Modern Screen (Dec 1952 - Nov 1953)

suggest she sing. If you've heard any of the records she has made or seen her with Bing Crosby in their Paramount pictures, you know she's not bad. With music for a starter they began discovering other compatable likes and now they are practically as one on every subject. This is quite a feat with a girl as singularly positive as Jane Wyman Karger. "I don't know how anybody stands me sometimes," she said. "I get an idea about something and that's it. Maybe sometimes I'm wrong, but while I think I'm right I can't be fooled with. It must be a kind providence that brought Fred and me together. He not only thinks the way I do— I find myself agreeing with him as soon as we begin discussing something." It is a very difficult thing in Hollywood generally for a movie star to find a husband she can also work with. In the case of an actress and actor being married you'd think it would be a cinch, but it isn't. Directors married to stars seldom get a chance to make movies together. But it looks as though Jane and Fred will be able to overcome this problem. Jane is definitely interested in making musical pictures, as well as records, and Fred can be the musical advisor around the house. Even if a film isn't a musical there is always a score. This makes it possible for them to go abroad if they want to and still not have to give up part of the career of one of them. Professionally, Jane Wyman has never been in better shape. Not even right after she won the Oscar for Johnny Belinda. She has a couple of unreleased musicals in the can and as this is being written she is getting ready to begin one of the most demanding roles of her career in So Big. "The thing that bothers me about this picture," Jane said, "is that I have to look 18. Then I go to about 60. That's a big jump." Well, Warner Brothers aren't too concerned. She can play 18 without make-up, and a bit of old grey hair and a swab or two of pallid make-up, a nest of wrinkles and she's 60. But the studio does feel that So Big is one of its most important films in years, they plan it on a grand scale, so Jane can be sure that next fall when it is released she will have another important dramatic offering to offer the critics and award-givers. One of the early maddening ambitions of Jane Wyman's life was to be a dramatic actress. And it was at Warner Brothers, where she has made her biggest hits in the past few years, that she developed her most awful frustrations. Casting a picture in those days of box-office magic, when, as the saying goes, all a theater manager had to do was open the door and stand out of the way to let the customers charge in, was done according to a casting book. , If a producer had to make a picture in which an actress was to lose her baby to a rich husband, all he had to do was get an actress who could cry. If he wanted a comedy, he got an actress who could tell a joke or hit the leading man in the face with a ripe tomato. Jane Wyman, in the casting books, was a cute little buffoon who could dance. Period. She spent several weary years trying to tell the men in the front office that she could also cry — and would like to get a chance to make an audience cry, too. One day a part came up that Bette Davis was being considered for, but Bette for some reason or other couldn't make the starting gate. Jane, who usually walked around the lot in slacks and sweaters, decided to make an impression as a sad one, and for a week or two she wore what were practically widow's weeds to the studio. Nothing happened. She'd trot about like a saddened woman in search of a tombstone, but no one paid any attention, except to say, "Hi Janie," just as always. She tried throwing a sombre note into lunch in the commissary, dropping in attired as Mother Hubbard, or close to it. Nothing happened. Then one day she saw a producer eyeing her carefully. She put on the sour puss and waited. Sure enough he came over to her table and gave her a closer inspection. Finally he spoke. "Do you think," he said, "that you could play a burlesque dancer? I've been watching you — and you seem to me to be just the type." "Out of my way," Jane cried and dashed from the commissary. The way she got Johnny Belinda is that producer Jerry Wald saw her dressed like a cutie one day and, being a great believer in off-beat casting, decided she was just the type to play a deaf mute. It is a strange thing that today, after topping all the laurels she needs as a dramatic actress, Jane Wyman likes nothing better than to have her agent call up and say that somebody wants her for a crazy musical. Time has been kind to Jane Wyman — and the Jane Wyman of today will be the first to tell you that. Along with the progress of her career, her emotional life has been fruitful. While she was married to Ronald Reagan she was very much the housewife and early mother. They were serenely happy together until their different interests broke them up. When the separation did come it was not one of the ugly messes that are so common in Hollywood, but a grown-up facing of a mutual problem. And