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Photoplay Magazine
singing pantomimist flashes back to her Carmenic variety, physical glamour and exhaustless resource. The whole picture is a mosaic for detail, and, supported by the heroic Mr. Reid and the lithely dark Mr. Cordoba, Miss Farrar performs such a symphony of glowing love, purple hate and magnificent murder as our screens have seldom reflected.
Kathlyn Williams and Guy Oliver in "Into the Primitive. '
"another of the unending you-and-me-and-maybe-somebody
else-on-an-island stones. ' '
T HE Floorwalker," Chaplin's first Mu* tual release, seems hastily thrown together. The second of its two reels contains a good deal of action, but the piece as a whole is much inferior to "Carmen." Why the almost total eclipse of Purviance, the loveliest blonde in speechless comedy?
/"*• LOSING dates have permitted me to ^ see but the first chapter of the new Billie Burke serial, but this is epochal enough to inspire a paragraph about serials in general.
Serials may be of two kinds:
a pro (Continued on page IjO)
gressive story of whimsically interesting human nature, or a clattering set of links in a chain of mechanical devilishness and deafening plotistic uproar. "Gloria's Romance" is, unfortunately, about the first we have had of class 1. Rupert Hughes — or Mrs. Hughes, as you may believe — is writing this just as he writes his novels. His people are real people, so Gloria is a deliciously real chicken, daughter of wealth ensconced at Palm Beach, and so blamed unhappy about having to hit the hay instead of a waxed floor, that she doesn't know what to do with her inquisitive, jumpy little self. I sympathized with the old banker who confided in Gloria: "They make me go to bed. too!" I could almost smell the salt air that rushed through Gloria's oft-shaken curls as she tore off mile after mile of moonlit beach in her stolen machine. I saw no scheme at all in chapter 1 — only charm ; the Billie Burke charm that I nee. somehow, missed in his bigger and more pretentious "Peggy."