4? % v »;^* ^ aP % . o > "V aT . ^ A^ C0V o o" 0 * O H 0 ° O,^ ■ y.. 0 • v a0^' ■ V*^' ^ ^ 4< - *' °- * " 45 °^ V V *^T.' A 0^ o«lV Jt> °o'W?J> X'-:-, 4 .c* ^ 1 0 A>-V ^ y^^>A*n ^ A*P A* ^^'^^V'1 <*>. A^ ^ VI * • • 5 \ v 'o » » Scanned from the collections of The Library of Congress Packard Campus for Audio Visual Conservation www.loc.gov/avconservation Motion Picture and Television Reading Room www.loc.gov/rr/mopic Recorded Sound Reference Center www.loc.gov/rr/record ( She "knows her groceries" She orders by telephone — it's so convenient and saves so much time. Instead of spending an hour in a trip to the market, she makes better use of the time by getting her housework done early. She orders with perfect confidence because she literally "knows her groceries." They are advertised goods, nationally known and nationally used. She purchases other necessities for her home, for herself, for her husband and for her children with the same confidence. She buys advertised goods because she knows that the manufacturers of adver- tised articles must keep the quality up to standard if public confidence is to be retained. She watches the advertisements and so knows what, when and where to buy to best advantage. She is representative of millions of American women who make their homes better, their families healthier, their lives easier and happier by using the advertisements. / / / Read the advertisements — keep posted on what's new and best — keep up to date Advertising Section 3 MOW YOU CAIN l!f"AK the PUlS^BtAT^/^WOKID if TIMES EVERY WEEK NOW Fox Movietone News, pioneer talking newsreel, brings you the sights and sounds of the entire world in four separate and complete issues weekly. If it isn't FOX, it isn't MOVIETONE NEWS! If it isn't Fox, it isn't the talking newsreel whose amazing record of achievements in- cludes bringing to America the royal voices of King George of England and King Alfonso of Spain. If it isn't Fox, it isn't the talking newsreel with efficient newsreel crews gathering the latest and most im- portant news events of North and South America, Europe, Asia and Africa. Look for the name, FOX, and you're sure to see and hear MOVIETONE NEWS! IT SPtAKS TOR ITSELF-/ ■& "v: MOVIETONEWS Jj£ . This is a pity, too, for when Gilbert is at his best he is quite irresistible. As to the sudden mania for noisy films, I can only say that I hope it is a fad. Otherwise, I'm afraid the movies' will have to stagger along without my patronage, for they seem to me little short of an atrocity. Maydee Cooper. San Francisco, California. Inviting a Fight. That the fans do think, and how! is evident in each new issue of Picture Play, but they usually think about each other, and what this one said about Ramon and that one about John. It seems to be an endless debate. A few years ago it was Wally and Rudy, and a few years more and it will be about some new stars. So what does it matter? But it's lots of fun, and I'm crazy about the department. May I please start a fight? Well, I always said Louise Brooks could act. Since seeing "Beggars of Life," I wish to admit we all make mistakes. Isn't Neil Hamilton great? Does every- body agree? I'm glad we can at least agree on one star. Now, don't Bebe Daniels and Richard Dix and Anna Q. Nilsson do the consist- ently best work on the screen? Isn't Jetta Goudal the most fascinating, mysterious, exotic, gorgeous personality on the screen? Greta Garbo looks stupid beside her. Sue Carol is very much overrated. Norma Shearer is beautiful, a good actress, and does best in comedy por- trayals. She has been sadly miscast of late. They say her husband is responsi- ble for her dramatic roles in "The Stu- dent Prince," "The Actress," and now I could cry over it, "The Trial of Mary Dugan." Wake up, Norma. I do so hate to see you go dramatic. Let Joan Crawford play Mary Dugan, and, remem- ber, I like you, so don't get angry. Lee Bailey. 16 Rossonian Apartments, Houston, Texas. Do Fan Letters Help? I hardly dare mail this, as I received so many indignant letters following my last venture into print. One young lady in particular slighted me, when she in- sisted that if I failed to retract a certain statement published concerning her par- ticular idol, she would never, never speak to me again ! Though I couldn't possibly see how she could manage this, anyhow, I wasn't overly alarmed ; but the doubtful fact remained, and my conscience pricked me for several subsequent hours. However, all this hashing and rehashing of stars and pictures is tremendously fas- cinating, as evidently others have decided, who have left the realm of cross-word puzzles for this newer and smarter pas- time. "What the Fans Think" grows more interesting and more significant each month. I might even suggest that in all probability our foremost and more trans- lucent stars are modeling their careers upon it. But I am worming along, even as "The StroMer," and, as I am not he, I must come to the point. Why all the fuss and stew about this flood of new talent, some latent, and some on the up and up? This fan wants the older and more established stars back, that one insists that there was never a star quite like her Jerry, who, though comparatively unknown, is des- tined to gleam brightest of all stars. Lu- cille Schuch can't abide even the memory What the Fans Think of Valentino, she announces, and recom- mends for your approval a list of mixed players who are just so much catnip to another fan on the opposite page. Juliette Brown is all wrought up over her successful and thrilling correspond- ences with the great ones of the screen, while only two months ago, I find, upon adjusting my specs and thumbing innu- merable pages, that a certain young lady in the Middle West is discouraged, be- cause she's written and written to her favorite stars, but the mean things are blind to her pleas. She never got so much as a photo. Most of the smoke rises, evi- dently, from battles fought over the ques- tion of new stellar material. And once in a while — in fact, quite often — we get a sensible, balanced letter from fans such as Grace Laura Shaver of Hollywood, who_ not only lives in that "Holy of Holies," but also happens to be endowed with a generous slice of common sense and acute observation. Well, after we've run around the tree three times, snapped our fingers, and said "Booh !" in a loud voice, just like that, where are we? Just how much difference does it make zvhat each fan, individually, may think? Not but what it's the thing, and quite proper, and very relieving, to the person himself ; but, after all, just how much ice does it cut? Opinions should be divided on this sub- ject, and I welcome suggestions. There are those, probably, who think that the stars read this column. Harry Langdon probably does. But, except for the satis- faction of seeing ourselves burst forth in print, what good does it do? I see right away that I'm liable to start a terrific landslide of fan comment, hut I must keep on ! And just to prove how narrow-minded I am, I'm going to give my opinion. Do I hear cheering? It doesn't make one whit of difference what Sadie Glut of Milwaukee thinks of Ramon Novarro. It doesn't cut a -bit of ice if Georgie Whit- comb of Denver thinks Douglas Fair- banks, Jr., is the world's worst actor. It's what the majority think that counts ! Now I hear you all -raving, "Just as though we didn't know that all the time." Well, if you did, you certainly kept it well concealed. Clara _ Bow may appeal to Lily Dugan, who is vacationing in China with her mamma and her papa, and up here in the States she may be "canned" by a young man who peels oranges in a cannery for a living. His girl probably has it all over her, yards by inches. But what of it? When Clara comes sailing up to the neighborhood theater, and the local piano player .gets out all -his copies of "Ragtime Charlie" in preparation, does Mr. Canner go? No, he stays home and eats chocolates on the living-room sofa with the girl who looks just like Clara, only more so. But the rest of the town, even the mayOr and his wife — who has to sit in a specially constructed seat be- cause of her avoirdupois — are there, look- ing at their watches ten minutes before the pianist begins to get enthusiastic. And home go the younger generation, to sit down with pen and paper, and, with the lovely face of the one and only Bow still fresh in their minds, use the only outlet for their feelings they know of — "What the Fans Think" — and how ! Then, when their letters "come out," they just know that Gloria is reading them, and Clara, too, and maybe they'll get letters from them ! And even as Mr. Canner is just saying good-hy to his chosen one, with Clara the farthest from his thoughts, down at the nickelodeon they're counting the box- office receipts, and it's an all-night job when Clara comes to town 1 So just what good did it do for this person and that person to vow that here, at last, was the perfect actress? Is it what we think, individually, and write? Our thoughts have influence, it is true, but as long as the crowds flock into the box office to see the star whom we privately and publicly condemn, isn't it a lot of apple sauce, to quote Dixie Dugan? A star can be made by any one of three things : Unusual directorial effort, ex- tensive publicity, or interested comment from the fans. The first one made Janet Gaynor; the second, Gwen Lee ; and the third, the most potential of all, has lifted to supremacy hundreds of unknowns. The latest is Alice White. Has she talent? No; but she means to get there, just the same. And she will. She has excited public curiosity by her hoyden qualities, her pe- culiar frankness regarding herself and others, and her fresh slang. Publicity might be thrown in, too, along with Miss White. But she's only an example; there are 'hundreds of others, even now waiting their turn to ascend to the golden chair, where they will sit serenely until it sud- denly breaks under them, and the world laughs — that same world which only yes- terday lauded their efforts as stellar ma- terial ! Just what makes a star? I want infor- mation. I am a poor, ignorant youth who happens to have opinions, and each time I expose them I am hounded mer- cilessly. Am I wrong, or am I right? Are you helping your star when you write to 'What the Fans Think," or are you sat- isfying a selfish whim of your own? Thomas G. Stockwell. 43 Summer Street, Montpelier, Vermont. Colleen's Pictures Wanted. I wonder if there are any fans who would like to trade pictures with me? I have been saving for several years, from various magazines and newspapers, pic- tures of our most popular stars, and I have quite a collection of them. This col- lection includes many of Gloria Swan- son, Marion Davies, -Constance and Norma Talmadge, Bebe Daniels, Norma Shearer, Mary Pickford, Ramon Novarro, Richard Dix, and scores of others. I would like to trade these for pictures of Colleen Moore. Any size, 'shape, kind, or color will do, just so they are pictures of Col- leen, In case you haven't any of her, I'd like some of Billie Dove or Madge Bel- lamy. I'd like to hear from those who are interested. Consuelo Romero. 138 South Townsend Street, Los Angeles, California. Answer Men Puzzle Her. I have short biographies of about three hundred and fifty actors and actresses, but sometimes the data of different answer men don't match, so I am very much puz- zled at the number of birthplaces and birth dates of the actors. If there are any fans interested in casts of pictures issued in the last two years, perhaps I could help them out. I am collecting pictures of Janet Gay- nor and Richard Dix, my two favorites. If any one has pictures they do not want, I would be very grateful if they sent them to me. Elizabeth Wallace. 184 South Fordham Avenue, Aurora, Illinois. What tke Fans Tkink 13 Reveries of a Toronto Fan. I think Picture Play is a great maga- zine. I am just settling down to enjoy the December number from beginning to end, and shall pause here and there to make comments on the different remarks contained therein. Have just had a kick out of reading some of the letters in "What the Fans Think." Some of them are immense. One of the writers saw Victor Varconi going into a hotel. _ Gee, how I would like to see him! He is one of my favorite actors. I am terribly sorry he is playing opposite Corinne Grif- fith in "The Divine Lady." That's always the way it goes, though. They put a good actor in the same picture with a flop. Corinne is the star, too. It's a deep mystery to me how she has ever kept on the screen. She is "homely as a hedge fence," and the only picture she ever acted in was "Mile. Modiste." Let's hope she does something in "The Divine Lady," so the agcny won't be too great. Edwin Schallert has the right idea about the heavy love scenes of Garbo and Gil- bert being mirth-provoking. It is because most of the Garbo love scenes are sensual. Garbo slinks through pictures apparently half clad or less, and it is quite evident to the fans that that is the kind of love a man would accord a woman like that. Even Greta Nissen or Vikna Banky could dress and act in the same manner, and the result would be different. Why?" Be- cause both these have a certain amount of intelligence and character, whether good or bad, in their faces, whereas the Garbo face is a blank. A screen kiss, no mat- ter what length, must have tenderness and purity, or even pertness, in it, to register well with the fans ; but when a man rushes at a girl like a bear, or accompanies pas- sionate kisses with running his hand across her back or arm, it ofttimes causes a burst of laughter from the fans, which, as Mr. Schallert points out, is bad busi- ness. I think "sexy" pictures have made Greta Garbo very unpopular, though why she should be popular is a mystery to me. I agree that Milton' Sills will be more in his place playing father to Doug, Jr., than lover to Molly O'Day and other young stars. However, I don't think Richard Dix is ready to be relegated to old-man roles yet. I don't think the talkies will ever be a real success. There will always be only certain players and certain parts that can be used ; but one I should like to hear in all the talkies that can be turned out is Bert Lytell. What a voice! At least, on the stage ! I remember Pauline Fred- erick had a lovely voice, too; also Elsie Ferguson and Glenn Hunter. I seem to remember that Francis X. had a pleasing voice, too. I notice that Greta Garbo has perni- cious anaemia. I am very sorry to hear that. Greta should take good care of herself. I would suggest that she return to her home and have a good, long rest with good, blood-building foods. Toronto. Toronto, Canada. The Great Dream Lover. I live an empty, loveless existence with a cold, abusive husband, and, being dreamy and romantic, I suffer agony. I don't suppose there's a woman living who has not, at one time in her life, known or seen or read about at least one man who came up to her ideal. Once, just once in my life, has it been my good fortune to meet a man I did regard as ideal. His first great, dominating quajity was a deep' understanding of the eternal feminine. Rudolph Valentino, the man of my golden dreams, had something the other stars didn't have — a quality of romance, of beauty, love, sacrifice — and he was, by the magic of romance, raised above ma- terial desires to kinship with the Infinite. I often relived the tragedy — his> dear, red lips growing colder, pale, trying to form, between the laboring efforts for breath, the sweet word, "mother." I told him my life was a series of hard knocks, and I wept bitterly. He spoke softly, like a prayer. His eyes were full of beautiful compassion as. he bent over me and said, "But you must not weep so." He so inspired me with his own idealism that I left him with a glorious outlook on life. Tears came in my eyes as I read Lu- cille J. Schuch's resentful letter in a re- cent issue of Picture Play of the great star I loved so much. Dear Lucille, the following are the fans he inspired: the women who wash dishes day after day, for years ; the women who scrub floors and go around in soiled dresses ; the girls who type in dim, little offices, and go home at night to little rooms to wasK out their stockings and iron a fresh pair of col- lars and cuffs ; who go to sleep on a lumpy mattress and get up in time to make a breakfast of cocoa and crackers with the aid of the gas jet. The great Lincoln lost his early love, and with tears in his eyes he said he "could hardly endure it, when he knew the rain was falling on her grave." Rob- ert Burns mourned all his life for the Mary he loved, and lost, and perhaps his most beautiful and touching sonnet is his "Mary in Heaven." Rudolph was the very essence of lost love. Beloved Father, may Rudy ever be a messenger of love between our human hearts and Thee ! Mrs. Norma Gene Hyder. General Delivery, Carthage, Missouri. The Valentino Guild's Views. The article in the November Picture Play regarding the resting place of our beloved Rudy makes it necessary for me to write again. No one is more distressed at the de- plorable state of affairs than I, although I cannot but think that your writer is misinformed when he blames the public for the fact that no mausoleum has been erected, since I have in my possession a letter received from S. George Ullman, in which he definitely states that there is no connection whatever between the memorial fund and the mausoleum, which, he says, is "purely a family matter." I may add that if Mr. Ullman decides to build the mausoleum himself, he will have the wholehearted support of the Valen- tino Memorial Guild. However, my real reason for writing is the paragraph in the article concerning the roof garden which was dedicated to Mr. Valentino last May. Your writer says that it was "the first real action to perpetuate the memory of the Rudy the world loved." It may have been the first widely advertised action, but the guild was working in his memory more than a year before this was done, only we preferred to do our work as Rudy did his, without publicity and unknown, save to those who benefited. In the fu- ture we shall come into the limelight a little ! The writer of the article appears not to know that there is a bronze memorial plaque in the theater where Rudy made his one English appearance, or, rather, in the cafe belonging to the theater, since it was here that he held many receptions while in London; and, by the courtesy of the owners, members of the guild are permitted to keep a bowl on a shelf be- neath the plaque, always filled with flow- ers, and also to place a wreath here every year on August 23rd. It may interest your readers to know that we also send a sum of money to Mr. Ullman, who is our honorary president, every year, so that he may place a wreath at Rudy's crypt for us, and the 1927 wreath is plainly shown in the photo of the crypt which appeared in the article, on the right and easily distinguishable by the large card attached to it. Our American members do what they can for the fund, but we in England have adopted the Home for Incurable Chil- dren, and we cannot neglect them now. We also work incessantly to keep the pic- tures made by Rudy showing all over the world, and what more beautiful and en- during memorial can we give him that that? The memorial does not worry me so much. There are so many erected, and the loved one forgotten within a couple of generations ; but the mausoleum, that is another matter, and it is for Rudy's family to see that it is erected without delay. That two years should have passed and nothing done is more than a scandal — it is the greatest example of ingratitude I have ever witnessed. I wish that he might be taken to rest under his own dear Italian skies, where we could ourselves visit his tomb and take our tributes ; but, wherever he lies, his real resting place will always be in the hearts of us who love and admire him. No, Rudy! you are not forgotten, what- ever they may say, and so long as youth and beauty and romance live, so will you live, too. Mercia Stanhope, President Valentino Memorial Guild. "Highcroft," 3 Waltersville Road, London, N. 19, England. Boosting Old Favorites. Before I start, let it clearly known that I'm not precipitating any arguments or debates, because I have too much respect for the Hollywood entertainers. My topic is, though, on the stars in general, and their photographs. Now, there are two good actors of great ability who should be in the limelight to- day, but who are somewhat overlooked by most fans. These are Warner Richmond and Jason Robards. If the fans will re- call their wonderful work together in "The Heart of Maryland," "White Flan- nels," and "Irish Hearts," and make an appeal for more of their appearances, I'm sure the public would be in for a treat, and it would also be a big help to the studios. Such actors as these deserve real, honest-to-goodness boosting. I have received nice photos from these stars, and Warner Richmond has been especially kind in sending me a personal note. Two other male stars, whom I would like to see get ahead, are Joseph Striker and Raymond Keane. They are of the type of Gilbert Roland and Don Alvarado, and if some wise studio would grab them, I'm sure they'd find them more than a gold mine, as far as ability, looks, and character are concerned. All they need is publicity to put them across. May I also add that I have a collection of over three hundred and fifty auto- graphed photos of various stars. They have been very, very good to me, and I'm loyal to them all. Steve Masters. Schenectady, New York. Continued on page 101 14 Advertising Section PICTURE PLAY, March, 1929 Vol ume XXX Number 1 Janet Gaynor in a new picture is an important event in the movies, as eagerly anticipated as Maude Adams used to be in a new play. Here she is seen as Christina, in the picture of that name, with Charles Morton, as Jan. It is a story of simple folk, natives of the island of Marken, off the coast of Holland; of Christina's childlike love for a young man of the visiting kermess, his departure and eventual return to make Christina's dreams come true after a year of lonely waiting. 