Chicago Tribune – Tuesday, April 7, 1925 – Page 25
Sisters Gish Make This One Night Perfect
“Romola” Fine Picture in Every Possible Way
Produced by Inspiration Pictures
Directed by Henry King
Presented at the Roosevelt theater
Romola ………………………….. Lillian Gish
Tessa …………………..……… Dorothy Gish
Tito Melema ………… William H. Powell
Carlo Bucellini ………..… Ronald Colman
Baldassarre Calvo …………. Charles Lane
Savonarola …………. Herbert Grimwood
Bardo Bardi ………. Bonaventura Ibanez
Adolfo Spini …………….……. Frank Puglia
By Mae Tinee
Good Morning! Romola – George Eliot’s “Romola” is revealing her dramatic story at the Roosevelt through the gentle characterization of Miss Lillian Gish.
This production, sponsored by Mr. Duell before his famous scrap with the fair star, is a truly artistic offering. It’s authentic as to sets and scenery, having been photographed in and around Florence, Italy, where the scenes of the story were laid. It is richly costumed and vividly acted and there is about the intangible atmosphere of romance, intrigue and bloodshed that hung heavy over Florence in the fifteenth century at the time when people drove the decadent Medici from power and established their own government.
Romola was the daughter of a rich, gentle and blind philosopher and writer. Completely devoted to her father and his works, life had flowed along peacefully enough in the house of Bardi until the mysterious stranger, Tito Melema, slid in to win the favor with the parent nad marry the daughter. Happily, the father died before he realized the treachery with which the Greek encompassed the household. But Romola lived on to go through horrible experiences, both politic and private.
Miss Gish gives a delicate and charming portrayal of Romola – more saint than human.
William H. Powell as Tito, acts a smooth and crafty villain to this department’s taste.
Dorothy Gish, as a simple country maid, also betrayed by the dexterous Tito, gives one of her funny, pathetic, adorable characterizations. Ronald Colman suits well the role of the noble and picturesque artist, Carlo, who truly loves Romola and whose devotion, you are led to believe is rewarded in the end.
Considerable footage is given to the activities of Savonarola, the advocate of freedom, whose heated speeches in the public squares incite the mobs to action – action that is at last turned toward the destruction of himself. Herbert Grimwood makes a gaunt, tense, fevered evangelist.
As to that – all the parts are well played. The photography is fine and the director handled his subject matter intelligently.
If you liked the book, chances are you’ll be fond of the picture.
Chicago Tribune – Monday, November 12, 1923 – Page 21
‘White Sister’ Photoplay of Rare Appeal
‘One of Most Exquisite Ever Screened’
“The White Sister”
Produced by Inspiration Pictures
Directed by Henry King
Presented at the Great Northern
Angela Chiaromonte ……………….. Lillian Gish
Capt. Giovanni Severi ….….…. Ronald Colman
Marchesa di Mola ………………….….. Gail Kane
Monsignor Saracinesca ……. J. Barney Sherry
Prince Chiaromonte ………………. Charles Lane
Madame Bernard ……..….. Juliette La Violette
Prof. Ugo Severi ……………………… Sig. Serena
Filmore Durand ……………….. Alfredo Bertone
Count del Ferice …………..…….. Ramon Ibanez
Alfredo del Ferice ……….… Alfredo Martinelli
Mother Superior ……………………. Carloni Talli
General Mazzini ………….….. Giovanni Viccola
Alfredo’s Tutor …………………… Antonio Barda
Solicitor to the Prince …….. Giacomo D’Attino
Solicitor to the Count ….….….. Michele Gualdi
Archbishop ………………..……. Giuseppe Pavoni
Professor Torricelli ……….. Francesco Socinus
Bedouin Chef ……………………. Sheik Mahomet
Lieutenant Rossini ………………….. James Abbe
Commander Donato …..…. Duncan Mansfield
By Mae Tinee
Good Morning! Regardless of church or creed, it seems to me that every honest person who views “The White Sister” will pronounce it one of the most exquisite photoplays ever screened. The power, the beauty, the realism, the pathos of it MUST strike home. It was adapted from the story by F. Marion Crawford from which a play was also made. The latter, I believe had a happy ending. Book and picture dare the world.
At that, in many instances, the film departs from the original tale. In essentials, however, the tragic story of little Angela, who, believing her lover dead, becomes a nun, refusing, after she has discovered he lives, to break her vows to the church, is the same.
For the first reel or so you are dubious. You have seen better photography and makeup. THEN the acting which achieves the distinction of appearing to BE NOT acting grips you. Your emotions are swept along with those so vividly pantomimed before you. By the time the twelfth reel is over you have forgotten all faults of technique, for in pictures, as in people, it is the subtle something that “gets” you or DOESN’T get you.
A high note of ecstasy runs through even the most painful moments of the film. You are never depressed, though, heaven knows, following the fated footsteps of Angela from the moment she is sent unjustly from her home till the eruption of Vesuvius, which is the final dramatic visitation, by all laws of cinemaology (new word), you should be innumerable times.
Speaking of this eruption and the storm that comes in its wake, this part of “The White Sister” is typically Griffithnonian. Who’s behind this “Inspiration Pictures” company, anyway? Henry King is a clever director, but don’t tell me that David Wark Griffith wasn’t hovering somewhere in the background during the time mentioned. I also suspect him of being much there when Angela goes through the final impressive ceremony that makes her a “White Sister.”
There is only one place when you are frankly bored, and that is during the long drawn out death scenes of the jealous half sister of Angela. Before she finally passes on a horrible fear obsesses you that she will prove to have nine lives. She certainly doesn’t stop living until she gets what she wants.
As a rule I am not greatly impressed by the work of Miss Lillian Gish. This time though, I admire her with all my heart. She is lovely throughout and does “bits” of most excellent acting. Ronald Colman as her lover is immense. J. Barney Sherry as a priest is so good at times that he threatens to run away with the piece. Juliette La Violette as Angela’s governess is an intensely human sort of person.
“The White Sister” was photographed in Italy, so its obvious that the “atmosphere” is all it should be.
And now I leave the production to your consideration – which may or may not be tender.
See you tomorrow.
