Lionel Atwill — The Exquisite Villain (1919) 🇺🇸
I had always wanted to meet a villain in a play, to experience that rare thrill about which John Galsworthy and other less noted novelists write so glibly.
by Barbara Beach
When the editor said, “Interview Lionel Atwill,” I muttered something about “God is good.”
Had I not seen Mr. Atwill night before last with Elsie Ferguson in her picture, “The Marriage Price,” and the night before that as the breath-taking lover in Belasco’s stage production, Tiger, Tiger?
In the due course of time, I succeeded in making an appointment to call on Mr. Atwill. That gentleman’s Japanese valet admitted me to his one-door-from-Fifth-Avenue apartment. It is typical of Mr. Atwill that he should live one door from Fifth Avenue. It is also typical of him to have a Japanese valet. His valet’s knowing smile as he shut me in the living-room left me expectant of drawn silken curtains, burning incense, soft-murmured phrases, in a sybaritic atmosphere.
Instead I found myself alone, the morning sunlight enveloped me, and the fine old mahogany furniture, freshly dressed in coverings of rose and black and yellow chintz, in a cheerful golden glow.
A stack of Smart Set magazines were banked under the table, while an antique bookcase was filled with well-read works of Wells, Bennett, Ibsen. On a becushioned chair reposed a gold-topped cane which bespoke a fastidious owner.
Thus far had my observations progressed when the door swung briskly open and my host entered.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, in a crisp, businesslike manner.
“I had an appointment at the British embassy and was detained longer than I anticipated. You know actors always get the reputation of being poor business men, always late for appointments and all that, but if only theatrical managers would employ more specific business tactics instead of clapping one on the back and saying, ‘Drop in any time, old top, and we’ll talk over that contract,’ we wouldn’t have to waste so much time hanging around.”
He drew a stiff chair, which bespoke New England, up to his gate-legged table, while I nearly smothered in the luxury of his davenport. At once he asked my permission to smoke, and at intervals of ten minutes thereafter he lit a fresh cigaret from the glowing butt of its predecessor. His small mustache, which he wears according to the part he is playing, was sleek and dark, and his skin was so smooth-shaven that the pink color showed.
By dint of much questioning, I learnt that Mr. Atwill came to America from London in 1916 to play an eighteen weeks’ engagement as leading man with Lily Langtry. He has remained here ever since. In those three years his theatrical experiences have been widely varied. He created a sensation in the stage play, Eve’s Daughter, with Billie Burke, only to be disappointed by having the play fail. He took a brief dip into vaudeville in a dramatic playlet, and did notable work with Nazimova [Alla Nazimova] during her Ibsen season at the Plymouth Theater, New York. His most recent success is in Tiger, Tiger, where he plays the lead opposite Frances Starr. Several offers have been made him to star, and the motion picture magnates are offering unbelievable sums for his services.
“You like America?” I went on, ploddingly.
"Certainly,” he said; “otherwise, why would I stay so long? America offers a greater sense of promise than any other country. I prefer London for one reason only. The social position of the actor is entirely different than it is here. In London he is accepted in the best society, over here he is considered more or less of a bounder. For instance, the other evening an Oxford classmate of mine brought one of the feminine members of your 400 behind the scenes at the Belasco Theater. She shook hands with me gingerly, we talked a while, and as they left she remarked, sub rosa, with a rising inflection in her voice, ‘Why, he seems a perfect gentleman!’ My friend told me that when he replied that I belonged to a good old English family and graduated from Oxford with him, she was even more astonished, and exclaimed, ‘You don’t say so!’
“In America actors are regarded as a curiosity, as a something to be gaped at, to do odd and eccentric things that no one else would do — to be idolized, perhaps, but never regarded as human beings.
“In London actors often come from the best families. Younger sons of the peerage are only too glad to study for the stage and earn a few honest pence to fill out the family’s deplenished exchequer. Many actors are knighted and those who become successful do so because they are men of letters who have studied and worked hard to gain their position. I happened to come from a family unconnected with theatricals. My grandfather was an architect and I was properly educated and played cricket like every other English boy. Eventually I surprised the family by announcing my intention of seeking a stage career.
“For five years I toured the provinces, working like a dog for that success which would give me an opening in the London theaters, the goal of every English actor’s ambition. Finally my chance came under the management of Charles Frohman. We played in bad luck, several of our productions being failures, but I was fortunate enough to receive favorable personal notices. My first big success was in Arnold Bennett’s Milestones.”
“What do you think of pictures?” I asked, really interested and not as a matter of form.
He lit a fresh cigaret, ran his hand over his finely brushed hair and looked somewhat annoyed.
“I honestly think pictures have possibilities, but not until some of these old-fashioned ideas are combed out of them. For instance, to the picture director a character is either a hero, who is all good, or a villain, who is all bad. To his mind there are no gradations, and just so long as he takes each story and moulds each character to form the screen is going to continue to be just so much bla-a.
“The worst person in the world has some good in him, the! best individual has moments of weakness and wrongdoing.
No one is wholly good or evil, and by trying to make them so I the screen is all wrong.
“I, for one, will never play in pictures again until I am assured that the director is broad-minded enough to present a villain who has lovable qualities, or a hero who has a few weaknesses.”
For the last few seconds of my visit we forgot pictures and philosophized upon life in general.
Mr. Atwill has the brain of a thinker and the body of an exquisite. He is sophisticated, but his is an intellectual sophistication rather than an emotional one.
He gives the impression of being a fine connoisseur of the motivating power of mortals.
His theories are those of a man who has lived. While his own code of honor is of the most strict, he despises women who prattle about “virtue, chaperons, double standards.”
He is moral with the fine morality of his own conscience. If he is a villain in a play, he is an exquisite in reality.
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Photo Matzene, Chicago
Lionel Atwill comes of a good old English family and he is a graduate of Oxford. “I was properly educated and played cricket like every other English boy,” he says. “Eventually I surprised the family by announcing my intention of seeking a stage career.” Above, a portrait of Mr. Atwill; left, a glimpse of the actor in his one-door-from-Fifth-Avenue apartment, and, below, in a photoplay with Elsie Ferguson
Photo White, N. Y.
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A study of Mr. Atwill as the member of Parliament hero of David Belasco’s production Tiger, Tiger. Mr. Atwill believes that motion pictures will continue in their present rut until — “directors discover that the worst person in the world has some good in him, the best individual moments of weakness and wrong-doing — that no one is wholly good or evil”
Photo White, N. Y.
Collection: Motion Picture Classic Magazine, July 1919
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see also Bela Lugosi, Lionel Atwill and Boris Karloff — Three Live Ghosts (1935)