The New Movie Magazine (Jan-Sep 1935)

an inspiring friendship between two famous movie stars physique. His hair is thoroughly grayed, but neither the color nor the expression of youth has left his eyes. His are the most alert eyes I know. Everything and everyone are a source of interest to him . . . even Hollywood. He once told me as we lunched in my dressing-room during the early stages of our acquaintance (when we were feeling each other out to see if we really liked each other as well as we suspected we did) that he considered Hollywood a fascinating adventure. In his clipped British accent he said he didn't see how it was possible to be bored here. Which is certainly a fresh slant to man}' who have complained of Hollywood's "stateness" and "small town spirit.'' I remember I once said to him when things had been going particularly badly on location: "Why in the world do you fool around in this crazy racket when you could lead any kind of life you want . . . the stage in London or on Broadway . . . the life of a country gentleman . . . devote yourself to your painting or your music . . . anything vour heart desires?'' At that moment / was thinking about Africa and shooting trips and intriguing names and places far removed from Hollywood. He said, his eyes crinkling at the corners: '"But that is only playing at life. Behaving as if a novelist wrote you, don't you know!" This from a man who could have any life he chose, who merited Knighthood by the King of England, who fought with distinction in the war and who understands music and art as few men do, gave me a new respect for my profession . . . and more than partially explains why Sir Guy is in Hollywood now. He doesn't have to be. Money has long since ceased to be any part of an incentive to him in anything. Soon after the war there was a period when he decided to retire from the stage and during that time he made a fortune. He was one of a syndicate which bought up all the motor transport equipment which the United States left along the Rhine. Later they took over the British war motor transport. "... took us over nine years to get rid of the lot . . . seventy millions it cost us and we got a few more than that for it . . . tractors and that sort of thing. Sort of set me up for life . . . which is a more or less uninteresting outlook, what?" But I had begun to suspect even before this that money could never be anything but an adventure in his life, the adventure of getting it, not holding onto it. The war was an adventure to him. So was the stage. And now, so is Hollywood. He takes his adventure so seriously that when he is working on a picture he allows nothing to divert him from his work. During those hectic months when we were on location and all hell was popping with one thing and another . . . changes in the cast . . . trouble with our brigade of riders . . . unsettled weather . . . rewritten scripts . . . scene after scene reshot until our nerves were frayed and many of the troupe were heartily sick of the whole undertaking, never once did his interest falter. So engrossed was Sir Guy that he did not even read his daily mail. Mail, in fact, is a particular aversion of his. "... Usually bills or bad news. Diverts your attention from interesting things. ..." He even took his own private location calamity (when he was bitten on the ankle by a Black Widow spider) with that casual mental shrug that is so much a part of his personality. He was far more upset when the publicity department released the story of his accident than he was with his bandaged foot and cane. "... can't stand to be wet nursed about, you know. Hate solicitude. ..." It is impossible to question Sir Guy. I found we got to know each other far better when the conversation was not prompted and he "just talked." It is not wholly due to reticence, either. When in the mood he can entertain the listener for hours with anecdotes from his colorful store of experience. When not, wild horses couldn't drag anything out of him. As I look back I am amused at the various locales he chose for some of his confidences. He once told me a bit about his childhood when we had obtained "Dutch leave" from the company and gone shooting in the Malibu Hills. He is one of the finest shots I have ever seen . . . and it goes without saying he is the kind of man who would take only a sporting shot. But I hardly suspected a gun in his hand would bring up memories of his childhood. He said he had always done a "bit" of shooting ever since he was a tike and that he had once had the idea he would like to be a game warden, an ambition which had greatly amused his father. The father, Herbert Standing was a distinguished actor in London, but from what I am able to gather from Sir Guy's abrupt confidences, he managed to retain close comradeship with his four sons, all of whom became actors in his footsteps . . . two of them, Sir Guy and Wyndham, achieving outstanding distinction in this country as well as England. "... but my real dream was the sea. It was my first ambition. Wanted to run away and join up, you know . . . that sort of thing. First time I tried I used the family table cloth for a sail. When I finally got back I was deathly sick. Very mortifying. ..." It is typical that the only other thing he has ever told me about his childhood was that he was always too big for his age which made him difficult to handle. "... discipline and schooling didn't take my rambunctiousness out of me . . . Life did. ..." At the age of fifteen he decided to make his own way in the world. "Kicked up quite a row in the family . . . Father really angry ... he told me if I cut the family apron strings I could jolly well skip writing home for money when I got in a hole." But he did cut the strings and for eight years he divided his time between the sea and small parts on the London stage. He toured this country, England and Australia in more shows than space would permit to be recorded here. He knew the perilous ups and downs of both the careers he followed. "Beastly bad actor I was . . . left stranded many times in most inconvenient places . . . usually had to work my way back to London on a boat." During one slack spell he peddled his water color canvases (which were later exhibited by invitation five times) from door to door in London. Years went by in his hectic life . . . and then the War! It is amazing how casually Sir Guy refers to this important part of his life. In the five years he served "V he became Commander in the British Navy. In June, 1919. he was created a Knight Commander in recognition of distinguished service to His Majesty, The King. It was not from Guy I learned that his particular service had been escorting troop ships across the mine infested English channel. And he is almost {Please turn to page 52) Left, a photograph of Standing and Cooper together. Above is one of Gary's hasty pen sketches of his friend. The Neiu Movie Magazine, March. 1935 27