The Photo-Play Journal (Jul 1919-Feb 1921)

February , 192 1 41 The Screen-Goer By LEWIS F. LEVENSON THOMAS BURKE, whose "Chink and the Child" from the series of "Limehouse Night" tales, was made into a "high-art" motion picture by D. W. Griffith, launched a bitter attack on the cinema in an English publication recently. Mr. Burke may have been seeking notoriety — of a sort. Certainly he cannot be sincere, when "Broken Blossoms" was made with his consent from his own book, and when he has again given Mr. Griffith permission to film one of his stories, now in production. Mr. Burke castigates the films severely. He says they pander to the lowest desire for amusement, that the phrase "motion picture art" is pretense, that picture actors know nothing of acting and picture directors little about the drama. Any rabid fanatic of the movies can answer Mr. Burke. There have been artistic, dramatic, powerful motion pictures, motion pictures which made you thankful that someone had discovered for you the simple process of running film over a spool and before a lens through which a light is diffused. But it would be provincial to deny that Mr. Burke's accusations are, in the main, true. Out of ten motion pictures produced today, today when we are accustomed to say that the pictures are progressing, that they are gaining rapidly on the stage, out of ten pictures, nine are filled with tedious repetitions, stale situations, clumsy acting and obvious plots. "Oh, yes, we are getting away from the perpetual star picture, the blond Susie who simpers before the camera, tosses her golden curls and wanders through reels of northwestern woods, Mexican deserts and Parisian cabarets. And the standardized plot is no longer quite so standardized. All comedies do not contain chase scenes, custard pie denouements, and comedians with salivated beards. Even Bill Hart appears occasionally in a picture which is not of the cactus-covered desert and the wild and woolly west. Once in a while someone injects some drama into a society scene. And there are good pictures. There really are. Pictures which grip and thrill or make you lean back and laugh heartily. There are even producers who insist on making good pictures — occasionally. Who are breaking away from stars and sure-fire money-makers and program pictures to fill in the bill on Fridays and Mondays at the Bijou Theatre near the depot in Berryville, Va. But, unfortunately, there are no Stuart Walkers or Neighborhood Theatres, or Theatre Guilds, or even Arthur Hopkinses in picturedom. There are no producers who are willing to take a chance on a fine picture, who won't produce a bad picture Even D. W. Griffith has to sandwich program fillers in between his super-productions. You may say that picture producers can't afford to invest the great sum necessary to a fine picture, that the Theatre Guild and the Neighborhood Theatre can produce Shaw and Dunsany and Galsworthy and Yeats, because the cost of production is limited. Yet Arthur Hopkins could take a chance with "The Jest" and "Richard III" and John D. Williams dared with "Beyond the Horizon." Williams, for instance, made money in New York, but he was forced to close his play on the road. And therein lies the answer. Therein is the reason why Thomas Burke can attack the motion picture and why no producers dare transfer to the screen delicate artistic things, why the screen, instead of becoming the great educator of the ages,, is still at the level of the penny-in-the-slot machine where some fat woman takes off her corsets to the delectation of the peeping; Tom at the other end of the stereopticon. You don't want good pictures. You won't support them,. You would rather see Bill Hart popping silently at some bandit king in Poison Oaks, you would rather see Douglas Fairbanks, jump from a roof to the ground than play D'Artagnan, you would rather see Dick Barthelmess play love scenes with an undressed South Sea Island maiden than portray a sad-eyed; Chinaman. "Anatol" may be your chance to prove you want something good. "A Connecticut Yankee at the Court of King Arthur" may be another. Griffith's new Limehouse tale, thus far unnamed, may be another. Until you fans respond to the best in the pictures, however, their most stalwart defenders will be unable to rise to their task of defending what ought to be the most vivid of all arts and the greatest disseminator of culturein the world. THE MARK OF ZORRO (United Artists) No, Douglas Fairbanks cannot act. But he can dazzle. And he does dazzle in "The Mark of Zorro." Whether he dazzles by sheer athletic prowess or by tricks of the studio and the camera, this reviewer does not know. Always there is something unexpected in a Fairbanks picture. In this one, Douglas has abandoned the usual homilies. "The Mark of Zorro," isn't preachy. It isn't intense, but it is swift, moving, picturesque and entertaining. The story of a Castilian in California, when that country was under the Mexican flag, "The Mark of Zorro" exhibits many unusual types, and does impart atmosphere more or less different from the usual Southern California palmettos and white-washed buildings. It shows Douglas jumping off of church steeples, down roofs and engaging in two of the most thrilling duels ever shown on the screen. He is certainly a romantic hero, a true D'Artagnan in this film. Noah Beery draws a splendidly humorous character, boisterous, coarse, braggartly, as the sergeant. Robert McKim is a stern and forbidding villain. Marguerite de la Motte's dark eyes work overtime in the heroine's role. and in this vehicle he has given the photo-play new evidence of his ability to put humor and punch into stories that are quite different from the average. "Hold Your Horses" is adapted from the novel, "Canavan." It is the story of the rise of an Irish street sweeper to eminence in the political world through the power of his own brawny fists. Incidentally it is a photo-play for the men. It shows how strong-arm methods succeed in subduing wives. The first three reels, dealing with the life of the immigrant street-sweeper and dynamite gang worker are exceedingly funny, replete with humorous sub-titles and plenty of action. The latter part of the film slows up the action considerably, perhaps because screen fans are too accustomed to society scenes to expect anything from them. Tom Moore gives one of his best characterizations as Canavan. Naomi Childers proves she is worthy of a high place in the list of screen actresses in the leading feminine role. HOLD YOUR HORSES (Goldwyn) Although "Hold Your Horses" is not quite as good a film as "Scratch My Back," it ranks far above the average. Rupert Hughes has certainly struck a fine vein of screen writing BILLIONS (Metro) Everyone who believes that the motion picture is worthwhile, that it is not — as Thomas Burke, the author of "Limehouse Nights" puts it — futile grimacing, regrets the inexplicable deterioration in the work of Alia Nazimova. When Mme. Nazimova first came to the screen, a few years ago, she was greeted warmly. Her work pleased. She did some good things, notably "Out of the Fog," and "The Red Lantern." And she always put into her screen characterizations that intelligence which marks the artiste — to use a Gallicism.. This year, we are told, she is selecting her own pictures, she is assisting in the direction,, is cutting them, and virtually supervising their entire production. That may be the reason why. her vehicles seem badly chosen, poorly directed, abominably cast and decorated, and why fans. are mourning over the loss of the old Nazimova. Clever as she may be as an actress, she knows nothing of showmanship. "Madam, Peacock," supposedly a satire, was a farce.. And "Billions," — well, no one can quite define "Billions," — is a tragedy, a genuine tragedy, not of the screen but of the real Nazimova,. the actress and the artiste. Scarcely a film has come to the screen which, is so lacking in verisimilitude; the photo-, drama, considered far more realistic than thestage, is something tawdry, artificial, impos-. sible, in this production. An amateur rendition, of a play by Dunsany, with cotton hangings de-picting the palace of some king of a land on, the edge of the world, would leave the specta-. tor with a keener dramatic thrill than this, weak, inane comedy. And Nazimova, twisting, her toes and pouting like any simpering ingenue, is depressing. One of the actors burlesqued his role. Charles Bryant, who played the lead, was as. heavy and lumbering as an ignorant longshoreman, who had never been inside a theatre. Nazimova, even to the point of her make-up,, was nothing but a tottering doll, with eyebrows over-pencilled, doing Keystone comedy tricks with a revolving door and an automo-. bile. Even the big sc.ene of the film was in< decidedly bad taste.