Photoplay/Volume 36/Issue 3/Brickbats and Bouquets

THE war of words between those who want speech with their movies and those who prefer pantomime and silence is still waging fiercely.

Many of our correspondents have written us a second time, retracting some of their earlier, bitter denunciations of the talkies, after they have seen the amazing progress made by the lisping infant of a few short months ago.

The response to attractive singing voices has been marked. John Boles, who played the Red Shadow in "The Desert Song"; Charles King, in "The Broadway Melody"; Eddie Dowling in "The Rainbow Man"; Maurice Chevalier in "Innocents of Paris"; each has had his share of favorable comment for delighting the ears of his listeners. Ramon Novarro's admirers write us that hearing his voice as he sings in "The Pagan" has given them the ultimate in thrills.

Of women's voices, only that of Carlotta King, who sings opposite John Boles in "The Desert Song," has seemed impressive enough to bring forth praise from our readers.

I have been a musician in the movies for many years, almost since the first dark days of their crude presentation to the world, and from my own intimate experience with the industry in general, I must say that the new talkies (despite their struggling infancy) are just about the last word in amusement.

I have "sawed" through thousands of performances in my day, watched with impersonal interest both picture and audience, and it is a fact that people never seemed quite so wholly satisfied with what they got for their money as they have recently with the talkies. To be able to sit and hear, as well as see one's favorite actor or actress on the screen, accompanied by specially selected and expertly applied musical scores, is to me perfection in itself.

I am one musician who is glad to sacrifice my job; in other words, step aside, to give way to what I believe is the greatest, most satisfying and undoubtedly most lasting of all movie attainments―the thrilling talkie.

Please, America, Land of the Motion Picture, in the mad rush to produce talkies―and still more talkies!―do not altogether neglect the silent drama. To many, like myself, nothing will ever take the place of the silent motion picture, which is a distinct art having nothing in common with the spoken word. Of course, there is room for both talking and silent films. but I see it predicted that in a year or two the silent movie will have ceased to exist. If that day ever comes (perish the cruel thought) I'll be content to sit at home of an evening, with a book for company, and meditate upon the good old days when movies were movies―and silence was golden!

Artists of the calibre of Jannings, Bancroft, Chaplin, Gilbert, Veidt, Garbo, Goudal, Swanson, Davies, Del Rio and Baclanova have no need of words to express themselves. The art of the silent drama is international; boundaries do not exist. Pantomime is the screen's own Esperanto. And yet this triumph is to be trampled in the dust!

America has done so much―indeed, I might say, everything―to elevate the motion picture to the plane of a great art, that I, for one, shall be sorry if all that good work has been in vain.

I have read Mr. Quirk's sympathetic and understanding editorial regarding sound development in pictures and the cry of woe that has come from the deaf. Long ago, pride led me to master lip-reading. I owe it to my vanity that I can now enjoy the new life that animates the picture world. I am deaf, but the best entertainment the world has to give is mine at my favorite theater.

I do not hear the instrumental music. I do not hear sounds, but I do have pleasures that a year ago I never dreamed would come into my humdrum existence. I have laughed at the jokes of Eddie Cantor and Fannie Brice. I have cried over the words of Al Jolson and Davey Lee. I have thrilled to the spoken drama of "The Letter" and "The Trial of Mary Dugan." I am deeply grateful for the splendid enunciation that comes from the gifted lips of Lionel Barrymore, Ruth Chatterton, Mary Pickford, Laura La Plante, Joseph Schildkraut and Conrad Nagel. Take heart, deaf comrades. You may laugh and cry with the world at the talkies. The way is shown.

I have just come from seeing what I consider the most amazing talking film of all time, "The Letter." I am not alluding to its very obvious dramatic and histrionic superiority, but to the illuminating contrast it affords between the finest appearance before the sound apparatus―and the worst.

It goes without saying, that Jeanne Eagels' performance of the unfaithful wife stands alone as the best spoken screen appearance to date. It likewise goes without saying that that otherwise admirable fellow who struggled painfully through the introductory foreword (s-s-sh―is he around any place?) is unconditionally the worst.

It surely was a let-down to see the man whom we sincerely esteem as the last word in what is or isn't in the business, leave himself open as he has by that fatal episode.

This letter is also about the talkies and perhaps the fans may be interested in what I have to say.

