#Lillian Pickford

[adrian-paul-botta]

Memories of Lillian Gish

As told to Myrtle Gebhart

Motion Picture Classic (Brewster Publications - 1922)

Mary Pickford reminisces about the early days when she first knew the screen’s greatest actress.

“Lillian’s main qualities are her sincerity and loyalty.”

Mary Pickford, sitting there in the golden afternoon beside placid Lake Chatsworth, was opening the book of the past, that I might read the pages of one of most beautiful friendships on record. Years ago Mary and Lillian Gish met, when Mary was six and Lillian a year or two younger, children who labored before their time, knowing poverty, knowing failure. Today they stand, both successful, both women who have won the love and respect of the world. And they are still friends. They have never had a quarrel.

“Yes, I know Lillian is very fond of me, and I treasure her affection.”

“When we were small, Dorothy Lottie and I used to play together with Lillian acting as a sort of Little Lady Mother to us scatter-brained youngsters. She was always correct, always just so. We used to stand and watch her, fearful any moment that she would fly to heaven – for her mother had said she was too angelic to live!”

“Dorothy and I were pals then, but now Lillian and I have more in common. Though, to be sure, Dorothy is much more serious and has a keener brain than she is given credit for – this frivolity of hers I think is a surface coating that hides the real Dorothy.”

“Our first meeting was a casual one, in Detroit, when I was playing ‘The Little Red Schoolhouse,’ a play written by Hal Reid, Wallace Reid’s father. Mother had insisted that I couldn’t go with the show alone, so they had given parts to her and to Lottie. Jack, of course, was a baby. Later, at Toronto, Lillian took my place, playing the role I had created. But it was when we were all in New York that we really became friends. I had been called there to replace Lillian in ‘The Child Wife,’ as she had been offered a better part in another play. My mother had received a lucrative offer to go on the road, one that she couldn’t afford to refuse, so Mrs. Gish offered to take care of us children. Imagine having the three of us to look after, in addition to her own two! She was very patient and lovely to us, making our clothes and washing our ears! One of my happiest memories is of those months at Mrs. Gish’s house in New York. It was my first experience in the big city, and I envied Lillian her aplomb – with Mrs. Gish at one end and Lillian at the other, we would cross the crowded streets: all six of us holding hands for fear one of us would get lost!”

“Yes, Lillian is very remote. Even I who have known her since childhood I admit I am baffled at times. She is very elusive. Often I have an intangible feeling that I haven’t quite grasped her. She is remarkably subtle and fine in sensitiveness of thought.”

“She is so frail to have endured those years of hardships,” I suggested, alternating with Mary in petting Zorro her time-clock dog who howls regularly at quitting time, twelve-thirty and four-thirty every day. “So ethereal. That is the impression she gives every one.”

“And it isn’t so!” Mary exclaimed, a gleam in her hazel eyes. “Lillian is very slim but has an amazing endurance. Mr. Griffith works his people very hard, exacts every particle of self that they have to give to their work. Had Lillian been as frail as she seems, she could never have lived through these nine years of constant, nerve-racking work. In making the ice scenes for ‘Way Down East,’ she had to remain on that cake of ice near the rapids until actually numb.”

For a moment Mary was silent except for the tremulous quivering of her chin-a little way she has when excited. Always tranquil, having schooled herself through the years to absolute control, you can always gauge Mary’s emotions now by that little, almost invisible, quiver of her chin.

“Do you call this hot?” indicating that the sun melting in long, gleaming slants into the blue lake shimmering under its golden haze, the glare washing back from the sides of the high hills in the lap of which the lake is splashed, the perspiring actors resting under the trees. “I remember, in the old days, down in Arizona. We were making a picture for Mr. Griffith. They had to follow us about with umbrellas. It was 110 in the shade and no shade around. We could have fried eggs on the rocks. There were times when I thought I couldn’t endure another moment – until I looked at Lillian, so white and composed and tranquil. And I grew ashamed. She has a way of encouraging people, forcing them to greater effort.”

“Frail looking, yes. Her skin is milk-white, almost translucent, that finely veined kind, delicate as a petal.”

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

[norashelley]

Never too busy to aid a worthy cause, many celebrities, who already have donated greatly to aid war torn England, attended the Hollywood Guild's annual garden party, proceeds of which were given to the British War Relief. Held at Mary Pickford's home, Pickfair, here with Buddy Rogers, Mrs. C.C. Youngreen, and Lillian Gish.

