AMUSEMENT SECTION
PHOTOPLAY
THEATRES
DANCINO
MUSIC
Ueftger
jcuetratg
PHILADELPHIA, SATURDAY EVENING, APRIL 8, 1916
A LITTLfi THING LIKE THIS IS NOTHING
DIRECTOR'S VALUE
THE MOVIES THRIVE ON DISASTER
IN DIRECT RATIO
TO PUBLIC'S WISH
The Final Verdict on a Director's
Work Rests Not With Hirriseli
But His Audiences
--"
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Up, up, UP goes Anita King's car when it leaps from the broken bridge in
the landing that counts, ns you may see just across
A Dramatic Critic Criticised
by an Humble Playwright
The Authoress of "The Fear Market" Disputes
With Walter Prichard Eaton Over
His Review of Her Play-
By AMELIEi RIVES
Princess Troubctzkoy.
FAIR play Is tlio motto of tho Atislo
Saxon, nml "turn about la fnlr play," ao
I venturo to liopo that tho KvnNtNO
I.edocr, which printed on tho 25th of
March an nrttclo by Jlr. Walter Prichard
Eaton In regard to my play, "Tho Fear
Market," will print this article by mo In
regard to that of Jlr. Eaton.
Tho dramatic critics, with some notnhlo
exceptions, Bmote mo on tho rlRht cheek,
and In sllenco I submitted to being smitten
on tho left also, but Mr. Eaton's blow
comes "when patience has had her per
fect wo-V and left mo." Besides, oven
Kcrlptu docs not say that ono must go
on offcrlrff oneself Indefinitely to thosmlt
ers without resistance.
Perhaps ono reason why I feel llko
"answering1 back" In this case Is because
I bavo so much liked Mr. Eaton's book,
The American Stage of Today," and look
forward to nn enlightening criticism from
l;Im something that would encourage, no
mattor how severely It might consure.
When two friends of his told mo that ho
Intended writing n criticism of "Tho Fear
Market" I was much pleased. "Now I
shall have some constructive criticism of
my play," was my thought; "something
that will show mo where tho faults are
and how to mend them." This sort of
criticism I call "growing pains."
"Fait1 l. aro tho wounds of a friend,"
and crl fjn to bo helpful should bo nl
waya frlally, oven when its frlondllness
Is that of tho surgeon's knlfo. And so
cheerfully I took up Mr. Eaton's nrtlclo
In the Evening Lbdohju
It began with large headlines that set
forth a very bad pen In very bad tasto,
and It went on in the usual patronizing
and facetious vein of newspaper criticism
to which I have grown accustomed. Ho
epeaka of the plot of tho play ns "Princess
Troubotzlcoy's plotting," which ho con
demned for lack of plausibility. This lack
of plausibility he sets forth In an example
as follows :
"For Instance, tho editor of the slimy
paper will not let his daughter read his
publication, for ho loves her and doesn't
want her to find out what his business is.
She, however, consumed with curiosity, Is
living at a hotol where It lies on the nows
stand. But, of course. If she weren't told by
her lover, tho doubtless lawyer (slo) who
Is exposing her father, what tho bustness
Is, the play would have to bo all rewrit
ten." Now, from these comments one Interest
ing, it regrettable fact, stands forth tho
fact that Mr. Eaton believes that no girl
Is capable of keeping a promise. If the
least temptation fall In her way. Sylvia
(the girl In my play) has promised her
father not to read a copy of his paper
until he gives her permission. AVhen I was
a girl I made my father promises which I
kept, though It waB hard to keep some of
them, and I am glad to say that the girls
I knew then and the girls I know now
have also the sense of honor which would
keep them from breaking such promises.
Besides, Sylvia has lived In Italy since
she was 6 years old, and even If she were
such a little wretch as to want only op
portunity In order to break her word, such
papers as that which Mr. Eaton allude?
to as the "old Town Topics" are unknown
in Italy. I speak with authority, for I
have spent six months of almost every
:. W'
""l1"" " hhiiwii (ii ' Jf
tfARIE ATKINS
In "Bringing Up Father," at the
Walnut next week.
SS?xBKBWmM
irz.
t-r?vE,ev,
year In Italy for 20 years, and In nil that
tlmo I hnvo nover seen thoro a copy of
that paper or heard It alluded to. It has
been said that Sylvia must havo scon her
father's paper, Tho Arbiter, or heard of
It from her American friends, tho Sayrcs,
but my friends In New York neither sub
scribe to Town Topics nor discuss It, un
less (as In my play) they happen to bo
approached by ono of Its ngjnts.
