Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1949)

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V 9 001, Cincinnati 25, Ohio Power's ( Continued jrom page 39) The food and old wines, served by three men in livery, were out of this world. Linda, very beautiful, sat at the foot of the table. A strong, dominant character, Linda. Educated in Switzerland and more cosmopolitan than most girls her age, she ordinarily influences Tyrone greatly. Just as Annabella did previously and as I believe women always will. However, a famous fortuneteller appeared at the Di Frasso house the day of the breakfast, I noticed, and Linda disappeared with her. Her Mexican background, of course, would make her susceptible to fortunetellers. However, any girl in the position in which she found herself that day might wonder about the future. Actually, unless Linda marries Tyrone, she is in a curious position. She hoped to play in “Prince of Foxes” with him until little Wanda Hendrix was brought over for the role. Linda’s screen career, thus far, has not been promising. It may be she is not photogenically appealing. Or it mav be that she has neglected her career for her romance. She very much wants to marry Tyrone, I think. The evening Orson Welles entertained for her and Tyrone at his Frascati villa, she danced again and again with Orson. Orson, true, sambas and rumbas divinely and does all the South American dances extraordinarily well. But Linda, I felt, hoped to disturb Tyrone who, talking with friends, seemed not to mind her enthusiasm for Orson’s terpsichore at all, in spite of the fact that he is really devoted to her. If you ask them to dine, he turns to her at once to ask “All right, Linda?” Their manners, really, are those of a married couple. Tyrone, at the wedding breakfast, sitting at the head of the table, gave the impression of a grand seignior. And although the circumstances of a wedding breakfast without a wedding — and no word of a wedding — might very well be embarrassing, Tyrone conducted himself with warm dignity. HE HAS matured in the most admirable way. He dresses well, wearing his clothes, made by the finest tailor in Rome, with easy grace. His gray trousers are a special shade. His socks are gray too, and his shoes. He talks well. And he listens well. He is more charming and gentle — a nicer man in every way — every time I see him. And his unpretentiousness, quite remarkable really, is illustrated by the casual way he goes about. One day when his company was working a few miles outside of Florence, and he was in costume and make-up, he was taken with one of those sudden, violent toothaches. There was consternation, of course, for he was vital to that day’s shooting. “Give me an hour,” he told his director, as he dashed to his car. He drove to Florence and sought a dentist to whom he had been recommended. There was great excitement in the piazza when the darkly handsome young man in fifteenth century clothes rushed through the gathering crowds — such excitement, in fact, that Tyrone borrowed his dentist’s overcoat for his return to his car. Tyronie Povoro, they call him over there. And they adore him. After some of the demonstrations he has experienced, it would be reasonable if he saw fit to project himself. But that would not be Tyrone. "With his mind on so many things, he has onlv a little time to think of himself. Which reminds me of my holiday in Venice with the Shah of Persia’s cabana next to mine. The first day the Shah came to swim, there were thousands awaiting Progress him. Whereupon, thoroughly frightened, he swam out to sea. “Your Majesty,” I sought to reassure him, “it will not happen again, I promise you. They thought you were Tyronie Povoro.” “Tyronie Povoro,” he said. “He is someone in the movies, is he not?” “Ask the two thousand people that mobbed you who he is,” I suggested. He believed what I told him, I hope, because from then on he was left beautifully alone. The movie stars really have taken over Europe! MORE than ever, Tyrone is interested in his work. Not a rich man — his divorce settlement to Annabella, among other things, was, I think, too generous — he needs money. But above his practical needs, he takes great pride in what he does. He’s a very nice star actually. He doesn't make trouble. He isn’t temperamental. Those who work with him — executives and members of his company and crew adore him: Talk among themselves of his sweetness and wish sometimes that.' for his own good, he was less sweet. But this, I am sure, will never be. For, however he grows, the fundamental strains I have known in him never alter. He is interested, too, in seeing the world. History excites him. He does not talk of returning to Hollywood. He talks of making pictures in different parts of the world. “Next,” he says, “I want to make a picture in Sweden. I want to be an international star, Elsa. I can, after all, work anywhere. A magnificent opportunity that. I do not mean to neglect it.” Enormously responsive about all manner of things, he especially enjoys people. Last year, for instance, when he was in Italy — long before he knew he would be filming "Prince of Foxes” there, he met a young musician, poor and obscure. “I want to play for you, Mr. Power,” said this young man. Tyrone recognized his music as lovely. And when he returned to Rome last spring, he spoke of this young man to his company’s musical director. Now the young composer is surely on his way to fame; for he has done the entire musical score for “Prince of Foxes.” Another time, ten years ago, when Tyrone was in Cannes, a young French boy begged to see him. “Mr. Power,” he asked Tyrone, “do you think there is any chance I will become an actor?” Tyrone sought to learn of I his experience. “Very little,” he ad i miffed, “only a few bits as an extra at a Paris studio.” Tyrone, liking this young man, said. “You cannot tell how things will go. If you ever come to Hollywood — look me up.” And he gave him a little gold camera he was wearing on his watch chain. “For luck!” “Just before I left Hollywood,” Tyrone said, “I went to dine with friends. One of the guests was a handsome young man who is now a star. He came over to me and handed me a little gold camera. ‘Do you remember, Tyrone Power,’ he asked, ‘that you gave this to me ten years ago in France?' “It was Louis Jourdan!” Tyrone was pleased as Punch. You feel these days that Tyrone is gratified by life and anticipates the future. He has his faith ... He has his work, good in itself, and offering the satisfying opportunities of seeing the world and knowing many people . . . And, it may be, he will have marriage too. I never heard, you see. what that fortuneteller told Linda. The End