The New Movie Magazine (Jan-Sep 1935)

The Talkies Are Walkies (Continued from page 6) current Amazonian tradition; her short, dainty steps are utterly feminine. Sylvia Sidney carries her small, voluptuous body proudly erect, and walks as sinuously as a Persian cat. There was a time when Myrna Loy was adept at slinking with Oriental mystery. Now, in the comic spirit, she glides blithely, as if on wheels. The buxom Blondel's vigorous trot finds a lazier likeness in plump Una Merkel's gait, while the slender Colbert is our feminine sprinting champion. Remember her wedding-veil streaming behind her on that mad flight across the lawn in "It Happened One Xight"? It wasn't her first screen marathon. Jimmy Cagney's quick steps are not so characteristic as his curious, backward-leaning posture. Lee Tracy walks as a bat flies, in erratic swoops and darts, an accompaniment to the crackling energy of his speech. Jack Oakie has the hoofer's happy feet. They betrayed his identity even when his face was hidden beneath the grotesque mask of Tweedledum of Wonderland. Will Cagney's walk and posture likewise betray him when he plays the donkey-headed Bottom in "A Midsummer Night's Dream"? Ronald Colman as Bulldog Drummond dashed about with exaggerated gallantry, but in his serious roles his walk is slouching, diffident, unassuming. Strangely enough, the screen's most graceful males happen to be two gentlemen who are noted more as excellent character actors than vendors of charm. There is Victor McLaglen, who carries his two hundred-odd pounds with military ease. His light, springy swag ger brings a healthy tang of adventure even into the clownish roles he is too often cursed with. And Chester Morris won his first fame in portraying a sleek, well-mannered young man whose walk betrayed an essential violence of character. His broad, sloping shoulders swing to a forceful rhythm. His wiry, compact body moves with jungle-cat grace. That sly little minx Hopkins' sprightly trot is harmonious with her piquant personality. But it also knows that Miriam has studied under Professor Lubitsch, who knows how to make comedy of pure motion. Of course, Ernst is using players who already have a sense of rhythm. It wasn't an amateur who tap-danced so torridly in "She Loves Me Not." Miriam Hopkins once dreamed of a dancer's career, but a broken ankle made her concentrate on acting. And Maurice Chevalier waltzes so suavely because he was a famous dancer, until war-injuries turned his ambitions into another channel. Even now, he dances and acts his songs, more than he sings them. Lubitsch weaves walking into the glittering fabric of his comedies — in the sombre pattern of Josef Von Sternberg's lavish camera work, walking is a recurring motif. Dietrich learned to express emotion and character through her intense pacing. George Bancroft and Evelyn Brent, who played in Von Sternberg's silent "Underworld," are remembered as dark figures walking, mind directed toward one object, stalking in search of love or revenge. Since motion is the essence of motion pictures, it isn't strange that so many have walked to stardom. Laurels for Hardy (Continued from page 25) In one of our pictures, for example, a buzz-saw cut my Ford in two and nearly did the same for me. At another time I tore the ligaments of my arms and back by falling six feet, nothing to speak of so far as distance went, but something of a strain on my two hundred and eighty pounds. That laid me up for six weeks. A little later I fell thirty-five feet from a thirteen-story building — my unlucky floor — but luckily my pants caught on a hook. Maybe that's why I'm a fatalist." "Have you had pneumonia?" I hopefully inquired. "Yes," he breathed, "but I didn't get it in a picture. I'm all right so long as I keep out of warm water. I insist upon having cold water to fall into — in fact, it's stipulated in my contract." "Ever had a bad scare?" "Once," he gulped. "But that wasn't in a picture, either, it was in Glasgow. Stan and I went abroad on what we thought would be a pleasure trip, but the next thing we knew we were making personal appearances for nothing, and that's no pleasure. As our train wasn't due at Glasgow till half-past ten at night we didn't think there'd be anybody to meet us. But there was a terrific crowd at the station. I'm not saying this to brag, but just to show you what we ran into. Those people meant well, but there was no holding them back. We never expected to reach the station alive, and when we finally did make it most of our clothes were torn off. They took everything we had on us for souvenirs, even Stan's wrist-watch, but it was returned next day. After that experience we didn't dare leave the hotel together — it wasn't safe." "Then a comedian's life is a serious business?" "Most of it," he nodded. "Our only relaxation together is working in pictures, and even making comedies is serious, for they're a matter of making serious things funny. When we aren't working we take our fun separately. I love golf, but Stan hates it. He likes to fish, and goes off with only a can of worms for company." At this point the lone fisherman ambled back, grinning broadly. Let it be said that Laurel does all his crying in pictures. Out of them he's a happy lad. a merry Andrew laughing at life. It was only between laughs that I now managed to get this out of him: "For years in pictures I was a terrible flop. I did things without thinking, giving the mannerisms of a character instead of the character itself. Then, not knowing what was wrong with me, I gave up the idea of being a comic. I was just screwy. So I decided to learn the business from a director's and a writer's angle, and worked at Roach's, where I'd been a star, as a comedy writer. First of all, I had to Americanize my sense of humor. Some English comedians who come over here don't (Please turn to page 64) What Every Woman Should Know . . . yet 8 out of 10 don't You may wear rubies and ermine, the latest Paris gown, a seductive perfume — you may have every exquisite accessory. BUT if you don't know how to powder your face, you're cruelly handicapped from the start. EVERY woman should recognize this fact: Nothing ages the face more than the icrong powder, crudely put on. Often it adds 5 to 10 years. Every woman should know how to powder, yet many don't. And all should know about one ultra-modern powder that actually subtracts years, giving the complexion a youthful, fresh glow that is adorable— natural. It is superior because of an exclusive process— it's stratified (rolled into tiny, clinging wafers). Hence no grit. Its delicate texture blends softly into the skin, lasts infinitely longer— conceals pores, but cannot enlarge them. 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