Allan Dwan — The Stung Visitor (1921) 🇺🇸
The famous humorist visits Alan Dwan and gets the real dope on what it means to be a motion-picture actor.
by H. C. Witwer
To the Generally Public.
Dear Madam:
Last fall when I staggered off the train at Los Angelasky, Calipickford, it was with the praiseworthy intentions of spendin’ a merely week-end — whatever that is — in the land where all the actors gets from $1,500 the week up, not countin’ tips. Well, so far, I have spent 32 week-ends in succession here and also a amount of jack which they is no use mentionin’ as the income tax collector might smell a rat. It was my idea to do no work what the so ever whilst in what I have nicknamed the “Golden West,” so’s to give my other constant reader a much-needed rest, but as the bunk-alows out here rent for sums which wouldst cause Jack Rockefeller to bite his nails I have been busier than a three-headed rat in a cheese foundry, tryin’ to make at least one end meat.
How the so ever, I have managed now and then to put the cover on the typewriter, shed my overalls and steal out to Hollywood to mingle hithers and yon with the various stars of the deaf-and-dumb drama, i. e., the movies. It is quite a experience, gently reader, for a young man of my type to be allowed to prowl about the various lots at will, gettin’ a eyeful of this and a earful of that and the like. You have no idea how interestin’ and excitin’ it is for a rank outsider like us to be declared in when they are shootin’ a big scene like let us take for the example, “The Mermaid’s Dream” or a replica of one of Nero’s indoor mixed bathin’ parties. They give the Prince of Wales the freedom of New York City, but I was presented with the freedom of the movie studios, and I wouldst like to see that guy try to swap with me!
Well, never mind the applesauce, you are prob’ly sayin’, but let’s hear somethin’ about what is the movie stars doin’, because we are no more interested in your personal activities than we are in what is the wages of a traffic cop on the Sahara Desert. Well, I wouldst like to ruin a few reputations and oblige with some spicy scandal and the et cetera like them little vest-pocket movie journals does, but in the first place my imagination works in a different direction and in the second place if Picture-Play shouldst lose a $100,000 libel suit it is in a position to pay off the lucky winner, unlike the said little vest-pocket movie journals. The wildest party I have been on since I descended on Hollywood was one unforgettable night when I went out to see a preview of a educational film, entitled “Making Echoes in Switzerland” or somethin’ like that. Still, I must admit that at no time since I been here have I been in danger of yawnin’ myself to death!
The latest victim of a interview with me was no less than Alan Dwan, the famous director, which I have long wanted to meet because no matter how many supers he uses in a picture he don’t call it a “Super-Production.” Besides bein’ a artist in every sense of that much-abused word, Monsieur Dwan is a regular guy both on and off the lot — a combination which, for one thing, has put him at the top of a profession which is by no means as soft as the comic weeklies wouldst have you believe. Dwan is a good story-teller and a good listener, he’s got personality and a well-developed sense of humor instead of the upstage effectation which marks the small-timer, gettin’ his first taste of the mob’s applause. Success hasn’t doped his ambition — he’s got the assured poise that comes with it, but he works as hard to-day as he ever did when his name meant nothin’ except to his immediate family.
I got all this as a result of a couple of hours spent gambolin’ with Hon. Dwan about his studio the other day. I also got a thrillin’ lesson in how to become a movie star whilst I was a visitor there, and I will now give you the low down on the way screen favorites is made. They is no extry charge for this sensational inside story — the most darin’ expose of life on a movie lot since Mack Sennett began layin’ bare the facts and — eh — everything else. So hurl away your correspondence course lessons, pull up your chair, and I’ll tell you how Alan Dwan taught me to register everything from “stupidity” to “no sale.” (That last one’s rather deep, but I can trust my audience!)
First of all, Mr. Dwan took me out and showed me the private cemetery which is attached to all picture studios, for the purpose of buryin’ the daily slew of handsome young shippin’ clerks from Succotash Crossin’, Iowa, and the beautiful milkmaids, of Goofy, Nebraska, which wouldst just love to crash into the movies. This failed to discourage me, as I am neither of the above. So callin’ a near-by and grinnin’ camera man, Mr. Dwan begin the tests to find out whether I am a second Fairbanks or a new Chaplin.
The most important requirement for a prospective screen idol outside of cast-iron nerve, says Mr. Dwan, is the ability to register the popular emotions with your features so’s that the customers, by merely glancin’ at your face as you are flashed on the sheet, will know exactly what has taken place before your entrance.
“For example,” says Mr. Dwan, ‘“you are the star, we will say, and according to the plot of the picture, your wife has just eloped with a chorus man, your house has burned down, you have lost your fortune in Wall Street, Afghanistan has voted itself dry, dynamiters have blown up the city hall at Fort Wayne, Indiana, you have a raging toothache, and putty has dropped twenty cents a pound, wholesale. Now — let’s see how you would make all that perfectly plain to your audience, with a single expression!”
