Modern Screen (Dec 1938 - Nov 1939 (assorted issues))

MODERN SCREEN THE NEW WAY IN FEMININE -'HYGIENE t^ONITORS kill germs at contact by releasing the same germ-killing element that makes liquid Zonite so effective. V ZONITORS are greaseless! No oil or fat! Not only odorless — but actually deodorizing! %/zONITORS are mild and safe — free from all harmful or irritating drugs. t/zONITORS are dainty, snowwhite, and easy to use! No mix 1 ing — no fussing — no bother. FOR YOUR DOUCHE:— Two tablespoons of Zonite to each quart $' FOR 12 of water provides thorough anti INDIVIDUAL septic cleansing and deodorizing. CLASS VIALS FREE booklet in plain envelope on request. Dept. 3829, Zonite Products Corp., 3402 Chrysler Building, New York City. for FEMININE HYGIENE TOOTH PASTE TRADE MARK REG. USfff^J^CFf. Buy a large tube at 5& lOc stores 10* ROCHELLE HUDSON, Columbia P/c(ur« PUyer Fe.lured in "MISSING DAUGHTERS" IT'S EASY To MAKE *-OVELY CURls WITH Solo I Solo curlers RED TOP CURLER-54 EACH • EASY TO USE— TANGLEPROOF ' Recommended by Beauty Experts AT 5i AND I O { STORES 86 He imagines himself as the screen hero. He forgets his surroundings and pictures himself as a gallant knight living several centuries ago. Instead of a poor laborer earning fifteen dollars a week, he becomes a millionaire with countless servants to wait upon him. The old scrub-woman sees herself portrayed as a beautiful, young, society girl. Her chapped, rough hands become soft and white, and her shabby clothes change to furs and clinging gowns. ■The little boot-black with his thin body and patched clothes finds warmth and comfort. His eyes are bright with admiration as he sees Emile Zola or Louis Pasteur portrayed on the screen. Perhaps, this will give him courage and inspiration. The picture is over. The laborer, the scrub-woman and the little boot-black leave the theatre. Reality has returned. The peddlers sell their wares and the stale odor of garbage fills the v/arm, summer air, but these three are happy. They escaped from life, if only for a brief moment ! — B. Hochstadt, Brooklyn, N. Y. SHE COULDN'T AFFORD A DATE (Continued from page 27) know how much pinching and scraping goes into that Sunday best. Believe me, I know." She smiled reminiscently. "See these," she held out her hand for me to examine the fingernails. They were nails that didn't look as if they belonged to a movie star. Here were no long, pointed claws. Here were just normal nails covering the tips of nice shaped fingers, used to working. They were neatly, evenly polished, these nails, and not too red. "I manicure them myself," said Claudette Colbert. "What, you !" "Yes, me. You see, when I was broke, I had to do it. And I got so in the habit that now I can't bear to have anyone touch my fingers." We were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was the maid carrying a tray crowded with tea things. "Right here, please," directed Colbert, pointing to the low table in front of the sofa. WITHOUT the slightest trace of formality, she was on her knees, pouring tea, carelessly shoving plates around, childishly stuffing a piece of sponge cake into her mouth and making an awful face after she had tasted it. She was acting all over the place, and she was doing this to be kind, to show me she was regular and to make me feel at home. This was her dressing-room at the studio, a room with a homey look, a room that didn't appear too new, a room giving the effect of sunshine although little sun entered, of gay drapes and upholstery and maple and a certain youthful daintiness, a room like the Claudette of pictures, Claudette of the heart-shaped face. She's not like that. She has re-decorated her home for the third time. And her face is not so heart shaped. And her manner not so girlish. Instead, there is something surer about her, something sturdy. She knows what she wants. She gets what she wants. She has a strength and a poise and a will of , her own. You feel it, every minute. Her laugh is deep and hearty and always ready, a shade too ready. It is a spotlight, vacuum cleaner kind of laugh, picking up everything and seemingly glad to turn on herself. "I know I'm difficult copy," she remarked. I tried to analyze why she is difficult copy. She isn't like a blank wall star, the kind who never speaks unless you dig for the words. No, Claudette Colbert rattles on and on. She dominates and steers the works. I have only seen this conversational competence, this deliberate willingness-to-talk in one other person . . . Grace Moore. Yet, nearly everything she said,, when analyzed, was nothing, was the talk of a clever woman, chatter, chatter, in and out, swiftly, smartly skirting danger signals. So it got to be small talk. Talk about shoes. "I always wear opera pumps. It makes a woman's foot look prettier. And I've suddenly acquired — growing of the feet ! I've gone from Triple A to Double A and I see in the future just a plain ordinary — A !" Talk about cigarettes. She smokes the nicotineless kind. Talk about hair. Hers is lighter than you'd expect. She wears it short with the bang curly, and it's soft like Shirley Temple's. Talk as mixed as a salad. Her house is being fumigated against termites. Her sinus is totally cured. A lunatic wrote threatening letters and how wonderful she thinks the G-men are. And, suddenly, excited talk about the picture, just completed. "Ben Hecht wrote it. He's called it 'It's a Wonderful World.' When he was asked why, he said because most people are worried to death nowadays. When they discover a title like that shining at them, 'It's a Wonderful World,' they'll want to go right in and see it. Maybe he's right." She is thrilled about this picture because she worked with Director Woody Van Dyke. "His technique is unique. Imagine, we finished in fifteen days instead of the customary eight or nine weeks. Why, it usually takes me fifteen days to powder my nose." Claudette laughed. "We went right through that picture, all one takes. That's his method. Then he previews it, sees what's wrong, and goes to it with re-takes. It's a marvelous, exhilarating method, perhaps, the method of the future." She talked about the theatre, and she talked as someone talks who loves the theatre. She knew all the old plays. She has great faith in good dialogue. T OOK at 'It Happened One Night.' That was all in the dialogue. Why, we did it again on the air, only the other evening, and it still sounded swell." Another knock on the door, this time a young man to get her to choose a still from "Zaza." "It's to be given to a perfume manufacturer because he makes my favorite kind." When I left her she stood in the doorway in her print dress, green and garnet colored, a large pin looking like a garnet colored starfish at he* throat, a garnet colored coat on the chair behind her, while outside, a patient chauffeur sitting at the wheel of a limousine. There she stood, Claudette Colbert, with all the accessories, all the trimmings, far, far away from the girl with five dollars, the girl who couldn't afford a date. And not really far away at all, because she still remembers and understands and is very grateful. She hasn't forgotten how to put herself in your place, and so, you like her a lot.