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36
Photo-Play Journal
Ethel Clayton and a little bit of old China
CATHAY COMES TO HOLLYWOOD
Age-Old China Defies Tradition and Meets the Buoyant West in Picfuredom
By ADAM HULL SHIRK
ALL traditions go by the board when motion pictures are L\ made. East meets west and the lion rests contentedly A. jL beside the lamb. Thus it is no surprise to find a corner of Cathay in Hollywood and to encounter as representative a crowd of Orientals amid the orange blossoms of California as one could wish to meet along the banks of the Yang-tse.
Recently Ethel Clayton made a picture called "Crooked Streets," which Paul Powell directed. Much of it is laid in Shanghai and its environs. So it was necessary to transplant some of the ancient atmosphere of the Celestial City to the studio. Atmosphere is not used advisedly, however. The only real reminiscent odor was when a very aged Chinese lady got a pipe going that savored the haunts of the dream-dwellers of the Flowery Kingdom or the insidious depths of Limestone.
A quaint bit. of the native quarter of the city was erected on the banks of the studio tank, which on its placid surface upheld sundry junks and small craft, while above were reared strange barbaric dwellings from which flaunted banners bearing strange characters. This little quay was peopled with coolies, dignitaries, and alien sailors, and there occurred some of the sensational scenes of the picture story, which was adapted from a short story by Samuel Merwin, "Dinner at Eight."
Another scene represented a busy street in the semiEuropeanized section of Shanghai, where rickshaws vied with motors and strange and quaintly picturesque men,
women, and children of the almond-eyed races mingled with gaily dressed tourists, soldiers, etc.
Where they got their props, their extra people, etc., could be gleaned from no one but those energetic and infallible workers who are attached to the staff of every studio — prop men, scene designers, casting directors, and others. But they got them. One would never have imagined there were so many rickshaws in America, and they were all genuine, too. Nor could one dream that such types existed as were dragged from Heaven alone knows what strange byways to act before the camera.
The Chinese gutturals were heard on every side; queer groups of old and young Orientals played games or chatted or smoked long pipes on every hand. Even the blase studio folk watched with undisguised interest.
And through it all the charming Miss Clayton moved undismayed — for China is no mystery to her. She has been there, and loves it for its picturesqueness and its ancient traditions. But, then, she is a student, as well as an incomparable actress and always finds much to interest her in the unusual or the strange.
On the screen the illusion will be perfect ; you will be transplanted to China — nothing less. And you will actually smell the odor of yen-shee, and hear the sing-song conversation of the disciples of Confucius, and 3'ou will find it, perhaps, sufficient, particularly if you be one of those who believe with the poet
"Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay."