MISS DAPHNE WAYNE.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXVI, Issue 2, 7 May 1913, Page 7

MISS DAPHNE WAYNE.

AX INTERVIEW WITH HER FILAI PERSONALITY. Little Miss Daphne Wayne, of the American Biograph Company, one of j tiie most popular picture drama ar- : fists of the world, played the part of the heroine in the great drama of I Western pioneering and Indian warI fare, “The Massacre,’ ’which is the first of the larger works of this celebrated company to he shown in Now Zealand. Miss Wayne is popular in the Dominion as a picture artist, and her story of the part she played in “The Massacre” and how sho played it, is interesting. ‘‘Poor old Jim,” sue said, referring to the supposed lifeless body of the faithful scout who had protected her from the terrible attack by the Indians in which all the emigrants making for the West of America but herself and her baby were butchered, but when ho fell dead ho “struck his elbow into me and it hurt.” I kept calling to him to move it, but he said ho couldn’t, that he was dead, and I’d have to wait till they lifted him and took their hats off to him. But it took him all his time to stay dead, becaus'e I found a pin and——” What was the worst part of the experience, M iss Wayne “Why, I believe it was the while T had to ride in that crazy old prairie schooner. It was like riding down hill on a heap of loose goods boxes. I was pretty grateful when we camped. The heat was fearful on that sun-baked, dusthaunted plain. And the flies—oh! don’t mention the flies. You see, in film pictures you are not allowed to kill flies, no matter how much they pest you, nor to screw up your face. One fly that voudn’£ leave off exploring my face when I had both arms full of baby cost the operator a whole big length of film. I did kill him—just had to. You people who see films with everyone looking pleasant, or appropriately unhappy, don’t know what it costs the performers. I’ve been nearly killed a few time myself, riding. All of us take big risks. But the worst trail is maintaining the proper expression, all the time, through everything. In the scene where I am at the back of the waggon, with the baby, and the Indians shouting all round me, I had to keep up a fierce expression of terrified anguish. But I came near to spoiling it when the cinema, operator had some flies move over his own face, and could not leave go the handles to swat them. It was high tragedy at my end, and pretty low comedy at his. Another pretty severe trial was where Babs and I were in the bunch of the last defenders, and they were shooting all round ns. There was one man with a great big revolver aboilt half' the' size of a piece of field artillery. Ho had this young cannon pushed out in front of the baby and me, and every time it went off it shook the ground. It shook our nerves all to bits. If ever I was glad to see a man killed I was glad wh n n flint .nian’s t-upe; came. It was this way. You see, we were all right in the front of the picture. The least movement, of the smallest facial muscle, would have been seen. So I couldn’t even wink. And it hurt not to. But the baby took it all splendidly—only, cried once, and that was because she could not have one of the dead men’s guns to play with. She didn’t mind the shooting not a bit. -She enjoyed it. I didn’t. I was real pleased to lie rescued. Yes, we have to work in some strange places, and some pretty hard places. Most of onr dramas are made out in the open country. And acting in the wilderness is almost as dull as getting there. But I must bo going really. All these dead men u ant to get up and have a smoke, and stretch themselves, and besides, the baby wants to go back to bis mother. Slio’s taking a siesta in one of the waggons. Dear little thing, isn’t shop I moan the baby, of course. Como along, Jim.” And daintly flipping through the heap of slain, the heroine bestowed a rougish prod with her shoe upon a still upturned form of the scout and vanished—for the film was finished.