Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1926-Jan 1927)

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Interpretative, Oriental arn] Joe Daneinn all made /If simple and easy. > /J* ,; Vl^^ Master ">■-* f w of the Dance r MVeroninr-VpfltofT. former nolo danse.jr with I nvlowu. brings hiH ex-le »>K rigl.t into your bmni I Method trulastonubyooaodyoar friends. Mm money for Graduate Teachers. Or prepare for a stage career with all Ita poabibiiities and earnings. FREE— Two Weeki' Perwmal Traininir in New York alter completing Home Study Courw. Write lor this Special Oiler. Beautiful booklet on request. Send today. V.VESTOFF ACADEMIE DE DANSE 100-(34) West 72nd St., New York City He Hated Alarm Clocks (Continued from page 39) When Fields had once more returned, as in the bleachers, some astute admirer asked how it felt to become a star, and at that, overnight. \V. C. Fields, then, was to epitomize his triumph with a few wellchosen words, cue if ever for an avalanche of ego. I liked the man, and I shivered. It wasn't pleasant to foresee the swift shattering of a favorite ideal. With a trace of that smile which is going so large just now among the fans, Bill briefly replied: "It doesn't feel any different. Acting is acting the world over. It doesn't suddenly change just because you happen to have a better part." "But dont you miss all the hands you used to get at the theater?" It was my turn to scintillate. "Not a bit," was the swift reply. "That's all there was to it, the applause; seeing if I could make each audience laugh harder than the one that went before and then the next one louder than that. I always go to see my pictures two or three times, and if people laugh, I am perfectly satisfied. In fact, I love this work. There's always something different here. I used to get sick of doing the same thing night after night, year after year. I dont want to go back to the stage — not for a long time, anyway. There' re so many things I'd like to try out in pictures first. I want," continued the seasoned showman with surprising naivete, "to do some slapstick comedies, and also some work c^f a more subtle character." "Mr. Fields," interposed one of the studio staff who had been listening, "knows all there is to be known about gags. No matter which one they think of using, he can tell you just where and when and by whom it was originated. He can even list the number of times it's been used since." "Oh, I only know what I've seen around at shows in my spare time," Fields deprecated. "The gags I really meant were a lot of little incidents I've watched on the street, things totally unimportant, but full of humor and human interest. I've always had the best luck with gags I've actually seen take place." "I know one good gag of yours, that never took place on the stage or street," said I, looking at it admiringly. "Oh, my mustache !" and to the accompaniment of a chuckle, Mr. Fields exhibited his first sign of pride. "That is my own idea. Want to see how it works ?" He undamped a bit of mustache to which had been attached a substantial hook-eye. "I got tired of taking the glue off my face, and I think this is just as good, even a little funnier." Once we bad agreed on that, Bill fell into a confidential mood: "Say, do you know what's responsible for any success I've had?" "Great industry and talent, combined with an undying desire to get ahead?" I nodded a sagacious head. "Not a bit of it. It's been a case of pure laziness. I went on the stage as a kid of eleven — I'd run away from home, you see-, and I never went back — so that I could sleep late in the mornings. Now I'm in the movies partly because I've changed and hate going to bed late. There's little doubt that if I'd persisted long enough I could have got someone to give me a chance in pictures before this, but I didn't, again because of inherent laziness — my great failing, or merit, or whatever you want to call it. And a good thing the delay was, too. I'm that much surer of myself, and just that much better qualified for my new work. Of course, I did very little talking on the stage, and the training that I got in pantomime is invaluable to me now. . . . Speaking of lines, I used to have a very hard time with managers I told you how difficult it was to sell the; a new idea. Well, they were sure of as a comedy juggler, and just as the pn ducers had on that account been unwill ing to try me out in pictures, so the managers were opposed to my trying anything but a dumb act. When I wrote lines into my acts, they always told me to cut them. Sometimes I'd hold back a good deal right thru the dress rehearsal to the first night. I remember one special time when I did this here in New York, and all the big critics gave me good notices the next morning. Still the manager told me to shorten my act. In this show, a big success, friend of the manager told him, on hearing this news : 'Cut out Fields' laughs and you close your own show.' " Fields spoke now with lowered voice, and his eyes brightened as do those of every tried trouper when he recounts his triumphs. The outcome of the conversation between the adviser and manager had apparently been a great comfort to the Fields of that time, a lonely, discouraged Fields who, looking into the future, was beginning to see a drab continuity of unalleviated juggling. "You see," he continued, "too much comedy distracts attention from the love interest. That's what they really meant when they said that too many laughs held back the show. It's just the same in pictures, Much of my work was eliminated from a film recently because it diverted attention from the star." I asked Mr. Fields if he didn't feel reconciled to being a star, since it meant that from now on he could be as funny as he chose without discouragement. "Oh, well, I never said I didn't like it," and again he chuckled. And with that the interview, as had work for the day, automatically ended. I watched Mr. Fields as he ambled down the set. There was comedy in every line, in the hang of his costume, the tilt of his silk hat. There was comedy, and a hint, too, of wistfulness. Just then Carol Dempster's head peered thru her dressing-room door: "Hello, Pop," she called. It was a form of speech which she has carried over from "Sally of the Sawdust." There was an interchange of smiles and greetings, then, suddenly, he was gone. And I only restfained myself in time from calling after him: "Good-bye, Pop. litre's everlasting luck to 'The Old Army dame.' " i The Editor Gossips W^ITfl <he return of Adele Whilely Fletcher lo the editorial chair of the Motion *' PICTURE M\(;azijsk, we are glad to announce that once more the editor will gossip in <nir pages ... in this department are the fascinating little things that nevei^ ordinaril) find ilirir way into print . . . the confidences of tea-tables . . . Look for this popular page next month . . . In the September MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE 98 MAGAZINE la guaranteed.