Picture-Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1926)

30 On the Set with Great Directors "Hello! How's everything?" "I don't know everything. I'm not a director." While there's irony in the remark, it reflects some of the esteem in which directors are held. But the severity with which Cecil De Mille handles his chosen players is not accredited to other directors. His brother, William de Mille, for instance, enacts every scene himself, to show his players what he wants. Then he leaves it to them to "produce." He sits at the side of the set, watching from the corner of his eye. He seldom looks straight at his players. "I think, Miss Daniels," he says, in his Southern drawl, "that you can improve on that action. Surely, in real life, you wouldn't do it that way." A dreamy, retrospective look is in his eyes. The incense from his old brier pipe seems to fill his nostrils. His ancient, crush-felt hat is jammed down upon his head. He is thoroughly at ease. "We will do that over again !" he says. And Bebe knows that it is time to "get busy." I was on the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer set in Culver City where Kathleen Key was doing an emotional scene under the direction of Fred Niblo. Suddenly, he rapped for a stop. "Miss Key !" he said. "Please remember that you are inviting your lover to come, not daring him !" She changed her invitation. While the chariot races in "Ben-Huf" were being filmed in the great reproduction of the Circus Maximus, some interesting sidelights on production methods were revealed. First, the races were run amid a splendor which would have astounded even the Caesars of Rome. Three weeks later, the action of the principals as they watched the spectacle, was filmed. These latter scenes were properly inserted — in the cutting room. Carmel Myers, as Iras, was seated in the balcony with her retinue of attendants. Directly in front was Fred Niblo. But instead of looking at races, the company were focusing their eyes on a solitary horse in the arena, which was being ridden rapidly by. This served to make all individuals in the cast point their eyes at precisely the same spot instead of permitting some to look one hundred feet ahead or fifty feet behind. Carmel registered intense horror as the great spill of chariots was supposed to take place. But she kept crying, "Come back, Messala! Oh, please come back!" "Did he come back?" Niblo asked, when the scene was finished. "No-o-o!" replied Miss Myers, in plaintive voice. "You're out of luck, Carmel," Mr. Niblo retorted. Later, she explained that what she was trying to do was to tell Mr. Niblo, whose back was toward the arena, that the horse had kept on going past where the chariots were supposed to be piled up. "I had no idea where we were all looking. That was my only way of telling him that the maverick had disappeared." The scene was done over again. So, sometimes, the directors learn things from their players. During all the time Carmel was emoting, Mr. Niblo kept repeating, "Fine ! Fine ! Good work, Carmel !" When it was over, he stepped forward and patted her hand. Directors seldom "tear their hair" and rave and rant when a scene is not done to their liking. Rather, they explain in detail what is wrong and sometimes inter sperse their remarks with bitter sarcasm, and demand something better. I have seen Erich von Stroheim get so tense that he snapped his walking stick in two with his fingers. I have seen Ernst Lubitsch crouching on the very tip of his chair, with his hands upraised and his fists clenched, and have seen the perspiration trickle from his forehead as he strove to get the action desired. I have seen him walking back and forth, back and forth in some secluded corner, a villainous-looking black cigar between his teeth, his head sunk low between his shoulders, looking like Napoleon Bonaparte treading the lonely paths of St. Helena. Thinking, planning, visualizing ! Lubitsch seldom loses his temper, but ■ While directing "Lady Windermere's Fan," he employed a German youth as his script carrier. And when he simply had to loosen his pent-up feelings, he turned to the young man and tore holes in the air in German. His players still are wondering just what he said. Or what he called them ! He worked harder than any one on the set. Always, it is eyes ! The eyes of the director ! The motion-picture actresses feel them focused in their direction. As Vera Reynolds said, they almost upset her in her work. Their portrayals must ring true. The little girl from Oshkosh or Kokomo or Kalamazoo who believes all she has to do when she gets a part is to "walk through it," gets the shock of her life when she stands before a director and is told that she "came here to act. not to pose." Then, suddenly, violently, she realizes that she must have something to sell besides beauty and a figure. Charlie Chaplin has the reputation of being a hard master during the production of his plays. While "The Gold Rush" was being filmed, Georgia Hale, during an hour of idleness, put his decrepit derby upon her head, slipped into a pair of enormous shoes, pasted a bit of mustache on her lip and started twirling Chaplin's trick cane in an imitation of the comedian. As she turned to come back, she was horrified to see Chaplin staring at her. She wanted to fall through the floor. No one ever had made fun of the great comedian at his own studio. "I was just kidding, Mr. Chaplin," Georgia said. "Really I— I didn't But Charlie was only amused. "Do it again, Miss Hale !" he exclaimed. "That's fine !" All she could do was sit down. John Ford, with Fox films, sticks an old pipe in his mouth when he is directing, puts on horn-rimmed glasses and then, according to Olive Borden, gets ready to "bark." On the other hand. J. Stuart Blackton, associated with Warner Brothers, lends a kindly word of encouragement now and then, and suggests subtle changes to his players. He carries a little blue eyeglass, through which he peers, figuring how each scene will look upon the screen. His unlighted cigar is gnawed viciouslv when things go wrong and, according to Dolores Costello, "You can feel his eyes. You know you must act your part or there will be trouble." Does a director have a three-thousand-dollar-a-week grief upon his shoulders? Ask the stars. Ask the leading ladies. Ask the extras who have to be drilled under his supervision. They will tell you that this man who is responsible for production of the story earns his pay — every dollar of it.