The New Movie Magazine (Jan-Sep 1935)

T\IRECTOR IRVING CUMMINGS . . . shooting a scene on the l^J edge of a marshy duck preserve, anxiously warned everyone to be careful and not fall in. Came the shot, and, right in the middle of a scene between Spencer Tracy and Wendy Barrie, there ivas a loud SPLASH ! ! Interested in watching the action, Cummings had stepped too close and fallen into the marsh! /OAN BENNETT and her husband, Gene Mar key, have practically decided to get rid of that miniature electric merry-go-round, purchased as a present for their two youngsters. Coming home early the other day, they were surprised to find the Japanese houseboy riding around and around in a flagrant imitation of Tom Mix while he endeavored to lasso passing objects with the family clothes line, made into a lariat! That was cute, but the rear lawn was littered with a pack of the more expensive neighborhood dogs, lying about panting and slightly dizzy from the chase! WE'RE still chuckling over the sht V \ shock Monroe Owsley got in the cocktail lounge of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel the other afternoon. Sitting at the bar with some friends, Owsley was trying to describe the ingredients of a certain drink he had tasted once long ago. It didn't sound familiar to the bartender, but being willing to try anything once, he put the makin's into a shaker and gave 'em the works. As he shook the mixture he smiled graciously at his customer and asked: "What's your name?" Well, that was bad enough, but thinking that maybe the guy didn't get around much, our actor friend swallowed his injured pride and said: "Monroe Owsley!" "Ow as in cow," the bartender said pleasantly. "All right, we'll name this an Ow Cocktail aft er you I" O HIRLEY TEMPLE ivas being ackj corded a place ivith filmdom's immortals by putting her footprints in the concrete of the Grauman Chinese Theater. The crowd was terrific and police were busy elbowing spectators back of the ropes. "Say," a worried man exclaimed, "let me through. I'm Shirley's father!" "Sure!" grunted a husky minion of the law. "And I'm Mary, Queen of Scots!" "Shirley!" the man called. "Yes, Daddy!" the little star ansivered. "Stand aside, Queen Mary," chuckled George Temple in tri umphant glee as he ivorked his nay to his charming daughter s side. "You win!" muttered the cop. JACK DONOHUE, dance director, has a few symptoms that should get him a membership. All during the racing season, Jack would pick a horse in every race, put the names down in his little red book, and then go out to the track to watch his selections run out. At the end of the season, Jack checked up and found that he had gone exactly $15,000 in the red on the gee-gees. But did he give a care? No, not one . . . because all he had to do was tear a dozen pages out of the little red book, and . . . the slate was clean! T/ffE repeat . . . there arc birds . . . yy and birds. George Raft awoke bright and early the other morning to find the bedroom of his penthouse literally swarming with inquisitive pigeons! A few of the fresher ones squatted right on the Raft chest, as much as to say: "What are you going to do about it?" And it took Georgie and his pal, "Killer" Gray, all morning to shoo 'em out! Moral: Don't eat crackers in bed. OF course, we've all heard rumors to the effect that Stepin Fetchit has a good big edge on the "laziest man in the world," but an outof-town pal swears that, on a recent personal appearance tour, the Fox blackberry actually lolled back in an easy chair while his valet took bows for him? AND that ought to get Stepin an honorarv membership in the FITS and CONVULSIONS Club, founded by W. C. Fields (wouldn't you just know it?) in an irresponsible moment. The club had four vice-presidents . . . and nobody knows who the president is. If you are caught talking intelligently to a sane person for more than four minutes, there's a twenty dollar fine . . . and no beefing about it, either! There's a ten dollar fine for getting on a train without leaving some important luggage behind, and a twenty dollar additional tag for anyone caught NOT annoying the porter. And you're not supposed to know where you're going, either! A special rule for week-ends dares anyone to go to bed before 4 A.M. . . . and demands that, on that same weary day, they be on the golf course not later than 9 a.m.! And, if you can see the golf balls, there's another fine of twenty dollars! The game has its drawbacks, however, because one day a month must be spent with a sane person, and, while you continue to be plumb crazy, there's a terrific forfeit if you let your lucid victim get out of your sight for even five minutes ! It sounds like a lot of fun, and so as not to be left on the outside looking in, Papa NEMO thinks hell follow the crowd and join up with the crack-pots. {Please turn to page 50) The New Movie Magazine, July, 1935 29