Invisible Cavalier of the Boudoir

I’ve read a lot of contemporary analyses of Rudolph Valentino and, this, I think, is one of the very best. A little florid in parts, and discounting several factors; yet, all-said-and-done, a great explanation of The Valentino Craze. One that puts us right in the moment with his many millions of loyal fans. And right in the moment in terms of January 1923, as this issue of MOTION PICTURE, hit newsstands in the USA in the first two weeks of this month. Posted in full. And titled: Invisible Cavalier of the Boudoir.


Thank you for reading this post in its entirety — I hope you enjoyed the article as much as I did. This latest post is part of the on-going look by His Fame Still Lives at Valentino’s life and career in 1923. A year that I find leaves me asking questions, when I peruse the biographies published so far. If you’re the same, then I invite you to join me on this year long day to day, week to week and month to month trip, as 2023 unfolds. I guarantee it won’t be dull. So see you here again soon!

January 5th, 1923

On January 5th, 1923, VARIETY reported on behind-the-scenes negotiations about Rudolph Valentino’s future, between serious, heavy-hitting Hollywood power brokers. The names of the men mentioned are a revelation. Why? Because they feature so prominently in the future. Was Rudy’s career really in his own hands? It would seem not. Full article below:

The Spanish Boy

In this, the first post about 1923 in 2023, I reproduce a fascinating report, too rough and damaged to be presented in its original state. The piece appeared on the front page of The Morning Telegraph, on Wednesday the 3rd of January, 1923. And is a window, not only into the life of Rudolph Valentino, at the start of what was to be a momentous year, but also into his state of mind at that point. Those who read the long column through will appreciate the title: The Spanish Boy.

VALENTINO WON’T

ACCEPT ‘BROTHER’


Lowly Italian Youth Claiming Re-

lationship Confronted by Star

and Repudiated


WORKED IN THE FILMS, TOO


Muzii, Vague but Persistent in

Claims, Loses Job After Inter-

view in Director’s Office.


A pretender to the Valentino throne

is worrying the screen star.

The annoyance is of sufficient conse-

quence to cause him to appeal to his law-

yer, Arthur Butler Graham, 25 West

Forty Third street, to have it stopped.

Antonio Muzii, residing in West 112th

street, is the cause of this additional

trouble. He is 19 years old, a native of

Italy, and claims to be a brother of

Valentino.

Valentino is more than displeased. He

went to the studios of the International

Film Corporation, accompanied by his

lawyer, to see Muzii, or Valentino, as he

was known to Mike Conley, casting di-

rector of Cosmopolitan films, and from

whom he obtained engagements in the

films “Adam and Eva” and “Enemies

of Women.”

Valentino Listens. Lawyer Talks.

Muzii was questioned by Mr. Graham

in the office of Mr. Conley. Mr Conley

held the attention of Mr. Valentino as

the conversation progressed. Valentino

registered deep displeasure, intensified

when he was informed that Muzii

claimed relationship.

It resulted in Muzii losing his position,

minor in character, also in the issuance

of the following, signed “Rudolph Val-

entino”:

“I am informed that one Antonio

Muzii of 500 West 112th street, N. Y.

C., has been representing and holding

himself out to be my brother. I write

this letter to inform you that the said

Muzii is in no way related to me.

“You are requested to take no advert-

izing given you by any one in which the

said Antonio Muzii is exploited under

the name ‘Valentino’.”

This notice was sent to various pub-

lications.

Employed in Crowd Scenes.

Mr. Conley said that he had employed

Muzii because he was of the type needed

in crowd scenes. He said his name was

Valentino, but this exercised no influ-

ence, Mr. Conley observed, continuing:

“He is a little fellow. With a little

stretching of the imagination he could

be taken for the real Valentino in ap-

pearance. No one believes what he has

said as to his relationship with Valen-

tino.

At the offices of Mr. Graham it was

said that Muzii had amused and later

displeased Valentino. Persons on 112th

street had said to Muzii that he re-

sembled Valentino, offering the first sug-

gestion of a motion picture agreement.

It was emphasized that he had committed

no offense other that using the name

Valentino.

Muzii could not be found. It was said

At 500 West 112th street he had not

been around since Christmas. He is

known there as “the Spanish boy.”

Valentino says he has but one brother,

a physician in Italy.

Spelling of Star’s First Name.

The signature on Valentino’s letter,

looking as if a rubber stamp had been

used in attaching it to the warning no-

tice, indicates that the tangle continues

about the correct spelling of his name.

When he began to gain fame he was

“Rudolph” Valentino. After the “Sheik”

film he requested Famous Players-Lasky

to spell the name “Rodolfo.”

The management protested, explaining

that he had been known as “Rudolph

Valentino”: also that it was ill-advised to

change the spelling. Eventually Valen-

tino had his own way. The name “Ro-

dolfo” [sic] is used. His real surname is

Guglielmo. [Sic.]


I find this episode at the beginning of 1923 a really interesting one. Obviously, between the lines and without resorting to facetiousness, the anonymous Writer of this column is having fun with our Idol. At the same time we see there’s seriousness too. He, or she, finds fault with the injured party, Valentino, and that genuine though gentle disapproval is woven into the writing. We, today, see the incident in context. Rodolph/Rudolph had, for months, been forced to witness his substitution by others. Seen his pre-fame films, for which he’d been paid little, recut to place him front and centre for profit. And was about to experience the imminent exploitation of his adopted surname by his former Wife Jean Acker. It’s coincidental, yet still noteworthy, that The Imposter, Antonio, is an immigrant Italian. That, like the celebrity he attaches himself to, he’s good-looking. That he claims to be something and someone he’s not. That he’s starting out in crowd scenes. And that in his neighbourhood he’s known as: The Spanish Boy.

It would be much later, after his untimely demise and in the years that followed, that false girlfriends and wives, as well as babies, would emerge. As far as I’m aware – happy to be proved wrong! – this is the only example of anyone claiming close connection or kinship in his lifetime. A replacement for Valentino would be sought in vain in future years. And in a twist, his actual sibling, Alberto, mentioned in the article and not a Physician, was lured unsuccessfully in front of the camera. Neither he nor anyone else measured-up — how could they?

I want to thank you for reading this through to the end. And I take this opportunity, to invite you to comment and give me your thoughts, if you’ve any. Lastly, my best wishes for the year ahead of us all!

Monte Carlo

A saucy postcard from 1912.

If the young Rodolfo Guglielmi’s adventures in Paris are bare bones, his time in Monte Carlo, the same year, isn’t even that. We know why he went, that he went, and, that it was a disaster. So I make it my task to follow-up, Paris, City of Light, my post about the place which lit his way to his glittering future, that took yet also gave, with a look at the Second Act, in Southern France. Can we add to it without concocting? Let’s see!

Rudy’s spell in the French capital had been an experience in every sense of the word. And though we’re not certain of the exact dates, or even of the year (late 1912? or early 1913?), we’re sure it was particularly memorable. It was also, it goes without saying, formative. Much seen. Much learned. Those sights and the lessons sinking into his very being and altering him fundamentally. It was clearly his Mother’s native France and not his Father’s native Italy which presented life’s possibilities.

Though it doesn’t delve at all into what those obvious possibilities were, Norman A. McKenzie’s mid.-Seventies biography, The Magic of Rudolph Valentino (1974), the first book about Valentino I ever read, does provide us with a series of lines which nicely encapsulate his journey from the North of the country to the South; as well as the reason for it. As follows:

“To celebrate the winning of his diploma, he spent a lavish three months’ holiday in France. In Paris his good manners and handsome appearance–and to his friends his even handsomer purse–made him a popular figure at all of the night-clubs and big restaurants. When the purse finally emptied, however, all the gracious messieurs and fair mademoiselles quickly melted away, leaving him stranded and penniless. A desperate letter sent home brought money enough to get him out of his predicament; but dissatisfied with the smallness of the amount, he rushed off to Monte Carlo to enlarge it at the gaming tables. Here he lost it all and had to borrow enough to take him home.”

Page 19.

So, after finding himself stranded and penniless in Paris, and sending a “desperate letter” to his widowed Mother, who replied with an unsatisfactory sum of money, “he rushed off to Monte Carlo” to increase that small amount at the famed Casino. McKenzie then ends his compressed account, by telling us that the teenage rash Rudy lost it all, and was forced to lend the fare back to Taranto, Italy.

The future Rudolph Valentino in a probable graduation image in Autumn 1912.

That this was all we really knew, wasn’t, as is usually the case with me, enough. And so I looked everywhere with characteristic intensity for something, anything, that would give this least known of his escapades more shape. Little did I know, when I commenced my search, that I would find an excellent contemporary novel; which would not only give me a sense of his shift South, but also reveal what he saw, and even felt, at those treacherous “tables”. However, before we look in detail at that book, we must familiarise ourselves with Monte Carlo itself in late 1912/early 1913.

We can appreciate the atmosphere of Monte Carlo at the time Rodolfo Guglielmi visited thanks to a piece in the March 1913 issue of La Vie Heureuse. (The Happy Life.) In the article, on Page 24, which is entitled Monte Carlo-La Ville Lumiere, we see from the lengthy sub-heading alone, that the district of Monaco was a place where residents and visitors alike could enjoy themselves. On the terraces or indulging in pigeon shooting in the morning; at indoor and outdoor concerts in the afternoon; and at the theatre in the evening. Monte Carlo was without question: “the Winter Capital of Global Pleasures.”

The full page almost cinematic report opens at midday, under a “limpid deep blue sky”. In “dusty light” we see before us the Casino terrace: “… bordered by powerful tropical vegetation, giant cacti, prickly pears, large flora…” the palm trees throwing: “… a narrow blue velvet carpet [of shade] on the shining gold of the fine sand…” The scene populated, we read, with persons engaging in: “… the traditional walk before lunch.” A “joyful crowd” representing “all the races of the [W]orld”. Who aren’t, we learn, a quiet congregation. Rather, they emanate joie de vivre!

And everywhere pretty women. “… the prettiest and most elegant…” Showing off their couture dresses. Wearing hats “topped with proud egrets”. Carrying aloft umbrellas. So slim, so willowy, as they shift from from one end of the terrace to the other, that they resemble: “…large living stems.”

An image of hydroaeroplanes at Monte Carlo. Did Rudy see them?

Out at sea in the waters beyond these human flowers moving about on dry land “are anchored sumptuous yachts”. Luxurious “floating palaces” that the Reporter likens to: “… large swans on a pond.” And: “On the quays, in a feverish agitation, the preparations for the next meeting of hydroaeroplanes and motor boats continue.” Every now and then can be heard the sound of gun fire, crackling detonations, that signal the shooting of pigeons some distance away. It’s all just a: “… pretty mundane morning in Monte Carlo.”

By five in the afternoon, we’re informed, the sun begins to sink. And the rock of Monaco is then enveloped in a “blaze of fire”. “… under a purple sky the windows of the villas [at Cap Martin] shine like molten gold…” “… the tender sweet hour of twilight is also tea time.” And the crowd are drawn to the Concert Ganne. Where, in a red and gold room, lit by strong chandelier light, an orchestra creates “voluptuous music”. We’re presented with a snapshot of the type gathered at the small tables. Flowery females bite into petit fours — and also into reputations. The “exquisite music” is in competition with the chatter. Amidst the tea and cakes postcards are written. And then the audience begins to depart, in beautiful coats and capes. Their autos transporting them swiftly to their respective residences; where they will dress for and enjoy dinner, before returning to Monte Carlo to go to the theatre. Once seated becoming as much a part of the “dazzling fairy tale” as the those on the stage.

A surprising ad. in La Vie Heureuse for Renault, featuring a female driver, and a Doberman Pinscher passenger.

The report about Monte Carlo at the start of 1913, probably from late January/early February, ends with a wonderful description of the resort at night. The sea reflecting the light of the “huge round moon”. The stars above shining sharply. The “illuminated yachts” gleaming with a “thousand electric lamps”. The Opera orchestra playing some final bars before the intermission. The empty terrace beginning to fill up with beautifully dressed people. For the Writer this special place is: “… the centre of the joy of the [W]orld.” A place: “… where nature and art join their efforts…” Monte-Carlo is a Winter Paradise. A Western destination that manages to be Oriental. Colourful. Fragrant. Harmonious. The song of the sea dying on the rocks such a sweet one that the dream is to never leave!

Of course before he could leave, his tail very much between his legs, Rodolfo Guglielmi had to arrive. And before he could do that, he had to depart from his place of origin, Paris, and travel to Monte Carlo. Which is why the contemporary novel I discovered, some years ago, is so useful, as it describes the journey from one to the other in some detail. And not only that as you’ll see!

The book in question, titled, of all things, Monte Carlo, was written by a woman named Margaret Stacpoole, and published in 1913, by Hutchinson & Co., London. At the back of the novel, after the tale ends, on Page 336, we see in the middle of a series of advertisements for Hutchinson & Co.’s Six Shilling books, a sketchy biography. From it, we learn that her Husband was the “well-known Author, H. de Vere Stacpoole; that she was gifted with a: “… critical faculty, and also with a sense of humour…”; and that Monte Carlo was her debut novel. The Publisher’s description goes as follows:

“It is a criticism of modern society as it exists to-day. A fascinating story, and that rarest thing in fiction, a witty novel written by a witty woman.”

That Monte Carlo is so much more than a witty book by a witty woman, and that I recommend it wholeheartedly to anyone with even the slightest interest in female writers of the early Twentieth Century, is neither here nor there. Naturally we’re focused on its relevance to the experiences of our Spendthrift Adventurer in France. And that’s where this fat publication with rather largish text for the times delivers. All that said, I should briefly explain that it’s the tale of a successful young Debut Novelist, named Julia Revell, who, with her unsuccessful young Artist Husband, Jack Revell, determines to travel by train to Southern France, presumably at the beginning of 1912, to both refresh themselves, and, escape a chilly, lacklustre city. And who encounter, while en route, while there, and across the border on the Italian Riviera: theatrical friends of Jack’s, a Spy, the Duchess of Kent, and an apparent Lesbian. On Page 83 we’re even treated to the very brief appearance of a “cinematographic company” passing by in a vehicle labelled “Pathe”. In essence the young couple are tested by circumstance and reach a happy ending after many trials and tribulations. Had they encountered it at their zenith you wonder what the Merchant Ivory team might’ve been able to make of the story. I, myself, can easily picture Helena Bonham Carter as the Heroine.

The most useful chapters of Stacpoole’s Monte Carlo, as far as we’re concerned, are chapters 1, 2, 3, 4 and 9. (There are in total 24.) Chapter One, South!, is immediately about the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Revell. Neither are sorry to leave the foggy city or their dingy accommodation. Both are looking forward to: “… Monte Carlo and the sun and the palm-trees and the Casino, and the croupiers and the sapphire blue sea.” The money funding the trip, is the initial royalty payment (of £500) for Julia’s successful first book, titled: The Apple.

Gare de Lyon in the early 1900s.

On Page Six, they arrive at Gare de Lyon, the same station Rodolfo would’ve departed from. And the construction is described thus:

“… the place was filled with passengers and luggage; passengers for India and the East, Algiers and the South, Monte Carlo and the Cote d’Azure. They had bought their tickets at Cook’s, and a Cooks’ man piloted them to the great express, sombre and magnificent, drawn up and waiting for a flight that would not cease till it touched tomorrow’s sunset on the far-off Italian coast.”

Regardless of the time of day, the very real Rudolph Valentino would have been subjected to a similar scene, to that of the very fictional Revells. Passengers and luggage. Luggage and passengers. All of them heading in a southerly direction — if, that is, they weren’t arriving. Did he also perhaps buy his ticket from Cook’s? We do know, that in 1914, due to his many moves there, he used Cook’s office in New York as an address at which to receive his mail. A service for which he would have to have paid a small fee. Cook’s was a useful and omnipresent company.

On the platform about to board their carriage Jack Revell encounters some key characters: “… the Theatre Italien.” One of whom, a lady named Marie Minton, otherwise known as Fatou Gaye, an Actress who reeks of opoponax, will cause him some difficulty later. Naturally, this encounter makes me think about who Rudy might’ve shared a compartment with on his journey South, to Monte Carlo. Was there a similar female? A woman dressed in a five thousand franc sable coat, with “a Paris pearl as big as a gum boil on the ring finger of her left hand…” and displaying: “… real diamonds.” (Page 9.)

A very formal portrait of Rodolfo Guglielmi perhaps taken around the time of his 18th Birthday.

At the start of Chapter Two, The Land of Colour, they arrive, as Rodolfo did, at the first stop after Paris, La Roche. In this instance it’s night (as it may well have been in Rudy’s case). The engine fizzes. And a man hammers the wheels with a clank. The Heroine, Julia, dozes. And the next stop is Dijon. Here she has: “… a vision of an empty station with the gas lamps half on…” (Page 13.) Soon we read the following:

“She awoke to find herself in a new world. They were away down by the Rhone, Northern Europe had been swept behind them by speed, the land of the cactus and the land of colour lay beneath the pale and patient dawn.

The few houses to be seen were flat-topped and coloured, the mark of the sun was upon the land.”

The length of the journey, approaching 24 hours, would’ve meant Rodolfo Guglielmi witnessing similar activity in the early morning outside of his own compartment, or in the aisle, as seen by the novel’s Heroine, Julia Revell. “… the corridor outside thronged with people passing up and down…” The train is en route and moving along in such a way as to make it difficult to get to and from the “breakfast-car”. To which the young Mrs. Revell ventures for a cup of hot tea.

Marseille circa 1910.

The train stops in Marseille (where they buy oranges) and proceeds to Toulon. By which time it’s Luncheon and their fellow travellers decide that the only thing to do is drink champagne. The consumption of which, by Mr. Revell, anyhow, leads to his Wife returning to their compartment alone.

