Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Jul 1929)

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32 It Pays to Be The peppy girls, with all their advertised sex-appeal, type, whose successful mar Adele You wouldn't associate her with "It." Not in a hundred years. That word suggests flamboyance now, whether Elinor Glyn originally meant it to or not. Florence Vidor walks with dignity and a gracious mien. Her clothes are exquisitely simple. She wears only a few jewels, but they are rare. Every man we know who has returned from Hollywood has mentioned her often, admiration marking his words. Now Miss Vidor is married to Jascha Heifetz, the virtuoso of the violin — Heifetz, who might have chosen his wife from the loveliest women of all the capitals of the world. Then there's Corinne Griffith. As Mrs. Walter Morosco, she bears a name traditional in the theater. There's the Morosco Theater in New York, and there's young Walter, her husband, now an The conservative Irene Rich is the wife of a millionaire. Photo by Ball Alice Joyce lives fully, without the transient fads of behaviorism. IT isn't difficult to name the girls in the movies who are commonly supposed to have the greatest amount of "It." Every week or two one of them is certain to be reported engaged to a different man. They are very young, for the most part, and full of pep. They know the latest steps of the latest dances. They know the gentlemen of the batons in every road house within motoring distance of their adopted City of the Angels. They dance until dawn on rhinestoned heels. They wrap their little, round bodies in great coonskins, and sing lustily from rumble seats of speeding roadsters. They're snappy numbers. They are the type Dame Glyn stressed as having that quality that makes a woman's world spin around. Sex appeal. To put it more delicately, "It." They're attractive. No doubt about that, even if you're faithful to conservative standards, and don't approve of half they do, or one tenth of all they say. However, in our opinion, these girls are, on the whole, overadvertised, while others on the screen roster, well Take Florence Vidor, for instance. eminent producer himself. Like Florence Vidor, Corinne has always lived her own life, out of the photographers' and reporters' range. She has a reserve which the undiscerning might mistake for lack of warmth. But those who know Corinne Griffith Morosco would smile at the very thought of such a thing. They have seen her presiding over her candle-lit dinner table — planting bulbs in a sunny garden — tramping with her dogs — hotly partisan whenever a vital issue is at stake. They know, too, the southern warmth of her voice. After all, isn't it only logical to suppose that it is the woman capable of the greatest emotion who has the greatest need of a cloak of reserve ? Alice Joyce is an especially good example of all we mean. Certainly she hasn't retained her place on the screen through years of retirement, and more than her share of poor roles, because the public isn't aware of the capacity for feeling and emotion that lies behind her perfect poise.