Chicago Tribune – Sunday January 6, 1924 – Page 52
Dear Mae Tinee. Whenever I read one of your reviews on a Lillian Gish picture I get absolutely sick. For goodness sake, why don’t you ever give her the credit due her? You know she is the greatest actress on the screen today and has been for the last few years. Why not admit it? Also, why force your personal prejudice on the public? Anybody with half an eye knows, from reading your reviews of Lillian Gish pictures, that you have a personal dislike for her. I suspect that at some time or other when she was in Chicago she failed to call on you or ignored you in some way. Your pride thus injured, you decided to get revenge.
After reading your review of “Orphans of the Storm” I was ready for a battle. I feel the same today, for I saw “The White Sister” last night. Lillian Gish is the most exquisite being in the world and the greatest actress. She expresses so much with – O, what’s the use?
In a recent review you said “As a rule I am not greatly impressed by the work of Lillian Gish. [By the way, you have said that before.] This time though, I admire her with all my soul. She is lovely throughout and does bits of most excellent acting.”
That’s all right – but what I am kicking about is you couldn’t let the matter rest there, as you should have, but had to remove the entire effect of your merger compliment by, “J. Barney Sherry as a priest is so good that at times he threatens to run away with the piece.”
Never give a compliment with a question mark; it doesn’t mean a darn thing. M.F.
Admin note: David W. Griffith had no contribution to White Sister’s production, not even as tech advisor. Behind “Inspiration Pictures” company was Charles H. Duell, the famous lawyer-owner-lover who attacked Lillian Gish in court for breach of contract. Above article is remarkable by mentioning James Abbe (the photographer) in a small part as Lieutnant Rossini. On the other hand, the author should have been ashamed for obvious unjust criticism, (unfortunately manifested in other articles as well), not to be expected from a professional journalist.
Chicago Tribune – Sunday, March 20, 1927 – Page 43
Lillian Gish Plays Hawthorne Heroine
“The Scarlet Letter”
Produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. Directed by Victor Seastrom. Presented at the Chicago theater TOMORROW.
Hester ……………………..…..…………. Lillian Gish
Reverend Dimmesdale …………… Lars Hanson
Roger Prynne …….………….. Henry B. Walthall
Giles …………………………..………..…… Karl Dane
Governor ………………………. William H. Tooker
Mistress Hibbins ……….…….. Marcelle Corday
Jailer ………………..…………….…….. Fred Herzog
Beadle ……………………….…………. Jules Cowles
Patience ……………………..………… Mary Hawes
Pearl ……………………………………….. Joyce Coad
French Sea Captain ……….…. James A. Marcus
By Mae Tinee
Good Morning; Lillian Gish looks like a saint and Lars Hanson looks like Paul Ash in this much “adapted” version of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s story. And I reckon why the film isn’t being presented at the Oriental is because Messrs. Balaban and Katz know the Oriental fans could never bear to see Paul suffer. SO – because Mr. Hanson, who looks like Mr. Ash, has so much to endure as Rev. Dimmesdale – he’s at the Chicago. (Maybe.)
Those of you who haven’t read the book may find the film version of “The Scarlet Letter” to your liking. But if you are familiar with the story of Hester Prynne, I’m afraid you’re going to be up on your ear over the liberties that have been taken. The screen production is a life sized portrait of a movie magnate showing Nathaniel Hawthorne how.
There has been much bristling officiousness and the result is the most ordinary sort of melodrama instead of a picture of power and subtlety. “The Scarlet Letter” SHOULD have been one of the great pictures of the day.
Though Lillian Gish is truly beautiful in her doctored role and gives a thoughtful and finished performance, she is as different as possible from the author’s conception of his heroine who was – “tall, with a figure of perfect elegance on a large scale. She had dark and abundant hair, so glossy that it threw off the sunshine with a gleam, and a face which, besides being beautiful from regularity of feature and richness of complexion, had the impressiveness belonging to a marked brow and deep black eyes … characterized by a certain state of dignity.
17th February 1926: Lillian Gish (1893 – 1993) is punished for bearing a child out of wedlock in the film ‘The Scarlet Letter’, a 17th century melodrama directed by Victor Sjostrom.
Hester Prynne and Rev.Dimmesdale – The Scarlet Letter – 1926 (Lillian Gish and Lars Hanson)
Lillian Gish in Scarlet Letter
A Story of Old Salem
Hester Prynne was a seamstress in Salem, a New England settlement of early Puritan days. The place, you know, where they burned the witches and made Sunday such a bugaboo that no descendant of a Puritan father has to this day entirely shaken off the influence of those Sunday Morning Blues to which his forefolks clumped their mournful way to meeting along around the close of the seventeenth century.
She bore a child out of wedlock, refusing to name the father, who, the picture almost immediately shows you, was the young, earnest, and greatly beloved minister of the community. For her sin she was ordered by the town fathers to wear always and forever on the bosom of her meek and proper dress the scarlet letter “A,” which should stamp her for all beholders to see as a woman taken in adultery.
(I’m going to write in the present tense if you don’t mind. It’s easier, somehow or other.)
The minister, who loves her deeply, begs to be allowed to declare his own guilt and share her shame. This, Hester steadfastly refuses to let him do, declaring that her greatest punishment would be to know that she had interfered with his work and destroyed his influence. Besides, she is aware of what he is not, that the man to whom she had been married in England – an old surgeon – but whose wife she had never been, has arrived in Salem and, under an assumed name, is hovering about them like a black and leisurely vulture, biding his time to pounce.
This sinister, implacable, waiting man is present through the entire original story. In the picture he appears near the end providing a “WHO-IS-THIS-MAN!”, “STOP-HE-IS-MY-HUSBAND!” scene. That poor Yorick of the melodramas which you know so well.
Little Pearl, the Only Bright Spot
The tragedy develops amid the stern, monotonous, petty routine of the Blue Law ridden settlement, the only bright spot in the lives of these three actively unhappy people being little Pearl, that “child of sin,” who, by some strange rank of Fate is a joyous madcap, utterly uncowed by the outcast condition of her mother and herself.
The denouement, as you can imagine, is a dramatic one. The picture ends sadly where the book does not – which amazes me – for the author provides a comparatively happy ending, and WHEN before have the movie makers rejected a happy ending? As a rule they will make one for themselves if the story writer has not been so considerate as to provide a fadeout that will send audiences forth smiling.
