Photoplay (Jan - Jun 1931)

128 Photoplay Magazine for April, 1931 Cleans Gloves like Magic YOU can always enjoy the luxury of fresh, clean gloves if you follow these simple directions: For kid gloves — place on hands and rub lightly with a clean Energine-moistened cloth. Spots vanish completely and gloves are ready to wear because Energine dries instantly. For completely soiled or washable gloves — submerge in a shallow basin of Energine, squeeze lightly, then permit to dry. They are ready in just a minute — delightfully clean, fresh. Energine leaves no odor and no regrets. Spots and soil from all apparel including suits, dresses, coats, hats, ties, shoes, etc. — are quickly and thoroughly removed with Energine. Just follow the simple directions on the label. A little goes a long way. Get theEnergine habit — it saves money and self-respect. Large can 35c. All druggists. Millions Of Cans ^ Sold Yearly ^ ww& LEAVES NO ODOR THE PERFECT CLEANING FLUID Don't be an EX-BLONDE "TTOWmuchlighteryourhairusedtobe." What il a pity to hear this from old friends. You won't if you use Blondex. This special shampoo, f it blondes only, prevents darkening— gradually restores natural, radiant beauty to dull, faded blonde hair. Not a dye. No injurious chemicals. Good for scalp. Follow the advice of a million delighted users. At all standard drug and department stores. Try Blondex today. CORNS and tender toes — relieved ia 1 minute by these thin, soothing, healing pads. Safe! Also sizes for Callouses, Bunions DlScholls Zinopads 41 You Should See My Kid Sister" [ CONTINUED PBOM PAGE 31 j High, to learn the things every youngster learns, but to other schools, to learn the A B C'S of the theater. Nance O'Neil taught her dramatics; dance-master Ernest Belcher taught her the arts of Terpsichore; a noted voice teacher gave her singing lessons . . . A XD in the meantime, Sister Jeanne was -^Mooting Marian's horn. "You ought to see my kid sister!" became her stock phrase on the lots where she worked. She helped the youngster get extra parts, here and there. One day, on the Warner lot, when both were working the same day, Jeanne talked the still photographer into taking some art portraits of Marian. They were magnificent — Elmer Fryer, the photographer who did it, is recognized as one of Hollywood's best. And somehow — Jeanne won't admit she did this! — somehow, the pictures came to the attention of Jack Warner. "Good Jehosaphat — she looks like Dolores Costello!" was his reaction. And it was true — Marian, big-eyed, blonde, round-faced, did look like Dolores Costello, who, having just married John Barrymore, was off the screen. "We'll take a chance." They signed her. And then Warner Bros, studio shut down! Once again, luck seemed to have deserted the sister before Marian could get a real chance. That brings us to just a few weeks ago — near the end of little Marian's contract. They were looking for somebody to play Trilby. Actress after actress had been interviewed, tested, found wanting. John Barrymore, picking his own cast, was mighty particular about Trilby — he wanted somebody who looked like the Trilby Du Maurier had sketched to illustrate his own book. And more, Barrymore wanted something more — he was looking for a quality he couldn't quite define. And in the midst of it, he fell ill. Executives were desperate. Barrymore'ill, flat on his back, costs mounting, and no Trilby. "How about little Marian Marsh?" suggested Jack Warner. "She looks like Dolores Costello. Maybe . . ." Marian was called to the studio. She wasn't told what was up. "You're going to call on Mr. Barrymore," was all they told her. She was bundled into a car, and to Barrymore's house. Into the sickroom. Terrified, she was. So much had been told of Barrymore's strange ways — she didn't know whether he'd curse her out or eat her up. All he did was ask her a few questions, and look a bit startled at the resemblance between her and Dolores. Then they took her away. Y\ TELL, that's about all there is to the story. W Except that when they told her, seventeenyear-old Marian was so thrilled, she could hardly talk. And it was funny to see her try to remember the poise Xance O'Xeil had taught her, and forget she was just a schoolgirl that was living a real-life Cinderella story. What! No Guns? CONTINUED FROM PAGE 56 ] Put one on — the pain is gonet glittered and shot fires of venom around the room. It was terrific. And that part made Edward G. Robinson the king of stage and picture gangsters. A nice pal — like an angry rattlesnake! Playing Scarsi in a Coast production of " The Racket, " he was snapped up by Universal for a part in "The Xight Ride." And Eddie was off on his career behind a sub-machine gun. He hates, he shoots, he kills! And the astonishing part of it is that Edward G. Robinson, up to the hour he burst upon us in "The Racket," was labelled "a highbrow actor." He had appeared in some ten plays for the hoity-toity New York Theater Guild, guardian of high and lofty art for the American stage. He was a Master of Arts of Columbia University. He had created suave characters for the best producers on Broadway during his sixteen years in the theater — as well as many good roles in foreign-language playhouses. THEN the guns of "The Racket" barked, and he was typed. Now he is Lillk Caesar on and off — the venomous little viper who carries nothing more lethal in his hip pocket than a French linen handkerchief. And Eddie writhes. "I don't want to be typed!" he says. "I've played, and can play any sort of character. In fact, I'm a creator of character — not a typeplayer." And Robinson is right — and I'd almost rather be Robinson than right, considering that new contract. Anyone who saw his magnificent performance as the Italian grape grower in "A Lady to Love," Yilma Banky's talkie, knows his versatility. He'll get new, fresh roles in Hollywood, but he's labelled. He's Little Caesar' Put him under the microscope, and here's the manner of man this adder is: Born in Bucharest, Roumania, in 1893. In childhood he wanted to be a lawyer, a teacher and an actor, and he compromised on acting. His family came to America and was naturalized when Eddie was a kid. He's married to Gladys Lloyd, the actress — there was just a flash of her in "Little Caesar." She's a beauty, and blonde, and they're as happy a pair as you could find in a week's march over hill and dale. I MET Eddie and his Missus on the steps of beautiful St. Thomas's Church, in New York, one Easter Sunday morning, a year or so ago. He was fresh from the fusillades of "The Racket." I hurriedly frisked him, but found no thing more incrimina ting than a foun tain pen . "We've just been in to look at the flowers," said Eddie. "And how beautiful they are." I hate to tear the cruel mask from Little Caesar this way. There is probably no actor now alive who can portray concentrated cruelty, unlimited ruthlessness, bottled venom and bottomless hatred as can this mild-voiced, wide-mouthed, sparkling-eyed little Roumanian. But here he is — gentle, kindly, intellectual and mild. Not a gat in a carload. But I don't expect to ever sell the softspoken, harmless Eddie Robinson to the kids of the Republic. In a truly remarkable way, the brand of Little Caesar is upon him. Though Eddie founds a dozen orphanages with his spare change, he'll still be the merciless killer to the youngsters of the land. Xot since the brave days of Theda Bara herself has a character fastened itself upon a player to this degree. Oh, Eddie Robinson will get all sorts of grand parts to play before he leaves Hollywood to its own devices and vices. But the mark is on him. Often, as he tosses on his downy cot o' nights, he'll think of the last line of that great picture, as Caesar lies wounded — " Mother of Mercy, is this the end of Rko?" And Edward G. Robinson, the man who became Caesar, will toss harder, and mutter: "Good gosh, I hope so!"