Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1927)

70 The Screen in Review "The Yankee Clipper." "Long Pants. "Fashions for Women. "Evening Clothes." such. It has novelty, suspense, and amazing thrills, together with incredible beauty. You will not wonder at the latter when you realize that it was photographed, every foot of it, in the jungles of Siam, where the undergrowth seems to have gained in richness and density with the ages. "Chang" has no story, in the sense that stories are put together in studios, but nevertheless it unfolds a narrative more gripping than most plots, because it shows the struggle of a native family against the onslaughts of the jungle and the desperate animals which inhabit it. The struggle of these simple, fearless people to eke out a frugal livelihood in the midst of the primitive wilds is fascinating, absorbing. And the efforts of the animals to remain in undisputed possession of the jungle bring about the thrills as realistically as if you and I were there, matching our wits against their brute force. "Chang" is' a memorable picture, and a wonderful white monkey — nameless, probably never to be seen again — gives a "performance" that covers the range of primary emotions with uncanny completeness. A Village Innocent. Harry Langdon will break your heart in "Long Pants," to the tune of laughter and chuckles ; but he will break it just the same — if you are past the age of discretion. Every man who has worshiped a goddess from afar will find in the awkward shyness of Langdon's Boy — in his first long pants — an echo of that time long ago when he made a fool of himself over a lady, remote and touched with the glamour of another world. It may have been the leading lady of the stock company, the college widow, or just a girl from the nearest big city; but it is safe to say that every man will remember her, whoever she may have been, and see something of himself in The Boy. In this picture the unattainable lady is a haughty crook whose magnificent car pauses on a country road, while The Boy circles round and round on his bicycle, doing tricks to win a smile. Her kiss changes his feelings for his village sweetheart, and he goes to the city to rescue The Vamp from jail, where she languishes for her misdemeanors. In typical, wide-eyed Langdon innocence he lends himself to The Vamp's machinations, and only when he learns, with incredulous surprise, that she is not a princess out of a fairy tale, does he return home, sadder but only slightly wiser. This slight tale, employing only three sequences, is embellished with all manner of byplay and gags, which bring it to the length required of a feature. Whether it is as funny as "The Strong Man," I cannot say, but it seems not to matter, so long as, underlying the laughs, is the pathos of loneliness and through it run the fever and futility of adolescence. Alma Bennett is highly effective as The Vamp, and so is Priscilla Bonner as the, deserted bride, while Albert Roscoe and Gladys Brockwell are The Boy's parents. Manhattan Madness. "Wolf's Clothing" conceals no sheep, for it is about the liveliest bit of madness imaginable. Monte Blue is Barry Baline, a subway guard, who finds himself with a holiday on New Year's Eve. He sets out to spend it in a way that he hopes will bring romance to him, but is knocked down by an automobile, is taken to a lonely spot by the occupant of the car, an escaped lunatic, and given his clothing and the key to the madman's room in a New York hotel. Barry, with, apparently, a world of riches and romance spread before him, proceeds to enjoy it. His adventures exceed the limit of probability, but they are always diverting, and at times genuinely thrilling. Patsy Ruth Miller, almost unrecognizable in a blond wig, crosses his path as a society debutante, also in quest of sentimental adventure, and the two are swirled through as rapid a set of screen doings as you have seen in a long time. "Wolf's Clothing" is not the sort of film to analyze and dissect, but it is most assuredly' entertaining from start to finish, and the best thing either star has done in a long, long time. John Miljan gives an inspired performance as the lunatic at large. By all means put this on your list.