Posts Tagged ‘José Collins’

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José Collins heads the cast of The Merry Countess, Casino Theatre, New York, 1912

November 17, 2013

a scene from The Merry Countess, a comic opera based on Johann Strauss’s Die Fledermaus, book by Gladys Unger, lyrics by Arthur Anderson, which was produced at the Casino Theatre, New York, on 20 August 1912. Members of the cast in this photograph are (left to right) José Collins (1887-1958) as Countess Rosalinda Cliquot, Forrest Huff (1876-1947), Maurice Farkoa (1864-1916) as Gabor Szabo, Claude Flemming (1884-1952) and Martin Brown (1885-1936).
(photo: White, New York, 1912)

The London version of this production was seen at the Lyric Theatre on 30 December 1911, with Constance Drever as Countess Rosalinda Cliquot and Maurice Farkoa as Gabor Szabo. Both the London and New York productions featured the striking black and white gown allotted to the character of the Countess, seen here worn by Miss Collins. This gown was the inspiration for a similar black and white outfit designed by Cecil Beaton for one of the ladies of the Ascot scene chorus in the film, My Fair Lady (1964).

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José Collins in Alone at Last, Shubert Theatre, New York, 1915

October 26, 2013

José Collins (1887-1958), English actress and singer, as she appeared in Alone at Last, an operetta in three acts with music by Franz Lehar, adapted from the German for the American stage by Edgar Smith and Joseph Herbert and produced at the Shubert Theatre, New York, on 19 October 1915.
(photo: Moffett, Chicago, 1915)

‘Jose Collins returned to the cast of Alone at Last this week after having walked out of the rehearsals last week. Miss Collins will open with the show when it comes into the Shubert theatre unless she changes her mind between now and the opening date.’
(Variety, New York, Friday, 8 October 1915, p. 1d)

‘White Alone at Last, the most recent operetta from the pen of Franz Lehar, famed as the composer of the celebrated and justly sensational success, The Merry Widow, is endowed with a fine musical score, it is only fair to state that the big song hit of the piece is an interpolation. The song in question, contrary to the usual rule, is not a dreamy waltz ballad of love and soul kisses, but a comic ditty entitled ”Some Little Bug Will Find You Some Day.”
‘It occurs during the action of the second scene of the second act, and receives the best of treatment through the very able recitative attainments of Roy Atwell. Incidentally the latter collaborated in the writing of it in conjunction with Benjamin Hapgood Burt and Silvio Hein. Mr. Atwell tendered some ten extra verses of the ”Bug” song the opening night, and, to use a vaudeville colloquialism, ”stopped the show.”
‘But there is a great deal more to Alone at Last besides this most excellent humorous lyric. Take, for instance, Mr. [Joseph Harry] Benrimo’s superior producing ability as evidenced in the Swiss mountain scene in the second act.
‘The effect obtained is atmospheric to a remarkable degree, thanks to extraordinary lighting and Mr. Benrimo’s superlative knowledge of stage craft.
‘There are other beautiful and convincing scenic backgrounds as well, notably in the first act, with brings froth a realistic hotel set. The third act set, a hotel interior, while good in its way, is not up to the outdoor effects.
‘Then the music, both solo and ensemble, is pleasing, sweet and melodious. The score on the whole, although it contains nothing startling in the way of an individual ”hit,” is highly satisfactory. One might say that Lehar’s music was ”pretentious,” inasmuch as it often approaches great opera standards.
‘The chorus costumes are correct, in no way vulgar or obtrusive, and sufficiently kaleidoscopic in coloring. They show a nice refinement of taste in their designing and selection.
‘The book is only fair, and judicious eliminations of long and tedious passages of dialogue would help considerably. Particularly is is lacking the comedy values. This fault, of course, must be charged up to its programmed foreign authors [Dr. A.M. Willner and Robert Bodansky]. Admittedly the book contains no horseplay or buffoonery.
‘The cast is exceptionally talented in almost every instance. Jose Collins, as Tilly Dachau, sings charmingly, acts competently and wears her numerous costume changes bewitchingly. A champagne colored riding suit work in the second act, with the cutest of tightly fitting ”pants” imaginable, fills the eye in decidedly pleasure fashion. Miss Collins, it might be said in passing, fills the costume quite in the same manner.
‘John Charles Thomas, a strapping young fellow with a beautiful singing voice, that is quite as robust as his splendid physique, established himself in the good graces of the first nighters immediately after his first vocal number. His performance was highly enjoyable in every way.
‘Harry Conor, veteran American comedian, did splendidly with the material at hand. He was always at east and made his rather inane lines sound natural and convincing. A genuine achievement.
Madame Namara is a pretty girl of the frail, flower-like variety of beauty. The madame made the most of excellent opportunities offered her tat the finish of the second act. Her singing voice, a soprano of good range and fair quality, seemed to be not in the best of condition on the opening night.
‘Roy Atwell was very slightly remindful of Richard Carle as a mollycoddle sort of lover. Outside of the big song hit in the second act, Mr. Atwell was assigned little that was entertaining or amusing. He seemed to be mis-cast. However, the way in which he put over the ”Bug” song more than made up for any deficiencies of singing or acting.
‘The rest of the large cast, including Ed. Mulcahey [Edward Mulcahy], who made a realistic looking and sonorous voiced Swiss mountaineer, and Elizabeth Goodall, who impersonated an American widow without unnecessary affectations, were eminently satisfactory with one or two exceptions.
‘The dialogue exchanged by three or four chorus men in the second act should either be given to competent principals or else left out altogether. It would never be missed.
Alone at Last is a big show scenically, a delightful show musically, and a pleasing show generally speaking.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 30 October 1915, p. 27a/b)

