F I L M T R U T H

“FILM TRUTH” accepts no advertising, prints no press-agent bunk, has no boss other than its thousands of readers—and is prepared to travel willingly to the eternal bowwows the day it discovers that any other guidance is necessary.

It is the only publication for the public that comes from “within the industry,” with all the real news, and the latest news.

You get concentrated, unadulterated, unalloyed “pep” when you buy “FILM TRUTH,” without a wasted word or a slushy syllable.

But—to be sure of getting “FILM TRUTH” every month you must let your newsdealer know that you want it. His orders are limited and he can’t be blamed if you are disappointed when an issue sells out faster than he anticipated. Be on the safe side and have him save a copy for you every month. Tell him to-day!

{3}

Simper, Simple Sucker

DON’T cry little sucker—don’t cry! If they put Ponzi in jail the movies will get you bye and bye. You will always be taken care of—considerably more “taken” than cared for.

An easily deceived world has been led to believe that the official birth rate of the sucker clan is “one every minute”—but the man who made the calculation must have had a slow-motion watch.

We know that we are babbling words of truth. For we have before us the shining example—the word “shine” is appropriate—of a person who calls himself “Director Brennan.” Almost as long as we can remember, this self-christened “Director Brennan” has been fishing in the Shimmering Sucker Sea with the movies as his bait. And the fishing must be good, for he keeps at it, and keeps expanding.

Our first recollection of the fisherman calls to mind some very crude bait. But it worked. For a fee of several seaworthy simoleons, simpering suckers who thought they had ability that could successfully cope with a camera were permitted to see their photographic likeness in a bulletin which they were warmly assured met the eyes of all the leading producers and casting directors. The open road to a screen career was to pay for the insertion of your photograph in the bulletin—and pay again, and pay some more. Directors had to have players, and logic is logic, sooner or later some director was going to see your photo.

Only a month ago we came across one of these old bulletins in a dingy East Side printing shop. Honest, cross our heart, we are neither spoofing nor joshing—{4}there were three hundred pound would-be ingenues and Ben Turpin doubles who aspired to play handsome heroes. Bleating boobs waited in hourly anticipation of a wire from David Griffith—“I saw your photo in Brennan’s Bulletin and must have you to play the lead in my next picture.”

In vaudeville parlance “Director Brennan” was working a “single” act then. Coming down to the Fall of 1920 we find him “doubling in brass.” If you are a silly sucker anxiously fearing that you may escape your fate we are about to show you how easy it has been made for you. Director Brennan is playing both ends against the middle—for your convenience. And—“if you don’t find what you want ask for it.”

In the New York Evening Mail we renewed our acquaintance with Director Brennan one night by reading the following ad:

GET INTO THE WONDER INDUSTRY OF THE WORLD.

The motion picture producing business. Hundreds of fortunes have been made and are being made in it. Successful motion picture playwright and director offer part ownership in a series of powerful, emotional plays for the screen, entitled “When Dreams Come True,” “Time Will Tell” and “Inspector Flynn.” I’ve got the plays, the experience, the organization and the facilities for producing up to date pictures with the real punch in them. No stock jobbing scheme. No agents. Principals only. See me personally.

Director BRENNEN, 2 West 123d st., N. Y. C.

The following morning we picked up the Illustrated News to find this burning message:

A GENUINE OPPORTUNITY TO MAKE GOOD IN PICTURES.

If you have the talent to act in pictures and can qualify I will put you on the screen and register your type and personality in a series of scenes, flashes and close-ups running from 200 to 500 feet and record your screen adaptability; a wonderful chance for a few ambitious beginners of both sexes to make good in pictures. Director Brennan, New Idea Films, 2 West 123d street.

{5}

We must say that “Director Brennan” has our admiration. If “Safety First” is a nation’s motto, “Safety Always” is “Director Brennan’s” bible. His proposition is legally correct, and technically true. This may mean a lot to a sucker but it’s a ha-ha to us. Nevertheless, though Post Office Inspectors have looked him over, and our old friend Bill Hicks, the valiant crusader of the Specialty Salesman, has tested his spear on him, it must be stated in loud and certain terms that “Director Brennan” is “within the law.”

