Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1931)

Here it is — the new type! Marlene Dietrich's lack-lustre eyes say everything to be said And Tallulah Bankhead's style whets sharply the imagination While Garbo is the symbol of everything mysterious in woman. She started it Charm? No! No! You THE movies have done it again! They've introduced a new word into ordinary conversation, started a new fad, begun a new cycle, created a new standard. The movies are good at that. The new word is "glamour," the new fad is glamorousness, the new cycle is more glamour and the new standard is more of the same thing. The ingenue with her friendly, hurt smile, her bird-like gestures, her coy maidenliness is as old-fashioned as a hansom cab. In a word, if you want to be popular — be glamorous. For years the Elinor Glyns and Beatrice Fairfaxes have been writing about charm. They've told young women with social ambitions that that vague quality was essential. But the word has now been passed into the limbo of forgotten things. The new one, the all-consuming word of the moment, is "glamour." If you don't believe me (and you wouldn't be the first), take a look at the present roster of film stars. Take a couple of looks — they're worth it. Marlene Dietrich, of the heavy-lidded, inscrutable eyes, the sullen mouth. Garbo (who really, I believe, started it all), of the languorous, pale body. Tallulah Bankhead, also heavy lidded, also inscrutable. Joan Crawford, the exponent of the neurotic younger generation. Constance Bennett, long limbed and fluid, a woman to pique the imagination. Lilyan Tashman, decked in sophistication and Paris gowns. Elissa Landi, mysterious as a supervisor's idea. And the very new one — Lil Dagover, a rapturous beauty who came to American before her time, was sent back and now returns to spread glamour. And many, many more come to mind — but I'm running out of adjectives. Although the new school has been gathering momentum for some time, The once po straight, direct Example, Paramount really fired the first shot when they dropped from their contract list Mary Brian, Jean Arthur and Fay Wray. Now here were three charming, sweet, whimsical little girls who, so everybody thought, had a good sized fan following. But, according to statistics, they simply didn't draw at the old box-office. The glamour gals were beating them hands (and eyelashes) down. These girls were the exponents of the charm school. Charm simply oozed — but they had no glamour. But Mary Brian is being smart. After some futile little girl tears, when she was told her name was to be struck from the list, she packed her trunks and left Hollywood for her first European trip. She went in search of sophistication. After six years of "the little girl who lives next door" roles, she's out to become a woman capable of stealing the husband of the little woman who lives next door. Mary, for six years a good draw, suddenly found herself, like a number of others, one of that vast horde of disappearing ingenues for which you, you and you have no use. WHAT brought about the drastic change? Your guess is as good as mine. It all goes in cycles anyhow. Remember the Theda Baras, the Nita Naldis, the Virginia Pearsons, the Louise Glaums? For them "vamp" was coined. "Glamour" has now been introduced into the average vocabulary. Their kingdoms toppled when Sweetness and Light showed through. For years the nice girl had her day. Her screen path was clear. She must neither drink, nor smoke. She must be chaste, nay almost prudish. She must be kind to old ladies, children and stray cats. Her clothes must be pular vamp — but never subtle. Theda Bara