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October 26, 2013

José Collins (1887-1958), English actress and singer, as she appeared in Alone at Last, an operetta in three acts with music by Franz Lehar, adapted from the German for the American stage by Edgar Smith and Joseph Herbert and produced at the Shubert Theatre, New York, on 19 October 1915.
(photo: Moffett, Chicago, 1915)

‘Jose Collins returned to the cast of Alone at Last this week after having walked out of the rehearsals last week. Miss Collins will open with the show when it comes into the Shubert theatre unless she changes her mind between now and the opening date.’
(Variety, New York, Friday, 8 October 1915, p. 1d)

‘White Alone at Last, the most recent operetta from the pen of Franz Lehar, famed as the composer of the celebrated and justly sensational success, The Merry Widow, is endowed with a fine musical score, it is only fair to state that the big song hit of the piece is an interpolation. The song in question, contrary to the usual rule, is not a dreamy waltz ballad of love and soul kisses, but a comic ditty entitled ”Some Little Bug Will Find You Some Day.”
‘It occurs during the action of the second scene of the second act, and receives the best of treatment through the very able recitative attainments of Roy Atwell. Incidentally the latter collaborated in the writing of it in conjunction with Benjamin Hapgood Burt and Silvio Hein. Mr. Atwell tendered some ten extra verses of the ”Bug” song the opening night, and, to use a vaudeville colloquialism, ”stopped the show.”
‘But there is a great deal more to Alone at Last besides this most excellent humorous lyric. Take, for instance, Mr. [Joseph Harry] Benrimo’s superior producing ability as evidenced in the Swiss mountain scene in the second act.
‘The effect obtained is atmospheric to a remarkable degree, thanks to extraordinary lighting and Mr. Benrimo’s superlative knowledge of stage craft.
‘There are other beautiful and convincing scenic backgrounds as well, notably in the first act, with brings froth a realistic hotel set. The third act set, a hotel interior, while good in its way, is not up to the outdoor effects.
‘Then the music, both solo and ensemble, is pleasing, sweet and melodious. The score on the whole, although it contains nothing startling in the way of an individual ”hit,” is highly satisfactory. One might say that Lehar’s music was ”pretentious,” inasmuch as it often approaches great opera standards.
‘The chorus costumes are correct, in no way vulgar or obtrusive, and sufficiently kaleidoscopic in coloring. They show a nice refinement of taste in their designing and selection.
‘The book is only fair, and judicious eliminations of long and tedious passages of dialogue would help considerably. Particularly is is lacking the comedy values. This fault, of course, must be charged up to its programmed foreign authors [Dr. A.M. Willner and Robert Bodansky]. Admittedly the book contains no horseplay or buffoonery.
‘The cast is exceptionally talented in almost every instance. Jose Collins, as Tilly Dachau, sings charmingly, acts competently and wears her numerous costume changes bewitchingly. A champagne colored riding suit work in the second act, with the cutest of tightly fitting ”pants” imaginable, fills the eye in decidedly pleasure fashion. Miss Collins, it might be said in passing, fills the costume quite in the same manner.
‘John Charles Thomas, a strapping young fellow with a beautiful singing voice, that is quite as robust as his splendid physique, established himself in the good graces of the first nighters immediately after his first vocal number. His performance was highly enjoyable in every way.
‘Harry Conor, veteran American comedian, did splendidly with the material at hand. He was always at east and made his rather inane lines sound natural and convincing. A genuine achievement.
Madame Namara is a pretty girl of the frail, flower-like variety of beauty. The madame made the most of excellent opportunities offered her tat the finish of the second act. Her singing voice, a soprano of good range and fair quality, seemed to be not in the best of condition on the opening night.
‘Roy Atwell was very slightly remindful of Richard Carle as a mollycoddle sort of lover. Outside of the big song hit in the second act, Mr. Atwell was assigned little that was entertaining or amusing. He seemed to be mis-cast. However, the way in which he put over the ”Bug” song more than made up for any deficiencies of singing or acting.
‘The rest of the large cast, including Ed. Mulcahey [Edward Mulcahy], who made a realistic looking and sonorous voiced Swiss mountaineer, and Elizabeth Goodall, who impersonated an American widow without unnecessary affectations, were eminently satisfactory with one or two exceptions.
‘The dialogue exchanged by three or four chorus men in the second act should either be given to competent principals or else left out altogether. It would never be missed.
Alone at Last is a big show scenically, a delightful show musically, and a pleasing show generally speaking.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 30 October 1915, p. 27a/b)

