The New Movie Magazine (Jan-Sep 1935)

The Dark Horse Is a Blonde {Continued from page 21) Janis — Shows, night clubs and so forth? Joan — Everything! It's all so stimulating. I'm nearly dead! (She looked all of eighteen, and talk about school girl complexions! Hers is a kindergarten complexion.) Janis — Have you seen "Anything Goes"? Joan — I'm seeing that tomorrow night. Tonight I'm seeing "Three Men on a Horse." Janis — How long are you going to be here? Joan — I'm leaving Tuesday. I could stay longer but I'm afraid the baby will forget me. Janis — What a chance! How old is she now? Joan — Fourteen months. Gene told me last night on the phone that he has her kiss my picture every day, but I'm not taking chances. You ought to see her. She's a darling and exactly like Gene. '"PHIS went on and on. We dragged -* her husband, my ex-collaborator, through the chops, salad and right up to the coffee; there we left him temporarily, sitting on the peak of praise where we had placed him. I started to try and find out something about "Mama" Markey, her plans and ambitions, but somehow we switched to her mother and her successful play brokerage business, then to sister Barbara and her successful endeavors in raising a brood of young Downeys. On to sister Constance, her marriages, her charm and her extraordinary energy. Leaping to London conversationally we gave Father Richard Bennett his quota of attention. I tell you that once you get tangled up in the Bennett clan nothing less than a Bennett can get you out. I still don't know how I got Joan far enough away from the family news to learn that she has had many offers to return to the stage and has never felt the urge to do so until now. She has read a book in which there is a girl's character that she is longing to bring to life. You'll never guess. Our sweet little Joanie, portrayer of purer than pure heroines, wants to play Jenny in "February Hill," best seller and most successful shocker of the literary season. Joan would be magnificent as Jenny. Censorship might ruin "February Hill," so I don't believe it will be screened, but if you could see Joan's expression when she talks about playing Jenny you would go gunning for censors. "From the moment I read it, I've lived with that book," she said. "I've got it all cast in my mind. So-and-so would be fine as the grandmother. Can't you see so-and-so as the mother? Imagine so-and-so as that child Amy!" Incidentally those so-and-so's represent an all-star cast showing that Joanie is too wise to dream of trying to do a one woman show. I withhold the names because, if "February Hill" should be screened, I see no reason for any studio having the advantage of Joan's ability as casting director, unless she herself plays Jenny. I hope she does. A characterization like Jenny would lift her forever out of the morass of mild maidens she has had to cope with in her screen portrayals. She is already well on the way out of the "just a sweet blonde" pigeon hole and I believe that one more year of getting the breaks will establish her as the most important Bennett. Not that Constance isn't everything her admirers claim, but she can no longer surprise us, and Baby Joan can. She does it all the time in private life. If in doubt get friend Gene started on the subject of Mrs. Markey. Joan is a wonderful mother, a delightful hostess and a good sport. I'm not sure that her elder daughter ("Diddy" she is pet-named) didn't make the match between Gene and Joan. I know that during the courtship, when all Hollywood was buzzing about the Bennett-Markey "ensemble," Gene and I were working on a scenario together. He was always just going to see Diddy or had just left Diddy. In fact, for a long time I thought Diddy was his own particular name for Joan. I'm wondering if Diddy ordered that baby sister. At any rate she is very pleased with her, Joan tells me. The comparatively new little Miss Markey is a very lucky baby. A daddy who is one of the most successful writers in Hollywood. A mama who is a great success and knows about the mama-business already. A lovely home. Not one of the pretentious or showy sort which loom on all corners of Beverly Hills, but just a nice livable house filled with proofs of the mutual good taste of Joan and Gene. I have been there only once and during the visit I was fascinated by her dignity, her perfect poise as she trailed about in a beautiful blue creation, perhaps more so because dignity and trains are two things I have never been able to handle. I had not talked with her and I wanted to very much. Admitted mine was a definite, "I've got to know more about my pal's wife" attitude. I found her in the living-room which was crowded with guests and seething with conversation. Over in a corner leaning on the grand piano completely oblivious to all the chatter Joan stood listening to Dick Rogers who plays as well as he composes. I took the opposite side of the baby grand, leaning and looking at Joan. Her flower-like face was cupped in the long slender hands. The "cheaters" were off, there being nothing in particular that she wanted to see, saintly was the only word for her expression. Dick Rogers strummed softly on one of the popular blues of the day. "Sing it, Joan," he said. She smiled and shook her head. "Have you heard her sing?" Dick said to me. I wanted to say I haven't even heard her really talk yet, but I added a personal coax or so. Joan started to hum. A cello, no less. Surprise! I couldn't believe the low husky tones were emanating from the slender snow-white throat, but they were and what's more, they started really to come out as she swayed in rhythm. I was actually thrilled. Joan and I had found one thing in common already — the key of D. For well over an hour we kept poor Dick Rogers cornered while we sang duets. Shortly after the party I came East and didn't see Joan again until last week. Believe me, I'm going to see more of her when I return to the Coast, if I have my way. Don't let me give you the impression that Joan is undiscovered in Hollywood. She is one of the most popular girls there, but that she should be a "dark horse" in my affections is absurd considering I've known her practically since she was born. She's a winner, Ladies and Gents, and she is going places. Watch her dust. If you do, you'll probably find me covered with it, but cheering her on to greater success. In passing I may add that this guy Markey she is married to is no handicap. YOUR BROTHERS A NEW MAN SINCE HE MARRIED LUCY. HE OUGHT TO JOIN THE HAPPY HUSBANDS CLUB. ^">^::^ HEMIGHTAS WELL JOIN THE "GRAY SHIRTS^ TOO. "That's a mean crack. Why don't you be nice and tell Lucy how to get rid of tattle-tale gray ?" "How would I know? I've never kept house. You tell me and I'll tell her." "All right, listen . . ." "Lucy's trouble is left-over dirt— her clothes are only half clean. So tell her to change to Fels-Naptha right away. That grand golden soap is so chockful of naptha that dirt almost flies out. And I mean ALL OF IT, too!" "I'll remember — anything else?" "Sure! Tell Lucy to wash everything in that gorgeous trousseau of hers with Fels-Naptha Soap. It's gentle as can be to silk undies and stockings. And there's real glycerine in every golden bar — so Fels-Naptha is dandy to hands!" "Look! I told Lucy what you said about Fels-Naptha — and now she won't keep house without it. It certainly does a wonderful job!" "That's why I tell everybody . . . BANISH TATTLE-TALE GRAY WITH FELS-NAPTHA SOAP" © 1935, FELS A CO. The Neiv Movie Magazine, August, 1935 47