Modern Screen (Dec 1935 - Nov 1936)

MODERN SCREEN "SHE HAD THE KIND OF LIPS MEN LIKE TO KISS'^ SAID GARY COOPER Popular male star gives his reasons for choosing the Tangee Girl • We presented cARYCooPER.staroC'Desire", three lovely girls a Paramount Picture, picks the to Gary Cooper most kissable lips in lipstick test. One wore the ordinary lipstick . . . one, no lipstick . . . the third, Tangee. "Her lips look kissable," he said, choosing the Tangee girl, "because they look natural." And other men agree. They don't like to kiss lipstick either, and that's why Tangee is so much in vogue today. Tangee makes your lips glow with natural color, but it avoids "that painted look," because Tangee isn't paint. If you prefer more color for evening, use Tangee Theatrical. TryTangee. In two sizes, 39c and $1.10. Or,for a quick trial, send 10c for the special 4-Piece Miracle Make-Up Set offered below. • BEWARE OF SUBSTITUTES . . . wlien you luy. Don't let some sltarp salts person switch you to an imitation . . . there^s only one Tangee. " ~ n Tl Word's Most famous Lipstick ENDS THAT PAINTED LOOK TAPE DnwnrD '0"'°'i5t''« """sic rHvL rUtlUtn tangee color principle •k 4-PIECE MIRACLE MAKE-UP SET THE GEORGE W. LUFT COMPANY MM36 417 Fifth Avenue, New York City Rush Miracle Make-Up Set of miniature Tangee Lipstick, Rouge Compact, Creme Rouge. Face Powder. I enclose 10(! (stamps or coia) IJfi ia Caaada. Shide □ Flesh □ Rachel □ Light Rachel Name_ Please Print Address^ City_ -State^ {Continued from page 39) written. I can't help that. I will not liave authorized them. And I don't care what they say as long as they don't quote me as saying it. My name will be linked, as it has been, ridiculously, with every feminine letter of the alphabet. I don't give a hang for myself. I do hate to be a source of embarrassment, however unintentional, to any woman. And that's that !" "But your life from now on? Will you talk about that?" "Why not?'' said Clark. "My new freedom will consist in my living as I've always lived — only more so. I never did much partying about. Now I'll do less. I haven't been anywhere since my return from South America. I always have worked all day and gone home at night to read or play bridge. I always went hunting or fishing when I had time off. I always attended the races. I'll do the same now — plus. I HAVE a new clause in my contract which gives me six weeks of every year free for a trip. This year I went to South America. Next, I'll go to China. The year after to India and then to Tibet, Greece, the Isle of Malta and to all of the remote corners of the globe. I'll always fly. That's what I want and that's what I have — now. "And I'll travel alone. Kipling says, doesn't he, that 'He travels fastest who travels alone?' Well, he must have meant me, among others. Alone and by air. The combination should get me places. "I don't even want another man to go with me. Too apt to impose restrictions, and no matter how congenial you may be, there's bound to be a conflict of opinions. "I'm a lone wolf at heart and always have been. My mistakes have all come from disregarding this basic law of my nature. Now I shall observe it. That's all." And I thought again, as he talked, sitting on the edge of a chair too fragile for him, "No one woman could hold this man. He isn't a woman's man at all. He's too charged with a restless, reckless vitality, too untamed of spirit. He's a gypsy. He has a huge impatience of shackles. He has no place — he simply doesn't belong in night clubs, boudoirs, salons. He doesn't care for clothes. He never uses screen make-up — a powder puff is poison to him. He doesn't want possessions. He wouldn't know what to do with luxury. He scorns softness, small talk and coquetry. He laughs, uneasily, in the face of feminine adulation. He is like a bull in the china shop of marriage. He was saying, "I'm living in a hotel in Beverly Hills. I like that, too. I don't want a home. I have no sort of use for a place which binds me with taxes, upkeep and the fetters of possessions. At the hotel I can sleep and eat, come and go, as I please and when I please. I can breakfast at five in the morning if I feel like it — and I often do — and no routine is disturbed. I can't abide routine. It stifles me as physically as a pillow over my face." "So many things money can buy," I suggested. "What?" demanded Clark. "Huge estates, you mean, swimming pools, flocks of cars, interior decorators, parties — the things that belong to the luxury standard? "But I have all those things and no strings to 'em. The world is huge enough to do me for an estate. I can jump a tramp steamer any day without responsibility. I can swim in the seven seas which don't have to be drained, scraped or sterilized. I can only wear one suit at a time, sleep in one bed, read one book and eat one meal. "No, I wouldn't know what to do with vast possessions. But they would know what to do with me. And here's what : They would drive me mad in time. I want to move and keep moving. I want to inherit the earth, not ten fenced acres of it." IS this all you want of life?" I ventured, thinking of all the richness at his very hand, the romance, the proffered hearts of the composite femininity of the world. "What d'you mean, 'all'?" Clark asked, his laugh resounding. "I've just told you I've got the earth and more. I've got my work, too. I like to work. I've done it for so long that it doesn't hold any particular excitement for me, no novelty, but it keeps me moving, gives me an interest. And now, between times, I can go where I please. What more is there to want?" "Well," I said, fascinated by the vision of the thousands of women who have mobbed him for his autograph, a word, a smile, a nod — "well, I mean women. Don't you ever think it might be fun to adventure amorously — just a dash of Casanova, y'know ?" "Gosh, no !" laughed Clark. "I like women, of course. I like companionable women with a sense of humor, women who can laugh with a fellow. I don't know what to do with strange ones who look at me goggle-eyed. They make me feel uncomfortable. They always have. It's not going to be any different now. My new freedom is the freedom of the seas — and no sirens on the rocks, either. "Besides, it's a lot of hooey — women being 'crazy' about a star— whether it's me or the next one. They can't care about me because they don't know the real me, the man behind the star. It doesn't make sense. Every time I appear in public I imagine people are saying 'Oh, so that's Gable, is it?' (which is ridiculous, for Clark is handsomer off the screen than he is on — and "regular"). "Look," said Clark, in the tone of voice one uses to teach a very dumb child a simple lesson, "the day I was leaving South America a crowd came to the airport. How they knew I was leaving, I'll never know. They are more rabid fans down there than they are up here, if possible. I kept as much to myself as I could and as I was waiting to take off, I found myself standing next to a nice looking girl of about twenty. She looked sensible and she was staring at me. I said to her, on an impulse, 'Look here, what made you come down here to see me?' And she answered, 'Curiosity.' She spoke the truth and I liked her for her honesty. Curiosity — that's the answer. But I'm not a curiosity, I'm just a man like any other and all I ask is to live my life in comfort and freedom." I recalled the very first interview I ever did with Clark. It was right after M-G-M realized what manner of star they had "in the bag." I remember saying, "How will you feel if at the end of the year you find yourself in the spot Valentino once occupied — when women literally tear the clothes off your back?" And Clark answered, an honestly naive horror 80