Motion Picture Classic (Jan-Dec 1920)

MOTION PICTURE CLASSIC The Screen Year in Review {Continued from page 78) She's doing nicely, thank you. Anita Stewart seems to shp more and more with each production. Mictcy Neilan's productions tlucluated. from the wellsustained .\rclic Circle melodrama, "The River's I'.nd." to the awful farce, "Please Dont Marry." We have commented elsewhere upon other First National stars and productions. Goldwvn — Radical changes are going on here. Of all the "eminent author" stuff emanating from these studios, we like the Rex Beach productions best. Gerry Farrar and Pauline Frederick have ceased to be Goldwyners. Tom Moore, Madge Kennedy and Mabel Xormand ■continue uneventfully. Jack Pickford is spending money lavishly but without particular effect. Goldwyn is wasting Will Rogers in conventional melodramas. Give him a chance, as in "Jubilo," and watch him bum up the road. Going back to the trio we just mentioned, Tom Moore is slightly bettering his average of 1919. Miss Normand is retrograding. The early "Edgar" short juvenile comedies of Booth Tarkington's promise something delightful. Mtagraph — \\'ont somebody do something about stories and directors there .'' \'itagraph apparently refuses to believe that the photoplay has advanced since 1915. Alice Joyce and Corinne Griffith continue to be wasted in features and Tony Moreno, the most picturesque of all male film stars, is buried in serials. They allowed the promising Gladys Leslie to depart after manhandling her career. Earle Williams and Harry Morey are still present. Vitagraph certainly needs a far-seeing and vigorous directorial hand to lead it out of its cobwebby retreat. Pathe — Serials seem to be the piece de resistance here as before. We pass on hastily, for our endurance balks at serials. The best things on the Pathe program have been the Harold Lloyd farces and Mrs. Drew's comedies, vastly dissimilar, but each admirable in its individual field. We have spoken anent "The Gay Old Dog." Blanche Sweet is waning. Fox — W'e hear that changes are under way here and that the trend will be away from melodrama. Pearl White's first Fox features have not yet been released. Shake-ups have been regular events until ap])arently only a star or two remain. Robertson-Cole — This organization seems to be handicapped by various things, including a difficulty in getting into the leading theaters. Sessue Hayakawa is easily its ablest star. Co.smopolitan — AH interest is centered in Marion Davies. Which makes us realize just how difficult — or shall we say impossible? — it is to manufacture a star. .\lma Rubens has had little opportunity thus far. Universal — h'rich Von Stroheim's productions are the biggest factors by all odds. The one other big "U" produc tion, "The \'irgin of Stamboul," will make lots of money, but it is inconsequential from a literary or directorial standpoint. We fail to see Priscilla Dean. Of the numerous other "U" stars we cannot talk authoritatively. LInited — The stellar fever seems to be breaking up the Griffith family. Lillian Gish is going a-starring. Bobbie Harron and Dick Barthelmess are becoming stars. Who will be the Griffith players of the coming year? Other L'nited stars and productions are mentioned elsewhere. Hodkinson — As presented in "Sex" and other vehicles. Louise Glaum is not the seductive siren of Triangle days. Doris Kenyon is pretty and pleasant to look upon. J. Warren Kerrigan is quite the same, altho practically minus popular interest. Realart — We are betting on Constance Binney. Mary Miles Minter is doing her best, but she will never approach Mary Pickford. That's definite. Alice Brady is a plugger. Allan Dwan's productions have been workmanlike, but not meteoric anywhere. Many screen stars seem to have been absent most of the year. Theda Bara has been devoting herself to stage work. So has Alice Brady. Dorothy Phillips has done nothing since leaving Universal. Mae Marsh is back before the CooperHewitts, but her first vehicle is yet to be released. The same refers to Bessie Love. We pause to consider film farce. We have been noting our enthusiasm regarding Harold Lloyd. "Fatty" Arbuckle has been improving. The Sennett comedies continue along their own way. Charles Murray stirs our risibilities as possibly no else does. And there's no two ways of looking at Ben Turpin's natural comedy. The Christie comedies are ambitious but purposeless. And William Fox's Sunshine comedies — ye gods I Words fail us ! The Celluloid Critic The Month's Photoplays in Review By Frederick James Smith "Romance," (United .A.rtists), Chet Withey's screen adaptation of Edward .Sheldon's drama, appealed to us strongly. To our way of thinking, Mr. Sheldon penned one of the most noteworthy love plays of the last two or three decades when he wrote this vibrant story of Rita Cavallini, the gay little opera diva, and Tom Arm.strong, the young rector of St. Giles in New York's picturesque sixties. We can understand where "Romance" may fail to completely capture or hold the average audience. Mr. Withey and the scenarist. Will Hastings, lacking physical action, have played too much upon the one string of passionate emotionalism. It is possible to do this behind the footlights, where dialog vivifies and personalities lend variety and color. A great film director might well be able to plumb the emotional and mental depth.s — but Mr. Withey is not yet a great director. Frequently in "Romance" he slips into the obviously theatric. But let us give him credit for facing unusual difficulties in making "Romance." To our way of thinking, the screen ver.sion of Mr. Sheldon's drama succeeds because of the basic strength of the story — the vivisection of human passion with an uncannily searching and sympathetic eye. ^^'e admit that the celluloid "Romance" stirred us and held us, despite its film limitations. Yet we did miss the superb Sheldon dialog. As, for instance, the diva's pagan definition of love: "I tell you what love is I Love is de 'unger for anoder's flesh — a deep-down t'irst to dreenk anoder's blood — Love is a beast dat feed all t'ru de night an' vhen de morning come — Love dies !" And again : "Yesterday — it is a dream ve 'ave forget. Tomorrow — jus' de 'ope of some great 'appiness — some joy dat never come I Before, behin', all clouds an' stars an' shadow — nodings, nodings is real — only de leetle meenute dat we call today !" We tremendously admire Doris Keane's performance as Cavallini. She has been extremely well handled photographically, via soft focus, careful posing and so on. The diva — this "gleaming little hummingbird," with her bewitching mannerisms and her infinite charm — is a superb role, and Miss Keane makes her live on the silversheet almost as effectively as she has been doing for some years on the stage. We neither liked nor disliked Basil Sydney's playing of the impassioned Tom Armstrong, but we found Norman Trevor's portrayal of the worldly and understanding Cornelius Van Tuyl to be most praiseworthy. How we regret that Griffith did not make "Romance" ! Erich Von Stroheira has duplicated his adroitly built story of intrigue in the Alps, "Blind Husbands," with another screen story study in intrigue, this time in picturesque Paris at lilac-time. Mr. Von Stroheim calls his newest contribution "The Devil's Passkey," (Universal). The present tale, written by the Baroness de Meyer and the director himself, revolves around the extravagant wife of a moderately well-to-do American playwright residing in Paris. The woman falls into the meshes of a fashionable dressmaker, one Renee Malot, who lives upon the weaknesses of her sex. When the bills reach huge proportions, Mme. Malot suggests an interesting American, an army captain, as the solution of the financial difficulties. The modiste, it seems, maintains a dc luxe suite of rooms where such difficulties are adjusted. However, nothing wrong ensues, altho the story gets into a Parisian scandal weekly and — here is the dramatic twist — the playwriting husband hits upon it as a promising plot. His play scores, while all Paris laughs at his innocent use of scandal about his own wife. The whole thing narrowly misses tragedy {Continued an paoe 96) (Eighty-eight)