Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Jul 1929)

34 Jack — As He Is If there is such a thing in this polyglot land as a hundred per cent American, Jack Mulhall is it. B>> Margaret Reid HE once made a picture called "Smile, Brother, Smile," which pointed a salesman's philosophy of consistent, contagious good cheer. As an addition to the cinema it may not have ranked at the top, but as an expose of Jack Mulhall it was illuminating. He is, literally and figuratively, the young man with the smile. Such theories are apt, in practice, to be more medicinal than pleasant to the world at large. Good humor in the wrong hands can be infinitely depressing. But Jack's is infectious. It is, perhaps, less conscious good humor than unconscious good spirits, happiness, kindliness. His smile is omnipresent, but never tedious, because he means it. Running boldly in the face of Hollywood tradition, he is an actor without a grievance. He is well content with his lot in life, and remains imperturbable in the midst of studio dissonance. People working in his company are at first inclined to discredit his sincerity. They think such a disposition can't be real. But after they have seen it subjected to the hundred and one minor torments peculiar to studio routine, and still survive intact, they have seen it pass the supreme test. People who have once worked with Jack are thereafter miserable with any other troupe. The morale of his company becomes dependent on him. The atmosphere of a set is almost a reflection of the star's mood. The atmosphere on a Mulhall set never varies, and is a sure source of whoopee. Even those trying hours when work has been persisting for a day and a night, and weary nerves are beginning to snap, are not unbearable with Jack between scenes doing an impromptu "Florodora Sextet," portraying all six sirens at once. He is breezy, talkative, ingratiating. During an interview he has moments of shyness. When confronted with questions about himself, his face shows momentary panic, which he tries to cover by talking very fast. About himself he talks badly and with great rapidity, so as to get it done. On other topics he has the conversational charm and facility of the Irish. Occasionally, in moments of excitement, his r's still betray his ancestry. His forbears were Irish, but Jack was born in "Wappingersfallsdutchesscountynewyork." His boyhood was a happy one. The summers he recalls as sheer, sustained bliss, principally because, from April to October, his shoes and stockings were put away and he wandered happily over the countryside, feeling the dust and grass between his toes. The acting-bug attacked him early. His paramount interest in life — to be champion swimmer of the patrons of the "crick" up in the woods — suddenly paled into unimportance. The occasion was a school entertainment. Jack recited "I shot an arrow into the air" and, all at once, realized that he wanted to be an actor. Jack Mulhall is prouder of his son, who is a pianist, and his brother, who is an engineer, than he is of his own fame. Later, when his family moved to Passaic, New Jersey, he hung around the theater, haunting the alley, and peering plaintively in at the stage door. No amount of dismissals could affect him. For policy's sake he would go tractably away, returning a few minutes later with unabated curiosity. The stock company in possession at the time was financially embarrassed, and unable to pay rent for props. They needed an alarm clock for a certain scene, and wondered gloomily from where it would be forthcoming. Jack, eavesdropping brazenly from the alley, turned and sped out to the street and home, and back again. Hurling himself breathlessly in at the enchanted door, he thrust his father's alarm clock into their hands. This effected an entree for the young enthusiast. He regularly supplied them with what small incidentals, in the way of props, that he could sneak out of and back into the house without discovery. Difficulty, however, occurred when he was asked to bring some dishes. To his discomfort, these were not returned, but were smashed each day in a scene, and his mother was asking suspiciously where all her dishes were disappearing to. Partly as a reward for his fervor, and partly to get him out from underfoot. Jack was finally given a bit — a page, in "In the Palace of the King." Galahad in sight of the Grail knew no greater ecstasy than Jack's on the opening night. His fourteen-year-old knees bulging knobbily under carelessly fitted tights, his shoulder blades giving his doublet a peculiar hang all its own, and his voluminous wig shifting uneasily at every step, Jack strode confidently onto the stage, thinking amusedly of Booth, who also was an actor. In a voice that, though it changed range unexpectedly, was charged with dramatic feeling, he be* gan his one line and stepped forward. The huge, fluted ruff around his neck obscuring his vision, he stumbled over a footstool and kicked it into the footlights. There was a bang, an explosion, two lights went out, and Jack stood paralyzed. Then from" the gallery, which was filled mostly with his pals, came a yell, "Hi — Mulhall !" In the hysteria born of excitement and terror, Jack began to giggle. Uncontrollably, and with the silly unreason of the awkward age, he stood riveted and giggling until the curtain was rung hastily down, and the stage manager grabbed him and administered as fine a whaling as the young Thespian had ever had. His unfortunate debut did not dampen his ardor. Even to-day his pleasure in his job is as keen as it was then. He likes best to do human stories of average people, the little dramas of your next-door neighbor. He Continued on page 116