Mr. Eaton Bums up his criticism by say
ing of "Tho Fear Market," 'It Is a very
good bad play." This Is llko saying, "It
Is a very wet dry sponge," or "Ho Is a
very nllvo dead man." It Is a paradox
pushed to tho extreme, such as Hegel uses
when ho says, "Nothing Is tho samo as be
ing." Both Mr. Eaton and Horr Hegel
havo certainly what Mr. Eaton goner
ously Implies that I havo "real Intelli
gence." But theso phrases of theirs to the
average mind aro hardly Intelligible.
I tako comfort, however, from some
other remarks of Mr. Eaton In his book,
"Tho American Stage of Today." On Us
first pago ho says: "Most that (sic) tho
nowspapcrs chronlclo Is best forgotten.
And tho newspapers chronlclo many things
about the stage." On tho second pago ho
says: "A good play needs no critic. It
goes on delivering Its own message p.nd
tho wise man will prefer to see It, not
road about It." That. I am glad to say,
is what Is happening to "Tho Fear Mar
ket," now In Its 11th week. Whether tho
men nnd women who go to reo It are what
Mr. Eaton would call wise I do not know,
but certainly a great many who nro con
sidered wiso by tho general public ure
going every night.
Mr. Eaton modestly says on page 4 of
his above-mentioned book: "I am a pretty
feeblo smasher." Now, I do not think that
a critic who begins a criticism with tho
headline "So-and-so's Play Is a Fearful
Thing." and ends It by tho Hegelian para
dox that this "fearful play" Is a "vary
good bad play," need bo to modest about
his capacity for "smashing."
Mr. Eaton says In conclusion that " 'The
Fear Market' Is so nearly first class In
many respects that It makes ono grlove
to withhold from It tho pralso wo would
llko to give."
It Is well that Mr. Eaton's father, as
ho states In tho dedication of tho book I
have so frequently referred to, "taught
him to bo humble before the great prob
lem of our speech," for to use In ono son
tenco both the third person singular and
the third person plural when referring o
oneself, and to say "most that" for "most
of that which" Indicates the need of such
humility.
By tho way, I knew that kings .ind
editors used "we" in alluding to them
selves, but I was not aware that dramatic
critics had also adopted that stately plu
ral. Mr. Eaton's grief over "smashing" me,
however "feebly," reminds me of the grief
of the Walrus over the poor Oysters that
he ended by devouring In that classic
poem, "The Walrus and the Carpenter "
The verse I am thinking of runs thus,
"I Krlxve for you." tho Walrus said,
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears ho sorted out
Those of tho larxrst size.
Hoidlne his pocket handkerchief
Uefore his streaming ees
It makes a touching picture, does It not?
The grief of the divourer over his victim
I Beem to see Mr. Eaton pressing away hla
tears with the critical moucholr In order
to see more clearly during his painful task
of "roasting" "The Fear Market," I seem
to hear the final sob with which he throw
aside his pen after writing, with poignant
regret, the last sentence damning it with
faint praise.
Iteally, It does seem sometimes as If
Disraeli's bitter words In "IJtharlo" were
true (with the notable exceptions Bpoken
of in the beginning of this article): "To
morrow the critics will begin. Do you
know who the critics are? The men who
have failed In literature and art."
The Scot's word for poet is "Makker"
(Maker), and the greatest creations of the
greatest poet are men and women. Now,
what man or woman Is without faults?
And, therefore, how can our humble crea
tions be faultless? The answer Is simple
they cannot 1
But the Supreme Creator is kinder to
us and our faults than the dramatic critic
Is to our little creations and their faults.
The Divine Critic says to his living
works: "Do this 'and that speclfio thing
and mend your faults."
The dramatic critic Bays: "Presumptu
ous wretch! How dare you create a thing
with faults in It?"
With facile sneers he proceeds to de
molish the odious thing that dares have
faults. His whole mental attitude as he
Indites the last spiteful sentence la;
"Hal "ha! ha I I've eaten the canary!
p n canaries anyway 1. Fancy the pre
sumption of a bird daring to- exist unless
It be a phoenix I"
And now I am reasonably certain that
Conthiued ea fate four
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"The Race." Thaf s easy. Its
the page.
The Juliet Shelby
That I Know
By Mary Miles Minter
I don't think I shall over becomo very
conceited, becnimo every tlmo I start to
ho I get a hard knock. Either tho director
takes It out of mo or my mother lectures
mo, so that whenever I nnt Inclined to
think well of myself I can bo sure thcro's
a puncturo coming.
