Modern Screen (Dec 1940 - Nov 1941)

Director Al Hall was simply frantic. The cameras stood poised. The bit players and extras waited. The technicians hovered nervously. For three hours the big scene in "Little Miss Marker" had been delayed. In this scene, Shirley Temple was supposed to burst into tears, which was simple enough except for one minor obstacle — Miss Temple wasn't in the mood. "You've got to cry!"! begged Director Hall for the two hundredth time. "But I don't want to cry," replied Shirley brightly. "I feel happy." Director Al Hall retired to a corner and, resembling Rodin's Thinker, brooded. In a moment he emerged, a sly smile on his face. An inspiration had been born. He asked Mrs. Temple what family possession Shirley liked most. Mrs. Temple mentioned the new car the family had recently bought. Director Hall smacked his lips. Five minutes later the phone rang. Director Hall put the receiver to his ear and listened intently. "What did you say, Mr. Temple?" he bellowed into the phone. "What? Your new car? Smashed to bits? Wrecked? In a ditch?" Hall's quavering voice boomed through the quiet sound stage. He hung up the receiver and turned to Shirley. Her smile and dimples were gone. Her lips were tight. Tears welled in her brown eyes. Suddenly she sobbed, then began crying in earnest — and in that precious moment, Director Hall propelled her before the prepared cameras — and shot the scene! After that historic example, if you still think that movie stars make the movies great, if you still suffer the illusion that Cary Grant or Vivien Leigh had more to do with the success of their last flicker than their directors, well, come with me, children, out of the valley of incredulity — and meet and listen to the men who really make the movies. To begin with, meet that blubbering, lethargic ideamachine, that magician of mystery and suspense, sopranovoiced, 290-pound Alfred Hitchcock. Now meet him again. It always takes two introductions, there's so much of him. While the great man settled himself into a chair like a dirigible easing into a hangar, we reviewed rapidly what we knew about him — that he was forty years old; that he'd started Herbert Marshall in pictures, saved Madeleine Carroll from obscurity by putting her in "Thirty-Nine Steps," helped give Robert Donat a name, proved Joan Fontaine was an actress; that his only exercise was walking up flights of stairs; that he once sent four hundred smoked herring to a friend on her birthday; that he ate steak and ice cream together; and that, after consuming tea, he threw the empty cup over his shoulder because it amused everyone. And now, sitting opposite us, Hitchcock gave, in tabloid form, his philosophy of picture-making. "My technique? Why, all I try to do is tell a story," explained Hitchcock, rubbing his third chin thoughtfully. But the Hitchcock trade-mark is familiar. In one picture, he sent his camera, in a single motion, down the staircase of a hotel, across the lobby, into the dining room — to finish with a close-up of a man's eyes! In his first success, "The Lodger," he had the camera follow a pair of white hands down bannisters, flight after flight, until those hands tightened around a woman's throat! At another time he got into a battle with Sylvia Sidney because she wanted to be seen in her big dramatic moment when she was to stab her husband, and Hitchcock decided to photograph only her fingers and the knife! "Those are my favorite scenes, the ones I like most to make," Hitchcock admitted. "Best of all, I like to photograph a man's mind, all of his mental processes told purely through his expressions. I directed Edmund Gwenn, as the assassin, in just such a scene in 'Foreign Correspondent.' " A cup of coffee materialized. Hitchcock downed it in a gulp and began speaking of personalities. "I find it difficult to direct 'former stage stars. They're often very bad, because they think only of projecting their voices instead of facial expressions and pantomime. I should like very much to work with Spencer Tracy. I don't think he has any bad camera habits, and I think he could play any character on earth without too much directorial effort. "And you know, I've learned your glamour girls here aren't so glamorous. Whenever I see them, they seem to be eating hot dogs. I remember working with Joan Fontaine. She was quite eccentric. Always seemed to be eating. A fine girl though. Brilliant future. (Continued on page 62) BY IRVING WALLACE According to Ben Hecht, Doug Fairbanks, Jr. is ashamed of acting! He thinks it's just child's play, and has to swallow his pride before he can really give out! 25