I started to, and, thinkin’ I was enjoyin’ a fit, the camera man took the air.
The next subject was “action.” Under the able direction of Mr. Dwan I was throwed into a cell and throwed out of it, to the great enjoyment of the guilty bystanders. Then we both got on a couple of wooden horses and galloped all over the lot. the idea of this bein’ to see what shape my sense of the ridiculous was in. Next we climbed into a rowboat half buried in the earth, and I was told to imagine we was out in the center of the ocean, the only survivors of a terrible shipwreck. Whilst the cameras clicked merrily away, Mr. Dwan instructed me to register amazement, derision, enjoyment, fear, grief, happiness, insanity, joy, love, misery, osteopathy, pain, relief, surprise, terror, vanity, and worry. He had a chart in his hand, and, as I give vent to each of the above emotions, he give me a mark for ‘em, one hundred standin’ for “perfect.” Well, I got 135 in “insanity,” and zero in the rest of ‘em, and the comical part of it to me is that when he called out “Register insanity!” my features remained absolutely in repose!
Mr. Dwan promised to send out broadcast the pictures he had made of me, and he also says they is no doubt but that in a few days I will be swamped with offers that wouldst startle Europe, from the various film companies. So far, the phone ain’t rang once. He also claims that about forty leadin’ men will take carbolic when they see my stills, and he likewise predicts a long and brilliant future for me — provided I keep away from the studios.
My next interview will be with no less than Edith Roberts, the dainty Universal star, unless somebody tips the girl off in advance that I am comin’ out to see her.
Yours and the like.
H. C. Witwer.
Loose Angeles, California
The author and Mr. Dwan mounted a pair of wooden horses and galloped all over the lot.
The only survivors of a terrible shipwreck register everything from joy to osteopathy.
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Film Clippings
by Harold Seton
- Mabel Normand could be described as a “funbeam.” Harold Lloyd might be called a “mirthquake.” Jack Pickford is an artist to Mary Pickford’s finger tips.
- Alice Lake enjoys swimming in summer and skating in winter.
- Miss Frederick exerts such an appeal that no one could possibly. say “Nay, nay, Pauline.” — [Pauline Frederick]
- Mae Murray believes that one good “M” deserves another.
- Mary Miles Minter believes that one good “M” deserves two others.
- Blanche is certainly Sweet. — [Blanche Sweet]
- Arlene is certainly Pretty. — [Arlene Pretty]
- Louise is certainly Lovely. — [Louise Lovely]
- But Tom is certainly not Meighan. — [Thomas Meighan]
- “Are you a Mason?” Ask Shirley. — [Shirley Mason]
- Photo plays featuring May Allison and June Caprice are especially appropriate for the spring months.
- Betty Blythe, Betty Compson, and Betty Hilburn are leading ladies in the movies. It is hard to decide which is “the one best Betty.”
- Sessue Hayakawa, although a native of the Flowery Kingdom, has adopted the American golden-rod as his favorite emblem.
- Elsie Ferguson eats all her meals from fashion plates.
- Billie Burke is as sweet as honey. In fact, she is the Queen B.
- Pola Negri came. We saw. And she conquered.
- Harold Lloyd has gained popularity by leaps and bounds.
- Mae Murray, the dancer, is good in moving pictures, because she jazzticulates.
- Larry Semon receives a high salary for a low comedian.
- Mack Sennett and his bathing girls get along swimmingly.
- Mary Miles Minter lives on a diet of skimmed milk. That is what makes her so kittenish.
- Mabel Normand suffers from “cute indigestion.”
- The scenarios used by William S. Hart are written with a pen-point stuck in the muzzle of a revolver.
- De Milles [Cecil B. DeMille | William C. de Mille] of the gods grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small.
- One good Tourneur deserves another.
- Alice Brady begins well, at any rate, for her initials are A. B. C, her husband being James Crane.
- Handsome is as Eugene O’Brien does.
- Pauline Frederick, whether in or out of the films, presents a series of moving pictures.
- John Barrymore is said to be haunted by the ghost of Edwin Booth.
- Marguerite Clark is such a tiny little creature that we always want to see more of her.
- Three cheers for red, white, and Monte Blue.
- Dorothy Dalton generally has a film before her eyes.
- Everything about Tom Moore is free and easy except his professional services.
- Viola Dana is so sweet that audiences flock to her like bees to a rosebush.
- William Farnum, being a man of weight, has acquired a substantial reputation.
- Miss White is the “Pearl of great price.” — [Pearl White]
- Mack Sennett believes that instead of saying “the female of the species is more deadly than the male,” we should say “more lively.”
Collection: Picture Play Magazine, June 1921
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