You probably don't bcllovo a word about
my ngo. I always hesitate about telling
It when any ono nsks me, because It soundi
ns though I were proud of It, but In
reality I'm not. I havo always felt old,
never younger than 13. Even when I
wan much younger than I am now I could
always sit up and convcrso with much
older people. It seems to be a. family
trait, and Isn't due to any effort on my
part, so why should I tako nny credit
for It?
Itcglstor despair. Mother tells mo to
"cultlvnto repose of manner," but it
doesn't do any good. I havo to keep mov
ing all tho tlmo. Somebody onco tried to
compliment mo by saying that It denoted
temperament, but that's Billy. I guess
It's Just nervousness. I'm that way men
tally, too. Of course, I work pretty hard
ut tho studio, nnd then I tutor In lots of
things, Including French and German, and
what llttlo tlmo Is left I spend out of
doors If possible
This winter I've dono lots of coasting
on thnt hill, nnd I'm strong enough to tnko
tho boys' sleds away from them, which Is
lots of fun, becnuso It makes them so
angry. You don't know how strong I am.
You see, I'm crazy about Jujutsu, and
have been taking lessons in it for name
time. Also I llko to box, bec.auso then
I have nn excuse to wave my nrms about
ns much as I want to.
I can manage my Bister Margaret quite
easily, nnd she Is 1G, but there's nover
nny reason for demonstrating that fact.
Wo aro very different, but I don't believe
we've ovtr had n serious quarrel, onb
sometimes at night, when I want tho light
left on to read by, and sho wants It off so
thnt sho can sleep; wo keep popping It on
and off for hours.
I appeared first on tho stage, you know,
and I want to get back to It. My work
beforo the camera Is very interesting, of
course, but I remain truo to my first love.
It Is really all a matter of opinion, but
to me legitimate stago work Is tho highest
form of histrionic art. I supposo It's Ik
causo I was brought up to It. But there
Is ono thing that I should miss If I gave
up my plctuio work, and that Is tho
traveling. I have gone to so many places
and met so many nice people, nil tho way
from Florida to tho Pacific coast, that I
really have a largo number of friends.
Tho people out West nro the most hos
pitable that I have ever met. Still, I want
to go buck to the stage.
The trouble Is I'm too particular about
parts. It Is hard to find a play that suits
tho sort of acting I can do best, and want
to do. A Btory like "The Littlest Itcbel,"
in which I played with Dustln Faruum,
can't be picked up every day. Margaret
Is cut out for comedy, but I prefer drama,
but not of the gushy and sentimental
kind.
FILMING AMERICA'S
.aSjiBTacnggtf.g.' r
. T" 1
C. Allan Gilbert invented the silhouette movies now distributed by the Paramount. So what more natural
than that Mr. Gilbert should bringls fellow artists and writers into the picture? From left to right, you
can trace the outlines of Mr. Gilbert, Jamea Montgomery Flagg, Owen Johnson, James Forbes, Mrs.
Flagg, Mrs. Johnson, Irvin Cobb, Margaret Mayo and Edgar Selwyn.
By MARGUERITE BERTSCH
MnrpHcrHo ncrtsch, tho director'
cilttor of the Vlt.iaraph, who produced
"A Million Dollar Hid," "Captain At
fnrer." ".j OjJlcfnJ inu," "Uncle
Jllll," "The Wreck," "The Vengeance
of Dttrand," "Shadows of the I'aal,"
"The Painted World," "Mortmain,"
"The Coir Man," "The Oust of
Egypt" and "Satiation Joan," is ttoto
ntt author-producer. She tells what
sho thinks tnn&rs a good director.
Defining tho good director should make
clear what Is wrong with tho picture field
today, or perhaps more fairly, what Is
wrong with tlibso productions thnt nro
poor, mediocre, or that In other wnys fall
foul of success
You see, I hold the director responsible
for It nil, slnco I do not class as directors
those who mcrclv out on u ecrlnt that In
given them. So often wo hear n director
explain a failure by saying that tho inaiul
serlpt from which ho produced It was
bad Wo enn understand this, but wo
rnnnot accept It un nn excuse What
ever inanufcript may be given n director
ho must be able at onco to analyze it for
every clement of strength or weakness, of
failuro or success. This accomplished, ho
must ho nbto to so revamp his material
that though nay not reach tho heights
for which It b nover orda(ncd, It will, at
least, got I' ns a success; for It Is a
director's r il duty to produce successes
only. Till equlres that tho director bo
an able pr .oplaywtlght. Very few direct
ors can y Ito their own big feature suc
ccsics, but all should bo nbto to fashion
what Is glxcn them Into ut least a pass
ing success.
