MACK SENNETT GETS STARTED
One of our regular “extra” people was Mack Sennett. He quietly
dubbed along like the rest, only he grouched. He never approved
whole-heartedly of anything we did, nor how we did it, nor who did it.
There was something wrong about all of us--even Mary Pickford! Said the
coming King of Comedy productions: “I don’t see what they’re all so
crazy about her for--I think she’s affected.” Florence Lawrence didn’t
suit him either--“she talks baby-talk.” And to Sennett “baby-talk” was
the limit! Of myself he said: “Sometimes she talks to you and sometimes
she doesn’t.” Good-looking Frank Grandin he called “Inflated Grandin.”
But beneath all this discontent was the feeling that he wasn’t being
given a fair chance; which, along with a smoldering ambition, was the
reason for the grouch.
When work was over, Sennett would hang around the studio watching
for the opportune moment when his director would leave. Mr. Griffith
often walked home wanting to get a bit of fresh air. This Sennett had
discovered. So in front of the studio or at the corner of Broadway and
Fourteenth Street he’d pull off the “accidental” meeting. Then for
twenty-three blocks he would have the boss all to himself and wholly
at his mercy. Twenty-three blocks of uninterrupted conversation. “Well
now, what do you really think about these moving pictures? What do you
think there is in them? Do you think they are going to last? What’s in
them for the actor? What do you think of my chances?”
To all of which Mr. Griffith would reply: “Well, not much for the
actor, if you’re thinking of staying. The only thing is to become a
director. I can’t see that there’s anything much for the actor as far
as the future is concerned.”
Mr. Sennett had come to the movies via the chorus of musical comedy.
It also was understood he had had a previous career as a trainer
for lightweight boxers. If there was one person in the studio that
never would be heard from--well, we figured that person would be Mack
Sennett. He played policemen mostly--and what future for a movie
policeman? His other supernumerary part was a French dude. But he was
very serious about his policeman and his French dude. From persistent
study of Max Linder--the popular Pathé comique of this day--and
adoption of his style of boulevardier dressing, spats, boutonnière, and
cane, Mr. Sennett evolved a French type that for an Irishman wasn’t so
bad. But even so, to all of us, it seemed hopeless. Why did he take so
much pains?
He got by pretty well when any social flair was unnecessary; when Mary
Pickford and I played peasants, tenement ladies, and washwomen, Mack
occasionally loved, honored, and cherished us in the guise of a laborer
or peddler. He had a muscle-bound way about him in these serious
rôles--perhaps he was made self-conscious by the sudden prominence. But
Mary and I never minded. The extra girls, however, made an awful fuss
when they had to work in a comedy with Sennett, for he clowned so. They
would rather not work than work with Sennett. How peeved they’d get!
“Oh, dear,” they’d howl, “do I have to work with Sennett?”
Now ’tis said he is worth five millions!
In “Father Gets in the Game,” an early release, Sennett is seen as the
gay Parisian papa, the Linder influence plainly in evidence.
Mr. Griffith was more than willing, if he could find a good story with
a leading comedy part suitable to Mr. Sennett, to let him have his
fling. Finally, one such came along--quite legitimate, with plenty of
action, called “The Curtain Pole”--venturesome for a comedy, for it was
apparent it would exceed the five-hundred-foot limit. It took seven
hundred and sixty-five feet of film to put the story over.
Released in February, 1909, it created quite a sensation.
The natives of Fort Lee, where “The Curtain Pole” was taken, were
all worked up over it. Carpenters had been sent over a few days in
advance, to erect, in a clearing in the wooded part of Fort Lee, stalls
for fruits, vegetables, and other foodstuffs. The wreckage of these
booths by M. Sennett in the guise of _M. Dupont_ was to be the big
climax of the picture. The “set” when finished was of such ambitious
proportions--and for a comedy, mind you--that we were all terribly
excited, and we concluded that while it had taken Mr. Sennett a long
time and much coaxing to get himself “starred,” it was no slouch of a
part he had eventually obtained for himself.
I know I was all stirred up, for I was a market woman giving the
green cabbages the thrifty stare, when the cab with the curtain pole
sticking out four or five feet either side, entered the market-place.
M. Dupont, fortified with a couple of absinthe frappés, was trying
to manipulate the pole with sufficient abandon to effect the general
destruction of the booths. He succeeded very well, for before I had
paid for my cabbage something hit me and I was knocked not only flat
but considerably out, and left genuinely unconscious in the center of
the stage. While I was satisfied he should have them, I wasn’t so keen
just then about Mack Sennett’s starring ventures. But he gave a classic
and noble performance, albeit a hard-working one.
One other picture was released this same year with Mack Sennett in a
prominent part--“The Politician’s Love Story.”
New York’s Central Park awoke one February morning to find her leafless
trees and brush all a-glisten with a sleet that made them look like
fantastic crystal branches. When the actors reported at the studio that
morning, they found Mr. Griffith in consultation with himself. He did
not want to waste that fairyland just a few blocks away.
A hurried look through pigeon-holed scripts unearthed no winter story.
“Well,” announced our director, “make up everybody, straight make-up.
Bobby, pack up the one top hat, the one fur coat and cap, I’ll call a
couple of taxis, and on the way we’ll change this summer story into a
winter one.”
So was evolved “The Politician’s Love Story” in which were scenes
where lovers strolled all wrapped up in each other and cuddled down
on tucked-away benches. Well, lovers can cuddle in winter as well as
summer, and we were crazy to get the silver thaw in the picture; and
we got it, though we nearly froze. But we had luxurious taxis to sit
in when not needed, and afterwards we were taken to the Casino to thaw
out, and were fed hot coffee and sandwiches in little private rooms.
“The Curtain Pole” and “The Politician’s Love Story” started the
grumbling young Mack Sennett on the road to fame and fortune. Like the
grouchy poker player who kicks himself into financial recuperation,
Mack Sennett grouched himself into success.