Talking Screen (Sep-Oct 1930)

Maurice Chevalier On Love It is an error to believe that the Lothario, the butterfly type of man, is the best lover. He is simply a dilettante at love. He plays at it. The real lovers are those whose passion burns so deeply that there is room for only one sweetheart. Incidentally, strange though it may reem, Casanova, himself, although a man of many loves, gave himself and his substance wholly to each of his ladies in succession. He was the exception, perhaps. That is why his name has lived. Time after time he tossed his fortunes ' to the winds, all his opportunities, his life itself, just for a kiss. AS TO loyalty, I think the sexes equal. One is no more frail than the other. Nor is one more susceptible than the other to sex charms. I think men are more frank, less pretentious. Women because of their inferior strength through the centuries have been forced to develop a certain wily diplomacy which makes them say things with their lips which they do not believe in their hearts. I do not think women are especially impressed by the courtier type of fellow, who bows too low and kisses hands at the slightest provocation. You see, it hasn't been more than five minutes ago as world's known history goes, that we were winning our brides with clubs. Despite all the veneer, a good deal of that remains in men and women too. Men are the hunters — or at least, thinking they are, they go through all the motions. And women rather like the cave IConlinued from page 20] man business. The big, strong, he-man hunter. It is a sort of game, and each must play the role for which Nature cast him. There is a man for every girl — and a girl for every man. When these two — who fit perfectly into one another's scheme of things — meet, love and marry, the union is sure to be a lasting joy to nature. And sure to bring supreme happiness to both individuals. That is all that matters. Nature, in her way, wishes us happiness. Sometimes she bungles. Sometimes we do. And then it is just too bad. Understanding is the great thing. Men and girls may like for a time to play with a puzzle; something that they cannot understand— cannot get close to. But in a short time this becomes very wearying. Try it and see. Have you ever tried to talk with anyone who just didn't get what you were talking about? It is a terrible bore, is it not so.-' Well, it is so in love to a superlative degree. And, by the way, conversation that is mutually interesting leads to love and marriage far more frequently than you may think. If a couple can be happy in the companionship and conversation of one another, it is a good sign that love is just around the corner. In fact, if they find things to say over a reasonable period of time, eventually the words love and marriage will enter the conversation. AT WHAT age should one embark upon XJL matrimony? Well, for a man surely not until he has acquired sufficient foothold to provide for a wife. And in this age of fierce economic struggle that is seldom before thirty. Although, of course, there are exceptions. As to the girl — her heart must tell her. Though it is well for her to think of that tomorrow when a diet of cheese and kisses will prove somewhat palling. There is a fairly safe rule regarding the age of matrimony. And it would help everyone were it as firmly established here as it is in my country. A man should marry a girl one half his own age plus seven years. It has been practiced in France for years with extremely happy results. Try it at any age and it works out well. The man of thirty weds a girl fifteen years of age plus seven more — total twenty-two. At forty, his bride's age should be twentyseven. It is a good rule. Apply it to your happiest friends and you will see that they have, consciously or unconsciously, adhered to it. Love and sex should not be problems. After all, there are other things in the world which engross the attention. It seems to me that a girl or a young man should go along living life and getting from it all that is offered. When the time arrives, along comes love — and voila! — there you are! Like the watched pot that never boils, too great dwelling, too great attention to so-called love problems tend to stale the subject and to drive Cupid elsewhere to practice his archei7. These are my ideas. But perhaps they are all wrong. For, you see, after all I am married, and not a ladies' man. Good Girl "Then," I began hopefully, "do you think pretty soon you'll be playing sophisticated parts like Lil Tashman and Kay Francis?" "No," said Mary decidedly, "I used to yearn for them when I'd get fed up on gaga ingenue parts and especially after reading all those interviews about how sweet and innocent I was. But — wait a minute." SHE disappeared into the next room and a few minutes later she came back in a slinky, black velvet gown with a long train and her hair drawn back and earrings like — like — well, it's a cinch nobody could ever bite her ears when she had those on. "With a map — or do you say 'pan' now.' — like I've got," she explained, "thefe's no use in my trying to go vampish. You see," giving the train a healthy kick, "from this side my nose turns up and from this side my dimple shows. Anyhow, if I tried to vamp a fellow I'd start laughing and if they were foolish enough to shoot the scene everybody who saw it would laugh at me. So I guess all I'm good for is the girl they come back to in the end." "Baby," says I, "if you ever looked at me like that — and meant it — there'd be no coming back. I'd never leave you." "Looked at you like what?" says Mary innocently, turning the full power of those {^Continued from page 21} ultra violet ray eyes on me. "Glug, glug," I responded, as I promptly took the count. HEN I came to, instead of finding my head in Mary's lap, I found the room full of people: Neil Hamilton and his wife, Elsa, Jack Oakie, Phillips Holmes. Somebody had pushed me over into a corner to get me out of the way and Mary was dishing up tea and cake. A martyr always to the cause of a good interview, I passed up the tea and cake and feigned unconsciousness in the hope of getting some news. "Look here, Mary," Jack was saying, or attempting to with a mouthful of cake, "'you"re stealing my stuff and you gotta stop." "Mary," I interrupted, "have you ever been in love? " "Oh," Mary screamed between bursts of laughter, "it's only four o'clock in the afternoon and that's too early to start on that." ""Don't laugh," I begged, "this is serious." HEN she regained control of herself she looked at me solemnly, although there was still a twinkle in her eyes. "No," she replied, "I haven't. A couple of times I've come pretty close but never quite — not quite all the way, anyhow. I've never fought against it, either. Maybe that^s why I haven't fallen. If I met anyone who could make me think of love as anything but a huge joke, I think I'd rather like.it. But I just never have." " But, gee whiz,"" I protested, "you're an attractive girl. It's only natural that fellows should fall in love witli you. You shouldn't laugh at 'em for that. You should compliment them on their taste." "No," Mary argued. ""It spoils everything. I try to kid them out of it but if they persist, I just say, "Well, if you're going to feel that way, I'm sorry but I can't see you any more.' " 1ISTEN, Mai7," I begged, "if I promised ^ not to play handball with you or look like a minister or — or — do you think there'd be any chance — that you — er — " Mary leaned very close and the scent of tlie gardenias was as overpowering as knockout drops and the light of those thousand candle power eyes was as dazzling as the noonday sun. "No," said Mary softly. When I came to I was quite, quite alone and it was black night all around me. And a month later everything is still black, black, BLACK, for I haven't seen Mary since. 75