Talking Screen (Sep-Oct 1930)

Behind Her Pretty Face quality of self-reliance which has remained so great a characteristic. And her pugnacity, too, may be traced to that early environment — and the Celtic ancestry which warns the world not to "tread on the tail of me coat." No one does. Not to this day. Ask anyone at Paramount. As she grew, her hair turned from gpld to crimson. She developed tom-boyish freckles — which she still has where they don't show — and rwisted tom-boy fingers resulted from participation in rough-house kid games. But she wasn't all tom-boy. There was a feminme streak that loved hair-ribbons, and made her worry about that snubnose — the one ihey call retrousse now that she's famous. That Irish equivalent — or apology — for a schnozzola annoyed Nancy a lot. She used to clamp it with a clothespin at night, and it's sheer luck that it didn't turn into a nose like Fannie Brice's — before her operation. SO UNTIL she was fourteen Nancy went to school and played hookey and tripped the light fantastic on the sidewalks of New York to the strains of the tune that made Al Smith a Governor — and defeated him for President. She liked to dance. And she liked to sing. Qualities not unusual in a sorrel-topped colleen with a mother from Rgscommon, and a dad from County Claire. But Nancy went a bit further. In the tiny talent which she developed she saw a chance to win her way out of the flat above the butcher shop. Although not even she could guess how far she'd travel from that humble home. It was her ambition, more than a mere girlish lark, that led her to tempt the kid sister, Terry, into a great adventure. Now, in New York, East is East and 'West is West, just as truly as in the sense Kipling suggested. So it was not without a certain trepidation that the little La Hiflf girls invaded the East Side to strive against the local talent for an amateur night prize at one of the Loew theatres. The story goes that suspicions of their "Tent' avenoo" origin were aroused, and that the day was saved by a lad they knew — one Bud Carroll — who adopted them as his sisters. So they went on as "The Carroll Sisters." And — yes — they won the prize ! NANCY was all for continuing "her career." But old Tom La Hiff decided otherwise, so until 1923 the senior member of " The Carroll Sisters" team of song-and-dance girls, attended Holy Trinity School. In that year, however, she and Terry entered the chorus of the Passing Show. Maybe Uncle Billie helped there. He was, and is, quite a boy along Broadway, and now as proprietor of "The Tavern," he's host and confidant to many a celebrity. Nanq' S first part didn't call for great histrionic ability. But soon the sisters did an interpolated specialty dance. And Nancy was elevated to a more important role. As a maner of fact she was elevated to the chandelier — from which she hung in as aesthetic a pose as possible during one of the ensemble scenes. From the chandelier. [Continued from page 33] Nancy descended to earth again. Within a few weeks she was offered the leading pan — and took it. Oddly enough, the hero of the show was none other than that same Jimmy Hall whose face since has become familiar to film fans from Saskatchewan to Singapore. When the play took to the road, there was a family conference as to whether or no Nancy should accompany it. Her mother said no. And it was decided that mother knew best. So the carrot-topped Carroll kid stayed at home on Broadway and signed for the Topics of 1923 In this one she doubled in one of the skits as Madame DuBarry — woman of passion, as she has been nominated in the title of a recent talkie. So passed the year of '23. Engagements in a half dozen musicals followed. But between rehearsals, and openings and closings, Nancy found time to fall in love. Although she freely prophesied that she would be a great star, she didn't propose to permit the struggle toward stellar heights to rob her of the thrills of romance — the joys of domesticity. IT DID seem as though her path of destiny was nicely paved, for no sooner did she marry Jack Kirtland, than he quit his job as a New York Daily News reporter to try his hand in a Hollywood scenario department. Naturally Nancy went along. And naturally Nancy's thoughts turned to the movies, even as yours and mine under similar circufnstances. She found it fairly easy to gain entrance to the Los Angeles stage — for this poor relation of the cinema always finds its cupboard bare of talent. She appeared in several theatres ; most important was her ponrayal of the Francine Larrimore role in the West Coast cast of Chicago. But she found Hollywood to be far more distant from Los Angeles than the map would indicate. And nary a tumble came from within the guarded gates of the studios. Finally, however, perseverance was rewarded, and she got a screen test on the Fox lot. In fact she got nearly a dozen tests and nothing happened. Then she was called for another, and being a bit fed up with the entire proceedings she responded to the call by exclaiming a lady-like equivalent for "nens." Of course, that was the time she got the job. And her first appearance was in Ladies Must Dress, which starred Virginia Valli. Nancy had a minor role. T-IE big break didn't come until Anne Nichols, herself, selected Nancy to portray the Rose in^Abie's Irish Rose. Unlike Fox, Paramount saw the star dust shining in Nancy's Irish eyes, and the long-term contract they gave her is still in force. She has achieved several distinctions since those days. One of them is a little daughter, named Patricia. Another is firm standing in the first ranks of popular picture players. The third is a reputation for being as hot-headed as she is hot-haired. Of the three, this is the only one she denies. Nancy admits that there have been occasional moments when things weren't so quiet on the Western front. There have been foot-stampings and refusals on her part. And it is said that she has even walked off the set — an unforgivable sin except for Nancy, the exception to the rule. But when she son o' sidles up to *you— or Mr. Schulberg — and glances up from under the longest lashes in Hollyu'ood, anyone is bound to believe what she says about not being the least bit temperamental, and that it's all just a horrid misunderstanding. The fact is that Nancy will tolerate no imposition. Sometimes there is a difference of opinion as to the definition of the word. But she can be just as stubborn as she can be sweet. Even in regard to this very story, word came back from Paramount that Nancy wouldn't be interviewed and didn't give a damn about publicity. ' But when you meet her, all that son of thing is forgotten and forgiven. When you look into her eyes 'most everything is. Unlike the orchidaceous Constance Bennett, who recently insisted that her swathings cost a quarter million dollars a year, NanQdeclares an expenditure of $500 sufficient to clothe her pulchritude. She has small use for dress so far as its pretense is concerned, and her clothes are most un-movie-star-like. With the style calling for clinging, floor sweeping skirts for evening wear, Nancy emerges from the exclusive hotel which she patronizes in New York bound for a party and clad in a riotous sport outfit. SHE doesn't like animals. And she doesn't like women. Nor does she fancy very young men. No college heroes for Nancy. She's moody as a conversationalist. Sometimes, when she feels like it, she can and does talk freely and intelligently. More intelligently than nine-tenths of Hollywood. But she's never a "cackling kid." Meaningless chatter is one of her pet obsessions. In some ways she's quite typically New York. She likes an occasional "wild" party. She goes in for Turkish baths. She's strong for ice cream — and chop suey. And, of course, she loves Manhattan. She denies her beauty, and considers any good looks she may possess as pan of her stock-in-trade. Thus she preserves her trim figure, consults her mirror frequently when posing for piaures, and sleeps without a pillow in the firm belief that it is beneficial to her neck lines. She dislikes servants, closed cars and posing in a bathing suit. She still likes to sing, and to have maribou on her boudoir mules, to wear berets and to see piaures starring Greta Garbo. She believes that she will one day be a great dramatic acterss. And the belief is shared at tlie Paramount studios, both East and West. She gave a pretty good demonstration in The Devil's Holiday — and a better one in Laughter. She hates to have anyone say that she is regarded as the successor to Clara Bow's great vogue. But whether or not she likes it — it's true. Moreover, it is easily possible that she will soon become the greatest of all feminine stars in the eyes of the fans — who, after all, are the makers and breakers of Hollywood royalty. 78