American Dreams (30 page)

Griffith ushered Sinnott to the ornamental screen. 'You make your nonsensical comedies and I'll make five-reelers that have room to tell a real story, and we'll see who wins.' Over his shoulder he said, 'Be back shortly.

Please be seated.'

She took the guest chair, fidgeting. As a distraction she studied the director's cluttered desk, a mad confusion of letters, memoranda, cost sheets, books - Poe's Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, several works by Dickens, Thomas Dixon's The Clansman, a novel her father despised because it glorified the Ku Klux Klan.

A voice behind her made her jump. 'Very sorry, my dear. We're always plagued with last-minute details.' Griffith was nearly six feet tall, in his early thirties. His hair was thick and brown, his sideburns Biograph

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long and full, his nose sharp; he reminded her of schoolbook pictures of the Roman Caesars. Unlike most of the raffish inmates of the Biograph, he was smartly turned out in a suit, vest, cravat, high winged collar.

He sat down, crossed his legs, and regarded her with deeply set blue eyes. 'Now, my dear, to business. Billy Bitzer tells me you're an actress.'

'Yes. Here are a few things I've done.'

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He examined the contents of the cardboard portfolio. 'I've heard this Macbeth was execrable.'

'I'm afraid that's too kind.'

He smiled. Leaning back, he scrutinized her. His eyes were heavy lidded, with a hypnotic intensity. He seemed oblivious to the shouting, banging, cursing on the other side of the screen.

'Tell me something about your background, Fritzi. Please don't mind my using your first name. In pictures there's none of the stuffy formality of the stage.' Except, of course, everyone so far had referred to him as Mr.

Griffith or boss.

She began with her Mortmain days. He drew her out with brief but precise questions. In his speech she heard the South. Not the deep cotton South but the border -- Kentucky, Tennessee. He kept twisting a large ornate ring, silver and black enamel decorated with an Egyptian or Oriental character.

'Thank you,' he said when she'd finished. 'Please don't be offended if I tell you what I tell all applicants who come to us from the rarefied precincts of legitimate theater - in which I apprenticed as an actor, by the way. Motion-picture companies, particularly this one, are not fond of thespians who are merely slumming.'

'Mr. Griffith, I'm serious, about applying to work.in pictures. I have no experience, but I learn quickly.'

'Excellent, we've cleared the air. Most who gravitate here find that what we do is pleasant, even exciting. The pay is good, five dollars per day, whether one's a featured player or an extra. There are no lines to memorize, though I insist my actors make up dialogue suitable to the context of a scene. Lip readers have caught us up short a few times. We work outdoors a good deal, so it's healthful. As a matter of fact, certain members of the company will soon enjoy the balmy air of southern California. We'll be filming out there until spring brings sunshine back to the East.' She decided that the word suiting him best was pompous.

'Please stand up, Fritzi.'

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Nervously she did. He slid two silver dollars from his pants pocket, began to pass them from hand to hand, clink, clink.

'Turn toward me. That's fine. Turn again. Now sit. Stand. Register sadness.

Let it become happiness.'

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She obeyed each instruction, feeling like a mugging chimpanzee.

'Now show elation. That's good. Amusement. Scorn -- oh, very nice.

Hatred. Excellent.' He stood suddenly, slipped his right hand forward to rest lightly just below her padded bosom. 'Are you free this evening? We might discuss opportunities over a bite of supper'

Oh, no; he was that kind of director.

'Mr. Griffith, if that's the price of employment at the Biograph studio, I refuse to pay it, thank you very much.' She pulled away and snatched her portfolio off the desk. He was still holding her; somehow her shirtwaist had come out of her waistband. He cocked his head.

'This is puzzling. You don't strike me as a prude.'

'I am not. But the only thing I'm selling is whatever talent I may have.'

There was a long, horrible moment of mutual staring. The lamp threw glittering pinpoints in Griffith's eyes. She was sure he was going to curse her. Instead, he tossed his head back and laughed.

'Can't blame a fellow for trying, Fritzi.' He picked up her jacket. 'I'm sorry I have nothing suitable for you at the moment. We employ several fine actresses in the company already. However, I do know of one opportunity.

'In

a picture?' She was fumbling, put off by his return to courtesy.