In n popular art llko that of tho photo
play, I would value a director's work In
proportion to Ita appreciation by the public.
Tho public Is what tho photoplay director
plays for. Whoro ho wins their undivided
interest and smpathy ho has succeeded.
Whoro he wearies them ho has failed.
Tliero arc good plays, to bo sure, of mighty
themes that fall to Interest tho public, nnd
of theso I would say "moro la tho pity."
Why should an thing that la fino nnd
really worth whilo becnino dull and wonrl
somo In the telling? Why should not tho
things of deepest Import bo presented with
an Interest equal to their Importance.
They say It cannot bo dono. That high
art nnd tho gallery can never bo recon
ciled. They nro wrong. Tliero la no themo
so fino but It enn bo made to appeal to
tho simplest mind. Two things only aro
necessary, two things that make tho second
great requisite of the good director. Ho
must understand and lovo the simple mind,
oven ns ho must understand nnd love tho
thing that la line. I know well that this
Is a bold statement, ono for which I will
bo widely criticised. It does not matter.
I know It enn bo dono, Just as stolidly aa
thoy know It cannot be dono. It requires,
of course, n moro exquisite kiuwledgo of
Ilfo nnd of human nature, a dee under
standing of the recipient mil nnd of
life's underlying truths, than most direc
tors can bring to bear on Its achievement.
Tho third requlslto of tho good director
la to crcato churacter and to Infuso Ilfo
Into tho characters drawn. To do this ho
must know man. Not man na ho Is pre
scnted to us In psychology, In philosophy,
sociology, economics or even in History
these sciences give us tho truths concern
ing man ; they do not glvo us man. To
know of a thing In not really to know It.
A director must know his fellows through
overy fibre of hla being. Ho must bo so
highly sensitized that not tho dicker of nn
eyelash escapes him, that not tho twitch
of a muscle but thrills him with Its volume
of significance, that not tho blank front
of tho mask can hide Its secret from him.
Tho Impressions that coino to him so
vividly from mankind ho can send back
ngaln nlong tho wiro to mankind as It pre
sents Itself In what constitutes hla audi
ence. Thus far I havo not mentioned tho
wist fund of knowledge In all fields that a
director must possess, which knowledge
will appear In hla work as attention to
nnd correctness In detail. Nor havo I men
tioned that most essential requisite, a
knowledgo of hla camera and an apprecia
tion of tho Importance to his auccess of tho
work of his camera man. These points
nro to well recognized nnd do so stand to
reason that I would class them nil together
as one big obvious requirement. Iastly,
but not least important to n director's suc
cess Is nn Instinctive or a cultivated ap
preciation of art; that feeling for what Is
fino In line nnd composition, in tone and
values, that will mako overy moment of
hla picture nn artistic production.
THEATRICAL producini man
agers are asklnrr in profound
dismay what is the matter with tho
small cities, and the small cities
are replying tartly that thftre is
nothing the matter with them, but
a great deal tho matter with tho
attractions sent out by the produc
ing managers. Channing Pollock.
MOST FAMOUS ARTISTS IN SILHOUETTE
rKHr.Z fa&.
, -, 7
i ' ' '.
When the trick i3 pulled off
may be
'Heads, I Am a Doctor;
Tails, I Am a
Singer"
In ono nf O. Henry's most remarkable
and curious stories ho narrates the ad
ventures of a young man who reached his
destiny by thrco separate roads. Few are
given that unusunl privilege of taking
thicc chances nt their destiny: most of us
havo but one, nnd that one Is u severo
enough test of our discretion. John
Charles Thomas, who Is nt present appear
ing with great success In "Alone at I.nst,"
which comes to tho Lyric Theatre for a
limited engagement, beginning Monday,
April 17, realizing ho had but ono road to
travel to his destiny, chose It by the aim
plo and primitive method of tossing a
coin. Which procedure, ns tho vernacular
of Broadway would havo it. was "pausing
the buck" to fate. Thus it came about
that from tho precNo moment that the
head of a half -dollar landed downward,
John Cluirlea Thomas began his career
aa a singer Instead of iw.doctor nf medi
cine. Previous to this Important and
portentous moment. Jlr. ThomnB had sung
and had conned tho pagca of thu "Materia
Medlca" so that ho was prepared to greet
either side of tho coin.
