Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1921)

THE STARS How would you like to know how they actually to seven famous stars — one for each day — and a diary, of the happenings of that day. WED THU 1 FRI 1 SAT iB h& 1 1 Blk ^r /*"> ""^Wfc^^i K.A wBOit" '4 jg 1 ■ tr~ m. \ Awk ' R is ^r ^ ^ ^^m v H ^^ ti*' On the set. The picture is called "Under the Lash " — whiplash, not eye-lash — and I wear a funny old 1898 gown. We shot a lot of scenes. Once we had to stop because a moth got into the long, detachable beard Russell Simpson wears. Sam Wood, my director, called lunch at twelve. Betty Compson, in a beautiful Chinese kimono, and Jim Kirkwood, in a gorgeous palm beach suit, were just ahead of me. After lunch a lot of us sat out on the grass a while — Sam Wood, Mahlon Hamilton, Lila Lee, Milton Sills, Betty Compson, and some others. Somebody suggested that we play "imitations." So Mahlon imitated Betty, and I imitated Cecil deMille. Sam said he'd imitate me. He wrapped my "Shulamite" shawl around him, and threw back his head and shouted, "Oh, Sa-am, isn't it time for lunch yet?" Then we started shooting again and worked until five. Madame Elinor Glyn came to tea at my house and then guess where we went? To the movies, to see "The Great Moment!" THURSDAY By Wallace Reid ]\ /[OTHER, who lives in Highlands, New Jersey, spent the *■ * *■ day with me. It was her first visit to a motion picture studio, and she was tickled to death. We looked at Algerian deserts and English baronial halls and San Francisco street scenes. Later Mother watched Elsie Ferguson and I go through the dream scenes for "Peter Ibbetson." By the time I was ungreased and ready for the street again, it was time for dinner. I had tickets for the theater, and Mother and I went there later. The show was "The Champion," which I'm to film. After I had taken Mother to her hotel and said good-night, I came back to the apartment, donned pajamas and bathrobe and called up the residence of Wallace Reid, in Hollywood. Dorothy (my wife) answered the 'phone. Our son Bill was having a big birthday party — you know that when it's midnight :n New York, it's only eight o'clock in Hollywood. Bill was just about to cut his birthday cake, but he came out obediently to the telephone. "I got your present, dad," he said. "When you coming home?" "I'm coming back just as quick as I can," I told him. "Gee, that Georgie Beban and the other kids are eatin' my cake a mile a minute. So long, dad," he yelled clear across the continent. FRIDAY By Bebe Daniels CTHDAY — I'm more suspicious than ever of Fridays — I got * pinched on one. When the band plays "The Stars and Stripes Forever," I shiver. Not thai they made me wear stripes, and it was an awfully nice jail, as jails go, anyway. I had a date at the hospital at ten to run in and see some of my wounded soldiers. I brought the boys flowers and cigarettes. I saw Tony Moreno handing out smokes. Tony's a trump. At two I had to go over to the studio and toil — in a beautiful black velvet negligee lined with gold cloth and trimmed in gray squirrel. We worked straight through to dinner time. Mother had a lovely dinner party arranged for me — some old friends we used to know in Texas had blown into town. Lila Lee came, too. Afterwards all of us went to a theater. SATURDAY By Lila Lee NTINE o'clock. This is a day of rest for school children and *■ ^ business men — but not for me. We are working just the same. Got up at eight and had a very slight breakfast. I am reducing, you know. Arrived at the studio exactly at 9:15. Ten o'clock. Working hard on the roof, making a picture with Wally Reid. It's a little hot. The picture is called "Rent Free," and is very amusing. It is all great fun, because I like to work with Wally. Eleven o'clock. Still working — harder and harder. Everybody is in a good humor though. That's the nice part about this studio; they are the best-natured people in the world. Twelve o'clock. Lunch. Two o'clock. Back on the set. The last day up here. Four o'clock. Took off my make-up and put on my street clothes. My sister, Peggy, called for me and we went home. Put on my riding clothes and met Gloria Swanson. Gloria is a wonderful horse-woman. Six o'clock. Dinner. While we were dining — just the family — I turned on the phonograph. We have a little high or low-brow music, according to the courses. You always feel spiritual and grand when you are eating a Peach Melba. Eight o'clock. Reading! It is really study. I am working hard to make up for the college education I didn't get. Ten o'clock. Dancing at home. Talk. The best time of the day. Sometimes on Saturdays I go out to dance, but the best kind of an evening that I can imagine is one just doing nothing. 49