here ecided tes J "The Escape UDGING from two or three we've seen, the William Fox organization understands a lot about making "program" pictures. "The Escape," for Ide i example, based on Channing Pollock's play, is just another tale of bootlegging, gang warfare, and redemption, and yet it succeeds in being excellent entertain ot havement for the reason that the story beperigins, proceeds, and ends logically and is consistently. "The Escape" is a program picture sly which does not try to kid its audience into the belief that they are witnessing a sic super-special-de-luxe-tri-motored feature bewith body by Fisher, as is the habit of many program pictures; and therein lies aits strength. The cast includes Virginia Valli, who isn't the world's most ravishing creature by a long close-up; William Russell, a competent but unspectacular performer; George Meeker (whose smile is a bit too sweet since he played in "Four Sons"); and others. They all keep well within the limits which their parts afford, and the result is plausibility. Now if some one will tell us what quality is more conspicuously absent from the motion pictures than plausibility we, and many other people, will be in his (or her) debt. We submit that an ordinary picture like "The Escape" is better entertainment, regardless of what you pay to see it, than many of the big ones; the big ones are too apt to crack up in reel three. You, perhaps, will go to see this film and come away wondering how, in the name of Hollywood, any One could be ass enough to call it a better picture than "Four Sons" or "Street Angel." ford; which is adapted from a rousing The three players above mentioned True it is that there's plenty of action in "Across to Singapore;" lots of storms at sea, fights along two water-fronts, and one mutiny, complete, with assorted leers. There is comedy, too, if you like comedy: Mr. Novarro puts vinegar in the wineglass of his elder brother (Mr. Torrence) as a big joke; Mr. Torrence drinks it with relish; a pitcher of water is adjusted over a bedroom door, with Well-it all depends on whether or not you're willing to swap glamour for a mess of insults to your intelligence. The thing that's hard to understand is side-splitting results. why the same Mr. Fox who can turn out a "Sunrise" often finds it so hard to make big pictures as plausible and well balanced as "Dressed to Kill" or "The Escape" or "The High School Hero." All of this is designed to intensify the tragedy which ensues when both brothers find they love the same girl-a tragedy which can only be remedied by the elder brother dying, with blessings and forgiveness on his lips. Mr. Torrence, you may be sure, plays this latter scene to what is often referred to as the hilt. He also does the scenes where he is drinking himself to death in varro, Ernest Torrence, and Joan Craw- Singapore as only Ernest Torrence can do them. While we very definitely did not care for "Across to Singapore" and do not choose to recommend it, we will say one thing for it: It proves that Louis B. Mayer has some impressively able employees on his pay-roll. A "Honor Bound" MONG the program pictures which elicited, elsewhere on this page, our compliments to William Fox, "Honor Bound" cannot be included. Not without more reservations than we care to burden you with. George O'Brien is in it, and Estelle Taylor; and it opens with Mr. O'Brien being knocked cold by Miss Taylor's irate spouse, who has followed her to Mr. O'Brien's bachelor quarters. (The incident serves forcibly to remind the beholder that Miss Taylor in private life is Mrs. Jack Dempsey.) The next thing you know, the lady has grabbed her husband's gun away from him and given him the works as the story-books say-while Mr. O'Brien is doing a Tunney on the floor. Mr. O'Brien, reviving and feeling his jaw, is confronted with the fact that he has a dead husband in his bachelor quarters. Always the gentleman, he permits the bulls to pinch him for the job and takes the rap in the frail's place. (We must stop going to those crook plays.) To translate, he refuses to implicate the lady and goes to jail as a murderer in her stead. In course of time he is transferred from the penitentiary to a coal mine where they use convict labor. Here, to his astonishment, he is greeted by the very lady who got him into all this mess; she has married again, and her second husband is just as narrow-minded (and just as big) as her first one. When Husband No. 2 finds out that If you see the picture, don't fail to ob- T Ivory Ape and Peacocks By W. R. BROOKS HERE is one article of furniture that has always seemed to us as stable and unchangeable as the Rock of Ages. We refer to the piano. Style succeeds style, but the piano remains fixed as the unalterable pole, about which revolve the fads of the minute, the year, or the decade. It has always been something to anchor to; a massive, dignified, and comforting presence, affording a background of oldfashioned conservatism against which modern bizarreries of decoration, costume, or even conduct seemed somehow more excusable and more entertaining. But now comes the modernistic piano, a creature with slender legs and a French name, frivolous and gayly painted, to strike at the very center and foundation of the American home. It is called the Modernique. One grand piano, designed by Lee Simonson, is called "the Death of a Simile," because with it in mind the comparison of a stout person's legs to those of a piano is no longer apt. A long and diligent search went to the making of that title, we bet. Then there are two models by Edward Steichen, and two by Helen Dryden-one of the latter being in gray and white, and called "Simplicity." Well, it is simple, in a sense. But we mustn't quarrel with all the titles. Though we can't quite see ourself playing hymns on that piano. If the modernistic movement has conquered the piano, certainly it will transform some of the other