However. Thomas would have been
sorely disappointed had heads turned up,
for It was IiIb anient deslro from the tlmo
ho sang In tho choir of his father's church
In a small town In Pennsylvania to be
come a singer. Ho had only taken up
mcdlclno nt his father's solicitation and
had entered on his studlcB In a half
hearted manner. Moreover, nt this time
tho annual competition for a scholarship
to tho Peabody Institute. Baltimore, was
being held. Thomas entered with 00
otheia and won out, which waa quod crat
dcmanstxmdum of placing one'a confi
dence In the Hipping of a coin. Since
graduating from tho Peabody Institute
Thomas has sung himself through a half
doen productions, rolling up success In
each succeeding one llko n smntl boy rolls
up ii lingo t.now ball One could almost
say that Thomas had reached tho pinnacle
of buccess when he climbs the summit of
tho Jungfrnu every night, as Baron
I' ran.!, In "Alone at Last." but Thomns
would promptly discourage any such state
ment, for ho Is very ambitious nnd de
termined to scalo heights equally as high
In tho musical world.
The Third Generation
of Drew
The third generation of the Drew fam
ily, bo far ns tho American stage is con
cerned, la rcpreBeiitcd by Louise Drew,
whose genulno distinction as a come
dlciino may bo gatip-d by he Bparkllng
Impersonation of tho bogus Fp- nch woman
In "It Pays to Advertise."
ml.. 1-- t. I".jiiu tfna Tnlin t-iinlrit
.i nm,, from n.. lln and n inda 1. s
who came from Dunlin ana mane ms
American debut In New Ymk Just 70
years ago. The son in tlmo roiioweu bril
liantly in his father's footsteps. Louise,
his daughter, made her debut In her
father's company In 1902 Sho was edu
cated in Notre Dame Academy In Philadelphia.
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just right and the cameramen of the Lasky forces are ready, tho result
a wrecked racer, but it is also an exciting film.
H
Grifritli, the Wizard
of the Photoplay, Wor
OW
The Producer of "The
His Own Novel
Which Is
Tlin methoda of the man who mado
"Tho Illrth of a Nation," who Is D. W
Griffith, aro of great Interest to nit who
keep apace with what Is dono In tho
movie world. Not long ngo Bomo -visitors
woro allowed In his theatre and give this
account of what they saw under his can
vas proscenium arch which kept tho sun's
rays from tho players:
Wo wcro freo to wander about where
wo liked and for ns long ns we liked
so long ns wo obeyed studio laws.
Chief of these Is: Novor step In front
i of a camera. That rule Is obeyed oven
by tho studio dogs, of which thcro are
suro to bo several. Most of theso dogs
havo cither to be led on the set so thor
ough la their understanding of the rule
or else rehearBcd In tho one sceno till they
know they belong there.
The Becond law lias purely locnl applica
tion, and Is not really a law nt all. It
Is cxprossed by overy ono In about tho
sanie words:
"Hotter not bother Mr. Griffith unless
It's absolutely necessary ; he's a very busy
man."
Wo concludo that ho must bo, not only
because overy ono wo speak to says so
repeatedly, but because during ono whole
busy morning we failed to catch even a
glimpso of tho mnn.
Ho Is thero ; overy ono says that, too.
He Is rehearsing, or directing, or con
sulting, or all three, here, there, or
somewhero about ; but you do not seo him.
On tho big orderly stage, crowded with
sets and players and technical assistants,
there Is a dominant spirit that you cannot
nt once put your finger on. If you nro
used to motion picture studloa you get a
dozen Impressions from a dozen different
details, and they all dovetail Into nn In
dividuality the porsonalltyof thestudlo
which Is suro to mirror accurately the
personality of Its director-general.
Looking for this man aHUUh you wan
der from stago to Btago of the Fine Arts
studio, up and down the paved streets of
this miniature city, from the group of
technical buildings In ono corner to the
outdoor gymnasium In tho court of tho
men's dressing room, or on to the great
storehouses of furnishings nnd tho shops.
lSery where you hear ono name Mr.
Griffith. Tho big projection room is to
be clear for his work at 5 o'clock ho sug
gested a certain kind of hanging for this
Ilenalssunco drawing room, and so that
kind will be found at all costs Mr. Grif
fith saw It in rehearsal and let It go
through, bo It must be all right. That's
.., , ,,i , .. r-.imn. ...,-
a piece of business that Mr. Griffith sug
gested and It makes the scene. Mr. Grif
fith said to be thcro at 9 sharp and, you
know, ho mustn't be kept waiting.