In the novel little Pearl, it is told, becomes one of the richest heiresses in England and Hester Prynne, having seen her darling cared for, returns to the scene of her shame and becomes a woman generally beloved. In the lapse of the toilsome, thoughtful, self-devoted years that made up Hester’s life the scarlet letter ceased to be a stigma which attracted the world’s bitterness and became a type of something to be sorrowed over and looked upon with awe, yet with reverence, too. And as Hester Prynne had no selfish ends nor lived in any measure for her own profit and enjoyment, people brought all their sorrows and perplexities and besought her counsel as one who herself had gone through a mighty trouble.
Passing Up Some Fine Chances
To this “tall woman in a gray robe” there came from England letters with armorial seals … “and once Hester was seen embroidering a baby garment with such a lavish richness of golden fancy as would have raised a public tumult had any infant thus appareled been shown to our sober-hued community.” …
Can you FEATURE how any movie maker ever passed up the chances offered in those last three paragraphs? Mi-gosh, I can’t.
So much for the stories – Mr. Hawthorne’s and Mr. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer’s.
The acting throughout is splendid. I foretell great popularity for the Ash-en Mr. Hanson. Sets and costumes are picturesque and of the period. Such scenery as there is lovely and the photography is everything in the world it should be. Also there are some comedy situations which I sincerely hope you may enjoy.
In closing, fans dear, may I remark regarding this film that
“If with joy you’d on it look,
Prithee, do not read the book!”
See you tomorrow!
Lillian Gish in Scarlet Letter
Hester Prynne – Lillian Gish in the Scarlet Letter
Lillian Gish in Scarlet Letter
Lillian Gish in Scarlet Letter – Vanity Fair Magazine August 1926
Chicago Tribune – Thursday, December 27, 1928 – Page 29
Max Reinhardt Here with Lillian Gish and Hollywood Bound
Max Reinhardt, German theatrical producer, whose setting of “The Miracle” was shown in Chicago three seasons ago, and Lillian Gish, American movie star, will spend a few hours in Chicago this afternoon. They are en route from New York to Hollywood, where Reinhardt will direct his first motion picture, starring Miss Gish, for United Artists.
Reinhardt’s debut in the movie was arranged through negotiations between him and the United Artists officials, as conducted by the producer’s American sponsor, Morris Gest. His film will be placed in production February 1 in a Hollywood studio.
Miss Gish spent six months abroad conferring with Reinhardt and Hugo von Hofmannsthal, Austrian poet-playwright, who wrote the play for Miss Gish. Raimund von Hofmannsthal, son of the author, is accompanying the party to the west coast. The German consul plans to entertain Reinhardt at tea during his sojourn here.
Lillian Gish changed her director and her company and went away from America to make The White Sister, but her screen sufferings remain unabated still. Her trials and tribulations as the heroine of this movie are absolutely heartrending.
After a brief half-reel of happiness, as the petted daughter of an Italian aristocrat, her father is killed whilst hunting and the poor little soul’s sorrows begin. And they have no ending, though she finds something like peace for a while in a beautiful white hospital in a little town hard by Vesuvius.
Quite early in the film ” Angela ” is defrauded of her name and position by her malevolent half-sister, and of her soldier lover by a none too well-staged African expedition. In despair, she becomes a nun, a ” White Sister,” incidentally providing some thoroughly interesting views of the ceremonies attending the taking of her final vows.
After which the hero, who was not dead, but imprisoned in the desert, escapes, and returns home just too late. There is real drama in the unexpected meeting of the unhappy lovers in the hospital to which he has come seeking news of his brother. The message is brought to him by ” Angela ” herself, ignorant, of course of his identity. Then the poor heroine suffers further anguish when she refuses to ask for a Papal dispensation so that she can go to her lover.
At this point the spectator’s feelings are harrowed unto breaking point. and even the lava in Vesuvius rises to protest. Contrary to expectations it does not engulf everybody in its relentless flow, though it and a burst reservoir realistically destroy the village. The soldier hero dies bravely, after helping others to escape; the sinful sister also dies (but confesses first) and the film ends with an impressive open-air mass and a final glimpse of the heroine’s tear-filled eyes contemplating her lover’s bier.
It is an interesting movie, though a bit ” slow ” at times, for it was made entirely in Italy and boasts of some fine photography and scenery. There are views of Naples, and some shots of an Italian garden that is poem, with its terrace and tall cypresses; an imposing chateau, many picturesque streets, and actual pictures in colour of Vesuvius in action.
Picture Play Magazine – November 1926 Vol. XXV No. 3
The Screen in Review
By Norbert Lusk
Salaam (The Scarlet Letter)
Lillian Gish’s performance in “The Scarlet Letter” recaptures all the praise ever bestowed on her, and by the same token should erase all memory of the shortcomings charged against her. For her Hester Prynne is shimmering perfection, and is completely her own. The scenario of “The Scarlet Letter” is not wholly, however, the story of Hawthorne’s novel, though the liberties taken with it could scarcely offend the most captious. As you see this beautiful picture on the screen it occurs to you that there was no need to have followed the letter of the book at all. What has come from it is fine and true.
Lillian Gish in Scarlet Letter – Vanity Fair Magazine August 1926
Lillian Gish in Scarlet Letter
Lillian Gish in Scarlet Letter
Lillian Gish in Scarlet Letter
Hester Prynne – Lillian Gish in the Scarlet Letter
Lillian Gish in Scarlet Letter
Lillian Gish in Scarlet Letter
Lillian Gish – Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter
The spirit of Puritan days has been preserved with reverence and, at times, humor, while Frances Marion’s story is a model of screen technique and skillful compromise with the censors. Behind the story of the ill-starred lovers is a sharply etched study of the habits, customs, and psychology of our forefathers, yet it is never merely a presentation of detail but takes its proper place in unfolding the story of the seamstress who loved the Reverend Dimmesdale and who sacrificed herself that the towns people might never lose their ideal of his goodness. Lars Hanson, the Swedish actor who makes his first American appearance as Dimmesdale, might easily have stolen the picture from an actress of lesser gifts. His is a magnificent performance—poise, repression, and spirituality being blended into a character as dominating as it is appealing. The slow, gathering intentness of Hanson’s gaze is one of his most potent means of expressing thought and emotion. It is amazing on the screen.
