Willard Louis — Handing ‘Em a Big Laugh (1926) 🇺🇸
Willard Louis tells how and when to put a few giggles in an otherwise serious story
by Jane Tilton
Big Bill Louis sat in his bungalow dressing-room on the old Vitagraph lot.
From the waist down he was Padrillo, valet to Don Juan, in blue tights and velvet shoes; from waist to neck he was Willard Louis, in an old brown sleeveless sweater; make-up and dangling earrings belonged to the serving man, but the omission of the wig showed Bill’s own smooth dark hair.
“What do you think of me in my Elinor Glyn boudoir?” he inquired, waving a bare arm about the frilly cushioned, silken-curtained, lovely lady room. “They’ve got me all equipped with a day-bed and a radio, you see. It sure did hand me a laugh when I walked in on it!
“Handing laughs is my own line and I like it. Nothing quite so much fun as working up ways to make the house roar, and it must be appreciated or I wouldn’t be doing my tenth picture in ten months!
“There aren’t any rules for it, at least, I haven’t found any except that the laughs have to be legitimate ones that don’t interfere with the story but help it on its way.
“I believe the sort of thing that’s sure-fire is the domestic comedy. If they say, when they see a bit of fun: ‘Gee, doesn’t that remind you of Cousin Susie?’ or ‘Say, that happened to George last week!’ or ‘Etta is always doing that!’ you’ve hit ‘em where they live.
“When I see the script for a story. I say: ‘Here’s a chance for a good laugh!’ at various stages of the picture. I seldom know what I’m going to do, but I know that that’s the psychological moment. After an audience has been moved to tears, they appreciate a chance to laugh, for instance, a legitimate laugh, of course. Sometimes. I don’t know what I’ll do to get that laugh until I go on the set. Then someone hands me an article and I see possibilities in it. It may look commonplace, but it’s surprising how many different effects you can get with an ordinary thing.
“Bread, now. I remember on the stage in Seven Days, I was cutting slices of bread. I was supposed to be in love, and to forget what I was doing and dream. One night I was fooling around and I picked up four slices of bread and held them like a card hand and started to play ‘em… That’s a laugh.
“I don’t like the sort of gags that Noah brought along with him when he and the animals took their trip. You know them. One of ‘em is where the guy in love with a girl keeps looking at her and putting sugar in his tea until it’s too sweet. Adam probably pulled that one.
“I began my gag career in Broadway After Dark. Before that I had played comedy the way it was written in the script. But in that picture we found it needed more laughs.
Well, I’d been on the road enough to know that in cheap hotels towels are always scarce. They bring you one little rag and hang it on your door-knob in the morning, and if you don’t beat the early English sparrow and say, ‘Come to papa!’ to the little rag about six bells, somebody else says it first. So we stole the towels off people’s doors in the picture and handed ‘em a laugh.
“In The Love Hour, when the script appeared, the only thing in it about Louise Fazenda and me was a line: ‘Fazenda and Louis — gags.’ We talked the scenes over and decided what we’d do. The leading woman and Louise were to meet a heavy and me at an amusement park — so Louise and I did our stuff on the various devices.
“I remember how gosh-awful it was going on the scenic railway. We were supposed to enjoy it, but we both lost our breath and couldn’t get the darn stuff back. Then the guard said that if we’d holler going down the grade instead of trying to grab at our wind, we’d have no trouble. After that we hollered our heads off and couldn’t speak when we got off — we did it all day, at that!
“Artichokes are gravy to a comedian. I’ve used ‘em more times than I can remember. In that picture, Louise and I pretended not to know how to eat ‘em and got another half-dozen snickers out of them. I had ‘em in Babbitt — he picks up one and says: ‘Love me, love me not’ on it. when he’s thinking of the girl. Another time I picked up a big rose and commenced eating it instead of the artichoke.
“The creamed onions gag was a yell — more Love Hour. Remember where I drop the kids’ rubber ball into my plate and then pour the onions over it and presently get the ball in my mouth and can’t chew it? I just happened to think of that when I saw the funny-looking onions they had that night, so we made retakes of the earlier scenes where Louise planted the ball in my vest pocket.