even after the divorce, when most movie couples are victims of sniping tongues and speculations, Jane managed to keep a dignity in her position of grass widow. The only other romances of consequence she has ever had were the ones with Greg Bautzer, which she herself will admit was just fun, and the short-lived engagement to Travis Kleefeld. There has never been a nicer young man to invade the stars' domain than Travis, so there was no finger of defamation pointed at her in that matter either. In between, Jane has kept her lady-like character and was still able to keep her reputation as a fun girl and, incidentally, a great wit. This year is a new beginning of the road for Jane Wyman. What has happened to her in her life before this year has been wonderful, but it has not been fulfilling enough to satisfy her. She began 1953 with a rainbow shining across the hill from her bedroom window on New Year's Day, and she vowed, she says, on that morning to start to find all the happiness and good things that are promised folks who find the end of that rainbow. During the early part of the year she fell in love and her home was filled as fully as her heart. She is at an age now where she appreciates the comforts that can come from children, and where she can look long at the trophies of her craft that fill her den and feel a warmth from them. She wants to build a dream that will come true. "I guess I haven't knocked around much," she said, "but somehow I feel as though I have and I want the fruits of the hard work I have done to be about me from now on. I've loved my home and my family before, but never as much as now. This is my year to move." There will be another ceremony at the Masquers Club in Hollywood one of these nights soon. One that Jane is not aware of at the moment. It is called The Spelvin Award. It has been given to very few actors and, again, no actresses. It is named after the legendary actor who has appeared on many playbills but has never existed, George Spelvin. George Spelvin is the name used in the theater when an actor plays two roles — and does not desire to be billed in one of them. It is actually a tribute to a performer of great versatility. One night soon the long limousine from the Masquers will again pull up before Jane Wyman's home. The six men in the top hats will alight again and escort her to the club. She will once again be the only woman in the place, a girl and 200 men. The usual speeches will be made. And Jane will be called upon again to make an address, to talk to and about the fellows she has known all of her professional life. And then the Spelvin Award will be in her hands. It is a statue of a man in a tall silk hat, a bit battered but still doing a show. That's Jane Wyman, a woman, but the only one in her line of work to get this recognition. And when she gets home, she'll put it in the breakfront along with the rest of her prizes, and she'll treasure it always. But it won't mean the cap on a career for Jane. No, sir, she's looking ahead. She's just going to get going in 1953. END joan and marilyn talk (Continued jrom page 33) talk so openly!" There was so much honesty in what Joan said and so much distress in her voice that I reached over and patted her hand. We were sitting in a quiet corner, away from the other guests at a small dinner party at my home. Dinner was over — and I knew Joan wanted to talk to me. And you can bet I wanted to talk to her! When the others started talking or gathered around the piano to sing, I motioned for Joan to join me away from the group. (I think most of them would have given anything to have heard what we were saying for the Crawford vs. Monroe 92 feud was still the talk of the town.) Joan and I have been friends for many years now and I feel I understand her very well. I sincerely believe she would give anything in the world if she had never said those things about Marilyn. But, once the damage was done, you've got to admire her spunk for saying she was not misquoted! She was in the firing line— but she was standing there taking it— and saying she was sorry! You've got to admire a girl like that. Joan leaned toward me and said softly, "There's still room in this town for both of us. I feel if I were to meet Marilyn face to face I'd say, 'Hi, there,'— and we'd shake hands. . "The fight seems to be more with her studio (20th) and the press against me rather than the fans although I have had a few letters of criticism. "One was from a sergeant who is great Marilyn Monroe fan. He enclosed an awful picture of me in a bathing suit with my hair all fizzy. The caption was to the effect that I was skyrocketing like the Fourth of July. The sergeant wrote: 'This is exactly how Miss Monroe dresses today, only you haven't her good points!' " It was typical of Joan to tell this on herself. She went on, "I wrote to the sergeant and told him that the blatant picture most certainly was me. But I explained that I had since learned that flaunting your sex in clothes, photographs or in action is not good for an actress. "Perhaps I subconscious ' felt I could