might think you could walk up to that gink with the Lawrence Dorsay mustache and yank it off, but you cant. Both he and the mustache are real. He's an actual Earl of Pawtucket, or something. That fellow with the long black whiskers who is a dead ringer for Charlie Chaplin's foil on the screen, is really some famous French savant and is dead in earnest about it too. An Arcadia for Artists Mice, the Capital of the Riviera, is the Los Angeles of St. Augustin, the French Hollywood. The Riviera is the Mecca of the European world. Nice is like a miniature Paris with its multitude of brilliant shops, boulevards with the cafes spread all over the broad sidewalks with monocled men and chic foreign-looking {Continued from page 33) women seated before the painted tables all day long sipping — do I disappoint you when I say, cafe au lait, mainly. And if one is really too bored, one may motor or bus, tram or train it over to Monte Carlo, only about fifteen miles away along one of the most glorious stretches of coast in the world ! At Monte Carlo, as you know from the films, all sorts of things are done — including yourself. That is why people go there. Finally, all that has been mentioned is either free or shockingly cheap. It costs five francs to enter the fashionable Casino. Five francs are about sixteen cents. This includes a free seat to a stunning musical show, or when the show entr-actes, to dancing. If you choose to drink — which one cant very well avoid, since the only seats you can find are before little, round tables — you can get away with coffee, or This is not a set, but the kitchen of Rex Ingram's studios over on the Kiviera. The director has a chef who knows how to appeal to the inner man. He doesn't take orders from the cameraman but from the steward tea, and a brioche and a liberal French tip and get back the change from a quarter. If you are going in for anything spirituous under champagne, by the glass, you can still use your quarter. If you want to visit the Gambling Hell on the right, as they always do in the stories sent in to picturize, it will cost you an additional seven cents to get in, but considerably more to get out, however. I have mentioned these few facts in case you wondered why Rex Ingram and his faithful band seemed to be staying in such a God-forsaken place as Nice ! They Shall Not Pass ""There is a great deal of ceremony attendant on a visit to the Rex Ingram Studios. This is due to two causes : first, nearly every American and a large per cent, of foreign visitors in Nice consider Rex Ingram and his studios a legitimate Baedeker attraction. Something had to be done about it. And second, Harry Lachmann, Rex Ingram's dynamic per sonal and Production Manager, who is perhaps one of the greatest red-tape artists in the world. It is easier for John D. Rockefeller to pass thru the eye of a needle than it is for anyone to enter the Rex Ingram domain. The first time I went to the studios a limousine and chauffeur were sent to my hotel to take me. St. Augustin lies three miles north of Nice. Half the distance is along the Promenade des Anglais, the fashionable shore front where are all the big hotels and the villas of foreign nobility. The chauffeur they sent for me must have been a taxi driver in Paris at some time during his career, for he proceeded to drive madly and homicidally along the Promenade and head on at the traffic. His chief delight seemed to be in trying to maim pedestrians. Finally, when we did get out of town, he contented himself with trying to force the speedometer to exceed its limit. I sat watching it, fatally fascinated, as it mounted from 40 to 50, 50 to 60, 60 to 70, 70 to— I laid my hand on the maniac's arm and pleaded, "Qu'cst-ce que vous desirez, monsieur?" He laughed with childish delight and told me that it only registered kilometers, not miles. I had forgotten that. Still, we were doing nearly 60 miles an hour at the moment, and I was in no hurry. Fortunately, we left the main road and were going round sharp curves up into the hills. We passed the Gaumont Studio, crossed over the railroad tracks and the fast Paris-Rome Express going by at the time, and made a turn on two wheels and were brought before the gates of the studio. Instantly the French guards — three of them — sprang out of the little guardhouse and stood stolidly at the ends of the enormous chain that barred the way. A long and unduly excited conversation followed wherein I was being explained, almost unsuccessfully. It seemed I had no pass ! However, I was admitted grudgingly. We drove up to the Administration Building. In Splendid Isolation There were swarms of people all rushing about on obviously important missions. Those who took notice of me glowered at me. I felt d e trop. Finally, I asked someone where I could find Mr. Ingram. "Ingram ? You mean Lachmann !" Still protesting that I did not want to see Lachmann, but Ingram, I was shown toward Lachmann's office. I was bent to it by this time and I said I would like to see Mr. Lachmann. {Continued on page 87) 66