So line up, members of the clan. If you desire a part ownership in “When Dreams Come True”—go to it. If the dreams are slow in coming try “Time Will Tell.” After the pictures have been completed by the “successful motion picture playwright and director” and you’re wondering what the devil to do with them—ask “Inspector Flynn.” After that, get out of the line and clear the way. There was another one born the same minute that you were—and he is pleading for a “part ownership.” All we can assure you is that if “Director Brennan” offers to sell you a “part ownership” you’ll get a “part ownership.” There’s nothing wrong with that proposition.

Neither is there anything corkscrewey about the “Genuine Opportunity to Make Good in Pictures.” “If you have the talent and can qualify,” it is very simple. Of course you are not expected to be surprised when you learn that you “qualify” by having coin sufficient to pay for a test print of yourself. If the price seems pretty high for two hundred feet of film that costs about four cents a foot, be comforted by the compensating fact that despite the ad you didn’t have to show a heluva lot of “talent.{6}”

What are you going to do with the “series of scenes, flashes and close-ups” after you get it? Search us! Perhaps it will make a dainty watch-fob. Our best society is now using a strip of moving picture film as a visiting card. There is nothing better to start a good fire on a wintry night; and we have even known of films that could be substituted for gorgonzola. Maybe yours will qualify as camembert.

At least you cannot say that “Director Brennan” did not live up to his promises and the letter of the law. He offered you a “wonderful chance to make good in pictures.” You’ve made good. Yes, sir! Cash in advance. You’ve made good, suckling, don’t worry.

You’ve been “made”—and good.

SUGGESTIONS FOR A FEW “SUPER SPECIALS”

These ideas, offered gratuitously, are guaranteed to work in the hands of the worst amateur and are assured smashing box-office success:

For a “Super-DeMille” special: Discard the envelope chemise, and prevail on Paris to design a postcard chemise.

For a “Super-Sennett” special: Clothe the girls in modesty.

For a “Super-Lew Cody” special: Frequent close-ups of dainty molar signatures on his broad shoulders.

This way out!{7}

Rough-riding Mrs. Reilly

A correspondent from Los Angeles steps up to us with this dare, “Speaking of film truth, is there an editor with the moral courage to call the bluff of one Pearl Reilly, better known as Charlotte Shelby, mother of Mary Miles Minter?”

Wouldn’t that peeve a pacifist moo-cow? Here we have gone serenely along thinking that, with all the crimes we might be accused of, of all the blistering names that might burn our skin, none would even hint at a lack of courage. If we need courage then T. N. T. could be improved with a dash of pepper.

Our correspondent wants to know if we care to call the bluff of Mrs. Charlotte Shelby. Frankly, we don’t care particularly about the job. Mrs. Shelby means considerably less than zero in our young life; and only a minute fraction of that to most of our readers.

Aside from having been granted possession of a very talented daughter, Mrs. Shelby Reilly would be stealing time under false pretenses when occupying the thoughts of either the editor or his readers. Stage mothers are perfectly capable of taking themselves seriously and realizing their own flabbergasting importance. Thank the stars there is no need of the rest of us helping out at the job.

True it may be, as our correspondent says, that “Mrs. Reilly has ridden roughshod over everyone she meets and gets away with it. She has no regard for the dignity of any profession, insults newspaper men and writers, directors, leading men, and in fact has everything pretty much her own way.{8}”

Isn’t it a sad story? Can you tell us what sort of “newspaper men” Mrs. Shelby or any one else can “insult” and get away with it? Advertising solicitors, perhaps. They are fair game for anyone in all seasons. But our own years of pencil-pushing from New Orleans to Milwaukee and New York to San Francisco have failed to record on our books any “insults” unrevenged. As a matter of fact any good newspaper man will say that an insult makes the best sort of story.

Ask the shade of old Vanderbilt what it thinks about the time that crusty individual declared, “The Public be Damned!”

Mrs. Shelby can continue riding if she cares to, dear correspondent, but she’s only spoofing her own sweet self if she thinks she is going to continue to “get away with it.” Some day she’ll stub her toe in a poison ivy patch.