THE SCARLET LETTER, Lars Hanson, Lillian Gish, 1926
Lillian Gish and Lars Hanson in The Scarlet Letter1972
Lillian Gish and Lars Hanson in The Scarlet Letter1972
Gish, Hanson and Joyce Coad as Hester Prynne, Arthur Dimmesdale and Pearl in the 1926 motion picture The Scarlet Letter. In this scene Dimmesdale reveals himself to be Prynne’s partner in adultery in front of a crowd of vengeful puritans. (Photo by John Springer CollectionCORBIS)
But for that matter the entire cast with a single exception is of the highest order. Henry B. Walthall as Roger Prynne, Hester’s sinister husband, plays with repressed power, and Karl Dane and William H. Tooker offer lifelike characterizations.
The one exception to me was Joyce Coad as Pearl, Hester’s daughter. Here was a hearty, black-eyed child with a length of limb that nearly brought her up to Miss Gish’s shoulder, wholly unlike the frail flower my imagination created as the offspring of Hester and Dimmesdale. When Miss Gish carried her, the full force of a sacrifice to art came to me, and I hoped she wouldn’t break under the muscular strain.
Victor Seastrom’s direction is that of a master, and the Scandinavian’s sympathy with the traditions of our rock-bound New England is strongly manifested in every scene.
Photographs by Raymond Stagg, and scenes from the play
EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the spectacular, factful conclusion of Mr. Gordon’s story on the career and achievements of David Wark Griffith. “Intolerance” has already been produced in the metropolis, and the cool New York critics have spun far more ardent typewriter rhapsodies about it than Mr. Gordon has here woven. Photoplay feels tint even as “Intolerance” itself is the most sensational artistic achievement of the year, so this story —an authoritative, unduplicated narrative by the man who knows Griffith better than anyone else—is the greatest magazine story of the month, anywhere. Do not mistake this for Photoplay’s critical review of the work. Next month Julian Johnson will give it an elaborate analysis and description as a feature of “The Shadow Stage.”
OFTEN in my atrabiliar moods when I read of pompous ceremonials.” writes Herr Diogenes Teufelsdrockh, . . . “and how the ushers, macers, and pursuivants are all in waiting; how Duke this is presented by Arch Duke that, and Colonel A by General B, and innumerable Bishops, Admirals, and miscellaneous Functionaries are advancing gallantly to the Anointed Presence : and I strive in my remote privacy to form a clear picture of that solemnity,—on a sudden as by some enchanter’s wand the,—shall I speak it? the Clothes fly off the whole dramatic corps; and Dukes, Grandees, Bishops, Generals, Anointed Presence itself, every mother’s son of them, stand straddling there, not a shirt on them : and I know not whether to weep or laugh.”
That quality of seeing mankind stripped of its concealments which Herr Teufelsdrockh had in company with Rabelais, is the fearless theme of D. W. Griffith’s latest, and he says his last, photodrama,—'”Intolerance.”
“The Birth of a Nation” made him a rich man; money, gold, at once began to flow toward him, over his shoulders,—would it submerge him?
Would it drown the poetry which he had coined into tremendous dividends?
Could he write a second camera epic?
There is no provision that can determine the event of an effort which depends on the mood and perception of the vast many; “Intolerance” when this is printed will have made itself, or will have unmade Griffith, judged by the peerless jury of dollars in the box-office. Judged by the tables of Verity and of Art, it stands as a terrific arraignment of fustian humanity, under the indictment brought by implacable Fact.
Those seventy-five millions of people out of the hundred millions of our population who are writing at scenarios, will be interested in knowing where and how this theme was written.
It never was written.
It was created by suffering.
I have told you of Griffith’s combat with hypocrisy and imperious traditional Boetianism from the day he stepped forth from that impoverished manse of the Kentucky plantation, to and through his struggle for the survival of “The Birth of a Nation” ; of how in one community the creations of the negro vote, and in others where the negro was not maintained in his odor of martyrdom, the decayed prejudices of the Civil War were venomously injected into the controversy for artistic survival.
“The Truth? What is Truth?” asked Pontius Pilate.
And all through the centuries since, you and I and the other fellow have been shouting.
“Truth is what I believe.”
After he had won the scrap and “The Birth of a Nation” pictured the registering of gold, Griffith determined to do one more photodrama.—and he said then, and says now. only one more.—and in that he would give some manner of response to Mr. Pilate.
He did not look over the card indices of scenarios which Frank Woods had listed, though he did think of the Bible and of the temperamental incident that happened between Cain and Abel because of jealousy and thereby hatred.
But a report of a Federal Industrial Commission fell into his hands and therein he found a large part of his never written scenario. In that report was a mention of a certain combination of chemical factories,—a business combination under the control a man who was fervid in charity, acrobatically zealous in ecclesiastical activity.
He did not wear a halo in public, but he was invested with one by all the financial secretaries of Societies for the Propagation of Piety Among the Humble Poor, or for the gratuitous distribution of Tracts to the Hungry.
This official report went on in the coldly mechanical style of an adding machine to tell the profits of this Chemical Trust ; the public had previously had described to it how generously the head of the concern used his share for promulgation of Beneficence accompanied by brass tablets bearing the name of the Founder of the particular Beneficence.
With no particular emphasis the report said among other minutia that the laborers in the plants of the company were paid $ 1.60 a day; that living conditions had altered may or may not have been indicated, but the workmen wickedly refused to be comforted because their overlord gave hundreds of thousands of the dollars they had aided in the making, to an Evangelical Society for Enlightening Natives of Boroboolaa Gha with Warming Pans. Those workmen had no objections to the Overlord spending his pocket money for Tracts or Warming Pans or Brass Tablets, but they wanted $2.00 for slowly stifling their souls in the vats of his works.
The Overlord said them nay, and they struck, and the Overlord employed Goths and ostrogoths in the guise of deputy sheriffs and constables as is the custom of Overlords since the trade in Hessians and Swiss mercenaries has gone into desuetude; and the wage scale of $1.60 a day was maintained, and the men all came back to work in submission,—all except nineteen.
