As drug-related buzz and the hint of homosexuality also surfaced, Taylor was given a military funeral planned by the director’s association. Frank Lloyd, ever a loyal friend, was a pallbearer. Almost one hundred years later, theories about the mysterious murder continue to emerge and the case remains unsolved.
While Taylor’s murder investigation dragged along, Lloyd continued delivering popular films with a passion for accuracy. Known for his dry wit and eye for detail, he firmly believed in getting things right:
We spend hours discussing how a flag is hung in a certain country, in order to get it absolutely correct, because if we don’t some observing, fault-finding person is apt to notice that it is wrong and criticize us for it. The result of the whole thing is that as nearly as possible these little things which are characteristic of other lands, or other times, are correct, and the fan is absorbing, without knowing it, perhaps, the knowledge it has taken us so much pains to dig up.
Like Frank Lloyd, movie director John Malcolm Stahl also began his stage career as a teenager. Born in New York on January 21, 1886, his father was a successful businessman. Stahl quit school and ran away from home to join a touring theatrical company. For the next fourteen years, he played in theaters throughout the country and when he wasn’t performing on stage, he took his turn at directing.
By 1914, Stahl was back in New York directing his first movie. The Boy and The Law (1914) starred youth advocate Judge Willis Brown and the young Canadian musical prodigy William Eckstein as themselves. Over the next several years, Stahl worked for various New York film companies sharpening his skills. He wrote as well as directed many of his films. His first major release was Suspicion (1918) featuring Boston-born Warren Cook, a popular silent screen character actor. In between films, Stahl married his wife, Irene, and by 1920, the couple had moved to Hollywood where he worked for producer Louis B. Mayer.
Stahl was a Mayer favorite due to the morally upright and emotion-packed films he created. Known for his personal dramatics, Stahl usually wore a coat draped over his shoulders and almost always leaned on a walking stick. If he wanted to speak to someone, he just “hooked” them in with his cane. According to screenwriter Sheridan Gibney:
[Stahl] was trying to imitate David Belasco. He thought he was a magician—hypnotizing everybody.… He amused people. But he did have a way of getting what he wanted.
Stahl’s assistant, Margaret Booth, had been a film “patcher” with D.W. Griffith. There, she learned the mechanics of splicing and editing film. It was Stahl, however, who showed her how to cut film for dramatic impact and timing. She admitted that Stahl was a perfectionist and often a difficult taskmaster, but always credited him for her legendary success in the cutting room.
After his popular film The Child Thou Gavest Me (1921), featuring a young Lewis Stone, was released, Stahl shared his thoughts on current filmmaking:
We are at the stage in pictures where everything depends on character. This is not a new thing. In fact, it has always been the prevailing factor in drama.… Only by making your situation and your plot grow out of your people can you really succeed in making your drama real.
Best known for his emotionally charged melodramas, Stahl was also a man with a plan—or at least a director who thought ahead. Before filming, he pre-rehearsed every scene with miniature sets and characters made of cardboard. Based on these pre-rehearsals, Stahl would take detailed notes concerning camera angles and actors’ movements making any necessary changes to the miniatures before completing the actual set construction. Working out the kinks beforehand was a cost-effective method of ensuring that the filming itself would run smoothly.
One journalist in the Los Angeles Times believed that Stahl’s success was largely due to the “mature” characters and storylines he presented rather than the youthful “flapperism” that seemed to prevail on-screen. His greatest films, however, were destined for sound unlike Fred Niblo who scored multiple blockbuster epics under the silent system.
When Fred Niblo deserted the boards and joined the ranks of Walsh, Lloyd and Stahl, Hollywood hit the jackpot. Not only did they gain a fine director with a polished stage presence, but also a man of wit combined with a little zigzag. He even had leadership experience resulting from his tenure as head of The White Rats.
