The Keystone lot, pre-Keystone, 1907.
The Keystone films, those half and single reel, then later, two reels of nonsense, probably made more profit than any other films between 1912 and 1916. Forget Griffith, Biograph, Kalem and Vitagraph, our films were made cheaply, and out-grossed nearly everything produced by David ‘Belasco’ Griffith prior to Birth Of A Nation (but I should add that my film Mickey soon blew ‘Birth’ off the top spot). However, when I say ‘cheaply’ they were not made for the one thousand dollars that everyone supposes, with the exception of half reel pictures. When overheads were allocated to the individual films, the cost for ‘shorts’ was two to three thousand dollars, and two-reelers twice that, or more. Features could run to a quarter-of-a-million plus. As you probably know, Mack Sennett and I, began our film careers at Biograph under the ‘great’ D.W. Griffith. I was there for a little money and dinner (Biograph sandwiches) but Mack was there to get on.
Mack Sennett annoys Mary Pickford in An Arcadian Maid.
He watched Griffith closely, and questioned him even more closely, planning, plotting to one day have his own studio. However, Mack was regarded as something of a backwoods idiot by his fellow actors, and he had no luck with the actresses, until I came along. On my first day there, I was just a shy little girl, even though I’d been a ‘Gibson Girl’ posing for the greatest commercial artists. Mack homed in on me, and tried to monopolize me. The other girls attempted to put me wise “Keep away from that madman Sennett” they said “He’ll lead you into big trouble.” I didn’t listen, I never listened – to anyone. I think, over time, that I slowly began to take on elements of Mack’s personality, and I became boisterous, insolent to the executives, and something of a daredevil. Mack would say to me “Stick by me girl, I have plans, and I’ll make you a star, bigger even than Florence Lawrence” (the first film star). Well, Mack was thirty years old, brought up in the school of hard knocks, and I was a silly girl of seventeen – what did I know?
Mabel: I was surrounded mainly by old men.
A studio on the horizon.
Mack, and you might not know this, was a screenwriter. He’d written several scripts for Griffith’s films, including The Lonely Villa, starring Mary Pickford. With his seemingly endless abilities, he became my hero, but also my champion, for when I sassed Griffith, there was little ‘the genius’ could do, unless he really wanted to stand up and fight Mack toe to toe. We spent most of our time ridiculing Griffith, and his over-dramatic films, which, to us, were laughable. Whenever a Griffith film was released, the whole company would troop down to the nearby theater and watch it. Mack would usually come and sit next to me, simply because, if he sat down next to Mary Pickford, Blanche Sweet or Linda Arvidson, they’d get up and move elsewhere. We noted the reaction of the audience to the films. There were older women, who loved the drama, and there were shop and market girls who’d dragged their boyfriends there.
“He’s mine, you bitch!” Mabel fights it out with Mary Pickford. 1912.
After a few minutes of Griffith nonsense, the boyfriends, and some girls, would get restless, and start throwing ice creams, cigarette cartons and coins at the screen. I’d say to Mack that I thought this very rude, but he’d say they were right, and he would make films that parodied the Griffith offerings. The toughs of the street would be his audience, along with those that worked hard in the dirty, noisy factories. They’d love to see Griffith burlesqued in comedies, along with cops being hit over the head, and kicked in the ass. Mack explained to me that English Music Hall and French comedy films were the future, but he felt that he could nip American Music Hall in the bud, and beat the French film-makers at their own game, at least in the U.S.
“Let’s smash the flicks up tonight. They’re showing a Griffith film.”
All of Mack’s ideas were very exciting, and when he was named director of the new Biograph comedy unit, it got even more exciting. Mack demanded me from Griffith, but the other actresses got very uptight, and begged me not to make the move. “You’ve got a great future in drama” they said “Don’t throw it all away with that crazy Irishman, and his madcap schemes.” Again, I didn’t listen, and the films we made for the new unit were nearly always parodies of Griffith films. However, some of the films were a direct jibe at Griffith. We made A Spanish Dilemma, which was fine, as all of us at Biograph were crazy about old Spanish California. Wanting to get up Griffith’s supercilious nose, I suggested that when Mack and Fred Mace serenade me on my balcony, I lean forward and spill out of my unbuttoned bodice. Mack thought it was going too far, and said I should surreptitiously unbutton the bodice, to expose my cleavage (I was a big girl in those days). When Griffith saw it, he almost went out of his mind! Mack told me that our future films would “make the ‘old man’ want to boil himself in oil.”
Hair-tearing dramatics from Mabel. Help! Help! 1912.
Go west young girl.
We made some good films at Biograph, but Mack wanted to move ahead, and make the films he wanted. By some clever and devious manoeuvrings, he managed to persuade New York Motion Pictures to start up a comedy unit, which they called Keystone. One stipulation was that he had to bring Biograph actors with him, and The Biograph Girl – namely me. New York Motion Pictures rented an office in Manhattan, and we made a few films, before departing for Edendale in sunny L.A. One of these films was Help! Help! which parodied Griffith’s version of The Lonely Villa, complete with crazy dramatics. Some people think that we parodied An Unseen Enemy, starring the Gish sisters, but this was made five months after Help! Help! and seems to have been Griffith’s response to Help! Help! indicating, he hoped, that we wouldn’t beat him down. We made another film, Above The Clouds, in honour of Harriett Quimby, the first woman to hold a U.S. flying licence, and the first to fly the English Channel. Griffith had known her for years, and, according to his wife, was most upset about her success as a screenwriter, her fur coats, and her Pierce Arrow car. We hoped the film would give ‘the genius’ another poke in the eye. Unfortunately, we came to wish we had not made this film, as Harriet was killed two weeks later, when her plane crashed into Boston harbour.
Harriett Quimby’s lifeless body is carried ashore from Boston Harbour. 1912.
Mack’s plans for me out west.
Mack’s plan was that we’d make films that in which everything revolved around a screen version of little old me. He took my contradictions – insolence, hyperactivity, athleticism, sweetness, fickleness, generosity and pig-headedness, rolled them up, burlesqued them, and created the screen Mabel. In the films I’d be the Queen Bee, surrounded by dumb men, who merely hit each other over the head with mallets, and kicked each other in the ass, mainly to gain my affections. This was part of Mack’s plan to capitalize on the craze for women’s emancipation, the other parts being my fearlessness and my seeming ability to drive race cars, fly aircraft, and swim and dive like a water nymph. I would be a heroine to all women, but what about the men, who, Mack surmised, comprised 40% of all cinema audiences? Well I would simply suck them in, using my fluttering 2-inch eyelashes, big doleful eyes, and cute, but ultra-fast, changes in facial expression. I had plenty of ideas of my own in this area, but Mack insisted that I must always be wholesome, endearing and beyond reproach. To my dismay, I was to be the eternal ingenue.
Oh those eyes. Chaplin cannot resist Mabel’s flutters in 1914.
I have already mentioned that I was not, under any circumstances, to be overtly sexual, and, instead, Mack came up with the notion of the ‘covertly sexual Mabel’. The features of ‘Mabel’ alluded to above, would be enhanced by a few more tricks. My mode of walking and running were to be ‘improved’, by ensuring I never took steps longer than six inches, and, if I broke into a run, I should always lean my body forward, so that attention was drawn to my rump, which was quite ample in those early days. Then came the genius stroke of Mack Sennett. To ensure that I was, to the audience, of ‘uncertain years’, Mack always told me to always skip into a run in the manner of a young girl. Sometimes we would even cut into an incipient run scene, and add a skip into it.
Mabel demonstrates her prowess as a hop-skip girl.
Eventually, I was to be trounced in the skip-and-run stakes by Louise Fazenda, who was, of course, the Queen of all Ingenues. She’s fully welcome to that title, I do not want it. Another trick Mack had was ‘strapping down’ in which yards of material were draped around my bosom, and tightened so as to flatten everything out. You can see this clearly in Tomboy Bessie, where I played a ten-year-old girl. It was all to no avail, as I clearly had the hips and behind of the twenty-year old woman I was. All I got out of it was a lot of bruising and pain, and fright, when I learned Mary Pickford’s mother had contracted breast cancer, after the lid of a trunk fell onto her chest as she reached in.