16 Photo by Koya Alice Joyce received a touching letter from an old lady, whose yearning to read to her grandchildren was denied. CHILDREN have always had nurs- ery gods to whom they might look for the fruition of their dreams. But there has never been any source to which those too old for such beliefs might turn, until the motion-picture people, mythical in their wealth and fame, came to fill this need. A screen star receives from one to five thousand letters every week. Most of them begin with flowery compliments, and end with requests for autographed pic- tures. But there are other letters which creep in, here and there, to reveal the longings many people silently hug to their hearts. And it is these that make fan mail a veritable clearing house for dreams. Young dreams, old dreams, wise dreams and foolish dreams. There seems to be no end to them. All classes, all ages, and all nationalities write. And often enough, it is that which can be read between the lines, in the postmark and in the writing paper, that speaks more eloquently than the words them- selves. The Clearing Dreams By Adele Tragedy doesn't spend itself only in those things that are reported on the front pages of newspapers. Sometimes it can be heard in the weeping of young girls who lie with unloved faces turned to the wall. And adolescence, especially, brings difficult years. After all, it is only through the vicissitudes of youth that we ever come to the harbor of maturity. When a girl reaches the beau age without acquir- ing a beau, her friends may make some half-hearted attempts to supply her with dancing partners and escorts. But, continuing to prove a social prob- lem, she is dropped from the circle, and dreary days and sleepless nights are certain to follow. It must have been a shock to Anna Mason to learn how quickly you can be frozen out of your own set. No wonder she turned to a picture star — but that part of Anna's story comes later. Evidently Anna knew none of the tricks other girls instinctively employ. She never lowered her eyes when the boys talked to her. She never tossed her skirts when she passed a field where they were playing ball. And when almost everything under the sun came to have Unloved during her high- a new and mysteri- school days, a girl sought ous meaning to An- romance in writing to War- na's friends, she had ner Baxter. no understanding of the romantic under- currents. How could she know the thrill of receiving a note passed across the classroom in an alge- bra book, when alge- bra books had never disclosed to her any- thing more exciting than that x equals the unknown quan-. tity? Talk invariably centered on the last dance, or the next dance. And Anna would have ceased going out. It is hate- ful to be a wall- flower, while other girls dance past the sofa where you sit, trying hard to keep your feet out of the way. It is impos- sible to make believe you're having a good time, when a lump keeps pressing in your throat. And it 17 H ouse When people need spiritual sympathy, a wed- ding dress, money for a divorce, or even a new kitchen stove, they pour out their longings to their favorite movie star, as they did to their nursery gods in childhood days. Whitel? Fletcher is humiliating to overhear mothers insisting that boys at all times "act like gentlemen" and see you home. The heartaches Anna Mason must have known ! And, being sixteen, she had long since put away her belief in childish gods. She knew dreams didn't come true, just because you wished for them on the first star of the evening. So she wrote a letter, and a few days later Warner Baxter found it in his mail. It proved to be one of the letters he put aside for personal attention. At last Anna had found a man she could talk to naturally. However, with characteristic shyness, she didn't hope for too much. She knew Mr. Bax- ter must be very busy playing in the movies, but she hinted that a letter from him, now and then, would reinstate her with the old crowd. She said such letters would give her confidences to share. If he went so far as to say nice things sometimes, there was no doubt that his notes would be much more romantic and desirable than those scrawls the other girls received from local boys, via dog- eared textbooks. This is only one in- stance of the unique assistance the picture people find themselves in a position to give. The things asked in the letters they receive are not supplied by any charity in the world — such, for in- stance, as pseudo- sweethearts. Usually, too, those who write wouldn't think of ap- plying to another in- dividual, because of pride. Movie stars are real, yet they seem impersonal. Really, to read some of the let- ters is to feel like a Peeping Tom, spying into lonely hearts. Much good is done, theatrical people being unfailingly generous, but considerable char- ity is curtailed, be- cause of the profes- sional beggars who have availed them- selves of this source of supply. They have asked for everything, from ermine coats A man just out of Sing Sing asked Harold Lloyd for an old suit. An ex-soldier asked Corinne Griffith to join a Utopian colony in China to carry out his scheme of revenge on the United States. worn in certain scenes, to princely in- comes. Therefore financial help isn't always given, although it often appears urgently needed. One girl, about to be denied the right to love, through years with a husband not of her own choosing, wrote Pola Negri as follows : I am asking you for help. I am forced to get married one month from to-day to an old man who is forty-eight years old and I am only sixteen years. He is rich, and that's why my father is making me marry him. I don't love him. I'd rather die than marry him. I am writing to you, because you're kind and you will understand me. Send me thirty- five dollars so I could run away to my aunt, who is poor but kind. I will repay you for your kindness. I think God gave me your address. Where else can such girls turn, but to the citizens of that magical land, Holly- wood, where the unbelievable keeps on happening almost every day? There are times, of course, when a letter touches a susceptible spot, and the as 18 The Clearing House for Dreams • * Photo by Keyes A letter from Sweden asking for Blanche Sweet's photograph, predicted happiness because she was "of a very nice shape." their own, that mothers sometimes know an unwel- come leisure, and an ache of loneliness more devastating than any bodily ache. One old lady, apparently not considered polished enough to meet her son's and daughter's friends, wrote Alice Joyce a letter that had the tragedy of age between the lines, although the words themselves attempted to be brave. In their social ambitions,' her children overlooked the fact that their mother's hands were rough because of the washing and scrubbing she had done for them. Both sent .her large checks, and so bought easy ' consciences for themselves. ' But they were too occupied with their own affairs to give her any time. Their children were looked after by nurses. Grand- mother's offers to visit and read to them were discour- aged. chance of the writer being a professional beggar is overlooked. This was the case when Gloria Swanson had been the Marquise de la Falaise only a few months. A girl who wanted a new dress for her wedding day wrote that she had no money, because everything she had earned as a mill hand had gone to support her invalid mother. She didn't dream of a trousseau, but had Gloria a dress to spare so that on this one day, at least, she might be as beautiful as possible in her sweetheart's eyes ? It didn't matter that there remained no time for investigation when the let- ter came to Miss Swanson's attention. Memories of her own perfect wedding day gave her deep sympathy -for her j correspondent, and it was enough that there still remained time to get the dress to the little middle- Western town from which the letter came. However, perhaps the sad- dest things in life are the left- overs, the old people who have outlived their usefulness and their welcome. A young mother may go to bed weary after Sat- urday's baking, but she is happy if little John and Bessie have squealed with delight over gin- gerbread men with raisin eyes. Such busy years have their own compensations. It is when sons and daughters grow up and have families of Money with which to run away from an undesirable marriage was asked of Pola Negri. "My boy and girl are very generous," the old lady explained, "and they don't mean to be thoughtless. But they don't know how lonely I get. I'm not one to sit with my hands in my lap. I know they're busy, but . I wish, I could ,see more of them arid my dear, little grandchildren. "I always liked you in pictures and I read in a paper how you have two little girls that you keep with you. I guess you're _ pretty busy, but it would give me pleasure tof bring your girls picture books, and read to them when it's rainy, and they can't go out and play." What a pity that there was no way in which the son and daughter could be found, and this letter sent them, while there remained a few years in which to prove to one old lady that she was still loved and needed. • Then there was the Wife, her dreams dead, who wrote Marion Davies. She couldn't endure the thought of days growing into years, while she contin- ued in the prison her marriage had proved to be. She said, in part : I am twenty-three years old, and have been married five years. I am very un- happy, as my husband chases after other women. He is out every night, and I have to stay in, because I have no money or clothes. And, then, when he comes home drunk he beats me. I have always heard how good you are, Miss Davies, and if you ever want to do an act of kindness, here is your chance. I want to get a divorce, and start life over, but while I am married to this man I don't have any courage to do anything. Will you please send me five hundred dol- lars, so I can get a divorce? As soon as I am free I will work so hard and pay back every cent. Continued on page 112 19 Carefree Charlie Charles Farrell has not lost himself in the clouds with his rise to stardom, and he has not even acquired a complex. B? William H. McKegg FIVE people were in a room in Hollywood, some four years ago. To their way of think- ing, it was a crazy musical soiree. Charles Farrell was the only one, I believe, who took it in earnest, and it is like him to do that with every- thing. Among those present was Walter Lang, to-day becoming a well-known . director. • He purposely made a lot of tremolo and glissando passages with his voice, as if he were singing "La Traviata." Two others joined in. Another, being an excellent pianist, accompanied the warblers. All were in the spirit of the fun. Charlie had been quiet, sprawling on an arm- chair, altering his languid positions every few minutes, as he does even to-day. When Charlie is ever quiet, you may depend upon his having something very important on his mind. The others guessed what he was likely to do — and they were not wrong. Pulling himself out of his sprawling pose, he got out his pet cornet, the instrument he never tired of playing. "Let's have a go at this," he gayly suggested. "Keep on singing just the same." During a lull Charlie would rest his beloved cor- net on something — the mantelpiece as likely as not — but he invariably held onto it with one hand. As soon as the music was begun again, Charlie got in on the first blast. On this particular evening his companions made him mad. "That trumpet of yours, Charlie, or what- ever it is, sure makes a strange noise !" "Try and keep in tune, old chap !" Charlie put up with their chafing for about half an hour in a hesitant, good- natured way. Gradually he be- lieved they were in earnest. It be- came too much. He got mad. His musical talent had been im- pugned ! Out of the kindness of his heart he had played for the others' entertainment, and they gave him the "merry ha-ha !" Almost dancing about the room in rage, Charlie brandished aloft his cher- ished instrument, seemingly deter- mined to smash it to smithereens. He was frantically looking for a suitable place to commit the deed. Finally he flung his cornet from him — but only onto the bed, where it bounced up and dov/n on feath- ered softness. Only on very rare occasions do you get a glimpse of Charlie in a temper. The one way to rouse him is to make fun of something he likes, or does. But, hang it all, Photo by Autrey Charles Farrell stubbornly hung on in the face of difficulties until his big break came. they wouldn't let him sing, and they wouldn't let him play ! That sure makes a chap sore ! At first Charlie takes it all in a sportive manner, then off he goes. He lacks humor when it is directed at himself. Let me mention the last of Charlie's cornet. He and his instrument went one night to King Vidor's home. Whether King got rid of it in his own way, I have never found out. I do know, though, that the cornet was never seen again. Charlie, for a year after, made various resolutions to go to "Vidor's home for his misplaced child, but for one reason or another he never went. Perhaps he knew it would be no use. But he never said so. Scenes for the last picture made by Willard Louis were shot at Venice. It was low tide. A man was supposed to fall over the end of the pier into the shallow water below. Char- lie's part called for this action which, of course, required a One way to make him mad, in his early movie days, was to kid him about his cornet. stunt man. As a joke, the director and others kidded Charlie about being 20 Carefree Charlie Charlie pitches right in and helps build his new home. afraid, though they did not mean to let him go through with it. "You're yellow !" some one cried. "And you want to become a star ! You're afraid, that's what's the matter ! You're yellow!" Charlie lost control of his arms and legs and rushed from one of his tormentors to another. He hardly knew, what he was doing. He wanted to say so much he' could hardly speak at all. "I'm yellow, am I? Oh, so I'm yellow, am I?" he' yelled. "All right! I'll show you! I'll let you see' whether I am or not ! I'll fall down into the water ! I'll do it ! I'll do it ! I'll show you !" Charlie mounted the rail at the end of the pier, and was quite willing to risk his neck. From such a height he would have splashed through the mud clear to China. Only when the troupe explained their joke, was Charlie drawn away from his perilous perch, though even then somewhat reluctantly. This naive daring of his won admiration, nevertheless. In case you believe Charlie is a Don Quixote, glance at his clear-headed side. It was about four years ago that Mrs. Farrell paid her first visit to her son. Charlie's sister, Ruth, also appeared. "You know, Charlie," said Mrs. Farrell one evening, "you should give up trying any more for the movies. You've been out here a year, and what have you done? Nothing but extra work. Come back with me, and your father will place you in something." Mrs. Farrell, as you can guess, regarded business as more lucrative than a high fling at art. To Charlie this proposal must have sounded as tempt- ing as if his mother had asked him to smash his cornet. He got up from his sprawling position, walked about the room with one hand at the back of his head, the other in his pocket, a perplexed look on his face. Drawing a deep breath, as if his answer was going to wake the world, he replied : "No, I'm not going back with you. You see, mother, it's like this : If I went East now, and later on saw any of my chums playing leads, I'd say, Tf I had stayed in Hollywood I might have got a break, eventu- ally.' You see, I'd feel mad at myself for leaving, mad at you for persuading me, and mad at every one else." Failing to get her screen-struck son to think better of his decision, Mrs. Farrell, with much maternal ad- vice, returned East, leaving Charlie once again alone. "Now remember, son, as soon as you get fed up with the movies come home," were her last words at the station. "No," her dutiful but obstinate boy replied. "I'll get somewhere yet." But Mrs. Farrell let that go in one ear and out of the other. The train started and Charlie, hands deep He has an honest, straightfor- ward way that wins everybody. in his pockets, slouched his way back to Hollywood and uncertainty. Charlie has a ret- icence about him which invariably strikes me as being a self-consciousness left over from his adolescent days, Though I imagine he thinks deeply, he is never free with his opinions. He has always been like that. Yet for all his adolescent manners, there is something very substantial about Charlie Far- rell. He has a straightforward, honest way that wins him respect. Just before he his break in things were very slack. His chum was go- ing East for a holi- day. Charlie was homesick. Mrs. Farrell, as if guess- ing his thoughts, sent him money to buy a round-trip ticket. Nine movie sons out of ten would have spent all that money, even if they did not use it for its intended pur- pose. Not Charlie. He sent it back to his mother, al- though he had prac- Continued on page 116 got "Sandy, 21 By Their Furs Ye Shall Knov? Them Is the extravagant display o£ pelts by the movie queens symbolic of their compara- tively short reigns? By Elsi Qui Illustration by Lui Trugo THE luncheon guests at the Montmartre, many of them stars of first magnitude, stared at her with varying degrees of interest. For the most part, the women looked her over with the cool, impersonal glance they would have bestowed upon her wax counterpart in a shop window. The men were more specific, noting her "points" with the delib- erate, calculating appraisal, which earlier in the century would have been regarded as highly offensive, and was now obviously invited. She had a small, vacuous, painted face, and a figure that would have sent Cleopatra on a premature asp hunt out of sheer envy. The gown she was displaying, or which was displaying her, was in the classic words of Ella Cinders, "two whoops ahead of fashion's latest whisper." Around the hem of her sheer, satin wrap was a wide band of costly fur. It didn't even serve to keep her knees warm. It served no purpose save to gratify the vanity of the wearer, and to stir envious emotions in the hearts of ladies whose various contracts, business and personal, were fizzling toward a gloomy eclipse. Unquestionably there was something daringly piquant in the contrast between that luxurious peltry and the slender, ivory-smooth legs that twinkled beneath it ; it spoke subtly of many things which would be discussed openly around the tables, following the little hush that had ushered in the girl's appearance. She was a protegee of So-and-so ; he had promised to star her ; she ought to register ; given the right stories, she might register ; do the Billie Dove sort of thing, perhaps, but Thus the comment was batted back and forth like bright-colored glass globes, until another exotic person- ality caught for a second or two the blase attention of the crowd. A famous star, wife of a wealthy producer, slipped her enormously expensive sable coat from her slim shoulders, and with slightly raised eyebrows, drawled some remark that set her table laughing. She perfectly symbolizes success in the movies. She has had the good judgment to rely implicitly on her husband's business acumen to exploit her talents, never having resorted to the type of publicity which has made headline material of the names of some of her contemporaries, only to react as a boomerang. Hollywood pays her the supreme compliment of admitting that she is witty and wise; among her huge fan following she is beloved for more endearing qualities. Yet there are strange quirks in her character, which are difficult to reconcile with her highly developed intelligence. Furs, for instance. She has a passion for furs. Be- sides the sable wrap, she has forty or more fur garments in her wardrobe. The care of them alone represents the outlay of a small fortune. If she lived within the Arctic Circle she would not need so many. But of course it is not for warmth alone that women wear furs. And what of it, you say, if a beautiful and successful woman chooses to indulge in this expensive hobby? Does not her femininity bestow the right to adorn her exquisite body in the manner which gives her the most satisfac- tion ? And are we not all instinctively collectors to some extent ? Yes. But this girl contributes regularly to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. I do not know that she actually attends the meetings as some well-meaning women do — often with fox pelts dangling nonchalantly from their shoulders — to listen with pained indignation to stories of cruelties endured by cats and canary birds ; but her dogs are pampered as no self-respecting dog should be pampered, and she would suffer in the presence of a broken-down old horse being flogged up a hill. Sable, chinchilla, ermine, silver fox. Each one of the thousands of peltries that go to make up the luncheon- hour display at the Montmartre represents an animal tragedy — and not the quick, merciful tragedy of nature's everlasting life-and-death struggle. Traps. Death in a form which the proprietors of fox farms are careful not to publicize, though one wonders if, after all, it would make much difference if women knew what lengths are resorted to, in order to insure fox pelts against disfigure- ment. Fur is luxurious ; it feels delightful against a smooth skin ; it represents much money ; and women will have it, no matter what it costs in blood and agony. Gentle Mary Pickf ord ; the lovely Norma Talmadge ; audacious Connie, who hides her sensitive, almost melan- choly, and introspective nature behind a brazen shield ; piquant, tender-hearted Colleen Moore ; Pola, the foster mother of orphans ; Marion Davies, gracious, warm- hearted ; all these, and any number of lesser luminaries crowding toward the front, wear furs with a heedless disregard of the cruelty thereby entailed, which would be almost laughable in its incongruity, had it no deeper significance. But therein lies, perhaps, the secret why, with few exceptions, women do not "last" as long on the stage or screen, as men. Screen stars, particularly, whose his- tories have been made, for the most part, within the last decade, are completely representative of what we are pleased to call the emancipated woman. They have Continued on page 110 :q:to; z$'£6-bti i - §yz : isaoqcnq aid! sihuxiO 22 A show boat such as flourished years ago was reconstructed for the scenes which were taken along the Sacramento River in California. The Spell of tke Calliope Up and down the Mississippi River its siren call brings old and young to the "Cotton Palace Floating Theater." This colorful story describes the filming of the novel "Show Boat." Myrtle Gebhart OIL lamps flickering, chains clanking, banners waving, cal- liope rending the air with its steamed melody, the Cotton Palace is efficiently joggled into its mooring place at the levee landing by its pug-s nacious little towboat, the Mollie Able. Farmers and plantation owners in wide-brimmed hats, gracious ladies of the South in voluminous silks, and buxom wenches in calico — a motley crowd has gathered to welcome the show boat. Following the band, its vainglory bursting in loud, blaring tones, the Cotton Palace personnel debarks fog the parade in the dusk under kero- sene torches, which precedes the eve- ning's performance. Enchanted by all this blatant bally- hoo, you meet the barnstormers of the bayous — the family of troupers whose joys and quarrels and drama make the pages of "Show Boat" tin- gle with action and color. Parthenia Ann Hawks, rigid in her aloofness, disapproving, managing with a firm hand that tolerates neither waste nor deviation from firm principles. Cap- tain Andy Hazvks, genial, excitable, crackling orders in his high falsetto, To Laura La Plante falls the honor of playing Magnolia. 