Review: "The Mishaps of Musty Suffer"

Ben Model has done it again. Today marks the official release of Model's most recent Kickstarter venture, "The Mishaps of Musty Suffer," and this latest offering is every bit as entertaining as the last.

Musty Suffer is the title character in a series of films originally created and produced by George Kleine in 1916 and 1917. Starring Harry Watson Jr. as Musty, the various installments or "whirls" follow Musty's Book of Job-esque existence (Must he suffer?). Although that synopsis might suggest otherwise, the premise itself allows for hilarious run-ins, sticky situations and slapstick fun. The series ended rather unceremoniously in 1917, and remained largely forgotten and overlooked, but Model's Kickstarter project and supportive backers have helped bring these lesser-known films back into the spotlight.

The DVD features 10 Musty whirls, including installments created with Kleine and installments filmed and produced in and around Chicago by Essanay. The prints, which have been preserved by the Library of Congress, look great and are accompanied by Model's well-timed and thoroughly enjoyable original compositions.

Not only are these 10 whirls regarded as the funniest of the Musty films, their plots alone are fascinating. While some feel like they could easily belong in the same universe as Chaplin's one and two-reelers, such as 1916's "The Lightning Bellhop," others are surprisingly surreal and darkly funny. "Just Imagination" sees Musty as the victim of the sadistic Fairy Tramp who, rather than give him a job, sets him up as the guinea pig for a number of mental experiments. Similarly, "Outs and Ins" sees Musty as the operator of an automat who has a disturbing use for the diners who are eager to rip him off.

The most historically interesting film is "Capturing Chicago," a 10-minute piece filmed during Kleine and Watson's visit to Chicago for the Motion Picture Exposition in 1916. Musty and his gang parade around town, are presented with a key to the city, and even hijack a mini train in Lincoln Park.

Whether you're new to the world of silent comedy or a silent film historian, "The Mishaps of Musty Suffer" is hilarious, entertaining, and fascinating. You can buy it now via Amazon. For you completists out there, there is also a fantastic companion book, written by film historian Steve Massa, which details the history of Musty Suffer and gives an overview of the men behind Musty. You can also buy it now via Amazon.

Eager to learn more about Musty? Visit the official page here.

A Star is Born – Gloria Swanson at Essanay

Young Gloria Swanson

Thanks to my recent work with Essanay, I was given the exciting opportunity to pen a series of blog posts for the wonderful Classic Movie Hub site. The third post is live, and all about Chicago's own Gloria Swanson and her time with Essanay. Here's an excerpt to get you started:

Born in Chicago on March 27, 1899, Gloria May Josephine Swanson was born just six years after Thomas Edison held his first public exhibition of Kinetograph films, and the Pathe-Freres was founded. She matured as the movies matured, but she did not intend on becoming a movie star. Her father was a civilian supply officer with the army, which caused the family to move from Chicago to Florida and even Puerto Rico. In 1914 they returned to Chicago, and by this time, the city’s own Essanay Film Manufacturing Company was a major contender in the film industry. One day, Swanson toured the studio with her aunt. It was this tour that, fellow Essanay star Rod La Rocque later said, inspired her to become a photoplayer.

You can read the entire post over at the Classic Movie Hub by clicking here.

Gilbert M. Anderson and the Rise of the Western Star

G.M. "Broncho Billy" Anderson

Thanks to my recent work with Essanay, I was given the exciting opportunity to pen a series of blog posts for the wonderful Classic Movie Hub site. The second post is live, and all about Broncho Billy himself. Here's an excerpt to get you started:

G.M. Anderson, best known by his onscreen persona of Broncho Billy, holds a special place in film history. Not only did he have multiple roles in one of the most iconic silent films of all time, “The Great Train Robbery,” he also co-founded Essanay Studios, discovered a number of iconic silent film stars and created a character archetype that spawned an entire genre of film. Anderson’s persona and image became so entwined with that of cowboy Broncho Billy, that audiences truly believed he’d been a rough rider all of his life. In actuality, he was a stage actor who’d grown up in St. Louis.

You can read the entire post over at the Classic Movie Hub by clicking here.

Charlie Chaplin at Essanay

Charlie Chaplin Essanay advertisement

Thanks to my recent work with Essanay, I was given the exciting opportunity to pen a series of blog posts for the wonderful Classic Movie Hub site. I'm honored and flattered that the wonderful folks there would give me the chance to contribute to their blog, and I'm happy to announce that the first of these posts is now live for your reading pleasure -- "Charlie Chaplin at Essanay." Here's an excerpt to get you started:

"A celebratory dance and a hefty paycheck signaled the start of Charlie Chaplin’s stay with the Essanay Film Manufacturing Company, but his year-and-a-half stay with the studio produced more than that. It was the start of Chaplin as writer, director, actor and producer in total control of his work. It was the start of Chaplin as clown as well as an emotional actor. And it was the start of the actor as a major draw, not a nameless face."

