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Van Dyke
The Director Who Has
Departs for the
By HERBERT CRUIKSHANK
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On easy terms not only with the natives but with the native gods: Mr. Van Dyke (above), swapping stories and hats with a Polynesian idol
OODY Van Dyke may never see this story. He may never live to see it. By the time it is published he will be surrounded by the lurking mystery of age-old Africa, alternating between the steaming, festering pestilence of the poisonous lowland jungles, and the miles-high mountains of dreary cold and stinging, blinding, icy rains. For Woody Van Dyke has been sent into the well-nigh impenetrable fastnesses of an unknown world to make you a motion picture, "Trader Horn."
If he comes out from the howling wilderness of lions, gorillas, cannibals, pygmies, fever, tsetse flies, and deadly reptilia, he will again stretch his spare six feet and more of steel-like frame at a too-small desk in his office on the Metro lot. And answer silly questions put by sob sisters who have discovered a new hero.
"Romance? Romance — hell!" he'll say, and his rapierblue eyes'll slay 'em.
It would be that way for Woody. His idea of heaven is to direct a picture which can be made in the peace and quiet of the studio. But he's one of the breed that fate won't let stay put. It's always up with the Esquimaux, or on an Indian reservation, or South with the Mexicans and the gentle Yaquis, who slice the soles from folks' feet, peg 'em out on ant-hills, or flay 'em alive and laugh while skinless creatures stagger screaming into the desert death. Before he went to Africa, "White Shadows" sent him cruising through the South Seas, where the white man's civilization has taught the once god-like natives the meaning of vice. In a land
W. S. Van Dyke found while making "White Shadows" that there was some truth in the assertion that music hath charms. But before he tries the idea on Zulus of the type at the right, he's going to make mighty sure that what he plays is music