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October 26, 2013

José Collins (1887-1958), English actress and singer, as she appeared in Alone at Last, an operetta in three acts with music by Franz Lehar, adapted from the German for the American stage by Edgar Smith and Joseph Herbert and produced at the Shubert Theatre, New York, on 19 October 1915.
(photo: Moffett, Chicago, 1915)

‘Jose Collins returned to the cast of Alone at Last this week after having walked out of the rehearsals last week. Miss Collins will open with the show when it comes into the Shubert theatre unless she changes her mind between now and the opening date.’
(Variety, New York, Friday, 8 October 1915, p. 1d)

‘White Alone at Last, the most recent operetta from the pen of Franz Lehar, famed as the composer of the celebrated and justly sensational success, The Merry Widow, is endowed with a fine musical score, it is only fair to state that the big song hit of the piece is an interpolation. The song in question, contrary to the usual rule, is not a dreamy waltz ballad of love and soul kisses, but a comic ditty entitled “Some Little Bug Will Find You Some Day.”
‘It occurs during the action of the second scene of the second act, and receives the best of treatment through the very able recitative attainments of Roy Atwell. Incidentally the latter collaborated in the writing of it in conjunction with Benjamin Hapgood Burt and Silvio Hein. Mr. Atwell tendered some ten extra verses of the ”Bug” song the opening night, and, to use a vaudeville colloquialism, “stopped the show.”
‘But there is a great deal more to Alone at Last besides this most excellent humorous lyric. Take, for instance, Mr. [Joseph Harry] Benrimo’s superior producing ability as evidenced in the Swiss mountain scene in the second act.
‘The effect obtained is atmospheric to a remarkable degree, thanks to extraordinary lighting and Mr. Benrimo’s superlative knowledge of stage craft.
‘There are other beautiful and convincing scenic backgrounds as well, notably in the first act, with brings froth a realistic hotel set. The third act set, a hotel interior, while good in its way, is not up to the outdoor effects.
‘Then the music, both solo and ensemble, is pleasing, sweet and melodious. The score on the whole, although it contains nothing startling in the way of an individual “hit,” is highly satisfactory. One might say that Lehar’s music was “pretentious,” inasmuch as it often approaches great opera standards.
‘The chorus costumes are correct, in no way vulgar or obtrusive, and sufficiently kaleidoscopic in coloring. They show a nice refinement of taste in their designing and selection.
‘The book is only fair, and judicious eliminations of long and tedious passages of dialogue would help considerably. Particularly is is lacking the comedy values. This fault, of course, must be charged up to its programmed foreign authors [Dr. A.M. Willner and Robert Bodansky]. Admittedly the book contains no horseplay or buffoonery.
‘The cast is exceptionally talented in almost every instance. Jose Collins, as Tilly Dachau, sings charmingly, acts competently and wears her numerous costume changes bewitchingly. A champagne colored riding suit work in the second act, with the cutest of tightly fitting “pants” imaginable, fills the eye in decidedly pleasure fashion. Miss Collins, it might be said in passing, fills the costume quite in the same manner.
‘John Charles Thomas, a strapping young fellow with a beautiful singing voice, that is quite as robust as his splendid physique, established himself in the good graces of the first nighters immediately after his first vocal number. His performance was highly enjoyable in every way.
‘Harry Conor, veteran American comedian, did splendidly with the material at hand. He was always at east and made his rather inane lines sound natural and convincing. A genuine achievement.
Madame Namara is a pretty girl of the frail, flower-like variety of beauty. The madame made the most of excellent opportunities offered her tat the finish of the second act. Her singing voice, a soprano of good range and fair quality, seemed to be not in the best of condition on the opening night.
‘Roy Atwell was very slightly remindful of Richard Carle as a mollycoddle sort of lover. Outside of the big song hit in the second act, Mr. Atwell was assigned little that was entertaining or amusing. He seemed to be mis-cast. However, the way in which he put over the “Bug” song more than made up for any deficiencies of singing or acting.
‘The rest of the large cast, including Ed. Mulcahey [Edward Mulcahy], who made a realistic looking and sonorous voiced Swiss mountaineer, and Elizabeth Goodall, who impersonated an American widow without unnecessary affectations, were eminently satisfactory with one or two exceptions.
‘The dialogue exchanged by three or four chorus men in the second act should either be given to competent principals or else left out altogether. It would never be missed.
Alone at Last is a big show scenically, a delightful show musically, and a pleasing show generally speaking.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 30 October 1915, p. 27a/b)

