Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

12 at her desk, and female nurses screamed with , her. "Stand wlicre you are!" commanded' Colonel Scully sternly above (he din. "Don't move, any of you !" Mason and Johnson, who had been stunned , by the explosion, were dragged downstairs by plain-clothes men, and Ted and John followed ■ with Carter, a considerably damaged captive, between them. "See that these gentlemen are well taken ^ care of," said John to the colonel. "There's more evidence than we need in the lab. I've . been trying to hold against them, and all the names and addresses are in Carter'.? desk." Mason broke away from the man who held him and tried to reach an open window, but he was knocked down by another plain-clothes , man, who handcuffed him before he could rise. A door ■(vas opened aoross the hall, and Eleanor came flj'ing out at it, past a Federal man who had overpowered Mason. "John! John!" she cried. "Everything's all right," John assured her,' taking her into his arms. "You're not wounded?" She was alarmed by his dishevelled appear-^ ance and the stains of chemicals upon his clothes. "Not a scratch." He turned to Carter with a mocking smile. "Thank you, doctor." he' said, "for effecting my euro so quickly." One of the men who had been pretending to work in the telephone manhole came breath- lessly into the hall from the street, and he had Madelon Martin by an arm in a grip that' bruised her soft flesh. He propelled her relentlessly over to Colonel Scully, and he said triumphantly: "Here's the Martin woman, colonel." The elderly operative who had been playing ' the part of mother to John and Eleanor sailed up to the beautiful spy, gazed at her reproachfully, and said ; "You never returned that c\ipful of sugar." By permission of Columbia Pictures Cor- poration, Ltd., adapted from the film, " Smashing the Spy Ring," the principal players in the film being: Ralph Bellamy as John Baxter Fay Wray as Eleanor Dunlap Regis Toomey as Ted Hall Walter Kingsford as Dr. L. B. Carter Ann Doran as Madelon Martin Warren Hull as Phil Dunlap Forbes Murray as Colonel Scully Lorna Gray as Miss Loring Paul Whitney as Mason John Tyrrell as Johnson May Wallace as Mrs. Baxter 2 GRAND NUMBERS oF BOY'S CINEMA STEAMBOAT BILL (No. 703) V\'hen the old river-boat, Roarin' Jennie, chugsed its way down the .Sacra- mento, it was a signal for excitement and strange happenings. But Steamboat Bill, the two-gun skipper, his gims loaded and his faithful rrcw of three all primed for action, was ready to meet and beat all comers. PRIVATE SIMON SIMPLE (No. 704) In search of adven- ture, Simon Simple ' left his old uncle's farm,'"'and, more by luck than influence, , found himself a soldier. Then the fun ' started in real earnest, witli a certain Inillying sergeant-major getting it badh' in the lu'ck from the simple soldier, ^'ou're in for the laugh of a lifetime when j'ou read this yarn Obtainable at all Newsageiii.'i Thursday, January /\tk. 4 id FILMLAND'S STRANGEST ORGANISATION 2 each EVERY STORY BOOK-LENCTH Jiuuiary 0th, iy4U. One of the biggest laughs in a plaj' about Hollywood a few years ago was a line: "Our property department can do anything." A rather extravagant claim, to be sure. But at Paramount there is a department w"hich practically achieves that. It is the Operations Desk. Problems arc its meat; and since it started functioning several years ago as the strangest department ever organised, it has handled thousands of them, ranging from quelling a forest fire to helping Charlie Ruggles win a treasure himt and finding a "best man " by long-distance to stand up with an eloping film couple in Las Vegas, Nevada. It is their boast they have never been slumped. \A'hen William A. Wellman, producer- director of "The Light That Failed," pre- pared to take his troupe on location at Santa Fe, New Mexico, he wanted to keep in touch with his wife, who was expecting a happy event. He called Operations. The.v set up a sub-station to their teletype machine at her bedside, and the Wellnians were able to ex- change messages freely at any moment of the day or night. Operations' experience in forest fire-fight- ing occurred about a year ago when the flames over Santa Monica threatened scores of large estates. They got the call one dull Sunday morning, and two hours later 300 husky labourers, fully equipped, had been loaded into lorries and were on their way to the scene. Charlie Ruggles gave them his novel problem a few weeks ago, one Saturday night. "Maybe you'll think I'm crazy," he said, "but I've got a list of things to find in a treasure hunt, and I'm going to be in a bad way if I can't do it." He needed an old-fashioned shaving-mug, a motor-horn of the 1911 vintage and a wooden Indian. Operations had them up to him before the hour was out. The department has one of the most valuable and compact short-wave portable equipments owned by a private concern, for which it has a variety of uses. Recently, when "Rulers of the Sea." star- ring Fairbanks, Jnr., Margaret Lockwood and Will Fyffe, was out at sea off San Migiial Island in an old-time square-rigged packet the radio system enabled tli<- tuiit and the studio to be in intimate touch throughout. Thus, when the company needed 50,000 feet of another type of film to suit a sudden change in shooting lotiditions, when it ran short of food, re- quired some special medications, Operations was i mined lately on the job. The office is ready for any emergency. Suppose, for instance, the studio unit recently on location at Big Bear filming "Untamed." with Ray ]\Iilland and Patricia !