Craufurd Kent — “Screen Stars I Have Wooed — and Won!” — 03 (1920) 🇬🇧
These confessions of a leading man who left England to play in films in America will be read with great interest by all picturegoers. Craufurd Kent is well able to speak on the subject of love-making, for he has been the central character in a large number of romantic scenes, and he has captured the hearts of the simple-hearted girl, the temperamental, the woman of the world, the beautiful doll, and, in fact, every type of femininity. Read what this prince of heart stealers has to say on this ever-absorbing topic.
No. 3.
by Craufurd Kent.
The Spanish Type.
Of all the love scenes I have played, none remain with more vividness in my mind, alike for their reality and intensity of passion, than those in which Catherine Calvert and Mary Garden respectively were the chief figures.
Catherine Calvert, although American by birth, is essentially Spanish in appearance and temperament; beautiful, with a dark, glowing beauty: warm-hearted, with the passion of the South. Were I assigned the delightful yet delicate task of selecting, from all the screen ladies to whom I have paid court, the most ardent and accomplished love-maker, assuredly I should award her the palm. Acting a love scene with Catherine Calvert is not acting; it is life. Or so it seems. Nothing in this world is more natural, for not only does she abandon herself to the romance of the story; she just melts into the arms of her screen lover!
“And You’re Paid For That!”
Of my work with her in “The Career of Katherine Bush” I have some amusing recollections. You will remember the scene in which I, as the Hon. Gerald Strobridge, make passionate love to my aunt’s secretary, Katherine Bush; how she repulses me, and how finally, my better nature conquers, and I promise to be her good friend.
We rehearsed this scene several times and were, we thought, getting along very nicely, when the director’s voice rang out:
“No, no, Miss Calvert! You should repulse him more! Remember love-making is unwelcome to you Why, you are acting as if you liked it!”
Whereupon Miss Calvert burst out laughing.
“I do!” she cried, and reduced us all to fits of laughter too.
But, really, I think our love-making must have looked remarkably genuine, for a studio assistant, who was passing by the set at the time, exclaimed: “Good Heavens! and you’re paid for doing that! Why, I’d gladly do it for nothing!”
And strange to say, eyeglass remained securely in its position all the time!
“I Like It!”
Something of the same kind occurred when I played with the great operatic star, Mary Garden, in the film version of Thaïs. At the conclusion of a scene in which I had made violent love to her, she amused us all by remarking with a sigh:
“I’m not used to being made love to like this! The tenors with whom I’ve played thought only of getting their voices out, but Mr. Kent makes love as if he means it! I like it!”
Mary Garden really is a great dear. She was just as naïve about her film experiences as a child over a new toy, and at every fresh development she came across in a medium of expression which must have seemed so strange to her. she would express wonderment and interest; while she was continually smiling and exclaiming: “Pictures are funny things, aren’t they?”
The exterior work was very trying for her, especially in view of the care of her throat she was obliged to take, but she met everything with the utmost good humour, and on very cold days would come up to me and say:
“Mr. Kent, you do look cold. In my dressing room you’ll find something hot to drink, if you’re feeling chilled.”
A very kind, generous-hearted woman. Everybody liked her.
Another star of the “emotional” variety whom I found charming was Clara Kimball Young. I played with her in “The Deep Purple.”
A Regular Tom-Boy.
Olive Thomas, if she will pardon my saying so (and I know she will), is more fun than a barrel of monkeys! She is just a regular tom-boy, although a very beautiful one. She is very easy to make love to, and yet at the same time difficult, for just in the middle of a romantic scene she will whisper some funny remark in one’s ear, thereby upsetting one’s equilibrium considerably.
We had a very adventurous time during the making of her picture, “Youthful Folly,” for it occurred at the time of the great floods in America, which did ten million dollars’ worth of damage.
We left New York on the Monday night, bound for New Orleans, where we were to take exteriors. We should have arrived at our destination Wednesday morning, but as a matter of fact we did not put in an appearance till late on Friday evening, as you shall hear.
A Hold-Up.
Everything went well till we reached Atlanta, Georgia, where we got in at 10.30 p.m., only to learn that we should probably be stranded there for three days, owing to the floods having washed away the bridges and lines! On the other hand, we were advised to keep in the train, as help might come sooner than expected. Miss Thomas and myself, however, together with two other members of the east, resolved to “take a chance,” and go into the town for a little recreation — a dance, maybe.
Unfortunately, the amusement halls were just closing, so instead we made merry at a funny little refreshment stall outside the station, where we had hot drinks and Frankfurters, or “hot dogs,” as they are railed, and where also we were able to purchase some comical masks, which appealed, somehow, to our Bohemian spirits.
Upon our return to the station we found the train still in, so we promptly boarded it, and after sitting up till two o’clock in the morning, laughing and talking, settled down for a much-needed rest. Slumber, however, was not for me, for I had no sooner settled in my berth than I was afflicted with heart-burn.
“Bi-carbonate of soda for me!” I said, and went in search of the porters.
Locked Out.
