Part 2

[_This is the first in a series of articles which will answer for fans the eternal question, “What sort of a person really is So-and-So?” At some times we may be forced to pierce some bubbles; at others, as on occasions such as this month’s subject presents--why, YOU’LL BE SURPRISED!_]

Eugene O’Brien was born with the advantage of a regular fellow’s name, and the handicap of perfectly chiseled features. The “handicap” has served to bring him rating with the two-thousand-a-week stars in spite of the “advantage”--if you get what we mean.

O’Brien is really too “pretty.” To most men he is almost--but not quite--as sickeningly sweet as Francis X. Bushman used to be. Perhaps this condition is aggravated by such titles--and such pictures--as “The Perfect Lover.” Mayhap, also, it is but the innate jealousy of the male beast.

Film Truth’s mail from all sections of the country is frank and outspoken--and a pretty safe index to public thought on films and film folk. Reading this barometer we find that Eugene O’Brien is regarded as not quite all “a man’s man.” He’s “too nice,” according to the most recent letter--this from an eighteen-year-old miss.

Inside the film fold and stage circles the same opinion prevails rather generally. O’Brien deserves to be kicked twice around the block and once up the alley for the “Lunnon” accent he acquired at the Lambs Club. Or, perhaps we should call it outspokenly a “Lambs Club accent.” The difference may be explained by the statement that if there is any violet-tinted drawl that grates on a regular he-American’s ears more than a London accent it is a Lamb’s bleat.

This affectation--plus mannerisms in the same atmosphere--has been against O’Brien. We will confess that for many years we also held to the general view that Eugene was too lavender-hued for mixed company.

But later years, and closer opportunity to hold the microscope over the subject of this sketch, have brought a change of mind. We are ready to state--now that we have been asked the question, “What sort of a fellow is he really like?”--that Eugene O’Brien is a regular, honest-to-goodness human equation, and a “he” of the species.

O’Brien, to those who know him, a likeable chap, a liberal host, and a true blue pal. He has, deep down within him, a sense of personal perspective. We even believe he realizes what some others think of him, and, give him credit, a lurid, cussing contempt is his only reaction.

If only the blankety fool would exchange that blarsted thin-stringed London twinge for the healthy twang of his Denver birthplace.

The nearest we have ever known him to come to it was on a recent occasion when Selznick attempted to put into force certain petty restrictions on the use of automobiles in journeying to locations distant from the Los Angeles studio.

Harry Rapf, the studio manager, was made the mouthpiece for the ukase. It went over well enough with the rough and ready bull wielders who wield a wicked tongue--when the boss isn’t around. As for O’Brien--nobody thought that “nice boy” ever raised his voice above a whisper. Rapf decided to play it safe from the first bell and he opened the attack on O’Brien in rough and ready fashion.

Then the explosion! Dynamite, T. N. T., and essence of Whiteheads! O’Brien illumined the air for miles around with a volubly expressed desire to mingle in catch-as-can combat with Rapf, a willingness to oblige with a two-fisted massage, a craving for anything short of murder and arson.

No high-and-mighty temperamental star’s dignity, mind you! No sulking in the dressing room, or writing of “letters to the boss.” Just man-to-man talk, rip-snorting, raz-a-matag square-shooting shouting.

Rapf crawled down from his eminence quicker than an incline railway with a busted cable. The lines traveling the hills coming down to Cincinnati or descending Mount Tamalpais couldn’t make greater speed if they were hell bent for election.

And O’Brien established himself with the members of his company and the studio hash-slingers who were present that day. They swear by ‘Gene, and with him.

In closing, let us remark that Eugene O’Brien is just as much a bear with the women off the screen as he is on. Gene is there as a picker--and what’s more the _class_ picks on him. Which tells the whole story.

