Sometimes we let our readers on the inside of a coming movie event so
far in advance that we are afraid they will forget all about our having
told them when the happening comes to pass.
A reader has just written us, “I know you’ve told us about the delay on
Chaplin’s new picture, but why is it we don’t see so many old Chaplins
either? A couple of years ago every other theater was playing a Chaplin,
some of them so old the prints could hardly hold together.”
Some four months ago we told “FILM TRUTH” readers about the Chaplin
serial that is already made—or rather, assembled—and about to be
launched whenever the moment seems ripe. Well, in that inside note, is
also contained the explanation for the scarcity of old Chaplins.
The market is being scoured and cleaned. Every granddaddy Chaplin that
shows its head is being bought and retired to the home for the aged. If
you have a friend in the junk business tell him to look over that pile
in his backyard. It may disgorge a Chaplin print. And today it can be
sold.
The men who hold the Chaplin serial up their sleeves are the wisest of
the wise. They won’t say the word “Go!” till the stage is set. One of
the essentials is freedom from junk competition.
So wait a while longer for the Chaplin serial, readers. But when it
comes remember that “we told you so.” There are thousands of folks deep
on the inside of this movie game to whom it will be the surprise of the
year.
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S’s’sh——! Some Gossip!
Is it unfair to ask what Garret Hughes can see in Mildred Harris? Or
vice versa?
* * * * *
“Forbidden Fruit” is the next DeMille production in titular succession
to “Why Change Your Husband?” Just think of all we are going to see of
Elinor Fair, Gloria Swanson and others. The Los Angeles Hosiery
Hucksters and Lingerie Lizards have entered a protest against the
continuous overtime.
* * * * *
Oft in the still and starry night we have paused to wonder why DeMille
is willing to share so much of his favorites with the general public.
* * * * *
Temperament? If you want to know the meaning of the word ask Maxwell
Karger, director general of Metro production, about Ina Claire. Karger,
being a diplomat, probably won’t answer you. But anyone else at the
studio can tell you that Ina has the tempestuous, rock-bound coasts of
Maine licked to a frazzle forty ways when it comes to the stormy stuff.
Ina is only making her screen debut in this Metro picture but she knew
what she wanted—and by all hemlock cantankerousness, she got it, too.
* * * * *
It takes some pepper pot to create any notice in a studio where Nazimova
has worked.
* * * * *
Isn’t it rather sad, to say the least, to have fame affect some of our
stars, as it does? Our attention has been directed to Charles Ray—rather
more strongly to Mrs. Charles Ray. Charlie’s rise has affected her—so
much ’tis said, that there is a dearth of chauffeurs at the Ray villa.
This in spite of the fact that a half score or more have entered employ—
and rather quickly tired of it. One of ’em tells us his reasons, and we
admit they would peeve a brass Buddha.
And, by the way, was it Mrs. Ray whose attitude toward a grocer’s
delivery boy who carelessly let his Ford drop a bit of oil on a
macadamized driveway, caused so much mirth around the colony lately?
* * * * *
An event long looked for in the Somborn household (Gloria Swanson of
yore) has occurred, and a bouncing girl is announced. Months ago we were
told that Gloria’s contract with DeMille, at a comparatively small
salary, could be broken only by such an event. Mr. Somborn, being a
picture magnate, is said to naturally have wanted to star his wife. Now
the way may be open. We shall see.
* * * * *
Mutterings around a certain railroad ticket office in New York the other
day, boded ill for the husband of the deceased Olive Thomas, had he
dropped his dignity and approached in person. His valet, through
association or education, we know not which, has picked up a domineering
attitude, and the tantrums he went through over the phone at various
times with every clerk in the office, got under the skin. “Don’t you
know who my master is,” chirped the valet. And just as chipperly the
railroad clerk said, “I do, and I don’t give a damn.”
Party of four, two staterooms on the Century huh? We are slightly
curious, just slightly.
