Screenland (Nov 1931-Mar 1932)

112 SCREENLAND But the Russians, Scandinavians, Germans usually find it far more difficult, since those languages are so largely produced by chest sounds as distinct from head sounds. It is this chesty, nasal manner of voice projection that spoils so many American voices, and which have startled foreign audiences when issuing from the lips of lovely American maidens. There is no necessity for voices to be flat and monotonous. Voices can acquire personality and charm by a correct understanding and utilization of the throat, the teeth, the lips, the tongue, all of which contribute to tone and enunciation. Some voices have a natural lilt to them, as, for instance, Helen Hayes' voice in the first scenes of "The Sin of Madelon Claudet." Little Janet Gaynor is getting more character into her speaking voice all the time. Of the men on the screen, Conrad Nagel is considered as having the finest, richest voice. Conrad makes many public speeches, too, often being selected by the industry to represent it at big civic banquets, mainly on this account. Anything Conrad says seems twice as interesting because of his rich voice. Lawrence Grant, the Welshman, also has a rich speaking voice. Leslie Howard is regarded as having the best dic tion and nuance of any actor playing lovers' roles. Although Jack Gilbert's original speaking voice on the screen proved so disastrous, all the faults have been corrected now and he should be able to live down "One Glorious Night." Jack's experience is the outstanding example of what a poor screen voice can do to an otherwise fine screen reputation. The Walter Hustons, the James Cagneys, the Clark Gables, the Clive Brooks, and the Doug Fairbanks Juniors, would not have fared anywhere near so well, had not their speaking voices suited their individualities. Ol' Man River's Step-Child Continued from page 89 children, turned on its side and scores were drowned. Irene's father was among the city officials who previously condemned the boat and in the subsequent investigation, honors were heaped on his head. But her mother could not think of the honors ; she could think only of the scores of tots who were drowned. And she hated the rivers and feared more and more the visits of her own two babies to the grandfather who built boats. It was with trembling in her heart that the mother would caution her two children, when the time came for the annual visits with Granddad, not to go too near the river. Like most children, the dare of defying parental wishes dwelt in Irene's heart until one day she and her brother joined a group of their river urchin friends and went swimming in the Ohio. A treacherous undertow swept her beyond her depth and she fought a silent struggle for breath and life, too frightened to scream and too weak to wage a successful battle. A passing fisherman saw her plight and rescued her, a shaking, tearful little girl who vowed never again to disobey her parents and who stared with distended eyes at the water that had nearly ended her stay on earth. She has never overcome the fear that overtook her that day. The occurrence was fifteen years ago but today, when Miss Dunne determines to fight off the phobia and visits the ocean or a pool, her arms and legs become powerless and she is overwhelmed with a desire to get out of the water. When she was about ten years old, Irene visited friends of her grandfather, a family living near Memphis. It was at this time that several river kidnappings had taken place and parents had been warned to keep their children away from the waterfront. The family Irene was visiting owned a motorboat and one day the children slipped aboard to play. In a game of hide-andseek, Irene left the boat and boarded a craft alongside. While she hid beneath a tarpaulin, the boat was mysteriously freed of its moorings and drifted away from the dock. When she finally peered from her hiding place, Irene had floated several hundred yards down the river. Her screams attracted the attention of the other children and they, frightened, ran home and confessed to their parents that Irene had been taken away on a strange boat. Pandemonium followed. The police were informed and the river patrol started in search of the kidnapped child. Within a few minutes most of the city was aware that another girl had been stolen. The police overhauled the runaway boat a few miles below the city and returned craft and girl safely. Of course, the kidnapping theory was laughed at but once again had little Irene discovered a reason He's little, but he can play big scenes. This is Buster Phelps, one of Hollywood's sizeable army of kid stars. to stand in mortal fear of the water. "Despite my fears, rivers and oceans have a strange fascination for me," Miss Dunne says. "I get a tremendous thrill when I go yachting. When I crossed the ocean, I experienced a great kick. But whenever I went to the ship's side and looked down into the water, I almost ran back to the safety of my stateroom." Miss Dunne loves to recall the days of her childhood — the part of her childhood spent on the waterfront. "I can remember some of the river kids I played with," she says. "My two particular chums were Mickey O'Brien and his sister Molly. Mickey had more freckles than any kid I ever saw and his proudest boast was that he could swim the Ohio, which at that point was half a mile wide. Molly was about seven and she could swim like a fish. She had a swimming suit made from a flour sack from which the four corners had been cut, as well as a hole in the top. Through these five openings protruded Mollys' arms, legs and head. When she plunged into the water, the improvised suit held air and she looked for all the world like a balloon with arms and legs ! "One day I took a beautiful new doll to the shanty-boat on which Mickey and Molly lived. Some way, it fell overboard and Molly dived after it without pausing to remove her dress. Her mother was terribly angry and gave her a spanking. I was so sorry that I insisted Molly should keep the doll. 'Because,' I explained, 'it would have drowned if you hadn't rescued it, so now it belongs to you.' Molly's tears dried up immediately and she took motherly possession of the doll. At home, I had to explain I had lost my toy because I dared not confess I had been to the river front." Whatever fear she may have of water, Irene does not lack grit. A recent picture contained a scene in which she was called upon to fall from a yacht into the ocean. The director, who understood her fear, offered to secure a double. "Will a double make the scene realistic?" Miss Dunne asked. "Well, no, not quite," the director admitted. "With a double, it will have to be taken in a long shot, which will not be as effective as a closeup." "Then I'll do it," Irene said. And despite the fact that fear nearly paralyzed her heart, she stood on the yacht's deck and fell backwards into the ocean. The sudden expression of fright that twisted her face was not acting. Irene Dunne was scared ! Expert swimmers may scoff at her fear, but let it be here explained that many humans are possessed of phobias of one sort or another. Some fear high places ; others cannot bear to be locked in a small room or underground tunnel. Miss Dunne's fear of water is as unconquerable as the next woman's hatred of snakes or spiders. But some day, when she has tired of her screen and stage career, she intends to return to the shores of the Mississippi, or else she will live beside the broad Pacific. She will build a home that will face a great body of water and from the safety of her living room, she will gaze and satisfy the haunting fascination that centers in her heart. She will have children of her own, she says, and one of the first things they will learn will be the art of swimming. She will see that a competent instructor attends to this phase of their childhood. "I am not going to have my children afraid of water," she says quietly. "They will love the rivers and oceans."