Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1926)

96 An American Gentleman Continued from page 69 of southern countries — that seems to spring dazzling to the surface from some secret well of unconquerable amusement ? If it had not been for that laugh, I should have said that Mr. Moreno was quite a serious gentleman. This, because of his earnestness — in speech, in opinions, in manner. He is a good conversationalist, because he gives the most trifling topic his entire attention and study. He has not idle speculations, but actual convictions. I think a psychoanalyst would see in this an indication of uncompromising honesty. He talks with his hands — simple, forceful gestures— with his straightforward eyes, and with concentration. He talks briskly, with no trace of accent, except when an occasional past tense is omitted, as: "Ibanez was very reserve when I met him first." He had only recently returned from nine months in Europe, where he had wandered across the Continent making "Mare Nostrum" under Rex Ingram's direction. As soon as he landed in Europe he had hurried down to the little Spanish village to visit his mother, for the first time in many years. As he spoke of this, his expression softened. "Does your mother see all your pictures ?" "Oh, yes, she has seen every one, several times. She was so happy when I stopped those serials I used to do for Pathe. She used to see those wild acrobatics on the screen and think that my life was really in constant danger. In one episode I Was bound and locked into a trunk, and the trunk was driven to the sea and dropped over a cliff. Friends told me that when my mother saw that she jumped up and screamed, 'No, no, they can't do that! That's my boy — my Antonio !' "The last time I had been home — fifteen years ago — when my mother first saw me, she just gave a little cry and fainted. So this time 1 didn't let her know which train I was arriving on, because I knew what her emotion at the station would be. And I wrote her that when I did come, my wife would be with me, so that I wanted her to be dignified and brave, like an American woman. But I had to make reservations at the hotel, and although I asked them not to let it be known, it got out somehow and my mother heard about it. When our train pulled in at the station, it looked as though twice the town's population had turned out. I peeked out at that crowd and saw my little blackhaired mother in the front, and my crazy heart thumped until I thought it would jump right out. "It seemed as though the whole world was shouting 'Viva Antonio !' "And my mother ! I wish you could have seen her. She was crying, but she tried so hard to hide it from me. Every now and then she squeezed out a teary smile. 'See, Tony, how I am laughing and gay — just like an American woman.' " He was leaning forward, his dark face eloquent of that past delight. "All afternoon, till long past twilight, a reception was held in the little house, outside the town, that I had bought for my mother years ago. All the citizens filed in, shook hands with my mother, my wife and me, were given some cake and liqueur, talked a bit, and departed. "When I was a very little boy, I used to work for the town baker, running errands and delivering loaves and cakes. And the baker's interest in my return was almost paternal. Excited into incoherence, he greeted me at the station, was the first to enter my mother's house that afternoon and the last to leave. And late in the evening, when we were driving back to town, to the little hotel, he rushed up as we were crossing a wooden bridge, and welcomed me again with unabated fervor. "Late at night, when the town was asleep and we could go unrecognized, I used to take my wife through all the familiar old streets. And among those old streets that had stood still for so long, my life since I had left them seemed like a dream. I was one with my old comrades again — ■ quite unchanged. It was a curious feeling, and it made me and what success I may have had, feel very small and unimportant. "There is no more ridiculous sight in the world," he continued, "than an actor whose puny achievements have gone to his head. And how quickly that sort of thing kills them ! One reason why Jack Gilbert will last indefinitely is because he hasn't any of that about him. Isn't that boy a marvelous actor, though? And the great part about it is that he is still as humble about his work as when I knew him years ago, before he hit his stride." "Speaking of strides," I put in, "people say that you have hit yours in 'Mare Nostrum.' " Mr. Moreno stirred uncomfortably and changed the subject. "I do think the picture will be liked. The story is such a magnificent piece of writing— and, of course, there's Ingram's direction !" "You're in this shot, Tony," Sidney Franklin called. "Close-up of you and Marion." He walked into the white light flooding the set — a brisk, clever gentleman going to work. Don't regret, children, the guitars and things. It is an easy sacrifice when you get instead such a delightful example of — see title. Screen Heroes Pick Their Ideal Girls Continued from page 45 soft words that would lure you into her court of worshipers. John Galsworthy and George Meredith, collaborating, might have fashoned an Aileen Pringle. The intellectual, superbly confident, and imperiously scornful lady, strongly mentalized but suggesting a vein of warmth beneath her cool poise. She is the modern woman, brushed and polished to a careful nicety, with orderly, well-kept mind. Patsy Ruth Miller's spontaneity is refreshing. She is an F. Scott Fitzgerald flapper whom the boys would call "a panic." She is lively good fun, running on high voltage as though animated by invisible sparks. Alice Terry is incarnate womanhood. She has been the sweet raison d'etre for countless stirring tales. Harmony is her key. She is serene, meditative, restful — the calm and devoted type. Bobby Agnew My ideal heroine must be generous, simple of manner, truthful, and sympathetic — besides being pretty. May McAvoy symbolizes my idea of what a screen heroine should be, and she is just about perfect personally, too. I like tiny, vest-pocket girls. Know what I call May, just to myself ? "Watch charm !" Youcca Troubetzkoy Pola Negri to me is the flaming embodiment of womanhood. A great actress and a greater woman. Though charged with some strain bordering on the feline, her charms cannot be denied. In Russia and France, where I was reared, I admired slender, tall girls, very fair. They now seem colorless compared to the vibrant Pola.