[phasecornnuts]

Hiiiiiiii! If you’re still open for requests maybe you might wanna write something where the reader casually mentioned that they/she had a partner on earth before they died and Alastor takes it a bit too drastically and has just been very salty and asking too many questions 😭 if you like that

Please & thanks ❤️

Hey guys I've returned! Sorry for taking a little while, I was busy with finals/I wanted to relax on my spring break so I didn't have a lot of time. I lowkey kind of cooked with this one too so enjoy :3

Also, I sorta made the reader be from around the same time period as Alastor (sorta late 1910s early 1930s) for extra spice

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had become a daily routine for you and Alastor to have afternoon tea together in cannibal town. Always, between the hours and four and six o’ clock after Alastor had finished his broadcast and you, your hotel duties, the both of you would walk down to Rosie’s Emporium to nibble on finger sandwiches, candied eyeballs, and other treats. 

The sun was still high in the sky, sending fingers of light through the windows of the cafe; the building was alive with the chatter of demons and hell-born alike. You and Alastor had just sat down, a short cannibal girl with a heart-shaped face and glowing brown ringlets placing your usuals on the table. Oh how beautiful they were! Too pretty to eat, garnished with tiny sprigs of mint (or, at least, it may have been mint) and resting on plates of delicate porcelain. With polished silver beside them, and matching teacups and saucers too, it all looked like a party for a girl’s favorite doll.

That is, if it weren’t human meat. 

Looking up from your plate, you saw Alastor turn his head to follow the cannibal girl making you frown. His gaze returned to you before he caught you staring, a chipper grin on his face as always.

“She could be a dead ringer for Mary Pickford, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows perked. You hadn’t looked long at the girl admittedly, though you stared long enough to know that she was no Pickford. You pursed your lips,

“I don’t see it, Lillian Gish maybe.”

He looked at you like a mad-woman, “You don’t!?”

“No! Her eyes are much too large!”

Alastor chuffed, proceeding to rest his chin on his dark hand, “In the eye of the beholder I suppose.” 

You rolled your eyes, “You only say that because of her curls,” you stated while picking up the teapot and pouring yourself and Alastor your cups, “Now, drink before it gets cold.”

For much of your lunch neither of you spoke, merely enjoying each other’s presence while pecking on some food here and there. Throughout the meal the waitress brought more plates, pancreas tarts, minced tongues coated with cinnamon sugar, and sweet pies filled with rotted venison and cooked kidneys, all Rosie’s treat. Alastor had been taken by the small pies in their mulled deliciousness, the meat so tender you saw his eyes water. He pleaded you to try one, though you couldn’t, your stomach filled to the brim from the other treats and delicacies. 

Alastor picked up the small pair of silver tongs from beside him and placed two sugar cubes in his tea, “I do say, it’s nice to have a meal companion again.” He took a sip from his teacup and grinned. 

You nodded in agreement, lifting the milk jug from the table and pouring a generous amount into your cup. “Likewise. Good dinner conversation is a horrid thing to lose.”

“Truly.” He took another drink. “Before you, I hadn’t had a proper luncheon since my mother.”

“From what you tell she sounded like a fine woman.” His grin lost its eeriness, becoming fond instead. 

“She truly was, and such a fine cook too.” Alastor gazed at the fine pattern painted on the rim of his saucer, “her jambalaya was the best, our side of the Mississippi” he chuckled. He began to remember then, “And her gumbo and her crawfish etouffee and her pecan pralines”

It was odd to hear his voice so full of affection, but nice too. So strange, to think a man who broadcasted his murders of other overlords and feasted on their flesh was once a little boy who clung to his mothers skirt and happily ate her cooking. 

“Maybe one day you’ll cook for me then?” you teased

“Oh why wouldn’t I for my favoritest of sinners?” He took your hand.

You leaned in towards him, a silent flirtation. “Or perhaps I could prepare something for you?”

He looked at you from his dark, hooded eyes, a certain intrigue radiating from them. “Would you now?” he said, leaning in closer. 

“Oh I would, anything you’d like.” the tip of your oxford lingering at his ankle. “My food was good enough for my darling back on earth, why would an overlord of hell have any complaints? Other than not enough seasoning I suppose.” 

