Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1926)

12 Advertising Section What the Fans Think Continued from p;ige 10 Big Men and Big Books If it's action you want, the thrilling stories of brave-hearted deeds, then ask your bookseller to show you the fine, cloth-covered books that bear the "CH" mark on their handsome jackets. "CH" books cost only 75 cents apiece. There's something doing all the while in a "CH" book. These books which have never before been published were written for men who letters seem faithful enough. But the magazines— first they rave, and then, before the actor's day is scarcely begun, they say his day is over and prepare his obsequies. This clamoring for new stars is very feverish and eccentric, and also very unintelligent. Rudolph Valentino is coming back to a bigger success than ever in the near future, and this is acknowledged, even in America, but why do we not hear more praise of this great artist, who is such a tremendous attraction? Can it be that, temperamentally, Americans cannot give the highest praise except to what is brand new ? Now, the Americans, or their magazines, are raving about John Gilbert, whom English people do not like. He has apparently been initiated in the art of love making after the unpleasant manner of penny dreadfuls, the sort of trash that has been a byword in England for years. Margaret Livingston, in your magazine, pu*s the truth in a nutshell when she says, "There has been no second Valentino, in spite of imitations." There is no one to approach Rudolph Valentino, and no words from my pen can attempt to describe his art. In England, we cherish merit. Winifred Gage. 42 Woodbourne Avenue, London, S. W. 16, England. In Memoriam. When the Great Director decided that Barbara La Marr would make a delightful addition to His heavenly cast, He nominated her to the roll of honor, and robbed us mortals of our sincerest and most lovable siren. Lucky Babs ! She will meet our dashing Wallie Reid, and will hear his lovable saxophone, as he plays his love song to Dorothy, that sweet wife of his on mortal earth below. She will renew acquaintance with Olive Thomas, who left for heaven a few years ago, and will tell Jack Pickford's former wife of her husband's exploits on the safe land we tread. And Allan Holubar, Dot Phillips' director-husband— perhaps Barbara will find him taking a few scenes for Thomas Ince, who perhaps possesses a few shares in the Cinema Club way_up over the clouds. Babs will be kind enough to tell Allan and Thomas that we have their works firmly in memory. What of Kate Lester — that majestic woman who decided that heaven was a safe refuge for her? And Martha Mansfield? We miss you, but never fear, we have a place in our hearts for your memory. Babs will tell you all. Our sweet Lucille Ricksen — we know your leaving broke our hearts, but we have suffered in vain — you would rather play in heaven than on the screen below. The clouds make your stage, the moon your limelight, and the myriads of stars your footlights. We see you every eve, dancing up there. Remember, Barbara La Marr, we love you forever ! W yn Westley. 23 Cedar, Chagrin Falls, Ohio. I was shocked to read of the death of Barbara La Marr, a grand and wonderful lady. She once sent me her photo, and across the bottom of it, she had written "Lest you forget, Barbara La Marr." Because I have not forgotten, I have penned the following lines while thinking of her. Lost Beauty. Beautiful, wonderful womanhood, So perfect in form and in line. Gloriously, radiantly lovely — A classic of beauty divine! Her face and her features are works of the gods — Most perfect eye e'er looked upon. Her body's a symbol of all that is art, Her grace is the grace of the faun. Her hair is spun midnight in Grecian coiffure, Her eyes are dark mirrors of truth. So radiant and lovely, she seems to be blessed By goddesses, springtime, and youth. And then, comes — Death ! The beauty once like a red flame in the dawn Now yields to the shadow of gray ; The sparkle, the brilliance, the fire is soon gone, There is left but the figure of clay. The body that throbbed with fierce joy in its life Now is senseless as marble, and cold — And still as the silence that lurks in the dark Which the wings of the nighttime enfold. She looks in her death like a statue in ice, Which once mirrored flames of the sun; A temple of life from which fires have gone out — God's masterpiece, finished and done ! How sad when we think that such beauty as this Must lie in the depths of a grave. Must be hidden, buried, and forever lost, Yet there is no power to save. Evolved from its Maker, return, then, it must, And ashes are ashes, and dust is but dust ! Miss La Marr was one of the world's most beautiful women. It is sad that beauty such as hers should ever have to die. Yet, may the inspiration it has roused in hundreds of souls forever carry on! Frank Kenneth Young. 929 West Seventh Street, Traverse City, Mich. In the death of Barbara La Marr. we fans have lost one of our most talented actresses, and one of the screen's unique personalities. To me, the news of her death was a great surprise. I had followed closely the reports of her severe illness, and rejoiced at her apparent recovery. In an interview that she gave out at the time she adopted her baby, she said, "I adopted a baby because I wanted somethi-g to love. I've had wisdom thrust upon me until it isn't hard for me to look ahead to a loveless, lonely old age, when what they are pleased to call my beauty will be faded — when they've forgotten the tinkle of this thing called fame, and my name is wiped from the slate of the world's favor." At that time, little did she realize that death would overtake her in a few years — that she would never live to a loveless, lonely old age. As I look over my photograph collection, which I have taken great pleasure in securing, I find a charming study of the glamorous La Marr, on which is inscribed, "Lest vou forget, Barbara La Marr." Indeed, I never shall forget Miss La Marr. She was my second screen crush, and has remained a favorite despite the poor pictures in which she, she alone, was the only enlightening factor. Jack McElveny. 960 Iglehart Avenue, St. Paul, Minn. love the sweep of the great West, the mysteries of big cities, the conquest of man over his environment. Ask your bookseller to show you these latest titles — ^^^^^^p<IIIIIIII!lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll]!llllllli!l||||||||lll| f^U I The Brand of | |IU^| |a flood Book | «. iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii New Books THE WOMAN IN 919 John Paul Seabrooke SOUTH OF FIFTY-THREE Jack Bechdolt THE WAGON BOSS Emart Kinsbuin MR. CLACKWORTHY Christopher B. Booth BLACK I E AND RED David Manning 75c