You can read the entire post over at Classic Movie Hub by clicking here.

Open House Chicago Gives Chicagoans an Inside Look at Essanay

On Saturday, I had the pleasure of volunteering at Essanay Studios’ Open House event as part of Open House Chicago. The 2-day event gives Chicago residents the opportunity to get exclusive behind-the-scenes glimpses at some of the city’s iconic buildings and sites, and all for free! Not only did it mean giving visitors a look at Essanay’s historic Studio A (now Charlie Chaplin Auditorium, it also meant giving them the chance to watch a screening of “His New Job” on the big screen, and informing them one-on-one about our restoration campaign.

Although the day started slow, as the day got under way, I was thrilled to see the amount of eager visitors coming through the doors, taking pictures of the entrance way, and taking in Chaplin, for perhaps the first time, on the big screen. The atmosphere was friendly and fun, and it gave lots of eager film fans the chance to connect with one another (including me).

In addition to the film screening, we introduced visitors to our restoration campaign via the video we made for Indiegogo, and Essanay Centers President Gary Keller discussed the history of film in Chicago, the history of Essanay, and the future of the complex. We also presented a screening of “Being Charlie Chaplin,” a three-channel video installation piece created by Hale Ekinci wherein she competes with Chaplin for his job in “His New Job.”

For me, the most rewarding part of the event was the opportunity to connect with fellow film lovers and answer their questions. I spoke with one gentleman for at least 30 minutes, going from discussing Essanay, to discussing Hitchcock and French horror films.

The whole experience left me with the hope that the city is rediscovering this hidden gem and that our restoration project, and coverage about it, will once again bring the studio back into the spotlight. I hope we can hold another open house event very soon.

Save Essanay!

Virginia Valli in front of the historic Essanay Studios entrance

For a few months now, I've had the opportunity to work closely with a wonderful group of people still firmly entrenched in the world of silent film -- the interns, volunteers and staff at Chicago's Essanay Studios. Although the complex has gone through many owners since the days of Broncho Billy Anderson and George Spoor, many of its iconic features remain, including its iconic terra cotta entrance that beautifully displays the studio name and Mary Spoor's iconic Essanay logo.

The studio was named a historic landmark in the '90s, but our team is dedicated to making it even more than that. We're working to restore the iconic entrance way and restore and renovate the legendary Studio A to help it become the Essanay Centers. The Centers will be the the place for people in and around Chicago and Illinois to come and learn about early film, while also providing a performance space that can be used by students and experts in the world of the visual arts. 

The team has been working hard to make this dream a reality by seeking out grants and donations, but we need help. We've launched an indiegogo campaign to help us raise the funds needed to save and restore the cracking and crumbling entrance way, and to start the process of adapting historic Studio A to become an immersive early film experience. You can learn more about this project by visiting the campaign home page here: igg.me/at/essanay  Every little bit helps, and we've got some great perks for all of our generous backers!

You can also learn more by visiting the official Essanay site, or checking out the Essanay accounts on Facebook and Twitter.

Please help us spread the word and make this historic film landmark a beacon of old and new media for Chicago and silent film fans everywhere.

Mary MacLane: A Correct Reflection of a Peculiar Woman

Mary MacLane had been causing a stir for nearly 20 years by the time she joined the ranks at Essanay, and the sensation she caused helped bring the studio new attention. Unfortunately, the product of their partnership has been lost to time.

MacLane startled readers and publishers alike when she published her diary in 1902 at the age of 19. Her honesty about her love life and experiences intrigued and astounded readers and critics alike. As one newspaper wrote of “The Story of Mary MacLane,” “she ran the gamut of egoism and penitence. She was, according to her, the most beautiful as well as the ugliest girl in the world and on that range of arpeggios she strummed her symphony of life and its overtones.”

But after a while, MacLane’s popularity waned. She occasionally made headlines due to her eccentric and often erratic behavior. On at least one occasion, she disappeared without a trace, only to resurface days later. For the most part, though, she failed to do anything considered newsworthy. Then, in 1917, she published “I, Mary MacLane” and found herself back in the spotlight, and back in demand. Seeing an opportunity, Essanay co-founder George K. Spoor approached MacLane with the idea of turning some of her memoirs and life story into a film.

