GREENROOM GOSSIP

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Issue 1573, 17 June 1920, Page 30

GREENROOM GOSSIP

The “London Era” announces that Miss Violet Trevenyon. the winsome artist who was in New Zealand with the Fuller circuit for a considerable period, has become an established favourite since her return to England. She has been secured by the L.T.V. circuit for tours extending into 1923, but it is likely that she will appear in a West End production in the autumn.

Helen Charles, an English comedienne, who is also an expert whistler, is a new arrival for Ben. and John Fuller’s vaudeville theatres.. She shares with Doff Dee, another London favourite, who arrived for the same firm, a reputation as a principal boy and revue performer of note. Both ladies were engaged in London by Ben. Fuller.

One of Carter’s big features in his illusion show is “Beauty and the Lion.” Just as a young damsel is flung to a ca ged lion, a “mystic prince” appears and shoots, making the lion instantaneously disappear, and Carter emerges from the cage. It is very thrilling, and the effect is hightened by the savagery of the lion, which is a magnificent specimen.

There is nothing trite or commonplace about the latest First National release, “Back to God’s Country.” The picture is quite unique; a story of the Canadian wilds and a girl who made friends of the wild animals. Particularly diverting are the antics of the bab} r bear, the girl’s household pet. The story was written by that great portrayer of animal life, Tames Oliver Curwood.

Bessie Love is sweet and appealing as ever in her latest Pathe production, “Carolyn of the Corners.” The picture is ideally suited to Bessie-’s singular talents, for she plays the part of a winsome child, who melts the heart of her embittered old uncle with her sunny childish ways. The picture is full of quaint characterisations, homely philosophy and comedy of the human variety, and Bessie has the most congenial role of her career. Everyone, particularly children, will revel in this picture.

The story of Benno Moiseiwitsch, the distinguished pianist at present in Australia, is an exceptionally romantic one, even as the careers of artists go, which are most times crowded with incident. It is the story of early struggles in Russia, of a brilliant career in the Conservatory of Odessa, where Mischa Elman was a fellow-student, of his departure to England when still a boy, of many discouragements, including a big one from his master Leschetizky, whose special favourite he afterwards became, his long seven years of waiting unknown and neglected in London, and of his final brilliant triumph.

With the recent severe Australian drought in mind, the “Sydney Sun” reminisces over a similar calamitous happening of 1905. When the drought was at its worst, a well-known English theatrical star visited Sydney, and after showing to city audiences nightly with poor success, he decided to visit some of the various districts round New South Wales. Arriving at one of the towns down south, he was surprised to see the dry state of things, and frankly told his company that he feared for the worst. However, a good house saw the curtain raised that evening, and everything in the first act ran smoothly. The second act was different, and after the celebrated actor and his performers had been subjected to various insults, they were given what is commonly known as “the bird.” Several missiles were also hurled on the stage, narrowly missing the crestfallen players by inches. After a. great deal of persuasion the star again appeared when the third act commenced, but this -time the audience rose to their feet and began to cheer with wild enthusiasm. The star now stood facing the footlights, his face wrinkled in smiles, bowing to the cheering crowds before him. Suddenly he was awakened from his delirium of pleasure by someone in the audience calling out to him in loud and angry tones, “Get off, you -fool, get off. They’re cheering the rain not you.” It was the truth —the drought had broken at last, and the rain was falling on the roof above.

John McCormack is busily preparing for his return tour of Australasia, which commences in July, under the J. and N. Tait management. In a recent letter he intimated that the approaching reunion with old admirers in Australia and New Zealand filled him with great pleasure, and he was bringing out a repertoire, which will comprise some old English, Irish. Italian, and French melodies never before given by him. as well as some of his ballad and operatic favourites. Miss Genevieve Ward celebrated her eighty-third birthday (March 27) by nlaying the part of Volumnia in Shakespeare’s “Coriolanus” at the “Old Vic.,” in the Waterloo Road. London. It is one of her favourite parts, and a heavy and exacting one. Miss Ward, whose voice and health remain as good as ever, told a “Daily Mail” reporter that she does not think there are any really good tragedian actors or actresses left in England. “I have seen some awful plays in London lately,” she said. “They are quite absurd, trashy, and not at all • the sort of thing that should be permitted. I think women have lost their proper perspective of life entirely,” she added with a sigh. “They go about half-dressed. ' treating life as a perpetual comedy, and don’t fulfil half the functions of womanhood. They want to be policemen, politicians, and all sorts of weird things.” Miss Ward, despite her years, still works hard in her house, and in her spare time makes garments for the Belgravia workrooms. * * * * What would our lives be without Constance Talmadge and her always mirthful pictures? Constance is the girl who irresistibly contradicts herself at every turn. As for her next release, “Happiness a la Mode,” it Is one of her best. Harrison Ford is her leading man. What more delightful combination could there be? When “The Miracle Man” was shown in Philadelphia, the “Philadelphia North American.” which ordinarily does not deal with picture shows, published a leading article about it. which began: “In the largest auditorium in the city, on Saturday afternoon, a great crowd of men and women watched in silence the last scenes of a pictured drama. The music of an orchestra died away, the paling vision on the screen faded into darkness, and there breathed from the still throng a half suppressed sigh. It lasted but a moment. Then the spectators streamed out into the sunlight, in a strange quietude, but with eyes that shone. Curious effects, one would say. to follow what is called an entertainment —at best, no more than a fancied tale, told through the cunning combination of human and photographic mimicry. Yet the mood was something finer than the mere exhilarat'en or contentment that may be created by any appealing exhibition of artistry. These people were not only impressed: they were genuinely moved. None of them, we think, will deem it strange that we turn for a day from the stirring or momentous or tragical themes of material existence. to glance at this unique product of imagination. For it has the distinction of being an artistic and moral achievement. The photo-play is called ‘The Miracle Man’.”