Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1924-Jan 1925)

OTIDN PICTURR MAGAZINE t\ yard. I really thought I was on my way to be introduced to some blonde Gertrude or Gretchen taking the air eccentrically in the midst of garden truck and hay. As we crossed the yard. Griffith gave me a quizzical side glance, chuckled at his little joke, and boomed : "She's a hen." And that was the plain truth. Susie is a Plymouth-Rock hen from a village near Berlin. Fate brought her into some shots made of a humble homestead, and it was clear from the beginning that she was no ordinary fowl. She was friendly and intelligent, would stay put on location, could even be made to act. At the slightest encouragement, she threw up her head and sang lustily. It wasn't just cackling with her. Her merry voice rang tunefully all day. She was that rare bird, a "crowing hen," as British and New England country folk say. But Griffith prefers to call her a singing hen. He used her in a number of scenes, and then decided he would need her on this side of the ocean. He offered to buy her for a sum that seemed huge in German marks. Her owners almost wept. They were sadly tempted, yet would not agree to sell. Everyone in the family was absolutely devoted to Susie. So this is the charming compromise that Griffith made : He hired Susie at a monthly salary, and promised that as soon as the picture was finished he would ship her back to Germany in state, in the same coop that had been built for her westward voyage. I met her after nightfall, and like all chickens she was bewildered at being hailed from her roost into artificial light. But when her director, "D. W." himself, bent down and spoke to her. she put her head knowingly on one side and sang. Watch out for the professional debut of Susie. You'll find her a wonder. Ole! Bebe de la Plaza! T have often wondered why Bebe Daniels hasn't been given Spanish roles by preference. Her type is distinctly Spanish, what with her jet-black hair, her ripely curving lips, the arrogant, high, straight bridge of her nose. Yet Bebe has been cast at least fifty times to one as a flapperish charmer of Anglo-Saxon vintage. She makes good, because she is always the competent actress. But looking the sehorita as deliciously as she does — well, Bebe's great-grandfather was a Spaniard named De la Sfa^ Plaza Alton Lillian Gish has the power to evoke beauty by means of tenderness, pity, and a quality of glamour that defies all analysis why hasn't she been used instead of the Mae Hurrays, etc., etc., who are put forward as Spanish heroines without rhyme or reason? The above had been the burden of my complaint when I heard the good news that Bebe was to do a Blasco Ibahez story especially written for the screen, and called Argentine Love. I immediately rushed over to the Famous Players studio, offered my felicitations and got her to tell me the plot. It's a mighty good one. Bebe is to be a girl who has acquired modern ideas in New York, but who on her return to her native pampas finds herself up against the primitive lovemaking of an Argentino of the old school. This obstreperous person is a chain-smoker. He lights one cigaret from the butt of the last, and is invariably preceded by a puff of smoke. Bebe made it seem thrilling as she spun the yarn for me. . . . "Then blue smoke rolled round the corner of the door," she said, "and the girl knew the villain was there." . . . And so on. And so on. But the most interesting result of my visit was the discovery that Bebe is of Spanish descent. We all like to have our judgment confirmed. Her great-grandfather was the Governor-General of Nueva Grenada, now the Republic of Colombia. The name was De la Plaza, which has a fine ring about it, and has been borne by many a swashbuckling grandee. A daughter, Bebe's grandmother, married the American consul. A match of this kind occurs in nearly every romantic novel with a South American {Continued on page 86) 57 PAG t