Perhaps the first scene of the final act has already been played. The Hollywood Dirty Dishers say it has. According to our correspondent the action started when Charlotte Whitney, for six years secretary to Mary Miles Minter, bobbed up out of a job. According to the letter writer, wagging tongues in Los Angeles declared that “Mrs. Reilly and Charlotte had a terrible row over Mary and that Charlotte told Mrs. R. where to head in. Rumor has linked Mary’s name with that of a well known actor and Ma Reilly went wild. She had visions of the family meal ticket annexing a husband. Charlotte was supposed to keep guard over Mary at the studio while Ma Reilly endeavored to keep tabs at home.

“It seems that Charlotte, could see no harm in Mary’s having a little love affair with a nice young man and didn’t keep the door properly locked.{9}

“When things got too hot at home Mary had a way of sneaking out of the unhappy mansion and going to Charlotte’s house.” Our correspondent then relates this denouement. “This had happened one night and while Charlotte and Mary were getting ready for bed Ma Reilly burst in the door and for the moment forgot her pose as the southern aristocrat. The neighbors recognized the Minter car at Charlotte’s door and gathered round to hear the row and witness the fond mother, with the gentle southern manner, drag her eighteen year old daughter out by the ear.

“The next morning Mrs. Shelby ordered two well known actors on the Lasky lot to keep out of Charlotte’s office, accusing them of designs on Mary and Mary’s money. A well known director was also forbidden to speak to Mary. A few days after Charlotte announced that she was through as secretary.”

If this be true—isn’t it a rumbunktious mess? But if all such facts were roaming around awaiting placing—this lone editor’s “moral courage” would not be needed to “call Mrs. Shelby’s bluff.” It seems to us that Charlotte is the little girl who is apt to turn that trick at any minute. Keep your eyes on Charlotte, boys and girls.

The dailies duly recorded that Gail Kane, demure and with downcast eyes, walked down the church aisle with Henry Iden Ottman, of New York, recently.

The groom is a son of the founder of a packing house bearing his name—hence should be well supplied with “skins,” wherewith to cater to the movie star’s well known expensive tastes. Which is well, oh, very well.{10}

S’s’sh——! Some Gossip

Egotism and lack of ability usually go hand in hand. Yet, we cannot say the rule applies in Maxwell Karger’s particular case. Karger has the respect of practically all the stars on the Metro roster, and apparently has more than his share of ability. But, ye Gods, what a swelled dome! We understand there is a clause in this Director General’s contract with Metro, whereby his name must appear in every story sent out by the publicity department. We judge every copy reader in the country who gets the junk cuts the name out, just because they are sick and disgusted at even such long distance evidence of “great I amness.” Darned if we can figure ourselves, exactly why Karger thinks his name looks so pretty in type.

Oi, Oi. Vass is? That business disturber Lewis Selznick, just when he is considered down and out, gets himself new backing, and out comes an announcement that his two kids, Myron and David, who masquerade under impressive titles, and who should be back in high school, go abroad to “study the foreign situation.” That, to us, is the biggest laugh of the past month. About all the study of the foreign situation they will do will be to study the shapely legs of the midinettes who parade the Boulevard des Italiens and the Place de la Opera in Paris. Yes, indeed, Algernon, papa’s new bankroll, said to have been advanced by Stanley Mastbaum of Philadelphia, will take wings just as did all his other bankrolls under the able hands of these two, whom we have heard referred to by Harry Reichenbach, as the “biggest jokes of the business.{11}”

A little bird whispers that Bill Russell, Fox star, is about to take the matrimonial plunge. The woman? Why, his leading lady in recent pictures, Helen Ferguson.

A picture no artist could paint was presented by Sammy Goldwyn, nee Goldfish, as he stood wreathed in smiles at the entrance to the Astor theatre, New York, waiting for congratulations after the premier showing of “Earthbound.” Someone in the Goldwyn publicity department must have tipped Sam off that he had a good picture, so, baldhead and all, there he was waiting for the critics to line up and pat him on the back. You know, all our very best film magnates are like that, shunning the limelight and detesting publicity.

In a corner of the Astor Hotel, where as many million dollar companies are started (on paper) each day, as upon the rug of the Alexandria Hotel, Los Angeles, each night, several gentlemen were discussing D. W. Griffith the other day.

One was telling a story to the effect that the Great D. W. had gotten himself unpopular in a great many circles.

