Maddie Ellis and the Malibu Movie Colony is an old-fashioned mystery serial set during the end of the silent movie era. Chapter One debuted in TNT in April of 2025. All previous chapters are available online under the Storyland menu. In chapter 12, Maddie visits Mammoth Pictures, meets another member of the cast of Sands of Afar, the film she came to Hollywood to rescue, and learns more about the on set accident that injured one of the film’s stars. Join us as we travel back in time to January 1928.
The film industry was now known far and wide as “Hollywood,” although the sign on the mountain above the sprawling city said “Hollywoodland,” and the studios where films were made were not only in Hollywood but scattered throughout Los Angeles. Mammoth Pictures was on the Westside, not far from Thomas Ince’s original 1918 studio.
The owners of Mammoth Pictures, aspiring movie moguls Daniel Harrington and Isaac Hoffmann, had purchased the land and the buildings at a bargain price from a film company that went bust a few years earlier. They named their new studio for the mammoth bones found on the site when they began construction on what they envisioned as a completely modern and self-sufficient motion picture production company.
The studio was a hive of activity. New buildings were under construction, and there was already a back lot with an entire western town, complete with saloon, church, and jailhouse. There was also a series of vast warehouse-like stages where much of Sands of Afar was being shot, and a costume department, a prop house, shops for making sets, a film vault, offices, and even a commissary. On that January morning in 1928 the studio was bustling with activity.
Maddie, businesslike in a black, London-tailored suit and smart felt cloche hat made her way to the plain brick building that housed Mr Hoffmann’s office. The secretary, a genial, gray-haired man named Mr Wilson, showed her into the office with a smile.
Milo was already there. He, too, was dressed in a respectable suit, and was wearing shoes instead of his usual sandy bare feet. He had even traded his battered cane for a polished one with a brass head, but he still reminded Maddie of the great blue heron she had seen fishing in the tide pools on the beach that morning. He had the same long legs, the same keen expression, and the same rumpled appearance, despite his fine feathers.
Hoffmann’s assistant was there, too. His name was Rutherford. Hoffmann reminded Maddie of the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, but Rutherford was also a Lewis Carroll invention brought to life. He was just like the hapless Bill the Lizard, perpetually flustered and put upon.
All three men rose as Maddie entered. Hoffmann hurried to hold her chair. The secretary left and returned a moment later with coffee and pastries. Maddie looked around with approval while the coffee was served. The room was plain but comfortable, with white-washed walls and modern furniture in pale oak. Hoffmann, who wore an old-fashioned pocket watch, fidgeted with the watch fob. He was anxious about the project but determined to give his guests time to get settled before broaching the subject.
“I believe the film can be saved, far more simply and economically than you and Mr Harrington feared, Mr Hoffmann,” Maddie said, once they were all seated. “I need a free hand to change the backstory. Much of that can be done at little expense to the studio by using inter-titles. I think you find it will fix many of the problems, but the biggest problems rest with the cast.”
“What do you propose?” Hoffmann said cautiously.
“Is Miss Flores well enough to film some pickup shots?” Maddie asked. “That would be a tremendous help. They can be close-ups, perhaps even done at her home, but only if she is able to do so without jeopardizing her recovery. Johnny Roberts is a bigger problem. Can he remain sober enough to finish his part of the shooting? I had the opportunity to meet him yesterday, and while he put on quite a performance, I’m convinced it wasn’t the sort that will help get this film where it needs to go. Beyond that, I am concerned for his health and well-being, Mr Hoffmann.”
Hoffmann sighed. “I will talk with him,” he said. “For all the good it will do.”
“I’ve already had a good look at Clarice Auclair,” Maddie continued. “I think you can count on her to take some of the pressure off Miss Flores without stealing the star’s spotlight. Mr Devlin and I also took the liberty of speaking with Leon Verlaine. He is willing to return to the film, provided he can be villainous from the comfort of his throne, and will not be required to leap about waving scimitars. He would also appreciate your guarantee that Mr Roberts will be kept a safe distance away from him. I would like to have the opportunity to talk with Marco Malgari, but I feel confident from what I’ve heard of him that he will be an asset.”