If you want to be cute, put a big bow in your hair, and keep your mouth open.
I checked myself every day, after that. Occasionally, Mack would halt filming, and order the wardrobe lady to put a huge bow in my hair, so I appeared more ‘cute’. Often, I would pull it out and throw it, but Mack’s idea was to send up Griffith, who always identified ‘good’ girls with a bow in their hair. The audiences implicitly understood this pun. Mack, everyone had to concede, knew what would work and what would not. No matter what great feats I achieved in the films, Mack always insisted that I had an air of vulnerability, which is why, as you’ve probably noticed, I always had my mouth slightly open, and feigned being pigeon toed. You could not get anymore cute than that! One thing I am always asked about is the level of the wind seen in our pictures, even in indoor scenes. Of course, our sets were open to the elements, but most people will know that the average windspeed in Los Angeles is only 6 miles per hour, whereas in the movies it is often blowing a gale.
Ever wondered what Mabel wore under her dress?
Now, you might think the idea was to keep the actors cool in the 100 degrees heat, and this is true. However, the main reason was ‘atmosphere’. In those days people paid their 7 cents, to watch moving pictures, and they expected movement in every corner of the screen. One of the things they liked to see move was The Keystone Girl’s dress, and the more it billowed and rose up, the better they liked it. In order to improve on this effect, I sometimes wore a satin or silk dress that would ripple and be blown between my legs, where the material would cling. This was as far as we could go with titillation, as the exposure of bare flesh was verboten, except in swimming scenes. The three films, Mabel’s Wilful Way, That Ragtime Band, and The Gusher are the best examples of this method. Like all our methodologies, we kept them very secret. However, a rogue journalist reported that we’d used four 6-feet wide fans, when making Mabel’s Wilful Way, and further reported that I’d struggled to keep my dress and petticoats from flying high in the helter-skelter slide scene (we made six retakes of that scene).
Mabel demonstrates the power of the wind out west.
You might be wondering how we got permission to use some of the public locations that appeared in our films. Mack would approach an amusement park or race track operator, and suggest they advertise that Keystone would be making a film at their venue on a particular day to increase the attendance. Thousands more punters would arrive on the advertised day. Then he’d contact the newspapers and tell them what was going on. Often, they’d obtain tickets to the venue for a cheap price, and offer one ticket for every newspaper bought. Venue owners were happy, newspaper proprietors were happy, and we were happy.
A good day out, but someone spilled the beans.
Changes afoot.
The strait jacket into which all the Keystone actresses and actors were put, began to tell after a year or so. I had huge arguments with Mack, over the formula of our films. I, being a fully-trained dramatic actress, began to feel that I’d made a huge mistake, leaving legitimate movie-making behind for a life of slap-stick at Mack’s University of Nonsense. I became morose and depressed, and told Mack I’d had enough of life in the wild and woolly west – I was, after all, a city girl, born and bred, and the boredom of outer Los Angeles, and the lack of friends of my own age, was doing my head in. At Biograph, we were all fun-loving teenagers, but here all my associates were either ancient or married. In order to placate me, Mack asked what I wanted to put into the films. I told him I wanted to combine comedy with dramatics, or, to be specific, tragedy. I had, as you know, been the Queen of Tragedy under D.W. Griffith. Mack, naturally, thought this was nonsense, but, after some thought, agreed I could be a tragic figure in some films, but told me tragedy and comedy in equal measure would not work. As a result, I appeared in some films, as a poor, rag-clothed slavey or street vendor, but full-on tearful and hair-tearing tragedy was banned. To prevent me getting evermore melancholy, Mack took me to dinner every night. This was the only highlight of my day, if you can call it that. I had nothing but work, no friends outside of the studio, and the studio people went home to their wives and husbands every night. I had no boyfriend, I’d left the likes of Jack Pickford, Owen Moore, and Marshall Neilan, behind in New York (Footnote 1). I made a pathetic sight, crawling into my hotel room every night on my hands and knees, totally exhausted and bruised all over by the nature of my work. Getting kicked in the ass numerous times every day, hurled along the pavement, thrown off cliffs and half strangled is not good for your well-being. Anyhow, by the time Charlie Chaplin came along, we had upped our game, but if I could not have total tragedy, then I wanted more drama, and a good story-line.