These nineteen could not testify to their humble change of view because the Overlord’s little army of private grenadiers had exercised the military basic principle of Frightfulness ; the missing nineteen had had their heads shot off and had thus escaped the righteous punishment of being sent to jail for ingratitude.
George W. “Billy” Bitzer, and the remarkable camera which ground in the gigantic scenes of “Intolerance,” “Static” is the peculiar electric manifestation which causes flashing white spots in the film; it is a bane of the business. Static is caused by cold, and the gentle heat from the attached bicycle lamp has obviated it in this great picture. Under Mr. Bitzer’s left hand is his original “diaphragm fade-out” appliance, directly attached to the lens. Everyone who knows anything about camera operation is of course well aware that Mr. Bitzer is the Griffith of camera men, even as Mr. Griffith is the Bitzer of directors!
On that feeble incident of ignorance of man’s kinship, of hatred of gentleness and right, Griffith built the theme of “Intolerance;” he cast back five thousand years into the supreme civilization of Babylon and there planted one of his incidents ; he walked down the aisles of Time to that St. Bartholomew’s Day when hatred and fear cut the throat of the best thought and patriotism of France, and there he planted another romantic incident ; with the living Christ in Nazareth he finds a living theme; and then to yesterday, or today or tomorrow as you like, he came and rooted there another, making the quadripartete of romance, of truth, and ingenuous fearlessness of the evil that is in all hearts ; the substance of his unanswerable charge is that all the evil, cruelty and wrong of the world comes from man’s implacable belief that what each man believes to be true, is true, and all else is false, wicked, and should be destroyed.
In making his first big picture Griffith while using no scenario, did have the memory of reading the Thomas Dixon novel to guide his progress, though, as you will remember, the picture is far from following the details of the story. In this “Intolerance” he had little more than his own idea of the incident in the Industrial Commission’s report on the Christian charity of its Overlord, and the intolerable audacity of those nineteen laborers, who were blinded by their intolerance of believing they were entitled to more of Life than $1.60 a day would buy.
At the first “runoff” of this picture in the little projecting room of his studio, Griffith had as audience one of the foremost war correspondents of this era.—a man with not a shred of emotion left to him ; a night editor of thirty years dealing with the dramatic of life, and to whom the dramatic had become a puerile everyday incident ; a city editor who was on intimate terms with all the grinning skeletons of a big city, and a writer of a long life spent in chronicling most of the tragedies and comedies of a huge country, with the machinery of the stage direction of them at his fingers tips.
Filming the most stupendous festival ever recorded. Beside Griffith, with the megaphone, stands George Bitzer and his vision-embalming camera. The subject is that Feast of Belshazzar described in Scriptures and history – it was the premier orgy of the ancients.
When the last foot of film had passed these sat silent, the fibre of their natures torn and ravelled ; they could say nothing : one rose and without phrase grasped Griffith’s hand.
Those four world-worn men had been shown not only the futile hypocrisy of the rest of the world, but their own as well.
And then from the darkness of the little room came the sound of the voice of Griffith; possibly he felt from the silence of his audience that the picture had failed to impress ; possibly he was moved himself : he is as facile in betraying his emotions as the Sphynx.
He told of his last visit to his Kentucky homestead : of an admirable, gentle-hearted, Christian-spirited, high-bred woman of near relationship, of deep orthodox belief ; of how this woman whenever she saw a well-known Christian Scientist of the place approaching, would cross the street ; of how a Catholic priest had installed a chapel of his faith there and of how all of all the other creeds combatted his work.
It was an epitome of the story of Babylon we had just seen; the glorious city of a glorious civilization where one of the first and one of the best Bibles had originated,—and all of it made the victim of hate and jealousy and greed.
Remembering that this later picture attacks with the precision of mathematics all intolerance, the result of its effect in the “tryouts” in neighboring places to where it was produced might give the Devil a richer idea than ever of the comedy of human seriousness.
So far none of the creeds, theories, or sociological ideas which the picture eviscerates has had its followers respond with a single protest ; each sees the picture and goes away thoroughly satisfied that it is not his pet belief which is assailed, but that of the fellow who believes differently ; in the secret now, of the photoplay’s success or failure.
When it is plain as a pike staff that intolerance of prohibition is a feature of the drama, what are we to think of prohibition leaders in prohibition Riverside praising the picture?
When it is equally an assault on money bending thought and creed to its devices, what deduction follows when a millionaire who has endowed colleges of sectarian type found the picture when shown at Pomona altogether admirable?
When in one appalling scene Protestants are shown savagely slaying Catholics and in another the murders of St. Bartholomew’s Day are depicted in ghastly reality and Protestants and Catholics both have found the picture to their taste, what can you think?
Nothing can be thought save that the great drama shown has undisturbed our universal capacity of seeing only that side of the shield which reflects ourselves.
“Is this truly to be your last picture:” Griffith was asked.
“It is,” he replied; “intolerance that I have met with and fought with in my other picture makes it impossible to ask investment of the tremendous sums of money required for a real feature film with the result dependent on the whim or the lack of brains of a captain of police.”
At that “runoff” showing, after the four spectators of fishy capacity for emotion had found their feet again firmly fastened in the clay of the commonplace, one said, “You’ve made a wonderful picture but you did have to pull the ‘old stuff’ to send ’em away with a good taste in their mouth.
“You’re plucky but you didn’t dare finish the picture true to life, and have The Boy executed, as he would have been in real life ; Carlyle might well have written your scenario up that finale ; but there you allowed the Despot of the stage to rule and you saved The Boy simply to satisfy the lust for comfort which audiences demand.”
“You’re one of the fellows who would have stood up and answered Pilate’s question, ‘What is Truth?'” said Griffith.
“That finale is Truth, and because it is a comfortable truth you thought it false.
“If you had read the newspapers as much as you’ve written for them, you would know about the Stielow case in New York; Stielow was convicted of a murder and sentenced to die; four times he was prepared for the chair, four times he and his family suffered every agony save the final swish of the current.
“What saved him was exactly what saved ‘The Boy’ in my picture ; the murderer confessed,
the final reprieve arrived just as the man was ready to be placed in the chair, his trousers’ leg already slit for the electrode.”
