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A sweet, simple love exists between The Girl and The Boy before the woman from the city enters .The Boy's life.
DOWN the streets converging into the raindreriched plaza, cars skidded. Muffled human forms, blinded by the deluge, dodged between busses and street cars, dashed to the semishelter of shop awnings, were swallowed like streams of black ants by the elevated entrance, or were spewed out of the mouths of the subway caves. Umbrellas were ripped by the gale. Heads bent to the wind, women were rebuffed and swept back, gasping.
Overhead, the elevated trains tore past. Up and down the fronts of the many-storied buildings, electric signs twinkled merrily in the grayness. Cafes nudged banks and offices. The shop windows were an enticement of furs, jewels, gowns, shoes. • This movie set, for the Fox production of "Sunrise," was one of the largest, if not the largest, ever erected in the West. Out at Fox Hills a great section had been converted into the streets of a cosmopolitan city by Rochus Gliese, the art director who had accompanied the German director of the film, F. W. Murnau, to America. His painstaking effort to achieve detailed realism, characteristic of the foreign technician, had resulted in so genuine an atmosphere that I imagined myself actually in the heart of a great, hustling, bustling city. I snuggled
A Country Boy
The film "Sunrise" tells the old, old tale sweetheart by the wiles of a woman of the German director, F. W. Murnau, the old
By Myrtle
into my coat and crept still farther back into the shelter of a doorway, behind the cameras and the whirling wind machines, but was flecked even so by the rain that poured down from pipes overhead.
The rain, indeed, had been turned on too soon, wetting the streets so thoroughly that a change of schedule had had to be quickly effected, and umbrellas and raincoats had been hastily passed out to the hundreds of extras. Many directors, under the annoying circumstances of such a mistake on the part of an assistant, would have bellowed and fumed. Murnau, however, had only grinned, dived into a mammoth red slicker — which gave him the appearance of a jovial Mephistopheles — and plunged out into the rain to direct his corps of
Margaret Livingston,' as The Woman of the World, brings near-tragedy into the hitherto peaceful village.