EMBRYO STARS
We fell to the lure of the Bret Harte story this winter. We advanced
to the romances of the hardy Argonauts, and the “pretty ladies” of the
mining towns. What a wealth of picturesque cinema material the lives of
the rugged forty-niners afforded!
Dell Henderson was featured as the handsome gambler, _Jack Hamlin_; and
Claire MacDowell as the intriguing lady of uncertain virtue; Stephanie
Longfellow as the rare, morally excellent wife.
Blanche Sweet was still too much the young girl to interpret or look
the part of Bret Harte’s halo-ized Magdelenes. Mr. Griffith, as yet
unwilling to grant that she had any soul or feeling in her work,
was using her in “girl” parts. But he changed his opinion with “The
Lonedale Operator.” That was the picture in which he first recognized
ability in Miss Sweet.
The outdoor life of the West had plumped up the fair Blanche, and
Mr. Griffith felt at this stage in her development she typified,
excellently well, buxom youth. Why wouldn’t Blanche have plumped up
when she arrived on location with a bag of cream puffs nearly every day
and had her grandmother get up at odd hours of the night to fry her
bacon sandwiches? She soon filled out every wrinkle of the home-made
looking tweed suit she had worn on her arrival in Los Angeles.
* * * * *
Way, way up on the Santa Monica cliffs we built a log cabin for Blanche
Sweet to dwell in, as the heroine of “The White Rose of the Wilds.”
The location was so remote, the climb so stiff, that once having made
it no one was going down until the day’s work was over.
It was a heavenly day. Gazing off into the distances quite sufficed,
until, whetted by clean, insistent breezes, little gnawings in the
tummy brought one back to realities. It took more than dreamy seas
and soft blue skies to deter a hungry actor from expressing himself
around lunch time. And so, in querulous accents soon were wafted on the
sage-scented air such questions as: “Gee, haven’t they sent for the
lunch yet? Gosh, I’m hungry. Hasn’t the car gone? It’ll take a couple
of hours to get food way up here. Hope they bring us enough--this
air--I’m starved.”
Sooner or later lunch would be on the way. The car had to go for it as
far as Venice. It was nearly three o’clock when the car returned and by
that time every one was doggone hungry.
Mr. Griffith had tipped his two “leads” and Mr. Bitzer and myself to
get off in a little group, for hot juicy steaks had been ordered for
those select few--leading players must be well nourished--and it was
just as well to be as quiet and unobtrusive about it as possible. For
while it wasn’t exactly fair, sandwiches and coffee was all the lunch
the company usually afforded for the extra people.
Mack Sennett, who always had a most generous appetite, was wild-eyed
by now, for he was just an “extra” in “The White Rose of the Wilds.”
And he was on to the maneuvers of the “steak” actors and so resentful
of the partiality shown that he finally could contain himself no
longer, and in bitter tones, subdued though audible, he spoke: “Steaks
that way,” with a nod of his head indicating Griffith and the leading
people, “and sandwiches this way”--himself and the supers. And though
Mack sat off on the side, and from his point of vantage continued to
throw hungry glances, they brought him no steak that day.
This winter it was that Mr. Sennett invested in a “tux” and went over
to the Alexandria Hotel night after night, where he decorated the
lobby’s leather benches in a determined effort to interest Messrs.
Kessel and Bauman. (The Kay Bee Company.) His watchful waiting got him
a job.
* * * * *
“The Battle of Elderberry Gulch” was a famous picture of those days.
The star was a pioneer baby all of whose relatives had been killed by
Indians. During the time the baby’s folks were being murdered another
party of pioneers, led by Dell Henderson, was dying of thirst near by.
With just enough life left in them to do it, they rescued the baby from
its dead relations, staggered on a few miles, and then they, too, sank
exhausted in the sand and cacti.
Another cornucopia sand-storm blew up.
Kind-hearted Dell Henderson, now sunk to earth, had protectingly tucked
the baby’s head under his coat. But the tiny baby hand (in the story,
and it was good business) had to be pictured waving above the prostrate
figures of the defunct pioneers, to show she still lived. Otherwise,
she might not have been saved by the second rescuing party, and saved
she had to be for the later chapters of the story.
For though in the end of the story the baby became the lily-white
Blanche Sweet, it was, as matter of fact, a tiny, lightly colored,
colored baby from a Colored Foundling Home, whom we often used for the
photographic value of its black eyes, and Dell must see to it that the
tiny pickaninny was in no way hurt, even though he had surreptitiously
to wave the baby hand from under his rough outer garments.
* * * * *
Having succeeded so well at Santa Monica, we decided to work other
beaches this year. We became acquainted with them all--Redonda, Long
Beach, Venice, and Playa del Rey.
The No. 2 company became especially familiar with the beaches, for
they did numbers of bathing pictures. Frank Powell was still directing
the comedies, with Dell Henderson and Mack Sennett occasionally trying
their hands at it.
