Modern Screen (Dec 1947 - Nov 1948)

a new kind of bobby pin! Here's the first real improvement in bobby pins! A new patented shape, scientifically designed to hold better. Stronger, yet flexible, easy to open. Yes, certified, unbiased tests prove that Supergrip holds 144% better! Gcu$£cC WHY CAN'T THEY STAY MARRIED? (Continued from page 31) "GAY I A" MEANS THE BEST IN BOBBY PINS, HAIR PINS, CURLERS ) 1948, GAYLORD PRODUCTS, INCORPORATED, CHICAGO 16, ILL. back, confusing everyone, including themselves and their bewildered children, until Jane decided to call it quits for keeps. June Haver and her trumpeteer, Jimmy Zito, calling it off before it ever started, and then when it did start, calling it off again. How do they get that way? There are always stories behind the stories you read — and some of them, believe me, are lulus. For instance, the on-again, off-again marriage of Rita Hayworth and Orson Welles. The second act of that bizarre domestic drama opened right before Orson directed Rita in The Lady From Shanghai, and it ended right after the last scene was shot. I stood on that set and watched that patchup in action. I saw Orson mopping up the stage floor with his beautiful wife in a high-tension, super-melodramatic scene — which was just what Rita craved, by the way. I call that connubial comeback, "The Eighty-Thousand Dollar Makeup— or Columbia Capers." It had everything in it except what a true reconciliation needs, which is humility, sincerity and love. Rita should have known better. Heaven knows, she'd had plenty of the one-time Boy Genius the first time. As he says, Orson "forgot" constantly that he had a wife, when anything else was on his mile-aminute mind. Politicking, saving the world, making speeches, plotting sensational broadcasts, writing plays and scripts, acting, promoting, flying off here and there at the drop of an overnight bag. Orson's not exactly a cozy kid to have around the house. That's why Rita left him in the first place; she never knew, with his astral existence, whether he'd be coming in for dinner when she was having breakfast, or vice versa. So they split. Rita handled her career and home twice as easily without Orson's jitters, and had time, too, for the gaiety she loves. Orson joined old Mercury Theater pals on Broadway, launched a stage musical, Around the World in 80 Days — and lost his shirt when, owing to its fabulous production costs, it flopped like a flounder. Part of the shirt— in fact $80,000 of it— belonged to a big shot at Columbia Pictures. And the estranged Mrs. Welles is Columbia's biggest box-office star. Right then the machinery of a marriage makeup began to turn. . rita plays the game ... Here's what happened: The big-shot wanted his loan to Orson back, had a promise tied to it that Orson would make him a picture. Orson had to come through. Also, Rita's Columbia contract was about to expire, and Columbia wanted it renewed. How about Rita? Well, she was already a big success as a musical star, but she longed for finer things, yearned to be a dramatic, artistic actress. Add those factors up and what do you get? A second try at marriage on an artificial basis— one that should never have happened. I'll cut it short. Orson came back to Hollywood with a picture script. He went out to Rita's. He's a salesman. When he left, Rita's head was spinning. At last she was to be a dramatic star, directed by the Genius, himself. Orson rewrote the script in eight days, building Rita a starring part. Rita signed a new seven-year contract with Columbia. Orson moved back in Rita's house; they were "together again." But were they? Yep, for six months — while the picture lasted. But Orson hadn't changed, hadn't any intention of changing. Anyway, a few days after I walked off that set, Rita told me in a dead-tired, emotionless voice, "Orson and I are through, Hedda. Forever. I can't take it any longer." Whatever made her think she could? Now they're divorced and she's legally Rita Cansino again. Who collected the hits in that second inning? Orson? Rita? I haven't seen Lady From Shanghai, but I hear it's pretty weird. It's doubtful if it will add to Orson Welles' stature or prove Rita another Bernhardt, so they'll both wind up with errors. Who got his money back — also his meal-ticket star? That's right, the Columbia big-shot. Now, that's a pretty special Hollywood return engagement — but they're all special, that's the point. Hollywood has what it takes to blow a familiar domestic crisis into quicker flame. I'm thinking of Mark Stevens' marriage mixup. A year or so ago in these very pages of Modern Screen I picked Mark as the most promising young star of the year. He'd proved himself loaded with talent, authority, and ambition. One of his best assets was his young wife, Annelle. First time I met her, I said, "There's a girl with her head set right on her shoulders." She'd come to Hollywood to get in pictures herself. She'd tossed that over pronto the minute she said "I do." She was expecting a baby. They were living in a tiny guest-house apartment in the hills near Pickfair, victims of the housing shortage. Mark was sick, racked with pain. He'd already been in hospitals numberless times to have his back, injured in boyhood, repaired. And Annelle had nursed him, dressed his wounds, ministered to his moods (which ranged in Mark from sky-high elation to bottomless despair, as his frustrations drummed on his nerves). There were picture chances he was too sick to grab, there was cramped living, a pregnant wife. That was the setup — and both Mark and Annelle were young. I spotted Mark at once as an explosive character. His life story backed me up. Mark had blown his top consistently throughout his wandering young career, he'd been a problem child, a runaway, a rebel. He never thought he'd get married, he told me. "I've always been mean to women," he admitted frankly. But still, I sensed character and guts in him. Now Mark Stevens is a small-town boy and there are millions like him all over, yearning for the Big League, its fame and its fruits. Only, when he got his at last, that's Members of the movie industry get a chance to attend previews and are usually put on the spot when asked for their opinions. After a preview a producer cornered Oscar Levant and inquired, "How did you like my picture?" "I didn't like it," said Levant frankly. "Who do you think you are, not to like it?" recoiled the producer. "Who do I have to be, not to like it?" asked Levant. from "Hollywood Merry-Go-Roitnd" bv Andrew Hecht