musical instruments. We await eagerly the appearance of the modernistic cornet, the modern LOREN STOUT COM OME out into the kitchen a minute, and we will tell you about the peasheller, which fastens on to the table edge and into which you feed the pods; also the bean-cutter, which works in much the same way and cuts the beans diagonally; also the bean stringer, which slices off the strings as you draw the beans across it. Being familiar with these three operations as performed by hand, we think these devices should save a lot of time. Another useful device is the wire cage into which you put spinach, lettuce, berries, or whatever, for the purpose of washing sand and dirt out easily. And then there's an electric eggbeater. It's just the same as the regular beater, with a little motor attached. You can whip cream or make mayonnaise without having a lame arm for the rest of the day. Also, if you have ever dashed back to the house from somewhere because you thought you had left the electric iron on, you'll appreciate this six-pound iron which has a safety control that shuts it off automatically when it gets too hot. WE E beheld at Altman's with some amazement the electric doughnut iron. It is like the waffle iron in its general arrangement, except that you put in the dough, shut it up, and at the end of a certain period of time open it and take out the finished doughnut. What the doughnuts are like we really don't know, since no one offered us one, but they are said to be no white inferior to the friedin-deep-fat kind. Our all-seeing eye also took in at this store some distinctly interesting modern istic women's wrist watches. They are Elgin watches, designed by three well known French couturières, and combine white gold and colored enamel in several striking geometric designs. But they're not so modern that you can't tell time by them. Domino players who find their style cramped by the ordinary sets of dom inoes that end with the double six can get here sets which run all the way up to double twelve. This is said to make a much more interesting game for experts. W E saw a nice comfortable armchair of bamboo that would look we on your porch or in your garden. It is held together with leather straps, so that it can be easily packed up and carried in a car. Stick willow is being used a good deal this year for garden and porch fu niture. We have seen some very goodlooking tables and chairs and davenports of this material, as well as those peacock chairs with the high backs which are so comfortable to sit in. And in the garden, instead of using a old piece of lath to tie the flowers and bushes to, why not get some of those four-foot garden stakes which have va rious kinds of birds, made of wood and painted, on the tops? We think they're amusing to look at. For small children there is a combination teeter, merry-go-round, and slide which is very good. The slide is nine feet long. It is not expensive. Or y can get a strongly built gym combination of bar, trapeze, and rings. For st smaller children there is a sand-box with a canvas canopy over it, so you won't have to call them to come into the house when it begins to rain. Both political Conventions are now at hand. Mr. Pringle and Mr. Merritt are getting ready to attend. The sports of the summer impend. Herbert Reed's sports department starts next week. Also we are beginning a new literary series. A revaluation of Emerson, Thoreau, Poe, and other literary figures. Mr. Bonner is departing for the European music festivals this week. From every standpoint, our next few issues promise to be more interesting than ever. think you would be doing a good turn in calling The Outlook to your friend's attention just now. May we thank you for whatever time and effort you may expend? Sincerely yours, THE OUTLOOK COMPANY. We P.S.--Just hand the form to your friend--or fill it out yourself, with his consent--and we will start sending The Outlook to him now, mailing the bill to him later. B EFORE the third baby was born Father died, and thereafter the small Wallaces received a thorough course in plain living and high thinking at the hands of their remarkable mother, who kept house, nursed the baby, did some teaching, managed the unremunerative family property, and, when she could be cornered, entertained the children. Between times Madeleine and her brother invented tales of their own. "Let me tell you a story," Brother would suggest to his sister, busy with her dolls. "All right," she would agree; "but there mustn't be any blood or killing." So Brother would begin, innocently enough, but progressing by adroit degrees to such horrors that Sister had to stop her ears; whereupon he would spring upon her, pinning her arms to her sides and shouting such frightful details. of flaming artillery, piercing sword thrusts, and bleeding heroes that her shrieks brought Mother running to restore peace with some quieter story of her own. Among them was this true family tale of a Canadian ancestor, sent us by "Madeleine," now Mrs. Charles Martin, of Texas. The Snowball As remembered by Mrs. Charles Martin JOHN BLOW was a regular boy strong and healthy, a great runner, skater, and jumper, and a marvel of skill at throwing a ball. Nowadays the Big Leagues would be competing for his services, but back in the 1820's, in the strict Baptist town of Woodstock, youthful activities were frowned upon, and it was only among the boys that his athletic skill was appreciated. To them he became a real King of Boyville. His foster-parents, the Burtches-for John was an adopted orphan from England-were kindly people, but so strict and religious that he found it hard to fit into their narrow ways of living, and it was all he could do to sit through the long, dreary sermons in the church every Even so, life might have been fairly John, of course, as ringleader, came in for the lion's share of blame and dislike. Even at meal-time the Elder managed