That was when the laughter in his eyes died. Alastor bit the inside of his cheek before finding the words to speak, “Your darling?”

 “Pardon?”

“You had someone,” He straightened up, pulling himself away from you, “back on earth?”

“I hardly see how it matters now.” 

Alastor’s tone grew curt, had such a simple word bruised his ego? 

He crossed his arms, “What were they like?” each word as sharp as his teeth.

You pulled your hands close to you, confused at his curtness, “They were….they were nice. Cordial, spirited, vivacious, however you would put it. If you’re-” Alastor cut you off. 

“How did you meet them?”

“On the trolley.” That only served to make him scoff.

“Tch, how common. The trolley.”

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to deny the anger towards him that began to knot in your belly. “It was a different lifetime.” You asserted, a hard finality to it. Pushing yourself from the small table you smoothed your skirt and adjusted the ribbon that was tied so nicely in your hair. 

Without looking at him you said, “Tell Rosie I’m grateful for her hospitality and I will try to find a way to repay her. Also that I’m sorry that I had to retire without saying hello but I feel rather…faint.” Before leaving completely you said, “See you back at the hotel.”

The rest of the day you hid in your room, sulking and pacing. Charlie had tried to coax you out, seeing how angry you’d been when you came back, but you denied every effort she had. 

“It’s not good to stay cooped up in there,” the Princess pleaded.

“I like my alone time.”

 “But- but I had games planned! Husk was going to show us how to play Blackjack and Dominoes!”

“I prefer bridge, and he’ll just cheat us anyways.”

She gave a disappointed sigh, and outside the door you could hear Vaggie talking to her, telling Charlie to give you your space. 

For three nights straight you avoided Alastor, finishing up your hotel duties quickly before hiding in your room. You grew bored after the first day admittedly, a person could only sleep and bathe and read so much. The fourth night is when he knocked on your door while you lied draped on your couch, your nose in a book you’d already finished before. Thinking it was Charlie, you ignored it, sure she’d get the message. It insisted however, rapping harder the second time. You sighed, annoyed. “Who is it?”

“Alastor, may I come in?”

A sour taste came in your mouth, “No.”

“You cannot lock yourself away from me forever.” 

You lifted yourself off the couch, full of bitterness, “I can and I will!”

An electric hum filled your ears, the sound of Alastor weighing his words, “Could you at least entertain my attempt?”

Walking to the door and opening it slightly you saw his face, those deep, hooded eyes dark as blood, cracked lips, and hollow cheekbones. All of those beautiful, haunting features draped in remorse. You sighed, cursing the affection you had for him. 

“Fine, but I’m still cross with you.” That made him smile, if only a tad. 

Opening the door fully, you saw he’d brought one of the dining carts from the unused kitchen clad in a clean white sheet. Alastor pushed it to the center of the room before spiritedly ripping the cover from the cart, presenting polished silver dishes of raw meat and organs. From the bottom shelf of it, he had pulled a fine bottle of wine and two shining glasses.

“I helped myself to a bottle of Husk’s finest, the patrons here don’t have as refined tastes as you and I.” He gave a small grin. So this is what he brought with him, a peace offering. Your stomach was empty from only eating a small meal earlier in the day, so perhaps it was not in vain, though you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him. 

“I’ll help you set the table,” you offered, feeling guilty he put so much effort into pleasing you. 

Alastor held his hands up, “No need darling.” He put his hand on his throat, “What I said the other day was very…” he coughed into his hand, “ungentlemanly of me, and I wanted to make it up to you.” 

You folded your hands and held them to your chest, looking at the embarrassment he tried to hide. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, and raised your gaze to his. “Thank you, Alastor.” His grin widened as he sat down beside you. 

He uncorked the bottle of wine, beginning to pour it into the glasses, “Of course.” He handed you the glass which you took gladly. The vintage was so dark it looked black, reflecting the lights that glowed from the ceiling. Swishing it, you could see the hidden shades of red that the wine hid.

“Demon’s blood, Husk calls it.” Alastor told you before he took a long sip. 

“Fitting. Do you know how long he’s aged it?” Alastor shrugged, taking another swallow. 

“I didn’t care to ask, but it tastes so good going down. Come, drink, I didn’t bring this up so I could get drunk by myself.” That made you giggle, how much he valued the both of you eating and drinking together. 