Mabel is a tragic domestic slave in Mabel’s Dramatic Career, 1913.
Changing bit by bit.
By early 1914, I began to get things going my way, as the studio was now on a firm footing. I was still Keystone Mabel, but, as a rising star, I had more say in what I did. I discussed my ideas with people like Minta Arbuckle and former stage-star Raymond Hitchcock. Minta was worried, and warned me not to push Sennett too far. Raymond was a perfect gentleman, and, being a thespian, completely agreed with me. He’d once thrown Mack off a play he was starring in, and always looked forward to twisting the knife in the boss’s back. As for Chaplin, I fell in love with him, solely on the description by Mary Pickford, who told me she’d seen him in a restaurant in 1912 (actresses you know). However, when Charlie arrived, Mack kept him away from me, while he persuaded the New York bosses, Kessell and Baumann, to ‘let him go’. He objected to having a virile young man so close to me – we might run off together! Eventually, we had to be brought together, though, in Mabel’s Strange Predicament, in which Charlie chases me around a hotel, wearing pajamas. Charlie asked why I was not in a nightdress, as this would have a greater visual impact, and perhaps he could lift the hem of the nightdress with his cane, and get a laugh. He was told not to mention this to Mack, as he’d surely be fired. As you know, there was a big bust up over Charlie getting a long opening scene in the film. Due to that opening scene, I refused to work with Charlie for around two months.
Go for it! Chaplin launches Mack’s Thor IV motorbike, with Mabel on the pillion.
The Terrors of Pauline.
In February 1914, Mack’s spies in the Pathe Freres studio (every studio had their spy network), informed him that the American-based French film company was about to begin a serialized movie story called The Perils of Pauline in which a stage-star turned film actress, Pearl White, would be fronted in a dramatized versions of what were, frankly, Mabel films. Were we ‘scairt’? You bet we were scairt! A dramatic stage actress in part-comedy, action films involving car racing, aircraft, and climbing down a 300 feet long rope from a gas balloon? Well, that could knock us off our perch, and put my year-long run as a film star to an end! Mack lost sleep, wondering how we could counter the formidable duo of Pathe and Pauline.
‘Mabel’ is decanted into a muddy puddle, from the back of Chaplin’s motorbike.
I gave him the answer “We must have good stories, and introduce more dramatics, while toning down the slapstick. Mack agreed, and we produced the idea of Mabel At The Wheel, in which a middle-class, emancipated girl (we’d heard Pauline would be upper middle-class) would drive in the Santa Monica 200-mile car race and beat all the men, as well as defeat a whole bunch of villains. When Kessell and Baumann heard it would be a two-reeler, they insisted that Charlie be included. However, I made two stipulations. One, Charlie would not wear the Tramp outfit, and Two, I would be sole director. This was agreed, but Baumann sent his daughter, Ada, along to extra in the film and keep an eye on things. After one small disagreement with Charlie, the film was made and was a complete success. I have to admit that the stunt where I fall off the back of Chaplin’s motorcycle into a big muddy puddle, was carried out by a stunt man, and it is only too obvious that it was a man. A copy of the first ‘Pauline’ was smuggled out to Mack, and we all watched it in the rushes’ projector room. Well! We all wondered what we’d been afraid of, as the photography was lousy, and Pauline turned out to be flabby around the edges, and a mere replica of a Griffith Girl, in terms of acting. I’d never laughed so much in all my life, especially at the fact that the perilous Pauline was merely a spoilt, rich brat, although Mack pointed out that the scenery was more detailed than ours, and we’d have to up our game. What level of threat did we figure Pauline was? Answer: No Threat!
‘Spoilt brat’ Pauline cannot stand losing at tennis.