Mary MacLane with director Arthur Berthelet

It seemed a natural fit. MacLane’s memoirs already read like a vamp’s tale, and she had a great deal of publicity and controversy already surrounding her. As she detailed in an essay for Photoplay, her new role sounded like one she had simply fallen into: “Without effort, without volition, without, in short, wanting to, I -- I have become a ‘film star.’” MacLane agreed to the project and the seeds of “Men Who Have Made Love to Me” were planted. In December of 1917, Essanay announced it had secured MacLane as its next star, and emphasized the fact that no expense would be spared during the filming. Under Arthur Berthelet’s direction, the luxurious apartments described in her affairs would be recreated in painstaking detail, and MacLane herself would be dressed in the most beautiful gowns (no doubt, a decision intended to bring more women to the theaters, much like the tactic the studio employed with “The Strange Case of Mary Page”). Not only that, Spoor would expand his usual marketing plan to reflect this “ultra feature.” He rented billboards in more than 20 cities across the country, sent special sheets to national newspapers and magazines, and even outfitted Chicago buses with placards advertising the film.

But upon its release in February of 1918, the film got mixed reviews. Some critics noted that it was a “correct reflection of the peculiar woman” and that it would satisfy viewers’ curiosity about MacLane, but they were sure to emphasize that it “adds nothing to to the artistic achievement of pictures.” Motion Picture Magazine referred to it as a “visualized diary” and a “Hooverized love-feast” but “not dramatic entertainment.”

Scene from "Men Who Have Made Love to Me"

In fact, the film, which followed six of MacLane’s affairs, wasn’t as scandalous as MacLane’s works had been, or current vamp films starring the likes of Theda Bara were. Some critics even said it was prudish compared to popular vamps of the screen. Although the film itself may not have been much to write home about, MacLane’s erratic behavior certainly was. While the film was still in theaters, MacLane once again disappeared, leaving behind only a few belongings in her hotel room. She reappeared days later and revealed that she had checked into another hotel room under an assumed name. She had wanted to get away from the media attention and cover the “financial embarrassment” she felt (she was prone to overspending and her addiction to luxury caused her to lose money as quickly as she earned it).

MacLane was almost entirely out of the spotlight when she was arrested at her Chicago home in July of 1919. Alla Ripley, a designer, brought charges against MacLane after the gowns she designed for "Men Who Have Made Love to Me" disappeared without being paid for. At the time she was arrested, the papers said she only had 85 cents to her name.

MacLane never returned to the screen, and a decade later was found dead in her Chicago hotel room at the age of 48. She was penniless, and had succumbed to tuberculosis, a disease that had also claimed Marie Bashkirtseff -- a French writer to whom MacLane was often compared. Although MacLane’s published works have lived on and have been reprinted for new generations, the film, like so many other Essanay works, is considered lost.

Explore other Essanay stars through past blog posts, or take a quick look at the history of film in Chicago here.

Vedah Bertram: A Career Cut Short

The death of Essanay star Vedah Bertram marks one of the earliest tragedies the film industry had to deal with. When she died at just 20 years old, she had already traveled across the country to follow her dream and had managed to hold her own on the screen with the likes of Broncho Billy himself, G.M. Anderson. But because she had been disowned by her father, she was forced to keep her real identity a secret until just before her untimely death.

Born to Jennie and Jerome Buck in New York in December 1891, Bertram’s real name was Adele Buck. In a few short years, Jerome would become a respected journalist in the Boston and New York areas, and a well respected member of high society, but by 1900 the couple had split. By that time, Adele was living with her mother, brother, grandmother and step-grandfather, and by 1910, her mother and father were both completely out of the picture. Her father remarried, but her mother appears to have died between 1900 and 1910, leaving Adele and her younger brother Jerome Jr. to be raised by their grandparents. She was educated at Wellesley College, where she graduated in 1911, and it was at Wellesley where she discovered her love of theater.

She took to the stage against her family’s wishes, and instead lived with her fiance’s family, the Merrills, while she pursued work on the stage. It was during this time that she was discovered by G.M. Anderson, co-founder of the Essanay Film Manufacturing Company. Despite being new to the world of film, she greatly impressed him and he hired her to join the Western studio and star alongside him in his Broncho Billy films. She accepted and she and her fiance, L.H. Merrill, moved west to Niles, California to begin anew. She changed her name to Vedah Bertram and kept her true identity secret to avoid being linked back to her family.

