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CLASSIC
The Celluloid Critic
.( Continued from page 53)
accomplished. Yet it makes clear the limitations of our screen of today. Arid “The Blue Bird,” minus its spoken imagery, loses most of its whimsical humor and tends towards a mere parade of scenery.
Robin Macdougall and Tula Belle fit the requirements of the children, Tyltyl and Mytyl, very nicely.
Why must the movies sugar-coat life? “The Song of Songs,” Artcraft’s adaptation of Edward Sheldon’s version of Sudermann’s novel, is an instance in question. As Lily Kardos, Elsie Ferguson gives an admirable performance, not the best she has done for the screen, but marked by her usual splendid restraint and depth. The film traces its version of the story from the moment Lily is forced from home by a drunken mother, thru her marriage as a shopgirl to a wealthy senator, the tragic ending of the match when the husband’s jealous housekeeper forces the girl into a compromising situation with a friend, Dick Laird, circumstances thus finally making Lily his mistress. Ultimately she finds real love in a young musician, hearing “the song of songs” in her heart for the first time. But rather than wreck his life, she goes back to Laird.
The late Joseph Kaufman directed Miss Ferguson in this, her fourth screen vehicle. His work is sincere, but does not measure up to Maurice Tourneur’s handling of the other three productions.
The sheer beauty of Alice Joyce makes us forgive “The Woman Between Friends.” I offer the glimpses of the Joyce in her robes of an art model as the pleasantest optical moments of the month. The photoplay tells the story of two friends, one of whom marries. The wife runs away with the other, the husband never learning the identity of the man in the case. A model, by chance, reveals the name of the false friend, and the other demands that the guilty one commit suicide on the anniversary of the woman’s disappearance. The villain attempts suicide, but doesn’t die, with which the other man forgives him — and marries the model. Marc MacDermott and Robert Walker play the friends. The story, by Robert W. Chambers, is Chambers at his “Cosmopolitanest.” But Miss Joyce is admirably sympathetic and — there’s no other way of. saying it — darned restful to a tired movie eye.
“The Wooing of Princess Pat” is a ZendaGraustark effusion built about the cuteisms of Gladys Leslie, who, of course, is the wilful, petulant little ruler. She marries the ruler of the neighboring country of Waravia to save her own land from war, and, altho she doesn’t think at first that she loves him, she finds after five reels that she does. Uninspiring plot. Miss Leslie has appeal, but she shouldn’t be asked to hold up a feature all alone — yet.
“The Other Man” is mediocre stuff, with Harry Morey and that ultra-blonde, Grace Darmond, featured. Morey plays a physician who hits the toboggan when his wife proves unfaithful. In a cheap boarding-house he comes to love Dorothy Harman, in reality a rich girl living in the slums on a wager, and starts out to make himself worthy of her. He quickly acquires success and whiskers, meets Dorothy in high life, makes love to her and is rejected. Dorothy still loves the man of the old boarding-house. So the physician shaves off his whiskers and wins Dorothy. I can hardly term this sort of stuff life.
"Men Who Have Made Love to Me,” presenting the much-discussed Mary MacLane in supposed love episodes from her own life, had a bizarre and really compelling interest to me. It was pleasant to get away from sunset fade-outs and becurled ingenues, even to the torrid MacLane apartment. Miss MacLane, praise be ! doesn’t try to act, self-consciousness doesn’t disturb her and she surely does hold your attention while she reveals her odd knowledge of sex psychology thru her piquant affaires d’ amour.
Clara Kimball Young’s latest, "The Marion( Seventy-three)
ettes,” adapted from Pierre Wolff’s play, is light material, the star playing a little conventbred girl who is married by her family to a dissolute young nobleman. She becomes a butterfly, of course, and fascinates her errant hubby back into the fold again. Miss Young is better in her more sophisticated moments, while Nigel Barrie, who does the husband, is expressionless. He has, however, the most dramatic spats to be observed anywhere in celluloid drama.
Olga Petrova’s second independent production, “The Light Within,” is a pleasant little symphony in germs, with anthrax and meningitis microbes frisking thru the heavy roles. Petrova plays Dr. Laurie Carlisle, doctor of bacteriology, who is married to the brutal Clinton Durand, altho she loves her co-worker. Dr. Leslie. Finally, Leslie volunteers to prove the efficacy of the woman’s anthrax cure, has the deadly germs pumped into his system and awaits Laurie’s antitoxin. Hubby smashes the test tube of precious serum, incidentally cutting his hand and inoculating himself in a way that escaped us. Wifey manufactures some more serum. Leslie is cured, but Durand expires in agony — and the last reel.
Lumsden Hare is excellent as the heartless husband in this medicated romance, while Thomas Holding is fearfully ministerial as the lover. I suspect that Petrova selected “The Light Within” because it gave her an opportunity to wear striking surgical costumes.
Bessie Love makes the change from the Triangle to the Pathe forces with “The Great Adventure,” another story of a country girl who comes to New York, is immediately given the leading role in a Broadway show and becomes the rage of the metropolis. Trite is a tame word to apply to such hackneyed effort to pad nothing into five reels. Miss Love is an appealing little person in certain roles, but “The Great Adventure” gives her a very bad start on the Pathe program.
“Our Little Wife,” with Madge Kennedy as another piquant bride, is really in two distinct episodes with a slump in between. Dodo marries Herb, but she insists upon taking her three rejected loves along that they may not pine away. Herb’s anguish over the honeymoon, which becomes an excursion, and his efforts to shake the despondent also-rans, form the first episode. Then we flash ahead to the point where Dodo’s rejected ones are married and see how an innocent situation mixes up the jealous wives and husbands. A comedy with some amusing moments, despite the arid middle portion. Miss Kennedy improves in “Our Little Wife,” but her cast isn’t up to the standard of past Goldwyn performances.
“Headin’ South,” the latest Doug Fairbanks drama, shows a continued trend towards lively melodrama and away from satirical comedy. Doug plays a wild Western bandit who turns out to be a mounted police officer, wins the heart of a fair Spanish senorita, and captures one Spanish Joe, upon whose .head is an award of $5,000. Plenty of pep and punch, with Frank Campau making a bully Spanish Joe.
William S. Hart, minus his pinto pony, plays the reckless leader of a lumber gang in “Blue Blazes Rawden.” Blue Blazes kills Ladyfingers Hilyard, the crooked owner of a dancehall, and takes possession of the place. Then from England comes Mrs. Hilyard, the unsuspecting mother of Ladyfingers, to visit her dear son, little knowing of his past or his death. How Blue Blazes lies to the old woman that her illusions may not be destroyed, and how she takes him into her heart because he was the friend of her departed son, present a situation of supreme irony. “Blue Blazes Rawden” has a strong if dragged-out idea, happily minus all ingenue love-interest. Gertrude Claire is admirable as the aged mother of Ladyfingers, who never comes to know. Hart oversteps his usual restraint and overdoes the anger of his early scenes, when his face convulses and he fairly barks at the camera.
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