The New Movie Magazine (Jan-Sep 1935)

BOTTLE OR TUBE and 25c SIZES Her Four Devils are derived from the same root. And temperament is the thing which enables people to express their emotions. That is why, I suppose, that actresses have more temperament than most women . . . because, being actresses, they are constantly exercising their emotions. Most women are selfconscious about expressing their emotions. If they are angry, they try to hide it. If they are enamoured, they also try to hide that. If they feel sympathetic, they try to hold themselves in check. If they are overjoyed they refrain from jumping around the room. I think all this is too bad . . . really I do. An even-tempered, smoothrunning personality is like too much of the same color around you. It grows tiresome. A splash of red would perhaps relieve the monotony. A splash of red in one's personality will attract a man's eye much more quickly and hold it longer than a lovely, even shade of pale pink. (I can always explain things to myself with color analogies, for colors mean much to me.) LET me tell you a little anecdote to <* explain it further. There is a young romance which I have been watching for some time. The girl has one of the sweetest dispositions I have ever known . . . always agreeable, always patient, always understanding. The young man, slightly irresponsible, has often taken advantage of this fact . . . breaking dates on occasions, arriving late for appointments, and that sort of thing, all of which she seemed to understand and forgive. Until one day, when she flared up and refused to see him again if he didn't mend his ways. With that little speech she slammed the door in his face. He went away beaming. He was delighted and encouraged. The girl had spirit, after all! Immediately he fell in love with her all over again . . . and he hasn't been known to break a date since. As for vanity ... I say every -woman should be vain! It is one of the most important qualities in an actress . ._ . and it is only slightly less important in other women. I have been, incurably vain ever since I was a little girl. What woman hasn't! In the convent we were taught that vanity was against religion. We were not allowed to wear make-up . . . and even pocket mirrors were denied us. Yet I always managed to have one with me. I made a pocket on the inside of my uniform, and carried one little mirror there. Then, in my desk, on the inside of the top, I tacked a mirror. My mirrors were never discovered, but I was punished once for curling my hair. We were all required to wear our hair simply parted in the middle, and hanging in two long braids over our shoulders. One day I stopped my braid half way down the length of my hair, and curled the rest of it. When it was discovered, one of the nuns led me out into a patio where all the girls were gathered for a meeting, and publicly punished me. But it didn't do me any good! The shame of being so publicly punished, even, had no effect on me. My appearance was still of paramount interest. And so it should be to every woman. Women are entirely too careless about their appearance. They are apt to follow the same beauty routine, month after month, without knowing why. If you ask the average girl why she parts her hair on the side, she is quite likely to say, "Oh, I don't know ... it just happens to go that way" — when we should never do anything about our {Continued from page 20) looks unless there is a well thoughtout reason for it. We must all study ourselves carefully to know which coiffure is the most attractive, which makeup is the most becoming, which style of dress is the most flattering. For one thing, I never allow anyone to see me, even my closest friends unless I am looking my very best, and no woman who respects herself should. Vanity is something which I think should be instilled in little girls, even as young as ten years old. Not every girl can be beautiful but every woman can be what the French people call soignee . . . which means "cared for." And if I can be excused a little pun, I can say that to be soignee is to be cared for, by someone. In fact a soignee woman is often more attractive than a beautiful one. She is always exquisitely groomed . . . she is neat and spotless and fresh-looking always. I feel certain that men like vain women. They like to know that a woman takes excellent care of herself, for they know then that, as she grows older, she will never grow any less attractive. Of course a woman must not be stupid about her vanity. She must not parade it in public places. She must confine her pursuit of beauty to her own boudoir. And if a woman is constantly late because of last-minute primping . . . well, as I said before, that is only stupid, and stupid women never get any place anyway. My vanity really has two reasons for its existence. There is Cedric, my husband . . . whom I always want to be proud of me. And there are my fans ... I never want them to see me except at my best. Recently when I flew to Mexico