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The Prodigal
Though talking pictures are blamed by the fans for name of entertainment, they should be praised for the screen, where her clear diction and vibrant
By Margaret
EVEN the skeptics who frown dourly on the upstart talkies, will have to admit one point in their favor, an important point at that. Talking pictures have brought Pauline Frederick back to the screen.
In the two years of her absence, that absence has never ceased to be deplored. Among all the great dramatic actresses the screen has known, Pauline Frederick's superiority has not been disputed. She stood alone, and by the grace of the unabated clamor for her return, there she still stands.
Despite the mediocre vehicles which probably caused her secession to the stage, her position in the film firmament never altered. Now, after two years, she is back. It is unlikely that she would have returned, had not the advent of talking pictures promised new interest. So a moment of grateful silence, please, in respect to the Brothers Warner, whose star she now is.
Although she has, at present, made only one picture, and will not do another until next May, when her two-year contract begins, this article is made timely by the impatience of the fans. Their letters demanding information about Miss Frederick have been too insistent to ignore any longer.
When I saw her she had just finished the Vitaphone production of the play "On Trial." In three days she was to leave for the East, to tour in "The Imperfect Lady," which she had already played as "The Scarlet Woman." Sandwiched between fittings and retakes, and all the turbulent details of departure, my appointment was for late afternoon.
In the sun room of her home in Beverly Hills, I found this vital, magnetic person. A slim, boyishly sturdy figure of medium height, with a firm handclasp that is no casual gesture of politeness. Gray-blue eyes rendered more striking by the dark tan of her skin. No powder, no bright-red lipstick ; and even, white teeth. Thick, dark-brown, closecropped hair. A brief tennis dress, brown legs, bare down to short socks and sandals.
If I had been prepared for the sable aura of a tragedy queen, I was better satisfied to find this energetic, humorous young — yes, that's what I mean ; actual statistics are irrelevant— person, who would just as soon talk about dogs and the California climate as her art. With no particular attempt on her part, she is completely disarming. You go to revere her, and come away liking her tremendously.
. The two years which had elapsed since her last picture in Hollywood have been spent in this country, England, and Australia. Her love for the stage is keen, and she could never relinquish it entirely. She is essentially an aristocrat of the theater Its traditions are her law, and her loyalty to
them is voluntary. The mov
Her first talking picture, "On Trial," enlists the support of Bert Lytell.
ies, though important, hold second place in her affections. Perhaps because they leave her too much leisure, which is incompatible with her consuming energy.
"Between pictures I go mad for want of something to do. Idleness wears me out. O the stage you are always a work. If not in actual pro