_The Fall Season is here--and with it the first of the year’s big pictures. If you want to read about the pictures months in advance, there’s one sure way,--tell your newsdealer to save FILM TRUTH for you each month._

The Best Stock Sellers

The suns of Summer are cooling fast, and the browns of Fall are appearing. A new year is about to begin in the motion picture business. For, be it known to the lay reader, the picture year like the stage year has September for the first page of its calendar.

What better time to check up and tabulate on what has happened to the year’s best stock sellers?

This sombre thought is brought to our mind by the fact that we have just met the director of “Determination,” which many class as the record-breaker of the year’s six best stock sellers.

“Determination,” we learn, has sunk for the third time. It may come up again; it is said that they do once in a million years. But for the time, at least, “Determination” is wallowing in the mire at the bottom of the river.

“Company’s disbanded. All is off,” fumes the director. “And I’m going to sue for ’steen hundred thousand dollars.”

“Determination,” we take it on our own authority to decide, is temporarily strapped for money. It’s a habit that stock-selling picture propositions have. There is no reason to believe that “Determination” is an exception to the rule.

Captain Frederick Stoll, the genial promoter of “Determination,” is sure there, with the quality denoted by his picture’s title, if he has no other abilities to recommend him. It must be well over a year ago that we first heard of his proposition. Then he was working Cleveland. A wealthy “queen of the manicure shops” if our memory serves us, became very much interested in the “captain’s” plans to make such a super-special picture as would shame all previous efforts.

Ohio was good territory for a time, other states followed. But some six months ago the genial promoter pulled his master-stroke by moving headquarters to Washington, D. C. You see, the name of the company was U. S. Photoplay Somethin’ or Other, and the combination of U. S. with a Washington, D. C., address was quite the class.

While in Washington the Captain was guilty of some very wonderful advertising. Full page advertisements in the Washington papers told the story of the Captain’s life, and his reasons for believing that he had the makings of “the world’s greatest picture.”

From the ad we also learned that the Captain acquired his title with the 1st Illinois National Guard Regiment. A funny thing was that the ad gave over several inches of its space to tell about the history of the First Illinois, in ’98 at Cuba and so on, but nowhere did we find a mention of the fact that the Captain himself was not present when its various heroic feats were accomplished.

A few months ago a company of players longer than a boarding house mailing list was announced for “Determination.” Announcements flew thick and fast for a few weeks, work was started at Fort Lee--and then the shut-down.

Glory be, we’ve used up all the space the editor gave us and devoted it all to “Determination.” We’ll have to wait another month or two for a discussion of the records of “Democracy,” “Crusader Films,” Johnson and Hopkins, and others of the year’s best stock sellers.

Meanwhile, as you read the ads and the beautiful literature, please take the tip that we have given you so often: 4% in bank is better than “ad” promises of 400%.

Five Reeling, Reels

One picture seen during the month we consider unworthy enough to be given a review outside of our regular “Boosts and Boots” department. This doubtful compliment goes to Realart’s offering “A Dark Lantern” in which the ever thinning, now far from beautiful Alice Brady is starred.

When we thankfully saw the final fade-out, one expression rose to our tired mind “A heterogeneous mass of nothing.” That is about all we got out of this so-called feature.

Occasionally we wonder at the almost unlimited patience possessed by a forgiving public, which will permit big manufacturing companies to foist a mass of celluloid such as this time and time again, upon them through the exhibitor.

Jumpy to a farcical point in its continuity, with a story chiefly notable by its absence, and with a star in Alice Brady, who may well be regarded as a “has-been” if this effort is the best she can offer, “A Dark Lantern” is really pitiable as a modern day picture.

Alice has apparently adopted the “grab it all for the family” policy, for friend husband James L. Crane is found in the cast. One reviewer most aptly describes his work in saying “his face reveals scant trace of emotion in any scene.” Rather doll-like, as it were. And pray tell, what else could be expected of Jimsey?

Elephanitis of the bean, to put it inelegantly, is liable to result fatally for Alice, so far as her artistic career is concerned.

