Fewer And Fewer Real Stars

Press, Volume CVI, Issue 31085, 14 June 1966, Page 9

Fewer And Fewer Real Stars

Clark Gable was once asked by a reporter how it felt to be the screen’s greatest lover. He replied, somewhat laconically, that it was a living. He might also have added that it provided a living for his studio, for the star quality within the few film players who have possessed this rare gift has brought immense profit to those who have been concerned with its exploitation, writes a correspondent of ‘‘The Times.”

The formative years of the cinema, especially in Hollywood during the 20’s and 30’s, were largely based on the development of the star system. The great film-produc-ing empires soon discovered that mere skill in a performer was not sufficient in this new medium of story-telling. The filmgoers of the world, who were being lured into the cinema in ever increasing numbers, were fascinated by personalities. Lack of acting ability was not necessarily a handicap, because the curious method by which films were compiled, in a large number of very short “takes,” enabled the director to guide the immature player through each scene. Star quality could therefore be developed in those whose acting ability was slight. The problems which faced the studios were, first, how star quality could be defined, and second—and even more important—how it could be recognised, even ip embryo. It was the old story that has bedevilled the film industry since its infancy. The shortage was not of talent, but only of the talent than can recognise talent. In order to attempt a definition of star quality, it is first necessary to understand the relationship which exists between an actor and his audience. It is an intensely personal relationship, and in the theatre a good audience contributes substantially to any performance. Its enthusiasm is the strongest stimulant to those on the' stage. Its emotions and reactions are the sounding beard by which an actor judges the mood and timing of his playing. NO ASSISTANCE

The film actor enjoys no such advantage. He must play his scene to the cold and lifeless eye of the camera, which gives back to him no hint of audience reaction.

Fundamentally, therefore, star quality is the power to project personality from the dead, flat surface of a film screen and thus to arouse in an audience that same personal relationship which exists In the theatre. “She was married to the camera,” said Dame Sybil Thorndike once, when speaking of Marilyn Monroe. To understand this was to understand the secret of her success. She was not an actress, although she was a fine comedienne. To her the camera was never a ruthless mechanical contrivance that recorded without emotion. It was something which could be wooed and cajoled like a lover. Even the most skilled of her directors often failed to appreciate this fully; but they learnt from experience that a scene which seemed wrong to them when she played it on the set,

was yet right when it appeared on the screen before an audience. This affinity with the camera, which has been shared by all the great stars of the screen, is of course allied in part to an instinctive technique. That is why star quality, even when it manifests itself in an exceptional and outstanding personality, may not be instantly recognised. The marriage with the camera has not yet been arranged. TRIAL AND ERROR

Very few of the great stars of film history became famous overnight. Even Chaplin, Mary Pickford, Valentino and Garbo had to go through a period of trial and error. No-one thought Chaplin funny in his first few pictures for Mack Sennett Valentino had been playing extra parts in films for some time before the inspiration of a young scriptwriter, June Mathis, brought him the lead in “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," and world-wide fame. Thus technique, although it may be instinctive, has yet to be developed. Romance with the camera does not blossom from the outset, but when it does begin to manifest itself, it brings confidence in its train. The player becomes relaxed, and the natural personality is released without restraint. Unjust though it may seem, instinctive technique, in almost any sphere of achievement, will always be the master of a technique that has been carefully and painstakingly acquired. An experienced actor like Charles Laughton found that Gary Cooper’s effortless timing in front of the camera was something that he could never quite acquire. Laughton fought the camera almost throughout his film career. He attacked it with vehemence and histrionics because he remained fundamentally a stage actor who had taken to the films, and the camera never became his friend. His tendency was to over-act in front of it. Stars such as Gary Cooper and Marilyn Monroe scarcely acted at all, but their technique in front of the camera was effortless and faultless.

SKILLED DIRECTION Their success was due, in part of course, to skilled direction. Many directors prefer the non-actor with technique to the accomplished actor who has ideas of his own.

When a player of star quality becomes conscious of a lack of acting ability and starts taking acting lessons, as did Marilyn Monroe, the result is not always a happy one for natural ability can become submerged beneath a text book approach. There are certain artiste in every sphere who achieve results by breaking the rules, not by adhering to them. Luck inevitably plays its part in bringing star quality to the fore. The history of the arts has never really substantiated the cosy belief that genius will always be recognised in the end, and that true talent cannot be kept submerged. Great artiste have starved in obscurity, and great poems and novels have been written, ignored and lost for ever. Popular success is often dependent on whether an artist has the good fortune

to be born into the right period. This is particularly so in the cinema. Chaplin was born at exactly the right time. His comedy was essentially visual and silent, and he reached his peak in the golden era of the silent film. Valentino was brought to the fore at exactly the right time, when the women in film audiences throughout the world had finally become surfeited with the strdng, silent and high-principled allAmerican type of hero. Valentino’s suave and silky Latin domination provided the perfect antidote.

POST-WAR MOOD James Dean, many years later, , typified a different change of mood. He rose suddenly to stardom because he represented the mood of rebellion in post-war youth—not only against convention and anything suggestive of an establishment, but also against all the real or imagined injustices of life. The cinema has often been condemned because it arouses such a strong sense of personal relationship between audience and star, and because this relationship is largely escapist. By way of contrast, the trend in film production today is towards harsh realism, and escapism is often ridiculed. Those who follow this trend too slavishly may ultimately regret it. The cinema is primarily a medium of storytelling, the story-telling throughout its history has constantly provided a channel of escape from reality. Fantasy is an escape. So are all great romances, and all great adventure stories. The tragedy of the average man, throughout the ages, has not been that he has lived a life that was violent or tragic, but only one that was dull. The cool sequester’d vale of life can become unbearably boring. Thus those who condemn the cinema too readily for its escapism fail to appreciate one of its essential functions.

The film industry of the 60’s is producing fewer and fewer real stars. Thirty years ago one could name them by

the dozen. Now there are only a handful. Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hep*burn, Bardot 'Peck, Brando and a few others come to mind as examples of personalities that can fill a cinema, no matter what the film, but their ranks are thinning. NO EMPIRES NOW

In the old days, the big studios such as M.G.M. spent an immense amount of time and money searching for star quality. Today these great film empires have suffered their decline and fall, and they no longer have the time or the money—and perhaps not even the patience—to carry on this work. The cinema of today, in spite of all its remarkable technical achievements, has lost something of its old zest, and realism has robbed it of many of its more delightful flamboyancies. Perhaps this is why it is no longer a breeding ground for stars. And perhaps Gloria Swanson, a great film personality if ever there was one, was right In the answer which she gave in “Sunset Boulevard” when told that she had once been a big star. “I’m still big,” she said, “It’s the pictures that got small.”