And picking up the copy of the New York paper containing the account, Griffith read former president Taft’s sentence of the criminal law, “The administration of criminal law in this country is a disgrace to civilization.”
The man who objected to the conventionally happy finale did it because he fancied himself just a bit more cultured than most, and believed that Art was only true in being disagreeable.
There are no great actors in “Intolerance,” none whom you will recognize ; though Sir Herbert Tree, I am told, in one scene played an extra man’s part, just to be in the picture.
De Wolf Hopper for the same purpose in another scene was one of the hundreds in a mob.
Tully Marshall donned the robes of a priest for one brief scene.
But of the players in general, few names will be recognized.
One of them is the woman who rock the cradle in that mournfully magnificent recurring interlude.
That is Miss Lillian Gish.
Nabonidus the King was done by an extra man.
Out of the sixty-odd thousand people who appear these are probably the ones who will be more or less known to the public.
Here, just as Herodotus and other historians describe them, are the rawhide towers of the attacking Persians, just before the assault upon Babylon. In the foreground, a net for falling wall-scalers; though it worked continuously and well, sixty men went to the hospital as a result of this encounter. Note the intrepid Ford, right at home in the domain so soon to be won by Kaiser Cyrus.
In the modern story:
Mae Marsh as The Girl.
Robert Harron as The Boy.
Fred Turner as The Father.
Sam de Grasse as Jenkins, the mill owner.
Vera Lewis, Jenkins’ sister, who creates the “Foundation.”
Walter Long, the Musketeer of the slums.
Miriam Cooper. The Friendless Woman.
Tom Wilson, The Kindly Heart.
Ralph Lewis, The Governor.
Lloyd Ingram, The Judge.
The French period:
Frank Bennett, as Charles IX.
Mrs. Crowell as Catherine de Medici
Joseph Henaberry as Admiral Coligny.
Margery Wilson as Brown Eyes.
Spottiswoode Aitken as Her Father.
A. D. Sears as The Mercenary.
Eugene Pallette as La Tour.
W. E. Lawrence as Henry of Navarre.
Babylonic period :
Alfred Paget as Belshazsar.
Seena Owen as Princess Atteraia.
George Seigmann (Griffith’s chief director) as Cyrus.
Constance Talmadge as The Mountain Girl.
Elmer Clifton as The Rhapsode.
E Lincoln as The Faithful Guard
Howard Gaye as Christ
Olga Gray as Mary Magdalene.
Lillian Langdon as Mary.
Bessie Love as The Bride.
George Walsh as The Bridegroom
William Brown as the Bride’s Father
If you have seen the picture when this appears, or when you do see it, those are about all the characters you will recognise as played by known people, if you are the most erudite “fan.” And you will see thousands on thousands of others, all apparently expert artists, all trained to the thousandth fraction of right “registering.” Griffith does not believe that an actor can make a producer a success, but he has proved that a producer can make an extra-man an actor.
Those fighting scenes of the picture were made by men trained to the same degree of ferocity that has made the killers in the Somme region turn the fields of France into human abattoirs. During the progress of the making of the picture they became known as “Griffith’s Man-Killers.”
The story is told that later Cecil de Mille of Lasky’s wanted some foot soldiers in a fight scene he had to make, and requisitioned the Man-Killers. They were to be entrenched, and a column of cavalry was to sweep down and annihilate them. They were carefully rehearsed and all went well until the camera was placed and the action began. Then the cavalry caracoled out and spurred their horses at them. Some fellow in the trench yelled “Here they come, fellers, now show the dash-blanks what Griffith’s Killers can do!”
They did ; all the rehearsal directions vanished, they couched their lances and unhorsed every trooper, and then ran them off the field,—and spoiled the scene.
I can well believe the story, for I was a witness of one of the assaults by Cyrus on the walls of Babylon. The barbarians swept over our spear-proof safety coign, and we had to dodge arrows and javelins while scudding for the clear.
George Seigmann, a man as big as two Huns, strove to subdue their onslaught as they were driving the Babylonians too swiftly for the camera, and meanwhile the Babylonians took advantage of the relief expedition by Seigmann and retreated within the city,
Did those barbarians care ?
Only so much as to fall on each others neck and crop until there was a riot of directors.
There were only sixty calls for the ambulance that day, but the injuries when examined at the studio hospital did not exceed those pleasing black eves, bent noses and gallant contusions, which are the croix de guerre of any well-designed scrap.
There was no fatality at all in the taking of the picture, though many times several thousands of warriors had to contend with life-like verity of death.
One man was killed when it was all over.
This by a sardonic freak of late was a steeplejack employed because of his surety of foot on heights. When a small set was being dismantled after the taking of the picture this juggler with altitude was employed as one of the wrecking crew of carpenters. He was at work on a scaffold eighteen feet from the ground when he made a misstep, fell, and never knew what had happened. For weeks before he had been stationed on the perilous points hundreds of feet high and had gayly coquetted with death from a station which would make a blue-water sailor dizzy.
I believe that of all the impressiveness of this picture the recurrent scene of Rocking The Cradle will be found most enduring in its elusive poetry of symbolism.
How this came to be created illustrates a Griffith trait.
Years ago when he was in a road company with Wilfred Lucas the two were walking one day when Lucas saw a woman rocking a cradle. He called the scene to Griffith’s attention and quoted the Walt Whitman lines:
” …. endlessly rocks the cradle,
“Uniter of Here and Hereafter.”
Who wrote that?” asked Griffith.
“That’s from Walt Whitman,” said Lucas, “you’ll find it somewhere in his ‘Leaves of Grass.'”
Griffith said nothing but darted away and found a book store, bought a copy of Whitman, and it happened as he opened the book the leaves parted at that very passage.
That was twelve or fifteen years ago.
But when the idea of “Intolerance” came to his mind (Griffith recalled those lines, imagined the picture of the eternal cradle, and there you have Walt Whitman’s thought photographed. This chronicler is far from being a hero worshiper ; I have been on much too intimate terms with far too many heroes to fondle any illusions about them ; they often wear patent Leather shoes with spats, and sometimes they bandoline their hair, and often they are careless about marriage vows and going to church, and paying debts, and occasionally I’ve met the best of them who can adroitly eat peas with his knife, and a lot of them wear wrist watches, and some use perfumery, but when a man can make a camera fasten to a negative film Walt Whitman’s intellect he is none of these types but a man hero, and I kow-tow to him as being no less a poet than Whitman himself.