Chapter Three, third of the five helpful chapters, gives us a clear idea of what Rudy saw, as he began to approach Monte Carlo. As we see:

“… so the Rapide was bearing its crowd to their destination. Nice, burning in the afternoon sun, Beaulieu, Ville-franche, the blue sea, castellated Monaco, passed Julia’s eyes in succession. La Condamine:

Monte Carlo!”

Easy indeed it is to imagine his excitement, as the varied stops were, one by one, left behind and he moved ever closer to his goal. Closer to redeeming himself by winning a small fortune at the famous gaming tables. And closer to being able to return to Italy with his head held high. If we assume he arrived at about the same time as the book’s characters – mid.-to-late afternoon – we can say with some certainty he enjoyed similar sensations. Perhaps stepping like them: “… into a blaze of sunshine.” And feeling as Julia does that he had been embraced and kissed on the cheek by: “… the great golden god of the day…”

We now skip forward to the start of Chapter Four of Monte Carlo, where, having reorganized their accommodation, Mr. and Mrs. Revell venture to the Casino. And I think it’s worth repeating the opening of the chapter, so beautifully does the Author, Margaret Stacpoole, sum up exactly what the location was all about, at least in her view.

“MONTE CARLO is only an extension of Paris by way of Enghien, an extension of London, St. Petersburg, Berlin and New York by way of Paris–that is to say, an extension of their worst and most brilliant parts. Vice really magnificently done: that is Monte Carlo.

“There is something almost pleasant in the honesty of this place, and after the first blush something almost horrible.”

Page 29.

The Revells, the young married couple at the heart of the story, have enjoyed an after dinner coffee at the Cafe de Paris, and are now moving on to the Casino. Once there, they acquire permits and enter the gaming rooms; which is where we get Julia Revell’s reaction to the sight she sees. As follows:

“It was the first time Julia had ever seen gambling on a big scale; and the sight of the vast room, the great tables, and the solemn crowds impressed her with an eerie sensation hard to define or explain in origin.”

Page 29.

“She felt that all these people were more or less engaged on a bad business, engaged in what is recognized by society as a vice, and it was the commercial coldness and businesslike atmosphere of the place that gave her a thrill.”

Page 30.

We can be fairly sure that Rodolfo Guglielmi, as he then was, had never seen gambling on such a scale either. It’s possible he’d ventured into hotels in Genoa where there were modest gaming tables. Just as he may’ve seen big establishments in Paris where there was gambling. Yet, as we see in the contemporary postcards added here, showing the interior of the Casino, this was a vast, cavernous space. And, in fact, was a series of large rooms rather than just one huge one. I think it’s safe to say that he was as awed as she is in the novel. And as captivated:

“Then each table in turn drew her towards it and held her fascinated.

“‘Messieurs, faites vos jieux,’ the whirl of the ball, the snarl of the ‘Rien ne va plus,’ the voice of fate crying: ‘Vingt-quatre, noir, pair et passe,’ the clink of the silver and gold and the rustle of notes changing hands–all these fascinated her ears. The faces and the dress of the women held her eyes.”

At this point in Monte Carlo Julia’s Husband Jack explains to her the “simple beauty of roulette.” How there are 36 numbers in the middle of the table. And how placing a single louis on a number would gain her 35 times her stake, were the the ball to fall into that socket, because of there being 35 chances against the Player. By instead backing one of the three columns in which the numbers were arranged she would get double her money. The other options, he tells her, are backing red or black; odd or even; and manque or passe. With success at manque or passe only getting you the amount you put down.

When asked, Jack Revell informs his Spouse that he learned all about [R]oulette from the book Monte Carlo Intime, and they then proceed to play. Jack gives Julia a five Franc piece, which she places on black, after he tells her that if she wins her winnings will be one hundred and seventy five. However, much to her disappointment, black is not the winning shade. Prompting the response: “‘What a swindle! My beautiful five francs!'”

Her Husband tries his luck and takes a chance on red and wins. Passing back to his Wife the five francs that she lost. He then plays three further times and wins on each occasion. Stopping at this point, he predicts that black will turn up, which, much to his satisfaction it promptly does. In this moment: “… his eyes sparkled with pleasure.”

What, we wonder, was the extent of Rudy’s knowledge of gambling. Did he know anything at all? Had he himself read Monte Carlo Intime? Was he alone or with a friend? Bold as he was, it seems a little unlikely that he would be so bold as to enter the Casino by himself, and then attempt to win a fortune. And without any knowledge at all of what he was doing. Yet perhaps he did. For sure, like the Revells do in Monte Carlo, once inside he watched the progress of others. Watched how people won and lost and won. And it strikes me as probable that, like Jack and Julia, he tried his luck with a small sum at first. Did he have early success and then lose it all? Or did he have no success at all? We’ve no idea. Nothing to go on.

After playing once more and this time losing Jack Revell escorts his young Novelist Wife into the Trente et Quarante room. (See above.) “… where gold is the only play.” It’s here that they re-encounter a man they know named Mr. Carslake, a mysterious yet charming figure, who later on turns out to be a Spy. Before moving on through the text of Monte Carlo, to the next useful and informative chapter, I want to say that I believe Rudolph Valentino, before playing and perhaps winning and then losing, has to’ve seen and appreciated this other, equally impressive space. A place, according to Stacpoole, where the crowd was “much more select”. And where you were: “… much more likely to be robbed of your stakes or your winnings by some enterprising spirit than at the humbler tables.” (Page 32.)

“On entering the rooms for the first time Jack Revell had experienced no other sensation than that of curiosity; the taste for gambling was the last vicious taste that he would have suspected in himself, and he would’ve resented the epithet ‘gambler’ just as he would have resented the appellation ‘drunkard.’ He would still; and yet no gambler ever, perhaps, entered the rooms with a more burning desire for play than he to-day.”

From: Chapter Nine, The Tables, Page 91.

It’s in Chapter Nine that the story takes an interesting turn. A fictional development that closely parallels the actual predicament in which Rodolfo Guglielmi found himself. Jack Revell gambles with his Wife’s money and loses. So I reproduce this part of the novel, to help us to perhaps appreciate what our errant Son went through, emotionally, when he frittered away his widowed Mother’s funds. And also how he may’ve played with that money that wasn’t his to play with.

Having been stood with Mr. Carslake at the table known to Casino regulars as the suicides’ table (where Carslake has enjoyed success), Jack Revell bids his companion goodnight, after having just placed a winning Louis on impair/odd. Determined to play, he once more backs impair, and wins again. The departure of a woman who had been on a winning streak leaves a vacant seat which Revell too eagerly takes.

“He had never taken a seat at the tables before.

“He had five louis in gold in his waistcoat pocket[,] and in the side pocket of his coat he had a pocket-book which contained all the available money they possessed, some four hundred and fifty pounds. It was Julia’s money, and to carry such a sum on one’s person was not wisdom. But in France, where [there are no] cheques and where all payments are made in coin or notes, people take risks that they would not take in England.

“He had been staking single louis up to this, and winning.

“He doubled his stakes and won again.

“To increase the stakes when one is winning and to increase them when one is losing is a human instinct and one of the main promptings of the gambler.

. . . .

“In five minutes Jack had lost every single gold coin in his possession and came up against the fact with a ‘stunt.’

“Hip lips in a second became dry as pumice stone and he moistened them.

“He had not lost much, as losing goes, but the bank had given him a blow, almost as painful as a physical blow in the face. He sat for a moment, telling himself inwardly that he had been a fool. If he had only not doubled his stakes he would have had enough to tide him over the bad streak. There was nothing to be done but take a lesson for the future and get back what he had lost. He put his hand into his pocket, produced his pocket-book, and changed a five hundred franc note.

“Then with great caution he began to play again.”

From pages 92 to 94.

So far in this section Jack Revell hasn’t lost big — but he has lost. Instead of accepting this and, so-to-speak, cutting his losses and quitting while he’s behind, he plunges back in to playing with Julia Revell’s funds. Money she has entrusted to him for safe keeping. Cash she’s generously sharing with her less successful Spouse.

Jack backs manque against passe (the numbers 1-18 rather than 19-36). And he wins again and again. Moving to passe from time to time. However, he hadn’t learned the lesson from earlier, not to double and quadruple his stake. Consequently, in under 90 minutes, he’s forced to change two further bank notes.

“It was not ‘play’ now. His condition was that of the man who has fallen over a precipice, is clinging to some projection quarter way down; not vitally hurt, but with death already tickling at the soles of his feet.

Now he would scramble up a few louis, then he would slither down. He could not stop. The imperative desire to regain his position held him at work; once, bravely risking fate, he won fifty louis at a spin of the wheel. Ah! the turn had come at last; now was the moment to press the victory home. He had been backing manque against passe; this was the first time manque had turned up during the last five spins of the ball. He would hit hard now and escape from his position, scale the heights to safety with two or three violent efforts. He left his stake on the table and added twice the amount, still backing manque.

“He stood to win a hundred and fifty louis or lose the like amount. If you had told him yesterday, or even this morning, that he would ever stake such a sum at the tables, he would have laughed you to scorn. ‘Impossible,’ he would have said. ‘I don’t drink and I’m reckoned sane, and I would either be drunk or inane to do such a thing.’ Well, there he was doing it, and not only doing it, but urged to do it by a vital driving force, which was not the spirit of gambling, but the spirit of self-protection which urges a man to make superhuman efforts to escape from danger.”

From pages 95 to 96.

Of course this isn’t Rodolfo playing Roulette. And the teenage Rodolfo wasn’t yet married, or even attached, to a significant female, as far as we know. Yet it very much places us where he was in real terms, at that table in the Casino, as a desperate man gambling with a woman’s money. It allows us to picture him, and to understand what he went through, regardless of the length of play. (Probably somewhat shorter unless he had a serious run of luck.) Yes, his own funds were significantly less, but the only true difference is that Rudy planned from the start to attempt to win big, while Jack, the central male character, is drawn to playing and is forced to risk all he has. Both the actual and the invented men are united in defeat. And this is also very useful when we come to think about the effect on the young Italian of his absolute failure to rake in his much hoped for small fortune.

Jack remains at the table deep in thought while it makes itself up. He can’t return to Julia and reveal he’s gambled away half her earnings. And so he resolves to continue playing in order to return triumphant. The table making up, is explained by the Author as the process of settling all of the payments, which was a very lengthy affair between spins. And, as a side note, she advises “the amateur gambler” to frequent smaller casinos, for example at San Remo or Bordighera, where the tables aren’t so large, and play is consequently “much brisker”. (With punishment or reward, as Margaret Stacpoole points out, being received far quicker, they might’ve been better locations for Rudy.)

“The croupier spun the ball and Jack Revell prayed to manque as he never prayed to God.

“‘Rien ne vu plus.’

“The ball continued rolling for a few seconds, hesitated, and fell into its fate appointed socket with a click.

“‘Trente, rouge, pair et passe,’ came the loud Belgian voice.

“Jack had lost.”

From pages 96 to 97.

Despite losing Jack Revell continues to play and continues to lose with the small stakes that he places. And it’s this final run of bad luck that awakens him to his position. Bringing him to his senses: “… like a douche of cold water.” He stands up, leaves the table and crosses the room to the exit. And here we get a sense of his inner turmoil:

“Outside in the great atrium he examined his resources. He had lost three hundred and twenty-five pounds, and all in the space of two hours or a little over. And the money was Julia’s. He had spent her hard earnings on what? On buying two hours of the most acute mental suffering he had ever experienced. He understood now what people meant by the term ‘gambling hell.’ It was Hell. The old Anglo-Saxon word of four letters summed up everything, and the extraordinary thing was he had fallen into this pit marked ‘Dangerous’ with his eyes open and against his own volition.”

. . . .

“He crossed over to the Cafe de Paris and ordered some whisky, which he drank, almost unconscious of what he was doing. Then he sat smoking cigarettes and listening to the chatter of the people round about which mixed with the music of the red-coated band.

“One might have fancied him plunged pretty deeply into the gulf of despondency. Yet he was not. The disaster was great, yet it seemed a thing past and dome with, leaving him numbed and incapable of much feeling, but not suffering acutely.

“We never rise to the height of our disasters for more than a few minutes.”

From Page 98.

The Cafe de Paris is to the left in this circa 1910 Monte Carlo postcard.

And this seems like an appropriate point at which to leave Margaret Stacpoole’s brilliant debut 1913 novel Monte Carlo. Her character, Jack Revell, seated at the Cafe de Paris in the early hours, more than a little numbed, puffing on cigarettes, and enveloped in an audio soup of chattering people and tunes. Defeated. Yet not despondent. And having only risen to the height of the self-inflicted disaster for a few minutes. How did Rodolfo Guglielmi behave after also losing at that same table? I imagine he was numbed too. Ahead of him was the long journey home. In my opinion, via Genoa, where he no doubt stopped briefly, collected himself, and borrowed the fare to get to Taranto from a former classmate at the Agricultural School. Like Jack Rudy had some explaining to do to the person that had given him the money. And how that all went we’ll never know. Yet we do know, at the end of 1913, after much scandalous idling in his neighbourhood, that he was sent packing to the USA, to disgrace himself at a greater distance. Such was the eventual scandal there that he was forced to abandon the East Coast for the West Coast. A final roll of the dice that would pay off a couple of years later, after a name change, and a made-to-measure role, in one of the greatest spectacles of the Silent Era.


I want to thank you for reading this latest post all the way through. It’s been a long time in the making, yet was, I must say, one of the most enjoyable to write. The discovery several years ago of Margaret Stacpoole’s forgotten novel, Monte Carlo, was another one of those lucky finds that I sometimes happen upon in my relentless search for content and context. Nothing else I’ve seen puts you right there in pre W. W. 1 Monte Carlo the way this book does. And I recommend it highly once more.

Valentino Was My Friend

Ruth Roland in 1924.

We read much about the early Movie Colony friends of Rudolph Valentino, those who knew him and helped him, before he rocketed to Stardom, in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921). And we know of those who attached themselves to him, claimed, even, to have discovered him, after fame, and, after his untimely death. (Persons too numerous to list here.) One individual we almost never hear of, is Actress Ruth Roland; who, on a trip to the United Kingdom, in the early Thirties, spoke candidly to an Interviewer about their closeness. This post is titled: Valentino Was My Friend.

Valentino Was My Friend

by RUTH ROLAND

The world-famous star of silent

days who has recently been

visiting London.

Rudolph Valentino, one of the most romantic figures in the history of the screen, died on August 23rd, 1926, yet his memory is still treasured by thousands. In this exclusive article one of his few really close friends relates some hitherto untold stories of his life.

“WHENEVER I think of my friend Rudolph Valentino, I think of a charming, courteous, sincere gentleman, who never forgot a friend. A man who could, and did, ‘meet triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters both the same.’

“I think of the first time I ever met him and we danced our first dance together, back in the days when films were silent and he was Signor Guglielmi.

“I think of the weeping crowds at his funeral. And then I think of what is left of him, lying in the Forest Hills Cemetery.

“I was just beginning to be a somebody in those days when I met Rudolph first. I was working in ‘Who Pays,’ and our mutual love of dancing drew us together. We found our steps suited, as we became frequent partners and won contests together, too.

“He was new in Hollywood. He ‘extra’d’ and played small parts, but there were many days in the week when he was ‘resting.’ His remarkable good looks, his poise, not to mention his grace of movement, always attracted attention. He probably had his entire wardrobe on his back, but he looked [like] a [P]rince. His clothes were always well-pressed, his linen and shoes irreproachable, his hair sleek and shining, and his beautiful hands well kept.

“He used to come home, where my aunt, who keeps house for me, adopted him as her special pet. He had a standing invitation with us, for times were lean then, and he could at least be sure of a good meal any time he wanted one.

The Vernon Country Club.
Reid and Davenport at home in 1917.

“Usually we would go home to eat, and then Rudolph’s melting brown eyes would glow with pleasure at the prospect of the evening dancing contests. We were in the finals at The Vernon Country Club against Wally Reid and his [W]ife Dorothy Davenport, and Rudy and I won the silver cup. I have it still, with several others.

“I remember one dancing contest in the finals of which only Ben and I and Rudolph and Pola Negri remained. It was a fancy dress dance. Rudolph and Pola were in Spanish costume, and made a strikingly handsome pair. I wore an original costume, representing a circus, and gained first prize for it.

Favourite Song

“Rudolph used to like me to croon softly to him while we danced. In the early days his favourite song was ‘Tell me why I adore the things you do. Tell me why I can’t get enough of you. Tell me why you are wonderful to me,’ and so on. He loved music.

“I’ll always remember the way I had to turn Rudolph out of my car after we’d been out for an evening. He, like the perfect gentleman he always was, wanted to see me right home. But he lived down town, somewhere off 7th Street, and my home was a long way from there near Laurel Canyon. I knew he could not afford the taxi back again, and it was too far to walk when he had to be on location early the next morning.

“Rudolph always confided his hopes and ambitions to me, and we talked over his career step by step. Two things I told him that he never forgot. They were: ‘Be sincere and always work hard,’ and ‘never neglect your fans.’

“I remember the thrill of Rudolph’s epoch-making tango in ‘The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,’ and how sad it was that the Spanish Society girl who danced with him never lived to see herself on the screen.

“I remember when Rudolph and Natacha met, through Madame Nazimova, at whose home Natacha was staying at that time. She was an unusual looking girl, very attractive, with her dark colouring and air of mysterious allure.

“Rudolph liked ‘The Eagle’ least of any of his films, he said. ‘The Sheik,’ however, was one of his greatest, if not his greatest personal favourite. Had he lived he would have done even finer work.

A promotional image of Bebe Daniels from 1925.

“The last memory I have of Rudy was at a party. It was a party given by Bebe Daniels at her house on Los Felis [sic] Boulevard, and, for a wonder, I went alone. Rudolph was there, and he, too, was by himself. We neither of us felt like eating, so we went for a stroll in the garden.