'Photo by Seely seeking to sneak around Parthenia' s rampartlike mien with tactful pleas- antries and watchful wait- ing— a sly, humorous, old codger. Julie, indolent, careless, her strange brooding stung into vital fire only when tragedy sweeps her up — a mystery seems to lurk about her. Ravenal, moody, elegant even with his frayed linen, now high- spirited, then sullen. In his broad- cloth and pale-gray hat, a fastidious figure ; romantic amid banalities, re- mote from the coarseness of the river show folk. Ravenal, with his voice of such caressing cadence, his gentle, deferential manner, and his innate pride and irrfpermanence. Swinging his talisman, the ivory- topped malacca cane, which, pawned, tides him over waning fortunes, ey- ing the crowd disdainfully. You meet Magnolia the child and, watching her develop, you respond to the gay laugh flung by Magnolia the girl, and your sympathy is aroused by Magnolia the woman. Heart-tossed Magnolia, dramatic even in her suffering! The boisterous child, always fall- ing into and being fished out of the river. Always asking, at each bend in the river and in her own life, "What's next?" Versed, in the way that children sponge up things with grasping minds, in river lore. Starry-eyed and radiant Magnolia, The Spell of the Calliope 23 eloping in her second-best reseda sateen, with its basque and overskirt, and her Milan hat with pink roses to match her cheeks. A rather inco- herent, indefinite Magnolia of the Chicago reverses, dramati- cally striking one day, letting misfortune snuffle her into phlegmatic melancholy the next. And Kim — whose name is made up of the initials of the three States in which she chanced to be born, Kentucky, Illinois and Missouri, on that night when the tawny river, that somnolent tiger of a river, snarled into life with a storm- wracked surging of its mad, yellow waters. They fling about them, as a spray, a carefree, vagabond spirit that the stolid yokels gape at uncomprehending, de- nouncing, half envying. A floating circus. Carnival of the broad, wet highway, know- ing no home, only ports-o'-call for country shekels. Likewise, to a screen made ponderous by epics of battles and machinery and panoplies of history, "Show Boat" will bring the gayety of a river-rov- ing life heretofore' unfilmed. A very costly carnival, for all its spontaneity, streamers of gay moods laboriously woven after many hours of studious re- search. Discounting press agentry, "Show Boat" still will be an expensive production — nearly half a mil- lion on the debit side of Universal's ledger \ book. It has, to- gether with its nov- elty, all the elements that the seasoned fan demands — thrill, ac- tion, picturesque atmosphere, a love theme, obstacles. Indeed, the latter, which in the book serve to separate Magnolia and Rave- nal, and which con- sist of Parthenia Hawks' eagle eye and Ravenal's weak- Much o£ Magnolia's childhood is spent with congenial com- panions, played by Stepin Fetchit and Gertrude Howard, in the kitchen of the show boat. Emily Fitzroy, as Parthy, Jane La Verne, as the child Magnolia, Alma Rubens, as Julie, and Otis Harlan, as Captain Andy. Light ness of character, will be overcome, true to movie recipe. "A happy ending for Magnolia and Ravcnal, please." Thousands of letters bearing this plea reached Universal. It is rare, nowadays that fic- tional characters are as greatly loved as these two. The Edna Ferber story cost sixty thousand dol- lars. For five weeks the company was on location on the Sacramento River, where fifteen boats of the sort that plied the Missis- sippi during the '80s and '90s were reconstructed. Steamboats, stern-wheel- ers, strange craft of the period, were found in the vicinity, the only differ- ence being that they bore single smokestacks, those in the South two. An- other smokestack, a few additional touches and, presto, they were read)'. Because of the Missis- sippi's temperamental un- certainty, as well as the expense of working so far away from the studio, it was deemed unwise to film the scenes actually on the Mississippi. Experience 24 The Spell of the Calliope An old-time melodrama played on the stage of the show boat has Laura La Plante, as the heroine, Joseph Schildkraut, the hero, and Harry Holden, the villain. on "the father of waters" during the making of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was convincing proof that the great river would never make a picture actor, misbehaving badly, obscuring scenes with fogs, indulging in stormy up- heavals. So seventy people went up from the studio, and about four hundred citizens of Sacramento and environs were employed for atmos- pheric shots. • A stroke of fortune was the discovery, about forty miles up the river, of Knights' Landing — a river town which might have been the subject of an engrav- ing of the period be- ing filmed. A perfect, unmodernized spot, dressed in the late '80s! Even the old- fashioned street sprinkler creaked up and down the main street. The town ap- pears, under various superficial disguises, with readjustment of the landing and erec- tion of the fronts of a few fake houses near by, as the various towns at which the show boat moors for an evening's entertain- ment. Only in a few places did telephone wires add a discordant note. A half mile of shore line was slightly altered to resemble the banks of the Mississippi ; trees were draped with moss and a weather- beaten touch was added. Three former Mississippi River pilots were employed to assure technical accuracy. Mark Twain's "Life on the Mississippi," and other books, were used in the re- search work, that the river life described might be pictured flawlessly. A rare spirit of camaraderie prevailed. Seldom have I en- countered a troupe home from location without a list of griev- ances— "for art's sake" — and the recital of petty quarrels. The heat bothered them, but it was no worse than warm days under studio lights. With sundown, they removed make- up and were taken ashore and driven to Sacramento, to com- fortable hotels. "Early to bed, early to rise," was the motto — ■ and plenty to eat, appetites be- ing whetted by brisk work in the open air. The history of the floating theaters is interesting. One hundred years ago an English- man named Chapman launched the first show boat in this These theatrical palaces of the water were kingdoms to the poor folk of the glittering The honeymoon of Magnolia and Joseph Schildkraut, as Ravenal, finds them often at the Chicago race track. country, splendid, river towns. They flaunted gay colors, their bands and calliopes summoned a curious, slow country to new joys. The box office was on the boat. Crossing the runway, one entered a foyer, bright with much gold paint. On either side were lounge rooms. The auditorium had bal- cony, boxes, and or- chestra pit, the floor sloping to the foot- lights. Drops, set pieces, and lights were used. The dressing rooms served as state- rooms. So large were the steani cylinders of the old calliope on the top deck, that its "music" could be heard over a radius of three or four miles. Comic opera and opera bouffe were pre- sented, alternating with minstrel shows. In 1852 the Spalding and Rogers circus ap- peared on the main rivers. "St. Elmo," "Tern- pest and Sunshine," and "Lena Rivers" were popular bills. "East Lynne," "Un- cle Tom's Cabin," "The Parson's Bride," "'Way Down East" and such thrillers held audiences spellbound. The show boat was a glorified circus, made the more glamorous because it slipped upon the isolated towns from vaguely "upriver" ; it tread the mighty waters to bring them its bright array of amusement, and glided away mysteriously into the night. [Continued on page 105] 23 Tfou'd NeVer G uess it I. Unless you know the stars' biographies by heart, it will surprise you to learn that five ministers' sons are in the movies. The late Fred Thom- son, left, was not only the son of a Presby- terian minister, but Silver King's master once wore the cloth himself. Victor McLaglen, below, is the son of a former Episcopal bishop, no less. His father is now retired, but once preached in South Africa. Jack Holt, above, one of the most conservative stars, reflects his early training as the son of an Episcopal clergyman. Al Jolson, left, is the only star who is the son of a rabbi — an- other reason why he is unique and extraordinary. Douglas MacLean, below, whose sprightly antics on the screen be- lie his seriousness away from it, is the son of a Methodist preacher. C'ujooe ijsoirrffoaj 26 Esther Ral- ston is prac- tically the only star who still makes those nice, silent pictures. Photo by Eichee DON'T ask me where any one is," Fanny ordered grouch- ily. I had looked around the usually crowded Montmartre for familiar faces in vain. "He, she, or they are either down with influenza, or were work- ing all last night in dialogue se- quences for talking films. I can't decide which has wrought greater havoc in our social life. I suppose sound films have, because, after all, people do recover from the flu, but it looks as though sound films would go on forever." Fanny retired into a long si- lence, so I knew that she had been deeply affected by the new condi- tions that have cast a pall over Hollywood. "At least, no one can call Holly- wood a nine-o'clock town any more," she remarked at last. "But there is no gayety in that observa- tion. People stay up all night, but it's for work now- adays. You know, atmospheric conditions are better for recording at night. At least, that is the theory this week. Next week the electric engineers may decide that all dialogue sequences should be made up in airplanes, or down in submarines, and the players will have to do whatever they suggest, without argument. They are the new tyrants of the business. No one can talk back to them, because this business of recording sound is still such a mystery. None of the players understand it, and sometimes I doubt if the engineers do. "One of the studios ordered several sound-proof stages built, according to plans drawn up and approved by the engineers. They were sound proof all right. When they tried to film some dialogue sequences there, you couldn't hear the voices, even when the players shouted. Nothing short of a trumpet chorus could have made an impression in that stillness." Sometimes I have a faint suspicion that Fanny ex- aggerates slightly. To hear her tell it, all Hollywood is overcast with gloom. And I was sure that I heard a ripple of laughter from the general direction of Lilyan Tash- man's table. "Oh, well— Lil- yan," Fanny ex- claimed as though she were an ex- ception to every rule. "Lilyan was born lucky, or smart, or some- thing. She is one of the few old stand-bys in pic- tures who will surely benefit by the introduction of sound. She has an absolutely individual voice. It is gorgeously vibrant, and runs all over the scale. You know how monotonous most voices are ? Well, Lilyan's never is. "Even at that, Lilyan gets a bad break now and then. Last week she had to choose between four pictures, all of which were going into pro- duction immediately. She took the lead in 'The Genius' for Paramount, and then just when it was too late to go into the others, production of 'The Genius' was called off. Somebody had the bright idea of reading the story, and imagine the embarrassment of the executives when they found that there was hardly any story at all. Yet people say that Van Vechten exaggerated conditions ! Piioto by Autrey As soon as Sue Carol's legal battles ^re over, she is expected to sign a contract with Fox. 27 Fanny the Fan discovers that Hollywood is no longer a nine- o'clock town, but this means not a thing so far as budding social ambitions go, because it's talkie work that's responsible for late hours. "Speaking of Lilyan — if you want to see a good show, don't watch the people coming in, but just watch her face. Eddie Lowe thinks she is a fine actress on the screen, but he says she is the world's worst at hiding her feelings from the public, when she isn't in front of a camera. You can almost figure out what people look like by Lilyan's ex- pression of approval, or horror, or utter dismay. A woman came in here the other day wearing a complete museum collection of gewgaws and orna- ments— she really suggested a history of dress trimming — and Lilyan's look of unbelieving be- wilderment was priceless." 'I wanted to ask you I got no further. Wherever clothes are mentioned nowa- days, it is safe to assume that Betty Bronson is under discus- sion. According to rumor, Betty had a long confab with Elinor Glyn in New York, and Madame Glyn told her that her , clothes ought to be more indi- vidual. So Madame Glyn took her to Natacha Rambova's shop, and together they de- signed a wardrobe for Betty. "I'll never be happy until I see that wardrobe," Fanny pro- claimed. "In fact, I am think- ing of organizing a searching party to send out a general alarm the first time Betty ap- pears in one of the creations. No one has greater respect for Rambova's" designs than' I have, but I just can't imagine Betty wearing them. I" still favor Betty as a simple, little ging- ham girl. "I suppose you have heard that Gloria Swanson is going to bow to public demand and do a picture called 'Clothes' ! I, for one, will be standing in line to see the first show- ing." You don't have to know Fanny as well as I do, to know that that is nothing new. Regardless of what Gloria makes, that is the one picture that she most wants to see. "Gloria has a very sweet singing voice, but I hear she is determined not to sing in films until it is thor- oughly trained. She has been taking lessons and making voice tests, but Gloria doesn't want any one to hear her until she is satisfied herself. While most of the film colony was more or less excited, Greta Garbo calmly set off for a vacation in Sweden. Photo by Louise Photo by Ball After the heavy dramatics of "Queen Kelly," Gloria Swanson will thrill her original fans in "Clothes." "Marion Davies is to sing in her next picture, 'The Five O'clock Girl.' She was in musical com- I edy on the stage, you know, so it is nothing new | for her. And just as a favor to me, would you f mind mounting a soap box here and now, and mak- ing an announcement to the crowd? Marion does not stutter when she gets in front of the micro- , phone. . She is. perfectly at ease, and entirely natural when she is among friends. Any one who has worked around Marion isn't merely a friend — he's an adoring slave. The only time she ever has diffi- culty with her speech is when she meets strangers who make her feel self-conscious and ill at ease. "As a matter of fact, Marion's first vocal tests blighted the hopes of several scenario writers. They had taken time by the forelock and had written com- edies around the role of a girl who stammered, hoping to sell them to Marion. Then her voice came out un- hesitant and clear. She couldn't even stutter when she tried !" "It looks to me," I broke in, "as though the new year will be the tin-pan-alley era in motion pictures. Song writers have been imported in droves ; cabaret and night-club stories are the inevitable order of the day. Hardly a picture staggers through its natural course without a theme song of some sort. I suspect almost any day now to hear that John Barrymore is taking saxophone lessons in secret. Or perhaps he will go in for tap dancing." Fanny scoffed at my optimism in thinking of any phase of pictures nowadays as an "era." 28 Over tke Teacups After completing "Prisoners," Corinne Griffith will take a vacation in Europe. ''There's a new development every day," Fanny as- sured me. "In the morning all the studios decide to go in for musical revues, with coon shouting, patter songs and general vo-de-o-do. Then at luncheon some producer is seen talking to a manager of operatic stars, and by mid-afternoon the word has spread that some one is to film an opera. Then all the studios decide to do opera. Imagine having to look at opera singers via the merciless in- timacy of the camera ! "Conditions under which pictures are made are changing so rapidly that some stars are , almost afraid to go away for a week-end, for fear they won't know anything about the busi- ness when they come back. But Greta Garbo, with her beautiful Scandinavian calm, has gone off to Sweden for a vacation. Corinne Griffith is going to Europe as > soon as she finishes 'Prisoners,' and Col- leen Moore is awfully anxious to make her next picture in Ireland." "I wish she would." I spoke from the heart. "I'm so tired of studio sets, I wish some one would go off to far countries and give us some new scen- ery. These talking pictures made in boxed-in stages have taken the greatest charm out of pictures." "We really owe a debt of gratitude to Esther Ralston, or maybe it is to Para- mount. She is to make another nice, quiet picture. It's with Emil Jannings. She is the only girl I know who isn't bursting into song, or speech. She's just finished a really fine picture, 'The Case of Lena Smith.' Joe von Stern- berg made a dramatic actress out of her. I "Come to think it over, there is another picture with- out dialogue " You will join me, I am sure, in cheers over that an- nouncement. "But it is more or less of an accident," she went on. "D. W. Griffith made his last picture before the powers- that-be went dialogue mad. Then, when they decided that all pictures must have dialogue, he recalled his players and set up a microphone. The characters were all supposed to be French, but inasmuch as they were played by Jetta Goudal, whose accent is really French, Lupe Velez, whose dialect is strongly tinged with Mex- ican-Spanish, and Bill Boyd, whose locutions are pure Middle Western, the result was something ghastly. After one day's tests, Mr. Griffith staggered out saying, 'No, no.' And you can hardly blame him. "There is only one person I know, whose fame will be increased mightily by sound films. That's Victor Schertzinger. He is riding the crest of the wave of success. He is a composer of note, a brilliant violinist, and a writer as well as a good director. He had just finished directing Richard Dix, in 'Redskin,' when he went in as pinch-hitter and composed songs for Nancy Carroll to sing in 'Manhattan Cocktail.' Then he wrote a theme song for 'The Climax,' for Universal, wrote a story for Paramount, and now he has gone to New York to direct Dix in an all-talkie, 'Nothing But the Truth.' Almost any day, now, he is likely to walk in front of the camera to play a violin solo." "What about Carmel Myers?" Fanny gasped in amazement, as though I had made a great discovery. "Why haven't the picture companies utilized Carmel's talent for composing? Last year when she was in New; York she sold two or three songs to a publisher, and she is always working out nice little melodies. Any day, now, I suppose we will hear of Carmel writing a film musical comedy. "Dorothy Dwan has found a new way of bursting into sound films. She acted as official starter of the national outboard motor races at Lake Elsinore, and of course the news-reel men were there with their sound apparatus. She made a nice little speech. You won't realize how good it is, until the girls who won the race come out and speak their parts. Un- doubtedly Dorothy will get an engage- ment in the talkies as the result of that appearance. "This month's bill of plays at the Writers' Club was a great show case of talent. Virginia Valli appeared in an awfully clever skit. All the while she was on the stage |L I kept thinking what an ideal Lonsdale heroine she would be. She has a real flair for high comedy. If some producer will only buy the screen rights to 'The High Road,' and let Virginia play it, I can go around saying, 'I told you so.' "Gladys Brock- well appeared in a medieval costume play. She was Aileen Pringle appeared in a stage thriller at the Writers' Club. w Over trie Teacups 29 good, but I've seen her do better. The other people in the sketch with her were just a bit of rare old ham, and I suppose that affected her performance. Aileen Pringle did a gripping horror skit, playing a very cold, cruel, and selfish girl of the crinoline period. She was just as poised and sure of her effects as though she had left the stage yesterday, instead of six or seven years ago. "Carmel Myers was on the same bill, but she was in a travesty which gave no idea of