It was in these bathing pictures that Mabel Normand began winning
admirers both on the screen and off. Even Mack Sennett began to take an
interest in the beautiful and reckless Mabel, a slim figure in black
tights doing daredevil dives or lovely graceful ones. Mabel was always
ready for any venturesome aquatic stunt. But her work was equally
daring on land, for she thought nothing of riding the wildest bucking
broncho bareback. It took more than bucking bronchos to intimidate the
dusky-eyed Mabel.
All of this Sennett was noting--clever kid was Mabel--and if he ever
should be a director on his own----!
* * * * *
On the beach by the old Redonda Hotel, which the passing years had
changed from a smart winter resort patronized by Easterners to a less
stylish summer one patronized by Angelenos, one balmy winter day, some
bathing scenes were being taken. This type of stuff was new to me and
I was all eyes. Working only with the Griffith company, there were lots
of things I didn’t see.
But this day there were two companies working on the same location, and
that was how I first saw Margaret Loveridge, of lovely Titian hair and
fair of face, sporting the most modern black satin bathing suit, and
high-heeled French slippers. Imagine, right in the seashore sand!
I was interested in this Loveridge girl, for she was pretty, and had a
rather professional air about her.
Sometimes when rehearsing we’d suddenly find ourselves in need of
a little two- or three-year-older, which need would be supplied by
Mr. Griffith or Mr. Powell or Dell Henderson calling right out at
rehearsal: “Who’s got a kid?” Margaret Loveridge on one such occasion
had replied affirmatively. And so we came to use her small son
occasionally; and when Margaret was working and we needed the child,
and Margaret couldn’t bring it or take care of it, she’d press her
little sister into service.
For Miss Loveridge had also a little sister. And it was some such
situation that led little sister to the movies and to Redonda at this
time.
Little sister was a mite: most pathetic and half-starved she looked
in her wispy clothes, with stockings sort of falling down over her
shoe-tops. No one paid a particle of attention to the child. But Mr.
Griffith popped up from somewhere and spied her, and gave her a smile.
The frail, appealing look of her struck him. So he said, “How’d _you_
like to work in a picture?”
“Oh, you’re just fooling--you mean _me_ to work in a picture?”
“Yes, and I’ll give you five dollars.”
No stage bashfulness in the hanging head, the limp arms, and the funny
hop skip of the feet.
“Oh, you couldn’t give me five dollars.”
“Oh, yes I can.”
“You sure you’re not fooling?”
“No, you come around some time, and you’ll see, I’ll put you in a
scene. What’s your name?”
“Mae Marsh.”
“I’ll remember, and I’ll put you in a movie some day.”
Right about now Dell Henderson was directing a picture in which Fred
Mace was playing the lead and Margaret Loveridge had a part. It was
understood about the studio that Mr. Mace was quite taken with the
charms of the fair Margaret. Now Margaret couldn’t get out on location,
and she wanted to send a message to Fred Mace, so she sent little
sister, and little sister looked so terrible to Mr. Mace that he said
to her, “Don’t let Griffith see you or your sister will lose her job.”
When Mace saw Margaret again he said, “Don’t have your sister come
around the studio looking like that.”
And Margaret answered, “Well, I will, for Mr. Griffith is going to
use some children at San Gabriel and she is going to be one of the
children.”
“All right,” answered Mace, “take your chance.”
And at San Gabriel Mae did a little more of the funny hop skip, and she
talked up rather pert to the director, “You think you’re the King” sort
of thing, and he liked it, and he said to Dell, “The kid can act, she’s
great, don’t you think so?”
Dell answered “yes,” but he didn’t think so. No one thought so but Mr.
Griffith.
A few weeks later when little Mae Marsh came to the studio carrying a
book and the boys made jokes about it, Dell said to himself, “When she
puts that down, I’m a-going to see.” The book was Tennyson’s poems.
The boys knew when a new actress came with such literature that Mr.
Griffith was already seeing her bringing home the cows, or portraying
some other old-fashioned heroine of the old-fashioned poets.
* * * * *
As intended, our stay in California this second year was much longer
than the first. The three months lengthened to five, and it was May
when the company returned East.
It did seem a pity to close up the new studio, for it was the last word
in organization. Why, we’d even a separate department for finances. The
money end of things had grown to such proportions that David could no
longer handle it as he had the first year. And Mr. Dougherty was along
too, in charge of the front office.
* * * * *
With Mabel Normand and Blanche Sweet well started on their careers, the
second winter’s work in California ended. Another milestone had been
passed, the birth of the two-reeler, which having been tried was not
found wanting.
What otherwise came out of the winter’s work as most important was
Biograph’s acquisition of the little hop-skip girl, Mae Marsh. She
played no parts this season, made very few appearances even as an
insignificant extra girl, and when the company returned to New York
they left little Mae behind them.