A MODERN MUSKETEER
Starring Douglas Fairbanks
PHOTOPLAY
March, 1918
Draft he dictionary, order the thesaurus into intensive training, mobilize the superlatives and equip the book of similes for the first line trenches "A Modern Musketeer" has arrived. Here is Douglas the Fairbanks at his most Douglasish and eke at his Fairbanksest. Here is the breaker of all speed records in the speediest of all forms of entertainment making all his past performances look like the funeral march of a colony of paralyzed snails. Here is Briareus threshing about with every one of his hundred arms at once. D'Artagnan, forsooth! Fairbanks makes the Dumas swashbuckler seem a popinjay, a milksop, a wearer of wrist watches in times of peace, a devotee of the sleeve handkerchief, a nursery playmate, and eater of prune whip, a drinker of pink lemonade, a person susceptible to hay fever, a wearer of corn plasters, an habitue of five o'clock teas, a reader of "Polyanna." Ned Thacker was born to the tune of a Kansas cyclone, and absorbed the message of the elemental Donnybrook into his small person. From that moment his energies consumed him with a desire for adequate expression. There was not sufficient elbow room in the Kansas town, so Thacker headed west. On the rim of the Grand Canyon he found his proper battlefield. Even his dynamic soul contemplated with awe that vast chasm, so that he could barely gasp, "Gosh, what a gully!" Here, up and down the mile deep ditch he fought with a nest of outlaws to win The Girl. He bathes in hairbreadth escapes as a lady daintily points her immaculate pink digits at the finger bowl, and with no greater disaster. There is nothing left but for Doug to scale the bare face of El Capitan in the Yosemite, and he will have trampled the entire geography of this hemisphere under his never-slips. Here and there in the rush of it, one catches glimpses of a supporting cast, in particular Frank Campeau, Tully Marshall and Marjorie Daw. But it is hard to remember just what they did. Undoubtedly their performances deserve highest praise; the point of the stiletto is like a needle, but it is not much of a weapon with a few tones of shells being dumped in your back yard every few minutes.
A MODERN MUSKETEER
starring Douglas Fairbanks
MOTION PICTURE
March, 1918
A certain prominence is attached to this picture because it was chosen by that master showman, S.L. Rothapfel, for the opening of the magnificent new Rivoli Theater in New York City. The Rivoli, a wonderful palace of cream, gold and old-rose hangings, marks a decided step in the advancement of picture theaters. The opening performance was attended by all the celebrities of the film world. The line-o'-type critics formed a shirt-front brigade in the foyer, and it was easy to tell by their pleased countenances just what a cheery report would spring from the inside pages of their respective papers. But, to my mind, Rothapfel missed the chance of a lifetime. He opened the performance with a stirring dramatic revue of the great episodes of American history, "The Victory of Democracy," rendered by Mary Lawton and Forrest Robinson, followed by a tableau vivant representing all the Allies-at-arms. This, together with the stirring musical setting, worked the audience to the top-most pitch of patriotic fervor. Had Mr. Rothapfel then continued his performance with a big, patriotic picture, the event would have been unique and a smashing sensation. But Rothapfel chose "The Modern Musketeer." And right here I want to say that you will all like Douglas Fairbanks in "The Modern Musketeer." The play is a succession of remarkable Fairbanks stunts. He hangs over the Grand Canyon of the Colorado; he climbs church steeples, vaults porches, hedges and housetops. You will like it, because it is Doug Fairbanks and not because of any virtue attached to the picture. In fact, the scenario absolutely lacks continuity, and the subtitles are almost crude after the delicious ones which Anita Loos heretofore penned for the lively Doug. It is a peppery hodge-podge of Doug, the jumping-jack, ably assisted by little Marjorie Daw and Kathleen Kirkman. An excellent evening's entertainment, but scarcely worthy of the honor Mr. Rothapfel gave it.