Photoplay (Jan - Jun 1926)

3T=? jgE^^gFEfeCT^ ten was correct, nowise resembles WHO niches our purse needs will explode, for the lining is bare. Who filches our heart trespasses, for East is East and West is West and even in pictures the Coast-lines should not knot. But they do, for the other day — We were enjoying an asterisk argument with an unseen telephone operator who insisted we had waited only nine and a half minutes for a number, while we insisted Suddenly, the door of our office, which in John D. Rockefeller's, swung wide and in pranced Boy Cupid, a cunning gill of mischief with guileless eyes and Singer Midget bow and arrow. "Hello," saluted our visitor with moonshine infection. " For cryin' in low. How are you, Cupe? " We shook hands and placed the receiver on the desk. "I feel like the last rose of autumn and spring has just came. Think of my being so low when mortals are being knocked for bars of Lohengrin marches. " "What's on your cerebellum, T. N. T.?" " I can't make heads or torsos of the movie stars, " he deplored. "No sooner did I decide Connie Talmadge would marry Buster Collier than she springs a nifty and yesses Captain Alastair Mackintosh from Scotland. " "Scotch fiber alles, " we murmured. "Cut the split infinitives," he wailed. "I'm all bewildered. Do you know anything about the flicker favorites' romantic doings?" "Cupe," we elucidated, "what the Oracle wras to Athens, we are to Movieopolis. " "I can see modesty is at the root of your poverty, " he psychoanalyzed. "But girl, not all my secretaries and file systems can keep abreast of these picture whatnots. Why don't you scribble what you know and help me check up?" Words by Dorothy Herzog Music by the Spheres tons Rudy ' Have you five asbestos in stock? " "Yes." "Very well. Now go to the movies, Cupe, and call again tomorrow morn. Goo'bye and look out for the subway crowds." We slip a sheet of typewriter) but our es discordantly. "Hey . . . ," we pick it think you waited more than for that number you're the loon's shadow,' finishing. "Right you are, Gloria Swanson. Take a ole bean, and nightmare over your signals, beginning. " Silence, except for noise everywhere. Our fingers gallop over l lie keys. They spill: Syncopated heart strings, a racing romance of the cinema folk which we hereby dedicate to a palpitating world with malice toward none and fun for all. lie there man amongst you who, to himself, never has exclaimed: My ideal is a jewel and my lingers yearn to be of tlie hutter-and-egg variety, but canst not. for Rudolph Valentino has breathed into Latin type life and love; King 28 Red hot romance. \ Sizzling romance. Rudy's and Natacha's. Icy dislike. Courts and lawyers. Divorce Rudy and Natacha. And now comes Pola. Hey! Hey! Natacha paper into the w. k. telephone receiver buzzup. ' . . . and if you nine and a half minutes the operator was sleeping potion, fhe War's just Yidor has immortalized "The Big Parade": and the perfect lover is made only by a sagacious press-agent. There may be an un-common conception amongst many that the picture cavorters are individual dots in an individual art. The common conception should be they are heterogeneous bodies, good mixers and. ofttimes, good stayers. Look ye to your newspaper headlines. Boy Cupid rants and raves over the w. k. game of heart throbs as played in cinema-land. Therefore — We raise the asbestos curtain of love and reveal to you first that rare cosmopolite triumvirate: Rudolph Valentino, Pola Negri, and Charlie Chaplin. Let the syncopated heart strings jazz forth romantic bars. Pi'osit! The play is on. Charlie Chaplin bemoans he is not a lad of pleasure but just plain poisonous. The gentle sex bows to his artfulness and the fire in his eyes. He may be the Pagliacci of the silver sheet, but he is an Adonis in continuity. While footing it debonairly in Germany, he met the smouldering Pola Negri. Flint struck spark and evoked a blaze. Pola came to America to hunt big game and eagles as an avocation, and Sharlee rushed her a la the famous Yale-Harvard football game of whynot. Newspaper scribes flocked to their Elysium where charlotte russe reigned supreme and chicken was a la comedy king. Throughout the world, enthusiastic readers absorbed the story of La Negri and her Sharlee. At the peak of the delicious suspense. Sharlee betook himself to his studio and his projection room, whilst Pola snappni ringed fingers and fini to an 8.000 mile romance of hurricane force but puny endurance. The world refused to do its stuff on its pivots until Sharlee eventually started " The Gold Rush " and Lita Gray skyrocketed into prominence. She did more than skyrocket. Lita had a screen mama who knew that two and two. added or multiplied, made four. Mexico and m a r Pola continued a rating game of While Pola popuHollywood and captiGartz. William Haines, and Pola m So Sharlee went to ried Lita and the divine speedily on her exhil heart throbs. larized the Lorelei in vated Rod La Rocque, "Craney Dr. Daniel C. Goodman. Sharlee welcomed an infantile Junior to his family and Rudolph Valentino endeavored to obliterate his second matrimonial mishap. La Negri's piercing slate-gray eyes espied the suave Rudy, appraised him, and sparkled with pleasure. What cared she for the blank cartridge report that Valentino and Vilma Banky were linked together by casual gossip in a 101 degree Fahrenheit way? Piff, nothing. Did Rudy care when we popped the question at him: "Is it true?" ••What?" "That you are among the elect? That the divine Pola has crowned you? "