Anderson was soon gushing to the fan magazines about his “find,” and the reporters took to Bertram, too. They admired her personality, her athleticism and her clever acting ability. She made her debut in “The Ranch Girl’s Mistake,” released in March of 1912, and became an instant favorite among film-goers. She only had a few films under her belt, when she was admitted to the hospital in April due to a severe illness, but her absence from the screen was noticed by fans and reporters alike. The Moving Picture World noted she had “a warm place in the hearts of film lovers for her talent and beauty,” and all were relieved when she recovered the following month and returned to pictures in “The Desert Sweetheart.”

Although she continued to make films, she was in poor health, and by August she once again fell severely ill. The Spokane Daily Chronicle reported that she had suffered a breakdown shortly before being stricken with appendicitis. As her condition worsened, she was rushed into surgery at Samuel Merritt Hospital in Oakland. Before going under the knife, she revealed her real name and her family, telling hospital staff that they were only to contact her family if she didn’t survive. As her condition became critical, fan magazines raved about her most recent performance in “Broncho Billy’s Last Hold-Up” where she, ironically, comforted a dying Broncho Billy in his final moments. “Vedah is forceful, crafty and altogether charming,” the Moving Picture World noted, and held out hope that she would one day return to the screen.

Scene from "Broncho Billy's Last Hold-Up," featuring Vedah Bertram

Unfortunately, “Broncho Billy’s Last Hold-Up” would be one of her final performances. She died August 26, 1912 at the age of 20, and was mourned by the film industry and film-going public alike. Her father and brother were notified of her death via telegram, and Merrill took her body back to the East coast to be buried in Sheepshead, New York. Her final film “Broncho Billy Outwitted” was released posthumously, and fan magazines all over the country declared her one of the cleverest actresses the motion picture world had known.

For weeks following her death, fans sent letters and verses in her honor to fan magazines which were reportedly forwarded on to her family. One fan, cited only as W.F.B., told Motion Picture Story Magazine that they were still watching Bertram’s films. The editor simply replied, “Glad that you still see pictures with Vedah Bertram in them. Life is short, and art is long.”

Edna Mayo: The Best Dressed Woman on the Screen

Although she was a popular leading lady with the Chicago branch of Essanay, Edna Mayo’s fame and stardom were brief, as was her film career. She was in the public eye for less than five years, but she made quite an impression, and when she left the industry, fans were confused and wondered where she had gone. Her disappearance and life after film remain a mystery.

Edna Mayo was born in Philadelphia, but the specifics surrounding it are unclear. Although available sources claim she was born March 23, 1895, contemporary magazines claimed a March 27, 1893 birth date, (which gels with the ages and dates cited for major events in her career). She was an only child, and it was said that she was of a famous theatrical family, though none of her famous family members were ever cited in articles. Later, the press would refer to her mother as simply Mrs. J. Mayo.

Carlyle Blackwell and Edna Mayo

After graduating from Girls College in 1909 at the age of 16, she pursued stage drama full time. Although she claimed she had been on the stage since the age of 5, her first notable work was in “The Social Whirl” which ran from April to September of 1906. She followed that up with parts in “The Merry Widow Burlesque” (Jan-May 1908), “Girlies” (Jun-Aug 1910), and “Help Wanted” (Feb-May 1914). When she wasn’t on stage, she was pursuing artistic hobbies, as well. She studied sculpture in New York at the Art Students League and, when she later moved to Chicago, she continued to study at the Art Institute.

Mayo made her move from the stage to film in mid-1914, after her run with “Help Wanted” ended. She was signed by Favorite Players to make “The Key to Yesterday” opposite Carlyle Blackwell. That arrangement soon fell through, though, and once the picture was over, she bounced to Famous Players, and even made a film under Pathe. By the beginning of 1915, though, she had set down roots in Chicago, joining the players at Essanay. In February, she made her Essanay debut with “Stars, Their Courses Change” playing opposite Essanay’s leading man Francis X. Bushman, and was touted as their new leading lady. She was quickly paired with the best the Chicago branch had to offer, acting opposite players like Richard Travers and Bryant Washburn.

Henry B. Walthall and Edna Mayo in "The Woman Hater"

Although she was still a relative newcomer to the world of film, she was quite a temperamental star. She had trouble acting with crowds watching her, was self centered, and was determined to have things her way. She talked of pleading with directors, begging, “Let me have my own way. Let me say what my feelings tell me to, and my action will amount to something -- otherwise never.” Although her fits undoubtedly led to some friction on set, it certainly allowed her to put out good work. She worked very consistently throughout the rest of 1915, even appearing in some gender-bending roles (a big deal for a woman who was once declared the most beautiful photoplay actress).

