Motion Picture Magazine (Feb-Jul 1920)

(pm^rae %6 Old Art of Perfect Hands Practiced by the ladies in the court of Marie Antoinette — lost in the French Revolution— rediscovered by a famous French chemist, it comes to us, a gift of the magi — Tanforan ! Subtly rounding the tissues and giving the skin a soft, velvety whiteness, the "grandes dames"of the old world called it"the magic." Lovely white hands — soft and fragrant — are still your greatest social asset. The shape of the hands shows the character, but the care of the hands is the measure of refinement. Guard this asset jealously! Round out and strengthen the tissues of the skin and at the same time impart to it the perfume of Tanforan — a breath of Elysian fields ! Tanforan is not to be confused with hand lotions, vanishing creams, etc. Jt is an entirely new kind of beauty treatment. Tanforan may be had at most of the better toilet goods counters. Ask for it today, and learn how easy it is to have beautiful hands and skin. Be sure to read the attractive" little booklet which accompanieseach bottle of Tanforan. It contains a story that will interest you, as well as directions for the use of Tanforan. f As describcdin the Ameri~\ iMagazincby a famous I ^beauty expert. / The Forceful Type— Tapering fingers, muscular palm ; The Artistic Type — Long, slender fingers, deep hollow in palm ; The Capable Type — Compact hand with round fingers. This advertisement is worth 13c to you. Clip it and send with 12c in stamps for a regular 25c bottle of Tanforan, tax paid. You will adore it TecmAMlccafie I W(lncorporated) I \~F NEW YORK V OFFICE I7W. 428*St \J lp!04 1AG£ Anita's Ambitions (Continued from page 63) merely an "expression" of landscape art. The road leading to the front entrance winds uphill under giant eucalyptus trees and rose arbors. A plot of ground immediately in front of the doorstep, is planted with native flowers, and on the far side of the hill loquat, lemon and orange trees shimmer in the sun. The house, old English in design, has a beautiful rose pergola and garden in back, the center of which is planted in a lawn and contains a bubbling fountain. Entirely surrounding the lawn is the walk and pergola, where roses bloom the year round, and at the far end of the walk is a wall. "Look over the wall," Miss Stewart suggested, "see . . . ." Two dogs — one, Cliquot, a police dog, the other, King Casey, a ferocious-looking bull, slept peacefully at the end of their chains in the midday sun. Behind their kennels is an arroyo, or small ravine, and as the star's voice was audible, from the depths of the gulch there came an answering whinny. "That's Peggy, the family horse," she explained. "She takes me riding once in a while when I have a spare moment." Life in the golden West, says Anita, is all more or less a dream. She has her home, where she spends nearly all her spare time. She loves New York for its quickness and its shops. "But out here," she remarked, "you just seem to drop off the earth. I didn't like California when I first came. It was raining and the railroad station was, to me, a horrid, ugly affair — nothing romantic. When I got to the studio — an open one without any glass stages — the floor was full of puddles. I burst out crying. Why had they sent me out to this terrible place to work? I hated it, and dreaded the time when I had to put on my makeup. In a day or so, I went to work. The sun was shining, the puddles were all dried up — and I've loved California ever since. I'd rather live here than in the East, altho New York is always — well, just New York." A morning paper lay under the pergola on a small, stone bench, exactly where George, the younger Stewart brother, had been reading it an hour before. Anita glanced casually at the photoplay page. "Read this," she said, and laughed. It was an article describing some one as dainty, sweet, charming, adorable and pretty, — a typical press-agent yarn about some star. "Isn't it terrible to be accused of all that?" Miss Stewart asked, pityingly, "especially since so-and-so is just a mere human being. That's terrible. I hate to be called charming or dainty, because I'm neither. I do hope I'm sensible. I like to have people say I'm intelligent. I'm not like a tiny rosebud or the humming-bird, whose food is the nectar of the flowers. You read all this, and you just think, 'Oh, dear !' and pass on to the sport page where they tell you in no uncertain language that so-and-so is either -a piker or a good scout. "I, and all the rest of us in the profession, are just as human as the people whom we entertain. We get sick every once in a while and call the doctor to make us well. We eat three times a day — more if we're hungry. We like friends and dislike flattery. We adore our parents, and many of us owe every bit of our success to a loving mother. We play the game of humanness and humanity, and some day we're bound to die and be buried exactly after the fashion of everybody else. "Personally, I'd rather have them say that I'm a regular girl than anything else. "If anything should ever happen to my mother, my husband or my brother I think I should die, but since God is good and keeps them with me, I'm the happiest mortal alive." Perhaps it's that stimulating love of people that has made Miss Stewart, placed her in a unique position on the screen and kept her there when other stars have fallen. But, at any rate, she never stops working. As the pretty maid in "A Midnight Romance," the waif in "Human Desire," the belle in "In Old Kentucky," the young mother in "Her Kingdom of Dreams," and the impulsive mountain girl in her latest play, "The Fighting Shepherdess," she is always the cheerful, spontaneous creature of life, as she was in "The Girl Philippa" and "The Glory of Yolanda." She's just a regular girl. N. B. That Means "Take Notice" of Nigel Barrie (Continued from page 55) bought Mrs. Barrie a Mercer racer — a bright yellow thing. I'm much safer in the air than she is in that car — she's a bit speed-mad, you know." "You've no longing to go back to the speaking stage after your free life in California? You're an outdoor man." "I am. But I'd rather chase tuna than drive an airship. Sport of all kinds appeals to me and there's nothing that offers such opportunity as the movie game. It's sure the greatest business in the world." Mr. Barrie is so enthusiastic that he just cant be English all the time. "Will Mrs. Barrie enter the films too?" "I hope so. She's very clever and very good-looking, and while her stage experience has been short, she has talent. I want her to use her full name, 'Helen Lee Barrie.' It would distinguish her from the other Lees — there are so many. I tell her that if women want the vote they must ■ivork too !" Again the Irish eyes twinkled. The Barries have recently bought a house, a very handsome house on Van Ness Avenue, Los Angeles. It was because of this that Mr. Barrie refused to go to New York to do a picture. He does not want to travel — except for pleasure, and even so, I do not think he will go far. He has landed across the Rockies till "Death does them part." He intends to have several fine, blueblooded horses in his new stable-garage. Indeed he hoped to keep everything but chickens, and waxed so enthusiastic about it, that I grew afraid. Fans do not want to lose Nigel Barrie, but he is so fond of country life, that he may, one of these days, forsake lovely Katherine MacDonald and the other famous screen beauties to take up ranching in California. However, he allayed my fears by promising me it would not be for some time to come.