“It was a perfect moonlit night, and I will never forget the way we two, who had not had such an opportunity for ages, talked and talked of the old days and the very beginning of our friendship. Rudolph said some lovely things to me that night. One of them was that, though he was so much courted and fussed over and flattered, he could count his real friends on the fingers of one hand, and ‘You, Ruth,’ he said, ‘are one of them.’

“He said, ‘No one really fools me. I know exactly how much this one or that one’s fine sayings are really worth.’ Bebe’s [G]randmother came out and said ‘What in the world are you two talking about out there?’ But we went on and talked for over three hours. I never saw Rudolph alive again.

“Much has been written about the spiritualist seances at which Rudolph is supposed to have spoken, and their genuineness has often been dismissed.

“I am able to describe accurately a seance which I attended in New York some years after his death.

Did Valentino’s Spirit Speak?

“A well-known [M]edium proposed getting the sprit of Valentino to reply to three questions put by me. I may mention that this particular [M]edium held a very high reputation, and people who were world-famous believed implicitly in his powers.

The [M]edium went through the usual spasms before going into a trance. As usual there was a ‘[C]ontrol,’ the voice of an Indian guide, who spoke in broken English at first and forgot about it later.

“At length the supposed spirit of Valentino’s mother spoke to me. She spoke in English, which was odd, for in life the mother of Rudolph could not speak one word of our language.

“Then the spirit voice of Rudolph himself came through and announced itself ready to reply to my three questions.

“My first one was, ‘What was the special name you used to always call a relative of mine at my house?’ The relative was, of course, my aunt, and his name for her had always been ‘Tanta.’ (Aunt.) It was soon obvious that the spirit did not know, though the last time we talked Rudolph had sent a message to ‘Tanta’.

“However, we went on to the second question, which was, ‘Where did we last meet on earth, and what happened then?’ I feel sure that, had my friend really been there, he could not have forgotten that almost prophetic conversation, but the ‘spirit’ was entirely flummoxed, and tried everything it knew to get me to reply to my own question.

“At last I was asked to put the third question, but I said, ‘That won’t be necessary, thanks,’ and left the seance. That was no more the spirit of Rudolph Valentino than I am Primo Carnera. (A Boxer.)

“Those who remember Rudolph Valentino need no seances to conjure up a spirit for them. I have many souvenirs of him: portraits with various inscriptions on them. ‘R. to R.’ was his favourite dedicatory effort to me.

A Grand Fellow

“He was a grand fellow, every inch of his 5ft. 10 in.; a good mixer always. He was not a saint nor an ascetic. He drank very little, and, like most Italians, he preferred wine. He was neither vain nor conceited. He dressed well because he took pride in his appearance.

“He went in for athletics, riding, etc., in a big way, and was anything but a ‘Sheik,’ a ‘Great Lover,’ or a woman chaser in real life.

“The last time they moved Rudolph’s remains, to make room for June Mathis, I asked his [B]rother to allow me to place my mausoleum at his disposal, for there would always have been room for us with Rudolph.”


Thank you for taking the time to read through this reproduction of Ruth Roland’s tribute to her Good Friend Rudy. The interview was published in FILM WEEKLY, on August the 25th, 1933, and clearly timed to coincide with the seventh anniversary of his tragic passing. I think that, despite the odd discrepancy, here and there, her recollections are solid, and align with those of the others who genuinely knew the pre-fame Valentino. And you can feel her sadness looking back. Feel her loss. And feel her empathy for those who who felt his loss too — particularly on the other side of The Atlantic.

Joseph Nico

Cover of STOP in 1982.

In the mid. 1970’s, the Italian magazine, STOP, decided to commemorate half a century since the passing of Rudolph Valentino, with a thoughtful article, featuring a lengthy interview with one of his closest childhood friends; a man named: Guiseppe/Joseph Nico. In the month he passed, 95 years ago, it seems appropriate to post that translated interview here; an interview, which I can say is one of the most interesting items I’ve found, during the course of my research into the earliest years of this remarkable, endlessly fascinating man. I hope you’ll enjoy what I’m titling: Joseph Nico.

The Old Town in the mid. Seventies.

The place where I was born is called Rudolph Valentino’s Castellaneta. It is a small town located at almost the very tip of Italy, on a hill, overlooking the sea. Castellaneta is a famous city. And every year there’s a pilgrimage of thousands of women who still remember him, who cried and suffered for him, and that carry the handkerchiefs soaked with tears, on August 23rd, 1926, in boxes, the day their Lover left them forever.

Valentino, Star, was their Idol. For years he filled their lives and their dreams. The magnetic gaze of Rudy. His almond-shaped eyes. His smile. The way he kissed the women, and held them in his strong arms, caused guilty, sinful shivers.

Rudolph Valentino embraces Vilma Banky in The Son of the Sheik (1926).

Life was a little less harsh in those five years when their “Forbidden Lover” intoxicated with perverse fascination. In theatres, in cities large and small, and in modest provincial towns, where a muted piano translated, musically, the images flickering on the screen, so many sins were eaten, and husbands and boyfriends were betrayed with thoughts. Rudolph Valentino really had an almost magical power to bring down many virtues… his memory at a distance of fifty years has remained intact.

In France, the U. S., Australia and Japan, all over the [W]orld you can say, there are specialised travel agencies. And the place where the tourists stop is in Castellaneta, the city of Valentino.

The Sixties commemorative statue in Castellaneta sometime in the early Seventies.
The birthplace and home of Valentino. (On the right.)

In this week’s newspapers and magazines, from all corners of the [E]arth, there are long articles about Rudolph Valentino, on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of his death. Here in Castellaneta his memory is still alive. Visitors who travel the road that leads to the town, can see, to the left, the monument that the city has erected. It’s a two metre high statue, ceramic and blue, which embodies the [A]ctor in the role of the Protagonist in his most famous – [final] – film The Son of the Sheik [(1926)]. Just nearby you see the house where the Star was born, on May 6th, 1895. A beautiful Baroque-style building with balconies.

We had the good fortune to meet with Mr. Joseph Nico, who is 81 years old, the same age [Valentino] would be if he were alive today. Joseph Nico has always lived in Castellaneta and was a Schoolfriend of Rodolfo. With him he also spent his early teens. Until Rudy moved to Sant’Illario.

The old man remembers a great deal about the childhood of Rudolph, who he knew well. Being his Playmate he received his confidences. His story is new and surprising in many respects. And also demonstrates the precocity of the sentimental youth who would become the greatest Seducer of the 20th Century.

“My childhood,” Mr. Nico begins, “was spent entirely with Rodolfo. My friend was a cute boy and breezy. He always had new ideas in his head and was also ready to implement them. Rodolfo came from a solid family. Borghese. (Bourgeois.) The father was a man of authority here in Castellaneta, and was the Veterinarian of the area. Dr. Giovanni/John Guglielmi had married a French Woman of noble birth, Maria/Marie [Berthe] Gabrielle Barbin. And at birth the child was baptized with the names: Rodolfo Pietro Filiberto Raffaello.

“To be honest, I found it odd that a guy of his position came to play with us, the children of poor people, but Rodolfo preferred ordinary people to the rich. Even when he returned from Hollywood to Castellaneta, and was here with his Isotta Fraschini, a kilometre long, he embraced us.

“Rudolph, as I said, was a smart one — and very early. The girls made him turn his head and he ran to them. I remember one episode, when we were about 10, to dismiss a lively compliment, a girl gave him a slap. Yet he, in response, just stroked her blonde braids. Everyone spoke of what had happened between the Son of the Veterinarian and small Luciana.

“On the rare occasions there arrived in the countryside a travelling show, he was always in the front row, and devouring, with his eyes, the actresses. The Chanteuse especially polarising his attention. To see them better Rodolfo would sneak behind the scenes. And then return and tell us all what he saw, with such a liveliness and seductive colour, that we were spellbound for days.

“The Parish Priest, when he learned of this behaviour, scolded him in front of everyone, and didn’t allow him even Confession. However, he charmed the older man and moved him and was allowed both Confession and Communion. The two remained good friends. And when he was famous and rich, and came back to his home town, he gave many dollars to the Parish.

Joseph Nico fails to tire of telling stories. His elderly memory is lively. And wakes up when he rummages through the distant memories of early youth.

“Only at school,” he continues, “my friend didn’t do well. He didn’t like to be bent over books, and preferred games and entertainment. Bravado with friends. In that time women used to fill skins with oil for sale. In the morning a cart passed to collect oil for a cooperative. Rudolph was hiding behind a door, and, before the man could pick up the skin full of oil, he broke the skin with a large stone, that then flooded the road with the slimy liquid. Rudolph’s Father, who the Cart Driver had gone to to complain, raised his hands to Heaven, and compensated the poor man for the damage. Rodolfo was then put in the corner. Then double-locked in his bedroom. But the room had a small balcony which was near to the gutter pipe. So, without a second thought, Rodolfo opened the window and slid down the pipe to the street, where I was waiting for him.

“For beautiful clothing Rudy had a real fanaticism, and his Mother sent him around looking like a [P]rince; yet, his clothes didn’t last long due to the violent games in which he indulged. On Sunday, however, at Mass, my friend was really dapper. I still have in front of my eyes his blue sailor suit with white spats, hair combed and parted, and smooth and shining with grease.

“At the parties of rich friends he was always present because all vied to invite him. But it was the girls who often pressured their brothers to make sure he wasn’t missing. His charm and conversation had an effect on them. And they were all in love with him. In Castellaneta there were many handsome boys, yet none was like him, no one had his eyes, his magnetism. The most beautiful girls were his friends.

“Yet one was able to resist and her name was Felicity Sasserego. She lived in Saint Hillary where Rudy went to complete his agricultural studies. He confided in me that he was in love with her. Yet she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. And didn’t trust that ‘Rooster’ that was behind all the skirts. Rodolfo for the first time in his life wept for love. He who would later be able of reach for millions of women tasted the bitterness of defeat. And perhaps it was this disappointment that ripened his resolve to seek his fortune far from his Homeland.”

The memories of the elderly friend of Rodolfo stopped here. Tears forming in his eyes and running down his cheeks. Mr. Nico can’t help but think that if Valentino had stayed there in Castellaneta he wouldn’t have become one of the most famous men in the World, but would, perhaps, still be alive; and be there beside him, to drink a good glass of wine.


I hope that you’ve enjoyed reading this translation, of an enlightening, yet all-too-brief interview, with Mr. Joseph Nico, the childhood friend of Rudolph Valentino. And I hope that you’ll return to read the next post about the greatest Seducer of the 20th Century. Do like this post and comment if you have the time. Thank you!

The 2021 Classic Literature On Film Blogathon

The post here this month, is my contribution to the 2021 Classic Literature On Film Blogathon, hosted by Paul, from Silver Screen Classics. As His Fame Still Lives is focused monthly on Rudolph Valentino, it’s natural it’ll be one of his films that’s the subject. For the Blogathon last year I wrote at length about Camille (1921). This year I’m writing about The Conquering Power (1921); which, it just-so-happens, is 100-years-old this coming July.

Rex Ingram in late 1920.

In the October 1921 issue of THE PHOTODRAMATIST, in an essay, entitled, The Eternal Esperanto, Rex Ingram, one of the most innovative and talented film directors of The Silent Era, had the following to say:

“Great art belongs to the ages, and to the Universe; in it time and place are of secondary importance, for its message and its story are not of yesterday, today nor tomorrow, but of all time.”

That Ingram saw himself as an Artist is clear. In The Eternal Esperanto he presents himself as exactly this. Enjoying, immensely, his comparison of the creation of a sculpture with a group of figures, to the setting-up of a scene with a collection of actors. That he was considered one by his contemporaries, is proven by the fact that he’d recently been awarded an honorary Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree, by Yale University. (“… the first recognition of the photoplay as one of the fine arts.”) His Mentor there, Professor Lee O. Lawrie, who he’d assisted when younger, even going so far as to create (as a gift for him) an actual physical representation of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse; for a period of time, openly displayed in a store window in New York. Yet, as much as seeing himself as an Artist and wanting his work to be seen to be Art, it’s obvious he sought to place himself on the same level as the artistic greats. And to raise the relatively new medium to that level. The question is: did he?

The cast and crew of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921).

Having reached the vertex of artistic achievement with The Four Horsemen Ingram wasn’t about the slacken. Far from it. Neither was he going to tinker with the team which had helped him to deliver a masterpiece. So, with this winning formula, early in 1921, he embarked upon his next project, titled, The Conquering Power; a film again about France, but this time based on an older literary work: the Nineteenth Century novel, Eugenie Grandet, by Honore de Balzac. And a work, according to the writer of an article about him, in THE HERALD AND NEWS, he’d “long desired to film”.

In terms of audience Eugenie Grandet was a book with which North Americans were already generationally familiar. It had reached the shores of the USA, properly translated, by the late 1850s, when it sold for just 25 cents a copy. And, a decade later, was successfully serialized in The Chicago Tribune, between September 29th and December 29th, 1872. In the subsequent decade, in 1886, the New-York [Daily] Tribune, while minutely examining the tale, sincerely lauded it, stating it was: “… high tragedy in humble life; an epic of passion, as Taine styles it, but framed upon the simplest lines.” In 1899 the country’s press marked the Author’s centennial; the WATERTOWN REPUBLICAN trumpeting him as having been: “… the greatest writer of fictitious narrative of the past century, if not of all the centuries, and the greatest of all French writers…”

Curious it is, then, given his popularity and the richness of the narrative, that there were few attempts to translate this great work for the Silver Sheet, in the early years of U. S. cinema. Research has uncovered just two quite unambitious efforts: Eclair’s 961 foot Eugenie Grandet, issued on June 20th, 1910; and, a lengthier, seemingly independently created, three reel production, titled The Miser’s Daughter, shot in 1915, and advertised as for sale or rent, in the January 15th, 1916 edition of THE MOVING PICTURE WORLD. (The Miser’s Daughter was what a widely printed newspaper serialization had been called in 1904.) Was Rex aware of the mid. decade three reeler? Quite possibly. After all, he’d already moved on from acting and writing, to directing by that time, and was ever watchful, as he shifted at speed from one company to another, of the work of contemporaries. As they, likewise, observed him. Also, the piece, in THE HERALD AND NEWS, does emphasize the long-held wish to breathe life into the source material. And we can believe it to be true, if he’d known of, or even seen, either one or both of the earlier celluloid translations.

When we read Eugenie Grandet it’s easy to see the appeal. The simple, yet compelling central female character, and the refined and tragic central male character, were ideal parts for his established stars Terry and Valentino. (A pair of lovers already well-fixed in the minds of the cinema-going public.) Once again the story was about two sides of a family. Enormous sums of money – negative and positive – were also a theme. And, despite the rather static, one-location nature of the story, it included an array of interesting supporting personalities.

Mathis in 1925.

June Mathis, who’d expertly adapted the work of Vicente Blasco Ibanez the previous year, was tasked with creating the continuity. It being she, in her capacity as Head of the Scenario Department at Metro Pictures Corp., who’d pushed, hard, not only for Rex Ingram to direct The Four Horsemen, but for Rudolph Valentino to portray Julio, it was no doubt felt she was the safest pair of hands. (Which she was, though her past choices, while paying serious dividends, did sow the seeds of future issues; not only for herself, but also the two talented men she championed.) Her bold decision to root the action in the then present day, a full hundred years after the time in which it was set, and a move mirroring her concurrent interpretation of Alexandre Dumas’ La Dame Aux Camelias, was perhaps the most significant feature of her adaptation. And is explained in the opening of at least one surviving version, as being due to the “Great Public” not then being too fond of “the costume play”.

Left-to-right, Ingram, Barton and Terry.

The first report we see about the planned sequel to The Four Horsemen, is in Wid’s DAILY, on April 29th, 1921. This basic paragraph, communicating the name, that it was to be Ingram’s follow-up to his Blockbuster, and that Cleo Madison had been added to the principals of that previous production, was superseded by a series of bulletins. Yet these weekly reports don’t give too much away with regards to progress. Something, it has to be said, that stands in stark contrast to its predecessor. What we do know, is that by the end of April, it was imminently about to commence. And, that by June 29th, eight weeks later, the Director was on his way East with the negative. Proving the whole project had been turned around in two months. Again, a serious difference to The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921), which was a six month endeavour.

Left-to-right, Ingram, Valentino and Terry.

As studio records were long ago largely disposed of, we must look to later accounts for shoot information; accounts, often years and decades in the future. Alas, the picture they paint isn’t a pretty one, with discord being the dominant tone. The impression we get being there was, for one reason or another, or three, or four, a general breakdown in the bonhomie that had assisted prior success. The warmth and enjoyment, much in evidence in the many group publicity images in 1920, evaporated. To the extent there are almost no such photographs in existence from the following year. We get a good idea of how bad things got, when we look at a one page profile of Ramon Novarro, entitled, The Man from the Mob: How Rex Ingram Picked Ramon Novarro for Fame, which appears in the February 1924 issue of PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE. As follows:

“In spite of what the director was doing for him temperaments clashed and arguments arose between Mr. Ingram and Rudie. In the course of one of these arguments Mr. Ingram remarked one day: ‘You think I can’t get along without you, don’t you?’ Well, I’ll show you. I can go out onto the set, pick a man out of the mob of extras, and make him just as big a star as you are.”

Page 66.

Another version of this story is that Rudolph Valentino refused to work and Rex Ingram said he’d find an Extra and put him in his place.

Natacha Rambova in 1921.

Reasons for such outbursts do exist. One, from a reliable source, his Second Wife, Natacha Rambova, appeared six years after the PHOTOPLAY page, in her widely distributed The Truth About Rudolph Valentino By NATACHA RAMBOVA, HIS WIFE. In the FOURTH INSTALLMENT, Poverty-Stricken Days Prove Unhappy for Two Unknowns, in the Washington Evening Star newspaper, she explains:

“Many amusing incidents happened during the filming of this picture. I was not on the lot myself, but I heard all about them at luncheon or dinner, for Rudy continued to take most of his meals at my bungalow near the studio.

