Hollywood (Jan - Oct 1934)

— Ernest Bach rack Sari Maritza and Robert Young may indulge in love scenes for the cameras without comment but after an innocent appear anc e in public together gossip mill have them engaged — Ernest Bachrach Gene Raymond and Dolores Del Rio in a love scene from Flying Down to Rio. The making of movies discourages romance says Donald Henderson Clarke in HOLLYWOOD! when he goes out in the evening. He will be told of dangerous changes of climate, and will listen too long, if not learned discussions on the central foci of infection. He will know within ten minutes which is the sportiest golf course in the vicinity, he will be advised by all means to go to the Hollywood Bowl concerts, and he will hear a lecture on the benefits of sun baths. Finally, he will be asked if he wants a girl. He can take his choice, so far as type is concerned, his host will assure him. Redheads, blondes and brunettes, all of thern beautiful, are available. If he says "no," the host's eyes will brighten, and a vast relief will show on his face. Like a good fellow, he was just trying to do his hospitable duty. No personal enthusiasm was connected with his offer to arrange a party. He will swing immediately into the newest story about the dumb supervisor, go on describing the non-feminine charms of Hollywood, or hurry his guest off to a tennis match. • Naturally, even the busiest Hollywoodians have their moments of relaxation, and they don't spend all of them listening to concerts or sunning themselves on apartment house roofs. Fans read about Ginger Rogers and Lew Ay res stepping out at the Grove, Jack Oakie squiring Mary Brian at the Mirimar Club, and Franchot Tone dining Joan Crawford at the Brown Derby. It's true, as I've seen them myself. I've also been to a few Hollywood parties. I came home from one of them so tired I could scarcely walk. It was a veritable orgy. First there was tennis, hours of it, under the arcs of a lighted court. Then there was a swim in the pool. After that, the crowd broke up into ping pong twosomes, chess duos, and parchesi cliques. Warner Baxter walked off with the tennis laurels, John Monk Saunders showed the way to the other swimmers, and Fay Wray copped the ping pong championship. I lost the price of a dinner at parchesi. JANUARY, 1934 • Its passion for sports is one of the answers to Hollywood's sex starvation. As a still beautiful character actress who is approaching middle age remarked: "these athletic chaps seldom make good lovers. All they are interested in is their handsome bodies. They wear themselves out with their sport stunts and haven't any energy left for making love. To be an accomplished lover is an art. The Hollywood men have neglected that art." Lest some young athletic star take offense at that, it might be well to call attention to the old saying that exceptions prove the rule. Whether or not he was an accomplished Romeo, Joel McCrea, before his marriage to Frances Dee, was one of the most popular young blades with the film colony's fair sex. This same McCrea is also one of the leading athletes. He rides, swims, plays tennis, and in his college days he used to toss the discus out of the township. One day I saw him leave a set at the RKO-Radio studios with an unexpected half day of freedom ahead of him. "Where are yo i bound?" Bill Seiter asked him. "Beach," McCrea answered. "Johnny Weissmuller and I are going to have a swim." That's the young man about Hollywood's typical afternoon off. That leads right up to the principal reason Hollywood's sex life isn't all it might be. There are mighty few afternoons off for the real topnotchers in the business. • To the newcomer, the demands the screen makes upon the time and energies of its workers is almost incredible. Naturally, the strain is most intense upon those in the creative end of the business. Executives seldom leave their desks before eight or nine o'clock, and buring the midnight oil is often a figure of speech only in so far as the oil is concerned. Actors and actresses have to be up at six o'clock to meet their nine o'clock calls. The day's shooting usually Ple««e turn to pace forty-nine 15