Motion Picture Classic (Jul-Dec 1930)

Their Privat By DOROTHY MANNERS The Experts Don' They Preach And s O they are love experts, are theyr W'ell, rawther! Regard those tenderly passionate episodes of their professional moments, which have gone further in educating International Xeckers in the right grips and holds than the compiled works of Beatrice Fairfax. They even write articles about love as a scientific study. About their Love Lives About Men and Women. About How To Hold A Husband and How To Lose An Unwelcome Suitor. How to Fascinate, Charm and Hog-Tie and all the other little subtleties. It's all very learned. But, me, I'm puzzled! I'm befuddled and hazy. Not about what they say of love. Dear me, no! But what they do about it in their private love practice. Maybe I'm an old meanie in bringing it up, but what the, as Constance Bennett might well say, can you expect from movie writers.' There was a time, and you may remember, when Greta Garbo and John Gilbert were awfully that way about each other. Now, there was a romance of experts, if there was ever one. The great mystery woman of the screen, in whose heart smolders all there is to know about love (adv.), and her palpitating boy-friend, who is no slouch in the game himself. At the time of this survey, they had had one of their frequent lovers' quarrels. Since they were experts, it was a case in which one might have expected a great deal of technique and novelty displayed on both sides. The Usual Symptoms ALONG about the second day of the Great Dispute, £\_ Donald Ogden Stewart, John V. A. Weaver, Charles Ray and a few others, including John Gilbert, were spending Sunday at the home of King and Eleanor Boardman Vidor. You didn't need binoculars to see that Mr. Gilbert was in a bad mood. When he played tennis, he slammed the ball as if he had some personal grudge against it. When he was spoken to, half the time he didn't hear, and the other half he just didn't answer. Twice, he left the courts and dialed his own home with a vigor that should have given the telephone company considerable trouble. Once connected, he'd bawl, "Has anyone called me.'" Prom the way the receiver went back on the hook, you might not have knozcn what the answer was, but there was no law against guessing. About two o'clock in the afternoon, he picked up his racquet and went home. Some ten minutes later, Eleanor and a few of the girls were in her bedroom, cooling off, when 'phone rang. Not that I meant to eavesdrop (or, anyway, that's my story), but you know how clear a voice will come through a transmitter sometimes.' This particular voice from the other end said: "Hul-lo. This is Gree-ta." For quite some time, they exchanged pleasantries. How was Eleanor.' She was fine! How was Greta.' She was fine, too! Why hadn't they seen her in a couple of days? Busy.' Oh, too bad. It went on and on like that. Subtle was no word for it. Finally, that far-away, heavilyaccented voice inquired with all the nonchalance in the world, "Haff you seen Yan.'" Yes, it turned out that he had just left. "Oh," said the voice. There was considerable pause. And then a slight but unmistakable sigh. "Juss don't tell heem that I called." And that was that. Greta Garbo and John Gilbert, the great love experts.' Why not Joe Doakes and his girl, Min.' Is it any wonder that I wonder.' Now She Talks Baby-Talk OR take Joan Crawford with her screen creed of flapper independence, the pace-setter for the Teens, the Love-Em-Ana-Leave-Em philosopher of the movies. The girl who used to preach to flapperdom, "Never let a man see you are too much in love with him. Suspense is half the battle!" Believe it or leave it, but in private love she even disjoints young Doug's chicken at the table, because he hates to do it himself! She has yet to accept a social engagement without consulting him. When she lunches with a girl-friend in Hollywood, she leaves ten thousand messages so that he can find her at a moment's notice. They talk baby-talk in some crazy language they have cooked up between them — and any good love expert will tell you that baby-talk violates the first principle of the game. At theaters they sit with their arms and heads so closely together that someone once remarked that if Joan 68