The Daily Worker Newspaper, August 28, 1926, Page 8

Pueblo Prints By LA VERDAD, Guitarist is a blind man. He never learnt how to read notes nor the value of notes, yet he knows how to keep time and play anything he hears. It feels so different to come to a “baile” (dance) where the gath- ering is dressed up to the minute, with few exceptions, and find the band of small town Mexican musicians in blue working shirts, khaki or denim pants, rarely in full dress suit of cloth. They are poor and what they ,,£arn..goes for food. Most of these ' Inusicians play “lyrico” (by ear). When their instruments are in tune they play in a manner that is touch- ing. There ig a sweet dreaminess, a sadness expressive of romance and tragedy with all its delights and sor- rows, weariness of body and soul, 2 brooding over much that makes or breaks their lives. The soft plaintive- ness of their playing is an interpreta- tion of their own human emotions. While they play the liveliest of dance music—say jazz—one is conscious of their manner of playing it. The de- lightful tum tum of the Guitarist and his sightlessness gets into one’s bones. * * . « s Tall, thin Pablo gained the admira- #oneefamany and scorn of a few. Dur- softScdhe flu epidemic years ago he bathed twice daily in the river, build- ing a fire on the banks to keep warm. Every one in the village predicted his death, but he kept on bathing and living; others did not bathe, the flu got .them and most of them died. “God's will,” they all said, “God’s will that tall Pablo should bathe and live to do it again.” Pablo does not know the value of money. He was never paid with money for any work he did. He does not know what it means to buy or to sell. When hungry, he goes into a house, asks for food and works for it. Whatever he eats, he pays with his labor. He never begs, At times he obtains food from people who have no use for his labor. No one has checked him fip to know if he paid in labor what he owed for food he took that way. One day he called at the small town store and said: “Oyez, quiero fosforos” (“I want matches”). The Mexican clerk didn’t sell the matches to tall Pablo. He just gave them to him. Who expects pay from Pablo? You see, he didn’t beg. He demanded. Demanding is not begging. At another time he was rendered considerably happy by the considerate storekeeper who present- ed tall Pablo with a new woolen shirt. Some time after that he came around wearing his old torn shirt, shivering with cold, for it does get chilly in northern Mexico when the wind blows from the north, “Pablo, why aren’t you wearing the new woolen shirt?” In an humble tone he answered» “I gave it to some- one who needed it more than I do.” Hearing this, the same considerate storekeeper offered him a pair of cor- duroy pants. “Patron,” said the Mex- lean clerk, “don’t give him the pants, put them on him, or he will give it to someone who needs it more than he does.” They took him to the back of the store, dressed him up to be sure he wouldn't give the pants to somebody who needs them more than he does. He stuck to the trousers. Juan, nicknamed “the mule,” is the allaround flunky in the oldest hotel in the village, This swarthy bachelor is not an old man, nor will he ever be young again, even if he does not look a day older than he looked ten years ago. It was sad to see his bent figure, and withal that, comical, Juan had a way of walking with his head and chest so far ahead of his legs that it’ seemed he would fall forward on his face any minute. One actually waited to see it happen, and much relieved to see it didn’t. One day this Don-less- Juan was approached by the “Ameri- can” and, knowing him to be some- what deaf, she cried at the top of her voice: “Juan (without the don), if you know of a good girl who wants work, send her to me.” Smilingly (these wretched souls always wear the shine of a smile) he took the senora over and-in his kind, quiet, nasal drawl he answered good naturedly: “Todas son buenas” (all the ter x good), What a worthy rebuke! would have thought or suspected ps without the Don, nicknamed “the mule,” to be so fine a cavalier? * . & s To say anything unkind about any- one at all is a most Wistasteful thing. todo. Things not kind are very often true, and the truth always gives a pain. It is painful to write about Che, the mute poet. His ever smiling face has eyes that aren’t both alike, his hands and feet are not altogether straight, and he walks in a shuffling, hoppy shimmy way that is rather laugh-provokiag. But there is the other Che, not seen at first sight nor at any other time if looked at super ficially—Che of the heart. He, too, is a menial at the hotel, and he, too, has a nickname—‘“the burro.” If he takes a notion to quit his job he will search for odd jobs. When he helped at the flour mill and was paid with flour he accepted most graciously, but the following day when he was again offered flour or money, he refused in his mute, eloquent manner, which meant something to this effect: “I am back on the hotel job and helped in this mill because I wanted to help. 1 had a meal at the hotel.” The simple hearted “burro” smiled all the while he was making this clear. There are youngsters who glory in the art of provoking an unfortunate, and they in- dulged in it at the expense of Che’s feelings. They would turn off the water supply when he wanted it to irrigate the trees in front of the hotel, or turn it on when he was thru and wanted it off. Their cruel teasing robbed him of his perpetual smile. After a trial of this sort he was seen to mount to the flat roof of the hotel, where he stood outlined against the sunset sky. He was watching the sunset. He watched that opaline sun- set bathing the valley nestled at the feet of the Cordillera, So he stood there, a silent figure, alone with the beauty of a sunset and its twilight, a dim figure, with hat in hand, and may we imagine that he was thinking: “There is this beautiful thing in life that I may look upon and enjoy with- out it taunting me, ridiculing me, with- out humiliating Che, nicknamed “burro.” A PEEK EACH WEEK AT MOTION PICTURES “UP IN MABEL’S ROOM.” A dpe arctes a lot of good fun: “Up in Mabel’s Room.” Marle Provost, one time bathing beauty for Mack Sen- nett, hag lost none of her shapeliness and has become a comedienne of high order since she “walked the beach.” She does the honors in this picture and does them well, and parades her form to the delight of the observant sex and the envy of the hopeful one. The picture is a bedroom farce- comedy done over from the stage ssc- cess. The stery concerns itself with the adventures of three couples and three others at a week-end party that becomes hectic in the pursuit of an ex-husband by his former wife and the possession of a chemise—a gift to his former wife in the days of early in- fatuation. The absurd plot is laugh-provoking. The sub-+titles are snappy. Marie Pre- vost has freshness and charm and is excellent both in negligee and with clothes on. Phyllis Haver, ancther one-time bathing beauty and one of those that “gentlemen prefer,” does well, together with Harrison Ford, who plays the pursued hubby. The supporting cast is good enough tc complete an hour’s uproarous fun over what happens “Up in Mabel’s Room.” Take heed: This is not an “impor- tant” picture. Take heed some more: It’s worth seeing Mabel! “SENOR DAREDEVIL.” NEW star has risen in the woric« of movie “westerns.” But the gods that guide the fates of a movie star have played a dirty trick on this one. Unless the First National Pic- tures will fire the bird that wrote the scenario of “Senor Daredevil” for Ken Maynard, this particular star is not going to glimmer for long. Never—well, hardly ever—has so poor a scenario been given to any ac- tor. The story is improbable, impos- sible, unreal, uninteresting, unbear- able and—well, in short, it’s “one helluva story.” A rugged westerner who fails in supplying a mining camp with grub thru the evil machinations of a dirty, dirty, gawd how dirty villain, prays for a son. Presto, changeo—he gets one. All ready made. It seems that in his early youth he loved a lady, but he didn’t know he was the father of a son. Men, it seems, were like that in the old days. And so on and so on until the final climax, when his son, “Senor Daredevil,” “brings home the bacon” to proud papa, saves his gold, saves the mining camp and marries the girl —tho you wonder why he does it. Dorothy Devore plays the girl—badly. The new star, Ken Maynard, has appeared in pictures before only as a “stunt man.” He rides daringly and his horse, “Tarzan,” is a beauty, who goes thru many tricks that prove a circus training but are not essential to a good picture. Ken Maynard has looks; he has physique; he’s no great actor, but he may learn to “get by.” If his press agent can be believed, he is a Texas collegian who learned horseback riding better than civil en- gineering and spent some time doing “stunts” for leading circuses, finally graduating into the movies. He played Paul Revere and did his famous “ride” in “Janice Meredith.” “Senor Daredevil” is the first pic- ture for Ken Maynard and his horse. If they don’t give him something bet- ter to act in and a better leading lady Barnum & Bailey’s circus is going to get back one of their old performers and a very fine horse. w. Cc. Ken Maynard Rudolph Valentino “THE world’s greatest lover” is dead. The volume of the event stopped even the skeptic and scof- fer for a minute, for the loss of “The Sheik” proved of such tremendous moment. The press, the movie world and the world at large were so moved that the impréss of Rudolph Valen- tino was unmistakable, “Romance” was dead! The romance that for the moment was carried along in the per- son of this young Italian and one that gepelled escape from economic physical, and ell ailment; from the long and arduous day in the factory and the hum-drum of the kitchen— yes, and even from the continuous. round of meetings and thousand and one tasks of the active worker in the and the church. This {s true of course of all motion Lady Letty,” “Monsieur Beaucaire” “The Eagle” and his last picture “The Son of the Sheik” (reviewed in this column a few weeks ago) are some of his other pictures. The titles of the “great lover” and “The Sheik” per- haps did not do justice to him as an actor tho they helped his popularity. No great actor, he was nevertheless above the average and his difficulties with the producers are said to have been due to his bitter complaint against the commercialism of the movies which sacrificed .all art to the greater glory of profit, The spectacular fame of “The Sheik” won't fast—would probably have dimmed soon had he lived. Un- less the artist is essentially great and his medium is a bit of pictured lif> one soon forgets, Fancy and imagin- ation ere eo shifting, they don’t stay where they are not permanently touched. Rudolph Valentino was a point for romance to focus on for the moment only. Aner eereeteeeceensee Fe | Pexes. ‘acular, i — | Eke