The New Movie Magazine (Jan-Sep 1935)

M ARIE ANTOINETTE has caused another Revolution. The unhappy French Queen has torn M-G-M asunder and set Hollywood's mightiest majesties at war by innocently inspiring them simultaneously to die on the guillotine in her name. Norma Shearer and Marion Davies are tossing heads at one another. By exercise of skilled diplomacy two Queens may exist on one lot, but hardly two Marie Antoinettes. When "The Barretts of Wimpole Street" was purchased by the studio, Miss Davies set her heart on it, but it went to Miss Shearer. Next Reine Marion set heart and head on "Marie Antoinette," only to find herself, on returning from Europe, in the shadow of Miss Shearer's guillotine. The air was ominous and war clouds lowered, just as they did over Europe when King Alexander was assassinated. But this time something happened. More like the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand was the effect upon Hollywood, though not with quite the violence of the World War. This revolt was without bloodshed, due to Miss Davies' innate diplomacy and long, aversion to any form of capital punishment. She quietly gathered her glittering forces about her and rolled off the lot in a high-powered tumbril Burbank-bound. On the Warner Brothers domain she will set up her guillotine and Versailles. On leaving the lot after a long reign she issued a proclamation of regret and love to all. Equally tactful, Miss Shearer went into temporary retirement, and announcement was made that she had shelved "Marie Antoinette," presumably temporarily. On the whole this peaceful settlement of what might have been an old-style, rip-snorting Hollywood rumpus is a testimony to the new age in which we live and to the humane strategy of Hollywood's little women. Frankly, it was a disappointment to us old This is sawed-off shotgun season for the ladies of the films. Herb Howe wears boxing-gloves as he pecks at his typewriter, and keeps ready to duck war horses who watched the mighty Negri and Swanson rage with missiles and gas, back in the twenties. Even then Hollywood showed an effeminizing tendency. Miss Swanson had something of the new diplomacy. She worked quietly and with aloof scorn, putting cats in the path of cat-loath Drawings by D. B. Holcomb "That's what you get for inviting Society!" said Marion Davies, when her guests fought. ing Pola. But Pola talked. In quite loud voice. "In Poland we kill!" was her original expression. This was modified, out of respect to the customs of this country, to "I will sue!" The fire-breathing Pola also made a valiant stab at tact. Breathing heavily from the effort of restraint, she conveyed her attitude to the press anent Miss Swanson. "She have a certain — what you call? — style. But I am artiste. How could I be jealous?" No, it was nothing personal, Pola avowed. Simply that she had always been first on every lot in Europe and she wouldn't abandon principles for any amount of our gold. One or the other must go. Miss Swanson went. Pola's victory was dubious, though, since Miss Swanson proceeded in triumph to a royal wage and domicile at United Artists. And soon Clara Bow butted into Pola's domain at Paramount and Pola went. Unhappy is the head that wears a crown. A queen has to be always on her toes. Or, better yet, Queen Garbo's momentous observation: "One never knows what time will bring, does one?" There have been other death-threatening rivalries, mostly press-stimulated. Valentino was stirred a little by the horde of "successors" following in his wake. Lupe Velez, first of the Mexican senoritas on the screen, was moved to give inciting impersonations of her country-woman, Mile. Dolores Del Rio. Attempt was made to draw out Miss Garbo by heralding her "successors" but she barricaded herself in jaw-locking Swedish silence. Fashion feuds between "best-dressed ladies of the screen" is an old press stunt. When the newspaper boys feel for a field day they leap in among the little tigresses, quote one about another, and soon expensive fur is flying in headlines. At Paramount, fear was entertained of a Balkan explosion when Mae West swayed with her peculiar pugilistic swing in the direction of tailored Dietrich. When Miss Dietrich (Please turn to page 73) 38 The New Movie Magazine, February, 1935