Half-a-Minute with Martin Harvey (1920) 🇬🇧

It was a little after five o’clock in the afternoon as I wended my steps through the odoriferous and cobbly ways of Covent Garden Market in the direction of the Opera House. The day had been clear and spring-like, and though the mists of early evening were fast enveloping and softening the harsh outlines of that unlovely spot, a rosy blush still lingered on the face of the West.

My thoughts were not running in this poetical strain, however, as I hurried along to my destination. Instead the thought that persistently hammered in my mind and kept pace with my footsteps was, Will he see me?

As I reached the Opera House people were pouring from it in all directions, and, jostling through them, I caught snatches of their conversation.

“What a beautiful voice he has!” remarked one.

“I saw him in The Only Way when it first staged,” said another.

“He’s more wonderful than ever!” exclaimed a third. “And in that last scene —”

“They were speaking of the subject of my thoughts — Martin Harvey.

I sped round to the stage-door as quickly as the crowds would permit and presented my card. The keeper of that portal shook his head as I stated my errand. However, he would see, he said dubiously, as he disappeared into the inner regions.

He returned shortly with a smile on his face.

“Mr. Harvey is very rushed, miss; but he can spare you half-a-minute, if that will do.”

The Picture Show had won!

Old-World Courtesy.

It was Sidney Carton whom I saw as I entered the actor’s dressing-room, but it was Martin Harvey who greeted me with that beautiful air of old-world courtesy which is so peculiarly his own. As he removed his make-up — a proceeding for which he apologised but he was so pressed for time, he said — the following brief, but to-the-point, conversation ensued.

As you doubtless know, Mr. Harvey has appeared in but two films, but each was a picturisation of a stage play — A Cigarette-Maker’s Romance, one of the classics of his legitimate repertoire, and The Broken Melody, the late Van Biene’s [Auguste Van Biene] perennial theatrical success. Which, naturally, prompted me to ask Mr. Harvey whether he considered film adaptations of stage plays successful.

“I think so, as a rule,” he answered slowly, as if he were running over in his mind any he had seen. “But,” he added modestly, “my film experience is so limited that I really am not in a position to express an opinion.”

The Vehicle of a Fine Art.

“What do you think of the photo-play as an art, Mr. Harvey?”

“The artistic success of a photo-play lies in the hands of the producer; everything depends on him,” was the somewhat guarded reply. “When he happens to be an artist, then I think the film can certainly become the vehicle of a very fine art. Witness Mr. Griffith’s [D. W. Griffith] pictures.”

Mr. Harvey spoke with deliberation, his remarks being, interspersed with the frequent, pauses which his task necessitated; but, seeing that he had now removed nearly all his make-up, and that my half-minute was gone, I hastened to put the question in which I knew my readers would be most interested:

Was he likely to appear in a film version of The Only Way?

“There is no immediate likelihood of my doing so,” he said, with his half-serious smile. “Directly my season here is finished, I start on a tour in the Midlands, Scotland, and Wales, so you see that my time is far too fully occupied just now to allow me even to consider any film work.”

May Herschel Clarke

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[Transcriber’s Note: Sydney Carton, the main character of the play The Only Way, was John Martin Harvey’s signature role. He did the film version of The Only Way in 1925]

Collection: Picture Show Magazine, April 1920