Modern Screen (Dec 1931 - Nov 1932 (assorted issues))

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She changed her name to the one she now uses, and went out on her own hook. M-G-M wanted some dancers for a chorus sequence. Ann tried out, got thrown out of the line, wormed her way back in, got thrown out again, got back in, and finally landed a chorus job that lasted three months. Ann didn't want success as an actress. It didn't interest her. When musical pictures went out, and the hundreds of pretty dancing girls were discharged, Ann was the only one the studio kept. They had discovered that she taught dancing better than she did it. She taught Joan Crawford the dance Joan did in "Dance, Fools, Dance." She taught a girl a Spanish dance in a foreign version which Ramon Novarro directed, speaking French entirely because the girl knew no English, and to this day Ramon doesn't know that Ann is American. Already, although she didn't know it, the studios were beginning to guide Ann into their own channels. Fate had stepped in. A few months earlier, reporting for chorus work the first time, she wore no rouge, no powder, and her rehearsal costume was so ridiculous the director laughed and asked her what on earth it was. A modest little girl, Ann didn't want to show her legs. The other girls had on scanty, skin-tight trunks. Ann's dress had a long skirt. . . . But that was past. Against her will — very much against her will — she was conforming to the pattern of the studio. She commenced to use make-up. Instantly it brought out what her plainness had concealed before. She was a real beauty. OUT she wanted to be a writer. With " a studio job, offering her contact with actors and actresses, she chose for her friends the writers and musicians on the lot. They used several of her ideas. Emboldened, she tried once more to break away from the movies. She collaborated on a revue to go on the stage of a downtown Los Angeles theatre, writing words and music to several numbers. One of her songs, called "Go Tell the Devil," she designed costumes and stage-sets for. Something went wrong, and the idea blew up. She was barely sixteen. "I couldn't get anyone to take my lyrics. I couldn't get a break on my songs. I wrote verse, and sold some of it to Cosmopolitan Magazine, but that wasn't enough to keep me in bread and butter." She had to make a living, and the studios could give her one. So she went to them. Her new-found, fresh young beauty had not gone unnoticed. Two directors insisted that she make screen tests for them. She obeyed, but her heart was not in it. "I didn't think I'd photograph well, in the first place. I'm not goodlooking enough, I said to myself ; and anyway I'm young and self-conscious. I'm no actress." The tests were poor. The directors let her alone for a while. Again her youth conspired to keep Ann in the studios. Every time she reverted to her first ambition and tried to get a newspaper job, the editors said the same thing: "Two young!" When she attempted to write and sell short stories, youth stopped her again, for she had not had enough experience. If she tried to get a position teaching French, the reaction was, "Anyone so young can't know very much about it." About her songs, her lyrics, the agents said the same thing. They simply couldn't believe she had the ability. She played the piano beautifully, but vaudeville was no more; and, as for the concert stage, the answer was the same — she was too young, too lacking in technique and experience. We hear a great deal of the tragedy of being too old to find work. Little is said of the tragedy of being too young. No one would take Ann — except the studio. A T the studio she met Karen Morley. The two girls liked one another on sight, and became fast friends. Karen went up like a skyrocket. Little dreaming that she would soon be doing the same thing herself, Ann was happy for her friend. When it became known that Karen was being considered for a part in "Scarf ace," Ann knelt and prayed that she would get it. She thought acting was grand — for other people. Not for her. Karen got "Scarface." Ann was radiantly happy. "When do you start?" she asked eagerly. "The picture isn't all cast yet," Karen replied. "We're looking for someone to play the part of a little Italian girl about eighteen years old. Half the girls in Hollywood are trying out for it, and the director can't find anyone that fits." Ann's phone rang a few nights later. "Ann?" "Yes." "Karen speaking. Dress up pretty. I'm at a party, and someone is comingover for you. There's a man here who wants to see you. I've told him about you." Ann went to the party and met the man. He was a director, someone murmured along with the introductions, but that was all she knew about him. She wasn't much impressed by her and she wasn't any more impressed by him. She sat at the piano, having a good time, and played one of her hot little rhythm numbers. Someone called out, "Dance, Ann," and she did a dance she was workingout for Joan Crawford's next picture. The man who was a director came closer to the piano, watching her.