Home, Sweet--_Safe_ Home

When Gertie, the village belle, finally decides she is not appreciated at home, you can generally bet the last nickel of your last forty-cent dollar, that very shortly she will be found in the already long line of hopeful future “stars,” before the door of some motion picture studio. And, just as certain as the seasons come ’round, is the fact that Gertie will never star under any lights other than the flickering gas jet beside the mirror in her hall bedroom.

It simply isn’t done. In our experience, we have found that the chance of the ordinary screen struck girl of “getting into the movies” is about on a par with those of the rich man of Biblical fame entering Heaven. Yet these prodigies who triumphed in amateur theatricals at the Home Opera House, or of whom well-meaning friends spoke as “much cuter and more beautiful than Flossie Star,” continue to pay the railroads a good part of their revenue.

Which may account for the startling dearth of suitable material for musical comedy choruses, and for the presence of hefty, thirty-five-year-old “girlies” in the burlesque troupes.

To go into the “hows and whys” of this would take up more space than it would be worth. And, though the difficulties of becoming even an extra in pictures have been publicized broadcast by many magazines, and even some companies, our mail continues heavy with letters from hopeful, pleading, blinded women, old and young, who seek a way to picture fame.

Casting directors, directors, company executives, have become so blasé in the face of the onrush of appealing femininity to whom home and virtue are as nothing to a career in motion pictures, that the inexperienced damsel who catches their eye to any effect is indeed a fortunate one.

True, as many readers will say, “stars” bob up over night. “Over night” is right, perhaps. Yet aren’t these bubbles on the crest of the wave, these petted favorites of the moment of some one “powerful,” regarded as is an old man’s darling? We’ll answer ourselves. THEY ARE.

Nix, girls, nix. You might be the one in a thousand who got somewhere. You MIGHT. But we would rather gamble against an electrically controlled roulette wheel than have your chance. It would be pulling an old saw to say the road was rocky, but take it from us, Aspirants to Movie Fame, unless you have absolute assurance of a position bringing in at least cakes and coffee, you will do better to stick close to home and mother.

It is a great business. But there is no quick and easy shortcut to automobiles, furs, picture in the papers and Pomeranian. Not more so than there is a shorter cut between two points than a straight line.

Boosts and Boots

“A CUMBERLAND ROMANCE” (Realart). Padded to death. One of ‘those kind of pictures’ released at the fag end of the summer season. Mary Minter is as pleasing as usual, and makes most of her opportunities. See it if nothing better offers.

* * * * *

“WHAT’S YOUR HURRY” (Paramount-Artcraft). Another story of the ‘roaring road’ by a man who knows the automobile game. Well produced with Wally Reid his usually capable self. This star is well ahead of the majority of men stars, and his ability, ‘regular fellow’ manner, and good stories are putting him further in the lead. A picture not to be missed.

* * * * *

“EARTHBOUND” (Goldwyn). Fantastic in the extreme, daring in conception and execution. Will be received in almost as many different ways as it is seen by people. With a psychic theme, it makes the imagination of the spectator stretch to the utmost to encompass the thought. The thoughtful will find much to make them pause. It is our opinion the production will go over the heads of many. Also that it may not be quite the success in a financial way that is expected. But, in its way, it undoubtedly stands alone.

* * * * *

“WHAT WOMEN LOVE” (First National). Sol Lesser’s long heralded Annette Kellerman film. Entertaining and at times thrilling. As may be expected it is built around the aquatic ability of Miss Kellerman, who is seen almost throughout in her ‘one piece.’ The under-sea scenes are excellent. Will please generally.

* * * * *

“THE JACK-KNIFE MAN” (First National). King Vidor has produced a story rich in every particular. There is humor, there is pathos, there is real acting. No ‘big stars’ run away with the piece. Human interest background appeals. A story of small town life that will please.

