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16
Billie Dove detained an interviewer for hours while her guests lunched in an adjoining room.
Photo by Carsey
Pity tke P
oor
His lot is not the merry one it used to be
the sweet nothings he wrote. Now the players
grant one at all, and the magazines want facts,
the great change that has
By William
Perhaps it was the stars' fault in not being sincere, and treating the interviewers as something necessary, but annoying, to their high positions. Most of the players condescended and posed.
When upbraided by another writer for calling Marie Prevost "a little roughneck," after having partaken of her hospitality, Alma Whittaker, a Los Angeles newspaper woman, said, "What? A guest? Don't imagine things. No interviewer is ever treated as a friend by any star, so why pretend ? They don't regard us as guests, so I am free to express my real opinions."
And don't forget Phyllis Haver. Beautiful Phyllis, with her hair so blond. Phyllis gave a party some time ago, so huge that she hired a top floor, the roof, of a large apartment building to entertain her guests. One writer, who had done a great deal for her when Phyllis had her comeback a few years ago, wondered why she had been left out.
"But I didn't invite any writers, because I didn't want any publicity about my party," Phyllis naively
IN the sweet past the most gracious gestures in dear Hollywood were those exchanged by the stars and interviewers. But what has happened? Why is all that oldworld grace transformed into tense, snarling antagonism ? Is there war between them ?
A couple of years ago they were great events, these interviews. The stars would figuratively receive the scribes with open arms. The one outstanding gesture above all others was lunch. Food was the indispensable touch, without which no interview could proceed. But gone are the golden days, with their old Spanish customs.
Gradually during the past year, players have ceased asking writers to lunch or dine with them. A few may still continue this old-fashioned custom, but I am speaking of the majority. Most of them will grudgingly give you half an hour, or an hour, of their valuable time, making you sense their eagerness for your early departure.
In so doing they err.
In most cases writers have a certain unwritten code. They will not break bread with the stars, then ridicule or revile them. The players probably know that. "Poor things," they used to think, "we must feed them. It makes them good natured." They would smile and smirk, though inwardly they regarded their visitors as troublesome intruders.
Dorothy Dwan objected to an interview that mentioned her smoking.
Priscilla Dean had good intentions toward a writer, but forgot them.
Photo by Seely
Photo by Hoover