Silver Screen (May-Oct 1934)

"Whoa !" George O'Brien Has Deserted "Westerns" and How Looks Toward Another "Sunrise" By S. R. Mook After "Frontier Marshal," Sheriff George O'Brien arrested his career of arrested development. THE sun dipped behind the hills, leaving the sky a mottled mass of red and gold. "Cut," yelled the director. "Wrap 'em up. Let's go," yelled the assistant. There were the usual goodbyes, the usual protestations of undying friendship between members of any motion picture company, which are always voiced at the finish of a production. George O'Brien walked over to his horse and patted him affectionately on the neck. "Take a good look around, old fellow," he advised. "It's probably the last time you'll ever see a motion* picture camera." He had just finished making "The Frontier Marshal" and the company had been on location. Back in his dressing room an hour later, he pulled off his chaps and surveyed them contemplatively. "I wonder," he mused, "if I ought to give these to the Museum of Natural History? Or should I hang them over the fireplace in our living room as a reminder of a life that is dead and gone? Or maybe it would be better just to burn them and forget about it. Huh?" "In the first place," I began, "burning hair and leather don't smell any too good and, in the second place, psychic though I may be— and am— I haven't an idea what the devil you're talking about." "Hmm," said George. A moment later there was a mighty splashing and uproar in the shower and a voice, coming through for September 1934 the curtain, said, "Well, considering it's you, I'll tell you what I was talking about. I'm not going to make anymore Westerns." "The voice was as matter-of-fact, as unemotional as George's voice always is but I'll tell you for fair, his words left me flabbergasted. I was that surprised! Not make any more Westerns, indeed! Why, in the minds of the public, George and Bob Steele and Westerns are synonymous. First Bob deserted Westerns, and got to work on an aviation serial, and now George. When I had pulled myself together a little I said, "What brought this on? Marriage?" "No," said George, rubbing vigorously with a towel. "No, it wasn't marriage. It's something that goes even deeper than that. "You see, up until the time the talkies came in, I'd never made a Western picture. I'd made, among others, 'Sunrise,' which Murnau directed, and I got some pretty swell notices for my work in that. But I've been in this business long enough to know that a 'Sunrise' doesn't happen every day— or even every two or three months, which was about as often as I made a new picture. I realized there'd be stretches when I'd be making pictures that would turn out to be run-of-the-mill program films. "One of the first pictures I made after 'Sunrise' was 'Salute'— a picture dealing with life at West Point and Annapolis. It should have been a swell picture, but the cast wasn't entirely right, so it turned out just fair. That gave me an idea of what George O'Brien. The day comes v/hen an actor must refuse to play in any more "hoss operas" and resolutely turn from the trail that leads to oblivion. to expect. "Well, suddenly there sprang up a great demand for Westerns. Mr. Wurtzel said, 'You can ride. Why not make a few Westerns. It will develop a new public for you.' It was all right with me, so Sue Carol and I made 'The Lone Star Ranger,' which was one of the most successful Westerns ever produced. Naturally, the company wanted another one after that. And then another and another. First thing I knew I was making nothing but Westerns. It was all right for a time. Every year I'd go into Mr. Wurtzel's office and say, 'Well, Sol, I'll make so and so many pictures this year and I want so and so much money for them.' And he'd say, 'All right, George,' and that would be that. "But here's the rub: I like Westerns and I enjoy making them. But, at best, they're cheaply produced pictures and, as a rule, they're made in such a hurry you can't spend much time on details, They're designed principally for kids, so the stories don't have to be too plausible. Don't misunderstand me; we did the very best we could with them but it was impossible to make as many as we made and still get good stories every time. And that's bad for any actor." George paused to pull on his hose and knot his scarf. "Suddenly it occurred to rne," he continued, "that I was getting nowhere as an actor. I was doing the best I could with [Continued on page 58] 29