Born Frederick Liedtke in York, Nebraska on January 6, 1874, he was the third of four children including eldest sister Clara, older brother Otto and little sister Vesta who debuted five years later. Fred was named after his German-born father who was a Union Captain during the Civil War and wounded in Gettysburg. He also held the office of Nebraska State Auditor in 1879. Fred’s mother, Annette, hailed from France and spoke several languages. According to one of Fred’s children, the couple had a rocky marriage and divorced in 1881.
Young Fred eventually traveled to New York where William Niblo hired the lad to work at his theatrical establishment, Niblo Gardens. Fred took to both the stage and the name, replacing Liedtke with Niblo for the rest of his life. By 1897, he was performing in musicals, dramas and comedies under his new name. He also appeared in minstrel and vaudeville shows where, known for his monologues, he was dubbed “The American Humorist.” He then joined George M. Cohan’s company as a manager and performer working closely with the famous foursome—George, his older sister, Josephine, and their parents, Jeremiah and Helen. Taking things a little further, Niblo also joined the family when he married Josephine in 1901. Their son, Fred, Jr., was born two years later.
The three Niblos traveled around the world performing throughout Europe. They visited such exotic places as Africa, Russia, Egypt and Rome snapping dramatic photographs and filming the unusual sites. One of the earliest entertainers to present travelogues, Niblo dazzled audience members with what became known as his “zigzag talks”—vagabond stories highlighted by never-before-seen visual aids. While introducing the amazed spectators to other parts of the world, he also made sure they had a good laugh:
All the Americans who travel abroad go to Scotland in the summer. In fact, Scotland is full of Americans in the summer, just as the Americans over here are full of Scotch in the winter.… Next I visited … the Eternal City. Talk about theaters. The world’s greatest theater was there. The monster Coliseum, where in the days of Nero a hundred thousand people gathered and the actors were the gladiators, fighting with the wild animals. Actors don’t fight with wild animals these days; they fight with their managers.…
In between shows and travel, he also found time to head up an early actors’ union known as The White Rats of America. This organization was founded in 1900 by a group of theatrical performers who came together to protect themselves against unfair wages and treatment. They borrowed their name from a similar British group known as The Water Rats. The membership even had a theme song called “The Emblem,” which touted their unity and reminded anyone who listened that “rats” spelled backwards is “star!”
By 1912, Niblo gave up his New York existence. Josephine was in poor health so the family sailed to Australia where they stayed for three years working and hoping her well-being would improve. Once back home, Niblo dabbled in the movies while Josephine grew weaker and finally succumbed to a bad heart in 1916 at the age of forty. Now a widower and single parent, Niblo returned to Australia where he reconnected with Aussie actress Enid Bennett whom he had met during a previous stay. He married her in 1918 and, after more than twenty years on the stage, Niblo took a permanent leap into films. Employed by the Thomas H. Ince Corporation, he directed The Marriage Ring (1918) starring his new wife.
Already well known and liked in the entertainment community, Niblo continued directing, but was often called upon to emcee various banquets, premieres, openings and dedications held in the movie colony. His easy stage style made him one of Hollywood’s favorite hosts and he remained adept at working a crowd no matter how rich and famous they were. Movies came and parties went until 1920. That’s when Douglas Fairbanks summoned Niblo to his United Artists’ kingdom where
Hollywood history was about to change with a capital “Z.”
Fred Niblo wasn’t the only director who had Civil War ties. Born in Christiansburg, Virginia on January 24, 1888, Henry Edmondson King was the grandson of a Confederate soldier who served under General Lee. His father, John, was a farmer and railroad attorney. After graduating from public school, King enrolled in Roanoke College. While still a student, he performed in blackface and found he liked the stage. He greatly disappointed many more conservative family members by joining the Empire Stock Company instead of the Methodist ministry, which they deemed a much more respectable occupation. His choice even caused a huge rift between his mother and aunt as he once explained:
By this time my father was dead and my mother and aunt had become mortal enemies, because my aunt had said that she was glad to see my dad dead, so he wouldn’t be able to see me in the theater.… As long as she lived, my mother was my greatest booster.
As a result, King toured around the country with several traveling troops working in theater, vaudeville, burlesque and even the circus. He never considered the movies because of his blue eyes. He thought they wouldn’t photograph well in the black and white format. That all changed when he went to an interview at the Lubin Company with actress Pearl White. While there, King was assured that due to advancing technology, blue eyes were no longer a problem on-screen, as the shading color contrast on the film was now sharper than it had ever been. By 1913, King was filming shorts beginning with A False Friend featuring actress Dorothy Davenport.
From Lubin, King moved on to the Balboa Amusement Company located in Long Beach, California. In addition to his acting duties, he began writing photoplays and providing suggestions about the filming itself. He came up with an idea to take several short shots—eight or ten frames long—to cover a brawl. The montage had never been done before and King had to show the film editor how to put it all together.
In 1915, King married actress Gypsy Abbott in Fort Worth, Texas. As a result, he gained not just a wife, but stepdaughter Ruth as well. That same year he also got his chance at directing in The Brand of Man (1915), but it wasn’t until he teamed up with child star Baby Marie Osborne in Little Mary Sunshine (1916) that he commanded attention. As director and star, he not only cornered the box office, but praise from the critics as well. After several “Baby” vehicles, King moved on to the American Film Manufacturing Company in Niles, California where he concentrated on directing. He worked with another young leading lady, Mary Miles Minter, and western star William Russell.
Two years later, King went to work for Thomas Ince and had his first major hit, 23½ Hours Leave (1919)—a comedy about soldiers who, just before heading to the battlefields of France, were granted furloughs. Despite his success, the studio manager fired King for going over budget. When Ince got wind of it, he fired the studio manager. King continued studio hopping until 1921 when he, along with matinée idol Richard Barthelmess and New York attorney Charles H. Duell founded their own company, Inspiration Pictures.
Inspiration’s film Tol’able David (1921) starred Barthelmess and was filmed near Christiansburg, Virginia, King’s birthplace. Based on a short story by author Joseph Hergesheimer, the plot centers on country boy David Kinemon who, after many tribulations, is forced to avenge his family and thereby become a man. The movie was an international hit and even won awards such as Photoplay magazine’s Gold Medal. Henry King’s status was elevated to director extraordinaire.
Like Frank Lloyd, King was also a pilot and preferred scouting locations by air and like most of his contemporaries, he dressed in the familiar military style. The austere riding boots and britches commanded authority. The look also distinguished the director from his troupe. King, however, once explained the practical side of the “uniform”:
At that time, San Fernando Valley was where most of the pictures were made. It was all sagebrush and sand and if you … walked around for a location out there, why you’d be torn to shreds up to your waist so it was a matter of self-preservation. They were forced to dress that way: the puttees, the riding britches and the open-throated shirt.…
Between the megaphone, the garb and the aura of authority, when it came to silent movies, there was no mistaking the men who called the shots.
Chapter Eight
HOW DID THEY DO THAT?
As flickers became more complex both dramatically and creatively, new technology was needed to accommodate the developing art form. Soon it wasn’t enough to just roll the film while people sneezed or kissed or gyrated. To keep spectators coming back for more, characters and stories had to be entertaining and rendered in an effective manner. Of course, some razzle-dazzle never hurt either. Early special effects using double exposures and miniatures, along with a little animation, was sure to leave the audience scratching their heads in amazement.
The controversial concepts of color and sound whispered their way around every studio. The color process was expensive and many believed that audience eyestrain would result. Who would want to leave the theater with tired, red eyes? Sound would be even more revolutionary. The studios would have to find a completely new way of working; movie theaters would have to be reconfigured; writers would be required to come up with snappy dialogue, which in turn actors would have to deliver, allowing story-lines to become even more complex and opening whole new frontiers as to the range of emotions films could convey. These were overwhelming ideas to an industry firmly entrenched in shades of gray and silence.
But determined men and women who believed that they were on to something had built the motion picture industry to its current state and were willing to push forward despite their critics. These revolutionaries weren’t afraid to take a chance. Like it or not, they realized that a ground-breaking art form had no room for complacency. Progressive changes found their way in through the unique skills and imagination of many technicians behind the scenes and studio heads at the forefront who were willing to take a risk. Their names may not be legendary, but their specialized accomplishments that resulted in a film’s awe-inspiring moments are hard to forget. These technicians and their mysterious knowledge base were well respected throughout the industry, giving them their own brand of Hollywood power.
In 1912, two Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) graduates and professors, Drs. Herbert Kalmus and Daniel Comstock, teamed up with W. Burton Wescott to form Kalmus, Comstack and Wescott—a cutting-edge engineering firm. By 1915, they were ready to take on the challenge of color and set up their first film laboratory in Boston inside a railroad car. The boxcar was outfitted with a photochemical laboratory, darkrooms and the most modern equipment needed to develop film. It even had a sign on top that proudly announced the extension of their original company: “Technicolor Motion Picture Corporation.” The “Techni” part was a reverential nod to Kalmus’ and Comstock’s alma mater.
The Technicolor team took their train to Jacksonville, Florida in 1917 where they filmed their first color movie, The Gulf Between starring Grace Darmond and Niles Welch. At that time, Technicolor consisted of only two color components—red and green. With Comstock acting as producer, the film was impressive, but definitely left room for improvement. Showing the movie was another matter. It required a special projector and according to Kalmus “an operator who was a cross between a college professor and an acrobat.”
As the team continued working toward improving their color process, influential members of the film community like Marcus Loew and the Schenck brothers noticed. By the time Technicolor released their next production, and the first color feature filmed in Hollywood, many enhancements were made. The Toll of the Sea (1922) starred Asian actress Anna May Wong, one of the few non-white actresses of the day, and did not require a special projector or an acrobat to run it. Chester Franklin directed the romantic drama while Technicolor engineer Joseph Arthur Ball manned the camera.
Ball was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts on August 16, 1894 to Elijah Ball who, at the time, was a baker, and his wife, Cla
ra Peterson, who was originally from Sweden. Named after his paternal grandfather, Ball was a middle child with two brothers, Robert, the eldest, born in 1892 and Theodore, the youngest, who came along in 1898. Robert served in the Great War as a First Lieutenant in the U.S. Army. The twenty-six-year-old soldier never came home. He died on June 20, 1918 from battle wounds and was buried in the Aisne-Marne American Cemetery located in Belleau, France.
After graduating from high school, the middle Ball attended MIT where he earned his degree. He took an engineering job with Kalmus, Comstock and Wescott—the same team that eventually turned into Technicolor. The group got into the motion picture business when they were asked to stop the flickers from flickering. After extensive research, Kalmus and company concluded that flickers would always flicker, but maybe they could be colorized, so the men changed their focus. Technicolor incorporated in 1915 with Kalmus as president and Comstock vice president.
Encouraged by their accomplishments with The Gulf Between (1917), the group knew they could do better. It took another five years, however, before their next color production was released, the aforementioned The Toll of the Sea, which was filmed under the watchful eye of producer Joseph M. Schenck. Hollywood was impressed, but there were still a couple of issues that needed fixing—the high cost of color film and its restricted hues. Color film ran about 27 cents per foot while standard nitrate film rang up at 8 cents—more than a 300 percent difference. Secondly, the color process itself remained limited to red and green—that elusive color blue was still at large.
By the time Ball took his turn behind the camera, he was a married man. He wed Isabel Osann on October 27, 1920 in Cambridge. Osann’s father, Bernard, came from Hamburg, Germany and eventually settled in the Chicago area where he was a highly regarded traveling salesman for the United States Envelope Company. Isabel’s older brother, Norman, graduated from the University of Wisconsin in 1912. He then furthered his education by enrolling in MIT’s Electrical Engineering Program and also became an instructor at the school before joining Kalmus, Comstock and Wescott in their new venture.
Bringing Up Oscar: The Story of the Men and Women Who Founded the Academy Page 10