“There’s a lot of gags on things to eat. As I’m always eating in my pictures — and don’t entirely refrain outside! — that suits me. Hot cakes are always good for a laugh. Such a lot of things occur to you to do with ‘em. We used ‘em in Hogan’s Alley instead of the Irish stew in the script.
“In that picture they had the old idea of the pretty girl’s dad eating peas with his knife and having ‘em roll off. I got a slice of bread, spread it thick with mashed potato and dipped that in the peas and the trick was done. We had asparagus fixed with wire once, so that when I tried to eat it, it went everywhere else but into my mouth, slid past my nose and around my ear and, gee, how they screamed!
“Comedians like the Chaplins [Charles Chaplin] and Harold Lloyd have gag men sitting around the set all the time thinking up what to do next, suggesting and revamping ideas.
“Back in cheap repertoire companies we used to have music and dancing first, then a gagged comedy. They’d say: ‘You be the father, you be the son, and I’ll be the girl. Now, what’ll we do?’
“On the legitimate stage, on first nights the actors follow the script exactly. A week or two later they are introducing new lines and trying out laughs that may or may not become part of the show.
“In Don Juan, we open a sequence with a close-up of jewel-laden hands fingering the mail. The laugh comes when, instead of Don Juan owning the hands, they’re mine.
“I like a story with dramatic or pathetic scenes that need the high light of comedy. You can’t go on laughing endlessly.” It’s like a scenic railway— you can’t be going down all the time — they’ve got to take you up in order to drop you.”
After the release of Beau Brummel and the favorable comments of reviewers on the acting of Willard Louis, he was frequently accosted by pessimistic fellow actors.
“You’ll never play with Barrymore again!” they said, sagely.
“Bet I do!” said Bill. He related the reiterated remark of the great John during the making of the picture: “If you can steal the show, go ahead and steal it, and luck to you!”
“Sure! Sure, he’d say that!” returned the wiseacres.
But when the picture was discussed. “the” Barrymore drawled that the only excellent thing about Beau Brummel was the performance of Bill Louis, and when he returned to Hollywood he announced at once that he must have Bill as Padrillo to his Don Juan.
“One of the greatest actors of the screen,” he characterizes the plump comedian.
“Barrymore’s no hog. He played up to me and I tried to play up to him,” explained Bill. “Gee, if you don’t, where are you? If one person sets out to spoil the “work of another, nobody’s got anything. It’s like a ball team: one fellow can’t play the whole game.
“I like playing with him and I think he likes playing with me. I throw him lines when he’s on the set — we clown it together sometimes — we build our scenes. This is Barrymore’s show. He designed the costumes and the sets and they’re darned good. He knows his stuff.
“I think my get-up is great— it’s his idea, all but the wig. I looked like an Airedale in the one he designed, so I got this.” He indicated the blond wig resting on a frill-rimmed table.
“Next year Warners plan to put Louise Fazenda and me out in domestic comedies. Gee, I like to work with her! We’ve got some great little old ideas, and if they screen as well as they listen — Zowie!“
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John Barrymore calls Mr. Louis one of the greatest actors on the screen. He’s also one of the best amateur gardeners in Hollywood. Growing flowers is his relaxation and pleasure.
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Food for Laughs
- Artichokes are funny… and so are boiled onions.
- Asparagus is a natural-born comic… bread, too, may be good for a laugh.
- Peas and mashed potatoes are good old standbys of the comedian.
These are eatables selected from Willard Louis’ menu of laughs.
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Queen Marie to Write Film
Queen Marie of Roumania has turned motion picture author and will write a story expressly for the screen, according to an agreement entered into with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.
On behalf of the organization, Louis B. Mayer has also signed a contract by which all Queen Marie’s published works are to be available for possible production.
For some years the Queen has been on the verge of making a motion picture connection, either as a star or writer, and at one time Lois Weber, now directing for Universal, was reported in direct negotiation with her.
For years Queen Marie has been famous for her beauty and as a feminist. She is easily one of the most publicized women in the world.
It will he recalled that one of the big exploitation coups of the former Goldwyn Pictures organization was found in the signing of Maurice Maeterlinck to write and his trip across country to Hollywood in a private car, with stops at all the big cities under the auspices of governors, mayors and civic dignitaries.
Collection: Motion Picture Magazine, April 1926