Taking his lead, you titled your head back, savoring the warm burn of the wine going down. Its hot fingers lingered in your chest before fading, like drinking cold medicine. In three large gulps you finished your glass, noticing the way Alastor’s eyes watched your throat as you drank. After finishing your second glass you began to dig into the food he’d brought, pancreas tarts, cooked kidneys and…oh good god! On the largest plate was a raw heart, fresh and bloody. 

“Where did you get this? You shouldn’t have!” Your eyes went wide and your mouth began to salivate. A raw heart! Oh and it was human too! Such a fine delicacy must have taken so much begging from Alastor!

“Rosie owed me a favor. And I owe it to you, for making such a jackass of myself.” 

You took another sip of your wine, feeling your face begin to flush. You helped yourself to a tart while Alastor poured himself another glass. As you ate you felt his eyes on you again, focusing on the way your teeth bit into the pastry, your swan’s neck showing your swallow, and how your tongue dragged across your lips. Feeling bold, you placed your feet in his lap and wiped the corner of your mouth with your finger, licking the tip of it with your tongue. He swallowed, hard, his eyes growing wide. 

“Are you looking at something?” Your voice a heavy seduction.

“Possibly.” He drank again. Leaning back on the arm of the couch, he placed his glass on the floor. The tips of his fingers grazed your legs, “Though I do have another question for you, if I may.”

A sultry smirk grew on your face, “That depends on what it is, Al.” God, you could see the glint in his eyes then.

Alastor looked up at you from his hooded eyes, “I’ve been wondering…about your “darling.” You arched an eyebrow; your interest piqued. “Did they ever have…you?” His breath shuddered. 

“Have me, how?” You teased.

“Oh humor me my dear,” He purred

You smirked and shifted your legs in his lap. “Hmm, maybe once or twice…” You sit up from your recline and crawl onto his lap.

“What sorts of things did they do to you?” 

Running your fingers down his chest you savored the way he squirmed and shifted, “All sorts of unholy things” 

Alastor choked on his breath, his eyes transfixed on your face. Slowly, he caught it, regaining a certain boldness afterwards. His hand found the top of your stocking, fingering the nylon taut to your thighs. “Getting rather comfortable aren’t we my dear?”

The smirk you had deepened and you pulled in closer, feeling the heat of his breath tickle your cheeks. You looked into his eyes, “I could get much more comfortable if you like, Al.” For what seemed like ages you lingered, until you felt you had tortured the man enough. Slowly, you leaned in, seemingly ready to kiss his shiny red lips. Grinning, you pulled a piece of dry skin from his bottom lip between your teeth, peeling it to show the bleeding flesh beneath. 

You sat back on his lap and spat out the skin. Looking at him, you saw that hunger in his eyes again. That fine line of decorum the two of you had with one another, ignoring the lingering gazes and longing touches, all thrown away with one bite. Underneath, you could feel his arousal beginning to grow hard. You rolled your hips slightly into him, earning a throaty groan from Alastor. From the silver dining cart you pulled the piece de resistance, that raw bleeding heart, and sunk your teeth into it, tasting the sweet flavor of iron. Trails of blood dripped from your mouth onto your decolletage, slowly turning brown and flaky.

Alastor’s breath heaved, growing even harder from that sultry cannibalistic display. He pulled you towards him and pressed your mouth to his, saccharine saliva mixing with sanguine. His tongue slid and twisted about yours, savoring every inch of its taste. You pulled away from him to catch your breath, making him whine. Leaning in again, he dragged his tongue along your neck, cleaning up the drying strings of blood. 

Both of you straightened up then, him holding you proper now. One hand ran its fingers through his shiny red hair and the other cupped his aching sex, so taut against his trousers. 

“Is that what you were so upset about Al? If they fucked me or not?” You purred into his ear.

The tips of your fingers fluttered over his hip, tracing its edge before returning to his cock. “I bet you wondered if I did this to them, didn’t you?” A small nip was placed on his neck, leaving a red half-moon. Your breath grew hot against his cheek as you whispered into his ear again, 

“Maybe I did, and maybe I did so many more dirty things to them.” 

Alastor enraptured your mouth in another needy kiss. His words heavy with radio static, “What sort of things my dear? Or are you all talk?” Your grin widened seeing the shock in his eyes when you began to unbutton his overcoat.

