Motion Picture Classic (Jul-Dec 1930)

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Your faults itaHily overcome «o you can enjoy lite to the fulluat. Send 2Sc for this amazing book. RICHARD BLACKSTONE B-83 9 FLATIRON BLDG. N. Y. C You'll be amazed to neo how cany \i la toH«ll Christmas Greeting Cards fn Box AnBortmentB. Our Box contain* 21 Cardnand Folders in dainty water color deslfrns, buautiful tinirravinir and embosHinK, tippcd-on illustrations. sparklinK rsiHed Rold metallic effect*. marrelouB crcationa in parchment and fltred folders— evi-ry card and folder liirintinizintt onvelopo. SELLS FOR $X.OO-COSTS YOU 50c. EASY MONEY FOR SPARE TIME WORK WE PAY ALL SHIPPING CHARGES C^mnlAO Cfaa I' vou want to make money write OainpiCS rice immediately for full particulars. Waltham Art Publishers, Dept32, 7 Water St.. Boston. Mass. 100 They're All Talking At Last 1 (Continued from page 48) can't cook. I can't keep house. I can't add up accounts. I can't stenog. I can't sew. I was about as blue as that color ever was. All Talking of a Sudden THEN I did a short subject for Bryan Foy. He talked about me. The ball began to roll. Other people talked. Offers grew, where no offers had been before. The tide had turned, as the tide will, over a mere pebble. I played in 'The Drag' with Barthelmess and I got my break, dating from that. Now I have a contract. My first picture under the contract, ' Under Western Skies.' I seem to be all set for the moment. And I'm so interested in my work that I can hardly think about anything else. I'd like to be in the studio morning, noon and night. I put so much into it that when I go home I'm hollow. It just about compensates me for all the other things — unhappy things. . . things that have gone wrong or have never come right. Everything. "I'm almost afraid to take my work too seriously, to let it mean too much to me. I'm afraid I might become one of those who go about saying, throatily, 'Errr, did you see me in my last production — I — I — ' "I don't think I'll ever get that way, but you never can tell. I stay away from most public demonstrations, parties, openings and so on. If anyone points me out in a crowd, or on the street, I'm horribly embarrassed. I don't know how to meet 'my Public' I don't know what to do or to say. "And I don't think I'll get that way, because too many other things in my life are wrong for me to become coinplacent. Everything is all scattered and messy. Jim and I separated ... I don't think it was Hollywood that did it, by the way . . . The baby back and forth between us, not understanding . . . My mother and father separated, and also scattered . . . None of us together . . . Nothing whole. Plans That Went Awry "/'^H, I don't know ... I used to think that I could do anything I wanted with my life, that I could have what I wanted, be what I wanted to be. Everything seemed so simple, so orderly, so easy. " I made plans. I planned to take a college course and really know something. Money matters were tight and I had to work. I planned, when I was first married, to give up the screen, have children, be really domestic and homey. Things went wrong there. I couldn't do it. Nothing seems to come out as we plan it, scheme for it. Nothing is the way we think it is going to be, or want it to be. We are, some of us, at any rate, the victims of circumstances too strong for us. "I've given up thinking. I've given up planning anything. I haven't a thought or a conviction about anything on earth, least of all myself or my own future. It doesn't interest me. I just want to work, to have fun between whiles and to let events shape their course as they will. "I'm not making any more futile predictions. I may marry again ... I don't think I will as I feel at the moment. I seem to have no need whatsoever of any mate ( companionship in my life. Love is probably important — it must be, considering the havoc it can cause — but it isn't important to me — to-day. To-morrow? Who knows? Who cares? Not I ! I rather think I'd like to make enough money to adopt some children and have the kind of home I want. I may even change about that ... I DON'T KNOW is my slogan at present. To-mofsrow it may change . . . ^ The Sin That Is a Law T I THINK Hollywood causes people to' have one very deadly sin — the sin of: having to be nice to everybody. "It is deadly — to have to be nice, no^ matter how you feel. Never to be yourself, or seldom. To violate natural impulses, if . they do not coincide with the pretty picture you must everywhere and all the time, paint of yourself. "Who wants to be nice to everyone all of the time? There are times when you feel' like calling your best friend names she wouldn't care to hear. But no actress ■ dares do it . . . "Anyone else, in any other position may get away with it. A waitress, for instance, can drop a poached egg in your lap and youwill be momentarily annoyed at her clumsiness. You will not go about nursing a grudge, spreading the news that Tillie is temperamental, a heel and a virago. But let an actress go on the set and fail to turn on the broad expansive smile, as one turns on an electric light, and immediately it flashes over the country that she has the ■ high-hat, the swell-head, the swollen Ego, and any other term that comes to mind. No one would ever pause to consider that her stomach might be out of order or that the baby had the mumps or something. Perpetual Acting "T"Y 7"E have to be nice to everyone, every V V minute of the day and night. Nice to electricians, chauffeurs, producers, fellowplayers, dressmakers, doctors, dentists, authors, the Press, friends and those who are not friends. Even the solace of being able to dig in, when we feel low, is not always possible. We have to act all the time, day and night, for our personal maid as much as for our most distant Public. It's hard. Perhaps I feel that way about it today, because, perhaps, I'm losing my disposition. I used to be perpetually sunny. I feel rather cloudy to-day." Lila is growing up. She is suflfering gjrowing pains. "Cuddles" is gone away, never to return. Dreams have turned a nightmare face. Laughter is broken up with tears. Santa Claus is a hired down-andouter with a rented beard. Toys are painte<i wood and tinsel and do not come alive. And out of the whilom wreckage of that springing faith of first youth is emerging a woman who may well become a great dramatic artist. Lila is only saying, only thinking what countless others have said and thought before her, and will say and think after her . . . What Wordsworth thought, when he wrote: " Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? The talkies killed Low-Brow Comedy. Was it justifiable homicide? Was it time that we stopped laughing at pie-throwing, sit-spot falls, polka-dot underwear, et cetera? Mack Sennett, who ought to know, will tell you in the October Open Court of — Motion Picture CLASSIC — i