what she might be like in a straight dramatic offering. Any- way, I didn't see much of her. Raymond Hatton was in the skit with her, and you know I can't see any one else when he is on the stage. It's like seeing Louise Fazenda in a picture. I never even know that any one else is in it, except for a feeling of annoyance when she is off the screen." While Fanny had been holding forth about this, that, and the other thing, a lot of people had wan- dered in, quite disproving her statement that every one was home with the flu. Jane Winton was there, and she never looked more radiant in her life. "Jane's working all over town," Fanny an- nounced curtly, as though it was sheer ungracious- ness of Jane to work all the time and thus disrupt their bridge games. "She's in 'The Haunted Lady,' for Universal, and 'The Bridge of San Luis Rey,' at the Metro-Goldwyn studio, and all the returns for this week aren't in yet. She may be starting another film to-morrow. She takes a singing les- son every day, and impossible as it may seem, she finds time to dash down to the hospital and see people who are ill." "It seems to me that practically everybody is in 'The Bridge of San Luis Rey,' or should I say 'on' it. No wonder it breaks down in the story. Lily Damita plays The Perichole, doesn't she?" Fanny's eyes glowed with enthusiasm. "Yes, and what's more, she has a new contract with Sam Goldwyn, in spite of all the hue and cry about shipping the foreigners home. But, ac- cording to the terms of the contract, she has to speak perfect English in six months. Wouldn't it be embarrassing if any one de- manded that Sam Goldwyn speak perfect English in six months ! "But speaking of contracts, Sue Carol doesn't seem to be allowing hers to worry her." Little Miss Carol had come in with a group of friends, and was looking as gay and carefree as could be. "You know, she claims that Douglas MacLean and his lawyers didn't notify her at the proper time that they wanted to take up their op- tion on her services. They claim that they did. They plan to sue her, I believe, and in the meanwhile Fox stands ready with a contract for Sue. She is to co- Sally Eilers is in "Trial Marriage," and her work is expected to attract the attention of the big producers. Photo by Spuvr Louise Fazenda will provide the laughs in the next Alice White picture. star in a picture with Nick Stuart. Rather than have a long-drawn-out legal battle, I suppose they will effect a settlement out of court. But she offered MacLean twenty-five thousand dollars for a release from her contract months ago, and he refused it. So I can't imagine how much he would want for it, now that she has grown more popular and more valuable. "I wish somebody would develop the proper enthusiasm for Sally Eilers." Fanny grew almost wistful, a pose that is not her forte. "It isn't friendship on my part, as I have never met the girl but once* But I think she is awfully ingratiating and clever. She reminds me of a baby Alice Brady. She is work- ing in 'Trial Marriage' for Columbia, now, but one of the big companies is sure to take her up before long. "It looks to me as though any girl with less than a year's experience on the stage won't have a chance in pictures this year. Companies are intent on signing players with lots of stage ex- perience. What a sweet lot of ingenues we are going to see for a while — until audiences rebel ! Players who look all right on the stage will find that the camera adds ten years, at least." Continued 6.n: page !1 1 8 30 Anything f or Ordinary races are proving too speedy up this new sport of the turtle handi whippets are resting, and the flea cir did you Raquel Torres, the brunette, above, and Leila Hyams, the blonde, compete with each other for the beauty prize, while their tur- tles start to settle it in their own way. Billie Dove, below, in' real life as firm a be- liever in the artificial touch as she is in her films, commandeers an iron hare from her garden to pose for a picture of the fable of the hare and the tortoise. A Roman chariot drawn by steeds four abreast is recalled — faintly, we admit — by the testudinal quar- tet owned by Mary Duncan, above, who fondly believes that when she fires her revolver her darlings will be startled into action, and gallop like mad. Excitement for Hollywood, so the stars have taken cap, to pass away the time while the cus is in winter quarters. What next, say? - Heaven be praised for the originality shown by Margaret Lee, above, with her tortoise, and Lo Rayne DuVal with her alligator. This will be a race worth watching — if it ever starts — for the contestants are champ- ing at the bit, so to speak, and the girls are on the qui vive. Buster Keaton, below, is said to have so trained his "racer" that it will dash off on a ten-minute sprint whenever Buster drops the flag — and not into the soup kettle, either. Fay Wray, above, has also read her .SIsop and wishes to try out the relative speed of the hare and the tortoise, only she doesn't no- tice that the latter is proving his scorn of the proceedings in the way peculiar to turtles. \ w 32 It may have been the influence of college pictures, or a feeling among to form "The Regulars." Anyhow, the club is unlike any of the others of "heavy" reading Duane B$ A Mary Brian EY! Blazers and socks — fraternities and hops — rah! rah! H-o-l-l-y-w-o-o-d ! We're collegiate ! Yes, ma'am, and getting more all the time. Stripped fliv- vers, dancing con- tests, baggy trousers, we've got all this and more. Believe it or not, Hollywood has a sorority. An hon- est-to-goodness sorority, and I don't mean a social club like "Our Club," "The Thalians." "The Regu- lars" is different. This is a real, authentic sorority of motion-picture girls, with secret meetings, sorority pins, vows, dues, members and everything. Four years ago it was started by a handful of studio girls, about six of them. Now look at it ! Esther Ralston, Sally Eilers, Sue Carol, Jobyna Ralston, Marian Nixon, Jeanette Loff , Marian Douglas, Alyce Mills, Priscilla Bon- ner, Marjorie Bonner, Virginia Brown Faire, Duane Thompson, Menifee I. Johnstone, Florence Gilbert, Barbara Luddy, Lucille Hut- ton, Rebecca Uhr, Andree Tourneur, Pauline Curley, Joan Meredith, Mary Brian, and I — we all belong. And are proud of it. I don't want to brag, but we're exclusive. There are but two requirements for membership, but they are iron-bound. To be invited into this sorority of Hollywood girls a candidate must, first, be connected with the movie industry in some capacity, and she must be a good sport and a good scout — in other words, "regular," because that is what we call ourselves. Every Monday night the sorority meets. Boy friends are ditched. Social engagements are postponed. Nothing must inter- fere with attendance. Night work is the only excuse, besides ill- ness. If a girl is absent more than three times, without a suitable reason, she is automatically dropped from membership. Fifty cents is the fine for arriving late. "The Regulars" countenance little or no temperament. No matter how exalted the studio position $f the girl, she is merely a member of this sorority, and if she is going to remain a member, she has to live nn up to its rules and regulations. Some of the directors and executives at the various studios, would drop in their tracks at the way a few of their unruly pets are kept up to the chalk mark at the meetings. And they love it. Position in the film world means so little in this sorority, that some of its most illustrious members have been dropped as automatically as an extra girl would be fired off a set for tardiness, or lack of attention, or some other misdemeanor. And once a girl is out, she is rarely invited back again. Some one else is voted into her place and the group goes on. It is no easy job to get in, in the first place. Members are elected as follows : Six girls already in the club must know the can- didate. Out of that group the girl who knows her ^ best proposes her name and gives a little talk, tell- , \ ing why she would be a good member. The girl's name is brought up for discussion. If any one knows of a reason why she shouldn't be invited to join, she steps right up and gives it. Candidates have been voted out of the sorority for odd reasons, that is, odd for Hollywood. "She snubs her old friends — she's nasty to the people who work under her at the studio — she isn't a girl's girl" — are a few of the arguments that have gone up against some of the most popu- lar players. But if a girl is "regular" and passes muster, then she is voted on by secret ballot at three con- secutive meetings. If the final vote is unanimous, the girl is invited into the sorority by let- ter. She is re- quested to notify the president at the earliest oppor- tunity whether or Esther Ralston. Jeanette Loff. Florence Gilbert. 33 Sorority the girls that they were missing something in life, that caused them and more like a college sorority, with pins, vows, dues — and half an hour at every meeting. Silvester not she will be able to accept the membership. Occasionally a girl has to refuse. She may have just been married, and can't leave her husband, or else she is working very hard, and hasn't the necessary time to devote to it. But usually they accept. At her first meeting she is initiated. The initiation is secret, but it is violating no confidence to say that it is beautiful rather than grotesque. The vows are lovely, vows of friend- ship, tolerance, and charity. Then the rules and regulations are read to her and she is a "Regular." Perhaps her first meeting will be a little perplexing. If she has been expecting merely a social club, she will find that this is different. In the first place, there is half an hour devoted to reading from the world's best literature, by Marjorie Bonner, the club's flapper librarian. "The Regulars" are very proud of their library, and among their circulating books are Christopher Morley's "Thunder on the Left," "The Life of Sarah Bernhardt," "The Life of Eleanora Duse," "The Story of Philosophy," Willa Cather's Jobyna Ralston. Alyce Mills. 'My Antonia," Fanny Hurst's "Song of Life," "The Auto- biography of an Ex-colored Man," John Barrymore's "Confessions of an Actor," "Beau Geste," Rupert Brooke's "Collected Poems," a complete set of excerpts from the world's best literature, and many other currently popular and discussed books. These volumes the girls may take home to read, but at every meeting Marjorie Pauline Curley. Priscilla Bonner. reads aloud from "The Story of Phi- losophy," passages from the world's best literature, and from a couple of lit- tle motto books presented to the club by William V. Mong, called "Strength for Every Day," and "It Can Be Done." "It is silly to pretend that some of the girls don't become a little restless during some of the heavier reading," laughed Priscilla Bonner, the 1927-28 president of the sorority, "especially during the reading of 'The Story of Philosophy,' and books like that. But I think in the long run they are glad they know something about it. I remember something Esther Ralston told us. She said she had always been awfully bored with the reading of that book at the club, until one night she was invited to a dinner party where 'The Story of Philos- ophy' was the chief topic of discussion, and she felt so proud of herself that she knew some- thing about it, just from reluctantly hearing it at our meetings. "That is the reason we have our oral reading, to bring the girls in contact with worth-while things they might otherwise miss. That was our aim in organizing the club — to be helpful as well as amusing." And then she went on to tell me about the beginning of "The Regulars." It was Virginia Brown Faire's idea, and she rounded up six of her closest girl friends at her home one night and put the proposition before them. In that first little group sat Virginia, Priscilla, Marjorie, Kathleen Key, Menifee I. John- stone, and Pauline Curley. "When Virginia told us her idea, naturally all the girls were crazy about it," Priscilla explained. "You see, most of the girls in pictures have never been to college and so have never /be- longed to a sorority. Thus we decided to make 'The Regulars' mean to Hollywood what the chapters mean to the schools. I think girls love to belong to things, don't ydU ?" 1 [Cont'd on page 99] th&sxpi o:i " ... ms ,/Jhotoa airli Jo laattr 34 BaclanoVa — As Ske I s Steeped in the traditions of the European theater, her respect for her calling is almost a reverence, and her quiet approach to her work and life mystifies the film colony, because there is no mystery about her. B$ Margaret Reid BECAUSE there is no mystery about her, she mysti- fies Hollywood. We have been led to expect more of foreign actresses than Olga Baclanova offers. Beyond a doubt she is one of the greatest artists to visit the colony — one of the most electric personalities to startle public and critic alike. That's all very well for the fans, but we in Hollywood are accustomed to some local excitement as well, when a new foreign comet soars. Bred on German fireworks, Polish tornadoes, Scandinavian avalanches, we find it difficult to adjust ourselves to the unobtrusive Baclanova. The unofficial successor to Pola Negri, Baclanova is not a headline person. She has instigated no studio wars, flaunted no spectacular romances. She doesn't bare her soul for publication. She doesn't — inconsiderate woman ! — even ride in a crested Rolls-Royce. She works quietly, and lives more quietly still. She works quietly, but such work! So far there has been no controversy about her talents. She fits into no category known in films. There are those, including herself,' who say she is not pretty. She is not tenderly sympathetic in appeal. She is over twenty-five. She is nothing she should be, according to American standards, yet she is the most significant element on the horizon to-day, and almost any femme in Hollywood would rather be Baclanova than beautiful. She is, as a matter of fact, very beautiful, though not after the obvious pattern prevalent on the screen. A daughter of the steppes, she has the white-and-gold love- liness found among the aristocrats of northern Russia. Her features are delicate, yet firmly molded. Her hair is pale yellow by gift of nature. Her eyes are blue, but more than that — they are a bright, blazing blue, their inten- sity as piercing as the stab of a rapier. Aside from her superlative act- ing^ the basis of her appeal is an aliveness that vibrates, that charges the atmosphere around her. Far more vital than just sex appeal is her physical dominance. It is a combination of mental, emotional and bodily sentience. It is mag- netism to an acute degree. Yet this never falls into wiles, "allure." There are no tricks mannerisms to force it upon your consciousness. Baclanova does not employ it as a stock in trade. Her only stock in trade is her gift for acting. She knows she is a good actress. Otherwise she would not make claim to it by acting. Acting is not her religion, but she goes about it religiously. She is a little shocked at the or or Photo by Dyar flippancy with which the profession is regarded in Amer- ica. A cute flapper thinks it would be fun to be in the movies. All right, she goes into them and has a good time collecting her pay check. To Baclanova the the- ater, or the studio, is almost church. Schooled in the Moscow Art group, steeped in the traditions of Euro- pean drama, her respect for her calling amounts to reverence. It seems abnormal and may — God forbid ! — change after a few years of movie money making, but it is a fact that to Baclanova good work is more important than good pay — not only that, but is a source of greater enjoyment and satisfaction to her. This sounds altru- istic, and has an aroma of mythology, until we consider that until she came to this country she did not know that acting was a business, as well as an art. It is still the latter to her. She is completely serious about it, and about, not her own capability, but making herself ever- more capable. Such absorption commands respect. When the results of it are as we have seen in "Forgotten Faces," "The Docks of New York," et cetera, it com- mands obeisance. A sophisticate and an exotic, Baclanova surprises one with her flashes of naivete. It is not wholly because of her droll difficulty with English that she sometimes gives the impression of a nice-mannered, appealing child. Her wants are so simple, her ambitions so direct, and she has not a complex to her name. She likes America, but is homesick for her mother, who is too deep-rooted in Russian soil to leave it. She likes Hollywood, but is still a little shaken and nervous when she realizes that the Moscow company, with which she came to America, has gone back to Russia without her. She likes Americans, all ex- cept agents. When she came to Hollywood, an agent took advantage of the fact that she knew no English, got her sig- nature on a paper by lying to her about its import, and now attaches her salary and har- asses her every move. Friends have instituted a suit for her. When speaking of its prog- ress, she says it has to go to a higher court and points up- ward. She means the superior court, but it looks as though she is referring to heaven. The innocent mis- take is ador- able. She seldom ^ goes out, hav- ing taken a house in a very Cont'd on page 104 Baclanova has startled critic and public alike, with her electric personality. 35 BACLANOVA vio- lates every tradition of what a foreign ac- tress in Hollywood should be, for she is without any of the traits that have made European luminaries "difficult" in the studios. This sur- prising discovery, with many others, is made in Margaret Reid's analysis of the Russian artist opposite. Photo by Otto Dyar SO many fans have asked about Edward Nugent since he appeared in "Our Dancing Daughters," that Picture Play gives them a picture to frame, or place in their hope chests. Eddie was a property boy for M.-G.-M. before he was "discovered." 38 Photo by Mas Mun Autrey MARY ASTOR'S sentimental heroines were too numerous to mention, and sometimes too beautiful for comfort, 'but when she played in "Dressed to Kill" our titian-haired star rose above her beauty and gave a corking performance. Now she gives no other kind. Mimiunminiinntiiurrmuiv. 39 Thoto l>y Eugene Bobert Bichee WHAT are the adjectives most often applied to masculine stars? Cast them all overboard — they won't do ! New words are needed to describe Richard Arlen, for he is more than wholesome, winning and a good actor. What, then, would you say? 40 DOLORES COSTEL- LO'S first venture in matrimony, and John Barrymore's third, brought the two together for a marriage that set Hollywood agog, because of its unexpectedness. But their romance be- gan when Moby Dick in- troduced them to each other in "The Sea Beast" — and then ducked. Photo by Elmer Fryer Photo by Eugene Bobert Blchec vfyHILE talking pictures have put a quietus on some careers, they have ▼V given others decided impetus. Among the latter is Clive Brook's. He was first heard in "Interference," with such success that he was given a leading role in "Four Feathers." 42 Photo by Eugene Robert Blchee CHARLES — or won't it always be "Buddy"? — Rogers is exactly as you have thought — bubbling with boyish exuberance, his remarks ending with an exclamation, and apparently untouched by care or thought of the morrow, according to the naive story opposite. 