Fantômas V: Le Faux Magistrat 1914

Fantomas

Fantômas has been arrested and is jailed in Brussels, but inspector Juve wants him arrested and sentenced for all his crimes in France. Thus Juve settles Fantômas’ escape so he can be traced to his gang’s, in Saint-Calais – France, where apaches Paulet and Ribonard have just robbed the diamonds of the broke Marquis de Tergall. On his way Fantômas kills justice Pradier and decides to go under this disguise when he finds that Pradier had just been appointed to Saint-Calais’ court.

Director: Louis Feuillade
Writers: Marcel Allain (novel), Louis Feuillade
Stars: René Navarre, Edmund Breon, Georges Melchior

 

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Max plays at drama (Max joue le drame), 1914

Max plays at drama

Pathe comedy by Max Linder. Starring Max Linder, Mlle. Fabris, Mlle. Maphalda
“He wagers that he will make an audience cry their eyes out. When his “melodrama” is produced the effect upon the audience is really farcical.” (The Bioscope, July 9,1914)

 

Run time 6 minutes 11

 

His Musical Career 1914

hismusicalcareer3

His Musical Career is a 1914 American comedy silent film made by Keystone Studios starring Charlie Chaplin. Wikipedia
Initial release: November 7, 1914
Director: Charlie Chaplin
Screenplay: Charlie Chaplin
Producer: Mack Sennett
Cinematography: Frank D. Williams
Cast: Charles Chaplin, Mack Swain, Fritz Schade

The Face on the Barroom Floor 1914

 

The face on the barroom floor

Face on the Bar Room Floor is a short film written and directed by Charles Chaplin in 1914. Chaplin stars in this film, loosely based on the poem of the same name by Hugh Antoine d’Arcy. Wikipedia
Initial release: August 10, 1914
Director: Charlie Chaplin
Screenplay: Charlie Chaplin
Music composed by: Eric Beheim
Story by: Hugh Antoine d’Arcy

Stars: Charles Chaplin, Cecile Arnold, Jess Dandy

“The Face upon the Barroom Floor”, aka “The Face on the Floor” and “The Face on the Barroom Floor”, is a poem originally written by the poet John Henry Titus in 1872. A later version was adapted from the Titus poem by Hugh Antoine d’Arcy in 1887 and first published in the New York Dispatch.

For those interested here is the poem

Written in ballad form, the poem tells of an artist ruined by love; having lost his beloved Madeline to another man, he has turned to drink. Entering a bar, the artist tells his story to the bartender and to the assembled crowd. He then offers to sketch Madeline’s face on the floor of the bar but falls dead in the middle of his work. Here is the full text:

‘Twas a balmy summer’s evening and a goodly crowd was there,
Which well-nigh filled Joe’s barroom on the corner of the square,
And as songs and witty stories came through the open door
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.
“Where did he come from?” someone cried, “The wind has blown him in.”
“What does he want?” another asked, “Some whiskey, rum or gin?”
“Here Toby, sic him, if your stomach’s equal to the work —
I wouldn’t touch him with a fork, he’s as filthy as a Turk.”
This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace;
In fact, he smiled as though he thought he’d struck the proper place.
“Come boys, I know there’re kind hearts among so good a crowd —
To be in such good company would make a deacon proud.”
“Give me a drink — that’s what I want — I’m out of funds you know;
When I had cash to treat the gang, this hand was never slow.
What? You laugh as though you thought this pocket never held a sou:
Why, I was once as well fixed boys, as anyone of you.”
“There, that’s braced me nicely; God Bless you one and all;
Next time I pass this good saloon, I’ll make another call.
Give you a song? No, I can’t do that, my singing days are past;
My voice is cracked, my throat’s worn out, and my lungs are going fast.
“Say, if you’ll give me another whiskey, I’ll tell you what I’ll do —
I’ll tell you a funny story and a fact I promise true.
That I was ever a decent man, not one of you would think;
But I was, some four or five years back. Say, give me another drink.
“Fill ‘er up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame —
Such little drinks, to a bum like me are miserably tame;
Four fingers! — there, that’s the scheme — and corking whiskey too.
Well, here’s luck, boys; and landlord, my best regards to you.
“You’ve treated me pretty kindly, and I’d like to tell you how
I came to be the dirty sot, you see before you now.
As I told you, I once was a man with muscle, frame and health,
And, but for a blunder, ought to have made considerable wealth.
“I was a painter — not one that daubed on bricks or wood,
But an artist, and for my age I was rated pretty good,
I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to rise,
For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes.
“I made a picture, perhaps you’ve seen, ’tis called the ‘Chase of Fame.’
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name.
And then I met a woman — now comes the funny part —
With eyes that petrified my brain, and sunk into my heart.
“Why don’t you laugh? ‘Tis funny, that the vagabond you see
Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me;
But ’twas so, and for a month or two, her smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips touched mine it carried me to heaven.
“Did you ever see a woman for whom your soul you’d give,
With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live;
With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-noor, and a wealth of chestnut hair?
If so, ’twas she, for there never was another half so fair.
“I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May,
Of a fair haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way.
And Madeline admired it, and much to my surprise,
Said she’d like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes.
“It didn’t take long to know him, and before the month had flown
My friend had stolen my darling, and I was left alone.
And, ere a year of misery had passed above my head.
The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished, and was dead.
“That’s why I took to drink, boys. Why, I never saw you smile,
I thought you’d have been amused, and laughing all the while.
Why, what’s the matter friend? There’s a teardrop in your eye.
Come, laugh like me; ’tis only babes and women that should cry.
“Say boys, if you give me just another whiskey, I’ll be glad,
And I’ll draw right here a picture, of the face that drove me mad.
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score —
And you shall see the lovely Madeline upon the barroom floor.
Another drink, and with chalk in hand, the vagabond began,
To sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man.
Then, as he placed another lock upon that shapely head,
With a fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture — dead!