Pictures and the Picturegoer (Jan-Dec 1925)

Record Details:

Something wrong or inaccurate about this page? Let us Know!

Thanks for helping us continually improve the quality of the Lantern search engine for all of our users! We have millions of scanned pages, so user reports are incredibly helpful for us to identify places where we can improve and update the metadata.

Please describe the issue below, and click "Submit" to send your comments to our team! If you'd prefer, you can also send us an email to mhdl@commarts.wisc.edu with your comments.




We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.

Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.

62 Picture s and Picture $ver AUGUST 1925 ^^!:*iKitti»miiitmtimmiHfitiHnH«ifiiiiimtiijiiiiMiMiiiiMiiiiiiTfrniiiiinMf»MMiiiifitMii»fittii.iiitii^g Just Out!\ PASSINGl SHOWl fMsswc SHOW Special Summer Number i JUST look at the good |j things it contains: — | A brilliant cover in four | colours. 1 31 Illustrated Jokes by B Famous Artists. jj 7 Masterly Short Stories j by well-known Authors jj Special Holiday Articles bubbling over with wit. Pages of bright gossip. Scores of clever jests. Get a copy of this I splendid number 60 PAGES to-day, and if you would like a good laugh every week, ask your newsagent to deliver the "Passing Show" regularly. 3d PITY THE POOR PRODUCER! (Continued from page 27.) employed " which is regularly lined up outside the office of the casting director. But when the star — whose salary runs into many digits — succumbs to the painful disease it is more than probable thai the long-suffering director is compelled to hold up the production until the victim can once more face the Kleigs. In his battle against Nature, the poor producer is often severely harassed. Though the invention of the powerful arc lights has minimised weather troubles in the studios, the patience of the director is still sorely tried while out on location. Geographical features, on occasions, prove every bit as unmanageable as the weather. While George Melford was on location for scenes in Fleming Barriers, he was victorious in a battle with a raging mountain torrent. He had taken his company to a spot on the banks of the famous Stanislaus river in the mountains of Northern California. When everything was ready for rehearsing the scenes the director found himself faced with an unusual difficulty. Ordinary words of command were completely lost in the thunders of the river as it plunged through its rocky bed on its way to the valley, thousands of feet below. Melford tried various methods of communicating with his cast, including pistol shots fired according to a pre-arranged code, without success. The Stanislaus continued to be the chief " big noise " in that part of the world. At last, Melford was inspired to make use of the reflectors which are used to throw sunlight under dark trees or into shadows of walls. One flash in the eyes of the players meant " get ready." Two flashes told the cameramen to record the scene; and three flashes signified that action was to stop. This flashing code successfully defeated the Stanislaus and some most effective scenes were shot. Some scenes necessitate the director accompanying his cameramen in an aeroplane or captive balloon, possibly to a height of several hundred feet. The late Alan Holubar directed the sea battle scenes in Hurricane's Gal from a hydroplane. In such circumstances, of course, a mere megaphone is useless, and Holubar made history by using wireless telephony for the very first time in motion picture work. By means of loud speakers on these vessels every command of the director was heard and obeyed as plainly as if he had managed to create seven editions of himself in order to take command in the seven vessels simultaneously. Dorothy Oustox Booth. COINCIDENTAL "EMMA." (Continued made in Munich, I accepted without hesitation, for I have great faith in little " emma," and there she was, twins. Well, I arrived on the midnight train in the middle of March, and found some surprises awaiting me. For, one way and another, the picture was full of " emmas." As the sweetheart of my afterwards repentant lover there was Maria Minszenti — two additions to my lucky bag in one swoop ! Then I was told that the name of the actor who plays the villain who 7ciZZ pursue me when I'm trying to be good was MylongMiinz. " Oh, la, la, la," I said happily to myself, this is going to be a luckv film for me. But there was more to come ! Next day I learned that the poor little street girl who. in the film gives her life for me because she loves my husband from a distance was to be played by Margarete Schlegel. one 01 the best-known actresses of the Rcinhardt Theatre, Berlin — the theatre that trained Liibitsch, incidentally — and that her " character " name on the screen for this film was to be " Marquita." This, I thought, is becoming weird. And, je vous assure, mes chers lecteurs, it still was not the end of the appearance of my dear little " emma." No! When I had occasion to go to the from page 23.) office a few days later I found that the company here was not called Emelka, as I had supposed. That was merely a kind of pet name. Its real name being Miinchener Lichtspiel. So I added another " emma " to my now long list. And then — you might not believe it if I had not the evidence, I found yet some more ! For the part of my much-tried husband in Venetian Lovers turned ou^ to be in the hands of Hugh Miller, my hotel was on the Marienplatz, and the number of my room was thirteen — little " emma's number in the alphabet ! And, to put the what you call lid on it. the principal artistes of the company, together with the director and the cameraman, also numbered thirteen, so I claimed another score for my friend " emma." I was entitled to it, wasn't I? But the most wonderful thing of all is that the directors here have just presented me — on account of the organisation — with a beautiful monogram brooch, made of thirteen diamonds in the design of an " M." They think I think it stands for " Marchal," and / think they think it stands for Miinchener. So we are all pleased, and little " emma " scores for the — qu'est-ce qu'on dit en angl-ais? — ah! yes, umpteenth time.