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On What Does
Depend?
Is it the manly physique, the handsome face or something else that earns the big money?
By
Gladys Hall
COMING out of the preview of "Idiot's Delight" not long ago, a lad and a lass, streamlined, directly in front of us, caught our eye and ear. The lad was a likely looking, wellpackaged gift to womankind. Or so, in my simple fashion, it seemed to me. He was tall. He was dark. He was handsome. He was turned out by an excellent tailor. He had the outboardmotor chest of a football player. Edging around him, profilewise, I was prodded in the eye by an Arrow Collar chin like the prow of a ship. He took a few, staccato, off-to-Buffalo steps, and very good, too, and demanded, self-confidently, "What has Gable got that I haven't got? Tell me that!"
Like the drip-drip-drip of tiny icicles came the girl's voice: "I can't tell you," she said, "I haven't got the heart!"
I took another gander at him. And blinked. And thought, I'd have the heart to tell him but not the ability. I don't know why he hasn't got what Gable has. He has the looks. His teeth are excellent. There's a smart car waiting for him and his gal at the curb. The gal is wearing orchids. He knows how to do things and does them. He's so possessive she'll have black and blue marks before she gets to the car. He'd
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make Cagney look like a polyp. He's got more hair than Taylor. Beery couldn't lick him in any fight, let the script read as it might. His eyes are bigger than Tyrone's. Right now he's looking more wistful than Jimmy Stewart ever did. His shoulders are broader than Flynn's, his smile more expansive than Gable's and — he doesn't mean a thing.
But why? Or why not? On what, for heavens sake, does masculine charm depend? Good looks? But his cup of good looks is pressed down and running over. Physique? Plenty of it. Poor, old over-used "personality"? Probably hot, but why not? Is there no way of isolating the germ? Then and there I decided that the young man might not mean a thing to the girl shrinking on his arm, Gable still in her hair, but he was going to mean something to me. Oh, not what you thmk. I mean, he gave me the idea of playing a questionnaire game called "On What Does Masculine Charm Depend?"
He gave me the idea of taking a few of the most charming he-charmers, pulling them apart, pushing their profiles around, tearing off their wings in an effort to find out what, in so many words, makes them the most sighed-over, lipstick-smeared men in the world. So here goes. If I can't answer my own questions,
Silver Screen