Tess of the Storm Country (United Artists) (1922)

A Sure-Fire Mary Pickford Feature Story One Day in the Life of Mary Pickford NOTE TO EDITORS—In view of the fact that Mary Pickford’s new photo- S lay—her own new and 1922 version of le famous screen classic, “Tess °f the Btorm Country,” in which Miss Pick¬ ford made one of her earlier film tri¬ umphs, has been booked by the man¬ agement of the . Theatre as the chief attraction for next ...- this story “Doings of a Day,” written by Miss Pickford, may be of value to your paper. It can be run as a big one day feature or stretched out over two or three days. The date—month and day—can be filled in to suit the day you mav want to run this ex¬ clusive Mary 'Pickford feature. “DOINGS FOR A DAY” A Page for My Diary Dictated by Mary Pickford WEDNESDAY, September 6, 1922. Arose at seven, bathed, dressed and ate breakfast alone, for Douglas had gone to the studio early. Glanced through the newspaper, walked out on the porch, breathing deeply, then played for a moment on the front lawn with Zorro. He tore my sleeve and I gave him a good talking to. The morning was beautiful. The rain had washed all the dust out of the air and- I could see Catalina Island, nearly fifty miles away, with the ocean sparkling around it. In the other direction, far beyond Los Angeles, loomed the magnificent snow-capped peak of Mt. San Ber¬ nardino. California is never more beautiful than after the rain. Before leaving for the office, I told Albert to be sure to call up the furniture company and tell them I would take the rugs. Arrived at the office eight-thirty. Enjoyed fully every moment of the five-mile ride. After a short confer¬ ence with Mr. Kerrigan, during which he showed me the last reports from the United Artists on “Tess of the Storm Country,” I went to my bun¬ galow dressing-room. The. rain had brought the flowers out in a new riot of beauty, and everything looked so crisp and clean. I could not help but make a mental note of the con¬ trast between this and the frozen-up East. At the bungalow, several members of the executive staff were waiting in the reception room. Mrs. Crinley ^wanted advice on costumes she was ^ designing for “Tess of the Storm Country,” Mr. Goosson had several, sketches of sets to. show me; Mr. Larkin was there with a newspaper correspondent from London who wanted an interview. Mme. de Bodamere quickly ar¬ ranged my costume and insisted that I hurry as they were waiting for me on the stage. Mrs. Cameron handed me six telegrams, all dealing with important business matters and demanding immediate answers: also twenty-six letters, some of which dis¬ cussed personal matters, others pure¬ ly business. All demanded immedi¬ ate replies. Bodamere reminded me again that they were waiting for me on the stage. I glanced at my watch and noticed that it was nine o’clock. “Goodness,” I thought, “time has wines this morning.” “Perhaps we had better 'answer the telegrams first,” Mrs. Cameron sug¬ gested, note-book in hand. Just then the telephone rang. It was the architect for Mother’s house. As I took up the receiver, Bodamere answered a knock at the door. “It’s Oppie,” she told me, “with the stills.” “But I must get my make-up on— they’re waiting for me on the stage. We have three hundred extras today. Most of them are ten dollar people.” “Mrs. Crinley says she simply must see you about the costumes,” Boda¬ mere put in timidly. “And these telegrams,” Mrs. Cam¬ eron reminded me. • “We’ll do them as I make-up” said I, noting that it was now fifteen minutes past nine. Again we were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Mr. Larkin wants to know if you wiil pose for just one picture for the London newspaper man before you go on the stage,” Bodamere informed me. “He says Oppie has the camera all ready for you outside. And he wants to know if you will talk ten minutes to the correspondent.” “Tell him I’ll try.” Just then the phone _ rang again. “It’s Mr. Fairbanks,” said Bodamere. “And he wants to know if you can come over to his studio for lunch and meet some important people.”. “Tell him ‘Yes’,” I answered, in the middle of the third telegram, at the same time trying to put the final touch to my left eyebrow. “It’s nine-thirty, Miss Pickford,” from Bodamere. “I’m afraid the letters must wait,” I told Mrs. Cameron, and I knew from her expression that she had a pile of correspondence outside about which I had said the same thing the day before, and perhaps the day be¬ fore that. “Some I can answer myself,” she said very sweetly, “but really, some of them I am afraid you will have to help me with.” “Tell Mrs. Crinley to come in, Bodamere,” I said as Mrs. Cameron went out. Mrs'. Crinley was scarcely seated when a knock at the door announced the assistant director. “He says they are waiting for you, Miss Pickford,” said Bodamere. “Tell him I’ll be right _ over, and tell Mr. Goosson that I will see him on the stage, and Mr. Larkin too.” “Mr. Larkin says there is another newspaper man here now, from one of the down-town papers. He has a report from the East that Charlie Chaplin is dead. He can’t get Mr. Chaplin and wants to know if you know anything about it.” “Absurd!” I said. “What next. First they had me dying—now it’s poor Charlie.” By the time I had tried on the two new costumes, it was ten o’clock. Two more important phone calls came, but I told Bodamere to take the messages. On the stage the company was waiting. We rehearsed and shot two scenes. Between scenes, Mr. Larkin introduced the London correspondent and we talked several minutes. Then I rehearsed another scene', auto¬ graphed four pictures for the pub¬ licity department, ten for Miss Bell’s department, read and signed six let¬ ters for Mrs. Cameron and okayed the telegrams. While talking to Mr. Goosson about the new sets, the director, called again and I had to leave while we were constructing a staircase. After the scene Mr. Goosson, and I man¬ aged to complete