|
Back
to Motion Picture Autobiographies
Case
1: Autobiography of Motion Pictures
It
is rather difficult for me to distinguish between the influence of the motion
pictures and the influence of books on my life. I cannot even remember my first
movie; I attended so many between the age of eight and eleven that there is
a regular jumble in my mind. I believe I was allowed to attend too many movies
in this stage of my life. I often went three or four nights a week because I
was following up some serial which to my way of thinking at the time, if I missed
one episode - nothing could be done to right the matter. The children next
door to us were given their dimes practically every night in the week and when
they went I cried and pouted around until my parents consented to my going.
I
remember a serial star by the name of Arthur. He was my hero in those early
days. He was a large man and very good looking thus he won my childish heart.
Oh! The hand of iron that used to grip my heart when I saw my hero go into some
fresh danger so willingly and so courageously to save the heroine whom I often
thought was not good looking enough for my handsome hero.
There
is one picture which I can remember the title of, it was "The Octopus." I recall
that the story was centered around a sea disaster. It opened with the wrecking
of a ship and on this boat there are some papers, which are valuable to a beautiful
girl. Her father lost his life in the disaster. The papers are in a steel box
and in the safe of the ship. The girl's lover aids her in the search for these
papers and on the occasion of one of his dives he encounters this huge octopus.
Of course, there was a violent struggle but the hero finally got the best of
the huge monster.
Then
there came a time when I enjoyed seeing comedies. The two comedians whom I liked
best were Fatty Arbuckle and Charlie Chaplin. My favorite actresses at this
time were Mary Pickford and Pearl White, a serial star. Mary, who often took
the part of an orphan, was my idol. I started, I believe, to suffer as much
as the girl of the story did. When any misfortune fell upon this beautiful girl
of the picture I would cry very readily. I admired Miss White for her daring
and courage.
The
first love picture which attracted my attention, was I believe Rudolph Valentino
in "The Sheik" [r9zr].' Up to this time I had detested these pictures where
people do so much for love, etc., but here was a picture which struck my fancy.
To begin with I can recall distinctly saying to myself, "Oh, what a Lucky Girl
to have enough money to take a trip like that - a trip across the wild
desert with only Arab guides in her company. Oh, how daring! If it were only
I! I really lost myself in the character of the heroine in that picture. I responded
to her moods just as if I were acting out the part instead of she. I resented
and despised the youthful sheik when she did and in turn I loved him as much
as did she. I had a couple of opportunities to go and see this picture over
and I went, not telling anyone that I had previously seen the picture. The more
I saw the picture the more I fell in love with the handsome hero - I resented
him for his abrupt and brutal manners but still I used to care for him despite
his cave man tactics.
We
used to play show on the sidewalk every evening and we had a dreadful
time picking out the characters for we generally all wanted to
play the same part. I always wanted to take the part of the heroine.
How wonderful it must be to be loved by a handsome man and of
course I was beautiful enough to be the heroine of any play. Alas!
When I look upon myself now, how unfit I was to take the part
of the beautiful lady of the film - I, the lanky and freckle-faced
child.
At
about this time, I became interested in mystery and detective
stories and I also began to be interested in films of the same
nature. Evelyn Brent became my heroine. I did admire her daring
ways, if I only could do things like she did. She often led the
police to some notorious gang. No matter how hard-boiled or treacherous
she was, I always found some good reason which justified her leading
such a life.
I
was a student at a parochial school and the church gave a movie
one afternoon. What an impression that picture has left on me!
