Without Lying Down. Cari Beauchamp

of Adela Rogers, the rising star reporter of the Los Angeles Herald. And while this was a greater entrée into the world of filmmaking than Marion had dreamed possible, there were compromises to be made. She was to be listed on the studio books as an actress and with a new name.

      A few months short of her twenty-sixth birthday, Marion Benson Owens de Lappe Pike signed her contract with Bosworth Inc. as “Frances Marion, Actress, Refined type, age 19.”⁴¹

      Chapter 3

      The Bosworth complex on Occidental was, for its time, state of the art. It had been built from the ground up as a year-round studio, in contrast to the many other companies that used vacant buildings on the empty lots during the winter months. (The term “shooting on the lot” came about because that is exactly what they were doing.)

      The executive office building was two stories of steel and concrete and housed the accounting department, scenario writers, and editors. A theater was attached to the laboratory where thousands of feet of film were printed each day. There was a carpenter’s shop and a huge property room with a door designed so trucks could load up the sets and roll them directly onto the stage. A glass roof opened or was covered with canvas to allow for ventilation and a release of the intense heat from the lights that plagued other studios.¹

      Lois Weber was in the middle of Traitor when Frances started working at Bosworth. She did whatever needed doing: writing press releases, moving furniture on the sets, painting backgrounds, and mastering the art of cutting film. She learned to respect continuity and ensure that the same prop was held in the same hand when scenes were shot out of sequence. One of her first friends at Bosworth was a young man with a similar sense of responsibility, a fellow San Franciscan named Sidney Franklin, and Frances said, “No one would have been surprised to see us sweeping the floor.”²

      Bosworth’s cameraman George Hill, the first cinematographer to see his name on the screen in the credits for The Sea Wolf, became enamored of Frances. He was tall, good-looking, and seven years younger than she, but Frances was not about to enter a serious relationship. Robert was spending more of his time in San Francisco and she was practically living at the studio so it was easy to postpone dealing with their failing marriage.³

      In addition to her role as Lois’s assistant, Frances appeared in front of the camera, but for a reason she found acceptable: the sophistication of the moviegoing audiences was growing and word was filtering back that it was not only the deaf who read lips. Extras were being caught in conversations totally unrelated to the action, and with Lois’s zeal for detail, she asked Frances to write pertinent lines of dialogue for the extras to say and then work among them in costume. Dressed as “a gypsy, barmaid, nun, prisoner and slut,” she consoled herself with the knowledge that she was actually writing for films, even if it was mostly one-liners.

      Her every skill and experience were called upon, including horseback riding when she doubled for the star Winifred Kingston in Captain Courtesy, an action-packed “Robin Hood in early California” five-reeler. And when Lois asked her to create a stage name for her newest “starlet” from Kansas, Olga Kronk, she “suggested ‘Claire’ because she was a natural blonde with delicate features and light complexion and ‘Windsor’ because she suggested aristocracy.” Frances worked longer hours for less pay than she ever dreamed she would, loving most of it and continuously learning.⁴

      While other directors simply attached themselves to outdoor events, Lois approached the owners of lavish residences in respectable neighborhoods and arranged to “rent” their homes for a few days. These realistic backgrounds added authenticity and saved the company time and money by not having to create their own scenery, yet filming this way required that all the action set against that background be completed at one time, often out of sequence.⁵

      Frances developed a deep respect for Lois Weber’s abilities and a fierce loyalty to her. The responsibilities Lois took on were daunting to say the least; directing, producing, writing, casting, editing, and acting, all with a determination and a dedication that went beyond mere work ethic. Although Frances was almost “irreligious,” she and Lois shared a strong compassion for the abused underdog.

      Ardent in her beliefs, Lois was often mistakenly taken to be a Christian fundamentalist, but she was more of a libertarian, opposing censorship and the death penalty and championing birth control. The need for a strong, loving, and nurturing home was clearly promoted as well and if there was a single maxim that underlay each film it was that selfishness and egocentricity erode the individual and the community.

      Many of the films she made at Universal focused on a moral topic, such as prejudice in The Jew’s Christmas, and wife beating in His Brand, but it was at Bosworth that she became known for her “Big Theme” films. Hypocrites, a four-reel allegorical drama that Lois wrote and directed soon after Frances arrived at Bosworth, was the most controversial and, not incidentally, the most profitable. The recurring presence of “Truth,” portrayed as a naked woman, provoked a censorship debate and massive press coverage, but when it was eventually released throughout the country, her fame was cemented. “After seeing Hypocrites,” said Variety, “you can’t forget the name of Lois Weber.”⁶

      To Frances’s surprise and pleasure, the studio was expanded to include Oliver Morosco. In spite of his protestations against the flickers only a few years before, it was a natural business move to turn his repertoire of plays into films. Charlotte Greenwood came with him and having the comedienne around the studio added to the fun.

      In the three years she had been in Los Angeles, Frances had witnessed significant changes. There were now dozens of studios and their ripple effect on the local economy could no longer be ignored. While there were still occasional outbursts from the righteous, most of the former “Constipated Citizens” were too busy counting their money to object further. The Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce proudly announced that over 15,000 locals “were supported by the industry” that brought over $15 million to the area. Hotels were booming, restaurants were packed, and new neighborhoods were popping up where only sagebrush had thrived before.⁷

      New talent was always being sought and Elsie Janis, a popular young vaudevillian and Broadway comedy star famous for her impersonations, arrived at the Bosworth studios in the fall of 1914. She had been headlining at the Palace Theatre in London, but along with many other Americans visiting overseas, returned to the States when the European war broke out.

      Elsie made four films in four months at Bosworth and while she and Frances became friends immediately, it was harder to warm up to Elsie’s mother, Josephine. Insisting everyone call her Ma, she rarely left her daughter’s side and, in a voice that reminded Frances of a honking goose, had her say about everything, including sets, costumes, and casts. But soon Frances saw that while some people were afraid of her or even actively disliked her, Ma was quietly generous and thoughtful to the extras, dressmakers, and musicians—people from whom reciprocity was impossible in any way except through gratitude and devotion.⁸

      Ma Janis decided that refined type or not, Frances should be cast as one of the cavewomen in ’Twas Ever Thus. They trooped out to Chatsworth Park, thirty miles north of Los Angles, to film, and with Elsie playing “Lithesome” and titles that read, “Fearless women of the Stone Age who fought and died alongside their men,” Frances was grateful that her small part called for her face to be covered with mud.⁹

      Elsie was drawn to Frances’s ribald sense of humor and encouraged her to help write her comedies. Elsie made light of the work, but she openly depended on the discipline of people like Frances and Sidney Franklin, whom Elsie took to calling “George Detail” because he followed her around the set saying, “You had your handkerchief in your left hand in the last shot, Miss Janis.”¹⁰

      Owen Moore was hired to play opposite Elsie and Frances was appalled as she watched the young extras clamoring to be in scenes with him. He intimated to Elsie that his marriage was virtually over, but when Mary Pickford returned to California in November and caught them holding hands