"The Strange Case of Mary Page"

With 1916 came her biggest project to date. The 15-episode serial “The Strange Case of Mary Page” starred Mayo in the title role opposite the great Henry B. Walthall. The plot was intriguing -- Mary Page is on trial for murder, but she and her lawyer/lover are convinced she didn’t commit it -- and audiences responded favorably. The studio got scores of letters every day from fans who were convinced they had figured out the answer for the murder mystery element of the story. The series was quite an undertaking, and represented a first for Essanay, so the PR machine worked hard behind the scenes to make it a profitable endeavor. Ads were taken out in publications like McClure’s, McCall’s, Ladies World, and Pictorial Review to ensure that female audiences knew of it. They also used the elaborate, gorgeous dresses Mayo wore throughout the film as a selling point. The gowns were designed by Lucile, aka Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon, and one piece in particular reportedly carried a price tag of $1,000. If they couldn’t attract female audience members purely on plot, they thought, they might get them because of the fashions.

Edna Mayo wearing dresses created for "The Strange Case of Mary Page"

Mayo bragged that she spent nearly everything she made on clothes, and her wardrobe choices led to magazines declaring her The Best Dressed Woman on the Screen. Though she splurged on gowns, she didn’t lead a luxurious lifestyle otherwise. She divided her time between work and her apartment on Sheridan. She wasn’t married and made it clear that she had no intention of marrying. Not only were all husbands bossy, she asserted, but it would disrupt her routine. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever marry. I’m so happy working, and leading my quiet little life between apartment and studio, studio and apartment. I don’t want to be upset and made unhappy -- even by happiness!”

Aside from “The Strange Case of Mary Page,” Mayo’s most interesting project of 1916 was “The Return of Eve,” released in September of that year. It featured Eugene O’Brien and was filmed around the Wisconsin Dells. It told the story of a modern day Garden of Eden, where scientists mounted an experiment that involved raising infants in the wilderness to grow up “naturally.” When the now-grown Mayo and O’Brien are brought back to civilization, they’re horrified and return to their former way of life.

"The Return of Eve" featuring Eugene O'Brien and Edna Mayo

Mayo and O’Brien received praise for their roles, but her acting opportunities began to dwindle. Rumors started to spread in mid-1917 that she had left Essanay, but she brushed them off, speaking instead of doing humanitarian work in the slums of Chicago. By December of that year, however, she was unemployed, and by January she had disappeared from the screen. A year later, she attempted to stage a comeback with the General Film Co. and “Hearts of Love,” but it didn’t work. “Hearts of Love” was her final film.

A couple years prior, Mayo had told fan magazine reporters that she had no desire to go back to the speaking stage, but it’s unclear what exactly she did do following her screen retirement. It seems her fan base and the world of film lost track of her. She appears to have moved back to California, though, and died in San Francisco in 1970.

Although Mayo was by all accounts a formidable actress, we don’t really have proof of it today. Her films are mostly considered lost, and we’re left only with plot synopses to judge her by. Still, we can’t help but hope that a copy of “The Strange Case of Mary Page” will miraculously reappear for film fans and historians alike to enjoy.

Jump over to my Pinterest page to see more of the ads for "The Strange Case of Mary Page" and other Edna Mayo pictures.

Marguerite Clayton: The Broncho Girl of the Essanay Company

Marguerite Clayton never quite eclipsed her famous leading man G.M. “Broncho Billy” Anderson, but she managed keep a respectable film career alive for 15 years before retiring right around the introduction of sound. From humble beginnings, to becoming one of the most popular photoplayers in the early days of the industry, Clayton had quite a career and, fortunately for us, some of her work is still available for us to enjoy.

Margaret Fitzgerald was born in Ogden, Utah on April 12, 1891 (some sources say 1892) to Irish and Welsh parents. She was the third of four children born to Michael and Belle Fitzgerald, but little is known about her early years. She proudly told fan magazines that she had entered right into the motion picture industry without having done any real stage work (though later interviews dispute that). She was educated at convent called St. Mary’s in Salt Lake City and sang in the tabernacle from a young age. Her father was a mining engineer, and by 1910, the family seems to have made the move from Utah to San Francisco, where her father ran a bar.

Despite having no familial connection to the stage, Clayton found herself drawn to film, and began to dream of appearing on screen. When a LA-based paper ran an ad that said the western branch of Essanay was searching for actresses to join the company, she was quick to respond. In mid 1913, she joined the Essanay company doing small parts. The bit roles didn’t last long though, for after about 3 months she was starring alongside Mr. Anderson himself in his “Broncho Billy” pictures.