Tho listening visitor becomes possessed
by tho conviction that this Invisible di
rector Is at least five men. How else is
such ubiquity possible?
We stnnd among the quiet watchers
behind the battery of cameras. Here are
directors nnd assistant directors, operators
nnd their assistants, players off duty or
l waiting for their entrance Into the bcene.
Occasionally a bit of vigorous, high
pitched dialogue from a set marks shandy
the recording of some Intense moment in
a play where the use of epepech will help
the players to an accentuation of dramatic
values, but for the most part voices are
subdued to ordinary conversational tone.
There Is none of the traditional shout
ing of directors no fine frenzy at all,
Theso ure Griffith directors. They use
speech during the actual taking of a
scene about as much as the leader of a
symphony orchestra at a final rehearsal.
A director la arguing- with a somewhat
self-assertive player.
"Well, you know. Mr. Griffith liked it
better done that way," he says, and the
argument Is ended.
We get It In bits like that every few
minutes, and all the while wo have one eye
open for an extraordinarily agile man In
shirt sleeves whom we expect tn see come
tearing across the stage, waving hands full
of script and volleying orders (and prob
ably Imprecation!) like a human cyclone.
Oht we're sure we'll know him when he
' cames.
Hut nobody volleys and no arms are
wuved.-' This might all be a drawing
room scene If It were not for tho mot.
ley of costumes and the btaxlng of the
California sun overhead. .There Is a lit
tle subdued laughter among the gathered
Knots of players behind the cameras and
over there a gr"P of women and girls
ono Is In crinoline and ringlets, another
In modish evening dress and still another
In the short riding skirt of the plains
1 are working on embroidery and talking
about D. W. Griffith.
1 "He seldom seems to see any one," Bays
i a veteran of the studios, "unless he has
business to speak of. ,Uut he sees every?
thinr and seems to know everything. They
say he is the quickest and surest Judge
of character ever. Just one glance and
he has your number."
This is disconcerting. We atlfl an Im
pulse to escape while there Is yet time,
and begin to ask questions. We ask Uie
same sort of questions of players and
carpenters and cameramen and even of
Birth of a Nation" Has
Methods, One of
Quietness
directors. What sort of man Is this Grif
fith, who so strangely resembles a general
on n modern battlefield, with his fingers
constantly on a hundred communication
llncs'and his person In un Invisible dugout
miles away? The answor varlea only In
tho wording. This is n typical .sample:
"My boy, he's a living wonder the
nearest thing to Infallible that thla gamo
has produced. He knows overy scene In
all tho ten plays constantly In produc
tion, ho sees every set, ho knows overy
player, ho passes on every foot of film.
And yet he encourages tho greatest pos
sible originality from everybody and never
wants any of the credit or tho lime
light." But wo found something else, nnd wo
had to come to It bit by bit during the
thrco days we kept watch for tho director
general In his own big workshop. These
scenes wo saw being mado, these playH we .
Baw comjng Into being, scene by scrnloT"
might or might not bo produced directly
under tho dlrector-gonernl'H cyo. Ho might
not go flitting from set to set all day long,
ns we had expected. But ho was actually
present In nn even more complete anS
cffectlvo way The Griffith Ideals, the
Griffith methods, the Griffith standards- ,
theso were the Ideals and methods and
standards of every ono on tho lot. He
had dono more than stamp an art with
his genius; moro even than select ana
trnln to high efficiency a corps of workers
he had created a living, responsive and,
highly individualized organism for creative
production.
We began to get a glimmer of whai
"Grltnth Supervised" really means.
It was our third day of watchful wait
ing and wo had begun to receive casual
recognition ns some undefined part of the
Institution Tho ngllo arm-waving person
In shirt sleeves had not appeared, but Ve
had seen and recognized many celebrities
of tho footllchtH and screen and werp mak
ing mental notes on 'the rest. Ono Individ
ual had attracted our attention because of
hla odd behavior.
"Thnt tall, forceful-looking actor in tho
gray Norfolk suit." we commented to a
neighbor, "seems to keep to himself a lot.
He goes wandering through with that big
man and talking, but Tie never looks
around. Wo haven't seen him In make-up
these three days and wo don't remember
his fnco on tho Bcroen. Nobody pays any
attention to him, but he looks like .some
body. What's his name?"
"Name!" exclaimed our neighbor,
grinning at us, "his name's Grllllthl"
JOAN SAAVYER
The graceful and finished dancer
who comes to Keith's next we ek.
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