Picture-Play Magazine (Sep 1928 - Feb 1929)

22 T h S t r o 1 1 e r Random observations of Hollywood by a humorous saunterer, By Carroll Graham Illustrations by Lui Trugo SOME day there is likely to be a series of astounding murders in Hollywood, which will be reflected in screaming headlines all over the world. And they will be caused by the indiscriminate inflicting of previews on unsuspecting citizens of Los Angeles and environs. One may still retain his sanity by attending one feature-length picture, but when stumbling onto a second one, in the same evening, one's reason is likely to totter on the brink of insanity. Of course, you argue, you don't have to stay. But too often you do. You perhaps have taken a wife, a motherin-law, or both — or a sweetie to that show. I have never seen a woman who could resist getting two shows for the price of one, no matter what the quality of either might be. The other night I dropped into a neighborhood house, at the behest of friends, to see "The Legion of the Condemned." Now "The Legion of the Condemned" is not my idea of a very good picture, but I am a person of some balance, and I had steeled myself in advance. What did I discover but another picture, very bad to begin with, and much too long for human inspection in the state in which it was being exhibited. I had to sit through this preview to see the second picture — which I did not want to see, but was forced to — and I left the theater muttering to myself. In my little way, I am doing what I can. I am writing indignant letters whenever a preview is foisted upon me, and signing fantastic and fictitious names to them. Knowing studio politics as I do, I am almost certain they will fall into the hands of some enemy of the man who wrote or directed the picture, and thus gain considerable circulation. Some studios, moreover, have a habit of handing out post cards to preview audiences, with a request for opinions of the new picture. I generally manage to get three or four of these at every pre In the gold rush scenes of "The Trail of '98," Ralph Forbes looked as out of place as a trout riding a bicycle. view, and mail derogatory observations in varied handwritings. It is a distressing fact — distressing, both from the attitude of the public and the film industry — that while "The' Trail of '98" was being given its world premiere in Sid Grauman's usual unctuous manner, "The Crowd" was being kicked around neighborhood houses by dubious exhibitors who wished they had not booked it. Both pictures were made by Metro-Goldwyn and both, I understand, cost upward of a million dollars. "The Crowd," despite the opinions of a great many critics, is a thoroughly fine picture. There has never been a picture either resembling, or approaching it. King Vidor is the only director in Hollywood, I ever heard of, who could have directed, or even thought of "The Crowd." And I know a lot of them. "The Crowd" played two rather unsuccessful weeks at a downtown Los Angeles theater, and then wandered hopelessly about the smaller theaters, at one of which I chanced to see it. The only comparison that can be made between the two pictures is that both cost a great deal of money. Clarence Brown is a very good director, but even he could not make an epic out of a lot of roughnecks going up to Alaska in the hope of digging up a fortune. The picture contains a notorious bit of miscasting, moreover. Ralph Forbes looked as out of place in a gold rush as — to borrow a simile from Richard Connell — a trout on a bicycle. As a concrete example of my honest opinion of Vidor's "The Crowd," I might state that the day after I had seen it I wrote him a fan letter. And, from the manner in which his picture is being received, I venture to say he'll get precious few. years ago, when the movies and myself were both going through our infancy, I had one particular film idol, whose name courtesy forbids my mentioning. I followed him through any number of thrilling fifteen-episode serials, and to me he was the last word in heroes. He slew innumerable villains, ' saved homesteads and valuable documents, rescued and preserved chaste heroines and, in short, acted, as I was convinced, no other person could have done. I see him almost every day now. He does not know me, but I know him by sight. His hair is generously silvered, and his face is lined, though he is not much past middle age. He seems to be lame, for I saw him walking with a cane the other day. HBBBMBnannnHB J