Says he, “Griffith, y’know has forgotten his ‘ham fat’ days, and with his resonant voice and omnipotent air, gotten himself generally ‘in wrong,’ Well, an advertising solicitor breezed around to his offices the other day, and Grey, his man Friday, like a faithful Great Dane, blatantly berated the man for daring to insinuate Griffith should advertise. ‘Do you know you speak of the Great Griffith,’ says Grey.

Great H——,’ sulphurously replied the ad solicitor. ‘When he comes through with an advertising contract I’ll stand for that bull.{12}’ ”

We doubt if there is a shrewder woman in the theatrical game than Justine Johnston, Realart’s new star. Justine, otherwise Mrs. Waenger (yep, he is with Realart, too) has our deep respect. Prior to marriage she got along very well, from Ziegfeld Follies days, through her period as hostess in Broadway “gyp” joints, down to the time she guided the destinies of “The Little Club.” Ask any New Yorker of the latter place. We thought Justine’s hand was out of the Club, then after paying two and a half dollars for a snifter of something or other, we wondered. However, that is natural. Every time we think of Justine, we somehow think of the word “expense.”

Boy, page Morris Gest!

Just before Ollie Thomas went abroad with hubby Jack Pickford, coast wanderers came back with an amusing yarn. Seems, according to the tale bearers, Ollie was partying a bit, and announced to all and sundry that Jack thought he was getting away with a lot, but in reality was not. Well, Ollie always did have good eyesight. Disclosing a little secret of our own, we have a lot of sympathy for Ollie. Because she is married to Jack? Well—maybe, we wouldn’t say. Some day, by the way, we are going to devote quite a little bit of precious space to extolling that member of the Pickford family. Always providing he doesn’t drop out of motion picture sight beforehand.

Coast gossipers are including Lillian Hall and director Emmett Flynn in their conversations these days. Seems the two have apparently been seen often together. Well, as Chaplin so aptly said, “it’s a great life in the West.” Wonder if Shirley Mason doesn’t find herself lonely without Lillian around? And what is the trouble with friend husband, which forces Lillian to depend on friends for entertainment?{13}

A person in a position to know, has sent us another, and what is claimed a truer angle of the splitting of the Doris May-Douglas MacLean team, about which we had an article in the August issue. This party states that MacLean had such an exalted case of swelled cranium, following the success of several pictures, that he refused to renew his contract unless he was starred alone. Tom Ince, not feeling justified in asking the delightful Miss May to support him under those conditions, had no alternative other than to sign her to a separate contract.

Perhaps we are prejudiced in favor of the feminine sex, yet, if the above is true, we earnestly look for a “flop” on the part of MacLean.

There must have been loud wails of anguish lately, if the rumor percolating from the famous Players-Lasky studios to the effect that Elliott Dexter had to stop work when a picture was but half completed, is true. Production, ’tis said, had to be retaken with another leading man. Picture row said Dexter was in a sanitarium—and was not charitable in ascribing reasons. We always found Dexter a pleasant fellow, and extend best wishes for an early recovery.

There was a warm competition between the theatrical promoters, William A. Brady and Al Woods early in August, to see who could get his play on the boards first. Both were on the same theme, and according to critics, very similar. Brady won with “Opportunity.” Woods was one night late with “Crooked Gamblers.” So we judge to the victor will go the spoils, and Brady will dispose of the picture rights of his play for twenty-five or fifty thousand dollars. Yep, even though it is soon carted to the storehouse.

{14}

Wow! Aren’t some people hard to satisfy? Look at this here, now. Tina Mendoti, who is suing the Premier Film Corporation for $8,000, claims she was engaged to star in a picture for $2,000 a week, and was paid but half. Who, by the way, is Tina? And, how come she really got half of the salary in real money?

Louise Fazenda and Chester Conklin are going to shake the dust of the Sennett lot to join Special Pictures, a comparatively new corporation which will give them an opportunity to be individually starred. Tightwad Mack will have a hard time holding ’em this season.

A clash between Director Douglas Gerrard and Doraldina, the new Metro star, resulted in Joseph Engel calling off production work on “Passion Fruit.” Differences of opinion arose at Santa Barbara, where the company was on location. Both star and director shot in telegrams and the company was recalled. The company it is said sides with Gerrard. Evidently trying to nip in the bud another tyrannical domineering Nazimova.