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José Collins interviewed, 1916

July 20, 2013

José Collins (1887-1958), English actress and singer, as she appeared in the Fox film, A Woman’s Honor, United States, 1916
(photo: Fox, USA, 1916)

FAMOUS DAUGHTER of a FAMOUS MOTHER
Pictures Interviews José Collins in Her Dressing Room.
‘Who has forgotten that amazing woman Lottie Collins, who made a name in one night, and in a few weeks had all the world singing the haunting ditty, “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay”?
’ José is following in her mother’s footsteps on the high road to fame, and so quickly is she reaching her goal – by the stage-hall-cinema route – that we simply could not delay any longer in securing a chat with her for PICTURES.
‘Shown into her dressing-room at Daly’s Theatre, where she is nightly a star in The Happy Day, we beheld a medium-sized figure, full of vim and energy, with a pair of wonderful brown eyes, large and lustrous, a row of perfectly even white teeth, and a dainty little dimple, in a face wreathed in smiles, framed with a mass of blue-black hair.
Pictures Privileged.
‘“I simply hate being interviewed,” she warned us; “but as it is for PICTURES, and I never tire of talking about my film work, I guess I’ll have to fire away. My experience is limited; I only started playing in films a few months before I left America, so I only had time to do three pictures – The Light That Failed (Pathé [1916]), The Impostor (World Film [1915]), and A Woman’s Honour (Fox [1916]). For the latter film we went to Cuba and Palm Beeches [sic], where the sun was so strong that we could only work for an hour and a half each day. The part I took in A Woman of Honour was that of a little Italian peasant girl, afterwards becoming a society woman. An Italian market was erected in the studio, and the real peasants from the foreign quarter were brought in with their donkeys and barrows. It was a wonderful sight.”
‘“Didn’t you miss the footlights, the audience, the music – in fact all the splendour of the stage?” we asked.
‘“Not a bit. Everyone was so kind – the directors so charming – that, although I found it rather hard work at first, I was never so happy as when playing before the camera. I had a beautiful dressing-room, and when not working I could rest on a comfortable divan or sing and play to myself.”
‘“Yes,” we interrupted, “it is a pity your beautiful voice does not reflect on the screen.”
‘“It has been tried in America, but it was not a great success.
‘“My salary was $200 per week,” continued Miss Collins, “and I had almost signed a contract for a year at the same salary when I suddenly had a longing to see dear old England again, and all the money in America could not have kept me there.”
Another Star to Twinkle Here!
‘”The Impostors has been shown in this country, we believe?”
‘“Yes, it is the only one so far; I expect to do some film work over here, but have not settled yet.”
‘“Did you have any thrilling experiences in pictures?”
‘“Oh, yes. In one film I had to jump from a height of thirty feet into the sea. While I was waiting for my rescuer, who was a very poor swimmer, I was being battered against rocks by a wild and overpowering sea, and when I eventually reached the shore I was a positive wreck.”
‘“What was your impression when you first saw yourself on the screen?”
‘“Oh, dreadful! I hated myself. All I could say was, ‘Do I do that? Am I like that?’ Every little mannerism came out. In one film the director shouted to me – ‘Cry, Miss Collins, please cry!’ I took him at his word, and for Art’s sake burst into a flood of tears, nearly sobbing my heart our. I had not cried like that since I was a tiny child, and only the congratulations of my producer compensated for the wretched nervous headache I suffered after.
‘“Just before I sailed [for England] a dinner was given for me, and many well-known film-artistes were present including Charlie Chaplin. Oh! No; that was not the first time we had met – we appeared on the halls together in this country. Charlie and José are real pals.”
‘“Miss Collins, please!” It was the call-boy.
‘The actress rose to go. “I’m sorry, but I really must fly. Give my love to all your readers. Good-bye!”
‘the delightful little lady disappeared, and as we made our way out of the theatre we heard strains of song. It was Miss Collins enchanting the audience with her melodious voice.’
(Pictures and the Picturegoer, London, Saturday, 18 November 1916, p.150)

