The Moving Picture Weekly (1920-1921)

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THE MOVING PICTURE WEEKLY 31 Slie s A Home-Maker T oo Friscilla Dean ironing in her home. ■ymS is none other than Priscilla Dean, star of many splendid picture plays, who lives in a world of glamour and romance during most of her waking hours, doing just what you and innumerable other women all over the globe do most every day — IRONING. And the place where Priscilla is performing this housewifely duty is none other than her home, in one of the prettiest of bungalows in Hollywood, California. And it ig a real home, too, with a real' husband in it, for in private life Priscilla is the wife of Wheeler Oakman, her handsome leading man. Priscilla's joy in her home-life is a keen one indeed, and she finds no greater delight than in the performance of the thousand and one little homely duties attached to the care of a house, and in working in her garden and orchard. It will be many a moon before the fame of "The Virgin of Stamboul," in which Priscilla Dean starred, dies down. An exquisite production, both from the acting and directorial end, it met with instantaneous and popular favor wherever it was shown. And now, many months after its release, this romantic production of the mysterious East is still being industriously booked and is playing to crowded houses. "Outside the Law," the next big Jewel starring Priscilla Dean, is being awaited with keen anticipation. Directed by Tod Browning, who made "The Virgin of Stamboul," every detail of its stupendous sets wa^; carefully supervised and its scenes are said to be the mot realistic ones ever filmed. The members of its cast are names to be reckoned with in the world of pictures, and include Lon Chaney, E. A. Warrem and Wheeler Oakman, in addition to Miss Dean. It will be released within the next few months. H ere s No. 3 F rom Betty Dear Betty: Last night the Nightingale awoke me— this is about the ninety-first time it's happened, and every time I phone the janitor he says he's off black cats and opals. Nightingale belongs to an X-Lieutenant — a Bachelor (I mean the Lieutenant) and he lives directly over me — all alone with his cat. You know my bedroom opens on the fireescape, and they tell me Nightingale is a booze fighter, acquired the habit in the trenches as he's a war • veteran. You remember that bottle of Kentucky Rye you hid in my hat box — well the cork worked loose and that's why Nightingale is so attentive. The fumes have penetrated through the walls. The Bachelor came down the fireescape the other night to apologize for the cat's indiscretions and now I understand why the Janitor included Opals with black cats. The Bachelor has opal eyes Betty. Say, what sort of a gown did Juliet wear when Romeo scaled her fireescape? Don't overlook this question as you occasionally do when I ask you something important. By the way, the Piano is installed in our Luncheon Club Room. It's a peach and you ought to see it shimmy with one of our jazz players. I really believe by Spring we'll be signing contracts with exhibitors for the use of our orchestra — we've only got about 26 players on various instiniments. We haven't fixed up our rest room yet — we're postponing it until we pull oif our Halloween racket. Who wants to rest, nobody, we're all too busy scrapping over the entertainment we're going to give. There'll be toe dancers, singers, performing monkeys, and I believe one of the girls invited the Salvation Army. Betty I'm economizing to such an extent that I dont even buy a paper any more. I'm trying to demonstrate to the subway crowd that we can get along without papers as well as restaurants. Of course, one can always look over the other fellows shoulder. Between the two economies— the lunch and paper, I've bought a peach of a new blouse. It must be becoming because none of the girls like it. By the way, I forgot to write you that George Kann is back from Europe. He's the same old George, with exception of a few acquired expressions. We're all Deah Girruls now, and everything we do is topping. He's donated seventy-fuve books to our library. I asked him to throw in a set of Balzac, but instead he gave me a copy of the old testament. However, one's as interesting as the other. The General Manager of Exchanges, Mr. Berman, is wearing a most benignant expression. He's just retumed from an extended visit of one day in Chicago where he held a meeting with' "His Boys." I wish he'd go to meeting oftener for it always puts him in a dandy humor to hear all "His Boys" tell how they're going to smash H out of all previous records. I can swear occasionally Betty in my letters — that's a privilege that goes with voting. Well, to get back to the meeting, I don't see why we girruls can't attend these meetings, do you? Think of what WE could put over. Of course, maybe the General Managers figures it wouldn't be a good idea as far as the concern is concerned, as married managers need higher salaries. P. S. Claude Macgowan has resigned, and Olga Hadel is examining Aluminum wear. Why do pretty girls suddenly get interested in Aluminum, Betty? PerTGY.