Movie Pictorial (March 1915)

MOVIE PICTORIAL you'se wise to his game? He’s piped the Boss, that’s all, he’s in for a killin’,” came the willing rejoinder from a knight of the paint-brush who happened to overhear the remark, “Cut it out and get busy, get busy!” In stentorian tones Wilson assumed command: “Everybody concerned in scene 32 kindly come this way," he announced like a superior ruffian bent on mischief. The scene referred to lent itself admirably to his grandiose methods of stage procedure. A wonderful old Italian garden of medieval period, em- bellished with bright banners, flaring flags, curiously wrought antique lanterns, old urns, low marble benches and great banks of foliage flanking every side. In the background, faithfully represented was a stately palace with porticos and little balconies, where the musicians were stationed tuning their instruments beneath a striped canopy, flower be- decked. Wilson was invariably successful with massive productions, calling for the services of hundreds of people, such as the scenario in this case demanded, and the pity was that he knew it. As deeds are weighed in studios as well as actions, much was to be forgiven, because much was given in return in the way of dollars and cents, a fact not overlooked by the auditing department where the debit and credit side of the ledger was an open Bible for guidance, irrevocably measuring the standard of the smallest or greatest genius that ever graced the payroll. Today Wilson gloried in a superb cast, the pick of the best regular Stock members (much to the chagrin of other directors who had to get along with lesser luminaries), and a well drilled force of experienced supernumeraries, to say nothing of the Boss for extra measure in the capacity of private audience. Wilson surveyed the assemblage with one sweeping glance: “Attention everybody! Musicians, take your places. Ladies, less talking please! Mrs. Ryan, you are supposed to be the Marchioness of Bologna; this is the ancestral mansion, and you, as hostess, are discovered in the place of honor under the balcony prepared to welcome your guests. Is that clear?” “Excuse me just a minute, Governor,” the property man apologized, “I’ve got to work in here. Johnny and me can’t get that darned old fountain to work just right.” .Johnny crawled around on his hands and knees, interrupted the rehearsal quite unconcerned while adjusting a long stretch of rubber garden hose, half concealed by grass mats. “Hy! there! Blooch, turn on the juice. I want to see if she’s working now.” Wilson, momentarily distracted from his original point of attack, looked daggers. “Ah, quit yer kiddin’. Governor; take ’er easy; it’ll be all the same a hundred years from now.” “Say, little one,” the “Governor” replied in a slightly chilled voice, “did you come to repair a leak or recite an impromptu soliloquy? If so, we will all sit down and listen.” Johnny, unabashed, went on with his work. Sud- denly graceful streams of water shot skyward from the golden images surmounting the fountain and the scene resumed. “Mrs. Ryan, get ready to receive your guests. Ladies, kindly remember that you are members of the nobility and selected from the best society.—Try to act as much like the ‘400’ as you can. Forget for the time being that all the ‘wops’ you know in this country are either spaghetti chefs, saloon-keepers or banana-vendors. People of the Latin races are emo- tionally inclined, temperamental, laughter-loving, gay-hearted and KD impulsive. I don’t want you to act like cold-blooded American citizens chasing the elusive and almighty dollar. From now on and until this picture is finished I want you to be real true Latins; eat Italian, dream Ital- ian; in short, live Ital- ian. Now, is that clear to everybody? Musicians start playing. Miss Eisendrath, that is your cue to enter; bow very low to the Marchioness; then slowly and with stately step take your position with some of the court ladies to one side down stage* I until it is HK time for you to dance.—Unknowingly, you have been followed here by your ardent and hated nemesis, Fernandez, a regular Don Juan sort of a fellow who is not in the running because you love another named Levardo. He is stalwart, young and handsome, a regular Yale athlete, but poor as Job’s turkey and father after giving him the double O, has in- formed you there is nothing doing.—Do you get me?” Miss Eisendrath, a young dark eyed gazelle of a girl, alive to her finger tips, sprang into view like a frightened fawn and pouted roguishly back at him. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Wilson, I get you.” “Now then, let’s proceed; Flower girls and dancing maidens! As Miss Eisendrath finishes her dance, they form a semi-circle immediately back of her. Wave the festooned floral branches that you carry, forming an arch under which she passes. This is where we start to build our climax. With all eyes turned toward the beautiful dancer, everybody applauding and chatting, Fernandez enters unexpectedly. He presses a little nearer, ravishing you with his eyes, fascinating and intoxicating you with the pent up fury of his love. You cover your eyes, try to get away, stagger as if to fall, clutching at the urn to your left for support, bewildered, not knowing which way to turn. Levardo enters, rushes to your as- sistance, encircles your body with his strong right arm, facing Fernandez defiantly This position I want held a second as we have a cut-in speech to go in there, after which Levardo bears you tri- umphantly away amid great excitement. Now, is that clear to everybody?” A tall blond in a borrowed brocaded court gown, patted her pompadour and shifted her one hundred and eighty pounds avoirdupoip to a more comfortable position just in time to be reprimanded for massag- ing a wad of gum.—“Miss Whatever-your-name-is, the tall one in the rear next to Miss Allspice, stop working your jaws overtime. When this play was supposed to have taken place such abominations were unknown!—Violet Stevens, fix the placket of your skirt. It gaps in the back when you turn to the camera! Now everybody, let’s rehearse! Then we’ll try to make it! Come on, wake up! Give me a little pep! Marchioness commence, please! Mu- sicians, start playing! “Everybody look off stage; wave your handker- chiefs, clap your hands. Move taster. The action drags. There, that’s better. Charley Roberts, can that ‘Coffin Nail!’ The next man that comes into this studio with a lighted cigaret will be fired for good. And that goes, too!—On Miss Eisendrath. Bow to the Marchioness. Slowly down front.—Music cue.—start your dance. Scatter your veils like a vaporous cloud about you. There, that’s better. That’s what I want!—Mrs. Ryan, more to the left. Don’t look at me. Your face is partly hidden in shadow. Now, flower girls, remember what I told you! Dancing girls liven up; form your circle. Fer- nandez on. See her. Hold it! Hold it! Don’t move. Stagger, Miss Eisendrath. Act as if you’re going to faint. Levardo on! This scene is yours; go to it. Grab her. Flash defiance at Fernandez. Exit! More excitement, everybody talking, watch- ing them off. Hold your places. Well, folks, that’s not so bad for a first performance, is it? “Miss Eisendrath, you are a little too self con- scious, it spoils your work. You’re not supposed to know anything about Fernandez being here, until after your dance. Be natural and don’t look like a scared Hottentot!—Fernandez, fix your wig and pull up your tights! “Levardo, your work lacks conviction, stop posing, be natural, don’t act like a comic-opera soubrette strutting about waiting for a solo number to hog the show! The camera will get you all right.—Musicians when the Marchioness screams, stop playing, become interested in the scene, lean over the railing, look down, ask questions of one another. “How’s your line up, Eddie?” “All set, Governor; we’d better take it before the light gets any worse. A cloud is settling and we’ll be in shadow before long. It’s contrasty already.” “Positions everybody! Remember what I’ve told you. Get ready! Start your action. GO!” Slowly, majestically, the scene swung into place and Wilson presented an interesting study in human emotions as he minutely followed the action of every creature before him, stop-watch in hand. Shouting orders, his critically trained, all seeing eyes follow- ing every thread of the delicate web unfold'ng under his masterful direction. Now he was working like a Trojan, beads of perspiration trickling down his flushed, eager, anxious, excited face. He shouted, threatened, implored, cajoled, gesticulated and cursed all in one breath, his very heart beating a wild tattoo to the incessant grinding of the camera. The old Marchioness held court austerely with regal bearing; the flower girls danced in easy rhythm while they scattered their choicest blooms to the breeze. The scene was a marvel of poise, technique and brilliant execution and when it was completed, Wilson turned happily to the operator. "How many feet did she run, Eddie?” “One hundred and five. Governor.” “Here too, Son,” he nodded, glancing at his watch, “and it’s going to be a peach.” Eddie jotted down the scene, and amount of film used in his daily report card. Then he opened the door of his camera case. His face went white. He looked at Wilson. “It’s a make-over,” he said simply, “the machine ‘kicked’ I told them boobs down in the machine- shop not to let this old shoe-shining outfit go out on another job until it was carefully overhauled. The sprocket wheel is worn off and don’t take up as it should. Gee! That’s rotten luck,” he added half apologetically, noticing Wilson’s crestfallen expres- sion, a fine mist filming the director’s eyes where only a moment before a thousand brilliant fires gleamed with all the vigor of early youth. He stood gazing out of the weather begrimmed glass wall, plainly distressed. Then he wheeled about facing the mob, his powerful jaws clicked together like a steel trap as if ashamed of his display of momentary weakness. Every eye was intently focused on him. “Look out, fellows,” ventured Charley Roberts, the incorrigible. “Hell’s a’brewing, the artistic tempera- ment must be appeased, somebody will get it in the neck before the day’s over with; mark my words.” “Oh, cut it out. Chick. He ain’t near as bad as you try to make out. It’s a wonder he ain’t bugs entirely with such a bunch of rummies on his hands.” “Oh. slush! Speak for yourself, Cutey. That’s what he’s getting paid for. You’ve got to be more or less nutty before you can become a producer, and the only good ones in the business are the ones who were such rotten actors they couldn’t hold a job down at that any longer, so 'they were elevated to the dippy class.” “Well, Chick, if you’re wise you’ll tend to your knitting. Bo-lieve me; a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and you don’t find any bushes bloom- ing in January along little old Broadway as Georgia Cohan would interpolate.” These and sundry remarks were passed ad lib, in sotto voice, among the rank and file while Eddie was reloading his machine. “All right, Governor,” he said at last, closing the door with a gentle bang to emphasize his contempt of all machines in general. “Let her flicker. Come, folks, once more, please.” Wilson’s old fighting spirit had returned. He was ready for the fray with increased energy. “Get ready! Start your action! GO!” Once more the scene was enacted with even more brilliancy, dash and finish than characterized the first attempt. “STOP!” he yelled lustily when it was over with, amid faint murmurings of the most heartless, witty conversation in Christendom. “What's the verdict? Did she kick again?” “Not so you could notice it,” Eddie answered. “Tell them to hold their positions; I want a ‘still’ of this scene.” Wilson placed the principals down in the fore- ground and the picture was snapped. “Everybody on in the next scene excepting Miss Eisendrath and Levardo. CLEAR! Mrs. Ryan, take a step or two towards Fernandez; pause and order him from the grounds. The idea is to humiliate him before your guests whom he has outraged by his be- havior. I want this to register strong. Fernandez, stretch your hands toward her, imploring for- giveness; her snub means your social annihilation. The Mar- chioness pays no atten- tion to your entrea She enters the h followed by the la of her retinue, lea you dejected, broken alone. Come s 1 o ’ down stage facing camera. You h opportunity for great piece of work here; glancing about to make sure that there is no one to overhear or see. You smile craftily Your brain has evolved a means for revenge