Robert E. McIntyre — The Still Hunt For New Faces (1922) 🇺🇸

Mr. Mclntyre [Robert McIntyre] probably knows as much about film requirements as any man in the world. As the casting director for the Goldwyn Pictures Corporation, he has interviewed thousands of girls, tested them, and put them in pictures where they had parts which gave them opportunities to exercise their abilities. He knows, as nearly as anyone can know, what constitutes a screen face; whether a girl will screen; if she has the dramatic spark. Mr. Mclntyre was commissioned by Samuel Goldwyn, commander-in-chief of the Goldwyn film forces, to visit Manhattan and literally to canvass it for filmable girls. It was to be a real, almost house-to-house hunt; a practical search for screen beauty. In this story, Mr. Mclntyre tells you the results of his hunt, besides giving you an actual insight into the essentials of film beauty and brains. He is, by the way, one of the men chiefly concerned in the Photoplay-Goldwyn Screen Opportunity. He will help to pass upon all entrants because his judgment is correctly considered of vital importance in this search for new types.

by Robert E. McIntyre

If I were not firmly convinced that somewhere in this country there is at least one girl who possesses every requirement for screen success, I should not be writing this. When I left California for the east, it was with a definite object. I was to find a filmable girl. That’s all. But it was enough. I was not to pass up a single possibility. I was to make a thorough search for beautiful, intelligent girls, and to have screen tests made of them. As far as it was possible, I was to scour the country, personally, and bring back with me, all tied up in celluloid, the most interesting young woman I could find.

I have done this. I have interviewed literally hundreds of young ladies. I have passed upon thousands of feet of film. And now I want to tell you the conclusions I’ve arrived at, after this pleasantly harrowing beauty quest.

Don’t think it’s been easy. I am aware it sounds something like a permanent first-row seat at the Ziegfeld entertainments, or a perpetual stroll up Fifth Avenue, or daily pilgrimages to the smartest, the most individual restaurants of Manhattan. Well, I’ve done that. I have even followed a certain woman for blocks and blocks and blocks, simply because her marvellously graceful walk made me think she might be a future film star. I have looked into limousines and disgraced a dowager by asking her granddaughter if she could arrange to meet my wife, Mrs. Mclntyre, for an interview. I have been watching interesting women for weeks. Mr. Ziegfeld [Florenz Ziegfeld] is not the only critic of American beauty.

Interesting women. Not particularly pretty women, or intelligent women, but interesting women. If a girl is interesting, she very probably meets our requirements of personality, intelligence, youth and beauty. If she does not interest you, it is hardly possible that she will interest the camera. On the other hand, the most beautiful young woman I met while in New York proved a perfect frost in her screen tests. I’m sure I don’t know why. The camera is psychic; that’s all I can tell you. The girl had perfect yet piquant features; a beautiful body; a plasticity, very valuable; marvellous hair; gorgeous, soulful eyes. On the screen, cold as ice, and as interesting. Another girl possessed exactly half her beauty and charm; yet, because of a tilt to her head, reinforced by a curve to her lips, she was an absolute knockout in the films. And that’s the way it goes. Which makes a search for screen material exceedingly interesting, but a little difficult. Primarily, what we are seeking is a representative American young woman, who will get across on the screen the qualities we most admire. This girl may be in Manhattan; she may be a native daughter of Kalamazoo. That’s what we are going to find out in this Photoplay-Goldwyn quest. I served as a sort of courier in the quest because it has been my business for some years to pass upon women and girls who are, or who want to be, actresses. My mission, to discover the young woman to play a certain famous part in a forthcoming Goldwyn photoplay; and incidentally to keep an eye open for other screen possibilities.

My conclusion is that the winner in the Screen Opportunity is going to be a girl from a small town. A girl who was born and brought up in a small town; a girl who has never been away from a small town. That’s the girl who will have the necessary sincerity, the earnestness, the wholesomeness, the determination. Her sister, who got restless at home, and went to the city, to seek her fortune there, is by this time a little tired, a little disillusioned. She may even be cynical. She has seen perhaps too much of the seamy side of life, and it has given a droop to her mouth and a lack-lustre look to her eyes. Whether she is successful or not, she has become imbued with New Yorkitis: she would probably not be content with any other existence, but she is not enthusiastic about her own.

