Picture-Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1925)

10 What the Fans Think Continued from page 8 •Before seeing a new Valentino picture I wonder when my unbounded enthusiasm will, at last, cool down. And after seeing the respective picture, I find, as usual, that instead of abating, my interest has doubled and trebled, with such an unbelievable force that it leaves me a bit dismayed and perplexed but secretly delighted, for what a dull thing life becomes when our cherished idols fall, quite unexplainably, in our estimations. As so often before, this occurred with "A Sainted Devil," and the final result was the same as always. Even now, I find myself of the opinion that it is, I think, the best thing Rudy has done. This was the preimpression I carried ' in my mind as I traveled to Jacksonville, . ninety miles north, for the sole purpose of seeing "A Sainted Devil," which was being shown there all week. While the East Coast Havana Special sped through miles of bush palmetto, sundrenched palms, and lonely cypress gloom, stopping here and there at dusty yellow stations, my thoughts were far from the wild beauty and stark crudity of the scenery. I was going to see "A Sainted Devil !" I should see Rudy again for the first time in two years! Would he be better than before? Would the picture be good? Everything else seemed nonessential. I fairly lived in the picture all day. Upon arriving in Jacksonville, I was greeted by a sign on the back of the yellow cab that took us to our hotel. "ARCADE— RUDOLPH VALENTINO —IN 'A SAINTED DEVIL,* " it read. Then as we waited for a room in the lobby of the Seminole Hotel, a little line of white letters set in a black frame of current attractions, announced, to my appreciative eyes, identically the same thing as did the taxi. What I ate for supper that night was of so little consequence that I would gladly have forgone it entirely in order to make the first show. As it was, we got right into the nine o'clock crowd — mob it might better have been called. People jammed in the long lobby and a line before the box office, and this was the picture's third night. When I left the theater I was in a perfect daze and, to quote Ethel Sands, a daze I remained in for the three days following. The evening of each was spent watching "A Sainted Devil" over and over again in tireless succession. And on the afternoon of the fourth, we bid Don Alonzo and Jnlietta a fond and timely farewell, and returned to Daytona. Now, after thinking it over, I have decided that "A Sainted Devil" is so good because it is wholly Rudy — the Rudy so many people adore and so many hate — the Rudy of the bold, colorful, Latin roles that so enthrall some and infuriate others, but never leave one unimpressed. It exploits the famous Valentino characteristics to wonderful advantage: the horseback riding, the Argentine tango, the perfect, matchless love sequences, the little superficial things, too, like' the well-known Valentino costumes, shiny, shiny hair, the spiked bracelet and a smile that is -s brilliant as it is famous. All these things were more than just pleasing to me. They proved that Rudy really wishes to give the fans what they want, and is not failing to do so. More than this — his acting surpassed any previous efforts for fine genuine ability. He didn't act the role, he lived it with a vivid intensity that was amazing. The Valentino of old returned — Rudy truly himself again! Never has he been better ! Again, the critics have hauled out their hammers and the fans their laurel wreaths, both, apparently new, yet old — old as the Valentino vogue. 1 can think of nothing that more adequately describes the situation than the following lines from a New York newspaper column : The Sheik has returned, He is back in the fold, And no matter wherever he's been, The critics may knock, But the traffic he'll block, And the problem will be to get in ! Trix Mackenzie. Orange Villa, Daytona, Fla. A word to the directors of Rudolph Valentino's pictures : I know the psychoanalysts have all sorts of unpleasant reasons why we women admire him, but I am not letting that worry me any, as my mother, who is also a grandmother, and sixty-five, thinks he is the finest actor on the screen ! "Monsieur Beaucaire" was everything, I thought, . that any lover of good acting, beauty of scenery, elegance, and romance could wish for. (Except the kiss he gave to Lady Mary. That was the fly in the ointment.) Then came "A Sainted Devil." Not so good. I confess I was ashamed to enter the theater, on the marquee of which blazed : HE MAKES WOMEN HIS PLAYTHINGS ! I liked the first half of the picture, but not the rest. I did not like the way he bashed in the face of the poor woman who made advances to him in the cafe. Why does he do this? He did the same thing in "Blood and Sand," and he is supposed to be a gentleman in "A Sainted Devil." Nor did I like the scene with the siren. It was offensive to me. Her scene in the cafe, and