Motion Picture Classic (Jan-Aug 1919)

The Exquisite Villain By BARBARA BEACH cushioned chair reposed a gold-topped cane which bespoke a fastidious owner. , , , , Thus far had my observations progressed when the door swung briskly open and my host entered. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, in a crisp, businesslike manner. “I had an appointment at the British embassy and was detained longei than I anticipated. You know actors always get the reputation of being i poor business men, always late for appointments and all that, but if theatrical managers would employ more specific business tactics instead of clapping one on the back and saying, ‘Drop in any time, old top, and ^ we’ll talk over that contract,’ we wouldn’t have to waste so much time . .j hanging around.” , , j ^ i I He drew a stiff chair, which bespoke New England, up to his gatelegged table, while I nearly smothered in the luxury of his davenport. At once he asked my permission to smoke, and at intervals of ten mm , utes thereafter he lit a fresh cigaret from the glowing butt of its prede •, cessor. His small mustache, which he wears according to the part he is : playing, was sleek and dark, and his skin was so smooth-shaven that the pink color showed. * . Bv dint of much questioning, I learnt that Mr. Atwill came ’ to America from London in 1916 to > play an eighteen' weeks’ engagement ' as leading man with Lily Langtry. He : | has remained here ' ever since. In those three years his theatrical experiences have been widely varied. He created a sensation in the stage play, “Eve’s Daughter,” with Billie Burke, only to be disappointed by having the play fail. He took a brief dip into vaudeville Lionel Atwill comes of a good old English family and he is a graduate of Oxford. “1 was properly educated and played cricket like every other English boy,” he says. “Eventually I surprised the family by announcing my intention of seeking a stage career.” Above, a portrait of Mr. Atwill',' left, a glimpse of the -actor in his onedoor from Fifth Avenue apartment, and, below, in a photoplay with Elsie Ferguson I HAD always wanted to meet a villain in a play, to experience that rare thrill about which John Galsworthy and other less noted novelists write so glibly. When the editor said, “Interview Lionel Atwill,” I muttered something about “God is good.” . , , i Had I not seen Mr. Atwill night before last with Elsie Ferguson in her picture, “The Marriage Price,” and the night before that as the breath-taking lover in Belasco’s stage production, “Tiger, Tiger ? In the due course of time, I succeeded in making an appointment to call on Mr. Atwill. That gentleman’s Japanese valet admitted me to his one-doorfrom-FifthAvenue apartment. It is typical of Mr. Atwill that he should live one door from Fifth Avenue. It is also typical of him to have a Japanese valet. His valet’s knowing smile as he .shut me in the living-room left me expectant of drawn silken curtains, burning incense, soft-murmured phrases, in a sybaritic atmosphere. Instead I found myself alone, the morning sunlight enveloped me, and the fine old mahogany furniture, freshly dressed in coverings of rose and black and yellow chintz, in a cheerful golden glow. A stack of Smart Set magazines were banked under the table, while an antique bookcase was filled with well-read works of Wells, Bennett, Ibsen. On a be Photo M.'itzene, Chicago (Eighteen)