“Let me show you.”

Four little words was all it took to send him over the edge. Picking you up, his hands traced over all the parts of your succulent body. When he flopped you on the bed, hair as tousled as a pin-up, you reached out a stockinged leg to him, that devious look on your face growing. Oh how badly he wanted to have you, hastily unzipping your dress as you stripped him down to his undershirt and trousers. Deft fingers hooked around the tops of your stockings, pulling them down as fast as they could. You dropped his trousers and took off his shirt, admiring all of that soft, gray skin.

You pressed your mouth to the flesh of his stomach, blessing it with small love-bites that made him shudder. All along his torso you left red patches and traced your cool fingertips along the hard edges where his ribs poked out. You tilted your head up and moved his hands to the straps of your brasserie, exposing all of your hot, yearning flesh. He cupped a breast and lied on top of you. Grinding his sex to yours he moaned into your mouth. It had been so…so long since you’d been wanted, since someone pressed their body to yours and you felt all of their heat as they slid into you, over and over again. 

“Al,” You breathed

“What is it?”

“Get on your back.” 

And so he did. 

Alastor’s back against the mattress and your palms against his chest, you let him enter you. He let out a string of curses when you did, and even more when you started moving in those easy rolling motions. Those large hands of his held the curve of your waist as you rode him, his eyes half-lidded as he watched your breasts bounce. 

“The first time I saw you…” You began, going a little faster, “I wanted you,” You heard a small thud as he dropped his head against the pillows.

“I thought about you kissing me and touching me all over” That’s when the pulses of pleasure started to build up, prickling you in sweet needles that went all the way up your spine.

“And about you sticking your fingers in me and..and your tongue too” You felt your face heat up and your sex grow slicker, admitting those indecent thoughts you only entertained during late nights when your fingers wandered. Alastor gripped your waist tighter, making your rhythm harsher. You looked down on him, his eyes glazed over with euphoria, and felt your mouth pool with saliva.

Digging your nails into the skin of his chest you kept on. “For a whole week I couldn’t keep from slipping my hands between my legs.” Your voice, thick and hoarse. “I wanted to know what you tasted like, if-if your mouth tasted like blood,” that was when he quickened the pace even more. Your sex was so hot and wet, all the way at the base of your spine you could feel your orgasm coming to you, a full-body shiver that made your eyes well with tears. 

The last part was what sent him over the edge though. 

“Sometimes, I’d bite myself so I could taste the blood when I’d touch-” was all it took to make him come. 

Fuck it felt good too. A weak falsetto escaped your mouth when he released, so warm and filling. That’s what made you reach your end too. You clawed your nails in his skin so deep there were two broken half-moons on his chest. Your thighs clenched against his torso, quivering, as you could feel your body become as light and floaty as chiffon. 

Alastor let the both of you ride it out, that sweet joyous bliss. When your mind returned from the heaven it was sent to, you leaned over, resting on top of him. He moved you gently, pressing you closely to his chest. For a while, neither of you spoke, the air lingering with the smell of sweat and blood and sex. You ran your fingers through his hair again; He kissed the back of your hand before speaking. 

“If I’d known all that would come out of making you angry at me, I would’ve earned your ire a long while ago.” You rolled your eyes, flicking his chest playfully. 

“Perhaps we could do this again, without the arguing?” You propose, “You’re quite good at it.” 

A smile stretched across his face as he played with a lock of hair that rested near your face, “Expect nothing less from an overlord of hell cher.” One of his hands slid to your lower back, tracing small circles on that creamy flesh. 

“How about we try one more time without the arguing, for good measure?”

You smirked and kissed him again. All for good measure.

[kayflapper]

Lillian Gish & Mary Pickford in "My Baby" (1912.)

[peterlorrefanpage]

Let’s find Peter Lorre!

Caricature by Al Hirschfeld (1954) for the Fifth Avenue Cinema in New York City of various Hollywood actors from the first half of the 20th century.

