Screenland (May–Oct 1927)

82 SCREENLAND critic wrote of her: "Mile Bernhardt . . . is a tall, pretty girl with a slender figure and a very pleasing expression, the upper part of her face is remarkably beautiful. She holds herself well, and her enunciation is perfectly clear. This is all that can be written about her at present." Again his criticism ran : "Mile. Bernhardt took the role of Hcnriette in Les Femmes Savantes. And she was just as pretty and insignificant as ever." Just now the world may consider you "pretty and insignificant" but what difference docs that make? The world doesn't know, can't see, that you carry around in your breast a spark that will some day ignite and set fire to the crumbling, dramatic formulas of nincteen-twenty-seven. As I told you before, in this age, in this generation, the greatest dramatic artist that the world has ever seen will be brought forth — right here in America. The time is right. The setting is right. And the honor of being the greatest dramatic artist of the most idealistic nation in the world will fall to the American girl who makes herself ready to grasp it — worthy to receive it. And that's all I can tell you — Gertrude Smith, Wilma Hutchison, Gertrude Kassirer — and the Hundreds of Others Who Want to Get into the Movies. But in closing there's one little wish I want to send to every one of you. Shakespeare has phrased it so much better than ever I could. So I'll just say "Your hearts' desires go with you". Sincerely, Rosa Reilly. P. S. The above inspiring article by Rosa Reilly will perhaps stimulate some one to the point of wishing they had the money necessary to follow the fascinating though arduous trail of the novitiate in Art of the Drama. If you feel that you have the divine spark and if you are willing to go through the laborious months of training. Screenland feels that you should have the opportunity to do so, and if you have not the money necessary and are willing to work to secure it th* business department of Sdreenland wilr be most happy to make an arrangement with you so that you can earn the money that you need by securing subscriptions. If you are interested write to Mr. Walter G. Springer, publisher of Screenland at 49 W. 4?th St., and he will help you to help yourself. The Inside On "Lay off, lay off" he coaxed them . . . but still they acted on . . . "Hey you" he shouted into the crowd, helplessly, and the Interpreter came out said something in yiddish that meant "Save it" and the women at once sat down on the curbstone and chatted gaily in their native guttral. These extras are rather unique from several aspects . . . Mostly, when extras are engaged, they doll ... oh my yes . . . they doll and they try as best they can to Nazimova all over the set . . . Not so with these Allen Streeters . . . There isn't a fleck of powder or rouge on them, not a dab of grease paint ... no false whiskers . . . plenty whiskers, oh my yes, but they are the real, dyed-in-the-beard variety. Not a cent for costumes . . . Just as they are they come, the most naturally untidy group of people that ever faced a camera. And hogs for punishment. You've never seen a better behaved crowd in your life and how they love to please. You've literally got to get out and tear them apart. By the bye Fox, in putting on this bit of Ghetto, has done one of the finest pieces of stagecraft I've ever seen. Maybe you don't know where Allen Street is . . . Maybe you're too Fifth Avenue or Park to know your lower East Side. Well, it's just below Houston and Houston is just below where the numeral streets start and where the East side pays rent for its sidewalk privileges, as well it might. It is also where the Blooey begins . . . the streets being blooey with population, perspiration and push carts. The scenes I saw shot were mostly fight scenes. All over the streets under the big elevated structure, with an honest to reality elevated stairway, fire escapes, babies in baskets, apples on pushcarts, carrots leaks, pickles, doorways leading into dark passages beyond, tailor shops, fire hydrants and a litter on the streets that made you wonder whether you were on 56th Street or not. George O'Brien is the husky hero. He is earning every cent of his pay and should at the end of this picture be able to take on Gene Tunney. He fights all the way down the street and on up the stoop into Lipvitch's emporium. I mustn't forget to tell you how Lipvitch got the job. Virginia Valli in a plain gingham whatever-it-is follows the crowd and the fight. You have a funny feeling in watching a shot like this. You may stand on the edge of the crowd just out of the picture and run along with it and still be out of it. You may stand right beside Valli and O'Brien and hear them talking to each other and still be safely outside the eye of the camera. Up comes a big cop and the crowd breaks into a cheer, a good old New York East Side West Side University cheer. It's funny also about cops on the set . . . You never know which is the real from the actor cop . . . until you do what you shouldn't. Oh yes, about the Jewish tailor playing Lipvitch. It seems that Fox sent someone down into the Ghetto to pick a tailor for the part. The Jewish race has always been praised for its shrewd, business ability . . . but not enough. The lower East side with all its commercial instinct heard about the agent coming before he started and he couldn't get a tailor to act Lipvitch for less than six hundred for the job. But as the Jewish people are just a little bit quicker on the commercial trigger than anybody else except a New England farmer or a Scotchman, so too is one Jew apt to be a little bit quicker than the others. And so it was that one tailer bid in the job at what may be said to be a cut throat price and got the job . . . Now he is earning a salary as an actor and pressing suits for a new line of customers on Tenth Avenue . . . one foot in Allen Street CCXoiv ivho do you thin\? No.' It's Lars Hanson in "The Wind". Continued from page 29 as a business man and the other on Tenth Avenue as an artist. Speaking of commercialism, I stood talking to J. Farrell McDonald on the stairway of the artificial Elevated Structure in front of Lipvitch's. We were talking of nationalities. "What's yours?" I asked him. "Irish and Scotch." said he. "They're both good," said I thinking for the moment of something to drink. "Yes," said he, "I'm Irish enough to be foolish with my money and Scotch enough not to make a fool of myself with it." Then he went on with a twinkle in his eye (the Irish one) and said: "There aren't any Jews in Scotland . . . they'd starve." They pulled another fight the day I was there, which was interesting from several angles. I saw perspiration applied to an actor's face. My experience with perspiration has al' ways been that it is earned only by hard work. In the Movies you may reverse the order. Just before the fight, Dwan was sitting on a little truck with four pneumatic tires under it. Two cameras stood up on the truck just over his head and two giant lights back of them on little platforms right and left attached to cables that supplied them juice. Everything was set and ready to shoot. The crowd was all rehearsed and eager to spring into action. "Before we start," said Dwan, "somebody put some water on him." And then I saw an assistant director signal a man who approached with a bucket of water and a small moth eaten whisk broom. The assistant director took the broom in his right hand and dipped it into the bucket. Then he held his left hand in front of O'Brien and hit it with the wet whisk broom spattering O'Brien's face. The result was a series of little round drops of water where they refused to mingle with the grease paint. This was sweating under the least possible exertion. The exertion came immediately after, when O'Brien got into action with young Wolheim and Johnny Dooley. The fight was on, Jimmy Dooley butting in until Virginia Valli hit him on the soft part of his head with a brick. Then the little truck backed away pulled by two men the lights began to edge down the street pulled by a gang of men and I had to break for shelter, into the shop of a very nifty outfitter to women whose shop windows were filled with wedding garments such as Eastsiders wear when they stand up at the