“One evening he stamped in in fury, eyes flashing, trembling with rage. Rex had insulted him! What should he do? Challenge him to a duel? In anger his thoughts always flew to a duel; his Italian ancestry cropped out with the force of a dozen Borgias: it was the only way to settle a quarrel.

“‘But, Rudy, how did Rex insult you?’ I asked when I could get in a word. At last the story came out.

“Rudy had been dressed in evening clothes for the midnight entertainment scene (he loved to wear his full dress clothes; he was so proud of them) when, just as they were about to start shooting, Rex suddenly stopped the cameras and bawled Rudy out before all the extras. He was wearing a white vest when it should’ve been a black one, or vice versa, I have forgotten. Anyway, it was not correct—Rudy the model of the well dressed man whose effects were always impeccable! Words flew.

“Rudy should know better, Rex declared, whereupon Rudy asked Rex what he knew about clothes—a trench coat was all he ever wore. More words, loud and angry. The question was finally decided by calling in Frank Elliot, an English actor, acknowledged to be the last word in gentleman’s attire. Mr Elliot, to Rudy’s delight, pronounced him perfectly turned out.

But this was not all. From that moment on Rex ignored his leading man completely. During the most important close-ups Rex sat cleaning his fingernails with a penknife. How could an artist act under such conditions? The matter called for a duel.”

Menjou and Valentino in The Sheik (1921).

In his autobiography, It Took Nine Tailors, written with M. M. Musselman and published in 1949, Adolphe Menjou gives us a little more insight, when he relates how it was that he came to work opposite Rudolph in The Sheik (1921). An opportunity which presented itself to him after Valentino had quit Metro Pictures Corp. According the Menjou, this was because:

“Rex Ingram, director of The Four Horsemen, convinced Richard Rowland, president of Metro, that Valentino was just a flash in the pan, that he was impossible to direct, and that he would never be successful in anything else. This, at least, is what Valentino told me. As a result, despite the tremendous success of The Four Horsemen, the star of the picture found himself out of a job and $4,000 in debt. It could only happen in Hollywood.”

Page 94.

That June Mathis was also a victim of Rex Ingram’s manoeuvrings, was put forth a few years afterwards, by Valentino Biographer Alan Arnold. Who, on Page 66 of his biography, Valentino (1954), stated:

“It was deplorable that his employers did not reward him for his fine work in terms of a much better salary. Furthermore, when he began work on a fourth film, The Conquering Power, he found that much of the original script prepared by June Mathis had changed, and he felt that this new version was inferior to the original.”

How true this is, is hard to say, without seeing the original script and any subsequent rewrites. However, it seems highly likely, when we consider that Mathis too would leave for pastures new. And that, ahead of his eventual departure for the South of France, the Metro studio was very much considered, by the industry, to be Ingram’s Private Kingdom. One likelihood, which is backed up as a theory when we view The Conquering Power (1921), is that there was initially far more of Charles Grandet, Valentino’s character, in the earlier scenario. In Balzac’s novel Eugenie Grandet is the more important of the two lovers. Yet, we see that there’s a serious effort on someone’s part to elevate Charles to the same level, and to achieve this by giving him more screen time — even placing him at the start of the story, when he’s not introduced until a later point by the Author. Which couldn’t be Rex given the antagonism between him and Rudolph. Antagonism, perhaps given life, when the Director saw that his Male Lead’s share of the motion picture was going to impact on his Female Lead’s share? And the closeups? Well, when we compare those of Rudolph Valentino’s and Alice Terry’s, there’s a definite difference. Valentino’s simply aren’t as stunning, or as lengthy, as Terry’s.

Advert for the U. S. premiere, on July 3rd, 1921.

After incorrect credits – Rex Ingram would’ve been front and centre with Alice Terry placed before Rudolph Valentino in importance – the version I viewed on YouTube presents three frames of text. Text establishing who the story’s originally by; what it’s about; the dominant theme (all-conquering love); and where it’s located, in the present. (Though this will be tested at the conclusion.)

Present day France, an intertitle tells us:

“France.

As we picture her, with her

sparkling gaiety and irrepressible

spirit of youth.”

Following some surprisingly poor stock footage, of what seems to be a provincial street carnival, we launch into the story, and are introduced not to the Protagonist, but to the object of her affection: her Cousin, Charles Grandet. Who’s leading a: “… carefree life in the French capital.”

We fade in on an extraordinary scene. A Cecil-B.-DeMille-style party, crammed with beautifully-dressed celebrants, seen through almost frame-like parted, heavy drapery. The guests at the gathering are seated casually around a central indoor fountain and are obviously enjoying themselves. “Lavishly celebrating the twenty-seventh year of a pampered existence.” as the third intertitle reveals. (In the novel Charles is in his early twenties.)

Next we see Valentino, left, in full evening dress as Charles, talking to a woman, right, in a fantastic headdress. This is Annette. And he toasts her: “To Annette, the prettiest woman in Paris!” However we soon see that this prettiest woman isn’t faithful to the Banker’s Son who feels so strongly for her.

The party continues. (Though a little truncated if we’re to believe surviving stills.) An exotically dressed, half naked woman, carried into the crowded room on a massive platter, by muscular men, proceeds to dance on it. We see North African musicians. And we view Charles inviting his Birthday guests to pull on the ribbons in front of them, to see what gifts they’ll find inside of little boats and water craft, tucked into the base of the water feature. Faithless Annette receives a delicate, jewelled wristwatch. This is indeed a pampered existence!

Meanwhile, Charles’s Father, Victor Grandet, has returned home looking weary, and requested that a Servant ask his Son to come to talk with him. The Banker is then seen reading a dire telegram, that tells him that he can’t be rescued from his fatal financial situation, with an advance of the size he requires. As Rudolph Valentino apologizes to the partygoers, we finally see, in full, the white waistcoat that caused Rex Ingram to explode, during the shooting of this opening scene.

Charles’s Father appeals to him.

Tenderness between the stern and troubled Father and the frivolous and careless Son ensues. Showing the viewer, that that while the relationship might be fraught, there’s much love between widowed Husband and Motherless Child. (For me, this is beautifully played by Valentino, a person who lost his Father when young and had already lost his Mother by this point in time.) The Father gives his offspring his most precious possession: two gem encrusted portraits of himself and his late Wife. The parent next instructs his only child to travel to see and stay with his Uncle outside of the capital. Charles must depart the next morning for Noyant. (Saumur in Balzac’s original tale.)

The sleepy village of Noyant

basked in the sunshine of the

wine country.”

The action now shifts to the film’s main location, Noyant, nicely realized by Ingram’s team, headed by Ralph Barton. We see the inhabitants going about their day to day life. And then are shown the exterior of the home of the Grandets. A property, which is promisingly imposing from the outside, yet spartan and uncomfortable within. Inside we see the Father, Pere Grandet, the Mother, Madame Grandet, and a Villager. Pere Grandet is treating the Tenant poorly. (Which isn’t something that happens in the novel.)

And Eugenie? Rex makes us wait. Finally presenting Alice’s young Daughter in the garden of the home, basket over her arm, and surrounded by a hedge archway. After passing through the kitchen she’s again framed in yet another entrance way. This time the doorway to the main room on the ground floor. And this is a big close up that gives value not only to her as a character but also as the Star. Here she receives a gold coin on the occasion of her own Birthday — it seems the cousins were born just one day apart.

After affection between between Father and Daughter, which mirrors that between Father and Son, we have a light comedic moment, when the trusted family Maid, Nanon, almost drops a Birthday bottle of wine when she slips down a ladder. (The Birthday party that follows, is also a mirroring of the previous, far more extravagant and gathering.) Then the guests arrive with their gifts and alterior motives; namely: to marry the pretty Heiress. The rival factions being first The Cruchots, consisting of the Abbe, the Notary, and their rather unappealing Nephew. And second the des Grassins, Father, Mother and less slightly less unappealing Child. Both factions have brought gifts that reveal their differing personalities.

For dramatic purposes, and in contrast once more with the original material, we also see the arrival, in Noyant, of the Cousin, Rudolph’s Charles. An entrance that’s on another level entirely, in that he appears in a chauffeured vehicle, and is dressed in light, summery attire. On stepping out of the dusty auto. he’s greeted by locals and a deaf old citizen who attempts to assist him. The astonished Dandy, like a visitor from another planet, mistakenly imagines that his Cousin lives in the imposing castle, Chateau Froidfond. And absent-mindedly tips his cigarette ash into the man’s ear trumpet.

The Nephew’s Driver knocks at the Grandet’s front door and announces his Employer. And here, for the first time we have the amusing popping of the monocle, when Charles is confronted by not only his untidy and old-fashioned Uncle, but also the tatty decor of the house. After passing a letter from his Father to his Uncle, he enters this alien abode with his black French Poodle, and is introduced to those gathered. With another funny moment being his passing of his dog to the Son of Monsieur and Madame des Grassins. The introduction to Terry’s Eugenie is a significant moment. While this is all happening Pere Grandet’s reading the letter and we see that Victor Grandet has killed himself and placed his Son, Chares, in the care of his Uncle.

The preparation of Charles Grandet’s room’s faithful to that particular passage in Balzac’s Eugenie Grandet. Even to the use of a bed warmer, and over usage, in the Uncle’s eyes, of candles. (The second one is relit by his Nephew after he extinguishes it.) The lighting here, as in other sections so far, is gorgeous. And we have the second popping of the monocle; where Charles astonishes Nanon, when he allows it to fall from his eye to his breast pocket, just before he begins to undress. A trick for which Rudolph Valentino deserves some serious praise.

The next morning the terrible news of his Father’s death’s broken to the Son in the picturesque garden. Fine acting, in my opinion, from Valentino and from Terry, here, as one reacts and the other reacts to the reaction. Eugenie comforts her Cousin after her Father’s departure. And we next learn that Charles has gone to Paris. In his absence, while finding a way to secure his late Brother’s debts to his ow advantage, Pere Grandet tells the Notary and his Nephew:

“I would rather see my daughter

dead than married to Charles

Grandet!”

Rudy’s character returns from Paris, and, we must presume, his Father’s funeral, more sober in dress and mood than when he arrived days before. The plan of his Uncle to restore honour to the family name is communicated to him, but fails to change his mood. And he retires to his room, to write letters, where he cries himself to sleep. This is faithful to Balzac’s original. And the move of Eugenie from her bedroom to his, is exactly as it happens on the novel; even down to her begging his forgiveness for reading his private correspondence, and her desire to help him to travel safely with her small hoard of gold. Gold she begs him to accept on her knees after he wakes up and sees her.

This scene is beautifully done, beautifully composed, and the exquisite lighting drew comment from contemporaries, who were mystified as to how the effect had been achieved, by John F. Seitz, the Chief Cameraman/Cinematographer. Alice Terry is saintly and almost ethereal, in a loose blonde wig, and hooded cloak. And Rudolph Valentino is equally stunning, positioned as an exhausted and worn out, grief-stricken young man, who’s cried himself to sleep. (We see the tears on his cheeks.) The luxurious, silken patterned dressing gown he wears, is as described by Honore de Balzac. And the exchange of the gold for the glittering box, that contains the portraits of the Aunt and Uncle of the selfless Niece, is also it happens in the book.

The next day, we presume, the pair have a tender scene in the garden. They view together a nest with eggs. And bill and coo. Attentions that are noticed from a window by Pere Grandet. He seethes. And is quick, before his Nephew’s leaving for a new and hard life in Martinique, to get him to sign over to him his dead Father’s estate. Something done with a certain amount of flourish by Rudy’s character, with a very smart fountain pen. As Charles readies himself to leave he notices, through her open bedroom door, his Cousin crying. He enters the room quietly and they embrace and kiss. A final kiss, so they imagine, nether knowing their eventual fates. She has placed the key to his spangled box on a chain and show it to him. Then she passes him her cross which he takes. And there’s a gradual fade out to black.

Time passes in a subtle manner. Life at the Grandet’s residence is the same but changed. At least Eugenie is changed. And we see this when Terry’s character visits the garden in Winter clothing, alone, clearly pining for her Cousin. The nest they saw together is now empty of course. We then cut to the equally lonely Valentino character, who’s writing her a letter, from a ramshackle hut thousands of miles away. The arrival of a letter from his Uncle telling him that his Cousin has been married results in a pained and bitter expression. He tears up the letter he just wrote. And we see that his hair’s roughened up. And he’s got Stubbly face. (Cue swooning.)

The change in her Father is manifested when he requests to see her gold and she tells him she no longer has it. His rage is enormous when he realizes, correctly, that she’s passed it to her Cousin. (In the novel he discovers that she’s received a box in return.) Naturally she must be punished for her betrayal and so he imprisons her in her room. A move which causes the death of his Wife, her Mother, Madame Grandet. (This almost instantaneous, quite violent death, is a long and drawn-out affair, in Balzac’s Eugenie Grandet.)

From this point Pere Grandet begins to go mad. A slowish descent that suddenly speeds up. He becomes even more obsessed by his money; yet, runs into an issue when the Notary arrives to inform him the village is gossiping about his treatment of his Daughter. Cruchot tells him he knows that she’s not his biological child, and, that she’s Heir to her late Mother’s considerable fortune. A fortune Grandet secured when he married her Mother. If, Notary Cruchot tells him, he gets her to sign a release, then she can’t divide the property in his lifetime. And this is what happens. (The idea that Eugenie isn’t the natural offspring of Pere Grandet isn’t once mentioned in the novel. So it’s a mystery as to why this was considered necessary.)

Grandet, who’s just tricked his Daughter, leaves the secret room to escort the Notary to the front door. This slip allows Eugenie to notice letters from Charles to her, when she replaces the inkwell and quill pen to the desk, and tries to move a spider from the papers collected there. On his return her Father sees her with the correspondence and angrily lunges at her. He then pushes her out of the room. And closes the door so violently, that he locks himself inside, when the safety lock falls on the other side falls into place. Neither his Daughter nor his Maid know he’s trapped there, and so can’t help him in his moment of extreme need. And while Eugenie reeds the communications that were denied her, and Nanon busies herself washing clothing in the stream, Pere Grandet expires, as a result of the exertion of trying to free himself from the room in which he’s trapped. A really remarkable and still eerie, almost Dickensian demise, that springs from either June Mathis’s, or, Rex Ingram’s imaginations. And isn’t to be found anywhere in Balzac’s original tale. In sequence the wronged Tenant, his late Brother, Victor, and his recently deceased Wife all return as apparitions to haunt him. The creepy embodiment of gold is played by the Actor who portrayed one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in the earlier film.

The death of her Father leaves Eugenie Grandet a wealthy and much sought-after woman. Yet she prefers to stay true to the memory of Charles Grandet. That is, until she receives a letter back un-opened that she’s sent to him. This final humiliation makes her decide to marry one of the suitors. However, while the paperwork is being drawn up, and she takes the air in the garden, a figure emerges that she soon realizes is Charles Grandet, returned, one last time, to take a look at the garden where they enjoyed each other’s company, so many years before. When she tells him that she’s not married as he thought they have their happy ending. However, for the Notary, whose Nephew was to be married to the Heiress, it’s all too much, and he suffers a hilarious collapse, much to the amusement of rival family, the des Grassins.

THE END.


Is The Conquering Power (1921) “Great art” that “belongs to the ages”? In my opinion, yes, it is. The majority of it remains a delight. There are standout performances. Though, we might wonder how much better it might’ve been, if it hadn’t been tinkered with. Certainly, even the altered version doesn’t exist to be viewed, today, online. (Is there a better one? In an archive?) And that’s a great shame. The Conquering Power I accessed is clearly a bit of a jumble. It’s also not particularly faithful to Balzac’s great story of suffering and redemption — though this didn’t seem to upset too many at the time, as far as I can see. The general consensus, in the Autumn of 1921, was that Rex Ingram had surpassed himself. And that’s quite possible for me, if that print, before the removal of certain portions by state censors, was a more fluid and flowing movie. One that had just a bit more to it. That wasn’t missing its initial intertitling and credits. And which was presented with the original score, rather than floaty flutes, which don’t suit a lot of the action. I hope that my look at it has piqued your interest. If so my time wasn’t wasted. And if you enjoy reading about Valentino, please follow this Blog, to be notified of future posts. Happy Easter!

Synopsis and Analysis of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921)

The 100th anniversary of the release of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921) next month calls for further celebration — so here’s a contemporary synopsis and analysis I discovered last year while researching the Silent Era spectacular. For those who never saw the film it’s a really great intro. And for those who did, a sweet refresher, as to the main features of this main of all main features. For anyone interested, it was located on pages 63 and 64 of the Photoplay Plot Encyclopaedia, written by Frederick Palmer, and published by his Palmer Photoplay Corp., in 1922.

Page 63

“THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE.”

(Metro production; all-star cast; adapted from the novel of Vicente Blasco-Ibanzez, by June Mathis; directed by Rex Ingram.)

SYNOPSIS

While in no sense a prologue, the opening scenes of the story in South America prepare the way for the tragic drama which is enacted later in Paris and on the Marne. Madariaga, the Centaur, the enormously rich old cattle herder of Argentina, lusty and lustful, whose daughters have married outside of their own nationality, is the undisputed ruler of his broad acres and army of servants. He hates his German son-in-law. Toward his younger daughter’s French husband he has an entirely different feeling. But the German is the father of three sturdy sons, while the Frenchman’s wife has only presented him with a daughter. Madariaga does not relish leaving his vast estate to Karl Von Hartrrott’s sons. When Julio Desnoyers is born, the old Argentinian is so overjoyed that he embraces Marcelo, the boy’s father. Until the hour of his death, the old Centaur lavishes all his affection upon Julio and takes him with him on wild debauches in the towns, as soon as he is old enough to accompany his grandfather.

