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Over the Hill (Fox) is old-fashioned cinema, dealing sadly with filial ingratitude and the poorhouse. Its story is simple, straight from the old hokum bucket: Ma Shelby (Mae Marsh) rears her children in a sacrificial way, tenderly requiring them to wash behind the ears and eat their porridge. When they mature, it is found that her ministrations have spoiled them, or else that they have inherited unhappy characteristics from their father, a bootlegger but a bad provider. One of the sons becomes a pompous hack-painter, married to a sleek and dressy strumpet. Another is an enfeebled hypocrite, whining...
Over the Hill was a vast success in silent pictures in 1920. Mae Marsh-first famed for her portrayal of a girl who preferred death to dishonor in The Birth of a Nation-plays her present role in the mood that fits it, the mood of a decade ago. Sally Eilers and James Dunn have properly acquired the same frame of mind. Though the picture contains temporal contradictions-the moderne apartment of the hack-painter, the two-horse democrat in which Dunn goes to interrupt Mae Marsh's career at the Old Folks home-it should be popular again...
Wiley Post, who flew the monoplane Winnie Mae around the world in eight days with Harold Gatty, sat on the edge of his bed in a Chicago hotel room one day last week, talking to a reporter for North American Newspaper Alliance while he dressed. Flyer Post...
American audiences in general and Mae West's audiences in particular have a unique and proverbial capacity for smut. As Mr. Krutch pointed out, this capacity is also shared by adolescents. Mr. Smoot of Utah probably knows more about pornographic literature than any living American, or European. However, in spite of this hearty endorsement, it cannot be repeated too often that this capacity and this knowledge is not a prime requisite for holiness. Hunger, not holiness, must be the explanation of this strange preoccupation with sex in its cruder forms...
...Constant Sinner. Three seasons ago Mae West's lusty singing of "Frankie and Johnnie" and the nostalgic flavor of bar and brothel scenes made Diamond Lil a Broadway hit. In The Constant Sinner, which Mae West wrote from her own novel, the bars and brothels are Harlem, 1931, and Mae West does not sing. But The Constant Sinner is no tame play, nor is it a dull play. Though handicapped by a more effete period, Mae West in some of her lines attains the lush bawdiness of her earlier production: "That dame [Cleopatra] went in for everything . . . she even went...