Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1918-Jan 1919)

* Hov/ to be a Successful Scenario Writer— A Closeup of Agnes Johnston By SUE ROBERTS At the early age of six, did you write a book? Did you have the habit of writing' plays when you were ten; were you writing scenarios at sixteen? Well, then cheer up, stick to it, for maybe it's a sign ' that you are destined to become a second Anita Loos, Frances Marion or Agnes Johnston. Agnes Johnston is, perhaps, the youngest successful scenario w_riter in Motion Pictures. There is no other industry in the world which is so kind to youthful talent as the silent stage. Avariciously it gobbles up the youngest, freshest, most brilliant brains. Experience is a second consideration to ideas. It is the new-idea man or girl who succeeds in ail branches of the movie world. In order to create, one must have the enthusiasm that gees with a love cf one's THE LITTLE SCHOOLGIRL AS SHE FIRST APPEARED BEFORE J. STUART BLACKTON work and the ability to work incessantly. And just as there is no industry which holds out such a warm welcome to the young genius, so there is no industry which rewards intensive efforts so magnanimously. Imagine a girl cf nineteen drawing a salary of hundreds a week in cold cash ! And that brings us back to Agnes Johnston and how she did it. From the time she was a child, Agnes Johnston thought in terms of writing. She cannot remember the time when she wasn't working out plots. Always she was planning to do the great American play, and as a natural brother of this first love of hers, she turned her talents to photoplay writing. One day, when she was only a little past seventeen, she screwed up her courage to visit the Vitagraph studio. There she applied to Mr. Blackton for a position Aon the scenario staff. 0 104 A6£ Mr. Blackton looked amazed at the slender girl with the snappy brown eyes and the enthusiasm-lit face. She seemed nothing but a child. "l am very sorry," was the Commodore's reply, "but we have no vacancy on our staff, but can you use a typewriter?" "My brain was buzzing with an idea," said' Miss Johnston reminiscently, "and it didn't take rne two seconds to say 'Yes, sir, I can typewrite', altho all my previous experience had been two-fingered exercises on my own scripts." Mr. Blackton engaged her ai a typist, and Aggie, as her friends call her, set to work to become a model key-pounder. • While she typed and made copies of other writers' scripts, she studied their methods of continuity and the way the plot was worked cut. Every time she could, she watched scenes being taken at the studio. "After, a while," said Miss Johnston, "the psychology of the scenario-thatwould-sell came to me. I had pteviousiy studied all the bocks I could get hold of on photoplay writing, but that inside experience at Vitagraph did mors tor me than ail the books I ever read." Then she proceeded to work out an idea an scenario form. She called u "Tried for His Own Murder." . "You see," explained Agnes Johnston, ' i wanted something novel and I couldn't think of anything more novel to write a story about than a man tried for his own murder." Of course you have guessed by this time that Vitagraph accepted her scenario and liked it so well that they put her on their scenario staff, where "Scenario by Agnes C. Johnston" became a regular credential for a first-rate film. And then Thanhouser came along with one of those wonderful money inducements you hear so much about and Agnes went to them. There she became even better known as a successful writer of plays for Gladys Hulette. "The Shine Girl," "Her New York," "Prudence the Pirate" are all from her pen — I might better say typewriter, for she never writes in longhand. A Pathe staff position followed next with a steady increase in the popularity of her stories (and I might add, in her salary). One of her latest scenarios is Peggy Hyland's "Persuasive Peggy," for which she was granted $500 in hard cold cash. Now that her fortune is assured, Agnes Johnston is going after still more fame. She is attending the playwriting class at Harvard and expects some time to write the real American play. Miss Johnston's advice to those who would write scenarios is to pick their star first and then write something suitable. This is the secret of finding a market for one's scripts. This successful little girl's greatest charm is her enthusiasm, which glows perpetually, lighting the road to even greater and more interesting efforts. "When I need a new hat." she says, "I take out my Corona and type off a new scenario." It might be well to explain that nowadays Agnes always wears Knox hats and Well, girls, you might try it, anyway. YAQUI CHIEFTAIN, THRU INTERPRETER, PROPOSES TO ' ANNA Q. NILSSON With an interpreter as first aid to Cupid, a Yaqui chieftain proposed to Anna (J. Nilsscn when she and Bert Lytell were at Arivaca, Ariz., recently. The players were on location, when the chief, who was a daily spectator, became smitten with Miss Nilsson's blonde beauty. The chief, who gloried in the name of Proud-of-His-Nose, pestered Director Carewe to death, until he finally reached Carewe's ear thru a half-breed interpreter. The Yaqui swore that the pretty paleface, -'with eyes like the stars," was the only woman he had ever loved. As an inducement he added that he had a thriving alfalfa ranch and owned twenty-two ponies. "You tell Chief Proud-of-His-Nose that he's been drinking brandy and had a pony too much," said Carewe to the interpreter. "Miss Nilsson wont be anybody's squaw. She's already' wedded to her art, and is afraid of the Indian sign, anyway." Whereupon the crestfallen chief betook himself to the hills, and, for all that Carewe knows, is still in mournful solitude. Amusinj bits of conversation overheard one evening on the train leaving San Diego for Los Angeles. The tram was full cf soldiers travelling home for an over-Sunday visit and there was an informal atmosphere which invited speech without introduction. One of the boys said for the benefit of the admiring "gallery" consisting of all the rest cf us, "Well, we've got Fatty Arbuckle for a godfather, and that's saying a whole lot!" A cynical-every-day-sortuv person vouchsafed drily, "'Right you are. Bo, Fatty's a regular excursion all to his lone self." The other continued, "Maybe the boys den't enjoy his visits! Say, he can put mors life into a company than gallon; of Green River. Besides, he generally has a good feed for us. I betcha there's not. ■ another company that has as good a sponsor as we have." He was twitched back suddenly and looked into the face cf a guileless young person, one with sandy hair, a trank face and vivid blue eyes, one of those cheerybeings from the cattle ranges to whom life, even in a California cantonment, was full of vivid surprises. The cowboy said good-naturedly, "Ah, quitcher braggin'. Do yon know what "we've got? Listen to me, when it comes down to parents, a godmother will put a godfather outasite, even if he does weigh heavy ..." and the one blue eye winked quite unmistakably, the while its owner bent forward and continued impressivefy, "Our godmother is Theda Bara, get that ? Huh ! Yep, Theda Bara. And say, she dont have to talk, nor bring things nor act nor nothin', for when you get an eyeful of Miss Bara, you take it from me, you're speechless proud of Godmother !" The funniest part was that the first one really was speechless because he couldn't think of anything in the way of a retort courteous which would still leave him victorious. Finally he said, "Well, if you just want to worship something kinda far off. maybe you've got the best of us, but us boys enjoy having Fatty right in our tents and getting acquainted and real sociable, and you cant do that with a godmother — leastways, not in Camp Kearny 1" The other walked off saying, "Glad you're satisfied, comrade. As fer me, I'd rather have Theda Bara look drekly at me for two seconds than talk sociable to anybody else for hours !"