THE OLD DAYS END
It was being hinted in the spring of 1913 that Biograph was having a
change of heart about the secrecy regarding their players, and that
they might end it. Contrary to the policy of other companies, their
scheme was not to give the popular players the first publicity, but
the directors and camera men. D. W. Griffith would thus head the honor
list--his name to become identified with a certain class of strong
and highly artistic drama; Dell Henderson next--farce comedies; Tony
O’Sullivan--melodrama; Billy Bitzer--photography; lastly--the actors.
The Biograph had always held to the policy that they were an
“institution,” and as such, the value of their pictures did not depend
on an individual. Sufficient that it was a “Biograph.” Apparently, they
now felt they had reached a place so firmly fixed in public esteem
through the fine quality of their pictures, that giving credit to
individuals could not in any way react on them.
So D. W. Griffith became the first Biograph star. Biograph’s policy he
afterwards took to himself. He is still the “star” of his productions.
His actors continue as “leading people” as long as they stay with him.
And when they go on to bigger money and names in bigger type with other
companies and under other directors, some succeed and some do not. Mary
Pickford was one who did.
In the picture world, especially abroad, big things were now happening.
“Quo Vadis,” a great spectacle, splendidly acted, had been produced in
Italy by the Societa Italiana Cines, in three acts of four reels. It
came to America and had a run in a Broadway theatre.
From France, this same time, April, 1913, the steamer _La Touraine_
arrived in America bringing “Les Misérables” in four sections and
twelve reels.
“The Miracle,” which Morris Gest presented in the year of 1924 in the
Century Theatre, New York, as a pantomime, had been filmed by Joseph
Mencher and was shown at the Park Theatre, New York, in February, 1913.
It was a “filmed pantomime” (not a moving picture drama), based on the
Wordless Mystery Play which, under the direction of Max Reinhardt, had
had a wonderful run at the Olympic, London.
A reviewer said of it:
What was seen and heard last night only went to emphasize that the
moving picture under certain conditions, conditions like those that
prevailed last night, may be capable of providing entertainment to
be taken seriously by audiences which have never seen the inside of
an electric theatre.
Eugene Sue’s “Wandering Jew” came over, the work of the Roma Film
Company.
In our own country, Helen Gardner in her own productions was appearing
as _Cleopatra_ and like characters.
The Vitagraph started on a trip around the world with Clara Kimball
Young to do a picture in each country visited, but that rather fell by
the wayside; Miss Young, however, had somewhat contented herself with
having charming “still” photos taken in costume in each country on
their route; when the company reached Paris, Vitagraph cabled for the
actors to come home.
Kalem had already made some beautiful pictures in Ireland, and in Egypt
had made “From the Manger to the Cross,” under Sidney Olcott.
Vitagraph answered an inquiry as to when they made “Macbeth” by saying
they “made it so long ago they wanted to forget it in these days (1913)
of high art production.”
Keystone Comedies were coming along, directed by Mack Sennett,
featuring the two famous detectives, Mack Sennett and Fred Mace. In
these comedies Mabel Normand began to daredevil. Henry Lehrman joined
Sennett.
Hal Reid, Wally Reid’s father, was directing Reliance pictures.
“Traffic in Souls,” written by Walter McNamara and directed by George
Loane Tucker, opened at Weber’s Theatre, Twenty-ninth Street and
Broadway, at twenty-five cents the seat. People clamored for admission,
with thousands turned away.
So Biograph, concluding to get into the march of things, ordered
posters for twelve of their players whose names they would make public.
“David Belasco Griffith” became Mr. Griffith’s nom-de-moving-pictures.
It was a time of tremendous ambitions to him. In California, during
that winter, was filmed his “masterpiece”--“Mother Love”--seven hundred
feet over one reel. Mr. Griffith refused to have it the conventional
length, refused to finish it in a stated time, refused to consider
expense, introducing a lavish cabaret scene, costing eighteen hundred
dollars exclusive of salaries. Miss Bambrick arranged the dances and
coached the dancers. Mr. Griffith said of it, “If it serves no other
use, it will teach café managers in the interior how to run a café.”
There was also “Oil and Water” in which Blanche Sweet surprised both
exhibitors and fans by her splendid work in an unfamiliar rôle. It was
strange that the one woman in whom Mr. Griffith had seen the least
promise came to play the most important rôles in his Biograph pictures.
Strange also that Mary Pickford, who had played in so many more
pictures than any of his stars, and was by far the most popular of them
all, never played in a big Griffith picture.
Before the end of the season, much curiosity was abroad as to what
David Griffith was up to. Way out to the wilds of Chatsworth he was
beating it day by day--this remote spot having been chosen to represent
the Plains of Bethulia. For the story told in a book of the Apocrypha
of Judith and Holofernes was the big thing Mr. Griffith was doing, and
being so secretive about it, he had aroused everybody’s curiosity.