I do believe Peter Lorre is located in the middle of the left side, below Edward G. Robinson:

Among those pictured are:

Adolphe Menjou Alec Guinness Anna Magnani Bela Lugosi Ben Turpin Bette Davis Bing Crosby Bob Hope Boris Karloff Buster Keaton Charles Boyer Charles Laughton Charlie Chaplin Chico Marx, Groucho Marx, Harpo Marx Clara Bow Clark Gable Douglas Fairbanks Edward G Robinson Erich von Stroheim Fernandel Fred Astaire Gary Cooper George Arliss Gerard Philipe Gina Lollobrigida Gloria Swanson Greta Garbo Harold Lloyd Harold Lloyd Hedy Lamarr Ingrid Bergman Jean Gabin Jean Harlow Jimmy Durante Joan Crawford John Gilbert Judy Garland Katharine Hepburn Laurence Olivier Lillian Gish and Dorothy Gish Lionel Barrymore Lon Chaney Louis Jouvet Mae West Marie Dressler Marilyn Monroe Marlene Dietrich Mary Pickford Maurice Chevalier Michel Simon Michele Morgan Mickey Mouse Mickey Rooney Myrna Loy Norma Shearer Orson Welles Peter Lorre Raimu Rita Hayworth Rudolph Valentino Shirley Temple Spencer Tracy Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy Stepin Fetchit Theda Bara Vivien Leigh Wallace Beery Warner Oland WC Fields William Powell William S Hart

Have some more Hirschfeld - Peter Lorre caricatures:

Peter Lorre in "Crime and Punishment," drawn June 1936

Peter Lorre in "M", 4/9/33

Peter Lorre & pals in the "You'll Find Out" trade ad, 1940

[onefootin1941]

George Eastman Award Dinner, 1955

Silent screen legends Richard Barthelmess, Maurice Chevalier, Ramon Novarro, Lillian Gish, Gloria Swanson, Mary Pickford, and Janet Gaynor at the 1955 George Eastman Award Dinner.

Photo by fellow silent film legend Harold Lloyd

[fatale-distraction]

2, 7, 8, and 11 for the Rook ask? 👀

Abigail Ingellvar for Rook asks!

2. What do they look like?

Her faceclaim is Mia Wazikowska, with primary inspo for her appearance coming from Edith Cushing in Crimson Peak, Jane Eyre, and early 1900s actresses like Lillian Gish, Mary Pickford, Marie Doro, Evelyn Nesbit, and Maude Fealy. She’s an elf of indeterminate origin with brown hair (instead of blonde like beautiful Mia), 5’1”.

Beyond that, we’re gonna have to wait for the CC for distinguishing features etc! I am not an artist lmao.

7. What class are they?

8. What specialization(s) do you think they're going to have?

Answering these at the same time, because honestly I’m still struggling to decide! I usually main rogue, but with no Mourn Watch specialization for rogues, I’m wondering if it might be worth exploring a warrior first? I don’t want her loadout to be too similar to Emmy, so I’m leaning against mage now…but it would be kind of funny to have her as an assassin rogue.

11. How did they get involved with their faction?

I’m sticking pretty close to the canonical Mourn Watch background. She was found by undead servants deep within the Grand Necropolis and taken in by the Mourn Watch. Raised by necromancers, she feels a responsibility to pay her guardians back by serving the Mourn Watch as best she can. She often takes on more than she should in an effort to prove her usefulness, and does whatever is necessary to get things done. When she falls out of favor after her involvement in the War of the Banners and is encouraged to travel, she focuses primarily on researching the funerary rites of different Dalish clans and city-dwelling elves across Thedas.

[jenhka]

Silent film actresses, generated by AI. Louise Brooks, Pola Negri, Bette Davis, Lillian Gish, Mary Pickford, Joan Crawford and Mae West.

[indiejones]

THE 100 MOST POPULAR AMERICAN ACTRESSES OF ALL TIME ! (BASED ON INDIES SUBCONSCIOUS ASSESSMENT OF THE HIGHEST INFLATION-ADJUSTED WORLDWIDE GROSSING AMERICAN FILMS OF ALL TIME !) (1900-2022)