to drag the conversation around to unworthy orphans who could never repay the great favors heaped upon them by their benefactors, until poor John, who was really fond of his foster-parents, could scarcely swallow a mouthful. For some little time, however, Elder Brown had been busy with other churches, and one Saturday afternoon, when a heavy snowfall offered tempting sport, the boys persuaded their parents to allow a great boy-gathering for the afternoon. John, poor fellow, was laid up with a cold, but he was none the less dismayed to see Elder Brown driving up to the house, for well he knew that this meant an end of fun for all his comrades. Sure enough, Elder Brown put an immediate stop to the party. John had only one consolation at least, with his cold, he could not be dragged out to the poorly heated church to listen to Elder Brown's dronings. Yet he was almost denied even that comfort, for the Elder had about persuaded his host that at any 1 The stories in this department are the favorite tales of various families which have been handed down to each succeeding younger generation. The Outlook will be glad to receive and to pay for any such stories which our readers remember from their own childhood and which are found available. They should be told as simply as possible in the language one would use in talking to a child. We should also be glad of suggestions from older and younger readers as to well-known people whom they would be especially interested to have Mrs. Davis interview for stories remembered from childhood. cost John needed the spiritual benefits of the service, when Mrs. Burtch set her foot down, declaring John too sick to leave the house. "Then," said Elder Brown, disagreeably, "any one too ill to hear the Word of God should be in bed, and I advise a good dose of oil." So poor John was dosed and greased within an inch of his life and bundled off to bed. He was lying there, after the others had gone, hot with fever and with hatred for Elder Brown, when something tinkled against the pane. He sat up and listened. Again that faint jingle. John sprang up and ran to the window. In the bright moonlight below stood several of his friends. "Say, John," they whispered. "Everybody gone? We have a plan to get even with old Brown." "What?" Heedlessly, John opened the window to hear better. "And you've got to help us." pit is in a line with the north window. How lovingly that snowball was rolled and worked and shaped and patted until it was as smooth as ice and hard as glass! Quietly then the boys stole to the church, John "warming up" his pitching arm on the way. At Outside the north window, he sized u the distance to the pulpit and waitedfor Elder Brown always paced up and down during the sermon, and they must bide their time for the long prayer. last the preacher stood still and closed his eyes. John grasped the snowbal took careful aim, and let fly-then ra as hard as his legs would carry him, not daring even to wait to see the result. He was the fastest runner in Woodstock, but that night his feet seemed to stick in the snow; besides, he was really But at last he reached home, wiped his shoes carefully, groped his way upstairs, undressed, and hurried into bed. It was none too soon, for just as he settled down came the sound of horses tearing up to the gate. Huddling under the covers, John tried to bring his panting down to long, reguual beres lar breathing and to warm his face, lest Surtch this foster-mother feel it for fever. One n too sit thing worried him-his wet, soggy shoes but he could only pray that they Own, dar would not be found. He heard the ear the Burtches hurrying upstairs, then a stern nd I ac voice outside the door called: "John!" and No answer. His foster father and mother came in, holding a light. Under dbud the bedclothes lay John, breathing heavere, ately. A long time they stood looking at Ever and him; finally Mrs. Burtch said: "There, en you see! I told you it wasn't John. You He sat let Elder Brown put notions in your jinale head. John is a good boy." Which ind made her adopted son feel very bad, but belmot bad enough to betray himself. ed "Well," declared Mr. Burtch, puzzled, if I didn't know that no human could to get run that fast, I'd say it was John, anyway. Nobody else in town could have ohn qaimed that snowball and even gauged it to allow for breaking the window. But I "see it wasn't John." And they went sic back downstairs to report to the Elder, Tnot noticing the wet shoes at all. de Next morning John's cold was much at his worse, but when he saw the Elder's bruised nose and heard him mumble painfully through swollen lips that there would be no service that day, he felt ndbetter than cured! the Lim Our Own Theatre List (See page 143) "Coquette," Maxine Elliott.-Comedy, tragedy; youth in a small Southern town; Helen Hayes and excellent cast; first choice for tears and humor. "The Ivory Door," Charles Hopkins.-Fantasy: medieval fairy tale, telling the truth about human nature; one of the best things in town Trial of Mary Dugan," National.-Mystery, murder, melodrama; circumstantial evidence turned inside out before your eye, convincingly acted; you won't move. The Shannons of Broadway," Martin Beck.Comedy, melodrama; vaudeville actors running a small-town hotel; James and Lucile Gleason; good hard-boiled sentiment and some music. Strange Interlude," John Golden.-A psychological novel put upon the stage; a new kind of drama; Tom Powers and Lynne Fontanne in O'Neill's finest. "Our Betters," Henry Miller's Theatre.-Ina Claire in a drawing-room comedy by Somerset Maugham; entertaining, deft, and excellently acted. The Silent House," Morosco.-Humor and melodrama; impossible, hair-raising, yet extraor dinarily amusing. "Connecticut Yankee," Vanderbilt.-Good lyrics and tousle; not much Mark Twain. Rain or Shine," George M. Cohan.-Joe Cook in the show you mustn't miss. "Most marvelous of sights to man" |