The Motion Picture Studio (1923)

THE MOTION PICTURE STUDIO August ii, 1923 A Cabaret in Drab Array Graham Cutts Directs Betty Compson in “The Awakening f OUD are the occasional lamentations of the Londoner who deplores the alleged decline in the real Bohemianism that once was. Soho, we are sometimes told, is now but a shadow of its former se’f, and the Latin quarters in different parts of our city which once flourished, are n. w on the decline. We do not be¬ lieve it. Especially are we sometimes asked to re.qret the absence of a trans¬ planted Parisianism. I am beginning to think that the Famous Players-Laskv studios at Isling¬ ton are at least imbued with the spirit of Montmartre. It is curious that on each occasion of mv visits to Poole Street during the last few months 1 have found myself transported into a setting of in¬ formal revelrv. I he atmosphere is such that all croakers of the kind referred to are refuted ; and, of course, the real cause must lie with the popularity and effective¬ ness of what are called cabaret scenes in motion pictures. Something of the refreshing effect is no doubt due to the contrast between the immediate outer world of New North Road and its purlieus and the gailvstaged interiors on the big floor. One goes down Poole Street feeling in the view ol the neighbouring squalor some¬ thing like a social reformer. Shaking one’s ankles free from (the /Swarming future citizens of this great Empire, upon which the sun, etc., etc., and per¬ haps appeasing their shrill clamour with a cigarette-card, one enters the great picture manufactory, to find a welcome variation of entourage. Expensive Squalor The big Montmartre cabaret scene which is to be a feature of Graham Cups’ new Betty Compson picture, “ The Awakening,” probably cost as much to design, erect and stage as the immacu¬ lately grand and glittering ones I have previously seen on the same floor area; but it was different. Not even a Press¬ man could honestly describe it as magni¬ ficent. Impressive and striking, certainly; hut far from gorgeous. Mirrors, plateglass and marble were not to be seen. A long gallery opening on to a boulevard; plain stairs descending to a main floor, with a couple of refreshment-bars in big alcoves beneath the gallery; boards unadorned on the floor, and very ordinary furniture and fittings. Rut there was animation. Crowds of various types occupied chairs round many small fables, care-free and reckless, chat¬ tering and laughing, or glowering moodily ; sipping various non-committal fluids, and presenting a wonderful pic¬ ture. So asserted were they that the visitor could hardly avoid singling out from among their numbers individuals of both sexes and pausing awhile to specu¬ late idlv upon their origins, habits and probable descinv. An ill-mannered thing to do, perhaps, especially where ladies are concerned ! But then the fault lies with those who selected the types, and the plavers who bv their make-up, clothes and manners, created this effect. At all events, mv cartoonist (whom 1 caught humming odd staves of a chansonette) assured me that the Gallic irre¬ sponsible happy-go-lucky atmosphere had been wonderfully caught, and that the scene was. in fact much more Parisian than anything he had ever seen in Paris. Membership Difficult Cutts himself, with the energetic as¬ sistance of C. N. Russell, presently directed some full-length shots of the gay throng, the camera being stationed well at the back, giving a very long view. Claude MacDonnell always looks more harassed and anxious than he reallv is, and the tape measure and other aids to focusing were in much request. In this particular cabaret I learned from Clive Brook, who sat beside me in a nice dressing-gown, strangers were actively discouraged. When I heard this I looked round nervously to make sure that both exits were clear and free from obstructions, either permanent or tem¬ porary. Reassured, I witnessed what '■eally happens in such cases. A harmless stranger entered from the street and be¬ gan to descend the stairs. As played by Bert Darley, he seemed a very inoffensive person indeed— something like a A illesden tradesman on a Cook’s fortnightly' trip to the Gay City. As he descended, however, and withdrew his foot from the grasp of a lady in an inviting costume who sat on the stairs, a man sprang up from one of the tables below and “spied the stranger ’’ much more dramatically than such a procedure used to be carried out in the House of Commons. With one accord the hundreds of customers rose, yelled “Get out! ” at the bewildered intruder, who fled precipitately, and re¬ sumed their seats laughing at his natural discomfiture. Almost immediately, however, Henry Victor arrived. Actuated by a sense of Gallic humour, the rabble rose and yelled at him in the same way. But Henry must have been well known there ; for he treated it as a joke, shouted something very rude in return, and descended, much tickled, to be hailed with welcome by the party on the lower floor. I distinctly saw one lady kiss him as he took a seat and joined a blithe party. It was instructive; for now I know what to do. The next time I find myself in a Montmartre caf4 and am greeted with concerted hostility, I shall shout back and join them. Some ladv — who knows? — may conceivably salute me in a suitable way, and I shall probably make some friends for life. I see it all now. These people think all the more of you if you take no notice of their tantrums.. Betty Compson was soon afterwards the centre of several near shots at a table; and I mentally resolved to scour Paris at no distant date, on the assump¬ tion that Miss Compson, too, is part of the authentic characteristic cabaret at¬ mosphere Another Intruder The Islington studio has several exits, and although the ventilation is no doubt much better than that of most British studios, it is sometimes inevitable during a heat wave that some of the outer doors are kept slightly open. This desirable procedure has its drawbacks. The deni¬ zens of the locality, ever curious to see mm VICTOR^ b