Beyond argument the measure of achievement today is that of money.
How much did it cost? will be the prime question about this work of beauty.
I know exactly and I will tell you exactly.
This picture of ‘Intolerance” cost five times as much as “The Birth of a Nation.”
But what the latter cost no one but those who paid the cost know. The press agents concerned, claimed all manner of figures from $250,000 up to half a million. An estimate from a number of those expert in judging, places the expenditure for “The Birth of a Nation” close to $100,000, some going as high as $200,000, none going much below the first figure. This last picture has been two years in the actual making, and work on the preparatory stages was begun over three years ago ; considerably more than sixty thousand people were engaged at one time and another in the acting, and more in the various forms of effort outside of the acting.
I do happen to know authoritatively that much over 300.000 feet of film was used in the making and that this was cut in the “assembling” to the present limit of the picture of between 12.000 and 13,000 feet.
As for carefulness, it is a fact that the captions have been set and changed close to two thousand times.
As for Griffith himself, he has put his heart’s substance into the labor. I saw him the day before he left for New York ; he was brave, even gay mentally, jesting and debonair : but he was gaunt and excited though in thorough self command.
I asked him. “Now that your work is over what is your idea of your future? What is your next ambition?”
He looked frankly at me and said un-smilingly, ”My idea of life now is a tremendously large bed, in some place where no telephone, no messenger boy, no newspaper, no telegram, no voice, can reach me, and to sleep for a solid week, only waking very occasionally long enough to eat a good dinner, and then roll over and again sleep.”
“What will you do if ‘Intolerance’ fails?” I asked.
Blandly smiling, he said. “I’ll seek the Jersey coast and try to find one of those man-eating sharks.”
“And what if it wins?”
“I have told you before that this will be my last picture.
“That is as true as anything can be which the future holds.”
“The speaking stage, producing drama?”
“I have told you before that such was my desire ; if the picture succeeds it will not. It cannot, make the money that in fabulous fashion pictures are credited with making ; theatres cannot hold as much money as some newspapers say some pictures make.
“The matter of the money to be made is very like the fellow blowing the bassoon in the orchestra who was told to blow louder ; ‘That’s all very well.’ he replied, ‘but where is the wind to come from?’ ”
He says he intends to take up the stage next as a means of finding expression unhampered, but when asked what he would do, and how, he side-stepped.
“There will never be any combination of the speaking and the photo drama,” he added with a tang at satire, “not if audiences can help it.
“The stage is perfect now, to my mind, because it enables us to make moving pictures so much easier than it might.
“I’m sorry that Mansfield, that Daly, that Irving, are dead, but as a moving picture man I am glad, for the movies’ sake, that they are gone. If those men were now alive, we of the movies would have to work harder than we do, and I don’t know how that could be done, for I figure that now we work fourteen and fifteen hours a day, but if the stage were different we would have to work thirty-six hours in the twenty four ; so we are glad that competition with the stage is not fiercer than it is.”
“Don’t you regard the modern part of your picture as an attack on the courts, on judges?”
“I certainly do not, because it is not.
“That Stielow case in New York is exactly like the murder case in the story ; only reality goes the picture three better in the way of reprieves. Stielow and his family faced death-suffering four times, and three times the reprieve came at the very last minute.
“If I had shown scenes like that on the screen it would have made the public laugh as impossible, but the people should not laugh at the courts ; judges do not make the laws, you, I, everyone, are responsible for the laws.
“I have met several judges and have always found them very nice and often very wonderful men. Real gentlemen, in fact.
What has seemed peculiar to me about the law is that after so prolonged an experiment with the principles oi Christianity we still find as was found through all the ages that justice demands if a man kills another he in turn should be murdered.
“No, I am far from attacking the courts or judges, tor the only thing that has stood between the pictures and the censors and thereby prevented the pictures from utter extinction, has been the courts.”
Here are his reasons as dictated by himself, for making no more feature pictures:
“It appears that henceforth there will be no middle ground in the pictures ; there will be the ten, twenty and thirty cent pictures, and the big two dollar ones.
“The first classification does not attract me, and the second offers too many stupid, cruel, costly and apparently ineradicable offensives.
“Of necessity the stage must tell the truth more freely than any other method of expression. It is the only means existing today of even attempting to portray the truth.
“I do not mean the drama as it is known to Broadway, but the drama as it is known to dramatists.
“I have tried to tell the truth in my new picture.
“But I find that what we call the Movies are less free now than ever, and are more and more dependent on the censor, and on that account I feel inclined to stop.
“There are but a few means of conveying what we believe to be truth; the college is seriously handicapped, as too many of the universities are endowed by a few rich men whose brain power has been used only to acquire wealth ; these have little or no knowledge beyond their immediate needs ; they have never taken the time to gain knowledge of human nature in the little nor in the mass ; they have their own ideas of life and deride everything foreign to their own little circles ; they know little of the present and less of the past.
“There is very little doubt that most college professors’ opinions on morals, politics, and even of history, are very different in their private and their public capacities.
“Who can believe that a man dependent on a university will have an opinion for the public which is not more or less sicklied with the pale cast of thought about the men who put up the money for the institution?
“The world can hope for no boldness of verity from the colleges.
“The preacher of today is as always, swayed to some extent by the majority of the sect to which he belongs ; he can seldom speak as an individual, and of necessity he cannot launch what may seem a new truth that infringes on what was an old truth, and remain in his denomination.
“I wondered recently at the daring of a certain professor of Assyriology who said in a little-read magazine that the average normal being of today would find himself with more decent associates and in happier surroundings in Babylon, or ancient Egypt, than in any intervening period of the world’s history, up to the Eighteenth Century.
“The newspaper and magazine appeal to a certain clientele which they must please, and are forced to listen as a rule to the hydra-headed monster called Public Clamor, more than to her gentler sister, Public Opinion.
