Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1957)

YOUNG IDEAS: PHOTOPLAY PRINTED PATTERNS ! I 4722 — Our new Printed Pattern, a graceful sundress with button-on collarette! As easy to sew as it is flattering. Misses' sizes P2-20. Size 16 takes 4 yards, 35-inch fabric; collarette 7/s yard 4693 — Printed Pattern for Juniors, the perfect “go-everywhere” style with trim, smooth lines to dress up or down as you please! Jr. Miss sizes 9-17. Size 13 takes 7% yards of 54-inch fabric 9364 — New Printed Pattern, in fashion s newest silhouette! Have it with tiny mandarin collar or cool, scoop neckline. Pretty back belt. Misses’ 10-18. Size 16 dress takes 31/ s yards, 35-inch 94 Send thirty-five cents (in coin) for each pattern to: Photoplay Patterns, P. 0. Box 133, Old Chelsea Station, New York 11, N. Y. Add 5 <f per pattern for first-class mailing. any convictions of my own but just try desperately to keep up with him. I’m not comfortable as myself, so I try to be somebody else. Somebody who laughs, has a gay time, acts as if she knows just what is going on, and how she is going to fit into life. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t really!” The car in which Anne spent that night was a Cadillac that she had bought from a Turkish gambler in Hollywood. It was a black coupe, and she called it both “Ferdinand” and “Ticket to Freedom.” It had not only a horn, but also a set of bells, which she’d added. Anne drove to Sherwood Forest Lake because on a previous visit she had fallen in love with the wild ducks there. On her way home the next morning, teeth chattering, she kept telling herself, “You have to do something. You have to be what you are even if you freeze to death!” She remembered that once, when she was thirteen, she had made a movie test in New York and thought it was terrible. She had sunk lower and lower into her seat as it ran on, and the director who had had charge of it tried vainly to console her. “We can compare anything in the world except the thing about ourselves that makes us unique,” he had explained. “That we cannot compare with anything. You’re having a peek at yourself as others see you . . . and that is always a shock!” But this hadn’t helped. She had squirmed way down into her seat, couldn’t take her eyes off herself on the screen, and hated what she saw. “I knew then that I was going to have a lot of trouble with myself,” she said. Before the next year was over, after her Sherwood Forest episode, Anne, hardly eighteen, rebelled against her mother’s authority. She wanted to live alone. Among girls of her age this was a fairly unusual thing at the time, but it was certainly a questionable move to make in Hollywood, where the abysses were many, and of extra depth. Yet it came to this: Tired of fighting with Anne, her mother left. But not without misgivings. Anne was not on her own the very moment her mother left. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Baxter first exacted a promise that Anne would stay with friends, the late Nigel Bruce and his wife, Bunnie, while a maid could be taught to keep a home for her. Anne lived with the Bruces for four months, during which time a girl was hired and trained. But when Anne rented an apartment in Westwood and moved in, thrilled at having her own menage at last, the new maid began developing “stomach attacks” which eventually were revealed to be alcoholic binges. The maid did not wait to be dismissed. She left of her own accord. But Anne did not go back to the Bruces. In her ears rang warnings from her mother. But Anne was in her own place at last, and she intended not to lose the independence she had finally gained. Not many of Hollywood’s actresses have an actual love for the fine lines written for them in their pictures; for the most part they are not talented in the arts at all, outside of the art of giving of themselves to the characters they play. Anne Baxter is different, in the sense that she has a fine taste for words — often to the point of poetry. Speaking of a fine Paris rain, she once said, “It sprinkles you like a nice fat laundress doing her ironing.” “Venice,” she wrote home in a letter, “is so beautiful it can grow you a new heart if you have lost your own.” She has talked of Mexico’s little burros, “tiptoeing through the village.” At eighteen Anne was talking a lot about boys. Most of the boys she met were between college and settling-down