* * * * *
Would you believe it? There’s someone afraid he won’t be given credit
for making “Uncle Sam of Freedom Ridge,” the propaganda picture which
FILM TRUTH exploded in last month’s issue. The director, George
Beranger, is the man. At that, Beranger is in the right. He is an A1
director, fully capable of making his own pictures. There was no need of
anyone else claiming credit for “supervision.”
* * * * *
While on the subject of Levey’s fillum it might not be adverse to
whisper that we have at hand letters from live wire exhibitors stating
they have thrown it out of their houses after finding it purely
propaganda.
* * * * *
From a press agent comes a screed concerning a production under way at
Los Angeles called “The Perfect Man.” And in the cast we find a player
named Andrew Sous. We’ll say so!
* * * * *
How soon are the dead forgotten! Ollie Thomas has not had time to get
settled in her grave, when here we find brother Duffy reported
gallavanting around New York one evening, imbibing the atmosphere, and
then some, in company with a fair damsel who has a husband somewhere or
other, and to whom an unbroken Arabian steed is as a lamb.
* * * * *
My, my, it does seem hard for a young lady to keep a “steady” in this
dear Los Angeles these days. Take little Lottie Pickford for instance.
Before going east, Gossip Row on the coast hummed with a hair pulling
match said to have been staged very, very openly, with Lottie in the
role of challenger, and a former Ziegfeld Follies beauty as defender.
’Twas said Lottie’s sweetie (who came on the scene following her
divorce) had been weaned away by the newcomer. Hence the fireworks.
* * * * *
Anytime you see an “it” on the streets of Hollywood wearing English
riding breeches wider than an embarrassed pancake, leather puttees wound
round legs thinner than a producer’s heart; a waxed and pointed mustache
sillier looking than shirred humming-bird’s eggs—lay a hundred to one
bet that you are looking at a moving picture director pulling down a
measly thousand a week. The question of the Sphinx: Must movie men of
the studios look like Asses?
* * * * *
These here now fillums make strange bed-fellows. “Determination” now has
in its cast both Lieut. Maynard, “the Flying Parson” and Maurice
Costello, who used to appear every now and then in Brooklyn police
courts to answer wifey’s objections to the pugilistic form of argument.
Remember when “Cos” was the shining matinee idol of the screen?
* * * * *
The Unkindest Cut of All: One of our contemporaries discloses to a
palpitating world the fact that Reeves Eason, the director, started life
as a butcher.
* * * * *
George Walsh was anxious to wind up his Fox contract while brother Raoul
was hitting on all twelve cylinders as an independent producer. Wonder
how George feels about it now that Mayflower’s limping progress
threatens to embarrass Raoul’s activities.
* * * * *
“Brewster’s Millions” is going to be made in pictures again. Producers
must work on the theory that they were entirely successful in their
efforts to kill off the earlier generations of fans.
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“The Public Be Damned”
The high faluting talk of art for art’s sake and such high sounding
expressions, placed on the lips of some picture magnates, is humorous
enough to make the Gods of High Olympus crack a smile in view of the
penny-grasping, public-be-damned attitude adopted when opportunity
presents.
Twice within a month a big picture, meritorious in every sense, and one
which the public which supports the poor pictures of the same producers
should by every right have opportunity to see, has come out advertised
as not to be released for general exhibition for a period of years.
Griffith started it with “Way Down East.” He stuck an exorbitant
admission price down for the New York showing, and then advertised the
picture would never be seen in any but the large houses in the large
cities. In other words, that the real motion picture public, the real
exhibitor, he of the small center, could whistle for this picture, but
could pay for the inferior stuff instead.
Fox now comes forth with a masterpiece in the form of “Over the Hill.”
And his ads carry a line that the picture will be seen in the first run
houses only for the years 1920, 1921 and 1922.
The consummate gall of such maneuvers, even in this business where one
feels like keeping a hand on his watch when in certain neighborhoods, is
somewhat appalling even to those of us who should be hardened.
Mr. and Mrs. Public can see and pay for the ordinary film. But if, by
chance, the lordly producer makes one of exceptional quality, then
admission prices will be jacked up, exorbitant rental be demanded of the
big exhibitor—and the small towner can do without.
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