to visit my childhood home there were hundreds of them there at the airport to greet me. And I was greatly criticized for not stepping out of the plane at once to see them, and to let them see me. Yes, I kept them waiting for a few minutes. But that was necessary . . . for in those few minutes I freshened my make-up, combed my hair, and tried to make myself look as attractive as possible. I felt I owed them that . . . and I am sure they were more glad to see me, because of that wait and the way I used that time, than they would have been had I stepped from the plane disheveled and dusty. As for stubbornness ... if determination is stubbornness, then I am also stubborn and to a very great degree. To be successful in anything you must fight for what you believe is right, every step of the way. And there are always dozens of people who will do their best to talk you out of anything, particularly if it is something you want very much to do. Of course there are two kinds of stubbornness . . . stupid, bigoted pigheadedness, and intelligent upholding of a principle. If I am convinced that I am wrong, I can, without any silly pride, swing over to the opposite side and be just as stubborn about it as I was about my former stand. I am quite certain that nobody admires a wishy-washy person who thinks this this moment, and something else the next. But neither is a blindly stubborn person looked up to. Stubbornness is a good quality only when it is intelligent. The time when my stubbornness came into most importance was when I was fighting to be allowed to do modern parts on the screen, and to get away from always being a native girl. I said that I would not accept another native role, if I had to wait ten years to get the sort of thing I wanted. It was difficult, keeping my promise to myself, but I kept it. I had many attractive scripts submitted to me . . . one from the beautiful book, "Green Mansions" . . . and you can well imagine how strongly I was tempted to do the part of the dream girl in that story. But no! I had sworn that in my next picture I would be a modern girl, wearing modern clothes. That so-called stubbornness kept me off the screen for a year . . . but it was well worth it, for it opened up a new career to me. As for the last professional trait — selfishness — perhaps you who have tried to be selfish know how difficult it is. I rather think that selfishness is more 0} a self-sacrifice than unselfishness — for unselfishness always reaps a happy reward, even if it is only in the happiness of others, which you, in turn enjoy. But to be selfish ... it is a thankless job. Yet it is something which every actress should be. JET me explain. Perhaps this is a bit -*— ' out of the ordinary, but I honestly feel that I do owe myself to my fans. My producer pays me a salary, only because there are a certain number of you who always go to see my pictures. If I am not always looking and acting my best in my pictures you will not continue to pay money to see me. Therefore I owe to you and my producers and my pictures the best that is in me. To give you that I must be completely selfish. I cannot see my friends while I am working on a picture. I must cancel all my social engagements, and I do not even receive telephone calls. If someone happens to drop in against the rules, at nine, promptly, I excuse myself and say that I must go to bed. It is very rude, I know, but I must be rude. This is not only annoying to my friends — and I promise you, very few of them really understand it — but it also is difficult for Cedric. When I return home from the studio, if my body requires food, I sit down at the table, without waiting for him, and my dinner is served to me. Many times he must eat alone, while I am working, and spend the entire evening alone in the library. Fortunately Cedric, who works in a studio all day himself, understands this form of selfishness, and is tolerant. I have been criticized on many occasions for refusing to make benefit performances, for declining invitations to talk on the radio, for declining just social invitations. I do not omit these things because I want to, but because I must. I must be selfish, because of my work. It is only good sense. An actress who spreads herself thinly over a number of friends and engagements, gives nothing to any of them. We cannot spread ourselves around or we will have nothing to offer anywhere. We must draw everything, our energy, our spare moments, our inspiration, close around ourselves . . . and into ourselves, selfishly, instead of sharing these things with others. It is a rule I had to learn. It did not come naturally or easily. I had to develop the art of being selfish. But don't you think that because my selfishness, my vanity, my stubbornness and my temperament, even, are devoted to you ... a gesture for your esteem . . . that perhaps you might forgive me for them? I have a feeling that you will ... or else I should never have written this story. 52 The New Movie Magazine, August, 1935