Judge — December 22, 1923 — page 22: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Scene from a movie written by Elinor Glyn and Zane Grey. BEHIND THE SCREEN IN THE HERE are two sexes: the ladylike sex and the gentlemanly sex. And that’s all. We dont know but what we are just as well pleased that there aren’tany more. Too much is plenty, as Diogenes once lisped to Desdemona. However, the funny thing about it is that either sex thinks it can’t be done without. And both sexes are right. The ladylike sex arises in her high-heeled dignity and says: “Lookit me! I am the mother of men. Blot me up and the world fades.” Having delivered herself of these truths, she retires to her corner, victory stenciled upon her unwrinkled brow. Then up steps the gentlemanly sex: “Tam the woiks,” says he. The bone and sinew of the nation.” Here the lady- ike sex behind a jeweled hand murmurs: and drops her hand in her la The gentlemanly sex, continuing, de- claims as follows: “Without me the Uni- verse totters.” The ladylike sex titters, and the gentlemanly sex es his seat amid roars of applause from his masculine constituency. This argument has been going on ever since Adam and Eve started the sexes way back in the poisoned garden and will continue till somebody—another Darwin perhaps—starts a third sex. Two of the gentlemanly sex wrote a play in which the war of the sexes was waged. They are Kaufman and Conne and the play was called “To the Ladie In the fullness of time it has made its w to the screen under the same title. Why i n't called — “Arabesques,” — or we can’t si Books and usually produced under foreign titles. In this film we are led to believe that the gentlemanly sex can’t even get along in BOUDOIR by George Mitchell business without leaning heavily upon the lil’ wife for direction. Every time a big piano manufacturer wants to twist a G string or refelt a hammer, he runs home to ask his wife how about it and she tells him, and that’s how he gets along in life. It’s a good picture. Our idea of a fine little picture that doesn’t run into large sets and expenditures, It’s full of fun and nonsense. It tickles the lone rib of the ladylike sex—the one she got from the gentlemanly sex—and_ it pleases, fatu- ously, the gentlemanly sex because it tickles the ladylike se: It’s one of the best little pictures we've seen in a long time and as it hands it to the ladies we're just that gallant to acknowledge it as one of the bright little successes of the season. Somenovy ‘s always finding something S wrong with the world despite Pippa’s ration to the contrary. This time s Arthur Somers Roche in a story called “The Day of Faith,” and he seems to think that all’s wrong with the world because God's in His he: nd not on the earth. His theory takes in a perfect faith in your neighbor. Everybody's per- fect, thinks Mr. Roche. If your neigh- bor socks you in the eye offer him the other optic. We often. wonder if the smite were smote upon the nose what the y retort would be. Probably Nathan Hale’s: “I regret I have but one nose to give to my country.” In the film that tells Mr. Roche's story of perfect soc m, we have a young woman who takes on the great work of an idealist because she thinks she has been responsible for his death. Surcharged with remorse, she founds an institution for the perfect neighbor. Men, women and children come to her to be cured of their 20 social errors. Miracles are performed. Not since “The Miracle Man” have we seen so many cripples. Bad men and mighty financial monarchs are raised to heights of perfection by this simple creed. It’s an interesting picture, almost a very good one. The story runs at cross- purposes now and then but generally it’s entertaining and well acted by a compe- tent Particularly we liked Eleanor Boardman and Tyrone Power. WE 28 town that Richard Barthel. mess is goit g to visit the Montagues of Verona, Italy, to act Rome forth- coming screen version of Shakespeare's immortal sex play. We said immortz not immoral. We are bit about Barthelmess. We can think of a few other young screeners that to our mind would more ideally measure up to the romantic young Dago. But anything is better than the make- shifts Barthlemess has been putting on these days. Those responsible for his films have been cither asleep or chasing butterflies. In “Twenty-one” he is offered nothing more intelligent than the banalit very ordinary film. Even Dorothy Kaill's fine’ performance couldn't. com- pensate and, as we watched her faultless performance, we thought of the perfect neighbor and “To the Ladies,” and figured that Messrs. Kaufman, Connelly and Roche, taken all together, were perhaps right after all and that we men, when all is said and done, are to be credited only with having supplied the world with spareribs. But if you are in the know, you may perhaps remember that the sparerib is the best part of the fish. comicbooks.com