👇

http://www.imdb.com/list/ls520967383/

1. .Elizabeth Taylor 2. .Vivien Leigh 3. .Julie Andrews 4. .Marilyn Monroe 5. .Grace Kelly 6. .Audrey Hepburn 7. .Olivia de Havilland 8. .Norma Shearer 9. .Greer Garson 10. .Lindsay Lohan 11. .Faye Dunaway 12. .Natalie Portman 13. .Diane Keaton 14. .Jessica Lange 15. .Barbra Streisand 16. .Anne Bancroft 17. .Uma Thurman 18. .Ingrid Bergman 19. .Catherine Zeta Jones 20. .Joan Fontaine 21. .Natasha Richardson 22. .Emily Blunt 23. .Doris Day 24. .Winona Ryder 25. .Salma Hayek 26. .Ashley Judd 27. .Laura Linney 28. .Barbara Stanwyck 29. .Julianne Moore 30. .Shirley Temple 31. .Shirley Maclaine 32. .Sandra Bullock 33. .Meg Ryan 34. .Susan Sarandon 35. .Sophia Loren 36. .Gwyneth Paltrow 37. .Lauren Bacall 38. .Emma Thompson 39. .Helen Hunt 40. .Goldie Hawn 41. .Holly Hunter 42. .Sharon Stone 43. .Helen Mirren 44. .Audrey Tautou 45. .Greta Garbo 46. .Lillian Gish 47. .Claudette Colbert 48. .Carole Lombard 49. .Mary Pickford 50. .Gene Tierney 51. .Kristen Stewart 52. .Drew Barrymore 53. .Hilary Swank 54. .Agnes Moorehead 55. .Ava Gardner 56. .Jean Harlow 57. .Catherine Deneuve 58. .Katharine Hepburn 59. .Jean Simmons 60. .Helena Bonham Carter 61. .Susan Hayward 62. .Judy Garland 63. .Emma Roberts 64. .Greta Gerwig 65. .Jane Wyman 66. .Cameron Diaz 67. .Rita Hayworth 68. .Michelle Williams 69. .Julia Roberts 70. .Rachel McAdams 71. .Joan Crawford 72. .Carrie Fisher 73. .Deborah Kerr 74. .Geena Davis 75. .Laura Dern 76. .Maggie Smith 77. .Mary J. Blige 78. .Ginger Rogers 79. .Bette Davis 80. .Annette Bening 81. .Kate Winslet 82. .Cate Blanchett 83. .Ellen Burstyn 84. .Zoe Saldana 85. .Geraldine Page 86. .Marlene Dietrich 87. .Jane Fonda 88. .Joan Cusack 89. .Kathy Bates 90. .Carey Mulligan 91. .Sissy Spacek 92. .Renee Zellweger 93. .Marisa Tomei 94. .Penelope Cruz 95. .Liv Tyler 96. .Angela Lansbury 97. .Vera Farmiga 98. .Jessica Chastain 99. .Jennifer Aniston 100. .Jullianne Hough

[adrian-paul-botta]

Lillian Gish and Mary Pickford (1935 at Pickfair residence)

[cowperviolet]

‘Writers [in the first film magazines] automatically employed flowery descriptions, as in a full-page layout from Motion Picture of October 1918, in which famous actresses are described in poetic terms. Lillian Gish is “a potted lily in a lonesome window” … Norma Talmadge is “scarlet poppies in a white field, sable and ermine, a studio tea in Greenwich Village” … her sister Constance, on the other hand, is “April showers, a college campus, a ride in the rain, a kiss in the dark” … and Mary Pickford is “every little girl’s dream, white kid gloves and white tulle, a playground and children’s laughter.”’ (Jeannine Basinger, Silent Stars)

Why does this read like a Tumblr character aesthetic post

[monkeyssalad-blog]