Blanche Sweet played the lead in this picture--“Judith of
Bethulia”--Mr. Griffith’s most pretentious movie so far, and his “Old
Biograph” swan song. Henry Walthall and the late Alfred Paget were the
male leads.
How hard and how patiently the director worked with the temperamental
Miss Sweet. For hours one day he had been trying to get some feeling,
some warmth out of her, until the utter lack of response got his goat.
So with bended knee he went after the fair lady and he gently but
firmly kicked her off the stage--just politely kneed her off. Then,
as was his wont, he burst forth in song, apparently oblivious of the
situation.
It was now Blanche’s turn to worry. She backed up on to the stage
and over to her discouraged director. He escaped her--stretching his
arms and singing louder than ever he took large strides away from her.
Finally, the penitent reached him, and on her bended knees begged:
“Please, Mr. Griffith, please take me back.” When he thought she had
begged hard enough he took her back, and he got results for the rest of
that day.
“Judith,” owing to expensive sets, cost thirty-two thousand dollars,
but that was not advertised as a point of interest in the picture. Much
excitement prevailed over “Judith,” D. W. Griffith’s first four-reeler.
It was shown to financiers. Wall Street was to be brought into intimate
conversation.
The old days and the old ways of 11 East Fourteenth Street, how
brief they had been! Those vital Biograph days under the Griffith
régime, how soon to pass! For when, late in the winter of 1912, the
company left for the West coast studio, they said good-bye to the
nursery, and to the intimate days and the pleasant hours of their
movie youth.
The big new studio up in the Bronx was now finished, with two huge
stages--one artificially lighted, and one a daylight studio. There
was every modern convenience but an elevator. Of course, one director
couldn’t utilize so much studio; so while Mr. Griffith was still in
California and without saying anything to him about it, the Biograph
made a combine with Klaw & Erlanger by which all the K. & E. plays
were to be turned over for Biograph production in three-, four-, and
five-reel pictures.
Mr. Griffith didn’t fancy the idea; he felt also that Biograph might
have consulted him before closing the deal. There was nothing to
interest David in supervising other directors’ movies or in giving
them the “once over” in the projection room. After watching the other
fellow’s picture for a while, even though he’d be considering it very
good work, he’d yawn and declare, “Well, it’s a hell of a way to earn
a living.” But that slant never occurred to him when watching his own
pictures.
But a growing restlessness was noticeable; threats to leave were in the
air; rumors floated all about.
However, he lingered through the summer, a busy one, as in those
introductory months the new studio had to be got thoroughly into a
moving and functioning affair.
Among the many to whom it gave opportunities was Marshall Neilan. For
his years young Mr. Neilan hadn’t missed much. At the age of fourteen
he had run away from Los Angeles, his home, to Buffalo. There he washed
cars for a living--which he probably didn’t mind much, for it enabled
him to satisfy somewhat his fascination for mechanics. Then, back in
Los Angeles once more, he got a job as chauffeur for a kindly person, a
Colonel Peyton, who also sent him to the Harvard school in Los Angeles.
From chauffing to the movies was then but a natural step. For Marshall,
a nice-looking Irish boy with Irish affability, soon had a “stand” at
the Van Nuys hotel, which was a wonderful way to meet the movie people.
Alice Joyce it was who enveigled him. She kept asking him, “Why don’t
you come on in?” It was just like an invitation to go swimming. So he
took the plunge via Kalem, but not until after he had become manager of
the Simplex Automobile Company in Los Angeles.
When the Biograph Company returned East after that winter in which
young Neilan had met his heart’s desire, he wrote to New York to ask
Mr. Griffith for a job. Mr. Griffith asked Miss Bambrick if it was her
wish to have Marshall come on, but Gertrude wasn’t so anxious. David
had him come just the same.
The K. and E. pictures, especially “Men and Women” and “Classmates,”
gave Marshall Neilan his big chance. He soon fell into the producing
ranks, where recognition came quickly.
And he married his Gertrude. Marshall Neilan, Jr., is now nine years
old. But they didn’t live happily forever after. Many years ago they
parted. Just recently Mr. Neilan married Blanche Sweet.
By fall, with four and five companies working, there were so many
actors that it wasn’t interesting at all any more. There was Millicent
Evans and Georgie O’Ramey, Louise Vale, Travers Vale, Louise Orth, Jack
Mulhal, Thomas Jefferson, Lionel Barrymore, Franklin Ritchie, Lily
Cahill, Donald Crisp, Dorothy Bernard, Edwin August, Alan Hale, William
Jefferson--oh, slews and slews of new ones, besides the old guard minus
Mary Pickford.
