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Photo by Ruth Harriet Louise
It seems strange, after all the years Claire Windsor has been with Metro-Goldwyn, not to see her at their studio any more, but Claire is now freelancing.
BELIEVE it or not, I am through with picture premieres forever," Fanny announced witli grim determination.
"Which, no doubt, will be a great blow to the society editors," I remarked, knowing all too well that nothing would keep Fanny away from any event that would get her name in the papers alongside those of her favorite stars.
"But why?" I asked. You never can tell when one of Fanny's reasons may prove interesting, even if her resolutions mean nothing.
"Oh, they're all terrible," she responded vaguely, in a world-weary tone. "Either the}' are so well attended and Graumanesque that all southern California turns out to make it difficult for you to get into the theater, or they are so dowdy that you sulfer for the poor players who have to get up and bow to a bored audience.
"I've been to two lately, and I can't decide which was worse. The first was "The King of Kings.' Lots of people didn't even start for the theater until ten o'clock, under the impression that, by waiting, they would escape the welcoming crowds, the speeches, and possibly the prologue, but they were wrong. A seething mass of people filled the streets around the theater
Over the
Fanny the Fan rails against the evils as to what roles' should be given Hollywood ofif on trains, and hob
By The
from about seven o'clock until two the next morning, when the audience drifted out. There weren't enough policemen and boy scouts in Hollywood to control the crowd so they plunged right out into the street, leaving barely enough room for one car at a time to pass through.
"And it wasn't a nice, orderly crowd at all — they came to jeer rather than to applaud. They climbed onto the running boards of cars and yelled at the people inside, making one feel a little like deposed royalty on the way to execution. Really, I expected a brick to be thrown at any minute. It was just a curious, noisy mob, few of whom recognized even the most distinguished players. 'What's your name, little girl ?' they hollered at any one who looked like a celebrit}^ And instead of being properly thrilled at getting a good look at Gloria Swanson, two men got into a fist fight arguing over whether her car was a Rolls or a Hispano-Suiza.
"But after all I myself suffered, I had little sympathy left for any one else. Just because I was riding in a swell car, the crowd figured that there must be a well-known star concealed 't^fy in it somewhere and they nearly broke
down the running boards clambering on them.
"The prize experience of the evening, though, was Elza Schallert's. Some one in the crowd announced that she was Aimee Semple McPherson, and she was all but torn limb from limb.
"Of course, the audience at that opening read in the papers next day like a complete Who's Who of the movies. But you really can't tell what a picture is all about when the struggle to get in and out of the theater is so terrific. I am going to see 'The King of Kings' again when I am in a better state of mind.
Carmel Myers gave up a film engagement in Germany to ploy in Herbert Brenon 's production of "Sorrell and Son."