This article was written in
1916 by Linda A. Griffith, who at the time, was the wife of
legendary director D.W. Griffith. She was commissioned by the Film Magazine
Film Fun to write a series of articles about
interesting incidents that occurred at the old Biograph
studios, the place where a great deal of the silent era film
stars got their start. This
particular article recounts the story of how Mary Pickford,
later to become 'The World's Sweetheart,' got her start in the
movies.
ON A BRIGHT May morning in 1909 came a timid ring at the old Biograph studio door. It didn't require any diplomatic efforts then to get past the outer office, as it does
to-day. One didn't even think of sending in a card to the studio. On the heavy old double doors that opened into the studio proper there was an electric push button, and all one had to do to get in was to press it. The door would be opened by anyone who happened to be standing near. Once in, if the entrant happened to be of a timid nature, he remained in the background. If possessing the quality known as "nerve," he would press forward to the camera and stand there, in the hope that the director would see him and like his type or looks or clothes well enough to engage him for a day's work. This one ring of the studio bell I began to tell about admitted a little girl--she looked to be about fourteen. She wore a plain blue serge suit, a blue and white striped lawn shirtwaist and a straw hat with a dark blue ribbon. About her fresh, pretty, gentle face bobbed a dozen or more short golden curls--such perfect little curls I think I had never before seen. The little girl's name was Mary Pickford.
Mr. Griffith just at this time was considering a production in moving pictures of Browning's poem,
Pippa Passes. For some while he had felt that there must be a departure from old methods and subjects. The methods of picture taking he was revolutionizing day by day, by the introduction of the close-up, switchback, light
effects, proper make-ups, a better dressing of parts and a quality of screen acting that could be recognized as the manner in which human beings might be expected to deport themselves in the various complexities, struggles and sorrows of life.
As to the subjects for stories, that was where we had to carefully watch the public and not depart too rapidly from the then accepted melodrama and the all too obvious comedy. So resulted long discussions with the Biograph heads as to the advisability of Browning in moving pictures, and after much persuasion to be allowed this one experiment, a production of
Pippa Passes was finally agreed upon. There was no question in our minds as to whether it would be an artistic success.
Had Browning himself written for the "movies," he couldn't have turned out a better screen subject; but
the trouble was, "Will it make money? Will it be a financial success?" Neither the Biograph nor any other company could afford to turn out pictures that no one would care to see, and we were somewhat afraid that Browning would scare the moving picture public out of the theater. With
Pippa Passes very much in mind these days, and therefore hunting about for the best possible cast for this new departure in the "movies," along came the day that Mary Pickford's footsteps led her to the Biograph, looking for work. She had just finished a season with David Belasco in
The Warrens of Virginia, and not caring to face the long summer months with no money coming in, she came, as all others had up to this time, to see if she couldn't earn a little money while awaiting another engagement on the stage.
When Mr. Griffith saw Mary standing there in the studio quietly looking on (a set was up and we were busy taking scenes), he came over to me and said, "Don't you think she would be good for Pippa?" I said I thought she would be ideal, and so came about Mary Pickford's first engagement in a moving picture. Right then and there Mr. Griffith had her make up, he gave her a violin and had her walk across the scene, thus making a test picture to see just how she would photograph and act. Though she was engaged with Pippa in mind, the strange part of it all was that when
Pippa Passes was finally produced, Mary did not play the part, as she no longer filled Mr. Griffith's mental image of the required type. Winsome Gertrude Robinson, with black instead of golden curls and dark eyes, was chosen for the role of the spiritual Pippa. It was altogether a notable cast, comprising such well-known players and directors of to-day as James Kirkwood, Henry Walthal, Owen Moore, Marion Leonard, Gertrude Robinson, Arthur Johnson and the writer.
Artistically it was the opening wedge, and a column article of highest praise in the New York Times satisfied our hungry hearts and was sweet assurance of a big step upward. It was the first time a New York daily paper had condescended to
criticize a moving picture. That was in October, 1909. Mr. Griffith had, however, produced stories and poems of literary worth before this, but they were sweet, homely themes, not the works of the intellectual Browning. To my mind comes
After Many Years (which was the name given the first moving picture version of
Enoch Arden), in one reel, with Florence Lawrence as Annie Lee. Some few years later
Enoch Arden was again produced, this time in two reels (the first picture ever produced in two reels), and of which cast I was the Annie Lee.
Enoch Arden, like the brook, seems to run on forever, as a big, four-reel production, with Lillian Gish, has recently been shown as a Fine Arts picture on the Triangle program. Charles Dickens's
The Cricket on the Hearth was produced as far back as May, 1909.
The cast of this picture contains names all well known to-day, and I also recall it as one of the pictures in which there was a general rehearsing of all the actors before the cast was selected. Florence Lawrence, Violet Mesereau and myself were rehearsed for Dot, and on this occasion the honors were mine, and I was chosen for Dot. Herbert Pryor, now of Edison fame, was John Peerybingle; Owen Moore, who has just recently signed with the Famous Players, was Edward Plummer; and Violet Mesereau, whose name now shines in electric lights as a Universal star, was May Fielding. It was her first part in a moving picture.
One of Mary Pickford's very first parts, if not the first, was in
The Lonely Villa -- as its name suggests, a melodrama of rather tense quality. Mary played a child of about twelve or thirteen. There were two younger sisters, and Marion Leonard was the mother. Mary wasn't playing a ragged child, however, but a very prettily dressed, aristocratic-looking youngster she was. Mary's salary was then twenty-five dollars a week, which represented a guarantee for three days' work. Naturally she wasn't expected to furnish real dresses for that sum, and the Biograph wardrobe being rather meager, I persuaded Mr. Griffith to let me buy Mary some real clothes. The money was furnished, and I hastened to Best's, where I bought a smart, pale blue linen, child's frock, blue silk stockings to match and a pair of patent leather pumps. When Mary was rigged out in these dainties, with her fluffy curls bobbing about her face, Owen Moore, a regular member of the company then, never took his eyes away from her, and we all knew that a romance had that day begun, culminating so happily a few years later in their marriage.
"Is Mary Pickford a good business woman?" is often asked, both in and out of the theatrical profession. For almost a child, I thought she was, for in that regard she gave me quite a shock one day. Mary was playing in a picture in which she had had various experiences while trying to elope. One of the experiences was falling into the Passaic River from an overturned canoe. Dripping wet, as we rushed her back to the little hotel where we had made up to change her clothes, and with the automobile full of people, she naively looked up into Mr. Griffith's face and said, "Now, Mr. Griffith, do I get that raise?" And she got it!