Raoul Walsh — He Envies His Actors (1929) 🇺🇸
He scribbled diligently on a scrap of paper the size of your hand, no matter how small that hand may be. When one side was covered with unintelligible hieroglyphics, he tackled the other, running his hand through his hair as he did so, and moistening the point of his pencil like a school kid not quite sure what to write next.
Soon this side, too, was ruined for further use. And director Raoul Walsh beckoned to June Collyer, another New York villager who has made good in the Cinema City.
"Say, June," said Raoul, "wish you'd mind this for me, will you?" He thrust the rumpled smudge at her. "And for the love of Mike, don't lose it!"
June examined the paper. But its secret remained buried in a hodge-podge of curlicues. "What is it?" she asked. "Does it tell where the treasure is buried, or where the body may be found?"
"No," whispered Raoul impressively. "It is the script of Me, Gangster."
And so It was.
And while they shot the picture, there was no other.
That's the way Walsh works. Sometimes, at any rate.
Moreover, so sure was he of what he was doing, and of what he had accomplished, that he never saw a single one of the dailies. The dailies, you know, are the sequences taken during the day and shown as soon as they may be developed.
Raoul impresses one as being neither so tall nor so broad as his brother George. And not so handsome either. Nevertheless he is credited with being a two-fisted fighting man capable of stretching three or four bullies neatly in a row without apparent effort. And there seems to be something in the rugged masculinity of his features, his width of wistful smile, the brooding appeal of his Irish eyes, that makes him a lion among ladies. For Hollywood has it that more than one scintillating star has climbed down from her place in the cinema skies to mirror her beauty in these same eyes.
At and In Hot Water
But if he loves 'em, he leaves 'em. He manages to avoid entangling alliances, and for a very long time remained wedded to the same lady. Just recently he has made a second marriage in his house, flying to Agua Caliente, in old Mexico, for the ceremony. Agua Caliente means hot water. Personally, I should consider it a somewhat ominous spot in which to take a matrimonial plunge. But those things don't bother Raoul. In fact, they do say that after the event, he paused long enough at the gaming tables to collect some eighteen thousand of those big silver dollars with which the Southern neighbors pay off the few fortunate gringos who pick the lucky number. Such good fortune on a wedding day is enough to make a Mormon of a man.
But that's the luck of the Irish. And this bucko from the sidewalks of New York has had his share. He sees to that himself.
Walsh has been in pictures a long time. He played the role of John Wilkes Booth, Lincoln's slayer, in "The Birth of a Nation." Then he was an actor. He is still. Or believes he is. He has never quite fully recovered. Of course, it was Gloria's idea that he enact the part of Handsome in Sadie Thompson. But the record doesn't show that he demurred overly much. Perhaps the name of the character appealed to him. I've heard it stated that in this part he did everything, or almost everything, which he, as a director, would frown upon. But he put it over just the same. Give the kid credit. He's clever.
Give him credit, too, for a few photoplays which have really meant something in the deaf and dumb racket. Which is what the smott creckers called the movies before they became noisy and loquacious. He has made more than his share of good ones. Many a reputation has been builded on less firm foundation.
Re-Glorifying Gloria
There is The Wanderer, for instance. And The Thief of Bagdad. Both of these evidence his flair for the spectacular, his appreciation of beauty, and his ability to express that appreciation on the screen. He made What Price Glory?" and demonstrated his ability as a realist, his ingenuity, and a certain mental virility which was not apparent in his pretty pictures. We'll forgive him "Carmen." If for no other reason than that in translating the ancient story into cinematic terms, he disclosed an independence of spirit, a willingness to blaze new trails, a disregard for precedent, which are much-needed and seldom found in the celluloid industry. They didn't think "Rain" could be adapted for a photoplay. They were afraid to try. But Walsh turned the trick. And remember that he was so hemmed in by restrictions that he couldn't even use the name of the stage play as a title. Everything considered, he gave us a remarkably faithful, an eminently memorable film drama. One that rescued the great Gloria from the slough of "Sunya," and replaced her on the high pinnacle of popularity which was formerly hers.
