Screenland (May-Oct 1928)

— happy. Only her hands have a story to tell — large, capable hands, work-worn and wrinkled. She has made a living with those hands. Once she was a dress-maker. Again, she started a tea-shop when times were bad, and made Scotch short-bread and other delicacies and served them herself. She has cooked, mended and scrubbed. And she still cooks her own and her husband's breakfast before she leaves for the studio, and cooks their dinner when she comes home at night! When you see her in the picture, you will notice that in her big scenes she never indulges in the hysterics associated with screen motherhood. Bereaved of three sons, she expresses agony and grief of the deepest feeling, but without a tear. All the poignancy and beauty and tenderness of true motherhood is revealed on that screen, and it is the audiences who weep. You forget most previous screen mothers when you see her. She was talking about her work in the picture when somebody asked her how many children she has in real life. "I am sorry," she said. "I haven't any." She smiled a little, sadly. 'All mothers don't have children," she added. She would rather not talk about the two babies she had, who died. She loved them, and if they had lived she would probably not be playing mothers on the screen. As it is, she lavishes all her mother-love on her picture sons and daughters. Like Mary Pickford, she loves all children, having none of her own to love. She is called 'Mother' by the whole studio. She started in mothering extras; now she is mothering stars. (Incidentally, she still mothers the extras, too). If anyone had told Maragaret Mann forty years ago that she would be an actress some day, all her Scotch ancestors would have risen up in wrath. She was never even inside a theatre until pretty she was a woman. Her family, strict Scots, frowned on play-acting. Margaret, one of ten sisters and brothers, had to leave school when she was ten years old, and go to work. She was one of the props of the family; she mothered the younger ones and helped to feed them all. By the time she was twenty she was an expert dress-maker. Imagine her amazement then if anyone had suggested that in another forty years she would be buying expensive gowns in one of the deluxe shopping streets of the world — for herself! That she would be earning almost a thousand dollars a week, every week! The little dressmaker wouldn't even have laughed. It wouldn't have seemed funny to hear such things, when she was sewing away on pretty things for other girls to wear! She had the pioneer spirit, this little Scotch girl. She decided she could do better away from her home town of Aberdeen. South Africa appealed to her imagination — and one day, she up and sailed for Johannesburg! It was, although she didn't realize it at the time, her first step toward fame and fortune. That trip picked her right up out of the rut and set her on the right track — the broad highway of ambition. In Johannesburg she met James F. Smythe, an Englishman, and they were married. Seven years in South Africa — and the pioneer urge exerted itself again. Margaret Mann Smythe suggested that they pull up stakes — and seek their fortune in a new land — America! They lived in Seattle, Washington, U. S. A., where James Smythe found work in his capacity as accountant. There they stayed for years, and they might be there today if — once more that little pricking imp of ambition hadn't teased the wife. She had heard so much about California. It called her with a siren call that couldn't be resisted. It seems strange to her, looking back, that she should have answered it. But she did. And almost as soon as she and her husband set foot in that sunny, fragrant state, her career began! Her real career, that she had been waiting for all those years. Perhaps because of her gracious manner and her poise, and that beautiful white hair, she was asked to impersonate Martha Washington in a pageant at San Diego Commemorating the father of his country. Of course, she accepted — and made such an impression that everybody began to urge her to try the movies. Armed with the brand of Scotch confidence that doesn't come out of a bottle, and one lone picture of herself, Margaret Mann went to a film studio to apply for work. And she was given extra work immediately! At first it was as easy as that. Extra work, as well as bits, came her way. Then a real part — the mother in Allen Holubar's Hearts of Humanity, one of the first of the big war pictures. Margaret Mann loved the work from the start. She liked the people she met — young people, for the most part, Marion Davies must whom she could encourage, and stay a comedienne. pat, and cheer along. From have so few the first she realized that she 'belonged.' She ones was a born actress, although it took her forty years to find it out! She can forget herself, the director, the camera and the carpenters and the lights, and submerge herself in her character. In the very first 'bit' she ever played, she was so much engrossed in it that the director had to make retakes. It was a party scene, with the extras seated around Marsraret Mann must have The fur nec\piece offered in the Marion Davies contest has been awarded to Mrs. H. M. Lockwood 1617 Grafton Street Los Angeles, California from which we quote briefly: Quality Street and pictures of that type, have a whimsical appeal that reaches the best in me, but it's the Fair Co-Ed, Tilh'e the Toiler and their companions, that hand me a wallop and send me home singing. After all, the 'dear, dead days* are dear but awfully dead. ». '»' ■ t V£ We was a party scene, at tables in all their .finery, looked an important and handsome dowager, for the director picked her out of the mob for a 'bit.' "I'll give you a title to speak," he said. "Look around at all the guests and smile and say: 'What a wonderful gathering this is!' Get it?" Margaret Mann got it. She performed her part, as she thought, perfectly. She gazed at the assembled 'guests,' smiled graciously, and spoke the title. She was surprised when she heard the director shout: "That's fine — that's great! But next time for gosh' sake turn toward the camera, not away from it!" To this day she prefers not to face the camera if she can help it. And in these days of intelligent direction, some of the finest scenes are the (Cont. on page 77) 24