She would screen just like that. The little girl at home, the seventeen-to-twenty-two-year-old girl, with her fresh outlook, her enthusiasm, her undulled emotions, her bright, wholesome, I-am-willing-to-work-and-to-learn quality, has ten times more promise. She will work, she will fight, for success. She will not expect or demand sudden fame and fortune. She will take direction.

Another thing: this small town girl, and by small town you understand I do not mean, necessarily, the village or hamlet, but the smaller cities — has a very valuable sex unconsciousness. She would be able to wear an abbreviated ballet skirt with a complete and delightful unconsciousness. Her home surroundings, the influence of her mother and her brothers and sisters, of her Sunday-school and dancing-school existence, all helped to make her the kind of a girl we want.

The Goldwyn studio is the safest and sanest place in the world. Healthy morally, mentally, and physically. A place every mother would be content to have her daughter be. In fact, the mother of a little girl whom I cast for several roles — Patsy Ruth Miller is her name — a girl of unusual mind — had always accompanied her daughter around the studios. For about a week she came with her to our studio. She, or her husband, Patsy’s dad. Then one day she didn’t show up. I didn’t see her for a month. Then I asked her. “Don’t you ever come here any more, Mrs. Miller? I thought you always chaperoned Patsy everywhere.” Mrs. Miller smiled. “I don’t have to come with her to Goldwyn’s, Mr. Mclntyre, I know she’s safe here — as safe as she’d be at home.”

There is to be a morality clause in every new Goldwyn contract. We don’t want immorality in our studio. As soon as we discover it, we take immediate steps to remove its cause. There is no reason why a motion picture studio should not be the cleanest place under the sun. It’s got to be if good pictures are to be made there. That’s why I say: a good, wholesome home influence counts for much in a girl’s character. The girl. I am willing to wager, will be a girl from home — the kind of girl you’d like to know.

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There was a young lady who came to see me about screen work. The moment she entered my office I was impressed by her. She had youth; sparkle; beauty; refinement — everything I was looking for. I talked to her and discovered she was also intelligent. She seemed too good to be true. Well, she was. In her screen tests she registered an entirely different personality. She lacked soul.

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The four essentials for screen success

Personality; Intelligence; Youth; Beauty. I put beauty last because it is at best, an illusion. A girl may seem to rival Venus off-screen; photographically she may be a failure. By personality, I mean charm; magnetism; that indefinable something that hits you when you encounter it, and that you can t forget. Intelligence and youth you must have.

The most accurate representations of American girlhood are to be found in the small towns. You are not likely to find the Screen Opportunity winner in New York. She may come from one of the other large cities in the country, but I doubt it. The small town girl has a sincerity, a directness, an unforced appeal which her city sisters often lack. There may be more real star-dust in a gingham apron than a French gown.

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One of the most famous beauties in Manhattan came to see me while I was east in my quest. I had seriously considered offering her a contract, but first I asked her her terms. “Well,” she said, “I might consider a contract for a year, to make four pictures, once as a lead, to be starred in the rest. I shall also expect” — and she named an exorbitant sum, a personal maid, and other items. That girl didn’t get the job.

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Robert E. Mclntyre, casting director for Goldwyn Pictures, who canvassed Manhattan for girls with picture possibilities, made daily pilgrimages to smart restaurants in his quest.

Aspirants before the casting director’s office, at any film studio, all waiting to see the man who may give them parts to play in pictures. The Photoplay-Goldwyn Screen Opportunity eliminates the necessity for standing in line.

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The screen authority walked on Fifth Avenue for hours watching the crowds. In this story he tells you the results of this practical search for the motion picture actresses of the future.

Collection: Photoplay Magazine, May 1922