Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1930)

Became a Great Beauty Remember Pauline Starke, the plain little girl who played pathetic roles in silent pictures? Here's the story of a Cinderella who became a beautiful Princess By Janet French FUNDAMENTALLY, she has remained the same. Mrs. Jack White, who rides in a Rolls Royce and entertains in a beautifully appointed home in Beverly Hills is, at heart, the little Pauline Starke who did extra work and bits for Griffith and drove a hard bargain for her first cheap fur coat "on time." It is the outer woman, and not the inner, that has changed. In the old days you knew Pauline was a fine actress. You could look at her and tell she had pluck and will power and a capacity for hard, hard work. But you never said, "Oh, isn't she beautiful?"' You called her interesting looking, perhaps, and at one time, when she affected a boyish bob, you might have added that she possessed distinction. She was never cast in lavish roles where she wore gorgeous, glittering clothes, except once when she played in a very bad Elinor Glyn picture. She was invariably the brow-beaten, weepy heroine who, in rags and tatters, sat by the old hearthstone while the stunning blonde from the city walked off with her man. And no girl has had more disappointments, professionally, more heartaches than Pauline. She achieved a share of success at Metro-Gold wyn-Mayer and when her contract expired there, she became as forgotten as the people who arrive first at parties. And then suddenly, as suddenness goes in the unaware city of Hollywood, she blossomed out into one of the most beautiful of all the beautiful women in filmdom. You gasp when she comes into a room. She wears her clothes so well. Her figure is so lovely. But most of all you notice her face, a softly radiant face, womanly and calm. A few years ago you might have damned that same face by saying, as you do when you're forced to look at an old family album, "Er — she has character." SUDDENLY there was something more than character in Pauline's face. Suddenly it possessed real, vital, deep, fascinating beauty, the kind that makes Hollywood murmur, "Oh, isn't she too lovely?" The ugly duckling has become so beautiful that it makes a lump rise in your throat when you look at her. And what has brought about this change? How has such a transformation taken place? There are two reasons for it. One is utterly material. That is easy to talk about. The other is as mysterious as misery. And that is hard to tell. The almost tragic child Pauline Starke used to be — the little actress who had to be content with obscure parts and scant praise. After she married Jack White she began to develop into the lovely girl on the opposite page The facts that meet the eye are these: Pauline had often said to herself, as every daughter of Eve does, "I wonder how I'd look if I had blonde hair!" So when she was cast as a Norse maiden in "The Viking" and they told her she must wear a blonde wig, she said, "It would be better if I dyed my own hair and pinned on long braids. " IT was, of course, her own private alibi. She wanted to be a blonde for a while. The hair was dyed and, after several experiments, she decided upon a reddish-gold that does not look bleached and photographs a soft brown. Her cheek bones are high and there are hollows in her cheeks, a natural formation of her face. In the old days cameramen used to worry over angles, for when her hair was black and was pulled out over her cheeks it accentuated the hollowness and cast a dark shadow. The reddish gold color doesn't do that. It takes away those hollows, for it does not contrast so severely. Then she put on a little weight, which rounded out her figure. She took a great deal of care of herself, got plenty of sleep and outdoor exercise. This is what she tells you when you ask what has brought about the change. But this isn't all. Just the dyeing of her hair, the putting on of a little weight, the acquiring of a transparent complexion, does not account for the glory in her eyes, the radiance that shines out from her. When you talk to her husband, Jack White, he says: "Certainly Pauline is beautiful now, and I did it. " That, in a way, is the answer. But the story goes deeper than that. I recall one afternoon, several years ago, when I dropped in at Pauline's house to chat. Mildred Harris came in later and we had tea. Pauline looked over the table and said, "But mother, there isn't any lemon." [ please turn to page 143 ] 45