Marguerite Clayton and G.M. Anderson in a Broncho Billy installment

She was inexperienced, but that seemed to play to her benefit. “I decided when I went into motion pictures that I didn’t know a thing about them, and that I would do just as the director told me. I have always followed that rule. No matter what the director says, I do it.” She was also focused on becoming a true film artiste. “I intend to keep on working until I am at the top. If I could always be sure of as good a teacher as Mr. Anderson is, I am sure I’d have no doubts of getting there.”

Marguerite Clayton and Richard Travers in "The Egg"

Clayton briefly left the company to pursue a part in a stage production called “The Candy Shop,” and later briefly left the company to pursue parts with the Liberty company. But by April of 1915, she was back at Essanay and back with Broncho Billy. Although she had grown into a western star courtesy of the Niles branch of Essanay, by late 1915, she found herself established at her new home at the Chicago branch. Rather than playing opposite the rugged G.M. Anderson, she found herself playing leads with handsome Richard Travers, and rather than playing in westerns, she found herself in dramas and light comedies. Her first role at the Chicago branch was “A Daughter of the City,” a morality play in which she played the titular role and got to show her range.

She was one of 12 players added to the Essanay stock company and, in 1917, one of the players who got to play in Essanay’s line of Black Cat Features -- snappy, sharp, two-reel comedy dramas that were based on Black Cat Magazine. She even starred in a unique picture where she, through some trick photography, was turned into a living doll. Despite being one of the company’s favorite and most consistent players, in late 1917, Clayton left the company to freelance with Paralta and later Artcraft, Paramount, and Paragon. In mid-1918, she made her last major picture splash with “Hit-the-Trail Holliday,” a prohibition play written by and starring George M. Cohan. She was happy with the change of scenery her parts had taken, telling fan reporters, “I wouldn’t go back into Western stuff for the world,” but her career was starting to slip.

In 1922, she sued Pathe for $50,000 in damages when she was struck by a pipe while filming. She alleged that the injury had left her with a permanent facial scar, but it’s unclear whether the case ended in a ruling or a settlement. She continued to work in film in both the US and Europe, but by the time the talkies started to take hold in the late ‘20s, she had disappeared from the screen.

With the ‘30s came her marriage to Victor Bertrandias, a major in the US Air Force, and her retirement from the screen. She took Victor’s last name, and, save for a few instances, managed to stay out of the spotlight. The couple were married until his death in 1961. Marguerite died seven years later.

The name of Marguerite Clayton never rose to the ranks of a Norma Talmadge or a Mary Pickford, but thanks to her work in the "Broncho Billy" series, she’s achieved an immortality among silent film lovers. To watch the Broncho Girl of the Essanay Company in action, check out two installments of the “Broncho Billy” series below.

Adrienne Kroell: The Selig Coquette

Adrienne Kroell was dubbed one of the most beautiful women in filmdom, and had a beauty contest trophy to support it. At one point, she was named the most engaged girl in all of Chicago, as she was receiving proposals on nearly a daily basis. Unfortunately, in just a matter of years, Selig’s coquette (as she was once called) would be retired from the screen and largely bedridden.

Although she would always call St. Louis her home, Kroell was actually born December 13, 1892 in Chicago. Her father, Charles, was an electrical engineer originally from Germany. Her mother, May, was a Chicago native, and Adrienne was their first child. The family got their start in Chicago, but later moved to St. Louis, which is where Adrienne was educated. Although she believed she could succeed as a singer, her parents urged to become a teacher. “To please them, I took the normal exams, though I never intended to be a teacher. While going to high school I studied music, and the vacation after I was graduated I took up stenography, six weeks after I began the course, I had finished and obtained a position as secretary of the St. Louis Horticultural Society,” she later told an interviewer.

Adrienne Kroell in "The Wheels of Fate"

Of course, secretarial work was not her calling. She soon became involved with the St. Louis Suburban Stock Company, and performed with the company in the evenings while doing secretarial work during the day. It was around this time that she won the 1907 International Beauty Contest hosted by the St. Louis Republican. She was advised to go to Chicago to to try for a position in a musical, and went to try out for producer Mort Singer. When he told her his secretary had just quit and he was too busy to see her, she quickly offered her services as a secretary and was hired. She continued performing, and eventually left the position to take a role in the production “The Honeymoon Trail.”

From 1908 to 1910 she was involved in “musical comedies,” performing in productions like “A Stubborn Cinderella” and primarily identified herself as an actress in “comic opera.” That would all change that year when she made her real foray into the film world. Although she did a short with Selig Polyscope in 1909, she bounced between the big three Chicago studios -- Essanay, Selig and American Film Manufacturing (Flying A) -- before finally settling on Selig in 1911. She quickly became their leading lady and was dubbed the Selig coquette because of the roles she so often played. In 1912, she told the Toledo News that the image she portrayed onscreen was quite different from her real life persona, “I don’t know why I so often have to be THE girl,” she jokingly lamented, but no doubt there was some truth in what she said.

