Screenland (Sept 1922–Feb 1923)

26 SCREENLAND Caii/W* nese pagodas, midVictorian housefronts, western barrooms, Downing Streets, Wall Streets, Main Streets — a conglomeration of mad disarray that faithfully has served the great American box-office and waits to serve it still. When Tessie comes to Hollywood to break into the movies, it takes her weeks to get from the casting-office bench to the sets of this back lot. On the first day she shows her photographs to a sphinx who governs dramatic destinies from a little wicker window at the top of a flight of steps that leads from the sidewalk. Then Tessie begins her fight for recognition. Friendless — unless she chooses to be too friendly — Tessie begins the struggle toward stardom through the social stratiform of the studio. Tessie knows that Constance Talmadge, Jackie Coogan, Ruth Rolahd, Owen Moore, Guy Bates Post, Elaine Hammerstein and a group of all-star companies are working on the United lot. In a month or two, if she is ambitious and persistent, stratagem may land her as extra in one of their pictures for a day or a week. At the R-C gate, she hopes that Harry Carey, the Carter de Havens, Ethel Clayton, Helen Jerome Eddy, Frankie Lee, Jane Novak, Gloria Joy or one of several other stars or troupes are about to begin a new picture. Movie companies, the extra soon learns, are often "between productions." Too many betweens will mean trouble for Tessie — one-meal days, darned heels and insinuating postscripts scrawled on the rent bill. ThIS studio group is one of the largest in Hollywood — which means, of course, in the world. Miles of the best photoplays are produced here every year. Think of the thousands of thrilling feet that are cranked on that crooked little street in the center. It is easy to guess why the street is zig-zagged, isn't it ? So three or four companies may work on it at the same time. Some day, when a cameraman squints through his finder in the background of a Kaffir village missionary barbecue thaj: comes to your theatre, you will understand. Some careless producer has built a straight street on his back lot. The gravel driveways that squirm in erratic cycloids in the upper left of the picture would be ideal lovers' lanes, except that they are not a part of the studios. That is a cemetery. It is never used in pictures. Professional superstition forbids the use of graveyards for atmosphere — even in comedies. For big, broad sweeps of landscape, which are required in so many photoplays, companies leave the lots and go on location— shore, mountains or desert. There is a heart-rending story about a director who took his cast out on the desert last month for "western stuff." Next day a telegram reached the studio manager. "Taking next train home," the telegram read; "we have better western atmosphere on the back lot!" SlNCE quality in a dramatic production is habitually fudged by the amount of money it costs, many directors believe that the farther they travel for atmosphere, the better the picture. Some of them have a contempt for the accustomed habitats of the tripod. In the old days (1910-15) a Sennett troupe would start shooting at one end of an alley and when they reached the other end would have a finished Keystone comedy. Now, the better the director, the longer his location trips. But it is disrespectful to talk about impolite things like comedy when visiting United and R-C, the abode of serious drama. Yet, on this spacious back lot we find a species of that strange creature to which still clings his old comedy name — the gag man. The gag man hangs around the set, all day, every day. He knows more than the director and sometimes drops hints of this sort in the form of ideas and suggestions. The director either ignores or ridicules them, and the next day makes re-takes to contain them. "Every laugh is worth a thousand bucks," is a saying on the comedy lots. In serious drama, a good situation or improved development of a situation ("building it up" is studio parlance for the trick) is worth even more. So, you see, the gag man is a paying investment. Besides, enough of them keep down the grass in the back lot. That cluster of cottages in the right part of the diamond is mostly stars' dressing rooms. Mary Pickford, until recently, occupied one of them. (Now, as you know, Mary and Doug have a fine new. studio of their own.), These little studio cottages are surrounded by luxuriant gardens and the labyrinthean play-streets that squeeze among them bewilder the visiting stranger. We almost forgot to mention that the United Studio has a publicity manager. No ethical movie organization is complete without a publicity manager. The star has a personal publicity representative; then there is a company publicity man; more writerups are hired by the releasing concern. Then, on top of it all, here at United, the studio itself has its own personal publicity representative. We don't remember whether the publicity representative has a publicity representative, or not. At R-C and United, there are enough publicity men, of various sorts, to completely fill, three deep and tamped in, that fine big laboratory in the lower right of our view. But they are seldom captivated in such elegant quarters. The publicity man usually occupies a small alcove or a dusty lair close by the production manager's office. To function, all he needs is a typewriter and a desk with two drawers — one for copy paper, the other for clinking entertainment equipment. It is the asserted custom — at some studios here and there — to stupefy visiting interviewers with hospitality—when it can be had. Then, when the interviewer starts away, walking sidewise and talking backward, he has become convinced (and correctly so) that he has seen fully three stars. Notice the artistic young building with an acre of lawn in front. It is the main thinking laboratory of the R-C units. It also holds the company dining-room. It is a delightful custom at this place to entertain guests at mealtime with executives, stars, players — just like one of them. The atmosphere is appealing and homey and the next time you come to Hollywood just drop in at noon and see your favorite ham and eggs. But let us not tarry aloft until we have drained the gas tank. This journey over the United-R-C spawn-beds of screen drama is now at an end. If we get back to the flying field safely, we will take another trip next month. Where shall it be? Mack Sennett's? All right — next month we will look over the birthplace of custard pie comedy and cast our shadows on its hallowed ground. Home> James.