At the old Madariaga’s death, the estate is divided and all of his family go to Europe to live, the Von Hartrott’s in Germany and the Desnoyers in Paris. Here Julio’s father sets up an expensive establishment and buys a castle on the Marne, and becomes a collector of costly antiques. Julio, true to his training by his grandfather, begins a gay life and opens a studio where he paints pictures and entertains his friends and his models.

One of his guests is Marguerite Laurier, the youthful wife of the elderly Monsieur Laurier. Julio falls desperately in love with her and Marguerite returns his passion. Her husband discovers what is going on, and drives his wife from his home. Then comes the outbreak of the war and Laurier enlists at once, but Julio still continues his painting and his gay life. The sight of Marguerite putting on the garb of a Red Cross nurse does not arouse him, but when he sees her attending a blind soldier and recognizes the man as he husband, he commences to feel the call of war. Enlisting at last, he is sent to the front.

Meantime his father, learning of the advance of the Germans toward Paris, goes to his estate on the Marne, only to be captured by German soldiers and have his castle

Page 64

turned into the headquarters of the officer in command, Von Hartrott being one of the lieutenant-colonel’s staff.

Julio and his cousin meet at night in a ditch between the lines. Both have been sent on dangerous missions. They recognize each other, but the game of war must be played to the bitter end. Both fire at close range and fall dead, side by side. Marguerite determines to stay with her husband before she learns of Julio’s death, the blind man having forgiven her. Later the father and mother of Julio meet a stranger in the graveyard who leads them to their boy’s grave. “You knew him?” they ask? “I knew them all,” replies the stranger, pointing to the thousands of graves. The symbolism is unmistakable.

As compelling, sincere, beautiful, as Blasco-Ibanez’ literary classic, this screen classic stands out,—a splendid exponent of the cinematic art. It is a powerful story, powerfully delineated. The action runs the whole gamut of the human emotions from bitterest tragedy to lightest satire and most fantastic humor.

The story’s dramatic quality makes itself felt early,—in the initial situations of the plot, where the seeds of hatred and of potential conflict are sown between the two sons-in-law of Madariaga. Steadily throughout the action, this dramatic force increases its momentum until it culminates in the soul-stirring encounter of the two youths—the son of the German, and the son of the Frenchman, on the field of battle. This racial antagonism, which is developed in a sound psychological way, is what gives the story its epic impact.

The theme: the upward struggle of humanity, is vivified and made concrete through the symbolism. The four horsemen, enemies of mankind,—Pestilence, Famine, War and Death, on their gigantic chargers, trample over the trivial concerns of mortals, strewing disaster and destruction in their wake. The idealism of a suffering world is symbolized in the character of the quiet, thoughtful Russian, the philosopher who speaks of peace and brother-love. He is “the stranger” that comes forth to meet the bereaved parents, the Christ who “knew them all.”

The tremendous situation VI (“Disaster”), is, patently, the foundation of this plot. VII (“Falling Prey to Cruelty or Misfortune” is used with great pathos when the bewildered Desnoyers is made a prisoner at his own castle. ix (“Daring Enterprise”) enters at several points in connection with the war incidents. Upon XIII (“Enmity of Kinsmen”) is based the climax. XX (“Self-sacrifice for an Ideal”) motivates the action of several of the characters. The love element brings XXII (“All Sacrificed for a Passion”) into play. The tragedy of the story is expressed through XXIII (“Necessity of Sacrificing Loved Ones”). The action is dramatic from beginning to end.

“The Four Horsemen” is a screen play that deserves study and re-study. The structure is not weakened but rather strengthened by the lapse of time, for it would be impossible to show the onward sweep of a world cataclysm more briefly, and, at the same time, as convincingly. The dramatic construction is good: the plot progresses logically to a logical termination. The characterizations cannot be improved upon. The characters, while typifying certain racial proclivities, are distinct individuals, with personalities of their own. Such material as the infidelity of the heroine, Marguerite, might be condemned because of censorship regulations, in a story less strong than this. Here, the sin of the young lovers is purified through suffering, and idealistic sacrifice. The boy turns bravely to face his death, the girl as bravely to face duty. The ending is tragic, and rightly so: it is an ending that grows out of the story itself. The terrible devastation is unforgettable. But there is hope and optimism too,—in the wistful, loving face of “the stranger.”

As long as the World War is remembered, it is safe to prophesy that this faithful screen version of it will endure.


And endure it has! I want to thank you for taking the time to read this intelligent 1922 synopsis and analysis of The Four Horsemen… Personally I like it very much. I hope you did too. At the time of writing I’m busy with completing my look at Rudy, Joan, Jack and Blanca, which will now be the March post. Swiftly followed by my entry for a Blogathon. There’s much to say about Valentino in 2021; and as the months pass I’ll be saying it. Do join me!

Timeline of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921)

As the year 2021 is the 100th anniversary of the initial release of the Silent Era classic, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921), I felt it would be a nice exercise to look into its inception and progression, and create a detailed Timeline. Something attempted only once before, I believe, by Leonard H. Gmuer.

As can be seen, the process by which this ambitious screen spectacular reached fruition, was a lengthy, yet straightforward one. And included are all the significant contributors, the many steps taken to make it possible, and, as much daily production information as was available to me.

Respected British Film Historian, Kevin Brownlow, has labelled it: “the first modern film”. And, though this might not, as he suggests in his Intro. to Gmeur’s Ingram biography, exactly be a compliment, it is a production that, despite the quality of others in 1920, stands alone. So plainly being: “… dazzling technically as it was aesthetically.” Here, then, is that Timeline:

1867

Vicente Blasco Ibanez, prolific Spanish Author, and Creator of the novel, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, later transformed into the silent cinematic masterpiece, is born, in Valencia, Valencia Province, Spain, on January the 29th.

1887

June Mathis, Stage Actress, turned Scenarist, turned early, pioneering, female Film Executive, who will be the Scenario Writer of the first true screen adaptation, is born, June Beulah Hughes, in Leadville, Colorado, USA, on June the 30th.

1893

Rex Ingram, Silent Era film Actor, turned Story Writer, turned pioneering Silent Era film Director, who will direct and supervise the first true screen adaptation, is born, Reginald Ingram Montgomery Hitchcock, in Dublin, Ireland, on January the 15th.

1895

Rudolph Valentino, Exhibition Dancer, turned Silent Era Film Actor, turned International Screen Heart-Throb, who will portray Julio Desnoyers, in the first true screen adaptation, is born, Rodulphus Petrus Philibertus Raphael Guglielmi, in Castellaneta, Puglia, Italy, on May the 6th.

1900?

Alice Terry, Silent Era Film Actress, and future Wife of Rex Ingram, who will portray Marguerite Laurier in the first true screen adaptation, is born, Alice Frances Taaffe, in Vincennes, Indiana, USA, on July the 24th.

1909

Ibanez travels to South America, to lecture for a few months, but remains several years. While there, he plans a series of fifteen novels about all the individual nations, including Argentina. (Only one, Los Argonautas, was published.) During the half decade he spends some time living as a Cowboy. Establishes a small town, Cervantes, in Patagonia. And enjoys several experiences he will later use when writing The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

1911

July

On the 2nd of July, ambitious, eighteen-year-old Irishman, Mr. Reginald I. M. Hitchcock, later Rex Ingram, an Artist, arrives in the U. S. A., as an ordinary passenger, on board the RMS Celtic. He will work that year at a freight yard, then, in 1912, study for a period at Yale. In 1913 and 1914 he will commence his acting career, shifting from Vitagraph to Edison, and then back to Vitagraph.

1913

December

On the 23rd of December, aspirational, eighteen-year-old Italian, Signor Rodolfo Guglielmi, later Rudolph Valentino, masquerading as a Marchese, arrives in the U. S. A., as a First Class passenger, on board the S. S. Cleveland. He will quickly spend all his money, struggle for sixth months, then, secure a position as a Dancer For Hire, at Cafe Maxim, in New York. Working all of 1915 and half of 1916 as an Exhibition Dancer.

1914

July

World War One commences, on the 28th, when the Austro-Hungarian Empire declares war on Serbia; following the assassination, the previous month, of its Imperial Heir, by a Serbian at Sarajevo.

August

By the 4th, the declaration has led, one by one, to the involvement of Russia, Germany, France and Britain. (With Italy initially remaining neutral. And the Ottoman Empire joining in October.)

September

From the 6th to the 12th, Germany, on the one side, and France and Britain on the other, fight the First Battle of the Marne, to the East of Paris. This important early conflict will feature in the yet-to-be-written The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Ibanez will later lecture in North America about the writing of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. How, thanks to his friendship with the French President, he was allowed to visit the trenches at the front, with the General commanding the Fifth Army. And how he was the first civilian to visit where the battle he was to write about occurred.

December

According to a later interview (with a Reporter for THE RICHMOND PALLADIUM, printed on Thursday, October 30th, 1919), Ibanez first thinks of writing The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in this month.

1915

Vicente Blasco Ibanez spends the entire year formulating the planned novel in his head.

February

Metro Pictures Corporation, the organisation that will eventually produce and distribute the silent film version of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, is founded, by: Richard A. Rowland, George A. Grumbacher, James B. Clarke, Joseph W. Engel, Louis B. Mayer, Otto N. Davies and James A. Fitzgerald.

May

Rex Hitchcock, centre, acting in the Vitagraph film, The Artist’s Great Madonna (1913).

By the Spring of 1915, 23-year-old Rex Ingram, previously an Actor (as Rex Hitchcock), and more recently a Photo Play Writer, has begun to assist established Fox Film Corporation Director, J. Gordon Edwards. (In the Autumn he will be employed as a Director (with his own Assistant) by World Film Corporation.)

December

June Mathis’s first trade publication listing as a Scenario Writer.

By late 1915, June Mathis, former Actress, has begun working as a Scenarist for Metro Pictures Corp. in New York, under Department Head, Arthur James. (Mathis will, with each passing year, become more and more important and influential. Eventually becoming the Scenario Department Head herself.)

1916

According to a later interview (with a Reporter for THE RICHMOND PALLADIUM, printed on Thursday, October 30th, 1919), it will take Ibanez just four months to complete The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. (Apparently writing 18 hours a day.)

The stars of Rudolph Valentino’s first experience of film-making.

In the Summer, 21-year-old Rudolph Valentino, still Rodolfo Guglielmi, gets his first taste of film-making, when, in return for a few dollars a day, he works as an Extra, in The Quest of Life (1916). He will repeat the experience three further times this year, in Seventeen (1916), The Foolish Virgin (1916), and Patria (1917).

Debout les Morts!

At some point late in the year, a short film based on Ibanez’s recently completed work is issued in France, with the title: Debout les Morts! (Which translates, approximately, as Standing Dead.)

1917

In the June 23rd edition of MOVING PICTURE WORLD, Arthur W. Courtney reviews The Blood of the Arena (1917), a Spanish film (by Cosmos-Kinema), that interprets, for the screen, Ibanez’s same titled 1908 novel.

P. Malaver and J. Sobrado de Onega, the creators, have some success with it in Mexico. And it perhaps indicates, to anyone paying attention, that the Author’s work has cinematic potential. (The Blood of the Arena will be re-interpreted by June Mathis, for Famous Players-Lasky, in five years, with Rudolph Valentino starring as the Toreador Juan Gallardo.)

Trade publicity for Alimony (1917). The Picture Play was directed by Emmett J. Flynn.

In the Autumn, Alice Terry, currently known as Alice Taffe, works, in return for a few dollars a day, as an Extra, in Alimony (1917). And, according to legend, encounters Rodolfo Guglielmi, who is also an Extra. By 1919 she will emerge as a player of small parts — for example, in Wally Reid’s The Love Burglar (1919).

1918

June

It is announced, that E. P. Dutton & Co., publishers, are preparing the publication, in America, of an English translation of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, a new work by Ibanez. (The novel has already been released in Europe – Spain, Italy, France, etc. – the previous Summer.)

August

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is published in the United States and unleashed on the public. The authorised translation is by a woman named Charlotte Brewster Jordan. And the novel is priced at $1.90 (which is equivalent to $32.70 in 2020/2021.)

September

Reviews of the late August U. S. publication of the Book of Revelation inspired novel are universally laudatory. In the BOOKS AND THE BOOK WORLD section, of The Sun on Sunday, on September 1st, 1918, a full page review is headed: “‘The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse’ Is a Work of Genius From the Hands of the Greatest Iberian Novelist.”

December

Vicente Blasco Ibanez.

By the close of the year The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is a history-making Best Seller. With the first edition triumphing, despite its lengthy title, North Americans not knowing the Author, the price, the phrasing and the number of pages. According to The Sun on Sunday, on December 29th, 1918, over 70,000 copies had so far been sold.

1919

March

After issuing an English translation of his new novel, The Shadow of the Cathedral, Ibanez’s American publishers re-publish The Blood of the Arena as Blood and Sand, and prepare Mare Nostrum (Our Sea) and La Bodega (The Saloon) for publication. As a consequence his standing in the country improves further still.

April

It is reported that Joe Weber is negotiating with E. P. Dutton & Co., Ibanez’s U. S. publisher, with the hope of securing the dramatic rights to The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. (These talks come to nothing.)

NOTE: it is later revealed, in Motion Picture News, that multiple negotiations had been occurring.

July

Such is Ibanez’s notoriety, that a Reviewer of La Bodega, in The Sun on Sunday, states: “We used to think Spain was Carmen. This was wrong. It is—now, at any rate—Vicente Blasco Ibanez.” Further:

“Colossol and sinister shapes shadow the pages of his novels. The air is hallucinated. Unlikely persons talk with passionate vision of social utopias. …. It is, nearly always, transcendent art. The novelist paints what he sees; no man could do more and none should do less.”

September

It is reported Vicente Blasco Ibanez will travel to the States to lecture at Columbia University.

October

In an interview, conducted with a Journalist in France, Ibanez reveals his plans to write a novel about the U. S. A. Also, that the themes of his lectures, during his tour, will be: how he came to write The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse; how Europe regards the United States; and how to write a novel.

Late in the month, on the 27th, according to a report on the following day, Vicente Blasco Ibanez arrives in the country.

Vicente Blasco Ibanez, centre, visits Pearl White, far right, at her home.

On Friday, October 31st, Ibanez visits the New York offices of the Fox Film Corporation, and views there a copy of Evangeline (1919), directed by Raoul Walsh. (Any negotiations entered into with William Fox are ultimately unsuccessful.)

November

In the evening, on Monday the 3rd, Senor Blasco Ibanez makes his first public appearance in the States, when he lectures in the auditorium of the Horace Mann School, at Broadway and 120th Street, New York. The theme is Spain’s role in World progress. According to a report in THE EVENING WORLD, the following day, he informed his audience that his books were the product of Spain. Also saying: “… that the future of the world lies in the Americas, where the sons of Spain and England will be supreme.”

On the 5th, it is reported that Ibanez dismisses both the typewriter and dictation, as useful when writing a novel.

The Eyes of Youth (1919) cast and crew. With a light-suited Valentino to the right (back row).

On the 7th, VARIETY reviews Clara Kimball Young’s comeback vehicle, Eyes of Youth (1919). Though he fails to be listed as a cast member, and is overshadowed by Gareth Hughes, Rudolph Valentino’s performance will convince June Mathis of his suitability to portray key Horsemen character, Julio Desnoyers.

On the 9th, an interview in The Sun on Sunday, Vicente Blasco Ibanez throws light on the German characters in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Revealing how, before WW1, many Spanish-speaking Germans had made a life for themselves in Argentina; learning Spanish in the Fatherland, in preparation for their move to South America.

During the afternoon of Monday the 10th, Senor Blasco Ibanez makes his second public appearance, when he speaks about The Spirit of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, at Aeolian Hall, in New York. This second talk, to a mainly Spanish-speaking audience, is reported about, as follows, in the NEW YORK TRIBUNE, on Tuesday, November 11th, 1919:

“He spoke of the early days of the war in Paris, when it seemed as if the world was about to pass away: the deserted boulevards; the closed shops. He felt as if he were in Pompeii, or some other city of the dead, he asserted. Then he went to the battlefield of the Marne. It was there that he had the vision of his four horsemen, and many of the characters of the book he subsequently wrote were drawn from life.” (From Page Three.)

NOTE: in an interview, printed on December 3rd, the Writer reveals that Marcelo Desnoyers (the Father of Julio) is based on someone he had known in Argentina.

On the 16th, an interview conducted with a Spanish-speaking Journalist is published, in which Senor Ibanez reveals that Blood and Sand will be transformed into a play, and that the stage and film star, Lionel Barrymore, will probably portray Gallardo in a filmed version. He also explains to the Reporter that a number of (un-named) film concerns are already interested in adapting his works. That he is currently negotiating with them. That if the screen versions of his novels are a success, he will return, annually, with cinema-ready projects. And that his next work is about a Spanish woman who travels to the United States to go into Motion Pictures.

On the 17th it is announced that Metro Pictures Corp. has secured the rights to the novel. (Showing that Ibanez was keeping very quiet about it on the 15th.) The conclusion of the negotiations allows the company to adapt The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse for the screen in the U. S. A., and, to distribute it nationally and internationally. Metro Pictures has also optioned: Mare Nostrum, Blood and Sand, and La Bodega.

In their 29th of the month issue, Motion Picture News reports, that pressure from hundreds of American exhibitors, for a picturization of Ibanez’s novel, forced the company’s hand.

December

Key West Coast Metro Pictures Corp. staff in late 1919. Karger, with Mathis to his right, centre.

At the start of the month of December 1919, June Mathis arrives in New York, for a month-long working vacation. Her plan, is to rendezvous with Vicente Blasco Ibanez somewhere – Chicago or Cleveland – convenient to him, as he’s embarked on his lecture tour.

Maxwell Karger, the Metro Pictures Director-General, announces that The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse will be a Screen Classics production. (In other words: no expense will be spared.)

In their 27th of the month issue EXHIBITORS HERALD announce that Karger has begun to make “selections for the cast”.

So popular has The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse book been with Americans, during the past twelve months, that it is now, according to THE NEW YORK CLIPPER, in its 125th edition.

1920

January

On January the 2nd, VARIETY reveals that Marcus Loew, of Loew’s, Inc., is imminently about to purchase, outright, Metro Pictures Corp. The deal is publicly stated as being the result of a fallout between the Director-General, Maxwell Karger, and the Treasurer, Joseph (W.) Engel. The rumours will prove true. And have far-reaching consequences for all those involved in the creation of The Four Horsemen…

On January the 3rd, it’s reported, in Camera!, that Mathis has just arrived back in Los Angeles, after having met with Ibanez in Chicago, very late in December, while on her way West. Following a bad start – her lack of Spanish or French disappointed him – they had warmed to one another. And, during their 90 minutes together, reached an understanding about the way forward. June explaining she had read the novel and made a mental outline; so there was, as yet, no anticipated script. Vicente making some “wonderfully inspirational suggestions” and demonstrating his “knowledge of the making of motion pictures”. Miss Mathis listening to Senor Blasco Ibanez speak of Argentina and the pre-War Paris Tango Craze. Ibanez also telling her, through his interpreter, that he knew of her having “picturized” Out of the Fog (1919) and To Hell With the Kaiser (1918), and that he could see them collaborating on other novels. And that he would see her in California later in the month. (It would be February before they saw one another.)

NOTE: Vicente Blasco Ibanez’s unknown “suggestions” are noteworthy. And his stressing of the Tango Craze suggests he and he alone originated the idea of a dance sequence.

On January the 10th, in the first of several contradictory announcements, it’s reported that the company Director-General, Maxwell Karger, will depart from L. A. on the 19th, and travel to New York, where he will commence preparations for the filming there of The Four Horsemen… (after a six week break in Florida). Accompanying him will be George McGuire, M. P. Staulcup and June Mathis.

NOTE: the flurry of announcements this month regarding Karger, hint strongly, between the lines, at serious issues between the top executives at Metro Pictures Corp. Issues previously confirmed.

Marcus Loew officially acquires Metro

On January the 12th, Marcus Loew, of Loew’s, Inc., signs an agreement to purchase Metro Pictures Corp. Snapping-up the financially troubled company outright. And promising to be the international distributor of 25 motion pictures annually.

NOTE: this takeover, and the ensuing cash injection, is what makes the creation of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921) a possibility.

An excerpt from a 1920 corporation report.

On January the 20th it’s announced that Maxwell Karger will head East with Marcus Loew and Richard A. Rowland in order to prepare the shooting of the film there.

On January the 22nd, on his way to Los Angeles, Vicente Blasco Ibanez lectures (on the Spirit of the Four Horsemen) at the University of Arizona at Tucson. As the Author speaks no English, as before, his words are first spoken by an Interpreter.

On January the 31st, (THE) MOVING PICTURE WORLD, reveals that the new Owner of Metro Pictures Corp., Marcus Loew, of Loew’s Inc., is heading West with Richard A. Rowland and Joseph W. Engel, to confer there, with William E. Atkinson and Maxwell Karger. It is then expected, as previously stated elsewhere, that Karger will head East to prepare the supervision of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, which it’s planned will be shot on the Atlantic Coast.

February

The Metro Pictures Corp. picture-making facility in L. A. (1920).

On February the 7th, Motion Picture News, reports that Senor Ibanez is expected within days at the Metro Pictures Corp. studio, in Hollywood, to look over the work, thus far, of Miss Mathis. At about the same time, Richard A. Rowland will be present, due to the absence of Max Karger, who was not yet returned to the West Coast. The trade publication states that production would commence that month — which it didn’t.

NOTE: Karger did return West before again heading East.

Left to right: Mathis, Loew, Ibanez, Rowland and Karger.

At some point soon after his arrival, Vicente Blasco Ibanez is filmed in a short scene on a set recently used for The Cheater (1920), for a pre-release promotional trailer, for the eventual The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse film. Alongside VBI in the short promo., are: Mathis, Karger, Rowland, Loew and Viola Dana (good friend of Valentino). Source: (THE) MOVING PICTURE WORLD.

NOTE: the survival status of this promo is unknown and it’s presumed lost.

In their February 21st edition EXHIBITORS HERALD reveals that the recent illness of Ibanez has slowed script progress.

In the February 28th edition of (THE) MOVING PICTURE WORLD, a whole page (1447), is devoted to the news that Metro Pictures Corp. has serious expansion plans. (Metro to Build Big Studios in East; To Get More Stars and Scenarists.)

The February 28th issue of Motion Picture News indicates that The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse was originally projected to be completed and released by May 1920. (This was clearly not just wishful thinking, but also, poor projection on someone’s part.)

NOTE: the same edition states that the motion picture will be filmed on the East Coast.

Late in the month, it’s announced that Scenario Department Head, June Mathis, has completed the script for the filming of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. (This is the first draft.) Vicente Blasco Ibanez having personally assisted her while in California.

NOTE: what this first draft looked like and contained is unknown. Certainly the scenario altered a great deal as the months passed.

March

On the heels of the (THE) MOVING PICTURE WORLD piece, Marcus Loew, the new Owner of Metro Pictures Corp., trumpets his intentions in an announcement that’s widely reported in the trade press. He will invest $15,000,000 in the company. , $2,000,000 of which, will be spent on a new production facility, at Long Island.

NOTE: the death knell is sounded at the studio, for Mathis (and also Nazimova), when he states, that due to the rising cost of plays and books, original material will, in the future, be created by Bayard Veiller.

April

Following a summons, Rudolph Valentino arrives in New York, ready to answer questions about his detention in September 1916; and, to discuss his suing (in 1917) of the publications that reported it. No doubt aware of the filming of Ibanez on The Cheater (1920) set, and the fact that the production is moving along swiftly and no Male Lead has yet been cast, while there, he approaches Maxwell Karger, who had been present at his wedding to Jean Acker, in early November 1919.

May

Few announcements.

NOTE: according to Liam O’Leary, Ingram’s original Biographer, the project was briefly shelved.

Rod La Rocque, Antonio Moreno, Francis McDonald and Carlyle Blackwell. The men that Valentino beat to the part of Desnoyers. See below:

The Selznick studio, Fort Lee, New Jersey, where Valentino worked on The Wonderful Chance (1920).

While at a loose end Valentino secures roles in two productions. The Thug, later retitled The Wonderful Chance (1920). And Stolen Moments (1920). These will be his final pre-fame films.

June

At the start of the month June Mathis arrives in New York to discuss her script and the production at the Metro Pictures Corp. offices. Her return to the city is expected to be a lengthy one. “It’s like being home again!” she’s reported as having said. Just an hour after her return she’s at work at her desk. (Source: (THE) MOVING PICTURE WORLD 05/06/20.)

NOTE: it’s during this two week stay that she meets with Rudolph Valentino and offers him the role of Julio Desnoyers. His salary is initially fixed at $100 per week, but, will climb during the shoot to $350 per week. (Source: REX INGRAM Master of the Silent Cinema, Liam O’Leary, The Academy Press (1980.)

On June the 10th, it is revealed that The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is to be shot on the West Coast, rather than the East. (Source: Wid’s DAILY, 10/06/20.)

On June the 16th Mathis departs New York and heads West to oversee the filming of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Karger remains firmly in the East.

NOTE: we don’t know when Rudolph Valentino eventually followed her; but it would’ve been by late June/early July at the very latest.

Mathis’s Technique

June Mathis

Research has revealed that June Mathis employed what was termed: the shooting on paper method. In essence, planning with her team, far in advance, how the picture would be shot. And while this was not her invention, she was certainly a pioneer of the technique; which required: technical knowledge, clear thinking, the power of visualization, and a rounded conception of the film prior to camera work. (Source: A HISTORY OF THE MOVIES, by Benjamin B. Hampton, Covici Friede 1931.)

July

Filming commences

Filming finally commences towards the end of the month. (The 20th.) It will be a four month/16 week long shoot. July to August to September to October to November 1920.

On July the 4th it’s reported that the commencement of filming is imminent. It has already been decided that it will be: “… a Rex Ingram production.” Production and story issues are acknowledged. Mathis will be advising Ingram. And the casting is almost complete. Thus far some of those cast are: Maurice Costello, Stuart Holmes, Alice Terry, Frank Losee, Rudolfo Valentino, Brindsley Shaw and Nigel de Brullier.

NOTE: Costello and Losee didn’t remain part of the large cast.

The Director is quoted as having said: “… if you make your human angle interesting it doesn’t matter where or when you lay the scenes of your story.” The Scenarist is quoted as having said: “… incidents, both dramatic and along comedy lines, growing naturally out of situations, are to be created…”

On July the 5th, the Los Angeles EVENING HERALD reveals that John B. Seitz [sic] will be in “command” of ten camera men and their cameras during the duration of the shoot.

NOTE: Seitz’s middle initial was F. And it would actually be 14 cameras.

On July the 7th, Wid’s DAILY announces that Alice Terry has been selected as the Female Lead, Marguerite Laurier. (Valentino is mentioned but not his part.)

On July the 10th The Four Horsemen… is projected to be completed and ready to screen by October. (More wishful thinking.) (Source: (THE) MOVING PICTURE WORLD.)

Also on July 10th, in the same trade publication, June is quoted extensively. She praises Rex, calling him “one of the greatest directors”; reveals that her adaptation is faithful; that Julio will be a “society tango dancer”; and the most important scenes are to be: “…those depicting the Battle of the Marne.”

Also on July the 10th, June Mathis is likewise quoted in Motion Picture News, in a piece that’s a part of a six page look at Metro Pictures Corp. and the near future for the company. She reveals that Maxwell Karger was originally meant to be in charge in New York but already has several productions underway. And that it was he that hired Rex Ingram (undoubtedly as a result of her pressing him to do so).

Bayard Veiller

NOTE: the July announcement that Bayard Veiller is to be made Metro’s Western Chief of Production, and in charge of supervising “all literary material considered for screen translation”, will’ve been a body blow for June Mathis. She will eventually exit as a result.

On July the 17th it’s reported that Pomeroy Cannon has been signed to play Madariaga.

Also, on July the 17th, Motion Picture News reveals that Rex Ingram is completing filming of Hearts Are Trumps (1920), with “eighteen cast members”, at the old San Juan Mission at San Juan Capistrano, California.

NOTE: it appears, that Ingram went straight from directing Hearts Are Trumps (1920), to directing The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921).

On July the 19th it’s revealed that 10,000 sheep at a Bakersfield ranch will be utilised for an outdoor Argentine scene.

On July the 24th, it’s reported that the experienced C. S. Widom, formerly at Goldwyn Pictures Corp., has been employed as special Costumier for the film.

An announcement from July 26th, 1920.

On July the 27th, Wid’s DAILY reports the fact that Rudolph Valentino has been cast as the Male Lead, Julio Desnoyers.

August

Practically the entire cast and crew of The Four Horsemen…

Filming continues.

On August the 1st, it’s reported that Great War Veteran, Captain Robert de Couedic, of the Blue Devils, a recipient of the Croix de Guerre, has been engaged by Rex Ingram to: “… drill the French battalions that will participate in ‘The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.'” The article suggests that Ingram, formerly of the Royal Flying Corps, may direct by flying over the giant set in a plane. (The engagement of Couedic was previously reported, in July, in the LOS ANGELES EVENING HERALD.)

Paul Ivano.

NOTE: this report, doesn’t mention the fact, that the German extras were trained by a German army Veteran, Curt Rehfeld. (Source: REX INGRAM Master of the Silent Cinema, by Liam O’Leary, The Academy Press (1980)). This was something that Paul Ivano, good friend of Rudolph Valentino, pointed out in his interview for the Thames Television series Hollywood (1980). Ivano was himself drafted-in (on Valentino’s recommendation) to advise those constructing the French village.

On August the 7th it’s announced that Walter Mayo has been secured to be the Art Director. (Source: EXHIBITORS HERALD, 07/08/20.)

On August the 14th Motion Picture News announces that production is: “… going forward without delays.”

By mid. August the interior scenes in Argentina are almost complete. And part of the crew and cast are at Bakersfield shooting exterior scenes. While construction continues on the Desnoyers’ chateau, and nearby small village (created to be destroyed), the art studio scene will be shot. By this point “A miniature army of carpenters has been working in double shifts for weeks…” to prepare the castle and the habitation. (Source: the STOCKTON, DAILY INDEPENDENT, 18/08/20.)

That accuracy is of the utmost importance, is underscored by a report that Rex Ingram, June Mathis and their military advisors, are consulting actual French war communications and a battle map.

Rex Ingram, in the top hat and with the cone megaphone, directs.

On August the 21st, (THE) MOTION PICTURE NEWS reports, under the heading Strong Cast for Ibanez Film, on how Rudolph Valentino has been “summoned from New York”, to portray key character Julio Desnoyers. As follows:

Rudolph Valentino has been summoned from New York, to play the part of the hero, Julio Desnoyers, who develops into a tango king in Paris in the dance frenzy that preceded the opening of the war in 1914. Mr. Valentino was selected from Miss Mathis’s recollection of his playing with Marjorie Rambeau [sic] in ‘The Eyes of Youth’ [sic]; he realized her ideal of the youthful Julio—a poetic, dreamy type of twenty-three years.”

NOTE 1: this is seemingly the first mention of the fact that Mathis recalled his brief appearance, as Clarence Morgan, opposite Clara Kimball Young in Eyes of Youth (1919), and that because of this he was selected, as he “realized her ideal”. It definitely precedes any reports about Ingram’s control of casting. And, his own claims (such as the one in Behind the Screen (1923)), that it was he that was responsible for his inclusion. (Though obviously Rex had seen Rudy around over the years and remembered him.)

NOTE 2: Valentino will prove himself to be: “a hard-working conscientious actor.” From: REX INGRAM Master of the Silent Cinema, by Liam O’Leary, The Academy Press (1980).

It is later reported, that for the scene set in a port cafe/dive bar, shot at some point in August 1920, 500 men were gathered from San Francisco and Lower California to add colour and atmosphere. Few were willing to discuss their pasts. And Mathis apparently dubbed the studio: “The Port of Missing Men.”

On August the 28th, Carroll H. Dunning, V. P. of Prizma, Inc., makes a public pitch to Metro Pictures Corp. in the pages of Motion Picture News, for the inclusion of a colour sequence/sequences in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Specifically the apocalyptic four horsemen scene.

NOTE: they were successful in their overture.

Also on August the 28th, Motion Picture News reports, that all of the exterior Argentine work is completed and that interiors, “which require almost all members of the cast.” are next to be captured.

Some time in late August, dailies/rushes are screened of the impressive dance scene, in the Argentine cafe/dive bar. A taste of this scene, which isn’t in the original novel, is then sent to the Author, Ibanez, for approval. (Source: (THE) MOVING PICTURE WORLD.)

On the subject of the cafe/dive bar scene Rex Ingram a little later said the following:

“Of course it was obvious that he was the exact type for the young tango-hero of the story. Even after I started with him, though, I had no idea how far he would go — not at the very first. But, when he came to rehearsing the tango, Rudy did so well that I made up my mind to expand this phase of the story.”

September

Filming continues

On September 11th, while shooting continues, the film, as would be anticipated in line with industry norms, is announced as being a Fall release. This was obviously not to be.

In the same edition the following appears:

“Rudolph Valentino is a familiar figure to the early rising residents of Hollywood, California. Not that Mr. Valentino arrives home when others are preparing to greet the rising sun. But the handsome Metro player, who is enacting the leading role in the colossal picturization of ‘The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse’, by Vicente Blasco Ibanez[,] goes for a horseback ride every morning before starting work.

“Mr. Valentino, who is an expert horseman, has a handsome mount which he will use for many scenes of this sensational Ibanez story. He has been rising at five o’clock each morning to beat the rising thermometer.”

NOTE: by this point in the filming of The Four Horsemen…, it’s been realised, for some time, how amazing the cafe/bar scene is, and, Valentino’s performance in it. And from August/September he begins to be built up as a Star.

On September the 18th, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is listed with other releases, as due to be issued on October 1st, 1920. (This is not to be.)

On September the 25th, the Battle of the Marne scenes are yet to be shot, according to the issue of (THE) MOTION PICTURE NEWS published on that day.

In the same issue it’s reported that Alice Terry has worked almost every day in front of the cameras. Her few days off have been spent with: “… her tailor or her dancing instructor.”

Also in the same issue, it’s revealed that Vicente Blasco Ibanez is pleased with the still shots and footage, sent to him for approval. The material in question is of a diseased Argentine port and the interior of a cabaret. The piece suggests there was originally more to the segment. And that the dance between Julio and his partner ended in a kiss which lasted for 75 feet of film.

NOTE: in Rex Ingram: Hollywood’s Rebel of the Silver Screen, by Leonhard H. Gmuer, epubli (2013), there’s a story of the kiss, between Rudolph Valentino and Beatrice Dominguez. As follows:

“Rudolph Valentino, playing in Metro’s production of ‘The Horsemen of the Apocalypse’, [sic] was told by Director Rex Ingram to kiss the Castilian beauty until he said halt. Valentino started in and kept it up while the cameraman turned 75 feet. When it was over Valentino said: ‘Now don’t you think we ought to rehearse it and get it a little more nearly perfect?’ [To which] Rex Ingram said: ‘You’re excused.'” (Source: Ray Davidson, Little Trips to Los Angeles Studios, The New York Dramatic Mirror, August 14th, 1920.)

October

Filming continues

Enter Julio!

Early in the month, the November issue of MOTION PICTURE CLASSIC hits newsstands, and inside, Rudolph Valentino is the subject of a lavishly illustrated two and a bit pages. (Pages 18, 19 and 75.) Titled, Enter Julio!, with photographs by Shirley Blanc of L. A., the C. Blythe Sherwood profile/interview, is a light-hearted, yet informative look at the Hero of the yet-to-be completed The Four Horsemen…

Wally Beery

On October the 9th, it’s reported that Wallace/Wally Beery has been added to the cast, and that he will portray Lieut.-Col. Von Richtofen. (Source: Motion Picture News.)