Adrienne Kroell in "The Golden Cloud"

Although the next few years saw her as a consistent and capable leading lady, and a clever and versatile actress, she got a taste of the ailment which would bring about her too-early retirement. At the end of 1913, Kroell was stricken with rheumatism, putting her out of commission for some time. In early 1914, she made her triumphant return to Selig as leading lady, boasting she had been completely restored to health. Unfortunately, her poor luck was just beginning.

In early 1915, she was involved in a train wreck near Homewood, Illinois. She only suffered a sprained ankle, but it was major news to the fan magazines. A few months later, her family would suffer a major blow. Charles Kroell died May 31, 1915, just a couple days short of his 52nd birthday, leaving Adrienne as the primary breadwinner for the family of six. In addition to her film work, she began to do theatrical engagements, including balls for the film industry, which allowed her to showcase her voice for the first time in a number of years. After embarking on a limited singing engagement at the Wilson Theater in December 1915, she left for the West Coast for a few months. Although no official reason was given, it’s reasonable to suspect that her arthritis was beginning to reappear.

Adrienne Kroell in "The Firefighter's Love"

By mid-1916 she had returned to Selig to appear in their production of “Two Orphans,” starring another Selig leading lady Kathlyn Williams. She faded from the spotlight for a time, again, only to reappear with Famous Players. She was only with them for a short time before she was again stricken with rheumatism. In April of 1917, the fan magazines reported she had been recovering for the past three months under the care of physicians from the Mayo Clinic. She had returned to St. Louis and expected to be able to re-enter the film world, but it didn’t last. By the end of 1917, she had retired from the screen.

By 1920, she was living with her mother and her sisters. When the census was taken for 1919, she didn’t claim any income or occupation. In fact, she and her mother were being supported by Kroell’s younger sisters who were working as bookkeepers and clerks in Chicago. In the years following, her mother died, and she relocated to San Diego to live with her sister Rosalie and brother-in-law Paul. In 1929, she listed her occupation as teacher of the dramatic arts, but it’s unclear how much teaching she was able to do. By 1939, she was basically bedridden due to her condition, and living with her sister’s family with no source of income.

It, no doubt, was a strain on Rosalie’s family life, but they made the best of it. Paul and Adrienne devised an apparatus that helped get her out of bed and into a chair so that she could sit up a few times a week for a short amount of time, but by 1942, she was back in Illinois and living in the Sturgis Convalescent Home in Evanston. In 1944, she made the news for the first time in nearly three decades. Ann Sturgis, the 17-year-old daughter of the nursing home's owner, befriended Kroell. When she got a role in her senior play, she rehearsed by Kroell’s bedside and sought her advice. When the night of the play came, Kroell, with the help of the nursing home attendants, made her way to the auditorium, on a stretcher via ambulance, to see young Ann perform. It was the first time in years that she had been outside in the fresh winter air, and the thrill of it and the play left quite an impression on her. “I feel so much better. It just made me young again, “ she told the Chicago Tribune.

It was her last public appearance. Five years later, Adrienne Kroell died on October 2, 1949 from complications from arthritis. She was 56.

Unfortunately, like many early independent studios of the early days of film, most of the works by the Selig Polyscope Company are gone, giving us few opportunities to appreciate the work that Kroell and her colleagues did. Once again, we’re left with an unsatisfying and incomplete picture of one of the great players of the early silent era, but Kroell’s story alone gives us a glimpse at the stunning star she once was.

Did you enjoy this post? Let me know in the comments below!

Richard Travers: The Man About Town

Richard Travers was once described by Motion Picture Classic as a doctor, soldier of fortune, warrior, and a man about town. A man known for his daring, his willingness to take all kinds of risks and enjoy them, and one of the best all-around athletes in all of filmdom. So...who was he?

Richard Campbell Tibb was born April 15, 1885 at the Hudson Bay Trading Post in Canada. He was the son of Scottish immigrants, and his father was among the first protestant missionaries in the Northern Territories. When he was just 15, he made his way into a company of British soldiers sent to South Africa during the Boer War (he had given his age as 21). Upon his return, he went to the U.S. (specifically Cornell University) to study medicine. He began practicing, quit, and then decided to pursue a career on the stage. He played in stock companies in the U.S. and Montreal, but shortly thereafter, Travers started making his way into film.