43 "Oh, Gee! Ok, Gosh!" Buddy Rogers, as a baby, found life such an exciting romp, that he brings the same enthusiasm to his present existence as a star. B$ Pats? DuBuis A SMALL boy whose life at ten seemed to have been one long series of spankings. Unremembered, but vaguely suspected spankings in babyhood, for breaking milk bottles. Three-year-old spankings for swimming in the bathtub, attired in rompers. Five-year-old spankings for not feeding the family dog. Seven-year-old spankings for hiding in the closet of the school music room to listen to the teacher sing. At nine the spankings involved everything from breaking windows to refusing to eat carrots. At eleven the spankings lost all system or regularity. Charles Rogers was the little boy who got so many spankings. Not that Charles' mother was hard- hearted, nor did she enjoy spanking him. She merely discovered that, at an early age, Charles had a mind of his own, and if not strongly reprimanded might demonstrate it, disastrously. The Rogers family, beginning with Mr. and Mrs. Bert Henry Rogers, and graduating from Geraldine to Charles, had lived in Olathe, Kansas, since any of them could remember. Mr. Rogers owned a newspaper in Kansas City, twenty miles away from Olathe, and, as Charles told me when we had lunched together at the Paramount studio, "We could run up there in about an hour." Being technical, I asked if such quaint things as horses and buggies still existed in the little city, vehicles that would make twenty miles in anything as little as an hour. Charles blushed. "It's a pretty big town," he said defiantly, "about four thousand. Why, I've only been away from there three years, and three new families have moved in since I've been gone !" I was content to let that alarming increase in popula- tion be as it was, while the curly-headed Rogers boy told me more about his childhood in Olathe. "I was just like any kid. Except that I didn't re- member to feed the dog. Had an idea he would feed himself, I guess, or that he had parents who would take care of him as mine took care of me. Gee, I can't see how I could have felt that way. Why, now I've the finest dog in all the country — Baron, a police dog. I wouldn't take the world for him ! Wish I'd had him when I was a kid — my chum George and I would have had a great time with him. "George and I used to play Indian. We made tents out of mother's sheets — uh, huh, we were spanked for ruining them — and we painted them all up with secret signs. Ran around all day yelling and having a great time. "Gosh, we didn't get tired of playing Indian till we went to high school. We felt we ought to be dignified then." The family album yielded this photo of Buddy, with his mother and elder sister, Geraldine. While Charles was telling me about George and the Indians, I wondered why his voice was just a little tight, why his eyes looked sad. I wish I hadn't asked, but I did. I asked where George was, now. "He — he died, coming out here to see me, last year." I could not break the silence that followed. Here, I thought, was Charles Rogers — Charles who gets count- less letters from boys who say, "If only I had a pal like you." And Charles' own pal is dead. He broke the silence, with a fine show of putting George out of his mind, and getting back to the inter- view. "I — I think the last time I was spanked was when I was fourteen." "What for?" I asked. "Sneaked out of the house one night and took one of Jerry's chums to a college dance." "Jerry" is his elder sister. "Wasn't that a dumb thing for a fourteen-year-old kid to do? I thought I was smart, but believe me, I didn't think so after the spanking I got. And I lost interest in girls, too." This Rogers boy speaks with a young earnestness that is delightful. He says "gosh" and "gee" with an exu- berant happiness, and eats corned beef and cabbage, avocado salad and wicked butterscotch sundaes in the same meal, in much the same manner. "You know," Charles looked at me seriously, "I don't know why it is, but I've always been lucky. Had every- thing I wanted. I don't deserve it. Funny. "Wanted to go to college, and when I finally entered the University of Kansas I was so shy. But dad gave me a saxophone, and I traded in an old Ford roadster Continued on page 114 44 I. A Si Carmel Myers has learned to disci she plays, while she shelves her From her self-control she has the problems of an actress Myrtle Photo by Louise Carmel Myers has learned that in no branch of the show business is the parade of one's troubles an asset, but is a stumblingblock to success. EMOTIONS are our merchandise — but not for per- sonal wear!" Beneath the gay aplomb with which Carmel Myers trailed those words on a laugh, I could sense a deeper meaning, and waited for her to express further the thought which some trivial remark had evoked. Whenever Carmel gets an idea on her mind, it means an interesting, usually exclamatory, conversation. For she is an analyst, and her observations on human nature —sometimes caustic, again kindly — are always pertinent. "Odd, isn't it, that we who live by emotion cannot give into it very much in our private lives? Feeling must be disciplined and shoved back within ourselves, for fear it might wreck this frail structure we call suc- cess. Emotion ravages the face. Only the most sub- limated love beautifies. True, all experience adds lines of character. Until one is ready to play character roles, however, one cannot afford personal emotion. "The producers expect an actress to be bright and gay and pretty. Pre- sumably she is not to take life seri- ously, to have troubles such as harass other folks. With so much touching her that passes by those in calmer pur- suits, she really has greater worries. She must hide them away, marked, 'Don't open until later !' " Her meaning became strikingly clear as I recalled a day, soon after her mother had been taken suddenly from her, when I sat beside her bed and tried, in that futile desire we have to help, to urge her back to work. Her face was red and swollen from tears. "I can't even interview the pro- ducers," she explained. "With you others it doesn't matter how you look. But we must appear at our best. We can't take our grief to the studio. Though people are sympathetic, the camera isn't." Recalling that day, I saw another demand of that merciless yet fascinat- ing siren — career. Many months had passed. We were talking in her Hollywood apartment. "My town house," she had gayly ush- ered me in. The old-fashioned fam- ily home at the beach is cluttered with those knickknacks of generations' ac- cumulation, closely woven with the past — a spacious, comfortable place minus objets d'art, or the decorator's precise touch. Her apartment has a businesslike aspect, being occupied only on nights when she is too tired to drive to the beach. Press clippings, photographs, a script, a make-up box, appurtenances of the career which always has been a governing influence and which now engrosses her above all else, are scattered about. The Carmel of that day of tragedy had gone. Sorrow had been tucked away, courageously. A vivid sparkle seemed to ripple from her newly red hair, catching lights from her vital, gray eyes, animating her to quick rep- artee. She says she was born red-headed, and points to a red-headed brother, Zion, as proof. But Zion winks, and one wonders, not minding" that raven has gone red, because Carmel is such fun again. A red, incidentally, that nobody ever was born with. She had given a tea to christen it, but it isn't titian, nor auburn, nor tomato, nor yet carrot, so the job slid off our pleasantries, and the hue of Carmel's hair remains unnamed. I have actually heard this silly explanation of her PNiiHHuiuiuuiinnmininiin" " jgj IS Sublimated pline her feelings and only use them in the roles own loves and griefs for the indefinite future, evolved a philosophy that throws new light on whose emotions once threatened to wreck her. Gebkart come-back — that changing the color of her tresses had refashioned her personality! Is no credit to be given a valiant spirit? I had seen her splendid work in Jack Gilbert's "Four Walls," had heard of the sparkling performance in "Badges," a Fox talkie, "Dream of Love," and other films, and knew that she was enacting a dual role in "The Red Sword," for F. B. O. But the thought that an actress, who hands this or that emotion over the counter to fill the customer's orders, while schooling her- self not to sample any, interested me far more than her rebounding career. "We dare not wear ourselves on our 'faces. However small or great our part in the picture parade, we are under sur- vey. Do you ever see angry faces among the gay, bright throng lunching at Montmartre? Do you hear talk of trouble? It is brushed aside, with a humorous comment. Yet, believe me, fear stalks many a brilliant career. "Fear of losing prestige. Fear, from experience, of being mis- quoted. Fear of having one's slightest action misconstrued. Frankness is regarded as lack of diplomacy. A whisper be- comes a rumor. Catastro- phes form from a grain of tactlessness. You cannot be yourself com- pletely. It's not only business — it's self-preser- vation. Cir- cumstances force an actress to become arti- ficial. "And the idea that to portray something you must have experi- enced it, is nonsense. Acting is an art, a technique, a business. There must be un- derstanding and sym- pathy— yes, but these are gained by deny- ing one's self emo- tions, more than from indulging them." This lesson of wearing a good front was impressed early 45 upon Carmel. Having heard that girls were needed as supers for a show in rehearsal at a Los Angeles theater, and paid one dollar an evening, hidden ambition glowed. With three generations of rabbis back of her, the stage was taboo. She was thirteen, gangling, awkward. If she possessed then an adolescent hint of the voluptuous attractiveness that she was to develop later, it must have been inconspicuous: At any rate, she had wits. And nerve never lost anybody anything. Dressed in her best, she met a young man emerging from the stage entrance. He asked, "What do you want, little girl?" Very haughtily she explained. His reply that all the girls needed had been engaged, only momen- tarily dampened her ardor. That sinking, panicky feel- ing almost got her, before her will asserted itself. An oration ensued. She could do her hair up and be grown. She could walk through one scene as a child, and return as an old lady. He chuckled, and engaged her. That first triumph has cast strengthening glances over her life ever since. Often in discouragement and trial and loneliness, the idea that she stumbled upon then has forced and broadened her smile. As yet, though, she did not understand that something in herself which swaggered and demanded and obtained. Carmel not only is a girl with brains. She uses them, instead of saving them for a rainy day and finding holes in them when needed. "Producers and the public expect us to be bright and gay and pretty, with none of the troubles that harass other people."— Carmel Myers. Photo by Louise At the time of the Early Grif- fith Age, along with Bessie Love, Con- stance Tal- madge and that incu- bator of tiny chicks destined to hatch into fame, she emoted through dozens of old Fine Arts mov- ies. The only differ- ence was that they raced ahead and she lagged behind, her tears drenching the ribbons of all their lory. Every evening, when one director after another had refused her a chance, she would hasten home weeping, "Mother, nobody wants me !" ' Dimly at first, its vagueness gradually assuming definition, an idea struggled. Those girls were different, somehow. You never saw them crying. They laughed and joked. One day, after an acute disappointment, she ran into a dressing room and sobbed. At first they would feed her pea- nuts to assuage her tears. Every time she opened her mouth to sob convulsively, somebody popped in a peanut. The peanuts were good, but the realization that it was a 46 A Siren is Sublimated Miss Myers is here seen with Bessie Love, her closest friend. weakness of hers and that the men weren't as sorry as they had been, that they seemed irri- tated at times, had taught her to shield her dis- appointments. On this day she heard a clamor, and peeped out. Colleen Moore had tripped in jauntily. Colleen had a something — a pep, assurance, and a way of wearing the cheapest dress. Hadn't she come from Chicago, a big city? Carmel, a gawky kid who'd never been on a train except from San Francisco to Los Angeles, was con- scious of the difference between them. Suddenly the idea took shape. Maybe they were just play acting. Surely they must have disappointments, or worries. They simply didn't show it ! That was it. To cover it up with a gay front, to pretend. No one could ever accuse Carmel of lack of courage. There is strength, a steel- like quality, that must have been then in its embryonic form. Hastily drying her tears, she daubed powder on and strutted out, laughing her sobs back down her throat. That was her second victory. All along there were such boulders, to be met and hurtled aside. To some, conquering self is more difficult than conquering a world. She learned, as the girls gave their confidences, that all were Judy O'Gradys. Also, that in any branch of the show business troubles are not dis- played. "It is strange," she said, her full lips in a little quirk that might have been either humor or cynicism, as we sat about her dinner table, five of us, "that an actress can so seldom express her real feelings. Even unimportant ' ones. It's not good business ! I don't advocate arti- ficiality practiced to the point of hypoc- risy. But on general principles," she mused, her wide, gray eyes deepened by the shadow just outside the candlelight, "be pleasant, curb feelings, make a light and frivolous appearance. "Besides, we all have too much self- pity. And an actress naturally exag- gerates the importance of everything that concerns herself. "Most of us are emotional. It is an asset. I am extremely so. It is native to our people. Our sympathy wells in- stantly to another's hurt ; and you might say that we enjoy our own, so thoroughly do we indulge it. This pent-up emotion finds outlet in my work. That, in addi- Continued on page 117 Rudolph Valentino's first lead was with Fred Kelsey and Miss Myers, in "A Society Sensation." 47 If Trees Had E They would be even more revealing than talking pictures in love scenes such as these below. 48 The Strangest Interview After answering the fans' questions about the stars for years, The Picture Oracle himself is interviewed with unusual results. By Virginia Morris Illustrations by Lui Trugo THE first portent of fame in the movies is an inter- view. You've read many a one, no doubt. You've seen in print the cinematic reactions of everybody who's anybody, from Will H. Hays to the bootblack on the Paramount lot. That's what I can't understand — how this feverish interviewing could go on all these years, and yet no one think of lunching at the Algonquin with The Picture Oracle. Why, he's the most glamorous individual you ever met, and if he didn't love his work too much to give it up, he might easily win the hearts of the fans by his screen personality, rather than by his sympathetic in- terest in telling them the weight and height of the stars. Teamed with Trader Horn he'd be a riot any day. Personally, I prefer him to any player I've ever known. He has all their charm and none of their faults. That is, he knows every shred of the latest gossip, but refuses to talk about himself. No star was ever like that ! Indeed, this is a strange interview. The Oracle is modest to the point of being elusive. I've suddenly real- ized how few facts I know about him, although my pen- cil is worn to a useless stub, and all the rent and gas bills that happened to be in my purse are covered with scrib- blings. In fact, toward the last I was jotting down notes on the back of my hand with my lipstick. The Oracle always lunches at the Algonquin. No one in New York, he says, can prepare mush and milk like the chef there. And George, the head waiter, saves him a table where he can observe without being conspicuous, and sees that the old man's lunch is served neither too hot nor too cold. Yes ! The Picture Oracle in his vivid, plaid shirt is a familiar sight around the place, a quaint, old figure at his simgle fare in the midst of dazzling celebrities who diet on broccoli and tomato juice. As to the details of his appearance, Picture Play's artist has portrayed him quite accurately, although his hair is slightly thinner, I should say, than Mr. Trugo has estimated. He has never sat for a camera study, and he explains that it was he who gave Lon Chaney the idea of refusing for a long time to be photographed "as is." Every artist, you see, has illusions to keep up. "My name?" exclaimed the old man, wrinkling his high forehead to the very middle of his skull. "Please do not have the indelicacy to mention that again ! Would you be satisfied if I told you, instead, what H. B. Warner's initials stand for? The first is for Henry and the second is for Byron. And if you'll promise not to refer to mine again, I'll also explain the origin of Zasu Pitts' odd name. Zasu's father had two old-maid sisters who wanted the child named for them. When the stork reneged on bringing twins, Mr. Pitts took the last syl- lable from Eliza and the first from Susan, and kept peace in the family." While The Oracle was talking I studied his features. Then I ventured, "What nationality are you? Do you happen to be a Scot? If I were to guess, I'd say you were the son of a Scottish minister." "Well, I'm not !" snapped my quaint friend, with the irascibility of old age. "But if it means anything to you, Ian Keith's mother was an Indian. And for the minister part of it, Hedda Hopper's dad was a Baptist preacher, and so were six of his brothers." An interviewer won't be blocked like that. I deter- mined that if The Oracle wouldn't tell me about his family connections, I'd get the information indirectly. If he had relatives in pictures, for instance, I'd ask them. So I queried him on the point. "There are enough relatives clanning around the stu- dios already," he evaded. "I shouldn't be surprised if you knew that Norma and Constance Talmadge were sisters, but I'll wager nobody ever told you before that Ramon Novarro and Dolores del Rio are cousins. They were both born in Durango, Mexico, you know. Blanche Sweet and Gertrude Short are related in the same way. I could go on indefinitely. "I hope," he continued, "that you're up to date enough to have seen 'The Wedding March.' If you have, you probably noticed what a great actress Maude George is. It runs in the family. Her cousin is Grace George, the stage star who's married to the Broadway producer, Wil- Harry Langdon started at the bottom of the ladder as assist- ant janitor in a theater. Tke Strangest Inter>?ie\tf 49 liam A. Brady. A lot of other movie folks have family tie-ups with the footlights. That goes for directors as well as stars. Lloyd Bacon, who megaphoned and microphoned Al Jolson in 'The Singing Fool,' is the son of Frank Bacon, and Bryan Foy, who is directing all those talkies like 'The Home-towners' and 'Oueen of the Night Clubs,' is the late Eddie Foy's little boy. And " "Yes, yes," I broke in, "but what about you? Tell me about your ancestors." "Mine?" he exclaimed. "Why should I boast of mine when Lya de Putti never even mentions that her mother was a Hun- garian countess and her father an Italian count?" I began to be really annoyed. No man has a right to be at the Algonquin, without talking about himself. So I decided to give him an argument. "Hold on," I protested, "that's all right about De Putti, but what about Gloria Swanson? She's not ashamed to admit she's a marquise." The Oracle shook his head. "Indeed she's not," he conceded, "why, last Christ- mas she sent me a greeting card, and maybe you won't believe it, but it had the De la Falaise crest — or perhaps it was the De la Coudray — on the top in gold embossing. I shook my finger at Gloria the next time I saw* her, for she's got the wrong slant. All of us are fonder of the actress than the marquise —at least I am." Things were getting to an awful pass. Flere was a man to be interviewed, and he side-stepped all the stock questions. However, I decided to try one more. "How did you get into pictures?" I asked, uncertain whether he had won a beauty contest, or had played in the "Follies." "Well, I declare, I don't remember," was the answer. "You see, I've so much to keep straight about other people's careers that I've rather lost track of my own. For instance, only yesterday Fannie Brice was telling me that she got in through the news reels. That is, she was playing in a vaudeville house in Chicago, when a Pathe camera man invited her up on the roof to smile into his lens. When she saw the film, she decided that that was a 'beezness.' "When she said news reels, it reminded me that Nils Asther started the same way. He got into celluloid by winning a ski race in Sweden. Mauritz Stiller, the di- rector, happened to glimpse the result and looked him up. "In fact," The Oracle continued, "people get in pic- tures in all sorts of ways. Margaret Livingston came to Los Angeles on a sight-seeing trip, but stayed to be a star. And Barry Norton journeyed up frOrn the Argen- tine to see Firpo, his countryman, fight. He just never went back, that was all." "Listen, mister," I put in, "I've come here to interview Nils Asther faced a movie camera the first time after winning a ski Sweden. in The Oracle will have no pets about his house after the har- rowing experi- ence of caring for Louise Dres- ser's pet frog. you. If you've forgotten how you got into the pic- ture game, at least tell me what you did before that." "If I did, you wouldn't believe me — any more than you'd believe that Ernst Lubitsch once danced in Max Reinhardt's ballet corps in Berlin, or that Georgie Stone was a waiter in the Lambs Club, or that Anna Q. Nilsson was a governess in Brooklyn, or that Charles Delaney used to do mind reading on the vaudeville stage. "Life's a strange proposition, all right, when a fellow like Harold Lloyd could start out selling popcorn, and finish up owning a home that cost I don't know how many million dollars. And I'm telling you something else that's no comedy gag. Harry Langdon has been in the movies a long time. He started at the bottom of the ladder, and did a lot of climbing on it as the assistant janitor at the Doheny Theater in Council Bluffs, Iowa." The Oracle was off full steam on another track. He might have been talking yet of stars who were self- starters, if I hadn't interrupted him. "You haven't told me much for an interview, but maybe if you would say a few words about your hobbies, I might get a good story after all. Do you play golf, or are you fond of dancing?" "Dancing?" he rejoined. "Nobody in the world could teach me. Audrey Ferris has twenty-seven silver cups for dancing, but even she couldn't show me the first thing about it. I guess I'm too old for nonsense like that." I yielded, with a sigh of discouragement. "That lets that out. But if we can't talk about hob- bies, at least we can talk about books. Everybody in the movies reads " "Yes, everybody in the movies reads," mused the old man, "two books, Freud and Schopenhauer. But that's not bad, if it gives you something to talk about all the rest of your life. Maybe you'll be pleased to know that there's one boy out there in Hollywood who hasn't read them. That's David Butler, the director. No pose about Dave. He says he reads nothing but the sports page of the newspaper. The rest of the time he plays with his dog." Here's where I saw an opening. "I suppose you have a wonderful collection of pets yourself," I ventured. "Pets?" he answered. "No domestic care like that for me ! The last time Louise Dresser went on location she left her pet bullfrog at my house — and never again ! Twin babies couldn't have been more trouble." By this time, The Oracle had reached for the check and had paid it. [Continued on page 115] so Nils Asther has the role of a Javanese prince — Europeanized, of course — in Greta Garbo's "Wild Orchids." THEY have a new one on Lon Chaney. Lon is completing a picture called "Where East is East," in which he plays a wild-animal trapper. Many of its scenes were filmed in a Siamese jungle. During production it was peremptorily decided that a giraffe was needed to lend color, and perhaps also stateliness to the primitive forest, where Chaney did his capturing of mammalia. Tod Browning, the director, sent a ( call to the animal-casting bureau, or whatever studio department it is that procures talent from menageries. "We need a giraffe in a hurry," his order said. "Can