Chicago.—Mrs. R. Kelly sat watching a thrilling movie. Without taking her
eyes off the film, she landed an uppercut on the jaw of the man sitting
next to her. “I must have made a mistake,” Jake Cohen told the judge. “I
didn’t know I put my hand on her knee!”
* * * * *
Remember This One?
The first scene is that of a gambler,
Who has lost all his money at play;
Takes his dead mother’s ring from her finger
Which she wore on her wedding day,
His last earthly treasure he stakes it
Bows his head the shame he may hide.
When they raised up his head,
They found he was dead
’Tis a picture from life’s other side.
* * * * *
“Say, Mr. Jones, what do you want to get married for?”
“Because I don’t want my name to die out.”
* * * * *
“You don’t love me any more,”
She sobbed and bowed her head.
“What tuhel’s the difference,”
The villainous rascal said.
* * * * *
A cat, mistaking a ball of wool for a meat ball, swallowed it, and sure
enough when she had kittens they had on sweaters.
* * * * *
Child’s is a great place to eat. Went in there yesterday and amongst the
dirty dishes on the table I found thirty cents.
_Movie Hot Stuff_
These be dull days in the movie and even the stage world. The dark
clouds of the Arbuckle case still hang over the two “arts,” thanks to
the obdurate lady juror who caused a disagreement in the San Francisco
trial. The pleasantly informal old days, when Wallie Reid could run up to
’Frisco and pelt eggs upon pedestrians from the fourteenth floor of the
St. Francis Hotel, are long past. One simply =_has_= to be circumspect
these days.
After Whiz Bang’s comments upon the way the New York stage was getting
away with salaciousness came a police investigation of “The Demi-Virgin,”
the gentle whimsy with the strip poker game. The farce was severely
condemned by the police commissioner—but it is still running and to
crowded houses. The risque plays have had one or two additions since we
wrote last.
For instance, there’s David Belasco’s adaptation of the French farce,
“Kiki,” with a little gutter gamin of the French music hall as its
heroine. Mr. Belasco has substituted the word marriage for liaison
throughout but the intent is there—and the lines, oh, boy! Once Kiki
remarks “The men are like cats—they follows us as though our veins were
full of catnip!” Then there is a whole act in which Kiki—posing as a
rigid somnambulist—is carried and tossed about by the various members of
the cast, all the time dressed only in a simple pair of open work pajamas.
We aren’t intimating that “Kiki” isn’t entertaining. It is. But, the
latitude they get away with! Meanwhile the censors go on cutting out
bathing girls from our films and making sure there is no indication ever
shown that babies are born.
* * * * *
Charlie Ray, spats, cane, trick overcoat with its fur collar, et al.,
has been making his first visit to New York and not creating a ripple
of interest. Of course, friend wife was along. We saw Ray strolling up
Fifth Avenue the other day—and nobody knew the ornate pedestrian as the
simple country boy of the films. They tell me that Ray takes himself
very seriously and left the cynical New York reporters dizzy with his
confessions about his “mission in life.”
* * * * *
Jack Pickford continues to loiter about New York. There are all sorts of
rumors linking Jack up with pretty Marilyn Miller o’ the Follies. Marilyn
lost her husband, Frank Carter, in an auto accident some time ago and is
as pleasant a little widow as the White Lights possess. Maybe Marilyn
has an eye towards the screen. By the way, those reports of an impending
family event in the Fairbanks family still persists. What could be nicer?
* * * * *
Poor Eric von Stroheim! We sympathize with him despite his Junker
physiognomy. He is telling sad tales of his treatment at the hands of
Universal. After finishing “Foolish Wives,” they took the negative away
from him, hired somebody or other to cut it—and Eric came on to New York
to find out where he stood.
At last reports he is still trying to find out. Overheard him in a hotel
recently telling his troubles. Now and then a tear splashed in the soup.
You see, they have taken his brain child—his masterpiece—away and are
letting some cruel inartistic outsider cut it any old way. It seems that
Carl Laemmle, prexy of Universal, became irate over the way “Foolish
Wives” cost money and never seemed to finish. Eric says they put all
sorts of obstructions in his way. They locked cutting room doors, held
up his pet plans, and all that, according to Eric. Finally—whisper, for
it may only be a pipe dream—Eric organized and armed his army of extras
after the fashion of Mr. William Hohenzollern and presented an ultimatum.
He got what he wanted. Pause to consider the news story that nearly came
out of Universal. Suppose Eric had cut the communication wires, tried
military gas on the officials and made the studio into an armed camp. It
sounds fishy, of course, but have you ever met the tense Mr. Von Stroheim?
At that we feel awfully sorry for him. He =_has_= unusual directorial
ability and he is—or was—the one able person at Universal. And now, after
making “Foolish Wives,” which, if it doesn’t get barred by the censors,
ought to be a whirlwind, he seems to be getting the gate.
* * * * *
Aren’t those morality clauses the high minded movie producers are
inserting into their actor contracts the bunk? Imagine the nerve. Will
Rogers gave the best summary when he declared, “Say, if any one hands me
a contract with one of them clauses, I’ll say, you sign it first.” He is
in New York doing a turn on the Ziegfeld roof. The best line of his act
is: “I’m the only guy who ever went to California and came back with the
same wife.”
* * * * *
One of the funniest kick backs from the Arbuckle case occurred at
Vitagraph, where they had Maclyn Arbuckle (no relation to Fatty), under
contract to be co-starred in “The Prodigal Judge,” which he had played
for years on the stage. Just as the picture was completed, a little San
Francisco scandal broke. Vitagraph decided that it couldn’t afford to
feature Mr. Maclyn =_Arbuckle_= at this time. This despite the fact that
Mr. Maclyn was a well known star before Fatty was ever heard of. But
luckily he had a sense of humor. So he said, “Oh, well (maybe it wasn’t
exactly that), you can’t buck such reasoning,” and let his name go into
tiny type.
* * * * *