Sometimes I get disgusted with the movies. I feel that way now about the talkies. I have just read a critic's review on the talking pic- ​ture, "The Canary Murder Case," and would like to quote to you a few words that he wrote.

"When you see Louise Brooks hold up her admirers as the Canary, you are really hearing Margaret Livingston's voice." Some jolt it was to me, because it means that if our favorite hasn't a good voice a double will be used, and we will be led to think it is the voice of our favorite. It is not fair to deceive us in such a way.

Am I right―fans? I don't care if the voice is not the best that can be produced; as long as it belongs to the right person, I'll be satisfied.

I have just heard Clara Bow's voice in "The Wild Party," and I think it belongs to someone else. I hope I am wrong.

I may be a little late with my opinion of the talkies, but I certainly enjoy a talkie as much as I do a play on the legitimate stage.

I would dislike very much to think that adopting the talkies altogether would mean the loss of such players as Nils Asther, Greta Garbo and several others, but I think voice doubling is perfectly all right.

In "The Canary Murder Case," Louise Brooks did not do her own talking, but it certainly did not spoil the picture.

Here's to Mary Pickford―a great actress.

When I learned that "Coquette" was to be a sound picture. I was afraid the talking would be exaggerated and overdone, as it usually is on the stage when the scenes are laid in the South. To us, born and raised in the South, the usual talkie sounds just a little bit stagey, but, in "Coquette" the dialogue sounded so perfectly natural it was hard to believe that all the actors were not Southern people. I was proud of the picture, for it's a true interpretation of the Southern voice. I congratulate everyone who had anything to do with the making of "Coquette."

Hollywood, the Athens of today, does more to educate the people than any other medium. But sometimes the cast or the director misses in the representation of life.

My home is down where the South begins, therefore my ears are accustomed to the Southerner's way of talking. Surely Miss Pickford and the supporting cast do not think that we Southerners say "sho" for sure, and "luv" for love. In spite of this defect I think that the fine acting in this picture deserves loud applause.

What would we do without the movies? Coming to a strange town, across the continent from everything I had known, there were several weeks before I had a soul even to talk with, much less a companion. It seemed to me I would have died of loneliness except for the movies.

Going to see my favorite stars was just like meeting old friends.

Sound effects do add to a picture, but I can't get up much enthusiasm for the all-talking films. The action is slowed up too much by a lot of unnecessary noise. But it was a revelation to hear Gary Cooper speak in "The Shopworn Angel." He has the most attractive voice I've encountered in the talkies. And when he "emoted" I couldn't control a fugitive tear.

A boy is never looked upon as a possessor of any knowledge at all. His opinions are never listened to, and his ideas are always cast out. At a family discussion, if he just opens his mouth, he is immediately "shut up" and sent to bed.

But when it comes to movies―a boy's bread and meat―no mere grown-up can put anything over him. A boy doesn't exactly care for John Gilbert and Ronald Colman. They make love too much, and their pictures are, on the whole, too dry. But he loves stars like Victor McLaglen, George O'Brien and Gary Cooper. They are the real men―the giants of the movies. Their great build and powerful muscles fascinate him. Doug Fairbanks and Lon Chaney give him his thrills and chills. It's always a treat to see their pictures. For fun, it's William Haines, Stan Laurel and Charlie Chase who hand him his laughs. He thinks they're greater than great.

Of all the girls in the movies, Clara Bow takes his heart, and Mary Pickford picks second place. The rest are all right―sometimes.

These are all his thoughts of the movies. I know―for I am a boy.

Here is a whole armful of bouquets for Lewis Stone! He is the best representative on the screen of a husband in real life. So neglectful of his wife in the picture "Wild Orchids," giving her a little peck of a kiss and going to sleep at the most romantic moment.

Men may be John Gilberts before they are married, but most of them are Lewis Stones after they are married.

May Lewis Stone long remain in the pictures!

When one goes to a silent photoplay, however loud the music is or however much the people around are making audible remarks, at least one can read the titles. There is in the talking films a tendency in some pictures for the unseen orchestra to play too loudly while dialogue is being spoken, and unless this is carefully watched by the producers it is going to utterly spoil the talkies. Just recently! saw a splendid picture called "The Leatherneck," with those sterling players, William Boyd, Alan Hale and Robert Armstrong, and the orchestra played so loudly in many places that I could only with the greatest difficulty hear what was said, and I missed some of it. It made me very annoyed as it spoiled the fine picture. This is such a serious fault that I hope producers will be warned and take steps to carefully watch this important matter; otherwise, however good their picture may be, it will be spoiled. And I may add that I have excellent hearing, so to those who are not so blessed it would be still worse.