* * * * *

“THE CHORUS GIRL’S ROMANCE” (Metro). One of the best pictures of the year. While comedy predominates, there are moments when the spectator will be stirred out of himself. Viola Dana has done herself proud. Her cute figure lends itself well to the part she plays, the Chorus Girl. Story is well knitted, and is from the one which appeared some months ago in the Saturday Evening Post. Settings, action, photography--all are of highest standard. A picture that will appeal alike to high and low. Should not be missed.

* * * * *

“IF I WERE KING” (Fox). Farnum set in story of medieval days. While the public’s dislike of costume plays is as strongly apparent as ever, this lavish production should be one of the few to get by from a box office standpoint. Fox certainly spent a lot of money on it, and the entertainment provided is well worth while.

* * * * *

“THE MAN WHO DARED” (Fox). Better than almost anything Russell has appeared in. Fox is living up to advance promises of better productions for the year. Russell good as a rough tongued, heavy fisted lumberman. Eileen Percy opposite him. Parts are overdrawn but on the whole it is a good picture.

A Confidential Chat

When this little publication first made its bid for favor, the Editor had one idea paramount above all others. That was to dodge the avalanche of press agentry which inundates the business, and instead to give the public entertaining and TRUE information.

That idea, while broadened, is still the main spring of FILM TRUTH.

Some editorial rats have peeked out of their habit formed cobweb and thrown a few scurrilous bouquets at us.

That is to be expected.

On the other hand, we have yet to hear from a single reader that we have offended.

From the early days of the motion picture industry, we have derived our income from it. We have breathed, eaten and slept with motion pictures before us. We wish to see the business on a continually mounting plane. And, such little as we can do to accomplish this, we are doing.

FILM TRUTH has no ‘grudge fights’ with player or company. Where criticism may enter one month, praise is just as liable to be the portion of the same person the next.

If we err, it is as much a regrettable occurrence to us as to the party erred against. _And our columns are open to the other side on such occasion_.

Fair play is given all. Particularly to that reading public which wishes truth, and usually gets buncombe.

Bush League Stuff

Thirty-six weeks trouping in the hinterland heading the cast of a maudlin but financially successful play has revived the drooping spirits of Francis X. and Beverly Bayne Bushman. So many unpleasant, humiliating, embarrassing events have occurred in the lives of the one time film stars’ lives, since their abrupt departure from public view some three years ago, that even the sublime egotism of Francis X. himself was being shaken to the very foundation. But Francis X.’s faith in himself, in his talents as an actor, in his popularity with the public, has been restored. As for Beverly she was never but a faint echo of her Adonis, second hand husband, so she too is cheered by the events of the past six months.

’Tis said that the tour of the play in which Bushman and Bayne were starred replenished the family coffers to an extent that would permit the redemption of the wonderful collection of valuable furniture which last summer graced the show windows of a Broadway second hand store and which went under the hammer to pay the alimony which Mrs. Bushman number one insists on collecting to buy shoes for herself and the five children who were the offspring of the one time film favorite’s first marriage.

But it is not the somewhat delayed receipt of a little jack, that has so pleased the Bushman-Baynes and is responsible for their greatest elation. They could never regard the refusal of motion picture producers to further star them, as anything but unadulterated malice.

True there was a little talk about the Bushman divorce and the subsequent marriage of Francis X. and Beverly, but they argued that this little scandal would soon be forgotten. They acclaim now the truth of their argument.

But there are those who openly state that Francis is not able to differentiate between popularity and notoriety, and make the assertion that the appearance of Bushman and Bayne on the stage attracted a mixed crowd of the morbidly curious who wanted to see “what they looked like,” the remains of a vast army of kitchen mechanics and shop girls some of them grandmothers now, who used to worship at the Bushman and Bayne shrine and a few who came to laugh at and not with the show.

A good many years ago as film history is figured, God gave Francis a lot of good looks, a dislike for manual labor and a few brains, so he decided to adopt the stage as a profession.

