Picture Play Magazine (Sep 1919 - Feb 1920)

30 "East Side, West Side, All Around the Town" me tickets to see Dorothy Gish, explained that Rose was "just an old sign." Nor could we discover who had conceived the idea of such a thing as a garden in Venice. But the ticket seller did inform mc that the "younger Gish kid was a regular scream." The small, dirty picturesque theater is rapidly dying out. The theaters in the Fox, Moss and Loew circuits are dispensing "class." Under the shadow of the arches of the Williamsburg Bridge is the New Strand Theater, which in appearance is a cross between a California Mission and a Long Island bungalow. Tt is spruce and modern and has an appeal for the younger generation who call Constance Talmadge "Connie" and Douglas Fairbanks "Doug." The theater is at its best during the four-o'clock show. The late-afternoon show is like the midnight show on Broadway. As a cabaret draws the tired business man, so does the four-o'clock show offer relaxation to the tired school child. Both are epicureans. They want only the best in froth. Three little girls sat in front of us. "Look," said Aunt Elizabeth, "They are eating candied apples stuck on spiced sticks. I haven't seen those for years. I wish I had one." The picture was not one to interest them. It was a tale of an "Octopus of Wall Street," a wolf of finance. But the}T watched it with that non-committal expression that children always wear at the movies whether they are enjoying themselves or not. The Octopus went his tenacious way for four reels. Then / climax. The audience sits cn the beach and drinks lemonade. came the the smashing, startling, souls t i rring d e n o ucment. The unscrupulous millionaire shot himself, his spirit broken by the bad news ticked to him over the ticker. As he fell, in his agon}-, he knocked over a handsome mahogany chair and spilled the ink all over his desk. The three girls laughed. The laughter of Thomas W. Lawson could not have been more sardonic. The little immigrants from Italy, Poland, Silesia, Serbia, Armenia, Russia — or wherever they came from, saw only humor in the fact that a man who had lost a few million and whose wife had eloped with a stylish person in a dress suit, had been so disturbed as to blow out bis brains. "The Young Bolsheviks," said Aunt Elizabeth. As the East Side film salesman had said, "You can't tell these people down here nothing. You can't string 'em. They're a wise bunch." Up on the upper West Side, it is different. Audiences like fiction if it's polite enough. They like a touch of scandal, if all concerned wear expensive clothes. And they like sentiment, if it is piquant. For the matrons of upper Broadway and upper Riverside Drive, having finished the marketing and "straightened" the apartment, like to check the baby in the lobby and watch the eternal struggle of the eternal triangle. In these theaters the coined} must not be too rough or the drama too sordid. A comedy with Wallace Reid, or a drama with Dorothy Dalton, is about an ideal afternoon's entertainment. They like life and problems. You may hear them murmur: "I knew of just such a case;" "Mr. Edwards is that way — business is all he thinks of;" "Some women have awful husbands;" "She was too young to realize when she married him:" "She did it to save her father;" ".Silly woman ! Can't she see he's just crazy about her." The lobbies are large and clean, so the babies have a wonderful time. Aunt Elizabeth got another surprise when she went to Brighton Beach. "Now where do you suppose 1 have discovered the movies ?" she asked. "On a roller coaster," I hazarded. "Almost as bad," she answered. "I found them in the ocean. I was walking along the beach and I saw a lot of people, in bathing suits, sitting in steamer chairs and looking out into the water. I thought they were hunting for boats or just in love with ... j nature. But when I looked out, what fy-| do you suppose I saw? There was Anita Stewart in an evening gown right out in the ocean. The -'• ,\ screen is moored just like a \.\ boat. And the audience sits on the beach and drinks emonade. Did you ever hear of anything so lazy?" "Movies on the beach are not extraordinary," I explained, "J "you may find movies up in Doctor Christian Reis ner's church, movies in the hospitals, movies in the factories, and movies in the prison. You may have your own wedding filmed, you may dramatize your pet system of bookkeeping, or you may demand a camera at an operation. There are movies in the Broadwav theaters and vou may pay two dollars to see them." "I may not," interrupted Aunt Elizabeth. "In fact," I continued, "there are movies everywhere but in the Metropolitan Opera House." "Two dollars for a movie !" said my aunt, who couldn't get this bit of extravagance out of her mind, "That's too much. Haven't you something just as good for a little less?" she inquired in her best shopping manner. "There are the box seats at the Rivoli Theater. Thev cost a dollar." Continued on page 1 03