Life, 1915-04-01 · page 47 of 72
Life — April 1, 1915 — page 47: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is an April Fools' Day satirical illustration mocking Hollywood's pretentious artistic culture. The chaotic cartoon depicts absurd characters and scenarios typical of early 20th-century Hollywood—eccentric actors, directors, and aspirants engaged in ridiculous behavior around a massive tree. The accompanying poems parody overwrought romantic/artistic sentiment: "The Siren" mocks the seductive actress archetype, while "Nocturne" satirizes melodramatic domesticity—a jealous husband imagining his wife at "suffragette meetings" (contemporary women's rights activism, treated here as a comedic concern). The final quip about doctors and patients appears to be an unrelated joke playing on medical incompetence. The overall point: Hollywood produces absurd, self-important pretension masquerading as art, while domesticity breeds irrational anxiety. The April 1st date emphasizes these are foolish exaggerations of Hollywood types.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
HOLLYWOOD GLEN CELEBRATES THE FIRST OF APRIL 575 The Siren EMOTE, remote upon an clfin height I sit and sing. And all my silly, little lovers bring Their fragrant ‘gifts of frankincense and myrrh, Yet cannot stir The longing heart that dreams all day and night. To their repeated prayers my lips are dumb, And still the lure Of my aloofness bids them more endure, Betrayed by Hope whose music is so sweet ;— While round me heat The wings of anguish—for he will not come! Leolyn Louise Nocturne IGH I sit and stare at the great clock opposite And she—I wonder where she is? ‘The oppressive silence appears to my soul, stecped in loneliness, to make deep shadows everywhere. It is awful. She did not tell me where she was going. But, then, she never does. Nor when she will return, Are all wives that way, I wonder? I see the bright, smiling, happy faces of her other husbands; ah—I must not dwell on that... Midnight. The cook has just come in. I hear her Hibernian step on the stair above. Perhaps she, too, has been to a suffragette meeting. And yet it may be only my poor fancy—she does not appear to breathe that w The night wind outside is moaning to itself. Who would not moan on a night like this? Who is that?) My Gawd! A sound. It is a woman's voice! She comes! Quick! I must hurry! IT must run upstairs, doff my clothes and leap into bed. Ha! Ha! If she should find me here awake—the thought is too horrible! She would repeat her speech ! Away! Away! ALF the doctors don't know how the other half lose their patients, comichooks.