Screenland (Sept 1922–Feb 1923)

vvyn is a remarkable man. This is a wonderful studio. The co-operation here is splendid. My story is going to be called 'Noblesse Oblige.' It is laid in San Francisco in the period of 1860. They tell me costume plays aren't popular. This is a costume play — there, how will that do?" Well, I quoted her just like that. Also told of her superb sartorial indifference, her careless hair-dressing, her unbecoming hat, shoved back at a rakish angle when it disturbed her, and of her skirt three inches longer than the style. And, mind you, I really liked Gertrude Atherton, just as she was, just as I wrote about her, with all her frankness, her scorn of slush, her sartorial indifference. But, alas! You see, Mrs. Atherton did not think she was sartorially indifferent, and she did not like my crude bare report of her remarks, cither — so there you are. Or take Clayton Hamilton — who feared no man and said exactly what he thought. He knew I was there to absorb him and his ideas and he continued to say just what he thought. Amongst other things he said no eminent author was successful on the screen. "Rupert Hughes isn't an eminent author, he is a successful author." He also made a good many quite caustic remarks about producers and directors, including those Weeks." Why, do you know my "Three Weeks" is read in every university in the country as the finest example of modern emotional literature. I had a delightful visit with their Majesties the King and Queen of Spain — delightful couple. They take a tremendous interest in my work. I can't think why the American reporters insist upon thinking me a snob. Of course, I am not. I prefer refined people because they are more attractive." And so on for over an hour. So I faithfully recorded her words, added a little psycho-analytic character analysis of the interested variety that we accord our most distinguished jail queens, and really spread myself rather well. But I assure you Elinor did not approve of it at all. Charlie Chaplin and Edna Purviance were my most happy interviewees — although I treated them with scant consideration, joshed them, told many things about Charlie's early life and Edna's pending love affairs and the advent of Mildred — and" even naughtily misinterpreted some of their most innocent remarks — never, never did I hear the hint of a kick, it was all I could go as far as I liked. right with them ALICE DUER MILLER, another "eminent author," was a victim of .mine. Having read all her books with I ask you, who was I he was associated with. Now, that I should insult so lofty a high-brow by toning down his best caustic bon mots? But was he delighted with my scrupulous record ? He was not. I HAD much better luck with Bill Hart. Bill knew exactly what he meant to say, including the fact that his boys' books were amongst the best of their kind, that he hoped the public didn't think he was cruel to Pinto, his horse, because he wasn't ; he hoped the public did not suspect him of employing doubles, because he wouldn't for anything, and as to this censorship matter . . . whereupon he proceeded to recite a lovely, well-constructed, carefully thought-out argument against censorship — and he just loved my faithful report. It read aw7fully well. But I can't claim the same success for Elinor Glyn. Yet I so absorbed Elinor that I haven't been able to associate happily with plebeians ever since. Said Elinor: "I am a sybarite, I must have exquisite things about me. If I were poor I would sit up all night to launder my fine underwear. Oh, yes, indeed, royalty and the aristocracy are superior to common people I can't endure common people. My heroines, even when they come from the lower ranks, like Katherine Bush, are Nature's gentlewomen. Many of the workmen in this studio are Nature's aristocrats. I dislike to see women smoke. I never allow a man to kiss me after smoking until he has cleaned his teeth. You know, the public doesn't understand me. They are so vulgar. They wholly misinterpreted my " "Three 26 avidity, I was prepared she looked or what she •J Gertrude Atherton told me: "I have promised the W, C. T. U. that I wouldn't smoke in public." She didn't like my crude, bare reports of her remarks. Photo by Hoover to admire her, no matter how said. But in my capacity of a faithful interviewer I was forced to record that she said "Oh, dear, I can't talk about things. I haven't a sensible remark in my head. Ask me questions." "W'hat do I think about woman's suffrage — goodness, I don't know, we've got it." (You will recall that some of her brilliantly caustic literary witicisms and joshing of the anti-statesmen played a large part in helping that along.) "No, I don't expect we shall be any brighter than the men. Oh, dear, I am not saying anything bright, am I ? I never can when I am interviewed. Those in my books are worked over and over." And so on. So I told that, and also about her shy, timid, slightly dowdy, passive and deceitfully drab-appearing personality — so remarkable as encasing so dazzling witty a mind — . But again I liked her, just as she was, just as I wrote about her. Her enchanting modesty intrigued me. But I have reason to believe that even my adored Alice felt that I had failed her. She, my fine intellectual Alice, could have ' stood just a little hokum. Mary Roberts Rinehardt was different yet again. She has all the dazzling personality and I said so. She talked blithely on every subject under the sun. She may, indeed, be counted a professional expert interviewee, she manages to convey a careless impression of complete frankness while actually remaining the pink discretion. And she can stand verbatim reporting. of So I wrote it just as she said it — but I really did not write that interview, Mary did it herself, and so dashed well that I couldn't have improved upon it if I would.