It has only been within the last few years that I have been able
to cast it entirely off. The picture was to emphasize the seal
of the confessional. It opened with a murderer making a confession
to a priest and while confessing he managed to get some of the
blood of his victim on the hands of the priest. After the man
has gone the priest calls the police and they accuse him of the
crime and his knife is found alongside of the body of the victim
stained with blood. Because he will not break the seal of the
confessional, the priest is doomed to the electric chair. Before
the electrocution the murderer confesses on his deathbed and thus
the priest is saved. I realize now that this was to impress the
seal of the confessional on our young minds. For some time after
this I held the ecclesiastes in awe. What a wonderful and yet
in some respect how terrible a life they must lead. I resolved
that I would do anything possible to make life happier and easier
for them. I did try helping the nuns after this but after a short
time the novelty of it wore off and I drifted back into my old
ways.
I
now developed a strong disliking for any of the childish comedies, which the
small moving picture houses showed. I liked pictures with regal settings, especially
those that had their settings in Russia. Those huge castles so sumptuously furnished
had to be in the setting to make some arch plot attract my attention. I just
doted on pictures displaying the ousting of the nobles from their beautiful
home but how I longed to help the beautiful maid, who was too honest to fall
below the standards, which she set for herself and would rather face death than
fall short of her ideals.
At
about the age of fourteen the movie craze left me, and I did not
seem to care whether I saw a movie or not. My interest was soon
aroused again and it developed along the line of college life.
I often wondered what life at college would be like. I often sat
dreaming, planning what I'd do when I got to go away to college.
Oh, what a life! To be a popular coed, the member of a spiffy
sorority! My first formal! What a hit I would be! When I saw these
college romances develop before my eyes I wondered what my beau
would be like. Of course, he would have to be a tall dark, handsome
boy; an athlete of repute. What would his first kiss be like?
Would it send me to a world unknown as some authors express it?
Then of a sudden, I would snap out of, these dreams and tell myself
not to be such an insipid fool. Of course, nothing like this happens
in real life, it only happens to people in books and in pictures.
It never entered my mind that there wouldn't be a beau. Such a
thing would be impossible.
Now,
I often sit and wonder - does it pay a girl to play a perfectly
square game? Does it? If so, what is the secret of these girls
who are so popular? When you compare them with girls whom you
know are playing a square game, what a contrast. It seems that
the girl who does not indulge in the so-called popular pastime
of petting is out of the picture. They are more often better sports
and are better looking and have better personalities than the
popular girl but yet they cannot get a date or attract the male
sex. What is it that is lacking? As Joan Crawford says in "Our
Dancing Daughters" [1928], does it pay to be frank, honest, and
a regular sport with the fellows and yet keep yourself for the
one man? Of course, I am not saying that I approve of the conduct
of the heroine in this picture, but I wonder if it does pay and
if so the debt is certainly heavy. If only the problems of life
were ensured the happy endings which they have in the movies.
I suppose in this debatable question a lot depends on what you
mean by playing square and by being a good sport.
At
present, I am in a restless state of mind. I don't care whether
I see a movie or not. I think that they are a lot of rubbish.
I am in a period in which my general attitude seems to be one
of indifference. I say to myself, what's the use? I just can't
explain; I'm even uneasy and dissatisfied with things which I
do myself.
[The
writer appended the following comment to her essay.]
I
found the paper rather difficult because I am naturally reserved. It took a
great deal of effort to be perfectly frank. I accepted the task of writing the
paper as somewhat of a burden before I started it but in spite of the difficulties
I found myself interested and it took little effort to finish the paper. I wrote
the main part of my paper on January 27th. I had been reflecting on my different
experiences ever since the assignment was made and I had occasionally jotted
down a few notes. On this Sunday afternoon, being alone, I sat down and wrote
on the paper. I spent about six hours drafting it up. It really took me as long
to start the paper as it took me to write it. After doing this, I abandoned
the paper but recalled it to my mind occasionally trying to remember things
which I might have put in. I did not change the paper; just revised it in order
to correct a few grammatical errors. On February roth, I took the paper out
and made these revisions. I spent about two hours trying to correct these mistakes
because I am naturally poor in grammar. I typed the paper, reread it and decided
it would serve the purpose but I was rather reticent about handing it in. I
thought that probably it was not just what you wanted, after all.
|
