One hundred years ago this month, Grace Kingsley reported on a movie that lots of people were looking forward to:
“Charlie Chaplin is a busy man these days. The High Sierras, Mt. Summit* to be exact, is the scene of his labors. Here the comedian is reproducing in comic version the famous Alaskan gold rush of other days. Even Chilkoot Pass has been reproduced. And the rugged camp of the pioneers is there, cluttering the base of the precipitous cliffs. A pathway, cut through the snow 2300 feet long, rising up to the top of Mt. Summit, passes up a narrow defile through the rocks, and was only made possible by snowdrifts banked against the mountain side.
The camp was erected and the pass cut through in less than one week. Special agents of the Southern Pacific Railroad mobilized an army of 1000 men and by special trains to the pass, also a special train of dining cars was brought from Oakland for the feeding of these modern sourdoughs.
Chaplin himself, in the role of director-general, was here, there, and everywhere, giving instructions, leading the men, and on occasions, mixing with the mob in scenes, spurring them on. It was one of the most successfully handled mobs ever assembled before a movie camera, according to reports, and many spectacular scenes were filmed.
It seems that thrills are to mingle with the comedy and scenes of terrific realism, depicting the hardships endured by the pioneer gold seekers who surmounted the mountains which blocked their pathway in that mad rush for gold.
Kingsley also mentioned that that Chaplin was to play a sourdough and the film would be competed in the fall. Filmgoers had already been waiting for quite a while; his most recent feature film was The Kid in 1921, but he had starred in three shorts since then, most recently The Pilgrim in 1923. He had also directed the drama A Woman of Paris (1923) in which he made a brief appearance. Still, for an audience that had been accustomed to seeing him in as many as 13 shorts a year, this was a long time.
They would have to wait even longer, partly due to Chaplin’s perfectionism but also due to what his biographer David Robinson called the distraction of domestic tribulations: he had an affair with his 16-year-old leading lady, Lita Grey, and she got pregnant, so he married her and replaced her in the film with Georgia Hale. They winded up not using most of the footage they shot on location and instead made the majority of the film on sets in his Hollywood studio.
A year later, in April 1925, Kingsley was able to report on the movie’s progress. She ran into Chaplin at the Montmartre night club in Hollywood and he said he was just finishing up his new film, which he was going to call either The Gold Rush or The Lucky Strike. He told her:
Well of course I can’t name my stories at once, because usually we don’t really get the story jelled until the last two months. That’s what happened with this one. Some people think if we name it Lucky Strike the fans might get it mixed with the cigarettes. So we don’t know. Anyhow, I’m a bit superstitious about using the word ‘lucky.’
We really think we have every sort of appeal in our picture. I think it will have historic value, for one thing, the Chilikoot Pass stuff is thrilling. We really underwent a lot of hardships making those scenes, for we were in fear of an avalanche every minute.
Even Chaplin felt the need to emphasize the realism of his movies as other filmmakers did, which now seems extraordinary. Kingsley also mentioned another touch of authenticity: he looked shaggy because he’d been cutting his own hair, as his character would have needed to do.
Chaplin really was almost finished. He did decide to call it The Gold Rush, and it had its world premier two months later at Grauman’s Egyptian in Hollywood on June 26th. As usual, Kingsley didn’t get to review the film; her boss did. Now it’s called a masterpiece, but at the time Edwin Schallert wasn’t entirely sold on it. He wrote, “to say that the picture has the concentrated charm of one of his two-reelers would perhaps be rash.” He thought the narrative was rambling and the comedy and pathos weren’t woven together, making it episodic: “there are moments that are delicious, but there are others that are inclined to be a trifle forced.” However, the audience at the premier “evidenced an immensely enthusiastic appreciation for the film.”
Kingsley did get to go to Samuel Goldwyn’s premier party for the movie, and she reported on it in her new series, Stella the Star-Gazer, named for her fictional companion to Hollywood parties. ‘Stella’ had the time of her life; she said that she never wanted to go to another party again because “I’m sure there will never be another picture so good as The Gold Rush—and this party is just too glorious.” She reported that Mary Pickford wore an especially becoming evening gown and Douglas Fairbanks was so happy that the audience loved the film that he was “shaking hands delightedly with everybody.” As co-owners of the studio that was releasing it, United Artists, they must have been relieved that it looked like a hit.
The Gold Rush was a huge success. It played at the Egyptian Theater until November 1st, and only left because Sid Grauman had a previous commitment to open King Vidor’s The Big Parade there—the box office was still strong. So while it took much longer than the average film to make, it made more money. It has lasted much longer too–it still gets screened, and it was added to the Library of Congresses National Film Registry in 1992.
This month Kingsley saw a movie that was much less of a durable masterpiece, but it featured an early supporting role for an actress who is still famous. She said, “Poisoned Paradise isn’t very much poisoned; it is just a mild little dose of bromide.” Set in Monte Carlo (and she’d already had enough of that place), its theme was “the only way to beat the game is not to play it.”
Even thought it was “commonplace claptrap all belonging to the serial age in picturedom,” she found a bright spot: “the sweet ingenue who goes to live in the house of the artist, yet without sin” was played by “Clara Bow, that marvelous child, is a joy every moment. She is much more than the ingenue; she is human, and her vivid little face holds you every second.” Even though this was only her ninth film, she already stood out from the other actors, even in a small part.
Other reviewers singled out her performance in Poisoned Paradise. Film Daily mentioned that she was the “most interesting cast member,” and Henriette Slone in Exhibitors’ Trade Review wrote:
Nothing but the highest praise can be accorded Clara Bow, who is not only extremely comely and winsome but remarkably convincing. Her performance both when she is at the heights of exaltation, and when she is cast into the depths of despair, is nothing short of inspired. There is every reason to suppose that she will become a great favorite in a short time.
Slone was right. Clara Bow had won the Fame and Fortune Contest sponsored by Motion Picture Magazine in 1922 and she had appeared in small roles in films made in New York since then. Two years later she came to Hollywood, and in 1926 she became a star with her leading role in The Plastic Age. People still admire her work in It(1927) and Wings (1927). You can learn more about her at this profile from the Guardian.
* The name of the mountain, Mt. Summit, was corrected in later publicity to Mt. Lincoln. Now the area is known as the Sugar Bowl. It’s near Truckee, California, close to the Nevada border.
Grace Kingsley, “At the Gold Rush Party,” Los Angeles Times, July 22, 1925.
Grace Kingsley, “Flashes: Chaplin Finishing,” Los Angeles Times, April 23, 1925.
“The New Star,” Motion Picture Magazine, January 1922, p.55.
“One More Week for Gold Rush,” Los Angeles Times, October 23, 1925.
“Poisoned Paradise,” Film Daily, March 2, 1924, p. 9.
Edwin Schallert, “Epic Comedy on the Screen,” Los Angeles Times, June 27, 1925.
Henriette Slone, “Thrills Aplenty in Monte Carlo Story,” Exhibitors’ Trade Review, March 15, 1924, p. 27.
Grace Kingsley's Hollywood 