you get us one?" The answer came back shortly, "Giraffes scarce. None just now in Hollywood, stuck, but have a suggestion to make. Why Chaney disguise himself as one?" Dick's Salary Takes Leap. Richard Barthelmess has boosted his salary high, and it's because he has a good voice for talkies. Dick has signed up again with National. The reported stipend amounts to about $350,000 a year, or some $9,000 for every week he works. By this we mean that he is to have about twelve weeks off annually. Barthelmess' former salary was hardly more than $6,000 per week. So this is an increase of approximately one half. Both First National and War- ner Brothers, who recently took over that company, are said to entertain lively expectations for Dick's success in the speaking — or, if you wish, squawking photographs. Til f S S ' ■ 8 ■ ■ * » What's doing in the studio world, with odds and ends of gossip such as you like to know. Talkies Boost Bessie. Whoopee for Bessie Love! Her first effort in sound films is crowned with glory. After free lancing for ye-ahs and ye-ahs, so to say, she has gained a long-term contract with Metro-Goldwyn. It's all the outcome of the song- and-dance cinema, "Broadway Melody," in which Bessie is a sprightly performer, with Charles King, a musical comedy star, and clever Anita Page. Bessie wasn't doing so well just before this big chance — in fact, she had left the studios and gone on a vaudeville tour for a while. But it is asserted that her work in "Broadway Melody" will make her a star, plus, over- night. Another big thrill will be the voice of Norma Shearer. We have heard her test for "The Trial of Mary Dugan " and it surprised us with its exceptionally clear and attrac- tive quality. Norma's naturally crisp intonation seems ideal for recording. What is more, she evinces a remark- able emotional ability in the new medium. An "Exaggerated" Demise. Rumors that a star has died are most dis- concerting—especially to the star concerned, when he or she happens to be going right on living. Gloria Swanson was a victim of rumors of this sort a few years ago. At one time Mary Pickford similarly suffered. They always seem to attach themselves to a pic- ture luminary when he or she is at the height of popularity. Clara Bow is the latest to be pursued by the demise canard. It started when she had an attack of flu during an epidemic that raged merrily and otherwise through the studios. Fully two hundred fans wrote in bemoaning her death. "I don't know why they should choose me," she told us plaintively the last time we saw her. "It gives you a terribly embarrassing feeling — I very like, I imagine, returning from I a war, wherein you were reported killed, and finding people unveiling ■ a monument or something in your K honor." \ Chicken Values Soar. Here's one for poultry dealers to set down in their note books. A rooster recently cost a Hollywood studio $5,003. His name is Bonanza — though truth to tell, the word is used with rather sarcastic intent — and he is on exhibi- Maria Corda, long ab- tion as the highest- sent from the screen, priced fowl in ex- returns as an Italian istence. opera singer in "Love Bonanza was a and the Devil," with troublesome cus- Milton Sills. tomer. He lived 51 T T 1 1 -#< ■ at t a ■ • ■ J^dtfhi^iElza Sckallert next door to the Pathe studio, and one night in the quiet hours, a company set out to make a few sound sequences on a shipboard set. They were using very large and powerful lights. The first time the director ordered these turned on, there was a vociferous flapping of wings in the vicinity, followed by a stentorian "Cock-a-doodle-doo !" The lights were turned off and after waiting a few minutes, the director had them turned on again. The perform- ance from the barnyard was repeated, and it kept on being repeated every time the set was illuminated. After a time the director gave up the projected scene and dismissed the company. In the morning he sent over a man to negotiate the purchase of the rooster. The deal was made for $3, but the lost time ran into $5,000. Bonanza is being kept as a souvenir, but on a part of the lot far removed from sound-film operations. Also his cage is cov- ered with dark cloth at night. There is also thought of stuffing him and putting him in Holly- wood's film museum. India Uninviting. Hollywood stars will never be drawn to pursue their careers in India. A visitor recently brought the news that the leading light among the ladies of the film world over there re- ceives $400 a month, while the most prominent man gets $100. And the industry isn't controlled by Scotch- men either ! Shed sort of travesty presented on the Barrymore family. Barrymore was vastly amused at the impersonation of himself in this by Frederick March, who is shortly to make his debut in Paramount pictures. The character is a temperamental actor, an engaging egomaniac. This sketch of John is by far the most realistic in the play. It is a rip-roaring swashbuckling affair, more to be associated with the somewhat flaming days of his youth, than with his. present reserve, unction, and highly cultivated distinction. Barrymore informed us, even before he had seen the play, that from a reading of it he had been vastly amused by this particular character, though the others did not appeal to him as so effectively drawn. Marriages of players who appear together in lover roles are not absolutely unheard of nowadays. Adolphe Menjou and Kathryn Carver have formed a team in several productions, and Barrymore and Miss Costello will probably play in "The Tavern Knight." We can't imagine that if John Gilbert and Greta Garbo ever de- cided to wed, their professional association, which is fairly frequent, will be broken off. Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford have virtually promised some time to film a picture to- gether, and it would undoubtedly be a happy combination. Enlightenment on Moosic. Sally O'Neil has been having her fling at the stage. Every star who isn't terribly busy on the stu- dio lots seems to try the foot- lights. Sally danced a little, sang' a little, and wore her "Mike" overalls, as well as several more feminine and fluffy costumes. Her tour of the theaters was taken on the prologue circuit of a chain of movie theaters, and very nearly all the "Sally" songs in repertoire were rendered by various male jazz chanters as part of the act. We didn't realize there were so many until we heard them — from just plain "Sally," to "Sally of My Dreams," "Sally in Our Alley," "What's Happened to Our Sally," et cetera, indefinitely. tear for talented Dita Parlo! Brought over from Germany, she went back without a role, because she couldn't satisfy the microphone. Barrymore Sees Double. If the amount of publicity be any criterion, then the John Barrymore-Dolores Costello wedding was unquestionably the biggest event of its kind in several years. The newspapers kept stories popping for a week or more — from the time the couple took out their license, until the ceremony was duly performed, and even after. Considerable of the excess attention devoted to the matter was due to the secrecy shrouding Barrymore's divorce from his second wife, Blanche Oelrichs, known also by the pen and stage name of Michael Strange. This knot was severed at Kingston, New York, and the suit was filed by Mrs. Barrymore under hers and the actor's real name of Blythe, which everybody seemed to forget about in the excitement attending the questioning of the circumstances of their legal separation. Shortly after their wedding, Barrymore and Miss Costello were seen together at a performance of the stage play, "The Royal Family," in which there is a Coats of Silence. Wonders never cease ! Some- body has perfected a "noiseless paint," with which the interior of sound stages can be decorated, and close out all intruding clamor. Next in line will be the invention of a lip rouge that will make screen kisses sweet as well as silent. So says Jimmie Hall, the gentle studio cynic, at all events. Who's Who in Best Seller. "The Bridge of San Luis Rey!" And its cast! Here they are — The Marquesa, Emily Fitzroy ; Dona Clara, her daughter, Jane Winton ; the girl, Pepita, who with the Marquesa, is killed in the collapse of the bridge, Raquel Torres ; Manuel and Esteban, the two brothers, Don Alvarado and Duncan Rinaldo ; Camila, the actress, Lily Damita ; Uncle Pio, Ernest Torrence ; the Abbess, Eugenie Besserer. There are other parts taken by Paul Ellis and Gordon Thorpe. However, the others are probably the more important in the recollection of those who read Thornton Wilder's remarkable best seller. 52 Hollywood High Lights What kind of picture is this going to make ? It has a chance to he a great and unusual one. It's a big test of the powers of the screen to visualize a searching form of literary psychology. And it is certainly a film that should be — silent! A Filmland Tragedy. Did Jaime del Rio die of a broken heart? This question has been asked more than once by the more serious-minded in Hollywood since the passing of Dolores del Rio's former husband a month or so ago in Europe. There were indications that it was a very unhappy and fateful ending of his life, and although blood poisoning was assigned as the cause, there was perhaps no question but that his spirit was broken by the experiences that he went through before and after he left the studio world. The demands of motion pictures seem peculiarly sullen and relentless upon certain domestic relationships. It would perhaps have been better for the happiness of both Dolores and Jaime had they never come to the film realm. Fame exacted a curious toll in their instance. For the tragedy of Jaime's death has sat deeply upon Dolores, especially as she was unable to go to his bedside at the time of his passing, because of the distance that separated them. Jaime del Rio was very highly regarded by those who knew him. He was eminently a gentleman. He came of a distinguished family. He was hypersensitive. He fled from Hollywood because he said he could not stand the sting conveyed in the words "Mr. Dolores del Rio." Personally, we doubt whether these words were ever used regarding him, but he felt a certain implied stigma leveled against all husbands of stars, who did not achieve a brilliant career independently. That very "stigma" is perhaps the most persistent cause of debacles in the wedded life of the cinema famous. And oftentimes it seems a pretty shallow and use- less cause, when one considers the shortness of most film ca- reers. DeMille Again Selects. Do you know Carol Lombard? "Me, Gangster," "Power," "Show Folks," and "Ned McCobb's Daughter" — these are some of the pictures in which she has played. And now she is do- ing the lead in Cecil DeMille's "Dynamite." That means that she has been really "discovered." The magic DeMille gesture is made, and presto, chango ! an- other star flashes forth on the horizon. It's an old story to those who know the success of many of his people. Sometimes we wonder, though, whether DeMille is as good a picker as he used to be. The glories of the glorious Swanson, the brilliant sparkle of the Lea- trice Joy — one does not find them so manifest in the case of his more recent finds. For all that, one invariably looks forward to the DeMille choice of a leading woman. There is always the chance that the fea- ture he makes may yield a daz- zling new winner. He picked a sure-fire favorite for his leading man. For that is what Conrad Nagel has become in the past twelve months — partly, we must say, because of the talkies. DeMille's "Dynamite" will be both silent and sound. Consequently the reverberations implied in its title may see actual realization. Says Dane is Gay Deceiver. Karl Dane is a much troubled man. Karl has been sued for umpty-ump thousand dollars — to be exact, $75,000 — for breach of promise. The complainant is Thais Valdemar. She charges that Dane and she posed as man and wife on her expectation that he would marry her. Dane was held responsible for a $500 bill for the remodeling of her nose by a plastic surgeon. It's strangely complicated, to say the least. History Versus Handbags. Dave Butler exercised his wit rather freely during his sojourn abroad while making "Chasing Through Europe." In England somebody pointed out to him a statue erected to the memory of an eminent statesman and said, "That monument is in honor of Gladstone." "What !" exclaimed Dave. "Do they put up statues for suit-case makers over here?" More Latins Invade. No studio can afford to be without a Mexican star ! This is shown by the fact that there is one at nearly every large establishment making pictures, and some- times two. Fox is one of the latest to sign up a couple. They are Delia Magana and Lapita Tovar, both from Mexico City, and both with some experience in diverting the public through their theatrical talents. Miss Magana is finishing the lead in "Nanook of the Desert," a picture Reginald Denny's beaming out- made practically all look on life is explained by the on location. Miss bride at his side, the former Tovar has not begun "Bubbles" Steiffel. work as yet. The two girls are said to be even more beautiful than some of those already arrived from the southern republic. They augment the list already comprising Dolores del Rio, Lupe Velez, Raquel Tor- res, Mona Rico and others. Miss Del Rio possesses the honor of having started the inva- sion that has grown so con- sistently. Al Swings Valiant Right. To his singing, joking, and other abilities, Al Jol- son has now added that of pugilist. He proved the strength of his arm in an im- promptu fist fight staged in the Cocoa- nut Grove. As this popular place is nearly always well filled with people, Al didn't miss out on an audience for this new endeavor. He was also gentle- , manly enough not to reveal the name of his Hollywood High Ligkts 53 adversary, though pressed for details. He stated that the casus belli was some inappropriate and distasteful remarks made by the other, and from all acounts Al was adjudged the winner in the encounter. Colleen Flames Again. Colleen Moore will flap, if not also flame anew. She has returned to the sort of picture that made her one of the screen's most successful stars. The film, tempo- rarily entitled "That's a Bad Girl," will show her as short-skirted, jazz-mad, flirt-feverish damosel, who can make neither her eyes nor her twinkling feet behave. Colleen really gave spice to the screen flapper. She almost succeeded in caricaturing rather satirically the type in "Flaming Youth." She has avoided the more obvious display of flapper eccentricities in her past few films, but she is at it again with the speed and spirit of several years ago. And with even a little more pep, and much more versatility. A "Three Weeks" By-product. Elinor Glyn has written a story for Greta Garbo to play upon her return from Europe. And guess what the title is — "Tiger Skin!" Whoopee's Hoops Burn. Hoop skirts may be very beautiful, and redolent with sweet recollections of by-gone romance, but they're not to be worn near open fireplaces. Lupe Velez discovered this while making "Wolf Song." And "Whoopee Lupe" almost burned up while finding it out. , It seems that while a scene was being enacted by the Mexican charmer, she, in her natural impetuous fashion, stepped too close to a grate in which flames were flicker- ing, and one of the folds of her costume ignited. A property man observed the impending disaster, and picked up a rug and smothered the blaze in the garment. Lupe wasn't aware of the danger, and looked both a bit astonished and upset, momentarily, because of the sudden interruption. Immediately afterward, however, she rewarded the property man by patting him warmly on the shoulder, and declaring jubilantly that he was her hero. Olfactory Thrills Next. An "odorophone" is the latest innovation that is being talked about in the studios. This is to project the aro- mas of a scene, as well as the conversation. it isn't a supper with limburger ed," is the fond wish of Louise Fazenda. Bunny's Son In Movies. The name of John Bunny is linked with the good old days of the movies, but despite the fact that it seems to belong rather far back, now, in the misty film past, it is well re- membered. The reason for re- calling this famous early come- dian, now dead, is that he has a son in pictures, John Francis Bunny. The younger Bunny is not an actor, but a cutter. You could hardly mistake his identity, be- cause his smile is so much like that of his father. Baxter's Future Brightens. Warner Baxter is a name due to rise brightly out of the mazes of the many changes in the stu- dios this season. The reason is that he has been signed by Fox under a long-term contract, with the probability that he will be very prominently featured in their pictures. The inspira- tion for this recognition of his work in "In Old Arizona," a utirely outdoors. Edmund Lowe leading roles in this, and Baxter's very highly. >we and Baxter appeared together ;les. ure is new. Her name is Dorothy cruited from a stage production of "The Squall" in Los Angeles. Merna Kennedy With "U." Merna Kennedy, the Chaplin leading woman of "The Circus," is another player whose future is settled for a time. She has signed with Universal, and will be seen in their production of "Broadway." Chaplin's new leading woman has achieved a hit so- cially in Hollywood, and is escorted to parties from time to time by Charlie. As you may recall, her name is Virginia Cherrill. [Continued on page 104] Lillian In New Phase. Lillian Gish's career, suspended for more than a year, is to be resumed. She will be di- rected by Max Reinhardt, the fa- mous European stage producer, in a picture called "The Miracle Girl." Lillian has just returned to Hollywood after a many months' absence. She has sojourned part of the time in New York, which she likes, and the rest in Europe, which she loves even more. As regards Hollywood, it does not oc- cupy the leading spot in Lillian's affections, but she confesses that it is, after all, about the best place to make pictures. And she has tried various other localities dur- ing her experience. Lillian begins virtually a new stage of her professional life with the undertaking of "The Miracle Girl." It will be her first film under her contract with United Artists. After many years, she will once again work on the same lot as Mary Pickford, as they did in the old Griffith Biograph days. "Let's hope that it cheese that is recorded Another Career Resumes. Another career that is again on the way is Maria Corda's. After many months of waiting, doubt- lessly watched, she plays opposite Milton Sills in a Venetian romance called "Love and the Devil." The statuesque Maria was cast as an opera singer. Miss Corda's only previous work in America was in "The Private Life of Helen of Troy," in which she played the lovely wife of Menelaos, who flirted with Paris, and caused the Trojan war. This picture could hardly be hailed as significantly popular. Evelyn Brent's expression is that of a wife who will love, honor and obey her husband, Harry Edwards, and laugh with him, too. Baxter's talents was talkie made nearly e and Baxter have the performance is rated Some years ago Lc in stock in Los Ange The girl in this pict Burgess. She was rei 54 The sign for "Shush!" is the same, whether it is whispered in Eng- lish, French, or Russian. When Neil Hamilton, right, whispers some- thing startling, he needs a dramatic prop, like a doorway, to make the secret more thrilling. "Remember, I wouldn't tell this to another soul," Ruth Taylor, above, ad- monishes her listener, but if you know Ruth as well as we do, you can see that what she is saying must be taken with a grain of salt. Who wouldn't respect such a fetching "shush" as Nancy Carroll, left, illustrates, especially when there's a wink in- cluded in the procedure? Being "shushed" b y Baclanova, right, is an exciting experience, be- cause her hypnotic eyes are apt to put you in a trance if you aren't care- ful. Here's what a French secret looks like, with Paul Guertzman, left, throwing in a threaten- ing look as an extra pre- caution. 