On October the 16th Motion Picture News announces that Rex Ingram has concluded filming of The Four Horsemen… This seems unlikely considering other reports. (See above and below.)

Curiously, the same issue reveals, that a “portable power plant” is to be used for night-time shooting in about three weeks.

The week beginning Monday, October the 25th, the Battle of the Marne scenes are shot in the Hollywood Foothills. (Source: (THE) MOVING PICTURE WORLD, 30/10/20.)

In a report, by GIEBLER, the following month, in MOVING PICTURE WORLD, the filming of the German invasion of the French village is described. The Director had organised a switchboard with lines running to 100 points. And from it, Ingram could request the collapse of a roof, the falling of the church steeple, or the explosion of a shop front with ease. A siren being used to call a halt to the firing, from a nearby battery, so that the smoke could clear, ready for further destruction.

Preparations for the four horsemen sequence are reported on in Motion Picture News. As mentioned, previously, by June Mathis, the inspiration is a rare Albrecht Durer etching. This rarity has been supplied, by Arthur Denison, a Collector.

At the close of October, Alice Terry manages to finally secure a short break, and travels to Big Bear Valley for a few days. (Five according to EXHIBITORS HERALD.)

Marcus Loew (to the right of Mathis and Ingram) visiting the set.

Late in the month Marcus Loew witnesses some important scenes being shot during his stay in the West. (Source: Motion Picture News, 06/11/20.)

Never work with children or animals? In TFHotA Ingram did both!

According to the same edition, by this point (the end of October/start of November), Rex Ingram has been directing the Battle of the Marne scenes for a fortnight.

NOTE: according to MOVING PICTURE WORLD, in their issue on the 30th, Ingram himself expected to take just one week to film the battle scenes. With 5,000 people correctly dressed. And with all of the necessary equipment.

November

Filming concludes

On November the 13th, it’s announced that Metro are planning to work with Composer Louis [F.] Gottschalk. (Source: EXHIBITORS HERALD.)

On November the 15th The Los Angeles Times reveals that filming of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse has finally concluded. And that all that remains is for the allegorical scene to be shot.

On November the 20th, more details emerge about the collaboration between Metro and Louis Ferdinand Gottschalk, the Great Nephew of Louis Moreau Gottschalk. Gottschalk, already experienced at creating music for films (with D. W. Griffith and others), will compose totally original music, to accompany the action from start to finish.

It’s likely that well before the end of the month of November cutting (or editing) has begun. If the cafe/dive bar scene was viewed as early as August, no doubt this was an ongoing process; and, for speed, selections were made as the shooting rolled along.

The 14 individual cameras, shooting from varied angles, sometimes all at the same time, have captured approximately 500,000 feet of film; an amount which would obviously take a long time to view. 18 or so days, it’s estimated, or 2/3rds of a whole month, at the rate of 8 hours per day

December

At the start of the month, Metro Pictures Corp. reveal, in a press statement, some interesting facts about the production. As follows:

Ingram

Rex Ingram is reported as having stated, that producing The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse on the West Coast, has meant that it cost half what it would, had it been produced on the East Coast. An announcement which was expected to encourage producers to remain in California. (Source: the LOS ANGELES EVENING HERALD, 20/12/20.)

NOTE: Ingram doesn’t appear to credit Mathis and her shooting on paper method with helping to keep costs lower than they may’ve been. ($800,000.)

On December the 22nd a film poster design competition is announced. The first prize is $500. And the closing date is January the 15th, 1921.

In their December 25th edition EXHIBITORS HERALD profiles 27-year-old Rex Ingram. The tone he strikes is a modest one. And he alludes to seeking one day to give up directing to be a Sculptor.

On December the 31st a large advert. appears in VARIETY that puts Ingram front and centre. (See above.)

For the entire month the film has been in the hands of the cutters and editors. Exactly when cutting commenced is unknown. Likewise when it concluded. Yet commence and conclude it did.

1921

January

Cutting/editing continues

Rex Ingram with Grant Whytock.

Across the United States and the World publicity begins to appear for what will be promoted as A Million-Dollar Screen Production. Meanwhile cutting continues.

NOTE: the Editor, Grant Whytock, will produce three negatives; from which the prints will be created.

At some point, either late in December, or, at the start of the month, June Mathis and Bayard Veiller “clash” at the West Coast studio. A clash that’s been brewing since his instalment as Western Chief of Production the previous year. (Source: VARIETY.)

On January the 12th, Mathis and Ingram depart for New York, with “the first completed print” of the film. (They will spend approximately six weeks in the city.)

On January the 16th Wid’s DAILY devotes it’s front page to The Four Horsemen… and to Ibanez. Stating the novel has so far sold about one and a half million copies in the USA. And that an estimated four and a half million citizens have read it.

Rudolph Valentino is featured with Alice Terry, and what appears to be Virgina Warwick, in an advert. for Victrola, in PICTURE-PLAY MAGAZINE. (See above.) Charles Carter’s text makes much of his dancing in the film and provides a thumb nail sketch of his life up to that point.

On January the 29th Camera! reports that The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is expected to be ready by February.

February

On February the 5th it’s revealed that The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse will be presented at the Astor Theatre from February the 20th. This doesn’t happen. (Source: Motion Picture News.)

The same report details how a print is being sent to Vicente Blasco Ibanez, in Southern France, via London; where it will first be viewed by Metro’s British Distributor, Sir William Jury, of Jury Imperial Pictures.

Hugo Riesenfeld.

On Monday, February the 7th, it’s reported that there will be a private screening of the film, at the Ritz Carlton hotel in New York, on Thursday, February the 10th. This preview is to present it to the East Coast executives and to detect any issues that require fixing. (The presentation is staged by Hugo Riesenfeld.)

On February the 17th, it’s announced in Wid’s DAILY, that The Four Horsemen… will begin an indefinite run at the Lyric Theater, on March 7th, 1920.

Ingram’s ‘Four Horsemen’ A Pictorial Triumph

On February the 20th Wid’s DAILY reviews the film. On the whole the review is favourable, with just a couple of intelligent criticisms. About the dance scene the Reviewer says the following:

“… the tango dance in the slums of Buenos Aires; possibly the best dance ever put in pictures…”

March

The New York Premiere and the L. A. premiere

On Friday, March the 4th, Wid’s DAILY reports that the opening of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse has been brought forward, to Sunday, March the 6th, 1921. And that the top priced tickets for the premiere are $10 each. ($145.00 or so in 2020/2021.)

On Sunday March the 6th, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse premieres at the Lyric Theater, New York. According to VARIETY, on the 11th, “the house was jammed.” (Once more the presentation is managed by Hugo Riesenfeld, who, according to VARIETY, clothes it: “… with artistic musical and vocal features.”)

NOTE 1: it would seem that compositions created under contract by Louis F. Gottschalk were framed/arranged by Riesenfeld. (Oddly Gottschalk’s name isn’t mentioned.)

NOTE 2: June Mathis cables Rudolph Valentino to tell him of the success of the film on the East Coast. (Source: Natacha Rambova.)

$4,500 – $65,000 currently – is taken on both the Monday and the Tuesday. And $10,000 – $145,000 currently – in advance bookings on the Wednesday.

On March the 7th and 8th, the first proper screenings, approximately 1,500 people are turned away on both days, as the theatre fills to capacity.

However, on March the 7th, an anonymous Reviewer, writing for the New York Tribune, is matter-of-fact. The “long heralded film” was more or less literally translated and lacked the smoothness of the magic story-telling in the original. The best moments, while worthwhile, were isolated and sporadic. And it was the Beast and the quartet of horsemen that were the “outstanding feature”. The musical accompaniment heightening their effectiveness. Further:

“It is a spectacle first and foremost. The human interest is secondary.”

On the same day, in the THE NEW YORK HERALD, another unknown Writer present is more laudatory. For them the money spent had delivered a: “… memorably successful picture.” With: “… the shimmer of actual life …. and the pulse of battle…” The attention to detail was noted. And the audience reaction – regular applause – recorded. The Reviewer particularly enjoyed Valentino’s portrayal of Julio. (Finding him a natural and forceful actor who looked Argentinian.) And felt the direction of the many cast members by Ingram to be masterful. Further:

“Though somewhat protracted toward the end, it meets the threefold demands on a picture—dramatically, scenically and pictorially—keeping the emotions strung up until the final rush from the theatre.”

Interior images of The Mission Theatre, L. A.

On Wednesday, March the 9th, at 8:30 p. m., The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921) has its West Coast premiere, at the Mission Theater, at Broadway, Los Angeles. For the entire day the medium-sized venue is closed, to prepare for what would be termed, a “gala performance”, by the LOS ANGELES EVENING HERALD on March the 8th.

As well as “the 32 principals appearing in the picture”, the gala performance is attended by “stars, directors and officials of the film industry”, and members of the general public. Rudolph Valentino is accompanied by Natacha Rambova who later recalled the following:

“When that evening came, every star in the Hollywood firmament gathered at the theater, an impressive audience, yet many, I knew, had come to scoff and say, ‘I told you so!’ The picture colony was sceptical. The film had been made at unheard-of expense by a new, almost unknown director. With a woman at the head of it and an unknown actor in the lead, what could one expect of it. It would be the ruination of the Metro Co.

“During the running of the film not a sound could be heard in the theater, except here and there a stifled sob as the story unfolded. About the middle of the picture Rudy reached out and took hold of my hand, which he held tightly in his own until the end. I knew he wanted to feel that there was just some one who cared and understood. We were both weeping from mingled emotions—joy at success, which was now assured, and sorrow from the tragedy of the story.

“It was finished. A moment of hushed silence was followed by a thunder of applause. Rudy was almost swept off his feet by the crowd, who thronged to congratulate him, many of whom he did not know. It was spontaneous appreciation of a thing well done.

“But his one aim was to reach the door. He wanted to be alone. I understood. During the ride to my bungalow I don’t think a word was spoken—just a brief ‘Good night’—and he left me for his own bleak little apartment.”


I want to thank you for reading this Timeline through to its conclusion — no small feet, it must be said. I hope that it’s been as enjoyable to peruse as it was to compile; filled, as it is, with interesting nuggets, some old, some new, but all throwing light on one of the greatest films ever created. Most sources are included in the text or added as a link. However, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask them and I’ll do my best to answer. See you again in February!

The 2020 Classic Literature On Film Blogathon

Blogathon

Wonderful it is, to be invited to contribute to the April 3rd to 5th, 2020 Classic Literature On Film Blogathon, hosted by Paul, from Silver Screen Classics. As His Fame Still Lives is focused monthly on Rudolph Valentino, it’ll come as no surprise that it’s one of his films that’s the subject. Which one? Well, read on and see!

It’s amazing, considering his on-screen persona, that Rudolph Valentino appeared in only two motion pictures that were adaptations of great classic works. After all, this was a Twenties Super Star that veritably dripped with: emotion, romance, tragedy and history. All of his post fame vehicles – there were fourteen in total – are seemingly crammed, at least in our minds, with everything that makes a written work eternally appealing; which, according to Esther Lombardi, is: “… love, hate, death, life, and faith…” In visual terms, we think of him classically — in fact, he was promoted thus. Astride a horse. On a throne. Brandishing a rapier. Masked. With Terry, Ayres, Swanson, Lee, Naldi, Daniels, D’Algy and Banky in his arms. Ageless, spine-tingling, resonant, reverberating imagery.

And yet, as I stated, just a pair. And from the same company and unleashed in the same year. Of these two productions, The Conquering Power (1921), based on Eugenie Grandet (1833) by Honore de Balzac, and Camille (1921), based on La Dame aux Camelias (1848) by Alexandre Dumas fils (both, incidentally, modern interpretations), I choose the latter. Not only is it, in my opinion, the better tale, it’s also the superior movie. And, as it has at it’s heart, as the Star and Anti-Heroine, the distinct, larger-than-life Silent Era personality, Alla Nazimova, it guarantees to be something of an information confetti bomb. (NOTE: while it’s true that the basis for, The Eagle (1925), Alexander Pushkin’s Dubrovsky (1841), is of the classic period, I don’t include it, due to it not only being an unfinished work, but also, because Pushkin wasn’t a novelist of the stature of either Balzac and Dumas fils. Also, it hasn’t reached the same heights, in terms of adaptation; as a ballet, an opera, or a play, for example.)

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It was on Page Six of their Saturday, December 18th, 1920 edition, that Camera! THE DIGEST OF THE MOTION PICTURE INDUSTRY revealed, in a brief sentence, that Alla Nazimova’s next vehicle for Metro Pictures Corp. was to be Camille. Her planned super-production, Aphrodite, based on the 1896 Pierre Louys novel, had been put to the side, and was expected to follow. According to the Star’s Biographer, Gavin Lambert, this change was due to the Director-General, Max Karger, being: “… shocked to discover just how perversely erotic and violent a movie…” had been outlined. Far more likely in my opinion is that it was shelved simply because Famous Players-Lasky/Paramount had secured “world rights” twelve months previously. Besides, a tale based on the brief life of a consumptive Prostitute, who’d died in Paris, in 1847, wasn’t exactly Sunday School territory. (Lynn Gardner’s excellent 2003 look at Dumas fils’ inspiration can be enjoyed here.)

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Rudolph Valentino’s second Wife Natacha Rambova.

Regardless of the reasons that La Dame aux Camelias was settled on – most likely at the suggestion of June Mathis – there’s little doubt the great Diva Nazzy sought to revive her flagging film career. To this end, it was seemingly decided, early in production, that the adaptation would break with previous picturizations (of which there had already been many), by being set in the then present day. And, that it would also, as Michael Morris points out in his biography of Natacha Rambova, Madam Valentino: The Many Lives of Natacha Rambova (1991), “… reflect the latest developments in European architectural and fashion design.” Something which wouldn’t only assist with promoting the motion picture, but also: “… foster in American film audiences a greater appreciation for art itself.” Nazimova’s other means of refreshing herself, was to secure a Leading Man of note, namely: Rudolph Valentino.

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Valentino during the shooting of Uncharted Seas (1921).

Valentino, who’d already completed work on the The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921), the yet-to-be released Metro Pictures Corp. film that would make him a Star, was busy filming Uncharted Seas (1921), when he was brought to the attention of his future Wife. A moment she described in detail, exactly a decade later, in her serialized look at his life and career, and their life together: The Truth About Rudolph Valentino. ‘Mlle. Rambova’, who’d been been tasked, by Nazimova, with the design of both the costumes and the sets of Camille, hadn’t failed to notice her future Husband around the studio. Known to all as ‘The Wop’, he was an: “… aggressive, affable young man …. who, with his friend Paul, a young Serbian cameraman, was always under foot, determined to be seen.” (Natacha later heard from him that he’d bet Paul (Ivano) she would notice him one day. And that her chilliness and remoteness was a challenge.) Further:

“The introduction finally came while Mme. Nazimova, whose [Art Director] I was, was searching for a leading man. For weeks she had been combing Hollywood for the proper Armand for her “Camille.” Dozens of aspirants had applied, but something was wrong with each of them, until we had well nigh despaired of a hero. Then June Mathis, who had written the script of “Four Horsemen,” told us of the young Italian who had played Julio in that picture and whom she considered a genuine find. She suggested we give him a trial. Without much hope, we agreed to look him over.

One day, in Hollywood, the door of my office opened to admit Nazimova, followed by a bulky figure dressed in fur from head to foot. I had a glimpse of dark, slanting eyes between brows and lashes white with mica, the artificial snow of the camera world. Down his face perspiration was streaming in rivers, to complete the ruin of his makeup. The effect was not impressive. Here, I thought, is the very worst yet.”

Rambova goes on the explain how the “polar bear” shook her hand (a little too firmly), “apologized for his appearance”, and revealed that he’d been standing in the sun for two long hours “making close-ups of an Arctic scene”. Before dashing back, he asked her to: ‘Please say a good word for me to madame.’ Despite having noticed his “dazzling smile”, and having received, before his departure, a click of the heels and a polite bow, Natacha continued to be sceptical; that is, until they were forced together to see if anything could be done about his “patent-leather” hair. As she revealed later in the relevant installment: “The Armand of our script was an unsophisticated French boy from the provinces, who certainly had never seen hair pomade.” After much protestation, Rudy was persuaded to shampoo his locks, and then further persuaded to have his hair curled. “When finished the effect was not so bad.” Natacha explains. Adding: “Madame was delighted and even Rudy grew amenable when he saw the result of the screen tests. There was nothing he loved like characterization; to be all dressed up for a part fired his romantic imagination. It was agreed he should be our new leading man.”

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With June Mathis.

Rudolph Valentino certainly had before him a great opportunity to become a character and to be dressed up. Likewise, there’s no doubt that, despite her waning popularity, the chance to work with the legendary Nazimova was indeed a once-in-a-life-time one. One which would enable him to improve himself, as well as to rise up a level in the business. Did Alla – Peter or Mimi to her friends – communicate to him what she communicated to Gladys Hall and Adele Whitely Fletcher in late 1921? That she’d planned never to portray the Lady of the Camellias until she had: “… forgotten how she had seen ‘Camille’ played.”? It’s hard to say. Certainly, she knew in him, as we see when we view it, that she’d found the sort of Armand Duval that her persona, Marguerite Gautier, could love. Yet, if she thought that she could overshadow the rising Star, and make him secondary to her, she was very much mistaken.