'Of course in a picture. From time to time I hear from other directors in need of particular talent. In this case I'm speaking of a young fellow who was assistant camera here for ten months. He's good. When he came to work for me, I threw him in the deep end and he swam immediately.

His name is Eddie Hearn. A Yale man, but don't hold that against him. He's working for Pelzer and Kelly, Pal Pictures. It's a blanket company.'

'What's

that?'

'Oh, just a technical term. Eddie is scheduled to start filming on Tuesday, but he hasn't found a suitable leading lady.' Leading lady? Could if

she be hearing correctly? 'If the weather's bad, it won't be too comfortable, I'm afraid. Eddie's shooting outdoors.'

*

'An ingenue who's a bit unusual. Not a jaded city woman, someone Biograph

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earthy. Countrified. Fresh-scrubbed, like you.' Ye gods, what's next?

'Wholesome'?

Griffith clinked the silver dollars. Td be happy to recommend you.'

Dumbfounded, she said, 'May I ask why? I insulted you, didn't I?'

'You spoke frankly. I like actors with backbone. They bring something to a part beyond a slavish desire to please.' He scribbled on a memorandum pad. 'I'll telephone Eddie this afternoon. You should go see him tomorrow. This is the address. It's an exchange.' She didn't understand what he meant. 'Eddie rents a desk there.'

'Pal Pictures doesn't have a studio?'

'They're a small company. Sometimes they rent a loft on west Twenty third.' Griffith's answer struck her as curiously glib. She didn't want to examine her luck too closely, though. Like a soap bubble, it might vanish.

A young man in knee breeches popped around the screen. 'All set, boss.

Billy's lit the set. Do we have a scenario?'

Griffith tapped his forehead. 'In here. It's all we need.' Tall and correct, he took Fritzi's hand between his. This time she didn't resist.

'If Eddie hires you, here's a bit of advice. Make a friend of your cameraman.

He'll soon know what lighting and makeup will show you to advantage.'

'Yes, sir, thank you, for the opportunity and the advice. I'll remember it.'

He patted her hand almost paternally. 'I have a feeling you will. Oh, I should ask whether you can ride a horse.'

'Why, yes, I rode a lot when I was growing up in Chicago.'

'Good. I don't know that the role requires it, but Eddie's picture is a western.'

'Western? Heavens, will I have to travel?'

He laughed. 'No farther than the other side of the Hudson. Fort Lee, New Jersey, is the western capital t)f America these days.'

He hurried to the set, where preparations had escalated to a level approaching pandemonium. One of the sisters she'd seen coming to work, the pert one, didn't like her gown and was cursing like a sailor. There was a lot of shouting, but no one appeared to be listening. The only calm

individual was Billy Bitzer. Straw hat tilted over his eyes, he examined the
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lens of his camera. Griffith tapped him on the shoulder and began to speak. Others noticed the director; silence was instantaneous.

Fritzi was almost dizzy with excitement. She put her portfolio on the hall bench and stuffed her shirtwaist back in her skirt. An incredibly pretty 188

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young girl, sixteen or seventeen, raced up the stairs, long gold ringlets bouncing. She saw Fritzi straightening her clothes.

'Bet you were with the boss. Did he get fresh?'

'Well . . .' Fritzi's hesitation amounted to a confession.

'Don't think anything of it, it's just his way. He's married, you know.'

'Married!'

'One hundred percent. His wife makes pictures for the Biograph. He pretends he hardly knows her. In public he calls her Miss Arvidsen.' She giggled. 'Is there any work?'

'Not here, but possibly with another company.'

'That's grand. It's really a lot of fun making pictures. Mr. Griffith's a regular dictator, but we all think he's a genius.'

'Thank you, miss--'

'Smith, Gladys Smith. But they bill me as Mary Pickford. My brother acts too. Jack Pickford.'

'Pleased to know you, Mary. I'm Fritzi Crown.'

'Hope I see you again, Fritzi.' Miss Smith-Pickford rushed off.

Bitter wind assaulted Fritzi the moment she stepped outside. A loose garbage can rolled east, clanging like a cymbal. Westbound pedestrians held their hats and leaned at a forty-five degree-angle. Fritzi clutched her cheap cardboard folder and fairly danced down the steps. Who cared if the picture was a western? It was work, and Ellen Terry would just have to shut up.