55 The Ston? of Sonny Boy Since Jackie Coogan made an instantaneous hit, in "The Kid," no child has so won the hearts of fans as David Lee, in "The Singing Fool." Here is an article that ex- plains his talent. B? A. LWooldridge FOR a while," said Al Jolson, "keep everybody away from me. I've got to get into make-up. They're ready for me on the set. I don't want to be disturbed for a while." "Yes, Mr. Jolson," the attendant replied. "No one will be allowed in." The celebrated comedian disap- peared into his dressing room. He removed his collar and shirt, donned dark trousers, seated himself before a mirror, and reached for the jar of black grease paint. Studio workers approached the closed door, paused, and passed on. Interviewers were held at bay, and telephone calls refused. Mr. Jolson had issued orders. In seclusion he prepared for his day's work in "The Singing Fool." "Sh-h-h !" whispered the guard when a messenger appeared with a sheaf of telegrams. "I'll take them. Mr. Jol- son is not to be bothered. Orders are orders." Were they? A little boy, with hazel eyes, light- brown hair, and a sturdy frame, slowly Frankie Lee, David's elder brother, here seen with Mary Miles Minter, in "Nurse Marjorie," was also famous as a boy actor. Photo by Fryer At first sight of David Lee, Al Jolson recognized the Sonny Boy for whom he was searching. and laboriously climbed the steps. He was scarcely out of the tod- dling stage. His small, clenched fist pounded on the door. "Unka Al !" he shouted. "Unka Al — erame in!" "Y-e-o-w !" came a voice from inside. "Sonny Boy !" The door swung open as though struck by a Bahama hur- ricane, and David Lee, three years old, was caught into the arms of a half-clad man whose face was black as ebony. Then, for the next few minutes, there was an affectionate petting party which would have cost producers ten thousand dollars to put on the screen. I happened to be at the studio when the incident took place. Since then, I'll wager a million women have seen this urchin on the screen, and have exclaimed, "Adorable !" And an equal number of men have brushed 56 Tke Story of Sonny Boy Photo by Hoover Frankie made movie history when he appeared as the cripple in "The Miracle Man." tears from the corners of their eyes and muttered huskily, "Darn fine kid !" "Who is this David Lee?" you ask. Here's the story. David is the brother of Frankie Lee, who played the crippled boy in "The Miracle Man," which was filmed in 1918 and created a sensation. Is there any one of mature years who doesn't remember that wistful-eyed, pain-racked youngster on crutches, his face turned long- ingly toward the mount, as he slowly plodded up the hill to what he hoped would be emancipation from his pitifully twisted legs? And could any one forget the beau- tiful, exalted look which came into his face as he threw away those crutches and walked alone ? It was an epochal mo- ment in the movies. Frankie Lee is sixteen now. After "The Miracle Man" he had a long series of roles with Pauline Frederick, Dorothy Dalton, Bessie Love, Mary Miles Minter, and other stars of a decade ago, until he be- gan to grow up, and a slight fuzz appeared on his upper lip and chin. Whereupon his mother said, "Frankie, it's time for you to quit pictures and start going to school. I want you to have an educa- tion, so that when you get older all your old fans will be proud of you. I want them to say, 'Why, there's Frankie Lee again !' and be glad. So get ready for books." Thus for ten years, the unforgetable little boy of "The Miracle Man" has been off the screen. This spring he will be graduated from the Fairfax High School in Los Angeles, and the movies will no doubt see him in juvenile roles within the year. Frankie is coming back. In the meantime, old Doctor Stork hovered over the Lee home on Fountain Avenue, in Hollywood, and one night left a squirming little bundle of activity. If the bundle could have talked it would have said, "Never mind about Frankie, David's here and he'll rule the roost !" Temperamental, talented, restless, eager — a suppressed volcano of emotion — David Lee is the dream child so many mothers have pictured. While he was scarcely able to crawl, he began prying into boxes which contained stills of Frankie, and each time he recognized his big brother's likeness, his face would beam with apprecia- tion. One of his first remarks was, "Budder cryin'!" "Mother Goose," and the nursery stories never inter- ested him. He wanted to see photographs of Frankie in dramatic moments. "And, in time," says Mrs. Lee, "he began imitating Frankie's expressions in the stills. He'd put on a show all by himself, doing Frankie's stuff. He liked doing that better than anything." That's how David Lee got his tutoring as an actor. His mother took him over to the Warner studio when "The Singing Fool" was being cast. He hung onto her skirts. When a big, shiny car came in and Al Jolson alighted, he saw David staring, wide-eyed, at his equip- age. The comedian paused. " 'At's a purty tar," said David. "It's mine," replied Al. It took about nine seconds for the two to get on inti- mate terms. Then Jolson said, "Never mind the tests. Here's the child for 'The Singing Fool' ! Here's Sonny Boy." When rushes of the child's scenes with Jolson were shown, he went under contract to the Warners' inside of ten minutes. Al Jolson strutted about the lot saying, "Leave it to mc to pick 'em!" Continued on page 115 Frankie, who is now sixteen, is the example David has followed since babyhood, so it's no won- der the little fellow knows how to act. Photo by Whittington V. 57! An E)te Full Is the interviewer's resume of beautiful Thelma Todd, erstwhile schoolmarm and now of Holly- wood's notables. By Myrtle Gebkart; THREE years ago, a prim and plump young lady, in a tailored suit, sat at a high desk on a platform. Rows of eighth-grade children rose or sat, recited or hushed, as she directed. She rapped with her ruler, tapped the bell, and marked papers with a crayon. Her blue eyes must have been quite serene, for she was satisfied with the inconspicuous lot that she had chosen. Contented, except for a restlessness which she, with all her analyzing of things, could not un- derstand. Ever since her child heart had been bruised by an unsympathetic teacher, and she had seen others suffer through their teachers' lack of understanding of child- hood's problems, she had longed to teach. A young zealot, she had yearned to be, not a pedagogue, speak- ing sharply, but a teacher who would inspire love and respect in her pupils' hearts. Surely, as she stacked her papers and cast a last, careful glance over the room, she never dreamed of standing before a battery of cameras, draped in the scarcity of Venus' garb ! Yet Venus and the school- marm are one — Thelma Todd. Venus in person, in a soft, white, silk frock, white coat and floppy, red hat, is equally arresting. You look long, even in beauty-congested Hollywood, before you find her equal. There are many blue-eyed dimpled blondes, and many statuesque queens ; yet each suffers in compari- son with the eye-filling is one of the most popular young ladies in the film colony. Thelma Todd, a born and bred Bostonian, has left the days of her Eastern cocoon, to revel in a butterfly's freedom in California. Thelma Beauty is one thing and brains are another. Combined — rare, indeed ! Dazzling beauty, a cul- tivated mind, skilled in drawing from its reser- voir of witty sallies — a whole cornucopia of graces must have been sprinkled over Thelma' s crib by her fairy god- mother. That she used to be a Boston school-teacher seems incredible. That she was successful with her pupils, however, is easily imaginable. As one young Hollywood gallant remarked, "She can teach me anything her heart desires, and I'll fail at the end of the year, so I won't be pro- moted." She is a reigning fa- vorite with male Holly- wood, though her girl She chums are outside the studios. That can be well under- stood, for wherever she is there isn't even any competi- tion. She lives with her mother, entertains with that combination of opulence and taste which is called dis- tinction, ornaments the screen exceedingly, drives, vaca- tions in the mountains, leads a tranquil life, undisturbed by the hectic ambitions of the film town. She has been in the West almost two years. First National bought her contract from Paramount and cast her in Barthel- mess' "The Noose," in "Vamping Venus," and as Milton Sills' leading lady in "The Wrecking Boss." She has played the usual sweet roles, but none has been too insipid, no silver screen too flat, to keep her beauty from prominence. Besides mere pulchri- tude, she has dignity, carriage, and one of those regal-looking, stalactite personalities that suggests ice palaces. The most interesting thing about her is the change she admits having effected in herself. The butterfly was not always so colorful. Once, children, it was just a cocoon. Flash back to the classroom. Even sans rouge she must have been at- tractive. An Elk saw her. If you know your Elks, you surmise that there will be more to the story. There was a contest on, to choose candidates for the Paramount school. The Elks put her in the contest. The idea ! She laughed, amused. The Elks boosted her, of course. Continued on page 108 58 Rustles from trie Past Fay Wray poses in the costumes worn by the fashionable girl of half a century ago, and by way of contrast she shows the present-day dress of the athletic girl. Shopping and visiting days were grandmother's delights, although they left her exhausted. Miss Wray, left, wears the typical second-best turnout for that 'beruffled age. J The party frock worn by Miss Wray, right, J was made of yards of material and loads of spangles and rosebuds. The modern costume for the girl who goes a-golf- ing, displayed, by Miss Wray, above, combines fashion and comfort, and invites a coat of tan. L. Shyly wishing you pleas- ant dreams, the girl of the past, as above, tripped away to bed in a muslin Mother Hubbard, trimmed with yards of crochet lace. Grandmother's croquet was not to be taken lightly. She donned her least- adorned frock, as Miss Wray, right, demonstrates, for a lively afternoon on the green. 59 Unxtfept and Unsung Carroll Nye is interviewed for the first time, al- though he has appeared in thirty-six pictures. B>? Madeline Glass CARROLL NYE has appeared conspicuously in thirty-six films, yet this is his first interview. He has never had a portrait in a magazine. He has had only the most meager newspaper publicity. Until recently he did not have that very essential asset, a press agent. Being a free-lance actor, going continually from studio to studio, producers do not concern them- selves with building up his fame. To do so would be an unheard of demonstration of philanthropy. All the pub- licity which it is possible by hook or by crook to obtain is given, naturally, to players under contract. Carroll's utter lack of publicity is doubly remarkable, in view of the fact that his mother holds an important posi- tion on a Los Angeles newspaper. Here again is a stumbling block. The mother feels that it would be a breach of journalistic ethics to promote her son's interests by mentioning his name in her department ; and the other morning newspaper, being a formidable rival, has little interest in Carroll, because of his mother's affiliation with the enemy ! It is doubtful if another actor in the entire colony can equal Carroll Nye in the matter of being unwept, un- honored, and unsung. Although it is unfortunate that he should have been deprived of deserved credit and glory, it is, at- any rate, gratifying to know that it is possible for a talented person to make consistent progress in his fantastic profession, without journalistic influence of any nature whatever. Indeed, such an achievement has all the earmarks of a mir- Madeline Glass found that Carroll Nye has more traits of his pro- fession than any actor she has met. acle. Before talking with him I tried to remember what I had seen and heard of his career, but found my mental notes to be vague and limited. Let's see. He made his first hit in "Classified," with Corinne Griffith. Her brother, yes. Kept tearing the radio to pieces in a manner calcu- lated to put one's teeth on edge. Then a series of wayward brothers. Wasn't he electrocuted once or twice, pictorially speak- ing? Then I remembered hav- ing noticed him on the set with Novarro, at the Met- ro-Goldwyn studio, where they were making "The Flying Ensign," alias "The Flying Fleet." A pity I had not paid more atten- tion to Carroll, instead of keeping my eyes glued to Ramon. Still it was fas- Carroll had a typi- cal role in "While the City Sleeps"— that of a sympa- thetic crook. Photo by Brown cinating to watch the great Novarro, dressed in uniform, eating olives and talking Spanish to a Mexican girl. Since nothing had been written about Carroll Nye, I figured that getting first-hand information about him should be interesting. It was. "I've been working steadily, thank the Lord !" he exclaimed, almost immediately. "Just finished a quickie." We were having lunch in a Chinese cafe. Or rather, I was having lunch. Carroll, having had what he de- scribed as an actor's breakfast, took only dessert and coffee. - "The smaller companies," he went on, "like to give their pictures a pros- perous, impressive appearance by hav- ing the people in them wear a wide variety of clothes. Although I played a man of small means in this picture, I had to wear my entire wardrobe. Finally I said, 'You'd better bring this picture to a wearing my We finished that day." On ' had made close ; I'm last suit.' the thing learning ■HI that he two talking pictures, I inquired about his voice. "It records very well," he told me, "although at times it sounds far too old to match my face. I think that difficulty will be overcome when the talking process is perfected. In its pres- ent state it does the strangest things to voices. For instance, Pauline Fred- erick has a beautiful, low, rich voice, yet the microphone records it rather badly. At the same time a girl with an ordi- nary, uncultivated voice may record ex- cellently. [Continued on page 116] 60 A REAL picture is "The Barker." Which is to say that it has plot, human interest, emotional content and first-rate acting by arresting, magnetic play- ers— and that expresses my opinion perhaps too mildly. But when one watches a picture with unbroken atten- tion, feels a stirring in the region of his heart, and finds his critical faculty applauding the intelligence of the proceedings, there is cause for enthusiasm without mis- givings. Such an entertainment is "The Barker," and it is in- conceivable that any one should find it otherwise. Then, too, there is dialogue, and excellent it is. So much so, that one wishes there were more of it. Happily, when the players speak they do not spoil the illusion, but their voices enhance their characterizations. The more I write of this review the more enthusiastic I wax. The film is unreeling before me again. I hear the hubbub of the carnival and above it the droning voice of Milton Sills, as "Nifty" Miller, bidding one and all to look at the beautiful Hawaiian "princess" on the platform. '.'Her movements are like a dish of jelly on your grandmother's table" he says, urging his listeners to step up and buy a ticket to see her do the dance "that makes old men young and young men old !" The girl in the grass skirt is Betty Compson, as Carrie. Out of her costume she is Nifty's girl, sullen, jealous, but loving. Then comes young Chris, Nifty's, son, his pride, his be- loved. The boy is being educated in the law. Nifty will have no son of his be- smirched by carnival life. Chris, shy, awk- ward, feels the glam- our of his father's nomadic existence, and gets ATifty's con- sent to travel with the troupe for a while. From the first, the boy's pres- ence makes a differ- ence in his father to Carrie. She hates Chris, because she thinks he has taken Nifty from her. To her poor mind comes the only answer — to take Chris from Nifty. She bribes Lou, another girl of the circus, to do it — twenty dollars down and the rest when the youth is "landed." Out of this develop unexpected and poignant crises. It will spoil no one's enjoyment of the picture to reveal that after Nifty has given up the carnival racket, in which he reigned as barker par excellence, he is irre- sistibly drawn back to see how the show is going without him. His successor is so poor in Nifty's eyes, and the new dancer so impossible, that he bullies them both off the platform and resumes his old stand, with Carrie once more in the grass skirt which she alone knows how to twitch and wriggle profitably. What lies between these episodes is what should draw you to the picture. Such scenes of rough tenderness between father and son, as played by Mr. Sills and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., are not soon to be forgotten, nor will the echo of Mr. Fairbanks' eager, young voice die before a gentler one is heard. Vocally Mr. Sills is magnificent. It is not elocution, either, but characteriza- tion by which his voice makes Nifty piercingly real. The fellow's glibness, toughness, looseness, all bred by the life he has led for years, only thinly cover his pride and love for his son, as well as his alarm and anguish on discovering that the boy has been seduced by a despised girl of the show. All this is unerringly re- flected in Mr. Sills' voice, unmarred by even a faint reminder that he is any other man than the veteran of a hundred carnivals. Dorothy Mackaill, as Lou, is effec- tive, but for that matter you will look long to find any- thing less than perfection in any of the players. "For Decency!" "The Green Hat"— pardon, "A Woman of Affairs" — is interesting if for no other rea- son than the proc- ess of • purifica- tion it has un- dergone to make it "fit" for the screen. It is a skillful equivoca- tion and a fairly interesting picture, which should be especially welcome to admirers of Greta Garbo. In my opinion she gives her finest performance, par- ticularly in one scene, and thereby contributes more to the picture than any of her associ- ates. For the most part their roles are those of ele- gant walking gen- tlemen, but dis- tinctly walkers of Hollywood Boulevard rather than Mayfair. Not that it particularly matters whether they look like Englishmen or not, so long as theirs are the old, familiar faces which have belonged to characters of every nationality under the sun, and properly revolve around the neurotic heroine whose name is purified from Iris March to Diana Merrick — of the "mad" Merricks. I confess that to me neither Iris -nor Diana is the most interesting heroine ever created, nor are her affairs in the picture really worth a whoop. She is simply a mod- ern version of Camilla, whose promiscuity is excused by calling her "a gallant lady" every now and then, when she is not "a mad Merrick." Meanwhile Diana traipses all over Europe for seven years. Like the traditional sailor, she has a sweetheart in every port, but the film doesn't credit her with adding to their gayety, or pepping them up. Instead, she is possessed of a wistful melan- choly, a vast ennui, which is supposed to have come from Betty Compson, Milton Sills, and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., are only three perfect reasons why every fan should see "The Barker." 61 /hE>g\?iew A critical summary of the new pictures, with guide posts pointing to the high road and the low, not forgetting the path between. her loss of the only man she ever loved. There is always such a man in the life of ladies like Diana, and such a great love is essential to a story about them, in order to pave the way for the noble sacri- fice they make before we are asked to believe that death further ennobles them. If you read "The Green Hat" you know the story. It is rather closely adhered to in the film. But if there is any doubt in your mind why Iris March's husband, Boy, committed suicide on their honeymoon — "For purity," as she cryptically put it — you ought to see the picture to clear up the mystery. He becomes David and dies "for de- cency" as a pair of handcuffs are about to fulfill their destiny. But Diana is just as cryptic about his decency as Iris was about Boy's purity, so even in evading the issue the film, paradoxically, is faith- ful to the original. If one has any patience with heroines of this ilk, it must be admitted that Greta Garbo plays them better than any one else. She can look neurotic without being funny. The scene of her real bril- Dol liance occurs when Diana is ill and semidelirious in a Paris hospital. In assuming the role of Neville, the pseudo-hero of the piece, John Gilbert's gallantry is far more tangible than that of Diana, for he sacrifices himself to support Miss Garbo. The role is merely that of a leading man and not calculated to arouse sympathy, either. When Neville meekly follows his father into the latter's study, there to agree to jilt Diana, Mr. Gilbert plays a losing game. His subsequent marriage to Constance is a further step downward, so far as common sympathy is concerned. Well-known players in the cast are Lewis Stone, Ho- bart Bosworth, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., Dorothy Sebas- tian, and John Mack Brown. No, Diana's close-fitting felt hats are not tinted green, but the Hispano-Suiza name plate has a spotlight trained on it, so Michael Arlen should worry. A Domestic Medusa. Whatever the rest of the month may yield in note- worthy pictures, "Craig's Wife" must hold its own as one of the best. This character study of a woman whose passion is bossing her home and every one in it is not thrilling — it is absorbing. Her domineering is accom- plished with gentle firmness and even charm, for she is what is technically known as a lady. Her husband is a man of means and their home is one of tasteful completeness. But Mrs. Craig will not permit roses in the living room, because she cannot bear the dropping of petals on the floor, even when the roses are brought to her mother-in-law, a reluctant visitor, who knows that Mrs. Craig did not really marry a husband, but a home. Every movement of the servants and every thought, almost, of her husband are "managed" by Mrs. Craig. She attempts to manage her younger sister's love affair but fails, and through her heedless inter- ference causes her husband to spend a night in jail, nearly causing him to be implicated in a murder. The Photo toy Ball ores del Rio and LeRoy Mason portray primitive passions that are just too wild for words in "Revenge." picture ends with Mrs. Craig deserted by husband, rela- tives, and servants. This bears no resemblance to the cut-and-dried movie plots the fans are supposed to prefer — so much comedy, so much suspense, so much love and so much obstacle before all the pieces settle into a happy ending. Instead, it is merciless exposure of a type of woman all of us have known, if not wholly, then in part. It is beautifully played throughout. Irene Rich, as Mrs. Craig, fastidi- ous, smartly dressed, a gentlewoman, relentlessly por- trays her devastating effect on every one who comes within her reach. Miss Rich's performance is flawless, in my opinion topping" anything she has done, and War- ner Baxter, as Craig, adroitly and sympathetically de- picts the struggles of a man in the toils of a domestic Medusa. Virginia Bradford and Carroll Nye are the young couple, and Ethel Wales, Lilyan Tashman, and Jane Keckley are some of the other admirable players. Do You Believe in Gypsies? Wild, gypsy passions inspire "Revenge," Dolores del Rio's latest fling, but after the rumpus is over one comes to the conclusion that it is just a masquerade, a fancy- dress party for a troupe of energetic, though uninterest- ing, actors. As usually happens in cases of this kind, the back- grounds are elaborate and beautiful, with hordes of gypsies participating in tribal dances and all the rest of it. But the story concerning Rascha is never believ- able for a moment. Unless the spectator has just been released from the nursery, he is apt to be