Gustav von Seyffertitz — Some Villains I Have Known (1922) 🇺🇸
I am bitterly disillusioned. Disappointment such as mine is hard to bear. Almost, I might say, unendurable.
by Delight Evans
It is all on account of villains. It usually is.
They are not what they seem.
It all began sometime ago, when I went to interview Lew Cody. Lew Cody, home-wrecker de luxe; male vamp and dangerous demon. Mr. Cody offered me a chocolate parfait and told me how he liked, more than anything else, to please the dear old ladies in the audience. I looked at him more in sorrow than in anger. He was — and is still — a most charming gentleman. He is not innocuous, but neither he is wicked. Just a regular man
That was the beginning. I began my search for an honest villain. Without the aid of a lantern I met Marc McDermott. It was on a hot day in a film studio. McDermott looked the part he was playing — one of the lowest, wretchedest parts an ambitious scenarioist ever wrote in a script. I met his piercing eyes, and felt that at last I was face to face with a villain. I loved the dirty look he gave the camera in his close-up. I hoped he would give me the same look. He didn’t. He gathered his fellow actors about him and suggested that a little ice-cream cone or two would not be amiss. There was no one to send out for them, so Mr. McDermott cheerfully went himself. In a few minutes we were all munching ice-cream cones. I didn’t enjoy mine. Mr. McDermott was talking about his wife in such a nice way. I went home and wept. Villains are so very disappointing. You may think I was, by this time, what you might call discouraged. Not at all. I persevered; and in the course of time I met Ward Crane. Now, you know Crane. He is one of those slick city fellers with smooth hair and a tiny moustache and neat clothes. He is the terror of all the clean country girls on the screen. He never means no good to our Nells. I was prepared for the worst and I felt certain I would get it. Did Mr. Crane live up to my expectations? Well, he merely told me, without embellishments, the simple story of how he came to be an actor; and related, rather interestedly, that he was playing leads now, having progressed from villainy.
When I recovered consciousness, I thought it all over and decided there was only one other thing I could do. I had put this off because it seemed that I could not possibly do justice, in the public prints, to such a shameless character. This instrument of infamy; this son of Satan — he, at least, was not hiding a good heart under a hard exterior. No spotless past would this time, I was convinced, occur to mar my misery. Because there was never any deed too dirty for this villain to do. There was never a heroine too fair for him to connive against. A list of his murders would make Bluebeard, in his ancient or modern incarnation, turn even greener. I refer, in whispers, to the man who played Professor Moriarity in Sherlock Holmes; who was evil enough to hate John Barrymore. He has done other awful things, it is true; but this one outweighs all others. He drew a gun on John Barrymore; he tried to kill him. More than that, he trapped him in a gas chamber. Gustav von Seyffertitz.
I eyed him coldly. He smiled. I was not taken in. You remember Moriarity smiled once or twice, too.
The fact that he did not have his make-up on was, I suppose, calculated to win favor.
It was a clever trick. He is, I admit, a personable man enough without the wig. But you’ve got to school yourself not to let those things impress you.
Then he began to talk. He has an accent which would have its charm if one did not know the man for what he is. But I let him go on.
It seems he was born in Vienna, and won considerable renown there playing in comic operas, as the principal comedian. Then he essayed to realize his real ambition.
“I tried,” he said, “on several occasions to play serious parts. But the audience that had laughed at me so often could not take me seriously. I would, they thought, walk on and play ‘straight’ for a while; but then I would surely, sooner or later, do or say something to make them scream with laughter. After a while I was forced to abandon my attempts to be tragic.”
Strangely enough, von Seyffertitz looked human. He was hardly the fiend incarnate to the casual observation. His eyes actually seemed to hold a kindly light, and his voice was more or less melting. But he couldn’t fool me. Sooner or later he would, like all villains, be sure to fall into a trap of his own making.
“It was in 1895 that Heinrich Conried came to Vienna and while there, asked me to become a member of his American company. He saw my performance — I specialized in aristocratic fops and dudes — and said that although he had already engaged a first comedian for his Irving Place Theater, he would make a place for me — if I would come. I accepted his offer and I have been in this country ever since.
“The Irving Place Theater on Fourteenth Street in New York City was a bit of Vienna. I might almost never have left my native land. The actors were all continentals; the community was European. I learned little English, although I tried. My days and nights were spent in and around the theater. It was hard!
“Soon I was stage director as well as actor. By stage director I do not mean technical director. I mean the man who on the stage occupies the same position that the director does in the screen studios. The players do his bidding. I staged many plays. Then I was informed the Frohman offices had sent for me. I did not know Frohman; I was not at all impressed. I went and was told I was wanted as stage director for Maude Adams. Maude Adams — the name meant nothing to me!
