Modern Screen (Dec 1948 - Oct 1949)

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Betsy confers with producer George Jessel between scenes of Dancing in the Dark. In order to do the leading role, the hard-working Miss Drake had to learn to sing and dance — completely new accomplishments for her. On the set of Dancing in the Dark, co-star Mark Stevens and his stand-in Fred Fisher had a fine time ribbing Betsy about her romance, but she could take it. ■ The morning of the day Cary Grant was to get back from Europe, Betsy Drake's short mop of honey-colored ringlets was dress-rehearsed for the role she was about to begin in Dancing in the Dark. She gazed in the studio beauty-parlor mirror at the sleek creation of upswirling waves and precise curls. "Is that me?'' she said. "Gosh, I — I hardly recognize myself." "Guess not," said Irene Brooks, 20th Century-Fox's hair stylist, proudly. "Wouldn't know it was the same girl." Lucky Betsy! Her best beau coming to town and here she had a beautiful new hair-do. So what did she do? She dashed right home and washed it out. That's Betsy, As she lathered away the glamor, Betsy grinned down at Suzy, her gray French poodle. "You heard what she said, Suzy. 'Wouldn't know it was the same girl.' We might get down to the pier and have him not know us. Besides, he finds enough to tease us about without us throwing in a la-de-dah hair-do." That's Betsy. But when the boat docked, it actually was Betsy who didn't recognize Cary. Searching the line of passengers at the rail, she did spot one tall figure who seemed to be wearing a familiar Grant suit. But he was much thinner than Cary — and was. besides, a sort of chocolate brown . It was Suzy who really spied Cary first. She began wiggling joyfully and trying to jump up the boat's side to greet him. The thin, chocolate-brown guy was Cary. A violently deep tan. acquired in the long, lazy voyage from Lisbon, almost disguised the famous Grant features. As a rest cure following the seige of illness he'd suffered abroad, Cary had come home on a slow Dutch ship that took 40 days for the crossing. . . . Betsy's the first to admit that Lady Luck tossed her a bouquet of roses when, aboard another ship. Cary asked Merle Oberon to introduce them — an introduction that, as everyone knows, was to lead to Betsy's starring with Cary in her first film. But strangely, the lucky break almost proved a boomerang. Every Girl Should Be Married was a hit, Betsy was a hit, and Cary and Dore Schary beamed with pride. Romance, though, is a much spicier topic than hard work, so Hollywood placed more and more emphasis on the influence of Cary's personal interest in Betsy. The boys and girls of the naming typewriters by-passed the fact that Betsy had earned a right to her role by years of work and study, with a successful stage run to her credit, too. They skimmed lightly over the knowledge that, though a newcomer to pictures, Betsy had turned in a performance that would have won lavish praise for an established cinema queen. Never one to shirk a bout with reality, Betsy faced the issue squarely: She hadn't Teally proved a thing. There was only one answer. Betsy reasoned: "I've got to do something clearly on my own." {Continued on page 97)