From Chatsworth’s lonely stretches and prehistoric atmosphere to the
spic-and-span-ness, and atmosphere-less Bronx studio came “Judith of
Bethulia” to receive its finishing touches. “Judith” was about the last
of Blanche Sweet in anything as pretentious directed by Mr. Griffith.
Mae Marsh was coming along and so was Lillian Gish. Lillian was
beginning to step some, and it was interesting to watch the rather
friendly rivalry between the three, Blanche, and Mae, and Lillian.
Dorothy Gish was still a person of insignificance, but she was a good
sport about it; a likable kid, a bit too perky to interest the big
director, so her talents blushed unnoticed by Mr. Griffith. In “The
Unseen Enemy” the sisters made their first joint appearance.
Lillian regarded Dorothy with all the superior airs and graces of her
rank. At a rehearsal of “The Wife,” of Belasco and De Mille fame, in
which picture I played the lead, and Dorothy the ingénue, Lillian was
one day an interested spectator. She was watching intently, for Dorothy
had had so few opportunities, and now was doing so well, Lillian was
unable to contain her surprise, and as she left the scene she said:
“Why, Dorothy is good; she’s almost as good as I am.”
Many more than myself thought Dorothy was better--for she was that rare
thing, a comedienne, and comediennes in the movies have been scarcer
than hen’s teeth. She proved what she could do when she got her first
real chance as the bob-haired midinette in “Hearts of the World.”
* * * * *
Four or five companies working on the big stage these days made things
hum like a three-ring circus. From the dressing-rooms a balcony opened
that looked down on the studio floor, and here Blanche Sweet could
often be seen, her feet poked through the iron rails of the balcony,
her elbows resting on the railing, her chin cupped in the hollow of her
hands, her eyes bulging as she watched every move the director made.
For Blanche was worried. Would Lillian or Mae be chosen to play in the
next big picture?
Mr. Griffith kept all the girls worried. All but Mary Pickford. She
was the only one who dared demand. With Mother, Mary came up to the
new studio to see what she could put over in the way of a job. She’d
now a legitimate reason for making herself costly. In January, 1913,
Miss Pickford made a second appearance on the dramatic stage under
David Belasco’s wing. On her opening, the papers said that the success
of Miss Pickford as the little blind princess was so marked that it
practically precluded her return to the screen.
Adolph Zukor had followed up his first Famous Players picture, the
four-reel “Queen Elizabeth” with James K. Hackett in “The Prisoner of
Zenda” and Mrs. Fiske in “Leah Kleschna.” Astute business man that he
was, as soon as “The Good Little Devil” closed, he secured the play for
the screen with the dramatic company intact and Mary as a Famous Player.
No, her dramatic success would not preclude her return to the screen.
It would merely fortify her with great assurance in making her next
picture contract. I am told it happened thus:
Mother and Mary bearded the lion in his den.
“Well, what are you asking now?” queried Mr. Griffith.
“Five hundred a week,” answered Mrs. Smith.
“Can’t see it. Mary’s not worth it to me.”
“Well, we’ve been offered five hundred dollars a week and we’re going
to accept the contract, and you’ll be sorry some day.”
They could go ahead and accept the contract as far as Mr. Griffith was
concerned. Indulging in his old habit of walking away while talking, he
brought the interview to an end, calling back to the insistent mother,
“Three hundred dollars is all I’ll give her. Remember, I made her.”
And so the Famous Players secured Mary Pickford for a series of
features, the first of which was “In the Bishop’s Carriage.”
But whether Mr. Griffith has ever been sorry, nobody knows but himself.
Kate Bruce, the saintly “Brucie” to so many, pillowed in her lap or on
her shoulder by turns, all the feminine heads of sufficient importance,
and at times, with her arm about me, it was even “Oh, dear Mrs.
Griffith.” But Miss Bruce was thoughtful, indeed, for her little room
often made night lodging, when we had an early morning call, for the
girl whose home was distant. Dorothy West, who lived in Staten Island,
often accepted Miss Bruce’s hospitality.
For Lillian Gish, “Brucie” had an especially tender heart. Miss Gish,
at this time, affected simple, straight, dark blue and black dresses.
She had long ago reached the book-carrying stage, being one of Mr.
Griffith’s most ambitious girls. Many times she’d arrive at the studio
an hour or more ahead of time and have Billy Bitzer make tests of her
with different make-ups.
With a tight little hat on her head, and a red rose on the side of it
from which flowed veils and veils, and a soulful expression in her
eyes, Miss Gish was even then, so long ago, affecting the Madonna.
But reclining in the arms of “Brucie,” purring “Brucie, do you still
love me?”--that was the perfect picture of the fair Lillian those
days. And Brucie’s reply came in honeyed words, “Oh, you sweet, little
innocent golden-haired darling.” Then turning to the girl sitting next
her on the other side, she’d say, “You know this girl needs to be
protected from the world, she’s so innocent and so young.” She had a
strong maternal complex, had the maidenly Kate Bruce.