By mid-April, Charlie had joined me, directing the films we appeared in. I very soon lured Charlie into my lair, or dressing room, where we discussed the pictures we would make, among other things, which are private and personal. Charlie thought my ideas to introduce melancholy and tragedy were good, but he himself would stick to slapstick, in order to appease Sennett. Consequently, Charlie wove himself around my characters, but I would not do him the disservice of saying he was my stooge. When we undertook a joint picture. I told Charlie how I’d play my character, who might be anything from a debutante to a tragic domestic slave, or ragged hot-dog seller / coster-girl. He would, then, play an almost anti-character to me, usually a penniless tramp, who was brash and not a little nasty. As he never stopped telling me, while I could play anyone I liked, he had to constantly keep Mack onside. Not strictly true, but I got his point. Everyone noticed that the films I made with Charlie were different to what went before, but if we thought we could be a bit more, erm, friendly in the films we were wrong. Kissing was not permitted, just the merest peck, even when we were clearly married. There was no marriage bed, and if Charlie pushed for a full kiss, I had to turn away and offer my hand.
“You may kiss my hand, Charlie.”
After a few months, it became apparent that Mack was constructing the film schedules to prevent Charlie and myself from getting together. He claimed that he needed to spread us over the films, so that half of the pictures had one or other of his big stars in them. Getting fed up with seeing Charlie take other leading ladies, I went to Mack in around September 1914, and demanded I to work with Charlie. He gave me a cameo part in Charlie’s The Masquerader. Big deal! Anyhow, after much cajoling, Mack agreed to pair us for a series of films. This upset his usual leading ladies, especially Mama Page (or Carruthers) and daughters, who were ‘gold-diggers’ that could get a little rough. In the event, Charlie left Keystone, and moved far away — two-and-a-half thousand miles away actually, to Essanay, Chicago. I never forgave him for walking out on me.
The film Fatal Mallet will give you an idea as to what went on at Keystone. Mack Sennett, seeing that our films, like Caught In A Cabaret, were getting slightly dramatic, he decided to show us what a good film consisted of, and brought us together for a film composed merely of Mack, Charlie and Mack Swain, hitting each over the head with mallets and bricks. They were, of course, fighting for the fair hand of The Keystone Girl, who did little more than respond to the boys’ activities, with standard Griffith actions. Charlie and I were outraged, and demanded extra scenes. One was that the fair maiden (me) had to be kicked in the ass and hit with a brick. Another was that I should be fondled by an eight-year-old boy, while the chaps were occupied fighting each other. This came about, as there were numerous rumours in the press that I’d had an affair with the then thirteen-year-old Jack Pickford at Biograph. I thought the scene would give a poke in the eye to those that sought to rubbish me. Good idea? probably not.
Is this the luckiest kid in Hollywood? The movie mags thought so. Fatal Mallet.
Charlie added the scene where he finds me with the boy, and drop kicks him out of the picture. It was he that also proposed we might chalk the letters I.W.W. on the door of a shed, to give the impression that the ‘Industrial Workers of the World’ trades union had a meeting place on the Keystone lot. The studio was a hotbed for socialism, but within a few years Uncle Sam would be after our hides. Charlie and I, were forever at loggerheads with Mack, particularly over the introduction of tragedy into the films, Mabel’s Busy Day being notable for this. He often threatened to take a part in our films, and show us how it was done – me and Charlie, who were now the biggest stars in the universe! I think not.
Seditionists meet here on the Keystone lot.
1915 and all that.
Following Charlie’s departure, I was teamed up with Roscoe Arbuckle, and all of a sudden we could do sickly love scenes, and get married. However, we always slept in separate beds, and, unbelievably, in separate rooms! Mack, I can tell you, had little idea of married life, and I tried to tell him that married people slept, at least, in the same room. Those men married to actresses insisted upon this, so they could keep an eye on their wive. We actresses are a fickle and flighty lot, and cannot be trusted. It was around this time that Mack began to experiment, and it was not just with the bathing beauties. We had houses that could float on the ocean, cars that could drive themselves, and explode, propelling yours truly into the air. I can tell you how the latter was done; I was suspended on wires. I also know how the car drove itself, but if I told you, Mack would have to kill you. The floating house? I have no idea how that was done, as I wasn’t there at the time. How did Fatty manage to lift the left front of a car with his bare hands ? Again, I was not there, but when I watched the film, Fatty and Mabel Adrift, downtown with Alice Joyce, she noticed the ghost image of someone around the rear opposite corner of the ‘flivver’, who seemed somehow to push the rear down, making it look like Roscoe had actually lifted the front up. Apparently, they hadn’t quite erased the other guy from the negative. You may have noticed in some Mabel and Charlie films, where I indulge in high kicks, you can see right up my skirt, but Mack was vigilant, and would draw in bloomers, if there was too much flesh on display (I never wore such prudish garments, honest).
