Picture Play Magazine (Sep 1923 - Feb 1924)

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26 Cynic in First, the actor, if he is an artist, should he able to put over his emotions without recourse to such a contrivance. Second, it fools everybody. The director sittingby the camera, listening' to the soothing strains, thinks he has a fine thing — and is being kidded by the music. "If it could be used once in a while — without tipping the cast — all . right. But heavens ! I go into studios — they're using music for everything. The other day I saw a horse galloping and there was the orchestra galloping too — oh, Lord!" The talk drifted to other traditions of the films. I think in the course of an hour that Tourneur applied his chilled steel hammer to every joint and rivet of the movie business. He struck the first clanking blow when I asked him about the art of the movies — a favorite question with which to bait directors. "How can the movies — be artistic?" he countered. "They can't, because we cater to too many people. The thing that satisfies millions cannot be good. As Ibsen said, it is. the minority which is always right !" This was treason — nothing less. I thought of Cecil De Mille, who once declared in my presence that the majority is always right — the great, big public! I stared at the apostate, expecting to see the roof drop on him or else the chief executioner of Will Hays appear in the doorway with his ax. Instead my host went on talking — about the puerility of the films. "Nine-tenths of our thought is directed to love. It is the obvious theme for pictures. But in the pictures we have to see love with rthe eyes of Bertha M. Clay or Mrs. E. D. N. Southworth. The lovers must sit on a beautiful stone bench in the moonlight. Love is not made like that at all — but in the kitchen — on the back steps — everywhere ! We are not allowed to show on the screen any love except puppy love. "We still have the oldi-fashioned . idea in pictures," Tourneur went on. "Everything must be beautiful — as in the old-fashioned stage productions. We make pictures as the old-time photographer did portraits — with the sitter in a chair, a brace holding his head. "Instead we should be snapping them, like an amateur in the street with his kodak. Then we could get real life. . "We not only cater to the majority, but we try to please them, which is much worse. No, artist ever tries to please the mob1. Fancy Rodin asking a popular vote on what group he should make next." Tourneur leaned back in hisi swivel chair. His blue eyes were earnest. A Gallic frenzy seized him. "No ! The artist is a man who has a crazy idea and* spends all his moneys — all his^ life, to accomplish it. An artist is one who goes out by himself on the desert and yells his head off. Years pass. Somebody hears him — maybe. One comes. Then another. After years maybe more come. If they come or if they don't — it is no concern of the artist." The actor came in for his share of shaking up. My friend complained bitterly that the movie actors — unlike their prototypes of the stage, fail to get into their parts and live them. Tourneur himself played on the legitimate stage in France, toured with Rejane and others. "What makes me mad," he said, "you have a scene — you're struggling like sin to express something. If you stop a second in the middle of the third rehearsal the actors drop everything, step out of character, light their cigarettes, begin talking about the Montmartre Cafe and the boxing bouts in Hollywood. the Soup "There always comes a moment in every picture where an actor has to give something. Very seldom they do. If I were trying to be a movie actor, why, I'd work like thunder — practice pantomime — try on differ"ent funny make-ups — go around all the time watching people in the street — everywhere — thinking about my work. Do they think about it in Hollywood? Pah!" The director paused and then went on with a more contained dignity. "I love the pictures. I'd rather dc them than anything else. But I wish I could do for the screen the things that smell of life. There is a satisfaction to me in the work. It gives the impression of really building something. Please don't think that I am knocking the business which helps me to make a very nice living. I want to help it !" He raised his arms in an expressive gesture. I could visualize chains on his wrists. "I am shackled by censorship and by the wishes of the men who hire me. If I have a pet story I have to sell it to the man I am working for, then he has to sell it to the man who is putting up the money. If it is off the beaten path or shows any hint of being what you might term artistic, the public will never see it. The small-town exhibitors will not consider showing it. "The more organization there is — the worse the picture. Some of the best pictures have been made with small organizations under the most unfavorable conditions. "The producers follow some recognized success like sheep. If a sheik picture succeeds — then we all have to make sheik pictures. "Pictures should be the work of an individual. We are in this business either to make money or to give ourselves the satisfaction of creating something as we wish. But if the picture isn't deliberately designed as a money maker, the public doesn't even get to see it. So if we made the pictures we wished we should not only fail to make any money — we should not even have the satisfaction of an audience." Tourneur's eyes narrowed. Again a wave of Gallicism encompassed him. He spoke rapidly. "It is a beautiful thing — that rectangular white sheet — the screen. We could show anything in the world there. We have the money to do it. There is no limit to the possibilities. "But what do we show? A little country girl in curls— with a sunbonnet — beautiful backlights. Man in an office, feverishly bending over the ticker. Those Riverside Drive homes in which nobody could ever live — big as the Grand Central Station — so far from life — and those cafe scenes. Oh!" His voice shook. The memory of what he had seen was affecting the man. "I can't stand them ! But the ballroom scenes ! Only they are worse than the cafe scenes. Horrible! There were tears in the voice — almost in the eyes of the fervent Frenchman. I felt a Celtic impulse to . weep with him. But his voice took on a cadence of hope. "We'll do it some day. Some new generation of writers will come up — men who will think in pictures instead of words. And when the time comes America is the place. In this new country where minds are so direct, where there are no traditions, here will be the birthplace of " "A new art?" "Well, of something." I came away liking this fellow Tourneur immensely. If onlv he made pictures as well as he talks about them — hut that, of course, is another matter.