Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Jul 1929)

PNiiHHuiuiuuiinnmininiin" " jgj IS Sublimated pline her feelings and only use them in the roles own loves and griefs for the indefinite future, evolved a philosophy that throws new light on whose emotions once threatened to wreck her. Gebkart come-back — that changing the color of her tresses had refashioned her personality! Is no credit to be given a valiant spirit? I had seen her splendid work in Jack Gilbert's "Four Walls," had heard of the sparkling performance in "Badges," a Fox talkie, "Dream of Love," and other films, and knew that she was enacting a dual role in "The Red Sword," for F. B. O. But the thought that an actress, who hands this or that emotion over the counter to fill the customer's orders, while schooling herself not to sample any, interested me far more than her rebounding career. "We dare not wear ourselves on our 'faces. However small or great our part in the picture parade, we are under survey. Do you ever see angry faces among the gay, bright throng lunching at Montmartre? Do you hear talk of trouble? It is brushed aside, with a humorous comment. Yet, believe me, fear stalks many a brilliant career. "Fear of losing prestige. Fear, from experience, of being misquoted. Fear of having one's slightest action misconstrued. Frankness is regarded as lack of diplomacy. A whisper becomes a rumor. Catastrophes form from a grain of tactlessness. You cannot be yourself completely. It's not only business — it's self-preservation. Circumstances force an actress to become artificial. "And the idea that to portray something you must have experienced it, is nonsense. Acting is an art, a technique, a business. There must be understanding and sympathy— yes, but these are gained by denying one's self emotions, more than from indulging them." This lesson of wearing a good front was impressed early 45 upon Carmel. Having heard that girls were needed as supers for a show in rehearsal at a Los Angeles theater, and paid one dollar an evening, hidden ambition glowed. With three generations of rabbis back of her, the stage was taboo. She was thirteen, gangling, awkward. If she possessed then an adolescent hint of the voluptuous attractiveness that she was to develop later, it must have been inconspicuous: At any rate, she had wits. And nerve never lost anybody anything. Dressed in her best, she met a young man emerging from the stage entrance. He asked, "What do you want, little girl?" Very haughtily she explained. His reply that all the girls needed had been engaged, only momentarily dampened her ardor. That sinking, panicky feeling almost got her, before her will asserted itself. An oration ensued. She could do her hair up and be grown. She could walk through one scene as a child, and return as an old lady. He chuckled, and engaged her. That first triumph has cast strengthening glances over her life ever since. Often in discouragement and trial and loneliness, the idea that she stumbled upon then has forced and broadened her smile. As yet, though, she did not understand that something in herself which swaggered and demanded and obtained. Carmel not only is a girl with brains. She uses them, instead of saving them for a rainy day and finding holes in them when needed. "Producers and the public expect us to be bright and gay and pretty, with none of the troubles that harass other people."— Carmel Myers. Photo by Louise At the time of the Early Griffith Age, along with Bessie Love, Constance Talmadge and that incubator of tiny chicks destined to hatch into fame, she emoted through dozens of old Fine Arts movies. The only difference was that they raced ahead and she lagged behind, her tears drenching the ribbons of all their lory. Every evening, when one director after another had refused her a chance, she would hasten home weeping, "Mother, nobody wants me !" ' Dimly at first, its vagueness gradually assuming definition, an idea struggled. Those girls were different, somehow. You never saw them crying. They laughed and joked. One day, after an acute disappointment, she ran into a dressing room and sobbed. At first they would feed her peanuts to assuage her tears. Every time she opened her mouth to sob convulsively, somebody popped in a peanut. The peanuts were good, but the realization that it was a