That the place had been used as a studio was not discernible from the front. It was a pretty corner on which, some distance apart, stood two simple cottages, Middle Western in character. They represented office and laboratory. Dressing-rooms and stages of a crudeness comparable to the original Biograph studio were at the back.
No fence gave privacy from passers-by, but a high board fence, decorated with pictures of foxes and the words “Fox Pictures,” protected the lot in the rear. It was not the William Fox of to-day who thus sought to advertise his trademark and his wares. Another Mr. Fox it was of whom we seem to hear nothing these days.
Here Kinemacolor moved in, with David Miles at its head, Jack Le Saint director of the No. 2 company, and our old friend Frank Woods making his movie-directing début as teacher to the actors of the No. 3 company. For Mr. Woods having tasted movie blood through his little Biograph scenarios and his position as chief reviewer of the movies, had grown anxious to plunge more deeply into the swiftly moving waters of reel life. So Mr. Miles opened the way for him. And although Kinemacolor opened up financially to a salary of only seventy-five dollars a week, the Woodses made the most of it, for from that humble beginning in less than ten years they have come to own a town near Barstow, California. They have named it “Lenwood.” Charles H. Fleming, who was assistant to David Miles, afterwards became a director and tastefully executed a number of pictures.
When the Kinemacolor Company was gathering in what youth and looks and talent it could afford, Mr. Miles, remembering a little deed of kindness, recalled Gaston Bell and took him to Hollywood, and when the much-loved and generous-souled Lillian Russell came out to do some pictures in Kinemacolor, Mr. Bell was rewarded by being made her leading man. Mahlon Hamilton loaned his good looks to the same films. The Russell pictures were used to illustrate “Beauty Talks” in an act in which Miss Russell was headlined on big vaudeville time throughout the United States.
Mahlon Hamilton and Gaston were the company’s two best “lookers.” As to “acting,” Mahlon made not a single pretense. He and the company quite agreed as to his dramatic ability. To be so perfectly Charles Dana-ish, and histronic also, was not expected of one man in those days. We had not reached the Valentino or Neil Hamilton age. Mr. Mahlon Hamilton, of late, not quite so Gibsonesque, has become a surprisingly good actor. So do the years take their toll and yield their little compensations.
The wonderful possibilities of Kinemacolor had not even been scratched when the American subsidiary was formed, for the foreign photographers—English, French, and German—who had “taken” the Coronation and also some picture plays that were produced in southern France, insisted that the close-up was impossible in color. But Mr. Miles, having had Biograph schooling, insisted contrariwise, and after a long and hard scrap with his photographers, he succeeded in inducing them to do as he said. The result proved his contention. The Kinemacolor close-ups were things of great beauty.
During its short life, Kinemacolor made some impression; for Dan Frohman after seeing some of the pictures said that “The Scarlet Letter” was the most artistic movie he had seen up to that time. Many distinguished visitors stopped at its Hollywood studio to see the new color pictures. Madame Tetrazzini, the opera singer, among many others, was tremendously enthusiastic.
It has been stated in error that the Kinemacolor pictures were never released. They were very much released, being shown at the New York Theatre Roof, besides many other theatres in New York, and contracts for their service all through the country were made by the Kinemacolor Company. Things started off with such a bang, we never did get over the shock of the sudden closing.
It was one exciting year with Kinemacolor, but it ended suddenly and tragically with the death of the president, Mr. Brock. While preening our wings for a flight to southern France, a telegram arrived from the New York office announcing the finish of picture production in Kinemacolor.
The sudden disruption of the Kinemacolor Company sent a flock of actors and a few directors scouting for new jobs. Frank Woods took up with Universal, only to suffer a six weeks’ nightmare. Being unable to turn out the class of stuff wanted, and anticipating what was coming, he resigned, dug up the return half of his Kinemacolor round-trip ticket, and was not long in New York before he got busy as a free-lance; and not so long after that a telephone from D. W. Griffith asked him to become his scenario writer. With great joy he accepted, filling the position with Mr. Dougherty, who was now back at Biograph after a short spasm with Kinemacolor.