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rV|/atch
this Hombre!
Steady, girls! Our star-wise interviewer says that Don
Jose Mojica has the lure of Rudy, the sweetness and
musical genius of Ramon, the everything that makes
for screen greatness
HUSBANDS— lock up your wives! Mothers — send away your, daughters! Jose Mojica is in the movies!
Stop the presses and chain me .to my desk. Take the dictionary and find a complete set of brand-new adjectives. It isn't as if I were just a little gal from the Junction. Why, I've sat in Jack Gilbert's dressing room and listened to him talk about art for hours. And I've heard Ramon Novarro sing away an entire afternoon. And then, of course, there was that luncheon over at Charlie Farrell's house that I'm always going on about Once Dick Arlen took me to the theater. (Well, of course, his wife was in the play, but anyhow — )
Now there's Jose Mojica, and if he isn't the sensation of the season then I'll eat a box of sound effects.
Is he the new Valentino, who will sing his way into millions of hearts?
By
Katherine Albert
His still pictures don't begin to do right by him. He is far from handsome in the Hollywood sense of the word. Nose is too flat. Jaw is too square. But a couple of flat noses and a whole school of square jaws don't matter when he starts to talk. Remember that Rudy Vallee kid that the gals were so mad about? Yeah, he had a sex appeal voice, too.
Jose has everything — the refinement and sweetness of Ramon Novarro and Buddy Rogers, and that old-fashioned lure copyrighted by Jack Gilbert and Rudolph Valentino. I've got that off my typewriter. I feel better about it.
w:
HO is and from whence comes the Lothario of all these raves? The vital statistics sound tame. . . Born in San Gabriel, Mexico. . . Studied to be an engineer. . . Revolution. . . University closed. . . Amateur opera ... To New York to study. . . A meeting with a musician who got him a part. ... A contract with the Chicago Civic Opera Company. . . Leads opposite Mary Garden, Galli-Curci and Caruso. . . Talking pictures. . . Contract with Fox.
But vital statistics are the least vital of all gestures. The "Who's Who in Music" gives just such a bare outline. It neglects the color and dash and Latin naivete of a lad who is destined (unless the entire public loses its collective mind) to be a sensation.
"I am no saint," said Jose, in the liquid, flowing tones of all Latins. "Ramon Novarro, whom I admire and respect, is a good boy. But I — I am not so good.
"My mother — bless her, she is a wonderful woman, living with me now and advising and helping me — gave me $500 to go to New York to study. It was all she had then. And I thought that $500 was all the money in the world. I thought it would last forever.
"So instead of going to a good teacher and studying, I took my friends to hear Caruso every night and spent what was left on those bea-u-tiful blonde girls. I had never seen girls with such fair skin before. They were so lovely. And one morning I find I have no $500 at all."
This confession left him breathless, so he went into a eulogy of his mother. "Oh, always she is so good to me. My father died when I was a baby. I am the only child.
"The minute I got a chance with a little opera company and put on a costume and smeared my [ please turn to page 1 10 ]
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