Richard Travers in "The Lightbearer"

In 1912, he joined the Lubin Company in Philadelphia. One of his first roles was that of a race car driver, and this theme of rugged, daredevil roles would follow Travers throughout most of his silent career. With his soulful eyes, engaging personality and rugged good looks, it wouldn't take long for Travers to find work as a leading man.

In May 1913, Travers was signed to Chicago's own Essanay. He was tapped to play romantic leads, and very quickly became a favorite in the studio and among fans. His first big hit for Essanay was "The Pay-As-You-Enter Man" and he quickly became an Essanay mainstay. He worked consistently, stationed at the Chicago branch, appearing in 3-reel comedies and other shorts. He played romantic leads, but continued to to perform daring, rugged and athletic roles, sometimes to his detriment.

Richard Travers in "The Fulfillment"

While filming "The Undertow" in November 1915, Travers was seriously injured when a stunt went awry. In an attempt to leap from one train car to another, Travers was temporarily blinded when the engineer's cap flew into his face. He missed grabbing the handle, fell onto the tracks, and narrowly missed getting run over by the car. Although he survived, he suffered an 8-inch gash on his arm, a badly injured kneecap, and several broken bones in his hand.

Richard Travers in "Seven Sealed Orders"

As he was recovering, he was stricken with Typhoid fever and rheumatism, but by early December, the magazines were reporting his return. He began composing a collection of his experiences as a film actor and then turned that collection into a 20-week vaudeville engagement. Travers traveled around the country, delivering monologues about film, accompanied by cartoons drawn by Wallace A. Carlson which depicted life at Essanay.

Even when he wasn't shooting, Travers kept himself busy. He formed baseball and hockey teams made up of Essanay players, and had a diamond and rink built on the studio grounds. He joined film clubs in Kansas, Chicago and New York in an effort to protect the industry from license and censorship legislation. And, like fellow Canadian Mary Pickford, he showed true American patriotism by appearing in films like "My Country, Tis of Thee" and giving inspirational speeches about the war.

Richard Travers in "Surgeon Warren's Ward"

This flurry of activity came to a standstill in early 1917, though, when he left Essanay, got married and went to New York in just a matter of weeks. His bride Lillian Cattell (formerly known as May Franklin) was actually his second wife. Months earlier, the papers reported he was seeking a divorce from the former Mrs. Travers who had refused to go with him to Philadelphia in the early days of his film career.

He soon signed with American Standard and Sunshine Film Co. for a special production that would list him as a co-director, but plans with any studio soon fell through as Travers got more and more involved in the war effort. In July, he was assigned a commission in the reserve army and began touring the country, encouraging enlistment. By September he had reported to Officers Camp in Fort Sheridan, and by December he was awarded a captaincy. It was revealed that his brothers had been deployed to France with the Canadian contingency and by the time he joined, at least one of them had been killed in action (reports vary as to when both brothers died). He spent two months in France and continued touring the country, drumming up support for the army, the Red Cross, and encouraging Liberty Bond sales. He received an honorable discharge in December 1918, but his film career did not pick up where it had left off.

Richard Travers in "The Green Ghost" (3rd from right)

He worked sporadically for the next few years, jumping from film company to film company, and running into legal trouble along the way. In 1920, he sued U.S. Photoplay to the tune of $7,500. He claimed he was owed back salary, but the company filed a countersuit saying he had failed to live up to his contract and had already been advanced $550. Although he settled into supporting roles through the '20s and made a handful of talkies, he ultimately retired from the screen in 1930, never achieving the level of fame or the legacy he probably deserved.

By 1930, his marriage appears to have dissolved, and on April 20, 1935, Travers died of pneumonia just five days after his 50th birthday.

Blanche Sweet and Richard Travers in "The Woman Racket"

Unfortunately, time hasn't been too kind Travers' body of work. With few exceptions, his films are either lost or largely unavailable. One of the films that has survived, and has actually made the jump to DVD, is "The Woman Racket" from 1930. It's one of Travers' final films, and it stars another silent veteran -- Blanche Sweet. Although it's difficult to confirm without viewing the films themselves, his silent onscreen personality sounds a lot like that of Douglas Fairbanks, making it even more unfortunate that such an engaging star has been buried by time. Why didn't his career continue to thrive? The rise of the studio system, his legal issues, the after-effects of war, the loss of his brothers, and his money issues all, undoubtedly, played roles in his ultimate downfall, but it's a shame that we can't better judge and appreciate his work today.

Did you enjoy this post? Please leave a comment or share it with fellow silent film lovers!