His histrionic ability did not set the world on fire but fate was good to him and one season found him heading the cast of a Broadway production under the title of “Going Some.” The engagement was short lived not because the play was bad material since it has proven a popular dramatic stock vehicle, but because it was badly acted. Bushman was one of the worst offenders.

About this time picture producers were beginning to look about the stage for talent. Essanay engaged Bushman to play the leads in some extraordinarily good stories for the time and sent a company to Ithaca, N. Y.

The feature pictures, almost the first in the field, turned out that summer were a success not because of Bushman and Bayne but in spite of them. In fact one of the best of the several features found Francis X. cast in a minor role--wherein hangs a tale which may illustrate the true worth of this actor. When it came time to start work on “The Love Lute of Romany,” Francis got his copy of the script. He read until he found a scene that demanded the hero should climb a tree overhanging a deep cliff and repose amid the branches while the villain chopped away at the trunk until the giant of the forest was about to crash into the gulley below. Francis didn’t read any further. He burned the soles of his shoes locating Director Wharton and began an argument that was intended to prove that this scene was no good. However Bushman did not have the prestige with directors that he later acquired and the scene stayed in the script with the subsequent result that another actor with more nerve and less good looks played the lead in the picture.

After the Essanay engagement at Ithaca came the era of multiple reel features, with the names of the players presented on the titles, the vogue of the fan magazines in which were printed long eulogies of film players and an unprecedented interest in the photoplay.

Bushman and Bayne became famous almost overnight. For a while they shone as brilliantly as any stars of the day but soon the public began to tire of picture after picture that contained no more entertainment value than closeups of the stars and romantic poses that sickened the souls of those who hoped to find drama in the movies.

Then came the Bushman divorce. It was the last straw. The camel’s back had broken. Bushman and Bayne were out in the cold, cruel world and there they have remained until the enterprising Oliver Morrosco decided that he would take a gamble with the play we have mentioned. The show went out and made money. Now comes the final sequence of our story.

Encouraged by the success of the Bushman-Bayne play, Mr. Morrosco has shipped his stars to Los Angeles and is to star them in feature pictures. He evidently has been “sold” the idea that Bushman and Bayne can “come back.” Bushman and Bayne have never doubted it.

Developing Your Plot

Plot germs have taken up quite a bit of our time in this new series of thoughts on the writing of photoplays. And rightly so. For, unless you know where to look for plots, and how to recognize a possible plot in embryo, how are you going to construct them?

Let’s proceed a step further along our path. Having discovered the _germ_ of a plot, how are we going to develop it into a full grown, vigorous, structure? What is the prime necessity? What magic touch infuses life and strength into the bare idea we possess and makes of it something that will hold the interest of others, that will entertain them?

Speaking generally, and leaving to later discussion the narrower by-ways and paths of plot development, we may set down as the primary essential of a plot the basic element--_struggle_. Your plot germ, your original idea, is usually an out of the ordinary character or an incident that concerns ordinary characters in an unusual manner.

Into this source you must inject--_struggle_. Some will call it _conflict_, others will tell you that _suspense_ is the necessity. But suspense is the outgrowth of struggle or conflict.

There is struggle of varying sorts. Your struggle may be that between the different characters of your story, it may be the struggle of one of your characters against conditions of life and the world, it may be the struggle of your character with his own inner self.

But it is struggle of one sort or another that makes your story. Barring the few exceptions whose existence we have noted, and which we will describe and study later, it is the tale of struggles that makes up the entertainment of the world.

The spectator who comes to see a motion picture, or the reader who picks up a book, expects to be introduced to an interesting character, one whom he will either like very much or dislike very much. After hearing your premises they expect to witness a struggle, the further progress in life of your character and necessarily the sort of progress that brings struggle. Your character may be the most interesting one in the world, but two hours talk about his unusual points will not satisfy anyone. Those two hours must concern things that are happening to your character or events that he is causing to happen--that is, the element of struggle.