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July 20, 2013

José Collins (1887-1958), English actress and singer, as she appeared in the Fox film, A Woman’s Honor, United States, 1916
(photo: Fox, USA, 1916)

FAMOUS DAUGHTER of a FAMOUS MOTHER
Pictures Interviews José Collins in Her Dressing Room.
‘Who has forgotten that amazing woman Lottie Collins, who made a name in one night, and in a few weeks had all the world singing the haunting ditty, “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay”?
’ José is following in her mother’s footsteps on the high road to fame, and so quickly is she reaching her goal – by the stage-hall-cinema route – that we simply could not delay any longer in securing a chat with her for PICTURES.
‘Shown into her dressing-room at Daly’s Theatre, where she is nightly a star in The Happy Day, we beheld a medium-sized figure, full of vim and energy, with a pair of wonderful brown eyes, large and lustrous, a row of perfectly even white teeth, and a dainty little dimple, in a face wreathed in smiles, framed with a mass of blue-black hair.
Pictures Privileged.
‘“I simply hate being interviewed,” she warned us; “but as it is for PICTURES, and I never tire of talking about my film work, I guess I’ll have to fire away. My experience is limited; I only started playing in films a few months before I left America, so I only had time to do three pictures – The Light That Failed (Pathé [1916]), The Impostor (World Film [1915]), and A Woman’s Honour (Fox [1916]). For the latter film we went to Cuba and Palm Beeches [sic], where the sun was so strong that we could only work for an hour and a half each day. The part I took in A Woman of Honour was that of a little Italian peasant girl, afterwards becoming a society woman. An Italian market was erected in the studio, and the real peasants from the foreign quarter were brought in with their donkeys and barrows. It was a wonderful sight.”
‘“Didn’t you miss the footlights, the audience, the music – in fact all the splendour of the stage?” we asked.
‘“Not a bit. Everyone was so kind – the directors so charming – that, although I found it rather hard work at first, I was never so happy as when playing before the camera. I had a beautiful dressing-room, and when not working I could rest on a comfortable divan or sing and play to myself.”
‘“Yes,” we interrupted, “it is a pity your beautiful voice does not reflect on the screen.”
‘“It has been tried in America, but it was not a great success.
‘“My salary was $200 per week,” continued Miss Collins, “and I had almost signed a contract for a year at the same salary when I suddenly had a longing to see dear old England again, and all the money in America could not have kept me there.”
Another Star to Twinkle Here!
‘”The Impostors has been shown in this country, we believe?”
‘“Yes, it is the only one so far; I expect to do some film work over here, but have not settled yet.”
‘“Did you have any thrilling experiences in pictures?”
‘“Oh, yes. In one film I had to jump from a height of thirty feet into the sea. While I was waiting for my rescuer, who was a very poor swimmer, I was being battered against rocks by a wild and overpowering sea, and when I eventually reached the shore I was a positive wreck.”
‘“What was your impression when you first saw yourself on the screen?”
‘“Oh, dreadful! I hated myself. All I could say was, ‘Do I do that? Am I like that?’ Every little mannerism came out. In one film the director shouted to me – ‘Cry, Miss Collins, please cry!’ I took him at his word, and for Art’s sake burst into a flood of tears, nearly sobbing my heart our. I had not cried like that since I was a tiny child, and only the congratulations of my producer compensated for the wretched nervous headache I suffered after.
‘“Just before I sailed [for England] a dinner was given for me, and many well-known film-artistes were present including Charlie Chaplin. Oh! No; that was not the first time we had met – we appeared on the halls together in this country. Charlie and José are real pals.”
‘“Miss Collins, please!” It was the call-boy.
‘The actress rose to go. “I’m sorry, but I really must fly. Give my love to all your readers. Good-bye!”
‘the delightful little lady disappeared, and as we made our way out of the theatre we heard strains of song. It was Miss Collins enchanting the audience with her melodious voice.’
(Pictures and the Picturegoer, London, Saturday, 18 November 1916, p.150)