Just how did Fatty lift a car with one hand?
Towards the end of 1915, things began to get very technical, so that bathtubs could drive down the road, cars could blow apart in collisions, without anyone getting hurt, and men could fly. Anything could be made to appear or disappear, while vehicles could climb vertical house walls. All this nonsense was beyond me, and I departed Keystone at the end of the year. At the Mabel Normand Feature film company, in 1916, we used a few simple optical tricks. Yes, it really was me swinging from a house gutter in Mickey, but the bit where I run up behind a horse, and jump on its back, is a split scene. A stunt man ran up to the horse and jumped. The scene was then stopped. I was then filmed riding off
Mabel does a ‘108’ over Roscoe in 1915.
on the horse. It was Triangle boss Harry Aitken that ordered I was not to do the stunt, as if I got killed the company would lose half-a-million dollars. You might ask, who did the stunts at Biograph Studios? Well, for us actresses, it was little Jack Pickford, making himself some pocket money! Much has been said concerning whether actresses did their own stunts at Keystone. In general, the girls did not do their own stunts at the studio, and were, generally, exempt from the dreaded ‘108’ (Footnote 2). However, I did some 108s, especially with Roscoe, as he made a soft landing place. On the other hand, he was a dangerous partner, and once put me in hospital, when he fell on my head. I am told that Mack Sennett once went to Gloria Swanson, and said “Do these stunts, and I’ll make you the next Mabel Normand.” Miss Swanson screamed in reply “I do not want to be the next Mabel Normand – a person could get killed doing that stuff!” Mack tore up her contract, but she had done one 108, although she’d insisted that she fell back onto a mattress!
Mabel gets airborne as her car explodes.
I’ll wind it up here, as I have no knowledge of the high-tech stuff that Mack indulged in post-1916. When I returned to Sennett in 1921, I refused to have too much technology in my films, and, consequently, I was never privy to the Sennett ‘secrets’. O.K., I’ll talk about the lion in Extra Girl (1923), as everyone asks about this, and it is not really technology, but technique. Did I really take a lion for a walk on a leash? Yes I did, but I was assured he was a very friendly lion. However, me not believing there was ever a friendly lion, I had director Dick Jones standing by with a very sharp pitchfork. It was of course crazy, because you never turn your back on a lion, not even a ‘friendly’ one. Unfortunately, Dick moved during the lion scene, and startled Leo, who jumped on my back, then floored me, in an effort to escape. Dick lunged at him with the pitchfork, but missed, and spiked me just where the flesh is deepest over the bone.; I spent a week in hospital . We actresses will do anything to get off work.
Leo discovers Mabel in her hideout. Extra Girl 1923.
Footnote 1: Let me make it clear here that at the time I am speaking, Marshal had not yet married Gertie Bambrick, and due to Miss Pickford’s extra-marital affairs, her estranged husband, Owen Moore, became ‘fair game’. Jack, of course, did not marry Olive Thomas until 1916.
Footnote 2: A ‘108’ is a stunt, where an actor is hurled backwards with his legs thrown back over his head, and lands on his back, usually in a cloud of dust.
Links:
MABEL’S HEROINES: HARRIET QUIMBY.
THOSE CHARLIE CHAPLIN FEET: STARRING MABEL NORMAND.
PERSONALITIES I HAVE MET, BY MABEL NORMAND * MARY PICKFORD.
MABEL’S FRIENDS: F. Richard Jones
thekeystonegirlblogs 