Translation of: A Semana, O Paiz, 4. Oct. 1914
The same telegram announcing the death in combat of comic Max Linder, puts in doubt the veracity of the news. However, for many reasons, I am not willing to wait for confirmation or contestation of the rumour to, only after verifying the first assumption, write two lines on the case. I write them right now, believing that, first because it is natural, and second because it is fine and ultimately because, in general, the bad news are true.
Like all the valid French, Max Linder, this idol of cinematography friends, went off to war, to give his individual effort to the contingent in defence of his threatened country. So he went perhaps with that smile of voluntary fool, that thousands and thousands of projections divulged and that the films have perpetuated; fiery marching for your post and then, hit by a Prussian bullet and found an honourable death.
It is simple and it is cute. Going even further, finding that this tragic end was the best solution for the life of this very risky actor, who had formidably assumed the obligation to make the whole world laugh.
It should be attributed to the Max Linder creation (between parenthesis, baneful) of modern cinematic farce. He invented the nonsense changes on the screen, consisting of grimaces, the mannerisms, the improbable attitudes, all this is happening in rapid phases, swift, he went to the last limits of supreme absurdity.
In the dark, the halls full of laughter were rolling happily. Few failed to find favour, and I was always this number of malcontents.
The most stupid anecdotes were engendered by brains, already weary of so much nonsense, solely on the intention to also be once explored the good mood, naive and superficial, the farcista.
Max Linder, who was sure of his popularity, everything is paid, multiplied, their faces, goggle even more their eyes, even more caricatured its elegance, lord of triumph in the face of the public from around the world, on which discretion prevailed.
I suppose he had no more than thirty years. If had had his normal existence, until the forty he could persevere on the same note the gallant comedian, pantomime of the most grotesque adventures of love, all the rooms felt funny.
Later, or change of genre, which would result in an unreliable experience, for most it was his ability, or persist in the same, exposing himself, thereby to a sad disaster.
The celebrated cinematographic artist seemed to have arrived at the pinnacle of his career. At the zenith, death surprised him. Not appear in younger farce programs of performances, but its immense brand new collection of film strips will be passed on the screen, as long as there are supporters, of narcotic entertainment.
The heroic end of Max will excite the admiration of his loyal customers. About that, which already existed now comes a new attraction, because the smiling figure of the screen with the hat eight reflections, the cutaway model, the pants admirably carved, the pearl tie, gloves, cambric handkerchief, is now no more than the shadow of a vanished.
The fashionable and ridiculous boyfriend, shaking the entire room in a tremor of convulsive laughing, Max Linder is still the king of the cinematography, but it is the evocation of the dead.
This cheerful man that now shakes his legs in externalization of a pretended fear, falls from the top of a closet over a thousand fragments of broken crystals, is under an automobile cardboard and will now go to an old town hall with an old woman, which is his bride, plunges involuntarily into the Seine with all of his pilgrim elegance, or put down an entire castle to escape persecution will one exalted father, the man who is all mockery, farce and all laughter all on the white cloth, upon which focuses the light beam from the projector unit, already stalled itself the sources of laughter, in which everyone amongst you all have perverted, O goers to all the cinemas of the earth ...
To the life is the unexpected. Who could imagine this unique contradiction? The king of laughter forever interrupting the series of his burlesque creations, away from his environment, in the ditch, pierced by an assassin's bullet ...
Those who so much admired and so you should in good dispositions of mind may not be able to unite the two Max in his imagination. In fact it is difficil exercise. How is it possible to identify the blagueur hero?
Shall I go, I can not boast of having been one of his idol worshipers, try the exercise. Will try while running the film strip, give Max Linder the martial qualities of which he should be coated.
I will forgive him, then the excess coarse swindling.
But still even without having seen, with its beautiful order patriot, one thing I can already convince myself. The hugely popular comic should not find favour in his creations. He knew, however, that the disposition was his fortune, his celebrity. His innumerous films assured him the admiration of possession come.
At the time of the fight, perhaps the only serious move of his life, Max, if the wound still gave him time to think, must have mourned the absence of a recording device, that at least for vanity opportunity to destroy this film with supreme, the last so "posed", the death, the films fools that squandered his youth.
This latest creation does not amuse audiences ... But by no means cease to pose a superb teaching and Rehabilitation. Oscar Lopes. (O Paiz, Oct. 4, 1914)