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July 20, 2013

José Collins (1887-1958), English actress and singer, as she appeared in the Fox film, A Woman’s Honor, United States, 1916
(photo: Fox, USA, 1916)

FAMOUS DAUGHTER of a FAMOUS MOTHER
Pictures Interviews José Collins in Her Dressing Room.
‘Who has forgotten that amazing woman Lottie Collins, who made a name in one night, and in a few weeks had all the world singing the haunting ditty, “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay”?
’ José is following in her mother’s footsteps on the high road to fame, and so quickly is she reaching her goal – by the stage-hall-cinema route – that we simply could not delay any longer in securing a chat with her for PICTURES.
‘Shown into her dressing-room at Daly’s Theatre, where she is nightly a star in The Happy Day, we beheld a medium-sized figure, full of vim and energy, with a pair of wonderful brown eyes, large and lustrous, a row of perfectly even white teeth, and a dainty little dimple, in a face wreathed in smiles, framed with a mass of blue-black hair.
Pictures Privileged.
’“I simply hate being interviewed,” she warned us; “but as it is for PICTURES, and I never tire of talking about my film work, I guess I’ll have to fire away. My experience is limited; I only started playing in films a few months before I left America, so I only had time to do three pictures – The Light That Failed (Pathé [1916]), The Impostor (World Film [1915]), and A Woman’s Honour (Fox [1916]). For the latter film we went to Cuba and Palm Beeches [sic], where the sun was so strong that we could only work for an hour and a half each day. The part I took in A Woman of Honour was that of a little Italian peasant girl, afterwards becoming a society woman. An Italian market was erected in the studio, and the real peasants from the foreign quarter were brought in with their donkeys and barrows. It was a wonderful sight.”
’“Didn’t you miss the footlights, the audience, the music – in fact all the splendour of the stage?” we asked.
’“Not a bit. Everyone was so kind – the directors so charming – that, although I found it rather hard work at first, I was never so happy as when playing before the camera. I had a beautiful dressing-room, and when not working I could rest on a comfortable divan or sing and play to myself.”
’“Yes,” we interrupted, “it is a pity your beautiful voice does not reflect on the screen.”
’“It has been tried in America, but it was not a great success.
’"My salary was $200 per week,” continued Miss Collins, “and I had almost signed a contract for a year at the same salary when I suddenly had a longing to see dear old England again, and all the money in America could not have kept me there.”
Another Star to Twinkle Here!
’“The Impostors has been shown in this country, we believe?”
’“Yes, it is the only one so far; I expect to do some film work over here, but have not settled yet.”
’“Did you have any thrilling experiences in pictures?”
’“Oh, yes. In one film I had to jump from a height of thirty feet into the sea. While I was waiting for my rescuer, who was a very poor swimmer, I was being battered against rocks by a wild and overpowering sea, and when I eventually reached the shore I was a positive wreck.”
’“What was your impression when you first saw yourself on the screen?”
’“Oh, dreadful! I hated myself. All I could say was, ‘Do I do that? Am I like that?’ Every little mannerism came out. In one film the director shouted to me – ‘Cry, Miss Collins, please cry!’ I took him at his word, and for Art’s sake burst into a flood of tears, nearly sobbing my heart our. I had not cried like that since I was a tiny child, and only the congratulations of my producer compensated for the wretched nervous headache I suffered after.
’"Just before I sailed [for England] a dinner was given for me, and many well-known film-artistes were present including Charlie Chaplin. Oh! No; that was not the first time we had met – we appeared on the halls together in this country. Charlie and José are real pals.”
’“Miss Collins, please!” It was the call-boy.
‘The actress rose to go. “I’m sorry, but I really must fly. Give my love to all your readers. Good-bye!”
‘the delightful little lady disappeared, and as we made our way out of the theatre we heard strains of song. It was Miss Collins enchanting the audience with her melodious voice.’
(Pictures and the Picturegoer, London, Saturday, 18 November 1916, p.150)