Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Jul 1929)

cPollyanna Turns "Coquette" 61 merely a capable actress, portraying the usual gamut of roles? Or can she, through the alchemy of her ability, create a character of young girlhood uniquely individual ? At no more auspicious time could she attempt a change of such contrast. The very air quivers with the breath of novelty, with expectation of the next moment's wonder. Into this new picture-world—of sound, color, talk of new dimensions, abrupt transformations — marvels are ushered each day. "The change I am making is a drastic step, perhaps dangerous," she admitted. "But I felt there must be no concessions, no timorous change. I am a mature woman. It required, perhaps, more technical ability to simulate the child than older drama necessitates. I shall not, however, cater to passing phases. There must be, as in 'Coquette,' story and ample motivation. Norma is a victim, not only of her own waywardness, but of circumstances and of stressed conventions. I will look first for logic, second for reality of character, and she must have lovable traits and humor. I have no intention of 'going jazz.' She — each she — must have an impish quality. Wherever I find interesting characters, I shall play them, whether they live in tenements or manors. I do hope, though," she laughed, smoothing her orchid chiffon, "that their fathers are wealthy. Dressing up is such fun." This is a direct severance of old ties, with no attempt to retain, in any guise, the whimsical pathos so essentially her motif. She flaps, but without exaggerated pyrotechnics. She doesn't make whoopee for its attraction alone. As the spoiled, headstrong daughter of a well-to-do family of a small Southern city, Norma' s drama is the point of interest, atmosphere incidental. Mary was the visual spirit of childhood, a universal language ; age and all differences were f or A corner o£ Miss Pickford's dressing room in her studio bungalow. Photo by Bahmn "Coquette" will bring Mary Pickford's voice to the screen in dialogue. gotten in her play-garden. She wasn't Mary Pickford, playing a part; she was a, shanty-Irish kid, with an individual mingling of pathos and temper. In a certain sense, Mary's manner conforms to the atmosphere of her screen self. The childlike maternal quality of Pollyanna had its counterpart in the Mary Pickford of family and business responsibilities. Her wings protected her own ; she counseled and loved and worried over them ; she had worked for them, at a sacrifice of her own childhood freedom. Invariably, my impression of her was of child weariness. So tiny, so frail, the sense of many duties hovering over her. The very way she threw back her head had a sort of bravery. She regarded everything with a tremendous amount of personal concern. She philosophized. Her mental links were carefully soldered — but, oh, it was all so serious. Even her humor had a sadness. A wist fulness hung about her. Conversation was so much of the world's suffering, of work. Doug once told me that the reason for her warm, quick sympathy was the fact that always care and trouble were shoved at her. People brought their sorrows to her understanding, their perplexities to her calm judgment, instead of more often bringing their joys for her to share. It was natural that she should reach the point where she took out her own emotions to regard them wistfully, and tuck them away again. Continued on page 114