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Camille (1921) commences with beautiful opening titles that immediately set the tone. The Camellia bordered text, after informing us METRO PRESENTS Nazimova, tells us, upfont, that it’s a modernized version. And then, after revealing that it’s Directed by Ray Smallwood, give us, one-by-one, the names of the triumvirate of women in reality responsible for the film. The Writer, June Mathis; the Art Director, Natasha Rambova; and the Star Producer, Nazimova. Interestingly, the tight cast of nine is headed by Valentino, as his name appears first in the list, followed by the other principals. Portrayed by: Rex Cherryman, Arthur Hoyt, Zeffie Tilbury, Patsy Ruth Miller, Elinor Oliver, William Orlamond and Consuelo Flowerton. With Alla’s main character, strangely, at the very end. If this was purposefully done, due to Rudolph’s fame by the time of release, or, was because he’s the first of the two main players to appear, is hard to say. Either way, it’s symbolic of her coming tumble from the top. (It could be that the version accessed was the later re-issue.)

After explanatory and scene-setting titles, the camera iris opens on an astonishing and eye-catching, fluid, marbled theatre staircase, apparently partly inspired by the style of Hans Poelzig’s recently completed, The Great Playhouse, in Berlin. At least two hundred extras descend the staggering construction. And soon we’re zooming in on Armand Duval and his good friend, Gaston Rieux; played, respectively, by Rudolph Valentino and Rex Cherryman. The pair chit-chat part of the way down as their fellow theatregoers pass them by.

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Madame Alla, in a striking Fin de siecle, Beardsleyesque design, by Rambova.

We next see La Dame aux Camellias, Alla Nazimova, as she passes through an archway at the top of the steps, and pauses by the marbled parapet surrounded by men. An intertitle tells us: She was a useless ornament—a plaything—a bird of passage—a momentary aurora. This is an important moment already, as, when Camille is spotted by Gaston, and then by Armand, his friend, we see the instant fascination of the naive provincial with the decorative, and plainly worldly Marguerite. We also see Nazimova’s main character dressed in a striking, sheer, Aubrey Beardsleyesque, long-sleeved coat, covered in flowers, with a dramatic and over-long train, that appears to be edged with fur at its end.

When introduced on the staircase Marguerite is playfully dismissive of the – to her eyes and to ours – guileless new comer. As is her nature, she toys with him. And, after hearing that he’s a Law Student utters her first discernible line: “A law student? He’d do better to study love!” Armand is visibly pained, and yet remains so irresistably drawn to her, that, when the next character introduced reveals that the departing Camille will be hosting a supper party, he requests they go, which they do.

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In a review, in the December edition of Motion Picture Magazine, Adele Whitely Fletcher declared, that she believed the settings: “… detracted from the characters and the action.” And it can be said, that the next scene, the party, is probably the best example of this competition between the decor and the players. The iris expands, this time, on the entry vestibule of Marguerite’s up-to-the-minute abode. And through a shimmery, see-through curtain, we see the Hostess and her animated guests arriving. After the curtain is parted, and they all pass through, we’re in the reception room; a space which forces the eye to move from the piano, to a pouf, to a rug, to an arch, to a day-bed, then back again, as the invitees enter before depositing themselves. (Rambova’s creativity hasn’t, however, yet run riot!)

Screenshot (1741)

Alla’s Marguerite escapes her pursuer (Hoyt’s Count), after being framed, nicely, in the largest arch of all, the dramatic, glass-doored entrance to her boudoir. Once inside, she manages to have a brief rest – her Servant, Nanine, tells her she’s ill and needs to call a Doctor – before the arrival of Rudy’s Armand, Rex’s Gaston and Tilbury’s Prudence. She initially looks exhausted, as she surely is, however, her look into the mirror, suggests an individual trapped, and unable to escape the whirl and tired of it. Yet emerge she must, and she does so, ready to entertain those gathered — something she’s clearly done many times before. Here, I love how she casually flicks the switch that instantly brings to life all of the decorative lights that edge the third archway; which is how a seated area, immediately to be put to use, is accessed. For me, the switched-on lights echo the way in which she switches on her own inner illumination, before exiting her bedroom.

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The glassed-in alcove, with its food and drink laden tables, is where action is focused for the next few minutes. Armand, Gaston and Prudence arrive in a subdued manner, which contrasts nicely with the earlier, much more numerous arrivals. The party’s in full swing already as Marguerite rises to greet the trio. Then, learning that the muted and nervous Duval is crazy about her, she’s once more flippant. Saying to him, as she’d said already to her Lover, the Comte de Varville: “Not until you put a jewel in my hand.”

The supper party continues. Camille is frivolously solicitous of Armand, much to the distaste of the Count, who throws down his napkin angrily. Gaston, meanwhile, behaves like an expectant pet with Prudence, who denies him a forkfull of food at the last minute. To placate the unhappy Count, Marguerite Gautier rises from the seat she shares with the smitten youth, stands tall and breaks into a tributary, but unsatisfactory rhyme. Both the wording and her subsequent behaviour fail to alter the mood of her Sponsor. And, as she drains dry her glass, we see the fuming Count and the puzzled, confused Student Lawyer to her right. Two pathways: the current and the future.

An autobiographical song from the Hostess follows, which is interrupted by the arrival of Pasty Ruth Miller’s, Nichette; who, we discover, thanks to an intertitle: “… used to work in the dressmaking shop with Marguerite.” Alla and Patsy Ruth’s series of kisses on the lips are noteworthy here. As is her defending of her, against the really rather pathetic/sweet onslaught of Rex, as Gaston. Who, despite his drunken state, realises he needs to be more considerate and polite. (A look, here, between Cherryman and Miller, is all we need to see to know that something will develop between them.)

Next, both the intoxicated Gaston and the infatuated Armand are prevented, by Camille, from departing. The Hostess dances with Armand’s friend (much to the annoyance of the Count). The others occupy themselves. Then, the opening of a window, for air, induces a serious coughing fit, and Marguerite’s forced to retreat to her bedroom. Armand sees that she’s unwell and watches powerless. He approaches a drunken Prudence and says: “She is ill!” However, Prudence isn’t concerned, and tells him that: “She is always ill. Just when we are enjoying ourselves on comes that cough and our fun is spoiled!”

Feeling forced to act, Armand enters her sanctuary, and moves towards her once inside. It’s here, while outside the others distract the irate Count, by playing Blind Man’s Buff with him, that we have some of the most important exchanges between to two. Armand entreats her to allow him to call for help. Camille begs to differ. And warns him about who and what she is. Telling him to: “… forget that we have ever met.” At this he throws himself at her feet, saying, plaintively: “I wish I were a relative—your servant—a dog—that I might care for you—nurse you—make you well!” Again, Marguerite attempts to dissuade him, but fails. She accepts that he’s the key that unlocks the door to her prison cell.

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It all reaches a terrific, dramatic peak, when Count de Varville finally breaks free from captivity, and bursts into Marguerite Gautier’s room, to discover her entwined with the young Law Student. He rages. She rages. While Armand Duval looks on, clearly pleased that she’s found the courage to break her chains, and to take control of her destiny. In a trice the partygoers – she calls them a “sponging pack” – are leaving. Allowing them to be alone together. And to enjoy a somewhat awkward embrace and kiss on which the iris this time closes.

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The next, middle section of the film, is simpler, less artificial and almost dreamlike. We see the happy couple in an orchard in the countryside. (It’s plain that living away from the capital is agreeing with Camille.) Armand has bought and brought to Marguerite, the gift of a book; an antique leather-bound copy of Antoine Francois Prevost’s, Manon Lescaut, a story of doomed lovers. She asks him to inscribe it for her, and then to read it out loud, which he does. Which then leads to an extended imagining of action in the novel, almost a film within a film, with Alla Nazimova as Manon Lescaut, and Rudolph Valentino as Chevalier des Grieux. Except, that the imaginings are spoiled by Camille suffering a presentiment, where she sees herself and Armand as the cursed couple.

After being joined by the newly engaged Gaston and Nichette, who perhaps present to us an alternative, less unlucky union, the action moves from Spring to Summer. Marguerite is living quietly in a conventional house – in sin or not we can’t know – and preparing to sell her belongings, in Paris, to provide sufficient funds for her future. Prudence, who’s visiting her, presents a gift of fresh Camellias with the Comte de Varville’s card inside of the box. Yet Camille isn’t impressed. And tells her to: “Take them back to Paris, Prudence! They have no place in this house!” Prudence is then unsuccessful in trying to make her see sense, and return to her old, more certain if less free existence. An existence, for all its serious restraints, that will soon be seen to be more solid and dependable, than the one which has been hastily fashioned with her Student Lawyer Amour.

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William Orlamond as Monsieur Duval.

The arrival of William Orlamond’s Monsieur Duval, the Father of Armand Duval, is the point at which we see the bubble pricked with a pin. In a nutshell, the Parent requests that the Courtesan relinquish her hold over his son. Telling Marguerite: that the future happiness of both his children is at stake, due to the scandal created by her becoming involved with Armand. Learning, from him, that his daughter’s imminent marriage is in jeopardy, she seeks some way out, and suggests disappearing for a while. When this isn’t found to be acceptable, she falls to her knees, to beg that Armand not be taken from her. Yet she is answered by the Father with: “There is no future for your love—you must give him up!”

I’d say, that within the confines of this drawing room, constructed at the Metro Pictures Corp. plant, for the purposes of the movie, we get a very good idea of Nazimova’s style of performing on the stage; and see, I believe, her best acting in the entire film. How she moves about simply in her plain house dress, carefree, and focused on a new life. How she deals with the irritation of the Intruder Prudence. How she expects the arrival of Armand in the automobile and hides childishly and excitedly under a blanket. How she reacts when she sees that it’s not him but his Parent. And how she battles the inevitable, and finally accepts there’s no way forward, only the way back to who she was and is. We also see fine early acting on the part of Valentino; who arrives at the residence recently abandoned by Marguerite, and discovers her note, written in on the Count’s calling card in tiny but clear handwriting. (In a nice touch their cars pass on the road in the rain.)

In Part Three of her revelatory 1930 serialization, The Truth About Rudolph Valentino, By Natacha Rambova, His Wife, Natacha explained to her readers how Rudy prepared for an emotional scene, particularly during the creation of Camille (1921). As follows:

“I remember particularly one scene in ‘Camille,’ the high point of the picture. It is where Armand, grief-stricken by Camille’s death, rushes to her apartment, where an auction is being held of all her private things. Here he sees and bids on a book he had given her years ago and which she had kept until the last.

Before doing this scene Rudy asked if he might go away by himself for a moment; then he returned and the camera started clicking. It wasn’t interrupted once. When the scene was finished tears were streaming down the face of every one of us, from director to prop boy. As for Rudy, later, I found him in a chair behind the set, head buried in his arms weeping like a child. This wasn’t make believe grief but real emotion.”

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Consuelo Flowerton.

That a change is wrought in Armand Duval, is apparent immediately the camera iris expands on the Hazard d’Or; which an intertitle’s informed us, is: “… the smartest gaming place in Paris.” It’s now Autumn, and we see him gambling, immaculately dressed, his hair slicked, and with a beautiful girl on his arm. The female, named Olympe, brilliantly portrayed by Consuelo Flowerton (of the Ziegfeld Follies Spring Frolic of 1920), clings to him in a vampish manner. Another intertitle explains that she is: “… a new Daughter of Chance, whose golden beauty bade fair to rival ‘the Lady with the Camellias.'” And we believe it!

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Natacha Rambova’s interior of the Hazard d’Or casino.

It’s here that we should pause to consider what’s certainly Natacha Rambova’s most incredible interior. The dark, light-absorbing concave room, features, again, a series of arches that draw the eye. The central arch is a performance space, or mini stage, that’s covered by a cobweb scrim, behind which exotically dressed females perform strangely. Above, is another, smaller arch, where a group of African American musicians busily play their instruments; no doubt cranking-out Jazz. And the arches to the left and right are curtained with a gorgeous semi-sheer material that features iridescent woven leaves.

It’s through the right-hand curtained archway, that the Count and Camille enter the space and pause. De Varville points out to Marguerite her former lover at the gaming table. And wickedly says to her: “Look at your broken hearted lover!” This first view of Duval for months is too much, particularly when Armand sees that she sees him, and lays his hand, sensually, on Olympe’s bared back. The close-up of Alla Nazimova is filtered and strongly lit. Yet we see her pain. And then she covers her face with her beautiful feather fan. While the Comte de Varville descends the steps into the sunken room, to place bets and gamble, she retires behind the curtain, just as she did, earlier, at her home.

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Sometime after, needing a break from the table (where he’s been enjoying a serious run of luck), Armand Duval parts the curtain behind which Marguerite Gautier is resting, and gets a shock, when he sees her alone and seated there. She, in turn, is startled, as she senses a presence and turns and sees him standing. What follows now is pure Silent Era acting. And from two of the greatest screen personalities of the period. The pair must convey, without words, what they think and feel, and they do. The few words spoken are provided as intertitles. But we barely need them, so perfectly do Nazimova and Valentino express themselves with movements, gestures and facial expressions alone.

Screenshot (1912)

Despite toing and froing, and Armand’s desperate attempt to win her back, Camille can’t find the strength to go against her promise to his Father. When she says aloud that she promised she wouldn’t be with him, he believes her to be talking about a promise to the Count, and demands that she: “Say that you love him and I will leave Paris forever!” With deep regret and without feeling she says exactly that. He then drags her out of her hiding place and into the gaming room and denounces her. Humiliating her further by tossing his winnings in her face — a sensational moment, perhaps the most sensational in the entire picture. After a brief flicker of remorse he declares he’s through with her and with Paris and departs. Allowing the Comte de Varville to move-in, and to claim and kiss openly, and triumphantly, Olympe, Marguerite’s successor.

We’re now presented with the extended death of Alla Nazimova’s Marguerite Gautier, known also, as Camille and the Lady of the Camellias. To modern eyes, certainly to mine, this is a somewhat static, and undoubtedly indulgent section. (And for some at the time it was as well.) The passing of nearly 100 years hasn’t made Nazimova’s preferred ending – going totally against the actual written conclusion – any more sympathetic or powerful. In fact, it’s done the exact opposite. And yet, it’s what it is, and must be accepted as it is, and seen in the context of the times. (For a lot of cinemagoers it would resonate a great deal, many of them having watched loved ones die, similarly, in the recent Flu epidemic. And tears were no doubt shed in that more sentimental time.)

Camille

For ten minutes, prone, in her stylish bed, Camille approaches the end of her life. While Nanine, her faithful Servant, attempts to make that end as comfortable as she’s able. Yet, Nanine is powerless to keep at bay a group of bailiffs, who represent her creditors and have arrived to satisfy a Court Order. Thus Marguerite is subjected to a final humiliation when they arrive to look over, assess, catalogue and remove her earthly belongings, so that they can be sold to pay-off her debts. To make the interminable exit more palatable we’re given a flash-forward, rather than a flash-back, of Armand receiving from Camille a heart-felt final epistle. And, after the cruelty of the bailiffs entering her room and their attempt to take every last thing from her, including the copy of Manon Lescaut, given to her by Armand, she’s visited by a distraught but tender Gaston and Nichette, who’ve just married that day. Already in a state of delirium, The Lady of the Camellias utters some final, coherent words: “Do not weep, Gaston. The world will lose nothing. I was a useless ornament—a plaything—a momentary aurora.” Surrounded by the pair of newlyweds and Nanine she then expires; while gently calling out the name of Armand, and seeing himself and herself as they were during their affair.

1923ad
An ad. for the 1923 re-release that demonstrates Alla’s change of status.

It was, perhaps, the review in the September 24th, 1921 edition, of industry title, Motion Picture News, that best summed-up the starring vehicle at the time. Lawrence Reid, the reviewer, was forthright and upfront about the fact that the great Nazimova had: “… come into her own again with this modern version of Dumas’ tragedy of passion.” And had been given “a picture worthy of her expression” by June Mathis. An adaptation that was: “… intact except for the final ending.” Reid believed this to be a flaw and said so. In his review, he wonders about the reason; if it was “the shadow of censorship”, or maybe “recourse to a happier ending”, not knowing that it was, in fact, a conscious decision on the part of the Star, to diminish the impact of her co-Star and make herself the centre of attention. (Something others in the business heard of and communicated.) Yet, despite his powerful and moving performance being edited out, Lawrence Reid saw that Rudy had acted his heart out — and said so. As follows: “She is forced, however, to share honors in many of the scenes, with Rudolph Valentino, who demonstrates that the art he flashed in ‘The Four Horsemen’ was not a thing of the moment. He makes Armand a brooding, silent volcano of love who suppresses his desires until the supreme moment. His restraint is highly commendable.” (Watching it through it’s hard to argue.)

Camille1

I fail to agree with the assessment, in Episode Six of Hollywood (1980), that: “The most impressive thing about Camille was its sets.” Impressive though they most definitely were, and highly talented and ahead-of-her-time Rambova absolutely was, there’s so very much more to the production. Noteworthy, alone-and-by-itself, is the fact that this was a realization driven along by three ambitious women, and in a period when very few females were able to steer anything at all in the film-making sphere. The acting of both Nazimova and Valentino, is, at many points, as already detailed, superb, and very representative of the skill of performing in a silent super feature at that time. And the supporting players – Rex Cherryman, Zeffie Tilbury, William Orlamond, and Consuelo Flowerton, particularly – are exemplary in my opinion. Of course it’s a period piece. Of course it’s not the greatest of the great silents. Of course it lacks not only the original tinting but also its original music. And yet it stands the test of time. Still entertains. Still moves us and makes us marvel. What bland, derivative, churned-out contemporary creations are going to be able to do that a century from now? Very few!


First of all I want to thank you for reading this 5,000 word post through from start to finish. I hope that it’s been as enjoyable to read as it was to research and write. This contribution, to the April 3rd to 5th, 2020 Classic Literature On Film Blogathon, will be followed by another diversionary piece, before I return, in May, to Jean Acker. I hope you’ll join me for that, later in the month, and I urge you, in the meantime, to check-out the other contributors to this marvellous exercise, at Silver Screen Classics, here: https://silverscreenclassicsblog.wordpress.com/