the staircase, and then I suggested that we pause for lunch, as many of the children a pearing in the picture were becoming fretful. At twenty minutes after twelve I stepped into the car to go to Doug¬ las’ studio. Mrs. Cameron came out with two more telegrams and said the dresses I had ordered sent out from ' the department store had arrived and were waiting for selection. I finished the interview with the London cor¬ respondent as we rode to lunch. Douglas helped me out of the car in front of his Japanese lunch room. “Are you tired, dear?” he asked. “Not yet,” I replied, “but I’ve got a busy aiternoon ahead of me.” He intro¬ duced me to Mr. Thorwell and Mr. Jones, from the Orient, who had in¬ formation concerning the theft of our films in Japan. We discussed among other things, Douglas’ next picture, “Douglas Fair¬ banks in Robin .Hood,” and the gi¬ gantic sets he intends to build. I returned to the dressing room at one o’clock. Mrs. Cameron informed me that reservations had been made for our trip to New York for the following Thursday. I dictated a letter to Mr. O’Brien, our attorney. Mr. Larkin had returned from lunch with the. London writer by this time, and we posed together for several photographs, after which. I went over the production stills with Oppie. Bodamere said they were waiting for me on the stage, and also that Mr. Mott wanted to talk to me on the phone. Mrs. Cameron brought me the script for Jack’s picture which had just arrived from New York by spe¬ cial registered mail, and I gave it to Bodamere to take up to the house, so I could read it after. dinner. “I think you should lie down and rest for a little while, you have been going so fast this morning,” said Bodamere. “But it’s nearly two o’clock,” I an¬ swered, “and we have gotten only two scenes today.. No, Bodamere, tomorrow maybe, but today we have all those extra people.” The arrival of the assistant direc¬ tor at that moment with the an¬ nouncement that my next scene was with a baby dispelled all thought of rest. “We’re afraid the baby will get cross if we don’t get the scene be¬ fore time for his nap.” I quickly adjusted my makeup and was on the stage at two-fifteen. Those scenes with the youngster were indeed a trial. The little fellow was bound and determined to cry. The glare of the lights frightened him, I think. And in the scene he was supposed to laugh. After an hour and a half of patient work,. I finally discovered that by placing him across my lap on his little tummy and then lifting him up quickly. I could get him to laugh. I felt quite elated—a regular Christopher Colum¬ bus and Edison combined. Shortly before four o’clock, Boda¬ mere brought me a cup of choco¬ late, and I paused a few minutes to drink it. She said to me in French that the mother of the baby was crying and was very distressed be¬ cause the little fellow 'had caused me so much trouble. I immediately went over behind the corner of. the set and comforted her. Poor things, i-my heart goes out to them, these mothers in the movies. What heart¬ aches they suffer. Mother came over shortly after four o’clock. Together we watched the talcing of several scenes in which I did not appear. Mrs. Cameron brought me some photographic por¬ traits, the work of a local artist, who wanted to make an appointment for sittings. She said Mr. Larkin had recommended him, also that we were in need of new pictures for personal as well as publicity purposes. I dic¬ tated five letters, received a group of visiting exhibitors, who bore let¬ ters of introduction from Mr. Abrams, and then went to the projec¬ tion room to see the daily run. When I came out it was after six o’clock, so I went to the dressing room to take off my makeup and try on the garments that had been • sent out from downtown. Mrs. Dumas was waiting in the re¬ ception room to give me my French lesson. “I’ve been here ever since two o’clock,” she told me, and I mar¬ veled that she was not impatient. Poor Mrs. Dumas, I thought. “Come into the dressing room and we’ll do the lesson while I take my make-up off. • “Don’t forget you have to try on those dresses that were sent out from downtown,” Mrs. Cameron reminded me. Our lesson was interrupted by the telephone. “It’s Mr. Fairbanks,” Bodapiere told me. “He wants to know when you are going home. Mr. Chaplin is over at his office and they have that Italian production.” “Tell them to take it up to the house. We’ll look at it tonight.” “My goodness,” said Bodamere, holding her hand over the phone, “that means you won’t get to bed until eleven o’clock.” “But it’s important_ business, Bod¬ amere. Tell Mr. Fairbanks I have to conjugate only one more verb, then I’ll be over.” At seven o’clock I climbed into the car to go to the Fairbanks stu¬ dio, knowing that we would be lucky if we saw a foot of the Italian film before nine that night. The dresses I had to leave, and I realized also that many other things would have to wait until the next day—which would be just like today, if not more so. GLORIA HOPE NO GOSSIP Gloria Hope, screen star, does not believe in “knocking” and she stead¬ fastly refuses to either indulge in it or listen to it. Recently she at¬ tended a certain social gathering of persons not identified with the film industry. The whole evening was one long gab-fest derogatory to most everything and everybody connected with the cinema art. Long prior to the appointed hour for dispersal, Miss Hope announced her intention of going. Naturally she was asked why she was in such a hurry. “I’m sorry I’m so dumb, but I have succeeded in not hearing a word which has been uttered here tonight,” was her reply. “I guess something is delight¬ fully wrong with my tympanum — it won’t receive complimentary remarks." Smiling sweetly and sincerely without malice, the popuar little actress left. Miss Hope plays an important part in Mary Pickford’s re-film¬ ing of “Tess of the Storm Country,” a United Artists release booked by the . Theatre for next .