Screenland (Nov 1925–Apr 1926)

vT 76 was her beach; the swimming blue of shad-' owy, tables and people formed a surcingle of Polynesian night. Her spirit caught the color of her role. "I wanted to go to the tropics; and then I thought of motion pictures as the best way." How many press-agents have put much the same words into the mouths of their stars? They wanted to live in the slums, the backwoods, the Arctic— but they stayed right on in Hollywood. Nothing could have been more genuine than Gilda's wish; and at least two very noted South Sea voyagers stirred her imagination further. From Frederick O'Brien who dropped into the Rendezvous occasionally, Gilda learned that the finesse of the siva-siva is its sinuous rhythm rather than its haste. Bloom, the artist just returned from Tahiti with canvasses of the Gauguin school, collaborated in perfecting the movement; and the complete realization of. Gilda's ambition came when she sailed for the tropics to film "Aloma of the South Seas." Broadway's greatest exponent of the siva stood on the beach of Porto Rico. Glance at the "stills" and picture just how she stood, with hibiscus woven into her hair, with necklaces of coral and scarlet-seeds shining against her darkened skin, and her skirt swaying to every eddy of air. At the risk of spoiling the story it must be admitted that Porto Rico is far from Samoa, although both groups straddle the one hot bulge of the globe. The hills lift with the same tangle of vegetation; the natives are identical in the quantity or paucity of their dress; and besides, Gilda's "tribe" were fifty statuesque sons and daughters of very ancient Samoan taos who had sailed across the moana ali to appear in motion pictures. They stared in wonderment when Gilda danced. Much must be skipped. How the party plunged into little explored parts of the inlands, through the jungles and swamps to pools kept .secret by sheer walls of liana; how a storm wiped out their catamarans; SCREENLAND G[ Ben Lyon and Blanche Sweet in Robert Kane's "Bluebeard's Seven Wives." how white residents and troops lionized Gilda and picturesque Porto Ricans wound all day from the hills, where voodoo priests once ruled, to observe the gorgeous white girl stained to the color of Samoans — these might have been the experience of any screen star who happened to go there. Only the nights count in this story of Broadway nights and tropical nights. The tom-toms drummed softly; the sea crooned or thundered; from the native cantonment drifted those songs which children or taos sing to the moon. Their talk was of Gilda Gray, and as is the way with Samoans who have taken a papalangi to heart, they honored her. She must dress for this gala occasion: more hibiscus and wild orchids for her hair; more necklaces and flowered anklets; a resplendent lava-lava for her loins and a corsage worked in shells. She was to be Princess Fetuao, the Morning and Evening Star, and they bore the charter of their fathers which empowered them to admit her to membership among Samoan chiefs. The scene is unforgettable. Gaily decked praus swam up the stream; the first carried her; others followed with measured dipping of paddles and the flash-flash-flash of sun on the blades and wakes and bronzed bodies. On an open square file upon file of American and Porto Rican troops were drawn up. A picturesque island rabble stood beyond the cordon. There were Samoans to meet their Princess Fetuao when she landed, to stir the tom-toms to barbaric paeans, to strew flowers around her and lay tapa-mats for her feet. The women joined her in the dance but their siva was no match for hers in grace. The sun through the palms etched fantastic patterns of shadow across her stage, and at length she danced alone, while the son of the highest chief sang the tribal invocation. I wonder how much of the old Rendezvous Gilda remembered. Broadway surely stretched down the latitudes that day, Samoa hurried thousands of miles eastward; and our favorite beliefs to the contrary notwithstanding, East met West amid a clamor of troops, the throb of native drums, and the last ceremonial chant of the taos: "Talofa, O Tausala! Fetuao! Talofa!" (Welcome, O Princess! Morning and Evening Star, Welcome ) Now, no doubt some snappy-thinkers, who have recalled that various stars have been elected to Indian tribes, will wish to wreck this little romance by scoffing: "That's just publicity." No! Samoans never have heard the word or its equivalent. Hawaiians, yes! Waikiki's glories are largely printer's ink; but so far song-writers and press-agents have not imbued the kingly Samoans with any desire to get their pictures in the paper. Friendship, admiration and honor motivate them; and their tribute to Gilda Gray is a signal act. Bizarre as it may seem, she won them with her Broadway siva-siva. Cinderella's Godfather— from page 39 "A Kiss for Cinderella" successes. He spoke not only of his own work but the work of the actors and actresses, of the cameramen, of the scenarists, the carpenters, the electricians. This director, great and powerful as he is, after finishing his greatest success, still is humbly grateful for the assistance which he received from others. The greatness of others he appreciates, and this appreciation has tinged his own greatness with a touch of humility. Betty Bronson looked so pale and wan, and yet so wistfully appealing, that we wondered if that was the reason she was selected. ^ To my question Mr. Brenon replied, "Oh, no, it wasn't quite so simple as that. To begin at the beginning, I first read a whole library looking for a story for my next production. After discussing several with the studio manager we agreed upon "A Kiss For Cinderella." Mr. Lasky and Mr. Zukor approved our choice, and final arrangements for the motion picture rights were made with the author, Sir James Matthew Barrie. I then sailed for Europe to consult with him, and to discuss the most effective way of transferring his delightful stage play to the screen without losing any of its charm. Also I wanted to learn the author's choice for the role of Cinders. He viewed a trunkful of screen tests for the part, just as he had done for Peter Pan, and reaffirmed his belief that Betty Bronson would make an ideal heroine. "To be able to select such wonderful material; to meet great authors on such a footing; to create actors and actresses, and to make them stars — ■ oh, this is the greatest job in the world!" Mr. Brenon's face glowed. "There are so many thrills — thrills of gratification incident to a director's life. Possibly one of the greatest thrills comes from the acting, or the directing of the actors. A fine actor in a perfect setting will make a character seem fairly to step out of the book; out of the land of make-believe. Frequently this is a matter of inspiration, so that we achieve unlooked-for subtleties, surprising avenues of feeling, shades of meaning that stamp greatness upon actor and story alike. Such moments I have experienced during the directing of, for instance, Norma Talmadge in 'The Passion Flower' and' 'The Sign on the Door'; Ernest Torrence in 'The Side Show of Life'; Percy Marmont in 'The Street of Forgotten Men'; Betty Bronson in 'Peter Pan' and 'A Kiss for Cinderella' ." What Mr. Brenon was saying to me was that the glory of achievement was all that counted, and that great stories and great actors made his pictures great. But what he convinced me of was that to make others great you must first be great yourself, but he doesn't know it. Having remembered the work of the children in "Peter Pan" we were tingling with anticipation to see how Mr. Brenon handles them. In the cast of "A Kiss For Cinderella" there are four little girls: Edna Hagen, two years old; Mary Christian, three; Patty Coakley, four, and Marilyn McLain, four and "a half." On the appointed day these four miniature actresses reported for work. Not alone. Oh, no. There were the mothers, a grandmother and a father with them. All work stopped for Mr. Brenon when the children appeared. At least actual direction did. For two whole hours the dean of directors, down on the floor, played with the children and the attractive toys strewn about. And when they tired of blowing the horns, and when the dollies had been put to bed, Mr. Brenon, with the littlest girl on his lap, read to them the story of "Cinderella." It is his idea, he said, not only to get them acquainted with their studio . surroundings, but to like them as well. He had won their confidences, made them feel at home; now and only now could he get them to act as he wanted them to act. It seems so naturally easy for him to win their confidence. Is it any wonder he is called the children's delight? Sometimes during their play he gave a quiet order for lights and camera, and caught them in their