The New Pictures

Seed (Universal). In a sentimental effort to set forth the disadvantages which may result from having too many children. Author Charles Oilman Norris wrote in Seed the story of how bothersome progeny caused an ambitious writer to leave his wife, take up with a lady who had less exaggerated views on domesticity. Birth control is not a precept which the cinema is encouraged to advertise, but the producers of Seed found an easy way to escape the apparent necessity for doing so. By making his five children a very minor reason for the writer to leave home and a major reason for him to return there after ten years, Seed, as a cinema, tells essentially the same story and by a shift of emphasis defends the conduct which Author Norris attempted to discourage. This change does not impair the values of the story so much as does the repetitious photography of the children -- first as obstreperous small fry, later as simpering adolescents. Bart Carter, the writer, lives with his wife, Peggy, and urchins in a Manhattan suburb while slaving comfortably as a publisher's clerk. Mildred, a sprightly girl who remembers his literary ambitions, encourages him to make efforts at novel-writing in her apartment. Presently the Carters are divorced, Bart marries and goes abroad with Mildred, while Peggy supports the children by running a dress store. After ten years, celebrated and so rich that he can afford an automobile (which, by an oversight, greatly resembles the one in which Mildred took him away), Bart Carter returns. Pleased with his children, he loses his enthusiasm for Mildred. Authentic episodes--such as the one in which Peggy (Lois Wilson), when her children have gone away to school, consoles herself with a plateful of cinnamon buns --make Seed at times a convincing as well as mildly entertaining homily. John Boles, whose previous roles have included opportunities for barytone singing, maintains a placid demeanor as Bart Carter. Genevieve Tobin, who has become recognized as the most civilized home-wrecker of the talkies, sparkles pleasantly as Mildred. It's a Wise Child (Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer). One of the minor stage contributions of the late David Belasco (see p. 28) was this obstetrical little farce, fragile and inoffensive, which deals glibly with a complicated case of mistaken pregnancy. As cinema, the obstetrical aspects are made to seem even more innocent by the writhing cuteness of Actress Marion Davies. Part of the comedy depends upon the fact that no one dares utter such a rude phrase as ''have a baby," not even the iceman, who complains euphemistically of his fiancee's infidelity: "While I was trying desperately to keep the wolf from the door, the stork flies in the window." Actress Davies appears in the role of Joyce Stanton who, while trying to conceal the pregnancy of the iceman's fiancee, causes herself to be suspected of a similar predicament. She is engaged to an elderly banker but more interested in one of his clerks. When both are discouraged by rumors of her misbehavior, she marries the family solicitor who has behaved more generously in the apparent emergency. Far funnier than the almost morbidly polite comicalities supplied by this situation are those contributed by the iceman (James Gleason) and Marie Prevost as a maid-of-all-work whose comments are ponderous, amazing. Sample--her rebuff to Iceman Gleason: "All I want from you is ice." Up Pops the Devil (Paramount). Novel-writing is a career which the cinema often shows accompanied by domestic disagreements. It takes effect as an irritant in this one after Steve Merrick (Norman Foster) has given up his job to produce a book while his wife (Carole Lombard) supports him by acting in a revue. Painful results: Anne Merrick is pursued by a publisher, Steve Merrick makes expensive gestures toward a pretty neighbor. Pregnancy is presently established as a motive for reunion. What makes Up Pops the Devil as amusing in film as it was recently on the Manhattan stage is expert dialog by Arthur Kober and the treatment of important trivialities. Party Husband (First National). It is not hard to guess what turns a domestic comedy will take with a young couple who love each other but have made up their minds not to let marriage interfere with their separate individualities. The husband (James Rennie) appears with a smudge of lipstick on his cheek, later pursues a lady to her apartment. His attractive wife (Dorothy Mackaill) endeavors to get even by accompanying an admirer on a night-boat trip. The separation that follows is adjusted in a scene that puts Dorothy Mackaill into pajamas. All this is accomplished in the moderne environment and respectably blase manner which have been mastered by Hollywood producers so recently. The Good Bad Girl (Columbia). The penalties of an antisocial career are here set forth in the case of a well-intentioned country girl (Mae Clarke) who becomes friendly with a gangster, later marries an honest youth of impeccable connections. The scandal of her past associations forces her back into disreputable surroundings but she is last seen reunited with her husband. Marie Prevost, now grown from a svelte ingenue into a buxom comedienne, gives a gay impersonation of a gun-moll's friend, but the picture should help kill the underworld's screen vogue.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.