Hoffmann looked relieved. “I’ll send someone for Mr Malgari—he’s here at the studio. I told him to wait.”
“And will you talk to Miss Flores?” Maddie asked. “Mr Devlin tells me she won’t talk to anyone, but he thought she might talk to you.”
Hoffmann nodded. “I can try,” he said. He wanted to see Maddie’s revisions, but she was firm.
“There are two ways this film can go, depending on the actors, Mr Hoffmann. Until we know who is in, there’s no point in discussing the plot.”
The producer and his assistant had to be content with that, although Maddie’s pronouncement precipitated a hasty conference between Hoffmann and Rutherford.
“Oh, my paws and whiskers,” Maddie thought. After a few moments of hushed but agitated consultation, Hoffmann rang for his secretary.
“We’ll find Malgari, Hoffmann,” Milo said. “He’s most likely out in the carpentry department. He was a carpenter before he was discovered and he always gravitates down there,” Milo told Maddie.
Milo led her through the maze-like studio backlot to a warehouse that housed the carpentry shop. It was a huge barn-like building with piles of lumber. Saws, lathes, and other tools were arranged in work stations. A tall young man was watching a crew of workers assemble a staircase.
“Milo!” the man exclaimed, coming over to shake hands.
“Maddie, this is Marco Malgari,” Milo introduced them. “Marco, Miss Ellis is—”
“You’re the writer who is going to save Sands of Afar,” Malgari said, seizing her proffered hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “I hope you can. We’re all counting on you, and it.”
His speaking voice was plain American Midwest, his expression frank and open, and he looked far younger than he did on film, despite a villainous mustache.
“I was just watching them put that trick staircase together,” he said. “It’s for that big western starring that new Australian actor, Bradley Row. It’s for the bar room brawl. The banisters drop down but don’t actually fall. So clever!”
“Tell me about the sets for Sands of Afar, Mr Malgari,” Maddie asked. “I haven’t seen any of them yet, but I hear they are extensive.”
“I’ll say!” Malgari enthused. “There’s an entire desert—they’re going to reuse that one for the Western—and an ancient tomb, and the Sultan’s palace, all as large as life. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Come see it,” Milo invited, leading the way out of the carpentry shop and back into the maze of buildings.
“I was hoping you would ask,” Maddie said. “I’ve been consumed with curiosity. Were you there the day the set collapsed on Isabel Flores, Mr Malgari?” Maddie asked.
The young actor shook his head. “They didn’t need me that day. They were filming Miss Flores and Miss Auclair. Johnny was there, but I don’t think any of the other cast members were. I know the fellows who built that set. They were horrified. What happened shouldn’t have happened. I’ve heard Isabel was pretty badly hurt. I hope she’s feeling better. She’s a nice lady. Always making everyone laugh, and always looking out for everyone. I’ve been worried about Miss Auclair, too. I know Clarice wasn’t hurt, but it must have been an awful shock for her. I haven’t seen either one since they stopped the production. If you speak with them please give them my best regards.”
Milo led them to the backlot, where a wide expanse of sand appeared to stretch away to the horizon, thanks to a painted backdrop that must have been thirty feet high. Beyond it was a plain warehouse with the number “11” stenciled on the wall. There was a large sliding door, the kind one finds on the side of a barn, with a smaller, normal-sized door set into it. Both were locked with padlocks. Milo pulled a keychain out of his pocket, found the right key, unlocked the smaller door and pushed it open. It was dark inside, and the air was cold and smelled of paint, wood, and dust.
“I’ll get the lights,” Malgari volunteered, disappearing into the darkness. “Just wait until you see it, Miss Ellis!”
