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

MODERN SCREEN tually got it though, and when the picture was completed, he had done an excellent job and we were fast friends. He's so handsome and very sweet. Yes," she reminisced, "if I'm a nice lady, Randy's a nice gentleman." When "Roberta" was finished, Irene Dunne decided to build a home in Hollywood. Before that she felt that any possessions anywhere would tie her down and, while she doesn't get the wanderlust often, when she does, she likes to pick up and go places and see things. The house, she claims, is quite small, but it has a secret stairway leading to her upstairs sitting-room. A panel conceals it from view and you've gotta know the ropes — or the panel — in order to make the grade upstairs. Sounds mysterious and early Tudor — eh, wot? "I adore comfortable surroundings because I'm home so much. Maybe that, too, accounts for my lady-like reputation. Once in the traditional blue moon, I attend a night club. That comes in the nature of an event and not a habit. I really should be the answer to a press agent's prayer, for I naturally love books and pictures and playing golf and all the innocent amusements that bore many of the more colorful picture personalities. "I watch my weight, too, and I'll bet you won't get many of them to admit that. Why is it that many women who have divine figures like to pretend that they're God-given? Gosh, I haven't had a potato since I played in 'Cimrneron', my first picture assignment. I have a masseuse, too. She sort of pounds me in a not-too-mild way. Well," Irene remarked resignedly, "it's all in a good cause — my career." And to think we had always heard that Miss Dunne wouldn't talk! Truly, frankness seemed to be the motif of her entire conversation. She had a good one to tell on herself, too, which is the acid test of a sense of humor. Seems as if the Ladies of the Press in New York tendered the Lady of the Screen a luncheon at the very conservative Plaza Hotel. Miss Dunne decided, since it was a gala occasion, to go gay. Going gay for Irene Dunne means ordering lobster. She did. An hour after the shell fish had become a matter of memory, Irene stood up from the table swayed forward and staggered to the door. Her press agent accompanied her. In the waiting taxi, she passed out, but before doing so, had time to gasp, "Don't tell my husband I ate lobster. I promised him I'd never — " The honor-bound p.a. delivered the star into the presence of her anxious husband, who wanted to know what had gone on, where they had been, what they had eaten and all the harrowing details that led up to the pass-out. "All she's had," valiantly fibbed the press agent, "was a little lamb stew at the Hotel Plaza." Dr. Griffin looked skeptical, to put it mildly. "It's a heck of a place to order lamb stew," he commented. Whereupon his wife opened her lovely eyes and said, "It was such an elegant lobster, while it was going down." Huh, who said that there is honor among stars! Anna-hoo, the story proves at least a couple of things. One, Irene cannot indulge in lobster and, two, she stands a little in awe of her husband who says, "No lobster — but ever!" Irene plans to stay in pictures as long as the fans want her and, from her recent succession of successes, it looks as if she is to be with us for some time. She has been in the movies for five years and during that time has had five major hits with several minor ones scattered pleasantly among them. After the screen, she can always return to the musical comedy stage and light opera, where she was very much at home until the Celluloid City beckoned her. She would rather act than do almost anything else except sing and she is truly fortunate in having an individual type of cameo-like beauty to offset her natural talents. Her large film audience consists chiefly of men who set her up as an ideal. As one man recently explained, "Her appeal is provocative, yet definitely lady-like. There is nothing 'hotcha' nor sex-appealish in the Dunne make-up, which is a rare relief in these days of artificial beauties." Miss Dunne is clothes crazy, but wouldn't be caught admitting it. Everything she wears looks as if it were casually purchased and more casually worn, but, believe us, there is plenty of time and thought put into each garment and accessory. She goes in for dark colors and conservative lines, which is a reason for her ultra-smart appearance at all times. When she appears on the radio, she turns the extra money over to charity, though no one hears about it. She takes herself lightly and her work seriously. She is pleasant to everyone and if she encounters a bore, she may make a mental note never to see him again, but while he is in her company, he is treated with the utmost courtesy. Irene's life is well ordered. Nothing is hit or miss, haphazard nor nonchalant. While her work may not be inspired, it is always thoroughly and very competently done. She is known as "even box office" among exhibitors, which means that, while she may not actually bring people into the theater, once in they are so completely pleased that she has collected them for her fan following. But is she a lady? We think so! Career girl in the Howie* fells how Lux helped her twin success... Watch this rising young star! "Modeling in New York, I had to look immaculate always — stockings flawless — ready for a picture at a moment's notice. Lux was my stand-by. "In Hollywood, on a beginner's salary, I had to save. Luxingmy stockings, undies — dresses, too — was my pet economy. They stayed lovely longer. "Featured in rElsa Maxwell's Hotel for Women,' I found that 20th CenturyFox uses Lux to keep all washables in condition — 'a big economy,' they say!" September 1939 V£l IB HOLLYWOOD SAYS: Don't" trust to luck . -irustto Lux DAINTY GIRLS everywhere keep dresses and lingerie new-looking longer — cut down stocking runs with Lux. A little Lux goes so far — it's thrifty! Lux has no harmful alkali — eliminates cake-soap rubbing. Safe in water, safe in Lux. Buy the thrifty BIG box.