Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1931)

Hollywood Cruelties The part opposite John Mack Brown in "Billy the Kid,J was to make Lucille Powers a big leading woman. Here she is in a scene with John. But they decided she was too inexperienced, and Kay Johnson, in circle, finally played it inexperienced Austrian child. Young, eager, breathless with excitement, she arrived to have her little taste of fame and glory — a lead in a Jack Gilbert starring vehicle. Those were halcyon, brightly colored days for Eva that became clouded with gray when she was found to be too plump for American beauty standards. She was shipped back home THE hundreds who suffered when the microphone came into vogue; the dozens who had to give up their careers because they grew too fat for the two-dimensional camera ; the great stars whose popularity wanes with the years; those vital actors who can be accepted no longer because of telltale wrinkles under the eyes and sagging muscles at the throat — these are but some of the heart throbs that are known to Hollywood. Nor are the directors immune. I remember, one day, seeing King Vidor walk off his set after a day's work with the tears standing in his eyes. It had happened like this. He had made what he thought was a perfect picture, "The Crowd." It was life. It was realism. But the producers were afraid of that very realism, that raw beauty. They had asked him to make a "tag," which is a substitute half reel or so for the end of a picture. In this "tag" King shot a banal happy ending. He must have his wretched characters suddenly become rich and happy. King Vidor is an artist. The making of that final half reel cost him something infinitely precious. As it happened, this "tag" was not used. A better one, that satisfied everybody to some extent, was at last made. Clarence Brown was forced to make the same gesture when he directed "Flesh and the Devil." The — to him — odious happy ending was filmed for release in the smaller towns. A mistake that cost a producer a neat $300,000 and plenty of heartache to all concerned occurred when the genius Maeterlinck was brought to this country to supervise the making of his immortal "The Blue Bird." the picture was a failure. Its beauty did not register. Maeterlinck left, to ponder on the strange ways of the movies. Perhaps no more bewildered writer than the late William J. Locke ever came to Hollywood. The author of "The Beloved Vagabond" discovered that his great talent had no place in the studios. With the loud trumpets of press agents and the usual hullabaloo that accompanies a visiting celebrity, Max Reinhardt, one of the greatest minds in the theater in Europe, was brought to this country. I T was his task to direct Lillian Gish in "The Miracle." He was a god in Europe, a failure in Hollywood. Somehow he could not adjust his ideas to the requirements of pictures. For months they worked to find something suitable for him. He returned, at last, minus the trumpets. The same tragic fate seems to be the lot of the Russian director, Eisenstein. Mind you, these people may go home. They may go back to occupy the same positions they held before. But there is sornething devastating about failure, as far as an artist is concerned. One of the most merciless circumstances took place during the filming of that exciting, amusing picture, "In Old Arizona." Maria Alba was given the woman's lead in the film because of her excellent histrionic ability and her natural Spanish accent. Delighted, she helped design her own costumes and evolved a fascinating way of wearing her hair. The company worked for two weeks when it was discovered that Maria's natural Spanish accent was not understandable on the sound track. So Dorothy Burgess, an American girl, was given her role. It was Maria's assignment to coach Dorothy in the accent, to dress her hair and to sit on the set watching her play the role she loved, while she showed her correct Spanish mannerisms. There is no helping all this. For mistakes are bound to be made. And each one spells the suffering of dozens of hearts! 77