Now on American trains all the cars are Pullmans, whose sliding doors, though easily opened from within cannot be opened from without. At the time, however, I had not grasped this important fact, with the result that in my efforts to locate the porters in the darkness — for the lights were cut off — I opened the doors of my car and blundered on to the little platform without, only to realise that not only were the doors of the next carriage securely fastened, but that the entrance to my own quarters was also closed to me, the doors having promptly slid together behind me!
No other course remained but to descend from the train (which in the States is usually well above the level of the station), and make my way along the unlit platform — deserted, save for a crate of pigs! — in the hope of finding the porters’ car and gaining admittance. By this time I was feeling decidedly chilly, and as I fumbled along in the darkness, tapping at the carriage windows — only to be rewarded by the scandalised face of some lady, who promptly pulled the curtains closer! my spirits sank lower and lower till I wished the whole film expedition to Jericho!
At last I worked my way to the smoking carriage, and there I found the porters (who, I discovered, always sleep on the lounges of that compartment) and gained admittance — and my bi-carbonate of soda! But by that time what I needed chiefly was quinine!
But the most distressing feature of this more than distressing experience was not the violent cold it gave me, but the conviction I formed — and which I retain to this day — that there are certain ladies in the United States who must always entertain a poor opinion of the characters of leading men.
One Meal a Day.
When we proceeded on our way again we were taken round a half-circle to New Orleans, via Birmingham, Alabama instead of the more direct route through Montgomery. For three nights we were without any illumination, and used to sit in the darkness, singing and whistling, and telling stories, with only the fiery tips of our cigarettes for lamps. During this part of our trip we had but one meal a day. of bacon and eggs, for provisions had run very low, and there was but one dining car for the three hundred passengers aboard. We travelled with the greatest difficulty, the lines being held up by men with big crowbars at many points, and as the rails could not stand the strain of a big engine, a smaller one had to be substituted, with the result that when an incline was reached the engine would stagger up it, only to run backwards when it reached the top!
We reached New Orleans at 11.30 at night, to find the director and staff officials awaiting us in a fine state of anxiety, for though communication with the head office had been possible, the station lines had been cut off by the floods.
“Look At Us Now!”
Just before we pulled into the station we had an impish inspiration; we would don the masks we had bought in Atlanta! As these were hideously grotesque, and made us look about ninety years old, you can imagine the expressions of the various film potentates (who had assembled to do Miss Thomas honour) when the four of us — the young lady herself unrecognisable — staggered out of the train, and hobbling up the platform, muttered in squeaky voices:
“We were young when we left New York, but look at us now!”
They did — and quickly decided that what we wanted was a good square meal. And didn’t we appreciate the tremendous spread we found at the hotel, after days of semi-starvation!
My Latest Picture.
The last picture I made before starting upon my trip to England was “Clothes” — indeed, it was finished but half-an-hour before I caught the boat train. It has an all British cast, with Irish Olive Tell for the star.
The final scene was taken on a beautiful spot overlooking the Hudson River, Miss Tell’s figure and mine giving a silhouette effect. To prevent a tree throwing an unsightly shadow and spoiling the romantic picture we presented, an assistant director was told off to climb the tree and hold some of the branches back with rope.
Miss Tell, as you are aware, is a very beautiful girl, with lovely brown hair and blue eyes, and as I took her in my arms and gave her the kiss which terminates the picture, a heart-rending sigh came from the region of the tree behind us, and a plaintive voice cried:
“I can’t stand this any longer, Kent! Let me come down and change places with you!”
Which shows that even a level-headed director is not impervious to the tender passion!
A Toast.
Olive Tell completes the fairly comprehensive list of famous stars to whom it has been my happy lot to make love. Of my appearances with George M. Cohan, in “Broadway Jones” (the film version of his own play) and the great Caruso in “Prince Cosimo”; nor yet again of my own starring part in “Other Men’s Shoes,” I have not spoken, thinking them somewhat outside the scope of these articles. And, indeed, it has always been with the fair ones of filmdom that my name has been associated, and what better fate could a man wish than that?
Mention of my name — which invariably is spelt incorrectly — reminds me of a press cutting which I received from an anonymous admirer (or otherwise) shortly after my arrival in London:
“Yes, he used to be Crawford Kent,” it runs, “but now he is Craufurd Kent [Crauford Kent]. The change has not affected his talented hair or his remarkably ornamental legs.”
I bow. Especially as I never knew before that I — er — that they were ornamental. Strange how one overlooks these important details. Of course, I see now how blind I’ve been.
But, as I was saying — Olive Tell was the last film star I embraced prior to my departure for the Old Country. Whether I shall embrace her again, when I return to the glare of the Cooper-Hewitts. I do not know, but this, at least, is sure — I shall embrace someone! Alas! for the fidelity of leading men!
In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, I give you a toast: “My sweethearts of the screen: God bless them!”
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In a scene from “The Career of Katherine Bush,” with Catherine Calvert.
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Collection: Picture Show Magazine, September 1920
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