Screenland (Sept 1922–Feb 1923)

Hollywood, SCREENLAND c»iiio™» gence Mr. Bloom had so highly praised in many interviews, was, with remarkable unanimity, staying away from Mr. Bloom's pictures. For Mr. Bloom this was most inconvenient as he had relied upon the profits of pictures he already had released for funds with which to finish the one upon which he was now engaged. "No profits, no pictures," he said to himself as glumly he contemplated the typewritten evidence of his mistaken appraisal of the intelligence of the moving picture public. "I know I can't get another dime in advance." Under his contract with the distributing organization he received five thousand dollars each week. Every Friday morning the distributors deposited the five thousand in a Federal Reserve bank in New York and every Friday afternoon a Federal Reserve bank in Los Angeles notified Mr. Bloom that the money was at his disposal. But lately the telegraph which made this possible had been carrying to Mr. Bloom urgent inquiries as to why his picture was not making more rapid progress. The answer was easy. Mr. Bloom was having the greatest difficulty in raising the twenty thousand dollars that was to match the distributors' twenty. They were to send him five thousand every week for four weeks. But now with Bruce Wappinger chafing at the bit and eager to start shooting. Mr. Bloom found that his chances of fur nishing his share of the production cost were dim. He had counted upon his sixty-five per cent of the net profits on his old picture to help him out, but sixty-five per cent of nothing does not go very far even in the moving-picture business. Nor was he as fortunate as those of his competitors who had pictures in reserve which they could release as they chose. Mr. Bloom's cupboard was bare of canned pictures. If he released anything he would have to make it first ; if he had no money he could not make it ; he had no money Just as he was wondering how much more, if any, he could borrow on his life insurance policies, Opportunity knocked on his door. Not knowing that it was Opportunity, but rather apprehensive that it might be a creditor, the distressed little man said mildly: "Come in." He who accepted the invitation did not look like a creditor. To Mr. Bloom he looked like a man who might own a string of batiks. It had been some time since Mr. Bloom had even succeeded in owing money to a bank. The visitor, a man of middle-age and impressive carriage, bowed and without speaking, ran an uncompromising eye over Mr. Bloom and Mr. Bloom's furniture. Mr. Bloom had an uneasy suspicion that neither met with the visitor's approval. But the visitor certainly met with Mr. Bloom's. "Custom-made shoes, custom-made hat, custom-made shirt," the producer decided, and when the visitor took off his hat, added the mental comment: "Custom-made toupee." The iron-gray hair, of whose authenticity the little man was so doubtful, thatched a head that might have been carved from a block of rosy marble. The square jaw, the thin, tight lips and the formidable nose that embellished the monolithic countenance conveyed an impression of power. That the possessor of this power had utilized some of it for his own use was fairly evident from the garments he wore and the assured and easy fashion in which he wore them. To Mr. Bloom he looked like a distinguished citizen. To a less impressionable observer he would more closely have resembled a successful crook. While Mr. Bloom studied him, he studied the office, and, being the first to complete his inspection, turned to the owner of the office and, in a voice that was full of decision, announced : "I've come here to lend you some money." Mr. Bloom, with his eyes and his mouth wide open, started to rise from his chair. "Sit down," commanded the stranger; "I've got lots of things to say to you." An hour later he still was saying them, and Mr. Bloom, innocent as a middle-aged dove, was drinking in the words of the serpent. ONE month from that blessed day the insidious Mr. Popham was again in Mr. Bloom's office and again he was talking. This time he had a grievance. "Bloom," he said pettishly, "I thought you told me that this director of ours is a woman-hater." "Ain't he?" asked Mr. Bloom, surprised. "He always told me he was." He's trying to get chummy with Miss Adair." he?" asked Mr. Bloom, with interest. "Well, if I was a producer and didn't have to set a good example not only to the moving picture business, but to the whole world, I'd try to get chummy with her myself — not too chummy, but just chummy enough. That is, if my wife would let me, which she wouldn't. But I'd want to just the same." This impenitent avowal aroused in the granite-faced man nothing but scorn. "Nobody on this lot is to try to get chummy with Miss Adair," he said portently. "I forbid it." "When people like each other all the forbidding in the world don't do no good," replied Mr. Bloom with conviction. "I wouldn't be surprised to hear that Miss Adair and Bruce Wappinger like each The girl and the pug hey've got no business liking each other," flared the other. 'Til put a stop to it as sure as my name is J. E. Popham." "Take a tip from me that don't cost you nothing," advised Mr. Bloom. "The surest way to bring people together is to try to pull them apart. Think it over. And if it's just the same to you, please be so good as to go some place else to do your thinking. I've got all my mail to go through." There was a pause during which J. E. Popham occupied himself with his nails. "As soon as this picture is finished," he said icily, "I want you to fire Wappinger." Mr. Bloom, who had begun to read his niail, looked up with eyes that were undisturbed. "I won't do it," he remarked quietly, and went back to his letters. J. E. Popham smote the desk. "Whose money is running this plant ?" he demanded. "Nobody's money is running this plant. I'm running it," said Mr. Bloom. "You've got some money in it. That's all." "And vou won't fire Wappinger?" "The answer is still 'No'." "Then," declared Mr. Bloom's financial backer, "you'll make no more pictures with my money." Mr. Bloom read for almost a minute before he answered. Then he laid aside the paper he had been reading, and said: