EXPRESSION.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 77, 31 March 1928, Page 7 (Supplement)

EXPRESSION.

FILM AND STAGE. A SUBTLE ART. (By G. EDITH BURTON.) Before the advent of the film play, "expression" was not the subtle art it is to-day. When a stage artist of either sex could "tell'' the audience what it was all about, the situations demanded much less expression, and certainly they got it. When Dolores wished the villian to cease hie unwelcome attentions, all she had to do was to flash her darkened eyes and shout in stentorian tones of the most virtuous virtue, "Unhand me, villain; my heart is in another's keeping," and there you were. No waiting for a printed explanation to flash across the screen—no panting and struggling maiden—shoulders heaving with emotion —no diabolical grin, no gritted teeth or snarling lips, and writhing body—just an ordinary Scotty-looking individual who kissed through a heavy moustache. "Very well my girl. You shall hear more of me anon." (Isn't anon a useful word—quite picturesque, and means about as much as "quate").

Or when Lorraine arrives at that point where she says with her whole soul in her eyes, "I have always loved you Brion," half her expression is put into her voice, and she does not require to make extravagant gestures of surrender. Also when honest John Strong says, "I'll tear the truth from your black heart," it is his "voice" which does most of the "tearing," and he refrains from shaking the other man's teeth down his throat a la film. Yet not for one moment would one suggest that in 1 those days we were quite without subtle art. Far from it. At once there arises a mind picture of George Titherage, probably the greatest artist New Zealand has ever been privileged to welcome, the stage's most perfect gentleman. He was one of the first of that school of perfectly natural acting, and his perfect art of expression was a revelation. So many artists use what a photographer would call '"full face" to express all their emotions. Titherage would grasp a mantelpiece, and present a back to his audience, a back which was a complete poem of expression. Or be would walk about a stage library or (study head sunk on chest-—such an air of oblivion that it was almost impossible to get "back to earth" at times to realise that you were indeed still sitting on a hard chair in the ordinary stalls.

One must laugh at exaggerated film expression at times. On the other hand this art has reached in many cases a very excellent pitch. Take the pictures of hands and feet—pictures devoted to these most expressive members alone. It was Lilian Gish I think, whose hands first received this distinction, and I believe it was first done when she made (what many think her best picture) "Hearts of the World." In the throes of dreadful anguish and anxiety, the "aching"' of those most expressive hands, was a touch of perfect artistry. In happier times, in loving, in soothing, in simple merriment, those hands made half the picture. This artistry has been copied by scores of lesser film stars, but not with very conspicuous success. Like Charlie Chaplin's boot?, they must be on the right feet, so the hands must "belong." Pictures of feet are not so happy, naturally boots hamper. Yet I have seen some very good comedy pictures of "expressive" feet, wriggling, turning, twisting, into very comical attitudes, usually picturing discomfort, shyness. There was the film actor, too, whose name I forget, with the poker face. He was a past-master in the expressionless face, hence he was called "poker face," the face which never betraya by the fall of an eyelash what its owner's card hand cpntains.