Photoplay (Feb 1923)

In Europe Harold Lloyd is deified with a capitalized pronoun. In Germany he’sEr; in Hungary he’s 0; both of which mean Him American Stars They laugh at us but they like us over there in outer darkness, I learned from the signboards that D. W. was coming. He was heralded as the Greatest Man on Earth, and “The Birth of a Nation” as the greatest thing since the gospels and Buffalo Bill. Elmer Somlyo, a young American who got his training in the camp of Paramount, is the particular saver of souls in this section. As manager for the Orion Film, with headquarters in Budapest, he is bringing American pictures to Hungary, Roumania, Bulgaria, Turkey and other points East. If you are old enough to remember the days before there was a war in Europe you may recollect that the cinema was then in the infancy of its infancy. Chaplin was a mere sprouter. Although he had caught on with the ignorant classes in America, he had never had his picture in Vanity Fair — He was very vulgar. Harold Lloyd had left off peddling popcorn in Omaha, but hadn’t made much of a flicker on the screen. And Valentino was a humble but proficient dancer. Although the war has been over for some time, Europe has not had the price to pay for our films until recently, and our companies have been unable to establish good exchange systems until the last year. However, we’re fast workers; we’re getting a throttle hold on the old world; it’s all to the jazz and the celluloid right now. Mr. Somlyo, speaking for middle Europe, estimates that ninety per cent of the films shown during the ensuing year will be American. This despite the high prices that our producers demand. We once worried about the cheap productions from Europe. Now Europe has reason to worry about the expensive productions from America. The Orion Film produced a five reel comedy for $650, just about the price it would have to pay for the privilege of exhibiting a good American feature in its territory. Yet the preference of audiences for American comedies is so strong that more can be made renting a Lloyd or Chaplin film than by producing a show of your own. Thus Somlyo was expending almost as much cabling for Buster Keaton comedies as he would in producing a spectacle at his studio. Next to the comedians the sport-shirted huskies who tote guns and boast red blood have been the strongest. William S. Hart has had a vogue on the continent as at home, and now Tom Mix is roping them in throughout England, France and Italy. There will be good gunning for him in Central Europe, too, once William Fox has his distributing system in action. Ihe serial kings and queens have held mighty sway over Europe. Among the most potent is Antonio Moreno, who in addition to appearing in the popular serial tempests has the Latin dash of romanticism that ensnares the female interest. His appearance in several Pearl White excursions over the Pathe route has been another boost in his favor. Eddy Polo is also a winner of contest, along with William Duncan. But the serial is not what it once was, and its history in Europe is much the same as at home. The wane is on. Pearl White has been the most displayed lady in celluloid. For years she appeared regularly every week throughout the world covered by Pathe. Since her dramatic entanglements in Fox films her appearances and her popularity have decreased. Nor do I think she will recapture her old position by returning to serials, for that old vehicle has lost its pulling power. Anyhow Bianca Pearl can sigh along with Alexander for new worlds to thrill. OUR pictures have won over a lot of Europeans to the league of fans; beautiful picture palaces now glitter in London, Paris, Rome, Berlin, Vienna, Budapest and even in the provincial towns. There is still the old guard, of course, which prefers the operas of Wagner to those of D. W., the pictures of Raphael to those of deMillc. Europe is now so ready to howl the words of William Hays that the movie is the greatest art in the world, because of Europe, even the lowliest thereof, has been reared in art. In Florence I have seen companies of Italian buck privates spending a holiday in the picture galleries. If you found a buck in the Metropolitan museum in New York you would shout for the police, sure that his motive was burglary. But the chances are that you wouldn’t be there to see him. At a hotel in Venice I asked the waiter where I could find a movie theater. He looked startled, as though he hadn’t heard aright. “They are playing La Boheme tonight at the opera, signor,” he said. “But I want to see a movie.” “The company is from Rome,” he persisted. “They are very good artists.” “But where is there a movie?” “But the opera house is just around the corner,” he pleaded hysterically. I remained cold. “But don’t you like Puccini?” he sobbed. “Yes, I like Puccini,” I said [ continued on page 97 ] u