Now Walsh has directed about a hundred and twenty-five pictures during his career. Of these the four which have been mentioned are something in the nature of epics, as that much-abused word is understood in movieland. A small percentage, you say? Well, who has done better? Who has made four really outstanding photoplays during a period devoted to grinding out over a hundred? Has either Von Stroheim or Griffith or De Mille or Lubitsch or Brenon? You tell 'em, I'd stutter. Add Walsh's name to these five, and you have the six directors who mean anything to the public. Who pull patronage for their pictures. And of the six, Walsh is by no means last.
An Incurable Actor
Walsh is a New Yorker, born and bred. When he runs on to the Big Town, there's alight in the window for him at the old home in the West Nineties. That's where his brother George lives. And his sister, former wife of Hoppe, the billiard champ. And his dad, a little chap to have sired two such stalwart sons, and one of the few Irishmen with sense enough to have selected a Jewish partner. They made so much money together, that now Pop Walsh is retired, and has leisure and capacity to enjoy a proud and hearty camaraderie with the boys.
Raoul went to school over on the Jersey side of the Hudson, at Seton Hall. When he was graduated, the old man staked him to a trip around the world. And after two years of travel, the durned fool went into the movies. That was Paul Armstrong's fault. It was the playwright who introduced him to D. W. Griffith. And it was D. W. who tried to make an actor of him. If the Old Master had known what serious competition he was inducting into the industry, he would have kept him an actor. As it is, the leopard's spots are visible through the protective coloration of the director.
For instance, Raoul works for Fox. The Fox sound device is Movietone. There will be many pictures synchronized with it. Therefore those who know most about its various ramifications will be the whitehaired boys. In order to familiarize himself with sound picture technic, Raoul determined to make a quickie two-reel yellie. For the story, he selected one of those trick yarns written by O. Henry. After he began shooting, it became impressed upon his consciousness, that he was wasting story material. With not too much expansion, he had plot for a feature. It never occurred to him to be at all squeamish, or doubtful regarding his ability to make a talkie.
So he went to Sheehan, the arbiter of Fox destinies, and sold the idea of making a full-length film. Before he's through it may develop into a special, or a super-special, or a super-super-special.
There was just one question Sheehan asked.
"Who's going to play the bandit?"
"Who do you think?" chirped Raoul, "I'll play it myself!"
To the Cave-Manner Born
And so he did. He grew a mustache for the role, so he'd look more Pancho Villa-nish. And the funny part is that in the dialogue sequences he speaks English with a decided Spanish accent, just as they do below the border. They're whispering about the picture now. Saying it's a wow. That it will make the little senorita Maria Alba, one ver' beeg Stare. Judge for yourself when you see “A Caballero's Way."
Someone has said that mankind should be the study of man. Yet, most men find the study of woman far more fascinating. Thus it is perhaps interesting to set down the purely impersonal philosophising of one who has supported an array of beauties (on the screen, of course; don't be silly!) and has been enabled to lay down the law with perfect impunity to a galaxy of temperamental femininity. Besides this, you know, Walsh has shown that he possesses great clarity of vision in endowing his pictures with a romanticism which provides a censor-proof kick, a vicarious thrill, to the Judy O'Gradys and Colonel's ladies who pay the box-office freight of the picture business.
Sam Goldwyn is reputed to have answered a query in two words, "Im-possible." Walsh disposes of the feminine problem in three, "Keep 'em guessing." He declares that there is no place in the heart of a maid for the Dobbin-like male whose every reaction may be graphed in advance. Milady likes the man who may kiss, or who may knock her cold.
Those are Walsh's ideas on the subject. Wonder if he'll put them into effect in his new ménage.
Only one thing is stronger than Raoul Walsh's desire to act. And that is his pride in his son.
Source: Motion Picture Classic Magazine, January 1929