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^MOTION PICTURF' UBI I MAGAZINE L
Every once in a while a real human story conies to us in an unpretentious film. This is true of "Riders Up," in which Creighton Hale portrays a race-track tout who fools the folks back home into thinking he is engaged in some legitimate enterprise. This is really a good production
Comedy is Constance Talmadge's forte and in "The Gold Fish" she is more attractive than she has been in sometime because of the handicap she has known in stories. Her heroine is the heartless flirt who believes she must marry men of wealth and position if she is to walk in the high places. Zazu Pitts, Jean Hersholt, Frank Elliot and Jack Mulhall supplement the star
bluffs her way with such success that she lands in police headquarters and nearly in jail — before the handsome attorney (true to form and formula) appears and rescues her from her embarrassing situation.
It is a frail narrative, the good points being expended in the setting and the wardrobe affected by Agnes Ayres. This actress is hardly adaptable for such a role. It asks too much of her. But she tries her level best to make something of the character. The same applies to Antonio Moreno in the part of the attorney.
In "Triumph" Cecil De Mille has not plunged into the super-spectacle field. Compared to his other efforts, this is really a modest picture. It is filled with the hokum of sharp contrasts and conflicts. In this story, Leatrice Joy, Rod La Rocque, Victor Varconi and Charles Ogle give admirable performances
"The Signal Tower," a story of railroad life, of course, carries real thrills. It is a graphic melodrama and played with good feeling by Rockcliffe Fellowes, Virginia Valli and the ever-dependable Wallace Beery. It is something of a relief to see a triangle story dealing, not with the rich, but with simple working people
upon considerable suggestion and subtleties of treatment in forcing home his points. And keeping pace with the mounting drama is a note of ironic humor. You anticipate a really dramatic climax — and while it is a shade too convenient, nevertheless, it generates a convincing touch.
The chief characters are a philandering husband and father, his neglected wife, his wilful daughter and a gay bounder who is interested in the girl as a plaything. The husband begins to play and selects the daughter's school chum. And the big moment finds the girl discovering her father. She hurls words of bitter scorn at him and resolves
Daughters Pleasure
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Here is a likely cross-section of life — of the temporary moral collapse of a home built upon wealth too suddenly acquired. There are no moments given over to dramatic hokum ; the situations speak for themselves — and the director has taken this truthful plot and these genuine characters and molded them into a fascinating yarn. His target is the spectator's intelas he relies
ligence, 60
G £
to show that she is a chip of the old block. She would entertain an affair with the young bounder. But the voice of conscience comes to them in most unexpected fashion, which releases a spiritual note.
It's a sound drama, off the beaten path of triangles — and played with deftness and authority by Marie Prevost, Clara Bow and Edythe Chapman. Wilfred Lucas, in a Lewis Stone type of role, is not so sue1