“But the producer of a feature picture depends on a much larger audience than any of these means ; he does not have to defer to what Mrs. Smith thinks, or what Mr. Jones believes, for he has a million Mrs. Smiths and a million of Mr. Jones, and he is far more certain to get a fair hearing, or he would be if it were not for the censor.
“Isn’t the folly of it all palpable? Because a new idea is expressed people are not forced to accept it. But certainly in this country there should be no objection to the discussion of all subjects.
“What kind of people, what sort of race, can continue to exist that is afraid of discussion?
“The politics of the world is founded on so much hypocrisy that everything is done, not for what is right, nor even against what is wrong, but for the effect on a majority of the people.
“That is why all Europe is slaughtering.
“That is why ‘Christian’ nations will murder Turks and crucify pagans and slay with zest ‘foreigners.’
“A ‘foreigner’ is always a man with a head so dense that he will not think as we think.
“The story for Truth as we see it has become barred from the pictures, so that anyone who has a real idea to express should not look to the moving picture as a means, but if he has enough money, to the stage.
“We of the moving picture craft admit our defeat ; it is impossible for us to take any big subject of interest without the fear of the autocrats above us taking away our property.
“I now contemplate turning to the stage in making an attempt to find freedom of expression.”
This ends what I have to tell about David W. Griffith.
Up and down thru the centuries, thru a muck of blood and self-righteous guilt, stalks that murderous specter of envy and self-love-Intolerance. Apparently inspired by hatreds—religious, political or social underneath all its sickening pretense and sham lies the desire for advancement of self and lust of power.
Age after age has written, with a finger dipped in blood: “Sorrow and death to those who think not as we do.” And advancing time but furnishes us a repetition of history, for always there be with us “certain hypocrites among the Pharisees” who thank their God that they be not as other men. Emerson has described the scourge in his immortal words:
“If we would not be marplots with our miserable interferences, the work, the society, letters, arts, science, religion of men would go on far better than now, and the heaven predicted from the beginning of the world, and still predicted from the bottom of the heart, would organize itself, as do now the rose and the air and sun.” Yet, thru all the ages. Time, endlessly rocking its cradle, brings forth the same passions, the same hates and sorrows. Such is the power of the demon-Intolerance.
Nearly two thousand years ago there lived in Babylon a certain high priest of Bel, the god of the Assyrians. And of all the citizens of the world’s most powerful state, he was second in influence only to Belshazzar himself. How it happened that certain of the citizens set up altars to other gods within the city, and the fires of Bel burned without sacrifice, and the high priest was dismayed and feared his crown of power was slipping from his grasp. The people of Babylon worshiped most at the shrines of the goddess Ishtar, and the devotion was sanctioned by Belshazzar.
Thus, day by day, the high priest grew more jealous for Bel, but most of all for himself. Then suddenly – came Cyrus the Persian, storming at the gates of the city, for with her fall the world lay at his feet. For weeks the siege went on : the people sacrificed and prayed to Ishtar, while Belshazzar and his armies hurled down their enemies from the walls. At last the wearied Persian horde withdrew, and the city was delivered. Whereat there was great rejoyicing in Babylon, and the praise of Ishtar rose higher then before, and the altars of Bel were neglected.
Then the wily Cyrus secretly sent word to the high priest that should the city be given over to him, to Bel should be the honor, and worship of no other god tolerated. So the high priest opened the gates to the Persian hosts, while Belshazzar and his nobles sat feasting. And a great cry went thruout the world: “Babylon is fallen-is fallen !” Thus a great civilization fell, and a great people were treacherously sold into slavery by the grasping intolerance of a narrow mind.
Some half-century later there was a marriage in Cana of Judea, and a certain poor guest, a Nazarene, made a miracle, turning jugs of water into wine. Then some among the Pharisees, who were hypocrites, began to fear Him. They said that they held Him in contempt because He consorted with publicans and sinners, and yet they feared Him, and therefore persecuted Him. He went His way, preaching a doctrine of love and peace; so they said to one another : “Behold ! this man is threatening our power; his words shame us before the multitudes, for we cannot answer them. Let us set him from our path.” So they circulated lying tales of Him, and angered the people against Him so that later they took Him to a certain hill, and there He was crucified, for His thoughts were not their thoughts. Did it matter that. angry lightnings played about the cross? Did it matter that Calvary was shaken by an ominous thunder, or that future generations should rain condemnations on their act? The cry of the centuries rose from the throats of the groaning multitude : “Sorrow and death to those who think not as we!”
Yet again, in a later age, when that church which He died to hand down to posterity was divided within itself-when France, under Charles IX, was a hotbed of internal intrigue-that serpent of Florence, Catherine de Medici, used that same religion, founded on tenets of love and peace, as a cloak for the vilest, bloodiest wholesale murder that the world has ever known. The Huguenots were becoming too powerful as a political factor. Catherine and her aids hectored the half-crazed king until he signed an order for their massacre. On St. Bartholomew’s Eve the great bell of St. Germain tolled out the death-knell of the thousands of innocent Huguenots in Paris. Men, women and children were butchered in their beds.
Those who fled to the streets fell only on the pikes and swords of their ruthless assailants. The gutters ran with blood, and high above the screams and clamor came the solemn tolling of the great bell. The Due de Guise rode to the house of Coligny, and, standing up in his stirrups, cried: “Fling down the carrion ! I would see whether he be truly dead !” And all that was left of the great leader fell upon the upturned weapons of the mercenaries. He had wished to live in peace with his fellow men, but-he thought not as they.
INTOLERANCE MODERN STORY
INTOLERANCE MODERN STORY
INTOLERANCE MODERN STORY
And now we see this same spirit in our own age–the age of the intolerance of wealth for poverty. Here we have a certain group of women who seek, under the pretense of social uplift and moral reform, prominence for themselves at the expense of the happiness of others. Organizing a powerful charitable foundation, they proceed to clean up a modern city, entering environments and dealing with conditions, altho they possess neither the mentality nor the experience to cope with them, and forcibly inflicting their opinions on a class which adjusts itself to its problems far better without their aid. Still, they get personal advertisement and prominence, which is really the desired result. Envious, self-seeking, narrow-minded, and only too eager to see evil in others, in spite of his disguise of civilization we see in them the latest phase of the blighting specter – Intolerance.