Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1920)

JO rhotoplay Magazine The Screen Doctor I'M the silver-sheet Doctor. I'm known, the moment I'm lamped, By my caprine chin And the little black bag That goes so well With my dolorous mein. For the hoot-owl has nothing on me In the matter of being solemn. By JOHN ARBUTHNOTT When I step into the room Where the strike-breaker's children sit With glycerine tears on their cheeks I horn right down to the root of the case With one touch on the wrist. And say with a slow shake of the head: "She cannot live," And shake the spinach again And look sad And walk out. ^ Diagnosis is easy with me; It's easy, dead easy; For when the Hero Has plugged his Millionaire Dad Through the left lung And apparently spilt the beans. My spinach and I step into the costly library set Where the wall-safe door stands accusingly open And the papers are scattered about. I turn over the body And inspect the Old Guy's dressing-gown And announce to them all: "This man wasn't killed by that bullet. But died, eight seconds before the shot came, Of heart disease — My Boy, you are free!" And the Gazoo Who can make a pill like that go down Is some peach of a Doctor, Wouldn't you say? % i i can't help it; she'd rather dress in an old divided skirt and blouse and hat any day and go for a ride, for miles and miles, in the California country. She's not afraid of anything. She came from Spokane, Washington, to get a job on the stage. She went to Los Angeles and the Oliver Morosco offices. She went there day after day, and nothing happened. "Every once in a while," she says, "Mr. Morosco or his secretary would come out and say to me: 'Just keep coming; something may turn up.' That's all right if you have plenty of money. So I thought I'd try — the films. I went to a comedy studio. Remember, I'd come from a town where people conform pretty much to rules and regulations. I saw all these girls flitting about in bathing suits and all the men in shirt sleeves; it was such a noisy place — I cleared out. Then Marshall Neilan, an old friend of mine, suggested that I try his studio, the old Kalem. "I went there. It was so different! I got a better '"mpression of picture studios right away. Quiet, and home-like, with only one company working. They took me on, and I played all kinds of parts. I did a lot of riding there, and I liked it. "Then that company separated, and I began to look around. Griffith was with Fine Arts then, and I went to see him — oh, there was nothing trifling about my ambitions! I finally got in, and I sat and talked to him for two hours, trying to convince him that he simply couldn't worry along without me any longer. At the end of my speech, he looked at me and said: 'You're too calm; I could never make you act.' "That made me mad. 'If you think I'm calm,' I cried, 'I wish you knew how I felt inside!' "That made him laugh and he engaged me. I played in the Reliance and Majestic one-reelers for a long time. I did a lot of ridjng in those days — and it was surely fun!" Those were the golden days of Triangle. Lillian and Dorothy Gish, Miriam Cooper, Mae Marsh, the Talmadge sistersall working on the same lot. Then came "Intolerance." "Never will forget," said Seena, "my makeup in that picture. I had to wear a false nose that wouldn't stay on, and had to add an inch to my eyelashes. It took me a solid hour to make up for the Princess Beloved. My gown — ^what there was of it — was painfully heavy, with cut-glass beads. But we had so much fun making the Babylonian episode. Constance Talmadge was the Mountain Girl and she had to drive the chariot — remember? I used to envy her by the hour — and between my scenes I used to drive those circus horses around the track — in that bead-gown of mine, with my knees black and blue from the contact with the sides of the chariot. They were great days." Before Triangle passed, Seena Owen was featured, or starred, in several pictures — the last of them being "Miss Bo-Peep." Later, she went with Charles Ray for one picture; and did two pictures with Hart. "I thought, in the Bill Hart picture, I'd get a chance to ride; but no — they dressed me up pretty and I had to do an ingenue all the way through." She has done a picture with H. B. Warner, and two with Tom Moore, and "Victory," for Maurice Tourneur. She wants to do a western picture. "I have faith in the western, and I don't believe it's ever going to die. I'd like to play a wholesome, normal girl in western surroundings — not the vulgar, heavy dance-hall type, nor yet the hoyden. I believe western girls can ride and shoot as straight as any man, and still keep their feminine appeal." She was born Signe Auen, in Spokane. She changed her name to Mrs. George Walsh several years ago, and retired from the screen for a while to become the mother of a little girl. She is Seena Owen now, having recently severed her matrimonial bonds. If she can only find a sympathetic director, a conscientious cameraman and a good story, there is no reason why old Gen. Bell-and-Howell wouldn't relent and photograph her as she really looks. She has short hair. Clarine Seymour has emulated "Connie" Talmadge in persuading people to cut their hair. "Clarine worried about it for days afterward," said Seena, "until I began to learn how to fix it and to like it short. It's much less bother — besides, I think most girls cut it short so they can experiment in fixing it long again. And now Clarine is proud as punch and takes all the credit, if there be credit, for my new coiffure." %