36 Westward Ho

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David Griffith's bad handwriting directed Fritzi to something called the Klee &c Thermal Film Exchange on Fourteenth Street near Third Avenue. Going in, she was buffeted by a rude man with round metal cans under his arm. Five more men clamored for attention at a front office counter staffed by a lone clerk. He was examining a perforated strip of film.

'You damaged it, Cohen. We'll have to cut out the frames with the torn sprocket holes before we rent it again. That'll be an extra dollar.'

'Robber,' said the indignant customer.

Westward Ho 189

Fritzi waved above Cohen's head. 'Excuse me, can you direct me to Mr.

Hearn's office?'

The clerk seemed pleased to see a rose among the thorns. 'Mr. Hearn's coat closet,' he corrected, 'is that way, fourth on the left.'

She plunged into a musty hall decorated with lurid posters for pictures from Biograph and Vitagraph and other producers. Strong chemicals afloat in the air made her eyes water. Another clerk rushed at her with a stack of cans. She flattened against the wall to avoid being run down, then proceeded to Hearn's open door.

A coat closet, all right. Its poverty was only slightly relieved by some black-and-white magazine advertisements tacked to the wall. All included the words pal pictures and a logo, a racing palomino horse. A slogan appeared at the bottom of every ad. Follow the Pal Pony to Profitable Programs!!!! Someone loved exclamation marks.

Eddie Hearn saw neither the pesters nor Fritzi. He was absorbed in a sheet of yellow foolscap. Silver wire spectacles were set on the tip of his nose. Unruly black hair over his ears demanded a barber. He wore riding breeches tucked into scuffed brown cavalry boots whose heels rested on the desk.

She knocked on the doorjamb. Hearn glanced up, showing her a long, narrow face, vivid dark eyes behind the spectacles. A holy medal gleamed in the V neck of his loose white shirt, a gold wedding ring on his left hand.

'Golly, I didn't see you. Miss Crown?' He said it while swinging his feet off the desk; he nearly fell out of his chair.

'Yes, sir'

'Please come in.' In his haste to stand he dropped the typewritten sheet.

When he bent to pick it up, he banged his forehead on the wall. 'Sorry to
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meet you in such surroundings. This office is too small. It's only temporary.'

For his sake she hoped so.

At his invitation she took the visitor's chair. He looked her over. He seemed friendly as a puppy. 'Have you ever visited an exchange?'

'No. I've no idea what goes on here.'

'What the name says. Exchange. When the picture business was getting started, producers sold their films directly to people who showed them.

But that proved to be cumbersome and wasteful. What do you do with an old, scratched print no one wants to see again? About four years ago someone in San Francisco opened the first exchange and solved the problem.

The idea of middlemen caught on. Exchanges buy the pictures, then rent them to owners of nickelodeons who show them, bring them back, 190

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and exchange them for a new program. There are lots of exchanges on Fourteenth Street -- over a hundred in the U.S. This is one of the busiest.

Klee and Thermal run a film-processing laboratory in back.' Which explained the chemical smell. 'There's also a projection room that can be rented.'

'Thank you, Mr. Hearn. That's very interesting.'

'So here we are.'

'Yes. Here we are.'

Hands in her lap, Fritzi waited.

'I'm grateful to David for sending you over. The man's aces with me, though working for him was like serving in the army of Attila. He taught me how to stage a scene, and how to cut it together. Billy Bitzer taught me lenses and lighting. Did David tell you what I'm doing now?'

'A western picture.'

'There's a strong market, domestically and in Europe. Look at Broncho Billy Anderson. Essanay can't churn out Broncho Billys fast enough. People are wild about him. And he has a paunch!' Eddie Hearn grinned in an apologetic way. 'Excuse me if I get carried away. I love the West. I've seen Buffalo Bill's arena show at least twenty times. When I was little, I hid dime novels under my pillow. They weren't considered proper reading for rich boys in Greenwich.'

'Connecticut?'

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'Born and bred,' he nodded. 'Pop's on Wall Street. He expected me to follow him there, but I heard a different call when I played an Indian in a prep school pageant. Pop insisted I follow him to Yale. 1 did, but in my junior year I switched from business to drama. Pop stopped paying my tuition. I had to wait tables and paint houses to graduate. Doesn't matter, I'm doing what I want. I fell in love with pictures the day I saw Edwin Porter's Great Train Robbery.'1