Hollywood (Jan - Oct 1934)

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A/It :flMiHHHHH|HA NHS* — Frculicli Douglass Montgomery, who scored a hit in Eight Girls in a Boat and is now filming Little Man, What Now? has an infinite capacity for living — a talent that all Hollywood envies The Late Robert Ames, himself a Thespian of some note, once declared that all actors are crazy. That may be a little exaggerated, but believe you me in my time I've known some funny ones. These have ranged from downright bugs to simply vague, from riotous to all but unconscious. There is one, however, whose odd actions stem from that delightful indifference to results which the late Lilyan Tashman, using it as a term of admiration, called "mad." He is that blond fellow (real name, Robert Montgomery!) whom you once knew as Kent Douglass, and who recently has returned to you under the moniker he made so well-known es Nuts.. Douglass Montgomery may prove that all actors are crazy . . . but you'll agree it's a most appealing "divine insanity of genius" by CHARLES GRAYSON on the stage, Douglass Montgomery. He is now appearing in Universal's Little Man, What Now? with Margaret Sullavan. Like most of Doug's friends, I am sure he is a little nuts. And like the rest of them, I am not sure that I am not a bit envious of him. For if there is anyone screwy or sane who has a better time than does he in this erstwhile vale of tears, I have yet to meet him, her, or it. He has, without question, a mighty lot of what editorial writers call a Capacity for Living. I have seen him in all the situations which ordinarily distress the rest of us: ill, in love, contract trouble, financial pinches, jail and bum parties. And in all of them his never failing "madness," his screwy reactions, have turned the menace into a gag. Few knew, for instance, that he worked all through those storm scenes of A House Divided — his last film before his recent return to pictures — with a sprained ankle and incipient pneumonia. Rather than hold up the picture, however, he used his disabilities as a good excuse to stay pleasantly and necessarily mellow all through the closing scenes of the production. And in them he did his best work. One night, bored with a party, we started for Agua Caliente. It was raining fiercely and near Long Beach the car slipped off the highway. We were mired to the hubcaps. Dressed in a white suit, Doug got out in the road and waved his arms until a truck stopped. "What's a idea?" the driver demanded angrily. "What's a matter with ya, anyway?" "Just wanted your autograph," Doug said blithely, "but I changed my mind. Drive on, you humorless mug." Charlie Bayly, the playwright, lives in Long Beach. At last we reached his home, soaked. We all were cold and miserable and glum, soi Doug, between sneezes from a terrific cold, set out to lift our spirits. He borrowed a mandarin robe, painted himself up with picture-frame gilt, and gave us imitations of Mei Lang Fang until the rain stopped. That is how the legend started that he gilds his toenails. Please turn to ltaire fifty 40 HOLLYWOOD