Judge — December 27, 1924 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

The Wages of Cinema by George Mitchell M“ money was spent in the making of four pictures shown last week than I get in salary for a year’s reviewing. Much more. It took Von Stroheim something like two years to make eed.” In the filming of “Romola” nearly a year was spent in Italy. The entire Wes ern{ States were!pawed ‘over inthe making of “North of 36,” and_ if re than one dollar was spent on he Roughneck” the dollar was thrown away. I'd hate to have this wastefulness on my New England conscien “Greed” is direction but slime. step in the right ‘sa step through It is terribly in earnest. If it is what is called a cross-section of life, it’s awfully cross. To me the sordid things of life are no more real than its pleasantries. The great trouble with the screen thus far, with but few exceptions, has been that its plays have been too sentimentally sweet. The impres- sion left has been too frequently that atural insincerity. Too much “God-how-I-l 0 v e - y 0 u- Mabel” stuff has been used. This gesture has made most of its enemies, I believe. Von Stroheim, with “Greed,” has taken a wild leap. He has opened the window of the sicken- ingly perfumed boudoir the screen A BIRDIE THREE But it wasn’t just the kind that Duffer had been longing for. has so identified itself with, jumped out the window and landed in 2 gar- bage can. There seems to me no reason at all for the revolting odor of dead rats and stagnant hand basins which form the undercurrent atmosphere of his realism. The picture is undoubtedly strong, so strong that at times it’s putrid. The last reel is just as strong as any (Continued on page 27) THEY SEEM To LOVE Tneie COME WITH Us TO— The finishing-room of the parcel post department. Experience T world I’ve flung, a burning sear Athwart the face of night; Through golden dreams we'll soar afar From envying ang And robes I'll star— Is sight; weave—star unto For thy new found delight. For, ah, my dear, now thou art mine, e old desires! Here shall I fashion forth thy shrine, Fair walled with murmuring lyres; My blood the sacrificial wine— My lips the altar fires. How wan That world T've flung away—how vain Its lure beside our bliss! Yet mark well where it lies; refrain Not, even while we kiss; For we'll sure want it back again When we're fed up with this! Gardner Rea AIS Nutty—See that man waiting there for the car? He pronounced three life sentences this morning. Nuttier—He doesn’t look like a judge. “He isn't. He’s a clergyman.”