^forisoll. had a change of weather, or for some other reason faced the prospect of not being able to con- tinue shooting the next day. Let us assume it is Sunday afternoon. The unit manager would call Operations. That is all he would have to do. It would be "the desk's " job to see (hat the company was brought safely down from Big Bear and that an " inside " setting was in readiness to resume production without the loss of a shooting day. It is a lot more complicated than it sounds. The particular setting may not even have been designed. But Operations would get bii.sy. Rousing the artiste out of bed. if neces- sary, it gets him to give tliem a rough sketcli. It calls carpenters, painters, grips. el(>ctrieians. set-dressers, j)roperty men. and while cars and another fleet of lorries are whizzing to the location to get the players and staff and the equipment, the stage is being set for them, whether it is a scene of primitive winter in the great northwest or the ultra-modern doctor's office on Park Avenue required by the script. That is the big job of Operations—organis- ing. It is a l)ottle-neck through which every studio problem of a physical nature, routine or eiuergency, has to i)ass. When a call conies through it is answered Every Tuesday by one of ten young men sitting in a largo office somewhat comparable with the editorial room of a newspapei'. These men have a better general knowledge of the studio as a whole than anyone el.se. They aie specially trained, being shifted from one department to another, for a matter of years, before they aro put on an Operations phone. ^Vhile most of their assignments aie of a routine nature, the job is always interesting, and, like a reporter's, any moment may put them in a box .seat at an event tensely exciting or a story trembling with human interest. ISIagicr That's exactly the word. Mho woitld want Aladdin's lamp when he had a coin to dial Paramount's Operations Desk ? FILM STUDIOS " SWOP " NOW The British film industry has been accused before now of a lack of co-operation between studios. It may be that the war (and with it the threat of extinction of the industr\) has brought the studios together—or it may be that the accusation never was justified. Be that as it may. a striking instance of friendly co- operation between rival studios—in this case, Ealing and Gainsborough—has just come to light. Producer jNfichael Balcon had made arrange- ments to release director Walter Forde to direct "Charley's Aunt" for Gainsborough. Then a switch over of dates brought about the production at Ealing—within the same time— of a new George Foriuby comedy, "Let George Do It." Anthony Kinnnins, who previously directed the Ijancashire comedian's successes, is now in the Navy, and comedy directors are hard to find. Balcon confided his troubles to producer Maurice Ostrer of Gainsborough, saying that he now wished he had never promised him the services of Walter Forde. Producer Ostrer saved the situation by offering Balcon the services of Gainsborough's ace comedy director, Marcel Variiel. George Formby agreed, and so it is that the Ealing and Gains- borough comedy directors are working in what might be termed "enemy camps." They're both enjoying the swop immensely. THE STRAIN OF PLAYING "THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME " Charles Laughton, coarse strands of hair falling over his wild, distorted face, is revolv- ing above the heads of a jeering mob and call- ing for " water, water " in an anguisfied croak. As the Hiuichback of Notre Dame in RKO Radio's adaptatioi} of Victor Hugo's classic, ho is at work before the cameras. And hard work it is, too. as he plays this scene on a spectacular outdoor set of medieval Paris, erected at the RKO Radio ranch in the San Fernando Valley. It is near noon and the blazing Californian sun has shot the thermometer to 98 degrees. The hunchback is being tortured. He has been beaten with whips, and is now strapped in a kneeling position on a wooden disc on a pole which is slowly being turned round and round. The king's soldiers and spearmen stand round the platform holding back tlie baying crowd of sadists who jeer at the hunch- back, throwing missiles at him. "U'ater," he croaks. "Water." A spearman slaps him across the face with a dirty wet rag. "There's your water," he cries. The <rowd shrieks appreciation of the jest. Director William Dieliule ends the scene. Attendants siu-ing forward to loosen Laugh- ton's bonds. The thermometer is now at 99 degrees. Laughton flexes his arms, shakes his shoulders. He glances down from the plat- form and catches Dieterle's eye. The director is persijiring. "What's the matter?" asks Ijsughton. "You look hot. Now that I'm out of that jiosiiion 1 think it's a cool day." Dieterle silently unhooks the thermometer from its holding. He extends it for Laughton to look at. Tlie Hunchback of Notre Damo makes a sudden rush for the shade.