I have been an ardent movie fan for years ​and therefore qualified to judge, but have never before done so. After seeing "The Desert Song" I can no longer remain silent. May I offer my appreciation to Warner Brothers for making such a magnificent production and for bringing real romance back to the screen? I hope it becomes the greatest hit of pictures. It certainly is perfect. I also have another bouquet to offer Mr. John Boles for his splendid acting and singing. He has the most perfect screen voice so far heard. And his singing would melt a stone. We have been looking for Rudy's successor for a long time. We needn't look farther. We have him. Congratulations, Mr. Boles, for being the best sheik I have ever seen. I'm sure you could outshine any male star if given a few more pictures like this one. Here's hoping we see more of you.

You might be interested in the practical way I have been able to utilize the covers of your magazine.

This is not a direct compliment to the actresses, but rather to the artist who designed the covers for February, March, April and May, representing the four types of coloring and the shades to be worn by each type.

I have cut out the figures, mounted them on a large cardboard with a color chart, and am using them and part of the reading material in teaching lessons on costume design. The interest of the pupils is stimulated, due to their interest in and liking for the actresses.

I'm for the new "look and listen" pictures. They're great!

I've heard people say when the radio first came out—"Give me the good old phonograph. Those radios will never amount to much." But as time went on they bought a nice radio and away went their old love, the phonograph. As there'll always be the good old phonograph there'll always be the good old silent pictures.

Talkies may be bad for the deaf, but they're better for poor eyes. There's something for everyone and every condition, so no one ought to complain.

My biggest kick comes out of these new talking comedies. There isn't an ill person who needs a better tonic than a good, comical, "look and listen" comedy.

Some years ago two women who lived in a sawmill town decided to start a circulating library for the benefit of employees and their families. A small house was donated and a start was made with fifty dollars for books. When the library outgrew its quarters, the women decided to raise money for an auditorium, which would also house the library.

With the cooperation of the lumber company an artistic building was erected, but a bothersome debt remained. A motion picture machine was bought and good pictures shown three nights each week. A small admission fee was charged. In a surprisingly short time the machine was paid for, the debt lifted from the building, and the whole atmosphere of the town changed.

If anyone has doubts about the educational ​value of motion pictures, here is concrete proof: The poor and ignorant began to dress better, to take an interest in beautifying their homes, to read and study. Thanks to the movies, that lonely, remote settlement blossomed into a charming little city.

I also have a foolish ambition. It is the same as Mrs. H. E. Hanson's of Chicago; to meet Joan Crawford and tell her how beautiful she is; also to wish her every happiness, and the best of luck.

The movies are helping to keep my marriage a success. Our existence is a busy one. My husband's profession is exacting, and on my side, there is a house to manage, two children, and a part-time career.

This is the way I reason. If a man enjoys watching attractive women, attractively gowned, in an agreeable setting, in the films, he will react to the same thing at home. So I try to recreate in our home, so far as possible, the atmosphere of beauty and charm that affects us so powerfully on the screen.

I've heard women say that the beautiful movie stars make the competition very stiff for wives. Not at all. When you go to a picture and see John Gilbert appearing to get a thrill from Greta Garbo, go home and put a little of that allure in yourself. A pretty dress, shining hair becomingly done, a few soft lights, a grate fire, a little lovelight in your eyes. Your own John Gilbert will play up and Romance will always be at home for you.

No, I have nothing to blame the movies for, nor do I compete with them. I use them!

I have a suggestion to make to the folks who write in about the "terrible pictures" offered to the public, and the number of new faces on the screen.

Read "The Shadow Stage." You don't have to see any show you wouldn't like, because the criticisms are fair and true. And the cast of characters is presented for every release, so you can see whether your favorites are included. There's no need for anyone to be disappointed or disgusted with a production, with Photoplay around.

In all-talking pictures I have noticed that when a particularly mirth-provoking line has been spoken by the actor on the screen, the words immediately following are drowned out by the laughs or hand-clapping of the audience. To me and to many it is distinctly annoying to have this happen, and since the audience cannot be prohibited from expressing their amusement, it is up to the director to take notice.