“I was sent to the Middle West, where the star was playing. I had, of course, never seen her. I went to the theater where she was playing in Peter Pan. I was to see the first two acts, and then meet her behind the scenes. I watched her in her divine interpretation of the beautiful Peter; and when I went backstage I was so filled with admiration for her art, I could scarcely speak. Even if I had been able to find my voice, I could not have voiced my emotion which she had inspired. But she is a great woman as well as a great actress. And she understood. So we became friends.
“She is a woman who, with all her femininity, has the mind of a very brilliant man. She can make an artistic success at anything, providing she is truly interested in it. If anyone can make a success of color photography, on which Miss Adams is today working, it will be she. She knew, then, that I knew my business of directing; and she listened to me. I knew she knew her art. We worked together happily. She grew to call me Grandpa! I directed L’Aiglon, Chanticleer, Quality Street, What Every Woman Knows. Then I was assigned to direct other Frohman stars. Otis Skinner, Margaret Anglin — with whom I worked on the Grecian tragedies — Cyril Maude, Elsie Ferguson.
“During my Frohman association I was sent abroad by the manager. For what reason do you think? To learn English! I studied in Oxford for some months. I learned very little there because the tutors were so condescending I could not learn from them. No — instead I knew a tobacconist who used to leave his little shop in his wife’s care while he and I walked miles in the country, and he would talk to me and I would talk to him, until I learned.
“It was after Frohman’s lamentable death that I turned to the screen. I thought all I had to do was to travel to California and announce myself to the producers to be instantly engaged. This was not true. I discovered experience was necessary. All my years of stage training meant nothing. So my friend, Douglas Fairbanks [Douglas Fairbanks Sr.], gave me a role in his ‘Down to Earth.’ It was a villain’s role. DeMille [Cecil B. DeMille] engaged me for The Whispering Chorus. I was told I could play an unusual type of villain; and so I have always been one on the screen.”
“By this time, of course, I was hopelessly entangled. He is an engaging man. He has a continental charm. You may think this a necessarily ulterior charm, but it didn’t seem to be. I discovered to my horror that I liked him. There was nothing to do about it. It couldn’t be helped. He was not in the least villainous. I am sorry to have to say this, but it is true.
“Then,” resumed von Seyffertitz, “then came the war. Although my relatives were fighting on the other side, I was not in sympathy with their cause. At the same time I realized I was Austrian-born. So when an offer came from Lasky [Jesse L. Lasky] to direct a picture, under another name, I accepted. I lost my identity.
“The picture was with Lila Lee, a new star. I was left almost entirely to my own devices. I knew nothing of the technique of the films, as different as possible from the technique of the stage drama.
“I had worked formerly with experienced actors. I was given to direct an inexperienced player.
“I was lost in a strange land — that land of the cameras. I was shy. I was embarrassed. I did not ask for help. And no help was given me, with the kindest intentions in the world, because they on the lot thought I would get along better if left alone. So I stumbled on. And, as might have been expected, the picture was not a success.
“I was engaged again to direct, this time by Vitagraph. My star was new — Alice Calhoun. We worked as best we could on an inferior story.
“And now — I am acting again. I have learned many things about screen production. I should like to direct if a producer had faith in me and would let me go ahead. Until then, I am well content to create interesting characters.
“It is a disappointment to me that I am not playing in the new Griffith picture. Mr. Griffith sent for me. He wanted me for the leading man’s role; the part about which the picture revolves. When he saw me he said, ‘Is that your own nose? I thought surely you had made it up for Moriarity. I am sorry. I would like to have you for my picture — but the character could not have your nose.’”
My faith in villains is forever lost. I can never believe in them again. While formerly I used almost — I acknowledge it — to enjoy hating them, now I will always look at them and leer,
“Yes— you act like that. But actually you’re a charming man who’s devoted to his wife and loves little children.”
It is Mr. von Seyffertitz who has done this thing.
And he is such a merry man, such a delightful and brilliant man, that I find myself forgiving him for it.
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He is the man who, as Professor Moriarity, in Sherlock Holmes, was mean enough to hate John Barrymore
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Miss Faire appeared in Without Benefit of Clergy — “Fightin’ Mad” — and is booked for appearance in “The Count of Monte Cristo.”
“I have found Neet to he the most satisfactory of all.”
Virginia Brown Faire
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Optimist — a picture producer who believes that his coming production is so clean that it will be passed by every Board of Censorship. — Photodramatist.
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Collection: Photoplay Magazine, September 1922