Screenland (Nov 1925–Apr 1926)

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Not to be compared with other guns at this price. Best obtainable^ and guaranteed to lire accurately. Shoots standard ammunition Solid frame swine out cylinder, liest blue steel. New 11)20 models just arrived Order now. 32.20 or 38 cal Only $9.65 32-CAL. MILITARY AUTOMATIC like those used by German military officers. Extra magazine free. Never before this was a 32-Cal. Automatic like this offered at the low price of only $8.45. Satisfaction Guaranteed or Money Refunded. Send No Money, Pay Postman Our Price, Plus Postage. EDWARDS IMPORT TRADING CORP. ?58 Broadway Dept. 65 New York, N. Y. Bill Colling 's Reviews— Continued from page 57 the stage farce, "The First Year." Br'er Fox has made a movie of it, but something slipped in the making. "The First Tear" on the screen has only part of the humor of the original, but it has a great deal of overdrawn "comedy" which makes the story (which had some semblance of reality on the stage) a poor counterfeit of life. It would also be a good idea for my friend to stay away from D. W. Griffith's latest, "That Royle Girl"; but oh, boy, and likewise oh, girl, who cares about "life" when he can see a thrilling, melodramatic climax such as the scenes at the Boar's Head Inn during the cyclone? This is one class of film — ■ sheer melodrama — which sets aside all rules. It attempts only a semblance of everyday realism and centers its attention only on working up to a big, smashing thrill. And believe me, it gets there! The rest of the story is just so much tripe, made interesting by the splendid characterization of the Royle girl by Carol Dempster and by the comedy of the inimitable W. C. Fields; but when the girl is trapped by gangsters at the inn, after getting the well' known evidence which will free the man unjustly convicted of murder, and when she escapes into the raging cyclone and the inn is demolished about the heads of the vil' lains after they capture her and throw her into the cellar — • wow! Nothing like it ever happened, . really, but who cares? Not this unsophisticated reviewer, for one. Coming back to earth, there's a good bit of real truth in "Braveheart," one of the most sincere and convincing pictures seen in many a day. It's from the old stage play, "Strongheart," in which these old eyes saw Robert Edeson star a score of years ago. Edeson is also in the cast of the film version, but this time as the father of the heroine. Rod La Rocque now plays the Indian brave who goes to the white man's college and who, after being unjustly dis' honored at school and cast out of his tribe, redeems himself by rescuing the girl and retrieving the fortunes of his fellow red men. It was a good story twenty years ago, and it's a good one now. As for the romance between the Indian and the white girl, inter-racial love is no new thing. Romance of "Braveheart, " however, ends in a parting — but it is not a sad ending; rather a wistful one which will bring sentimental sighs to the lips of the fair patrons. Looking at "Braveheart" through the eyes of my cynical friend, I could find very few instances of movieism, and these only when they were necessary for plot development. I'm going to drag the aforementioned friend to see Rod in this picture, hoping to silence his supercritical objections; but I hope they don't show "The Golden Strain" on the same bill, for if he ever sees that one, he'll kid the well-known raiment off me. "The Golden Strain" is a Movie with a capital M, so completely saturated with improbabilities (a two-dollar word meaning hokum) that it wouldn't carry conviction even to those innocents who put their trust in the government weather forecasts. From beginning to end there isn't one incident of the main plot to which one might point and say, "I knew of a case like that." Not that it isn't entertaining — it is, very. But it just isn't "real" in the sense that corned beef and cabbage are real. You really can't compare pictures dealing with the great open spaces to life; in the first place, as Richard Dix has shown us in his "Womanhandled," the west isn't that way any more; and in the second place, these films are built with one idea in mind — action, and the verities are necessarily and quite justifiably sacrificed to make a thrill-fan's holiday. As a matter of fact, it was a pretty useless thing for me to pay any attention at all to my friend's carping, because when .ou get right down to it, movies are mov.js and are made for movie fans, and it's a well-known fact that you can't make realism out of imagination. The only man who ever did it was Frankenstein, and look what happened to him! The Social Life of Screen Folks — Continued from page 59 Priscilla wasn't contending, though. If she had been, there would probably have been no chance for anybody else. Priscilla has grown so sylphlike, you would hardly know her, and she wears black lately a great deal, looking perfectly gorgeous in it. Somebody asked Priscilla Dean whether she is going to divorced — her husband is Wheeler Oakman, you know — and she said no, she was afraid she might be foolish and get married again if she got a divorce from Wheeler! Dorothy Farnum was there, looking altogether too pretty for a writer. She should be in pictures herself. Mary Aitken was sewing on a baby dress for her expected little one. She is sweeter than ever with approaching motherhood, and is so happy over the expected event. William Haines played a trick on Patsy on Christmas Day. He called her up on the phone. "Is this Capitol 1306? I want to speak to Mary." "You have the wrong number," responded Patsy. "There is no Mary here." "Oh, I thought that maybe Merry Christmas was there!" answered Billie. "Who is it speaking?" demanded Patsy indignantly. "This is Hap," answered the voice. Again Patsy bit. "Hap who?" she asked. "Happy New Year," answered the voice. And he wouldn't tell his name. Patsy thought and thought, but it wasn't until Billie's roses arrived Christmas afternoon that she realized to whom that voice belonged! YOU might really think that this was an Only Their Wives Party," declared Patsy, as we listened to the chatter around Mrs. Samuel Goldwyn's lunch table. You know by this time, or at least you ought to know, that Mrs. Goldwyn is Frances Howard on the stage and screen. Only of course she isn't on the stage and screen any more and says that she is completely happy just being a nice wife and home maker. "Nearly everybody here," Patsy confided, "has fame in her own name, but just the same each lady insists on talking about her husband." Mr. and Mrs. Goldwyn have taken the house that Betty Compson lived in before Betty married James Cruze and went to live in that gorgeous Spanish house in Flintridge. It is a lovely mansion on Hollywood Boule