Picture Play Magazine (Sep 1925 - Feb 1926)

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34 Breaking Through the Mist Eleanor Boardman, whose early experiences had made her somewhat puzzled and taciturn, speaks up with some crystal-like views on careers and things. By Mona Gardner JUST an ordinary day and just an ordinary lunch of prosaic ham sandwiches and milk. And then : "When I'm thirty-five years old I'm going to commit suicide," Eleanor Boardman calmly remarked. | And when the barrage of amazed glances and the smoke screen of incredulity had subsided, she continued, slowly and meditatively : "That is, if I'm still in pictures. You know, I think age is the most ghastly thing in the world to a woman trying to make money with her face. She's the last one to admit it to herself that her looks are fading. She has her face peeled, her hair hennaed, and goes around in skirts to her knees trying to make people think she's an ingenue. I tell you"4 girls, it's pitiful — and I don't want to be like that." I Her earnest tone had sobered the little crowd about her. And some one asked her "reasons. She gave them : ! "Oh, I don't suppose I'd ever have thought about it quite this way if it hadn't been for this part I've just finished playing in 'The Circle.' Mine is the young girl, of course, but there is an older one — Mrs. Leslie Carter played it on the stage — the old woman whose youth and beauty had been the only meal ticket she had ever had. Well — that made me think a bit. "And then the other day I learned that Frankie Bailey — you know the girl who used to be the toast of Broadway because of her beautiful legs — is living in a little attic room over my dressmaker's shop. Can you imagine her thoughts — after all her glory and the adulation of her past to have to crawl every night into a hole like that after a weary round of agencies looking for little bits? And she's not the only one — the woods are full of them. I won't do it, I tell you. I'll either teach myself to do something else which will bring in money and where age doesn't count or I'm going to get off the planet !" Several others joined the party, and the subject — as sometimes happens — was dropped. But, in the ensuing banter one could note a pensive gleam in this girl's eye ; and one kept thinking over her remark, because it was unusual. ' It wasn't like her to talk for effect, for she's not what you might call talkative. Always there seems a veil about her inner self ; and few are those who have seen it lowered even among her friends. It is a veil woven by necessity, she said one day; the necessity of accomplishing what people said she couldn't do — to be an actress. They argued that she didn't look like one and consequently couldn't be ; although just what it is which trademarks one with histrionic ambitions no critic could define. And so, two hours later, as we chatted on the set while waiting for the camera to grind, I asked for more. "I don't know exactly why I feel this way," she answered. "Everything seems to have come to me at once. Of course, I mean that all these ideas undoubtedly have been fermenting in the back of my mind for a long time, but I think this picture crystallized them into something active. "I don't know whether I can make vou understand, exactly, but take this last year for example. I've worked in nine feature pictures, just one after the other and sometimes two at a time. Before I finish one I'm having costume fittings for the next. "I have to get up at seven in order to get here at the studio and make up and be on the set by nine. Then, in the evening, I don't get through until at least five — and half the time it isn't until nearly six. If I look at the rushes in the projection room it's seven before I get away from the studio — and by the time I have dinner I'm too tired to go anywhere or do anything but go to bed. "Of course I go out now and then — one has to do some playing. And yet, if I go out, say, twice a week, what time have I left for reading and other pursuits?" As she talked she toyed with a persistent curl which hung, a little rakishly, over one eye. And, anticipating the question, she continued : "Don't you dare to suggest the set to me.. I used to be able to read between shots but I can't any more. The noise gets on my nerves and there are so many interruptions that I forget what I'm reading. I can't concentrate a bit. "I'm positively ashamed of myself. Every place I go people are talking about the new books and I have to change the subject just because I don't want them to know how ignorant I am on the latest publications " A cry of "Camera !" had interrupted her. Eugenia Besserer began emoting to the grinding of the cranks. And as she watched, Eleanor made scattering comments here and there, meanwhile toying with the rich silver lace on the gorgeous bouffant frock of black panne velvet which she was wearing : "Isn't she splendid? Everything she does counts; not a gesture nor a glance is wasted ! Wait till you see the picture ; you'll love her work " A strand of pearl beads caught on a brooch in her gown and in a moment were dripping on the floor. A property boy came running to help her collect them ; at her insistence he brought her a needle and thread to restring them. "I hate jewelry," she said, disgustedly, as she began the tedious task. "I never liked it. If I had all the money in the world, I wouldn't buy a piece of it. Well, I'd have a black-pearl ring and maybe one set in a small brooch, but not another thing. I always feel like a trick horse dolled up for the show when they load all these paste things on me !"' Petite Renee Adoree, in a full-skirted, brilliantly hued gypsy costume, came wandering through the shadowy maze of unlit sets and paused for a moment to chat, aiming a good-natured gibe or two in Eleanor's direction at her industry. "Renee, your hair looks a mess !" was Eleanor's retort. "Why in the world are you fixing it that way?" "Oh, they said over in the costume department that it was distinguished. It doesn't feel very natural. Really, do you think I ought to change it?" "Did you have a set of tests made ; or some stills to see how it photographs ? I think it makes you look much older ! It looks terrible !" This devastating honesty of Eleanor's has gotten her into many a studio scrape. To those inured to the polite temporizings of social custom this trait is distinctly annoying and has made for her many a critic where she should have had a friend. But, on the other hand, there are those who find it delightful because it is turned with equal force upon herself at times. The scene over, the group was discussing a muchly heralded opening of a new play that evening. In the Continued on page 112