Screenland (Oct 1923-Mar 1924)

he SCREENPLAYS ll t is easy to understand why Charlie Chaplin's first serious film, A Woman of Paris, has been hailed as a milestone of camera progress. Not that it breaks the way for a new screen technique, as the critics have said. Not that it is an adventure into a virgin field of film drama. Actually, A Woman of Paris has nothing new to offer. Nothing New in Technique "^^et, as I have said, it is easy to understand why it has attracted the wild eulogies of the critics. First, because Chaplin has become the officially accepted genius of the films. Second, because A Woman of Paris seems new to the screen followers of today. Actually, the production is of the period immediately following the pioneer Biograph dramas of the early D. W. Griffith. Here is a screen story told in straight forward fashion, minus all of the tricks and trappings that have come to be considered cinema essentials. A Woman of Paris is related in simple pictorial fashion. Screenplay May Do Much Good A fter the New York acclaim of his screen effort, Chaplin doubtless looks upon himself as a sort of screen Moses, about to lead the lost film tribes to the promised land. Far be it from me to belittle the Chaplin effort. It was a pretty courageous thing to do. It required months of effort, months which might have been given over to the making of a highly remunerative comedy. And A Woman of Paris will do a great deal of good. The screen has come to worship at the feet of false gods. We have been bowing too long before the big set and all the so-called modern glories of the film. We need to go back to the direct celluloid stories of yesterday. We need to retrace our steps from the blind alley of ornate and de luxe story telling. Chaplin has taken a trite story: of the girl who comes to the city, the wealthy manabout-town who establishes her in an apartment, and the poor but honest lover from back home. In this case he has dared to tell it a little differently. He has dropped the story into the city of Paris. The girl is happy in her alliance, the rich waster isn't at all a bad sort and the lover is a weakling who finally ends his life in suicide. It is only towards the end that Chaplin contributes his sop to the censors. The gal gives up her little love nest that she may devote her life to hospital work — and the wealthy chap goes on to seek a new liason. All of which is probably a necessary regeneration in this censor infested land. Stark Clinging to Directness The story is told without a single railroad terminal interior I recall but one flash back. There is a stark clinging to directness. One scene, of the girl fleeing to Paris from her home in the provinces, sticks in my memory. She hurries from the station to board the train, but you never see the actual train itself. It is merely suggested by the onrushing flashes of light from the car windows. A Woman of Paris is superbly acted. Even in the old days I always recall Edna Purviance as giving a homely and sincere touch to Chaplin's comedies. Here she is revealed as an actress of breadth and understanding. She plays the girl — and plays her with fine poise and shading. It is one of the best performances the screen has ever had. Almost as good is Adolphe Menjou as the wealthy Parisian. He, too, plays with a fine sublety and suavity. Proves Artificiality of Our Films JL/et me make myself clear on this Chaplin opus. It is a worthy thing — but it isn't a brand new forward step in cinema direction. Nor am I at all sure that it will be widely popular. But it does prove that the screenplay has been pursuing a highly artificial course, one that is fast leading to disintegration. The critics seem to have overlooked the real significance of A Woman of Paris. It tells an adult story bravely for most of its distance. Which is a rare and splendid thing in this day of adolescent film fare. It was unfortunate that I caught a view of Rex Ingram's newest effort, Scaramouche, the night following my first glimpse QlXhe Month's Best Screenplay Woman of Paris