Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1927)

100 Ike Stroller Continued from page 51 item caught | my eye. It said, "Emmett Flynn is preparing to direct 'The Houseboat on the Styx' for United Artists." If Emmett ever really produces that picture I'll make him a promise: I'll go and see it. For some reason, Jack Mulhall, who plays the lead with Colleen Moore in ''Orchids and Ermine," wears spectacles throughout the picture. I asked why, and a cynical employee of First National replied, "So you can tell it from the other two pictures they made together." A hurried dinner, not too good, a dash through wet streets through numerous traffic jams, with my companions squealing because I drove too fast, stumbling into the wrong entrance of the auditorium twenty minutes late, then three long hours of befuddlement, with nuns and priests and villagers parading about the stage, figures symbolic of life and death and temptation and what not doing dances and wriggling bony fingers, hundreds of supers carrying torches and candles, pouring on and off the stage and scurrying past me in the aisles,, much offstage organ music, and choruses chanting, characters dying horrible deaths on the stage, and miraculbusly coming back to life in the next scene — then home in a daze, wondering what my actual impression had been of "The Miracle," which Morris Gest and Max Reinhardt brought to Hollywood with a mighty fanfare of trumpets. "It would make a great prologue for Sid Grauman when he shows 'The King of Kings' in his new Chinese Theater," some one observed, "only it's not nearly long enough." "My picture." It's etiquette in Hollywood to use the possessive pronoun no matter whether you directed it, produced it, played a bit in it, or rustled the props. "See my picture down at the Forum this week?" asks the scenarist, as he goes to lunch with you. "My picture got great reviews on the photography," says the man who turned the crank, as he fades five dollars into the crap game in the studio laboratory. "My picture's standing 'em up," lisps the gag man. "I wrote the titles on that baby, and every one is a wow." "My picture just opened. What a performance !" says the character actor who dies in the first three hundred feet. There's only one variation : "Your picture down at the Forum," moans the producer to the director. "Oi, what a flop." A literary note is found in this excerpt from an announcement sent out by the Famous Players-Lasky press department : "Emil Tannings is to be starred in 'The Way of All Flesh.' This is the title chosen for the adaptation of Bruce Barton's story, 'The Man Who Forgot God.' " Where does Samuel Butler come in? Continued from page 49 chair behind her. She had taken but three steps when several men rushed to her aid. "Ask me anything you like, dear," said she, seating herself beside me again. I soon learned that Phyllis had been born in Kansas. Whereupon I promptly confessed to being a native of Oklahoma. After that Phyllis took me right into her confidence. It transpired that she came to California when a child, and now lives with her mother and two Persian kittens. The family name is O'Haver — which explains many things. Twice Miss Haver very nearly committed matrimony. She offered no explanation for the shattering of her plans, so I didn't ask. But I'll wager it was not because of neglect on the part of the men involved ! Regarding her ambitions, Phyllis has her blue eyes set on the heroine of "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes." "Much as I respect your ability," I said, "I don't believe you could act as dumb as Lorelei Lee in ten years." "Now isn't that sweet of you !" exclaimed Phyllis. "Looking at the matter in that light," she added, hesitantly, "playing the part successfully would be a real demonstration of ability, wouldn't it ? "I didn't go to see 'Don Juan,' " she continued, "for I knew I wouldn't A Credit to Kansas like myself in that picture. They made me wear an unbecoming wig — neither blond nor brunet — and my part was so silly. I hear that although 'Rain' has been banned as screen material, there is some talk of making a picture from the life story of Sadie Thompson. I should love to play that part. It would be the opportunity of a lifetime." There has long been a rumor afloat, I believe, to the effect that Phyllis is a half-sister of Marie Prevost. But, as Mark Twain said about a premature announcement of his death, the report is greatly exaggerated. "I wish she were my sister," said Phyllis, "but she isn't. We have been the best of friends since childhood, playing together and . working together. She is so happily married that she often says to me, 'Why don't you marry and be happy, too ?' " Phyllis laughed her lilting laugh, an expression of elfin mischief playing over her lovely features. "Do you know, I am the poorest letter writer in the world. About once a year I write to my relatives back in Kansas, and then all I can think of to say is" — scribbling on her left palm with her right index finger — " 'How are you ? I am well. The weather is fine. I am working in a new picture. Hoping you are the same, Phyllis.' So last Christmas they sent me the largest box of stationery I ever saw !" The thought of that little joke provoked her to another tinkling laugh. "Seven or eight of my fans have been writing to me ever since the old Sennett days. Two boys in Japan are very faithful. One sent me a beautiful scarf. So about once a year I write each of these loyal fans a little letter." One might expect a girl of Miss Haver's type to make fluttering remarks about her hopes for stardom, but the truth is that she is wisely avoiding any such thing. She has no desire to shoulder the risks and responsibilities of stardom. The jungles of Hollywood are littered with the histrionic bones of ambitious young men and women who chose to see their names in big letters prematurely. Facing oblivion, after knowing the exhilaration of ephemeral success, must be a bitter experience. Some stars refuse to admit it until the last possible moment. In the case of Phyllis Haver, it is safe to assume that she will make no mistakes. She has a shrewd mind underneath her flaxen bob. Art — a technical word meaning apple sauce — is to her a matter to be taken seriously but impersonally. She has the ability and the sound, fundamental training necessary to a real star. I predict that another spring will find Mrs. O'Haver's little girl near the head of the cinematic class.