He threw the switches and light filled the space. Inside, the Sultan’s palace sprang to life, glittering with gold and jewels, a beautiful illusion. It reminded Maddie of the Magic Lantern projection shows from her childhood. On the other side of the vast stage was the somber tomb, its tall columns artfully weathered. The space between the columns was filled with rubble. Maddie realized with a shock that this must be the wall that had collapsed.
“It was designed to fall down,” Malgari explained. “Rather like the staircase you saw them working on just now. Only, no one was supposed to be underneath it when it fell. It’s made of balsa wood and wire and canvas and plaster, so it’s fairly light, but still….”
“Not that light,” Milo said. “It was heavy enough to nearly kill Isabel.”
“How does it work?” Maddie asked.
“There’s a big lever back here,” Malgari said, moving behind the fallen wall and pointing.
“The scenes are all carefully blocked,” Milo told Maddie. “Just like a play would be. See those marks on the ground? No one is to be inside this area during the scene when the wall is supposed to come down, except the stand-ins, and their locations are carefully designed to stay clear of the rubble so the wall will fall around them, not on top of them. No one thought the mechanism would fail the way it did.”
“There’s a block and tackle to hoist the wall back up again,” Malgari added. “It’s very clever. That way you can reset it and shoot the scene again without having to rebuild the wall, although you might have to replaster it and repaint it.”
They stood there in silence for a moment, staring at the set. Maddie thought about Clarice Auclair’s description of the accident—Isabel Flores, unconscious under the rubble, and Johnny Roberts screaming like a madman. The film crew must have just walked away from the set once the ambulances left. She found herself shivering.
“It’s cold in here,” she said. “Is there somewhere we can get a cup of coffee?”
“Follow me,” Milo said, leading them back out of the cavernous building and carefully locking the door behind them. Malgari looked hesitant, unsure if he should go or stay.
“Join us, please,” Maddie said, smiling at him.
The studio’s cafeteria was bright and modern. The only incongruous note was a group of men in cowboy costumes sitting around a table eating pie.
Malgari nodded at them. “My first studio job was mending the corral for the horses on a big western,” he told Maddie and Milo while they waited for their coffee. “I worked my way up to fixing wagons and making bits for the set department. There’s a lot of work for someone who is good with their hands. If I hadn’t been ‘discovered’ it would never have occurred to me that I could ever be in front of the camera. I guess I still don’t believe it.”
“There aren’t many people these days who work on both sides of the camera like you have, Malgari,” Milo commented.
“There were quite a few back when I started,” Maddie said. “It was ‘all hands to the pumps.’ Actors did all their own stunts, directors often wrote and starred in their own films, and sometimes built the scenery, too. There are still some like Raoul Walsh and Mary Pickford who direct, write, and act, but you are right, Milo. It is two worlds, and the distance between them has widened tremendously just in the five years I’ve been away from Hollywood.”
“You never know if you’re headed up or down in this town,” Malgari said. “Good roles are hard to come by, while carpentry jobs will always put food on the table. That’s what my old man told me when I headed west, and he wasn’t wrong. I might be headed back to the carpenter’s shop if Sands of Afar falls through,” he added wryly.
“How would you feel about trading your role as the Sultan’s henchman for something more heroic?” Maddie asked him.
Malgari looked stunned. “Truly?”
“Truly. I think your character would serve the story better as a hero than as a villain.”
Malgari was momentarily speechless, but his surprise rapidly turned to delight. “Count me in!” he said. “I’d love to be a good guy for a change. I thought it was my lot in life to always play the bad guy. I’ve worked my way up from bandits and henchmen, to pirates and highwaymen, I don’t mind, it pays the bills—but this is absolutely the best news!”
They finished their coffee and parted ways. Marco Malgari with a spring in his step and a grin on his face.
“I hope you know what you are doing,” Milo said. “Roberts might not be happy to share the spotlight.”
“He needs something to keep him on his toes,” Maddie said. “And you need someone who can cover if he comes completely unglued. Marco will serve this film far better as a hero than as a villain.”
