Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1926)

The Screen in Review 65 William Haines and Eleanor Boardman 'Memory Lane. " in Lon Chaney and Owen Moore in "The Black Bird." Raymond Hatton and Wallace Beery in "Behind the Front." to her hotel, and engages rooms for himself and his valet. For a while, things look black for him. There is no way to meet the Duchess. Waiters go in and out of her room, but not Mr. Menjou. The solution is simple — he becomes a waiter. In time, in spite of his many blunders, he becomes quite a favorite waiter. He takes her dogs for their airing, serves tea, and finally kisses the Duchess. There is a remarkable scene in which the waiter vows his undying love for her in the well-known Menjou manner. Laughing Out Loud Again. About the most hilarious bit of slapstick that I have seen in a long time came to town bearing the label, "Behind the Front." This is a gor on Gertrude Olmstead and Charles Ray in "Sweet Adeline." geous burlesque "The Big Parade," with the laughs bursting out as sharply as pistol shots. It deals with life, as the title says, just behind the front, with Wallace Beery and Raymond Hatton acting in a sublimely ridiculous way. I have never seen Wallace Beery so good as he is in this. His shrewd, broad burlesque is really funny. The story follows the idea of "The Big Parade" very closely. There is the much-fought-over French girl, and there is the scene in the trenches where the two soldiers crawl out into No Man's Land to rescue a dead man. When I saw this picture, the theater was filled with men, and the house rang with as loud and appreciative laughter as I have heard since "The Freshman." There are no smiles for "Behind the Front;" just one good long laugh, from start to finish. More Slapstick. "The Cave Man" is another type of burlesque. That is, I think it is supposed to be burlesque — anyway, I intend to consider it that. Matt Moore and Marie Prevost set about to be as funny as possible with the airy plot given them, and they do rather well by themselves. Marie Prevost, as a bored young heiress, writes a message on half of a hundred-dollar bill, the other half to be claimed by the finder. In this way, she hopes that romance may find its way to her door. The money is found by an ambitious coal heaver — about the blackest coal heaver that I have ever seen — who drops his pick, shoulders his shovel, and drives in his wagon, in magnificent style, up to her Park Avenue apartment. Instead of being discouraged by his bearishness, she determines to make him a social fad. She teaches him a smattering of manners and the slightest amount of stereotyped replies, and turns him loose, introducing him as a famous professor of sociology. He is a huge success until his real background is discovered. Turned against both by his own world and his adopted world, he turns savage and runs away with Miss Prevost in his coal wagon — unromantic, perhaps, but highly serviceable. It seemed curious to see the — ■ ^-j uMiallv mild-mannered MattMoore turn into a big he-man. He did this by pushing out his chest and letting his beard grow. But I liked this preposterous comedy, not so much for itself, as for the fact that it gave me another chance to see the clever Miss Prevost, who to ray mind is the best comedy actress on the screen. Bathing Beauties Without the Sennett. "The American Venus" is a throw-back to the old Cecil De Mille days when a pretty leg or a one-piece bathing suit held the popular attention. It is as gaudy as a Christmas tree, without nearly so much interest. In fact, as one scene after another, crammed with girls in various stages of attire, passed before me, I thought the world had turned back ten years, terrific set-back to the industry must have cost lots and lots of money, taken a long time to make, and kept many dressmakers busy sewing for months, and yet it's all just a big mistake. Miss Centerville is the heroine of the picture, but she does not win the beauty contest. Measuring herself in her room one night, as so many of us do, she finds that she is pretty nearly perfect, so decides to join the parade of beauty at Atlantic City. A press agent for a beauty cream is the villain who foils her, and does her out of her just rewards. Perhaps I should say "deserts" — it's that kind of plot. The comedy is terrible. The gags are inserted with no finesse', with the result that they stand out like bad splotches. Fay Lanphier, who won the real Atlantic Continued on page 96 This