Picture Play Magazine (Jul - Dec 1929)

112 Continued from page 34 thirty-five cents — which was more than a lot of the troupe had. 1 had played the show on an empty stomach, but so had everybody else in the cast. "Another time 1 was stranded in Atlanta, Georgia, which is somewhat farther away. Each time I got fired or the show busted, I learned something from my job and, if that had kept up long enough, I might even have learned to be a good actor. Say, all this is damned uninteresting. Let's talk about something else." "Get on with your story. This — er — rootbeer is nothing but foam. Every time I look into my pail the foam has evaporated and there's nothing left. And, besides, you've gotta talk more about yourself." Mrs. Tryon came into the room bearing good tidings in the form of another gallon of rootbeer. Glenn turned to her with a grin. "Gee, dear, I'm just doing swell. He thinks I'm not talking about me and, honestly, I'm just bursting. "Well, sir, I came out to California from New Orleans — I think the show had stranded there — to see my dear parents and spend Christmas with them. I still believed in Santa Claus, and it seemed foolish not to let him visit me at home. I had an engagement in New York for a spring tryout, but thought I might as well winter in the land of eternal sunshine. Bless my soul, the day after I got here my father was called to another city, and here was I, broken-hearted. "I began taking my fun where I found it. My companions, unlike Buddy Rogers, had just not been raised right, and presently I found myself sojourning in Santa Ana jail for ten days. I got out of there and What a Gu>>! What a Guy! found there was a tent show in town looking for a juvenile for 'The Trail of the Lonesome Pine.' That was me. They couldn't understand how I got up in the part so quickly. 1 had already played it three or four times, [n fact, about the only part in the show I hadn't played was June, and I'd had my eye on her in one production." "The movies," I prompted him. "Where and when did they come into your life?" "What a guy ! What a guy ! Well, this June I was talking about lived in a two-family house, and over her or under her, I forget which, lived a director from the Hal Roach studio. He thought I ought to come out and have a test made. 'Nix,' said I, 'I've seen myself on the screen, and I don't care particularly for that form of nausea. However, with a discernment I've never noticed in any one else, he insisted, and I made the test. There was talk of a contract, but somehow they never quite got to the point of signing. One day I grew fretful and, as it was the nurse's day off and there was no one around to give me my bottle and quiet me, I went down to the Western Union office and sent wires to a lot of friends. The next day, in answer to these wires, I received a number of very flattering offers — faked — from Eastern producers and stock companies. "I strode into the Roach office and said. 'Well, good-by, pal.' "'What?' ' 'Good-by, old friend. I'm leaving. Can't turn down all these offers'— showing him the telegrams — 'while you make up your mind whether you want me or not.' ' 'Why, didn't you know ? You went on the pay roll yesterday.' "I didn't know what the salary was, but I thought with all these offers it should be doubled, so after a short conference and a great deal of haggling, it was. And that's that." Glenn Tryon's humor is of the buoyant, evanescent kind that is almost impossible to capture and set down on the written page. It is constant and bubbling and yet, with it all, there is a stratum of cold, hard, common sense in his make-up that rather startles one. I have been in his dressing room when he was beset by harassed directors seeking advice as to why certain scenes fell flat ; by perplexed camera men as to the best angle from which to shoot other scenes to obtain a desired effect ; by gag men as to what could be done to pep up other sequences. And don't kid yourselves that this baby couldn't bring plenty of gray matter to bear on the subject. The grinning comedium disappears as if by magic. Withal, he is one of the hardest people to interview I have tackled. He is such excellent company there is the constant temptation to forget all about the interview and just talk. And you, who only see him in shadow, are out of luck, because funny as he is on the screen, the camera only scratches the surface of his personality. I can think of nowhere I'd rather be on a hot afternoon, or any other time, for that matter, than in that little English house on the side of the hill, listening to Glenn Tryon's chatter and sipping Mary's — -er — shall we say rootbeer? Continued from page 109 good? Surely not! His interviews are always entertaining. I hardly ever agree with what he says, but I don't enjoy them less on that account. He avoids glue ! The subject of the moment seems to be experiences in writing to the stars, so maybe some of the fans would like to hear of an English fan's luck — or ill luck, as the case r-.ay be. Juliette Brown says that the majority of those she heard from complained that Joan Crawford and Dolores Costello do not answer letters. This isn't always the case. I have autographed photos from both, as well as one with a printed signature from Dolores. Please, fans, remember that when you hurl bricks at the stars in these columns, you may be really hurting them — if they aren't past it — because some, at least, do read the letters. Dorothy Mackaill does, for one. A letter of mine was published about a year ago, in which there were a few words in appreciation of Miss Mack Wkat tke Fans Tkink aill. A little later I received a beautiful photograph, autographed to me. Margukrite Edgelow. Westwood, Layter's Way, Gerrards Cross, Bucks. England. Dick's Critics Answered. In August Picture Play a couple of fans "go off the deep end" at what they style the Barthelmess deception — as if doubling for stars were a new thing. Did they start raving because Novarro and Bushman did not really drive the chariots in the big scene that made "BenHur"? Or was any comment made because Gilbert did not do any of those athletic stunts his doubles did for him in "Bardleys, the Magnificent"? In "Weary River" the singing of the convict had to be of such a quality as to cause a sensation ; a merely pleasant voice would have weakened the conviction of the story. In justice to Mr. Barthelmess, let me repeat what is now common knowledge, that he has expressed his own great objection to this type of picture. "I am not a song-and-dancc man," was his ulti matum to his chief, "and I don't want any pictures that star me as such." As for Mr. Barthelmess' desire for privacy in his home life, that is no new thing with him, as Miss Huber should know, if she has read Picture Play as long as I have. Mr. Barthelmess' reserve is an inherent quality for which we English respect him as a man as we admire him as an actor, more and more with each new film. F. J. Raleigh. Mannamead, Plymouth, England. Why Spoil an Accent? Why should Nils Asther have to learn to speak English without an accent? He always appears in foreign roles, and an accent would be perfectly in keeping. I don't see why American actors should be made to assume foreign accents, when stars to whom they are natural are within call. If the producers use common sense, we need not fear losing our Nils and Greta. "E. S.," I quite agree with everything you say of Nils. He is darling, isn't he? But don't you wish he'd be given starring parts?