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uit Pickin' On Me/"
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The famous little Brooklyn Bonfire, snapping back at her critics, says she
boy work dramatic talki
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program without play for a twenty-five year old woman!
"What about romance"" I asked with decent reluctance.
"I'm through with that. Men are funny. They want to make you over. They like me for what I am, then when they find they can't change me, they lose interest. Or if they do change me, they lose inten
"What about Harry Richman?"
"All over months ago. A mistake."
"Rex Hell?"
"I like him very much. Rex is a nice clean boy. I appreciate his friendship. But it's only friendship."
Hard work. Xo romance. No didoes. No escapades. Surely Clara is entitled to some moderate dissipation. And she has it all picked out. "I like to eat," she announced with startling abruptness. "You can't get anything good to eat in New York. At home I have good food. And I have my dogs, five of them. They're my companions."
So La Bow, disillusioned, distrustful, mellowed by a new wisdom for which she paid a dear price, has turned the acutely critical point in her career. She wants to be good. She wants to start again.
Paramount has faith in her resolution. Just when the anti-Bow bacilli were most active in all the newspaper blood of the country. Paramount renewed her contract and laid plans for her new films. Her fans beg that she be given a chance to "act." They detect a quality in Clara never quite revealed in her exuberant "It" roles.
Illustrated by V
a n
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Clara, off screen, has a startling suggestion of the Janet Caynor. She is little, almost frail pathetic. With ail her wealth and fame, she makes people impulsively say, "Poor kid." Her eyes are fine. The very forthrightnos, which almost her undoing, gives her an appealing charm.
Clara's motherless childhood has been deplored before. Her father has been discussed generally. Alone and immature. Clara has been preyed on by anyone who could use her. N at twenty-five, Clara Bow faces a new test. A discreet, dignified young woman must appear as a dramatic actress.
he faced her old, Clara faces her new test alone. Loved by millions, Clara has nobody to love. Artlessly Clara told the Story in one eloquent sentence that afternoon on location in New York. "I want to go home," said Clara wistfully. "I miss my cook."
Nobody to miss but her cook! The mad, bad, flaming, rambunctious Clara Bow!
Did you know that eating is one of the fondest things
Clara Bow is of? When she's away from Hollywood, she
doesn't miss boy friends, but her cook! Maybe this
explains some of Clara's curve-trouble in the past