The Strand Magazine ran an alarming feature in 1910: “If Insects Were Bigger.” The editors inserted photographs of ordinary English insects into contemporary Edwardian street scenes, with pretty terrifying results. “What a terrible calamity, what a stupefying circumstance, if mosquitoes were the size of camels, and a herd of wild slugs the size of elephants invaded our gardens and had to be shot with rifles!”

“Panic Caused by a Mosquito in Piccadilly Circus.”

“Terrible Attack by a Larva of the Puss-Moth at Covent Garden.”

“The Araneus Diadema Spider Descends Upon Trafalgar Square.”

“Fierce Onslaught by an Earwig in St. James’s Street.”

“A Dragon-Fly Captures an Unsuspecting Four-Wheeler in Liverpool.”

“Exploits of a House-Fly at the Bank of England.”

“A Leviathan Grasshopper’s Arrival in Princes Street, Edinburgh.”

“A Lacewing Fly Spreads Consternation in Wellington Street.”

Author J.H. Kerner-Greenwood wrote: “It is true we are still molested by hordes of wild animals of bloodthirsty propensities. These wild animals only lack the single quality–namely, that of size–to render them all-powerful and all-desolating, and this quality they have not been able to attain owing to the lack of favouring conditions.” Mothra turned up 51 years later.

Carl Voss was a born leader — when he left the Army after World War I, he went on to command Maori warriors, Roman footsoldiers, and revolutionary Americans.

Voss was leader of the “Military Picture Players,” a group of up to 2,112 former servicemen who fought one another in Hollywood battle scenes. He drilled his soldiers as infantry, cavalry, and artillerymen and ensured that their appearance was authentic whether they were playing Germans, Hessians, Chinese, Senegalese, Czechs, or Crusaders. And he was good at it: Between The Big Parade (1925) and Four Sons (1940), Voss’s troops clashed in 232 engagements without a serious casualty.

So it was ironic that red tape finally killed them. The Screen Actors Guild ruled that Voss was essentially an extra and could not direct its members — a curious judgment, as by that time he’d become arguably one of the most versatile commanders in screen history.

It took Greer Garson 125 takes to say one line in Desire Me (1947).

The line was “No.”

Robert Mitchum said he stopped taking Hollywood seriously after that.

On being introduced to Margot Asquith, Jean Harlow mispronounced her name Margut.

“My dear, the T is silent,” said Asquith, “as in Harlow.”

Unusual movie titles listed by Patrick Robertson in Film Facts (2001):

• Telephone Girl, Typist Girl or Why I Became a Christian (Indian, 1925)
• In My Time Boys Didn’t Use Hair Cream (Argentine, 1937)
• The Film That Rises to the Surface of Clarified Butter (U.S., 1968)
• How to Make Love to a Negro Without Getting Tired (Canadian/French, 1988)
• No Thanks, Coffee Makes Me Nervous (Italian, c. 1981)
• Recharge Grandmothers Exactly! (Czech, 1984)
• Beautiful Lady Without Neck (South Korea, 1966)
• Don’t Worry, We’ll Think of a Title (U.S., 1965)

For “most preposterous movie title ever conceived,” David McGillivray in Films and Filming nominates Betta, Betta in the Wall, Who’s the Fattest Fish of All (U.S., 1969) and She Ee Clit Soak (U.S., 1971).

See Light Reading.

Body parts insured by Lloyd’s of London:

• Betty Grable’s legs ($250,000)
• Jimmy Durante’s nose ($140,000)
• Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes ($1 million)
• Fred Astaire’s feet ($650,000)
• Bruce Springsteen’s voice ($7 million)
• Keith Richards’ hand (£1 million)
• Michael Flatley’s legs (£25 million)

Silent-film comedian Ben Turpin, above, even insured his eyes against uncrossing.