Dorothy Gish by Truus, Bob & Jan too! Via Flickr: British postcard in the 'Cinema Favourites' series by Photochrom Co. Ltd., London, in conjunction with Triangle Plays. Photo: Triangle. American actress Dorothy Gish was the sister of silent film star Lilian Gish. D.W. Griffith discovered the two girls in 1912 and they starred in his epics Hearts of the World (1918) and Orphans of the Storm (1921). Dorothy Elizabeth Gish was born in 1898 in Massillon, Ohio, USA. Her restless father, traveling salesman James Lee Gish was frequently absent and later abandoned his family. Her mother, Mary Robinson McConnell a.k.a. Mary Gish, entered into acting to make money to support the family. As soon as Dorothy and her sister Lillian Gish were old enough, they became part of the act. In 1902, at the age of four, Dorothy made her stage debut portraying the character Little Willie in 'East Lynne', an adaptation of the 1861 English novel by Ellen Wood. In 1912 they met fellow child actress Mary Pickford, and she got both of them extra work with Biograph Pictures in New York at salaries of 50 dollars a week. Director D.W. Griffith was impressed by both the girls and cast them in An Unseen Enemy (D.W. Griffith, 1912), their first picture. Dorothy would go on to star in over 100 two-reel films and features over the years. She would appear in the very successful Judith of Bethulia (D.W. Griffith, 1914) with Blanche Sweet and Henry B. Walthall. Griffith did not use Dorothy in any of his earliest epics, but while he spent months working on The Birth of a Nation and Intolerance, Dorothy was featured in many feature-length films made under the banner of Triangle and Mutual releases. They were directed by young Griffith protégés such as Donald Crisp, James Kirkwood, and Christy Cabanne. Elmer Clifton directed a series of seven Paramount-Artcraft comedies with Dorothy that were so successful and popular that the tremendous revenue they raked in helped to pay the cost of Griffith’s expensive epics. These films were wildly popular with the public and the critics. She specialised in pantomime and light comedy, while her sister appeared in tragic roles. Then the two sisters made a number of films together, including the extremely successful Hearts of the World (D.W. Griffith, 1918) and Orphans of the Storm (D.W. Griffith, 1921). In both films, Dorothy would play French girls, but in different periods of time. Wikipedia about Hearts of the World: "In the 1918 release Hearts of the World, a film about World War I and the devastation of France, Dorothy found her first cinematic foothold in comedy, striking a personal hit in a role that captured the essence of her sense of humor. As the 'little disturber', a street singer, her performance was the highlight of the film, and her characterization on screen catapulted her into a career as a star of comedy films." Dorothy became famous in a series of Griffith-supervised comedies for the Triangle-Fine Arts and Paramount companies from 1918 through 1920. Almost all of these films are now considered to be lost. While Dorothy Gish would excel in pantomime and light comedy, her popularity would always be overshadowed by that of her sister Lillian, who was considered to be one of the silent screen's greatest stars. Lillian would try her hand at directing, with a film called Remodeling Her Husband (Lillian Gish, 1920), which starred Dorothy and James Rennie. Dorothy and James married later that year. Dorothy would only make a handful of films in the 1920s. In the costume film Romola (Henry King, 1924) about Italy in the Middle Ages, she would again co-star with Lillian. By 1926 Dorothy had moved to England, where she would star as the title figure in Nell Gwyn (Herbert Wilcox, 1926). The success led to three more British films. Her last silent film would be Madame Pompadour (Herbert Wilcox, 1927) with Antonio Moreno. When the film industry converted to talking pictures, Dorothy made one in 1930, the British crime drama Wolves (Albert de Courville, 1930) with Charles Laughton. Earlier, in 1928 and 1929, her performances in the Broadway play 'Young Love' and her work with director George Cukor renewed her interest in stagecraft and in the immediacy of performing live again. After that, she enjoyed a long career on the stage. Only incidentally, she accepted film offers. Director Otto Preminger cast Dorothy in his 1946 film, Centennial Summer. Her final film appearance was in The Cardinal (Otto Preminger, 1963). Gish had divorced James Rennie in 1935. Dorothy never married again. In 1968, Dorothy Gish passed away by bronchial pneumonia in Rapallo, Italy. She was 70. Her remains were interred at Saint Bartholomew's Episcopal Church in New York City. In 1976, the Dorothy and Lillian Gish Film Theater was dedicated on the Bowling Green State University campus in Bowling Green, Ohio. Sources: Tony Fontana (IMDb), Wikipedia, and IMDb. And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

[kevin-cable-photography]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uv5mtMEFARM Nevaeh Cable on going series of Women & Film since 2022, 2 minute demo reel. Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Lucille Ball, Mary Pickford, Dolores Del Rio, Edith Head, Hattie McDaniel, Margaret Booth, Lillian St Cyr and more. #Womenandfilm #Womenworkinginfilm #womeninfilm

[valiantroyalty]

I don’t think ill ever be completely satisfied with an fc (which I rarely use anyhow) but I’m on the right track for finding one for Schneewittchen. Silent film actresses just have that look that Snow has.

I’ve found Mary Pickford, Clara Bow, Lucille Ricksen, Lillian Gish

[virgin-martyr]

Lillian Gish and Mary Pickford

Joan Crawford and Bette Davis

Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly