Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

Cool It, Debbie {Continued from page 25) how the gay and charming girl the world had taken to its heart for ten years had turned into a hard, cynical tres-gai playgirl. We felt if this was true we would spot it in a minute through the penetrating eye of the TV close-up. But we didn't expect to spot that. I guess what we expected to see was a mature and bright young woman handle herself with taste, decorum and intelligence. But we were wrong. You came on like gangbusters, a three alarm fire and the blare of 76 trombones — all off-key. Before you even sat down, your stumbling and jumping around caused a few raised eyebrows. You made anything but a dignified entrance. You looked lovely, all right. Your hairdo was perfect. Your flower-printed dress was one of the most charming we've ever seen you wear. Your make-up was just right. You were quite a contrast from the girl in pig-tails and blue jeans everyone recalls. Yet the loveliness and subtlety of your appearance was destroyed by your actions. You didn't give the world a chance to know Debbie. You came on. And you were phony. And we and everyone else who loves you were upset. Fantastic performance Oh, we thought your imitation of your close friend Eva Gabor was brilliant and your Genevieve showed remarkable perception and certainly the fact that you made an effort to entertain was not to be censured. But we were embarrassed when you tried to force Jack, against his will, to dance with you, and we were embarrassed by the way you made fun of some of his clothes. And it was obvious that he was embarrassed too. Halfway through the program you got serious. You began to talk of Khrushchev and world problems — and you made sense — good sense. The phoniness was gone. You spoke like a mature young woman. A woman of twenty-seven who is genuinely concerned about what is going on in the world — because current events seriously affect the lives of her children. The audience was interested in what you had (o say, too. Then you were interrupted by a commercial and by the time the announcer finished extolling the virtues of the latest deodorant or headache remedy your mood had changed again. You were back on the bandwagon as explosive and as volatile as ever. Maybe Jack was annoyed that you were running away with the show. Maybe his nerves had had just too much. Or maybe he just didn't think about what he was saying. But he came out with a remark that stunned us. "Is this what Eddie had to go through?" he asked. We went through the floor with embarrassment for you. We wondered how you would handle it. Well, you went to the floor — not through it. And as the two of you remained under the desk — out of sight of the viewing audience, strange things began to come into sight: Jack's tie and coat and shoes and handkerchief — and your shoes. It was funny all right. The audience roared. In the same way people roar when they see someone slip on a banana peel. 66 It seemed like an eternity before you finally came up for air with a somewhat undressed and disheveled Paar. He was obviously unhappy. But you still wouldn't stop. You threw his tie around his neck, began to tuck his shirt back into his pants — and while all this was going on Paar continued to needle you. "Eddie must have felt he was married to an Olympics champion," he commented. But you still wouldn't stop. And when Paar not-toogently tried to get you off the show by stating that "we are running a half hour late and I'm sure you are in a hurry to get someplace," you ignored the hint and said "I haven't anyplace to go." Prize-fighters who go down for the count are often saved by the bell. You, Debbie, were saved by another commercial. By the time it was over you got the message. You said good night, but you didn't exit gracefully. One of your shoes had gotten misplaced in that 'strip-tease' act and you had to hobble off the stage. The studio audience obviously loved your act. We didn't! Maybe that's because we care about you too much. We felt Paar, intentionally or unintentionally, had humiliated you. We know that every TV network has offered sums ranging up to a quarter of a million dollars to appear in an hour spectacular. Paar got you for his usual minimum of $320. You were willing to stay on 'forever.' Yet he brushed you off in a manner which would have been humiliating to even a publicity-mad starlet. He said the "show was running late." We stayed with it to see what was so important to make you so 'expendable.' Scheduled after you was an old Benchley short subject, filmed maybe twenty years ago that could have been run anytime. And to add insult to injury, Paar ended his show with the words: "Goodnight, Debbie Reynolds, whatever you are!" J.M J ! I I ! ! I I I I ! I ! I ! I ! I I ! ! ! I II John Drew Borrymore: I love this ~ business, but it breeds ulcers and ~ Z gray hair. _ Sidne\ Skolsky ~ in the New York Post ~ : I 1 I 1 1 I 1 I I 1 1 1 I 1 1 1 I 1 I 1 1 1 I 1 1 1 r We pondered that statement well into the early hours of the morning. Whatever you are. What are you Debbie? Are you really the over-active exhibitionist we saw on the Paar show? The personality whose actions were more grammar-school-girlish than feminine and professional? That girl's actions are belied by her words: "I don't think I'm mature yet. That takes many more years of living than I have had. But I know more about life than I have before. And I've had many more experiences — some good, some bad. However I don't worry much because I know that any minute some one could push a button that may end the whole world. When I get unhappy about something, I just picture that button and a bomb coming down on us and I don't fret anymore. It's good just to be alive." It is good to be alive. But you've got to slow down to appreciate the joys of living. The Debbie we all know told a reporter a couple of months ago: "As a bachelor mother I'm very happy. When I come home at night I really come to a home and not an empty house. The fact is I don't have much time to date. I get home around 6:30. I play with the children until they go to bed. On week ends I don't have the desire to go places. My first obligation is still to my children. Then comes my own life, my career, my charities. I'm planning my life ahead now. I have to be sure I'm able to be at home with my family. "But as a bachelor girl I'm very un happy. Going out with someone once o twice means involvements here in Holly wood and I don't want to be involved. Als I made a habit of not dating estrange husbands. It's all too complex. I'd rathe go to the movies alone." That's what you said, Debbie. You sai< it late last fall. But your actions — befor and after that remark seemed to negat the words. The new Debbie Instead of giving in to yourself am what you really needed, you took lesson in how to be a "gay divorcee" — the phras you beg reporters not to call you — fror Eva Gabor. Eva's personal philosophy wa exactly opposite to what yours had beer "Marriage is not for me," she has toll Louella Parsons. "I have found out tha careers and marriage don't mix. I wan to be free to travel to any part of th world when a motion picture assignmen takes me there, and a husband certainl; interferes. I have been married oftei enough to know." The job she did to transform your warn beauty into a sizzling come-on was no half so charming as the news items tha drifted back to us. Items like: Aceordini to folks present on the screen set — woe bi the man who wound up with both Debbh R. and Eva Gabor on a date. The tvM beauties did nothing but concentrate oi making life miserable for the poor guy They made him jump through hoop throughout the evening. If he balked, the] gathered up their things and walked out But. Debbie, even Eva doesn't follow he: own advice: got herself married again. In any case, allowing for gross exaggeration, even for outright lies, it had to be ; new kind of Debbie that inspired a reporter even to think such thoughts. You wouldn't give the real Debbie < chance. Not even when you fainted dea( away in a hotel room after you'd knockec yourself out at a party. For months you picked up speed by dating the two most ineligible bachelor: available — Bob Neal and Harry Karl. Fron Neal you collected two gifts of diamond in two weeks and some unsavory publicity that made you mad. But it wasn't lon| ago that you yourself would have disapproved of a girl's accepting diamonds front "just a friend," and you wouldn't hav« indulged with Neal in what the newspapers called "a necking session ringside at Ciro's." Not unless you were engaged But why get engaged to Neal wher Harry Karl was waiting to invite you your mother, your children and a nurst to a friend's house in Honolulu. We know that you, not Karl, paid the rent and thai if there'd been any more chaperones there wouldn't have been room to sit down But what kind of game were you playing Debbie? Especially when Bob Neal showec up and, according to the Mirror's Let Mortimer, you slept most of the day and spent most of every night at Don the Beachcomber's holding hands with either Harry or Bob. When Karl upped and married Joan Cohn (for all of 25 days as it turned out), you merely shrugged your shoulders and went out and found yourself a new millionaire: Walter Troutman — who gave you the champagne and El Morocco treatment. No one took the Troutman 'romance' seriously. The New York cafe-society set knew Walter very well. After your second date a columnist wrote: Debbie Reynolds who has been taking too many vitamins lately and man-about-New York Walter Troutman are a little premature in the dating department, despite the billing and cooing, to be called a romantic item yet. . . . Walter is a professional bachelor and movie stars are old hat to him. Still you seemed to glow in the El Mor