her get-up was ridiculous. Mr. Valentino, I feel myself slipping! One more picture as untrue as this and I turn thumbs down. Why not, for a change, appeal to decent folks, and depend upon a good, clean story to get crowds into the theater? I believe that audiences are true to the actors and actresses they admire, but posing, unreal incidents, vulgar titles, suggestive scenes, are not the way to coax decent people into the theater. If the actor has anything to say about these things, he had better look to it. Mr. Meighan, Mr. Sills, Mr. Barthelmess, and others do not have these objectionable scenes in their pictures, and I am sorry that_ Mr. Valentino does, because I think he is a better actor than any of them, although I like them, too. Mr. Sills, especially. I don't go so often, but I like a decent picture. R. O. J. Chicago, 111. Do You Know That Novarro is much better looking than Valentino? That he can act and dance just as well? That the Prince of Wales has a nose exactly like that of Gloria Swanson? That Nita Naldi is anything but good looking on the screen ? That Ralph Graves and Neil Hamilton look as much alike as Monte Blue and Rod La Rocque? That J. Warren Kerrigan isn't appreciated half enough ? That Ben Lyon is a perfect dear? That some day Madleine Hurlock will be a star? That Colleen Moore is the cutest thing I've ever seen ? Alma Leach. Box 179, Fort Worth, Texas. Valentino and Barthelmess. After reading Don Ryan's article on "The Wherefore of Great Lovers" I was much interested in reading M. C.'s comment upon it in one of your late issues., I agree that Don Ryan left out something when he accounted for Valentino's attraction as wholly physical, but I disagree with M. C, who says that he has an equally strong spiritual appeal, the latter quality fighting for domination over the former. I can find no evidence of that in any of Valentino's screen characterizations, and is it necessary to explain one's enjoyment and appreciation of him by dragging in some quality which isn't there? The truth is, his sex appeal comes first. After that there is the appeal to one's artistic taste and intelligence because of Valentino's really clever acting in roles which suit his particular style. Then Barthelmess — did Don Ryan quite succeed in "ringing the bell" in his analysis of that young man? Personally, I think not. Barthelmess, a lover entirely divorced from the physical, as far removed from Valentino as Galahad from Lancelot? Does any woman who has felt the appeal of the love passages in a Barthelmess film believe that? It's true there is more tenderness than passion, more of the spirit than the flesh in Barthelmess' love making, but that only lifts it onto the plane where so many finely natured, normal men and women find themselves in these days. Galahad belongs to another order of being. I don't have to be a psychoanalyst to know that Galahad and the nuances of love making don't belong together. The conjunction is unthinkable, but Barthelmess gives us them — oh, yes, elusively, free, I'll allow, from sensuousness — but much too expertly to be the prototype of a Galahad to whom the lore of love was a sealed book. It's interesting how differently the same personalities appear to various people. I've often noticed it in reading the fans' letters. Because Valentino has a colorful, emphatic, vivid personality, M. C. sees it as complex. But you can rightly fit i-11 those adjectives to a personality, and yet be wrong in calling it complex, if it's all of one piece. That's how Valentino seems to me. Barthelmess? — no. He strikes me as a much more enigmatic type than Valentino. I look at a Barthelmess portrait — the Russell Ball photograph in the October Picture-Play will do for an example — and see brown eyes, upper lip that might be Galahad's, but the under lip and the cleft in the chin aren't ascetic. And in passing I'd like to 'inquire why the screen photographer goes out of his way sometimes to make Barthelmess' mouth smaller and sweeter than nature left it? It irritated me as much as seeing Pola Negri beautified overmuch. Actors and actresses who really can act, and who surely are good looking enough to satisfy any reasonable person, ought to be spared these superfluous attentions, which only take force and character out of their faces. It may not be patriotic to admit it, but the Novello type of beauty is "faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null." It chills me when I see it on the screen. I prefer a few engaging irregularities. To keep to the point, however, having seen him do it, I don't need to be told that Barthelmess can express more of sweetness and gentleness on the screen than perhaps almost any other actor. For all that, in repose the lines of his mouth and chin are fighting, tenacious lines. In a contest of wills, I'd rather take on one or two of the "strong, silent, he-men" personalities of the screen that I can think of than the young man who knows how Continued on page 12