[Illustration: Blanche Sweet and Kate Bruce in “Judith of Bethulia,”
the first four reel picture directed by D. W. Griffith.
(_See p. 224_)
]
In need of a gown for a picture at this time (the Biograph was just
beginning to spend a little money on clothes for the women), Miss
Gish spied Louise Orth one day wearing just the very thing her little
heart craved.
[Illustration: Lillian Russell and Gaston Bell, in a scene illustrative
of her beauty lectures, taken in Kinemacolor. These lectures were a
headline act in vaudeville.
(_See p. 247_)
]
[Illustration: Sarah Bernhardt, the first “Famous Player,” as Jeanne
Doré, and little Jacques.
(_See p. 105_)
]
“Oh, what a lovely gown you have on. Where did you buy that?”
Madame Frances then had a tiny shop on Seventh Avenue, near the Palace
Theatre: Polly Heyman had Bon Marché gloves on one side and Frances had
gowns on the other. Frances had just made some thousands of dollars’
worth of gowns for Valeska Surratt’s show, “The Red Rose,” which were
so beautiful they won Mme. Frances prestige and recognition from Al
Woods. Miss Orth had been a member of the Eltinge show for which Mme.
Frances had made the dresses, which is the long story of how Lillian
Gish got her first Frances gown.
The K. & E. pictures were going to be “dressed up,” and we were being
allowed about seventy-five dollars for gowns. Miss Gish’s selection at
Mme. Frances’s was price-tagged eighty-five dollars; so back to the
studio flew Miss Gish. With as much pep as she had, which wasn’t so
much, she slunk up to her director and coaxingly said:
“Mr. Griffith, I must have that dress, it’s just beautiful; it’s just
what I must have for the part, and it costs eighty-five dollars.”
“Who in the world ever heard of eighty-five dollars for a dress?”
“I don’t care--now--I’ve _got_ to have it.”
“Don’t bother me--it’s too expensive--we cannot afford it.”
Then growing bolder, as she followed him about she reached for his
coat-tail, and twisting it and shaking it she implored:
“Oh, please, Mr. Griffith, buy me that dress.”
“Will you get away?”
“Well, I won’t play in the picture if you don’t get me that dress--I’ve
_got_ to have it.”
“All right, for heaven’s sake, get the dress--but don’t bother me.”
Lillian got the dress.
Occasionally, Miss Gish took advantage of a beauty sleep. On such
occasions she seldom arrived before eleven in the morning. And when
she went to a party she played the rôle of the sphinx, and all evening
long never spoke. But little Mae Marsh made up for her; she chattered
incessantly.
Lillian’s dope was to come and go without being noticed. She appeared
one time at a midnight performance of “Shuffle Along” done up in black
veils to the tip of her nose and a fur collar covering her mouth, with
only little spots of cheek showing. Dorothy, on the other hand, acting
like a real human being, was calling out to her friends, “Hello there,
hello, hello,” but Lillian, passing an old acquaintance, merely said,
“Forgive me for not stopping and speaking; I don’t want any one to know
I am here.” But as everybody was awfully busy having a good time and no
one seemed to be particularly disturbed by Miss Gish’s hiding away, she
finally took her hat off and revealed herself.
But she came out of her seclusion that time she preached in answer to
the Rev. John Roach Straton at his church on Fifty-seventh Street.
Some one was needed to answer the Rev. Mr. Straton’s knocks on the
theatre and its people. Lillian came forward, and she so impressed her
brother-in-law, James Rennie, Dorothy’s husband, that he arrived late
at a Sunday rehearsal of a George Cohan show. In perfect Sunday morning
outfit, striped pants and gloves and cane he burst upon the rehearsal
and quite breathlessly spluttered, “Please forgive me for being late,
but I have just heard my sister-in-law preach a sermon, and never in
my life have I heard anything so inspiring in a church. Don’t go very
often. More in Lillian than one suspects.”
Mr. Cohan gave himself time to digest Mr. Rennie’s outburst, and then
went on with the rehearsal.
* * * * *
Inevitable the parting of the ways. Though the last word as to modern
equipment, the new studio merely chilled. That atmosphere of an old
manse that had prevailed at 11 East Fourteenth Street, did not abide
in the concrete and perfect plumbing and office-like dressing rooms
at East 175th Street. The last word in motion picture studios brought
Biograph no luck. For as a producing unit, after a few short years they
breathed their last, and quietly passed out of the picture. When the
doors at the old studio closed on our early struggles, when Biograph
left its original nursery of genius, was the proper time for Mr.
Griffith to have left the company. In the fall, less than a year later,
he did.