ahead of the story as it unreels the tale of the bear -tamer's daughter who turns in disgust from her pets once they are tamed, and whose ideal of love is a great, big, strong man who will beat her in lieu of petting her. Nearly half the pic- ture is given over to Rascha's preparation for this brute's appearance on the scene. When lorga materializes, in 62 Tne Screen in ReViev? the person of LeRoy Mason, half an eye's vision sees that he comes from the land of musical comedy on the other side of the Car- pathian Mountains, in the direction of Broadway. His brutality begins when he clips Rascha's braids, this being, according to local ethics, an unforgivable insult. Whereupon Rascha vows vengeance and is abducted, screaming and kicking, by Jorga, who takes her to his mountain lair where anything can happen to a lone girl without her bear-tamer's whip. But nothing more terrible happens than her complete melting. Just love is savage, ferocious, untrammeled Rascha's undoing. She becomes a good, plain cook — and reliable too, purring as she waits on her man. More than the usual number of close-ups fall to the lot of Miss del Rio, who has not exactly shown aversion to them in the past ; but through them all, as well as the various manifestations of Rascha's violent nature, she does not succeed in making one feel that it matters, or that she believes a bit of it. The same holds good for the others, including Mr. Mason, Rita Carewe, Jose Crespo, and James Marcus. Their efforts are given in vain to a singularly un- satisfying picture. Mr. Gilbert at His Best. Evidently John Gilbert finds irksome the heroes he has been successively playing, for he casts them overboard to portray no hero at all in "Masks of the Devil.", Instead, he is the dashing Baron Reiner, who has the face of a hero and the soul of a devil. It is among his most notable impersonations, if not actually his best, and at all events is mature and intelligent. Mr. Gilbert's courage in playing a character which has all the earmarks, not to say the horns, of a satanic villain, may cost him a tithe of his great popularity ; but it cannot fail to restore him to the graces of those who despaired of seeing him assert his right to a place among the most adroit actors as well as the leading stars. His more rabid fans should be willing to vouchsafe him a fleeting holiday from conventionality, in which to recapture the noncon- formists. However "Masks of the Devil" may rate with fans at large, it qualifies as unusual and arresting with those on the alert for novelty. Mr. Gilbert is commended for his courage in playing a role which is palpably unsympathetic, but the acting he reveals is indeed sym- pathetic to those who look for something more than sentimental flubdub. Briefly, Baron Reiner is an unscrupulous libertine whose many transgressions culminate in his betrayal of his best friend, Manfred. Meeting Manfred's virginal fiancee for the first time, he deter- mines to possess her, his first step being to back an expedition to Borneo which takes Manfred out of the country. Whereupon he exerts his charm upon the unsuspecting Virginia until the childlike girl is bewildered by the magnetism of a man who is supposed to be looking after her in Manfred's absence. Baron Reiner uses every means at the command of a worldly man to bring about the girl's capitulation. As he progresses in wickedness he sees in a mirror that his face is beginning to reflect his inner self ; that the devil whose existence Virginia does not suspect is asserting himself for all to see. It is unnecessary to impart the conclusion of this unusual conflict between good and evil, equally as it is superfluous to detail the Baron's side issues in villainy. Enough to^ say that the end is powerful and is not altogether unhappy. Apart from Mr. Gilbert's brilliant acting, the picture has the advantage of Victor Seastrom's significant direction and a rich and colorful production, to say nothing of a splendid cast. Incidentally, this significant direction includes a technical innova- tion seen for the first time on the screen. You might as well take heed of it, because it will be duplicated by at least half the direc- tors in Hollywood within the year. I think Mr. Seastrom should be duly credited. The innovation consists of showing a character in the act of doing something conventional, while at the same time his entirely opposite thoughts are visualized. True, this is used in the play "Strange Interlude," but as every director and actor visit- ing New York has attended the play, without attempting the same process on the screen, additional honor belongs to Mr. Seastrom for "A Woman of Affairs.'* doing it first. The Screen in ReVievtf Eva von Berne is Virginia. She is not a riot as an actress, but is well cast, and is so far removed from any one of a hundred in- genues who might have been given the role, that I found her re- freshing and lovely. Alma Rubens, with too little to do, is ex- tremely interesting, and Ralph Forbes, the late Theodore Roberts, Frank Reicher, and Ethel Wales make up the rest of the cast. A Box-office Magnet. Give Clara Bow half a chance and she will make it seem a whole one. Which is by way of saying that "Three Week-ends," her latest, is better than her recent pictures. Without being so novel that you need a libretto to understand the story, you will be amused by Clara's performance and the seeming freshness of the proceedings. This is due in no small part to the performances of Neil Hamilton and Harrison Ford, comedians whose methods bear no resemblance to each other's. Mr. Hamilton is the secretary of an insurance magnate and sets out to sell a million-dollar policy to Turner, in order to show his employer how easy it is — and earn a huge commission for himself. His only stipulation is that the magnate lend him his car. He crashes a party Turner is giving for a bevy of show girls in the hope of snaring Clara, and is mistaken by her for a rich youth. If you know your Bow scenarios, you won't be surprised that Clara promises to marry him, and on discovering he is poor repudiates him with tears of chagrin ; nor how, when he denounces her as a gold digger, she redeems herself by cunningly trapping Turner into signing for the policy. Thus Clara's sex appeal is the modus operandi by which a million-dollar deal is swung, while she remains miraculously a good little girl, though wild. Who cares if all this is just a formula, when the film is lively, amusing in spots and Clara is her impudent, raffish self ? Her status as an artist entitles her to a higher rating than that of a sprightly soubrette, however, but as long as she devotes herself to soubrette roles she will be estimated accordingly. The day that brings her a more mature character will find her ready to meet its demands. Give These Foreigners a Hand ! Don't let the lack of familiar names in the cast keep you away from "Home-coming," a notably fine German picture. You will find the tolerably familiar Lars Hanson in it, yes, but the others — Dita Parlo and Gustav Froelich — are strangers with whom you should become familiar. The strength of this picture lies in the acting rather than the story, which is not by any means unusual. The acting is poignant and the entire picture so real, that you forgive its slowness and forget its variation of the "Enoch Arden" theme. Two German prisoners in Russia escape, but the married one is recaptured and separated from his friend, who is single. Karl, the bachelor, man- ages eventually to get back to Hamburg after the war and goes to the home of his friend, expecting to find him there. Instead he meets his wife, who has given up her husband as dead, and Karl, against his will, falls in love with her and she with him. Of course, the husband returns at a critical moment and — the ending is one of the most moving and sensible I have ever seen. Mr. Hanson, as the husband, is perfect. His return to his native Sweden becomes more of a calamity each time he is seen. Miss Parlo is interesting — a great deal to say of a new actress, it seems to me — and admirers of Willy Fritsch. in "The Waltz Dream," will find a reminder of him in Gustav Froelich, as Karl. A Lady of the Evening. Every resource has been brought to bear in making "Outcast" seem more substantial than it is. The effort may be highly palatable to the majority, and a rare titbit for those who are excited about Corinne Griffith. But from me — and I cannot believe I am alone ■ — neither Miss Griffith nor her picture evokes a ripple. It may be because both star and film are old stories, this being especially true of the yarn. It has been seen before on the screen, following its success on the stage about fifteen years ago. That's the worst of being a veteran ; one always knows what's going to Continued on page 92 64 A Confidential Guide to Current Releases WHAT EVERY FAN SHOULD SEE "Interference" — Paramount. The first all-dialogue picture produced by this company is more polished and believ- able than any of the other talking pic- tures, though slow and only tolerably interesting. Story of a blackmailing adventuress and her tragic end at the hands of her former lover. Evelyn Brent, Willam Powell, Clive Brook, and Doris Kenyon. "Show People" — Metro-Goldwyn. Gorgeously entertaining satire on Hollywood and the movies, or a slap- stick comedy with sentimental trim- mings. Whichever way you accept it, it is riotously funny and is the best pic- ture Marion Davies or William Haines has ever appeared in. Story of a goofy girl and what happens to her as a movie actress. Paul Ralli, Polly Moran, Harry Gribbon and numerous stars. "Alias Jimmy Valentine" — Metro- Goldwyn. Expertly played story of lik- able young crook who reforms for love, routs detective who tries to break down his alibi, then sacrifices it all to open safe in which child is smothering , to death. Capital entertainment, brilliant performances by William Haines and Lionel Barrymore. Leila Hyams, Tully Marshall, Karl Dane. Don't miss this! "Four Devils, The" — Fox. The gla- mour and excitement of the circus superbly pictured. Film quite all it should be, and has moments of genius. Barry Norton, Nancy Drexel, Charles Morton, Janet Gaynor, with Mary Duncan in the siren role. "Wedding March, The" — Paramount. The long-awaited Erich von Stroheim story of the love of an Austrian prince and a peasant girl, told in the unique Von Stroheim style. Fay Wray plays with abandon and charm, Zasu Pitts has the tragic role of a lame heiress, and "Von" acts himself. "While the City Sleeps"— Metro- Goldwyn. A strong Lon Chaney pic- ture, in which he appears without dis- guise, in the role of a plain-clothes man. His detective work involves him in the romance of a young girl. Crooks without a romantic halo. Anita Page, Carroll Nye, Wheeler Oakman, Mae Busch, and Polly Moran. "Singing Fool, The" — Warner. Al Jolson as singing waiter, with "Sonny Boy" the theme song. Thin story, but the star's voice is excellently exploited. There are good speaking parts for Betty Bronson and Josephine Dunn. David Lee, a child newcomer, is noth- ing less than a sensation. "Patriot, The"— Paramount. A story of Russia in 1801. As magnificent and inspired a production as any that Emil Jannings has done. Shows masterly direction of Lubitsch. A perfect cast, including Lewis Stone, Florence Vidor, Neil Hamilton, Tullio Carminati, Harry Cording, and Vera Voronina. Sound effects are least commendable part of otherwise exceptional picture. "Mother Knows Best"— Fox. A pic- ture that gives a side of mother love hitherto untouched by the movies — the loving domination of an ambitious parent. It is entertainment cut to the pattern preferred by many. Beautiful performance by Madge Bellamy, an- other by Louise Dresser, and Barry Norton's fan mail will grow. "Cardboard Lover, The" — Metro- Goldwyn. Amusing comedy concern- ing an American girl's quest of auto- graphs— and a tennis champion. Fluffy yarn with farcical complications, su- perbly produced. Marion Davies, Nils Asther, and Jetta Goudal brilliantly successful. "Air Circus, The" — Fox. Pleasant, somewhat thrilling picture in which aviation is treated from a peace-time angle, refreshingly played by David Rollins, Sue Carol, Arthur Lake and Louise Dresser, all of whom speak dia- logue. "Submarine" — Columbia. Honest-to- goodness thriller, showing horrors of impending suffocation in submarine and at same time glorifies deep-sea diver. Players include Jack Holt, Dorothy Revier, and Ralph Graves. As "Snuggles," the wife, Miss Revier is clever. "Camera Man, The"— Metro-Gold- wyn. Buster Keaton, as a tintype man, lets ambition lead him into the news camera game, and gets mixed up in a tong war and things like that. He creates a big guffaw in taking a Lind- bergh demonstration for his own. Marceline Day, Harold Goodwin, and Sidney Bracy are in the cast. "Docks of New York, The"— Para- mount. A water-front picture, with stokers and their ladies. Honest real- ism. Doubly important to admirers of George Bancroft, Betty Compson, Clyde Cook, Mitchell Lewis, and Olga Baclanova. Sudden marriages, equally sudden separations, brawls, all devoid of usual sentimentality. "Trail of '98, The"— Metro-Goldwyn. Magnificent glorification of the historic gold rush to Alaska, directed with great care and skill. Effective performances given by Dolores del Rio, Ralph Forbes, and Harry Carey. "Sunrise" — Fox. One of the best of the season. Skillfully directed tale of a farmer, his wife and a city vamp. George O'Brien, Janet Gaynor, and Margaret Livingston. "Tempest" — United Artists. A story of the Russian Revolution. Moments of great pictorial beauty. John Barry- more excellent. Camilla Horn, Boris De Fas, and Louis Wolheim. "Lights of New York" — Warner. Re- gardless of merits or demerits, picture stands unique as the first of its kind ever made — entirely in spoken dia- logue. Not much of a story. A trust- ing country boy duped by a couple of bootleggers. Gladys Brockwell ex- cellent in her part. Cullen Landis is effective. Robert Eliot and Tom Dugan are fine. Mary Carr, Wheeler Oak- man, and Helene Costello. "Four Sons" — Fox. A simple and su- perbly told tale of the effects of the war on a German mother and her four sons — three of whom are killed, the other migrating to America. Margaret Mann, James Hall, Francis X. Bush- man, Jr., and June Collyer. "Man Who Laughs, The"— Universal. No one should fail to be engrossed by its strange story, or fascinated by its weird beauty. Conrad Veidt's character- ization is magnificent, Mary Philbin pleasing, and Olga Baclanova gives dis- tinctive performance. Brandon Hurst, Josephine Crowell, Sam de Grasse, Stu- art Holmes, Cesare Gravina, and George Siegmann. "King of Kings, The"— Producers Dis- tributing. Sincere and reverent visual- ization of the last three years in the life of Christ. H. B. Warner digni- fied and restrained in central role. Cast includes Jacqueline Logan, Joseph Schildkraut, Victor Varconi, and Ru- dolph Schildkraut. "Laugh, Clown, Laugh" — Metro-Gold- wyn. Lon Chaney gives one of his finest portrayals. Story inspires entire cast to do their best. Loretta Young plays with heart-breaking quality. Nils Asther is good, as well as Bernard Siegel. "White Shadows in the South Seas" — Metro-Goldwyn. Filmed on authentic locations, and has much to offer in natural beauty and pictorial loveliness. Purports to show the corrupting influ- ence of white men among the islanders. Monte Blue is capable in the lead, and Raquel Torres makes the native girl, "Fayaway," vital, naive and charming. "Lost in the Arctic" — Fox. A photo- graphic record of the recent expedition to Herald Island. Picture is distin- guished by remarkable photographic scenes, moving in rapid and interesting sequence. There is a Movietone pro- logue in which Vilhjalmur Steffansson describes the object of the expedition. A fine musical score, directed by Roxy, comprises the Movietone accompani- ment. "Forgotten Faces" — Paramount. Un- derworld melodrama, shrewdly directed, interestingly photographed and well acted. First honors go to Olga Bacla- nova, the fascinating Russian and con- summate screen artist. Good work is also done by Clive Brook, Mary Brian, William Powell, Fred Kohler, and Jack Luden. FOR SECOND CHOICE "Woman from Moscow, The" — Para- mount. A treat for Pola Negri's fans, but not so hot for casual moviegoers, because it is heavy tragedy. Russian princess vows to find murderer of fiance, then falls in love with him be- Cantlnued on paze 119 65 "Txtfinkletoes" Lena Malena, who came from Germany, won Hollywood and a nickname with her jazz dancing, and now wants to be "all ofer in electrics." By Myrtle Gebkart TWINKLETOES !" Some one called her that, as her filmy, green skirt billowed about her lithe, wriggling slimness, and her little feet click-clacked to the hum-tee-de-dee of the jazz. The saxophones' moan was taken up by those silver slippers, thrown off from their pointed toes, cascaded from their stiltlike heels. Feet that couldn't keep still. Shoulders that twisted this way and that. Hands and arms weaving into a crescendo of half loops and whirls and circles — a suddenly slow, almost sus- pended motion — a snap into quick action. Under the subdued lights of the William Boyds' charming home, before an admiring crowd, and to the intense delight of the grinning orchestra boys, Lena Malena made her Hollywood debut. From her sleek, black head to the tips of those impatient little silver slippers she was vibrantly responsive to every quiver of the seductive jazz. She perched on the arms of chairs, flopped onto cushions on the floor ; her broken accent, with its mixed-up slang, drew peals of laughter. The life-of-the-party girl. "Oooh, boy, chust a Cherman merry-go-round !" she said of herself. It took this "German Clara Bow," as she was soon called, no time at all to win Hollywood. After the Boyds' party, and a dinner at which, clad in a very brief bit of gold cloth, she sang, "Lemme see dem i-zes, lemme kees dem leeps," she needed no press agent. A jazz baby done up in Continental wrap- pings was something new. Most of the for- eign beauties sweep in with a regal air and talk of their art. This demi- tasse dynamo talked frankly of the money she wanted to make and the fame that would spell her name in huge, electric signs. It has taken her a year, however, to win a role of any importance in a movie. A year which she has spent as champion test taker, buying clothes, partying, driving with slight regard for speed regulations, swimming, and admiring Greta Garbo. "Garbo ! Some day I vill act like she does. I mean not act. She sits und t'inks. She make you t'ink maybe she do somesing in a minute, und you wait, but she don' do nozzing. Und dat" — the little black head wagged— "iss v'at / call art. "I vant to go up und up. A leetle at a time. I don' vant to go up too queeck, because maybe I fall down queeck. After a while de poblic vill like me. You vait. No apple saucings, I don' mean." You laugh at and with Lena. At her confusion with English, which bothers her not the least, and at the Photo by Spurr She was not discovered, but imported herself. Photo by Spurr "Oooh, boy, chust a Cherman merry-go-round." — Lena Malena. twisted slang with which she sprinkles it. At herself, bubbling, effervescent, with the sheer joy of life and fun. She is one foreigner who didn't "arrive." She imported herself. Blithely jumping a contract in Berlin, she came to America, lured by a sec- ond piece of paper which was in turn torn into shreds when she decided to come to Hollywood. At twelve, the family finances having done a disappearing act — I could see them rolling off her expressive shoulders — she began earning her living by dancing in a ballet. At sixteen she toured Germany, doing solo numbers in cabarets. "T'ree dances every evening, und I'm telling you I get tired of it." To summarize her accounts of events, to get them down on paper, is like pinning the wings of a butterfly. She has the foreign art of dramatization, with the addition of a refreshing candor. "I do an im- pres-sionis-teec. Ach, I get heem out ! Oh, boy, v'en I get from me a big vord like dat, und right, it feels gr-great ! After the cabaret dancing and some picture work for Ufa, there was a season of what I gathered was musical comedy. "Beeg lights, my name all ofer. Papers with pose of Continued on page 109 66 Witk Pen in Hand The omnipresent camera catches the stars in that critical moment which brings joy to their fans, and proves that they do answer their mail. Billie Dove, right, uses her pea to au- tograph pictures of special importance, hut isn't it asking too much of her to sign every one of the thousands which are d e - manded? Though Maria Alba, above, is from Spain, she has learned early in her career to know what the fans expect, and her native courtesy and ceremoniousness do the rest. Victor McLaglen, right, remains cheerful in the face of every task, and shows as little likeli- hood of being wearied by his famous -smile than he does of acquir- ing writer's cramp. Sue Carol, below, ponders before she lets the ink flow, for she is meticulous in her choice of words and would never, never dash off an inscription unthinkingly, with- out regard for fitness to the occasion and the recipient. Marian Nixon, left, is kept so busy darting from film to film, that she must needs combine duty to her fans with relaxation for herself, sometimes. 67 The last installment of our great serial proves that all's well that ends well in our heroine's unraveling of a baffling mystery. By Alice M. Will lamson Illustrated by X e n a Wright Synopsis of Previous Chapters. Malcolm Allen, a young British novelist in Hollywood, goes to the rescue of a beautiful girl who attempts to leave the fash- ionable Restaurant Montparnasse without paying for the dinner she has eaten. He is impressed, and later, dazzled by her beauty, offers her a chance in the movies. He is dumfounded when she tells him she prefers to be a cigarette girl at Mont- parnasse. Lady Gates, Malcolm's aunt, is struck with the possibility of entering the gay life of the movie capital. Soon after her arrival she falls