Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1947)

c ywxhJL^ 4 'p^pt COPR. 1947, DAGGETT AND RAMSDELL SUN ROMPER” BATHING SUIT . . . DESIGNED EXCLUSIVELY FOR DEBUTANTE COSMETICS BY CHEE ARMSTRONG. debutante /kms Here’s Debutante’ s glittering beauty array . . . to help keep you looking delectable on the sultriest summer’s day! A tinted Make-up Lotion that clings from dawn to dusk . . . a fragrant, quick-lathering Powder Shampoo . . . even a frothy, rose-pink Bubble Bath . . . the last word in refreshing bath luxury! All, of course, from beauty lotion to bath powder . . . in the delightful flower-laden Debutante fragrance. . ■ All at better cosmetic counters. I Like It Here ( Continued from page 48) incredibly short time. Furthermore, I have the most wonderful family in the world. So, whatever success I’ve achieved has come comparatively easy. Too easy perhaps. And perhaps that’s why small failures have assumed a false importance for me. A few disagreeable past experiences might have helped me pass through the few disappointments I have had in Hollywood less painfully. And prepared me for the challenge to come. The most important lesson I’ve learned in these three years is that success is selfish. It demands all of you ... all the time. The brief breather you ‘have between pictures is filled with interviews, publicity still sittings, wardrobe fittings, make-up tests, etc. Then you’re off before the cameras again. It’s essential in the beginning of any career that you direct all your talents and energy toward one goal. It’s that “extra” drive you put behind yourself that pushes you to the top. It’s the “extra something” that accounts for the Bette Davises and the Ingrid Bergmans in Hollywood. Even then, it’s -hard going. This fact was borne out recently by Claude Rains, with whom I have been working in “The Unsuspected” at Warner Brothers, and whose opinions I respect. Claude, you know, was up for the Academy Award this year. Yet by his own measuring stick — and these are his words — a few years ago *he was a dead duck. Now his career has gone up again. If a finished actor like Claude Rains, with all his experience, can be a “dead duck,” what about the future and Caulfield? 1 BELIEVE that anything you really want is worth the sacrifices necessary to attain it. And I have wanted ever since I can remember to become an actress. I used to go to a little dramatic school on Saturdays and afternoons after regular school. I remember w-hen I -was twelve years old doing “Pygmalion” in a white cheesecloth costume, and with utter confidence. My mother and I thought I was wonderful. I gravely doubt the others present agreed with us. Later on, at Columbia University, despite a full schedule that included an exhaustive academic course, I devoted all time possible to dramatic work. Yes, I’m sure that more than anything else, I’ve wanted to be an actress. For I believe that basically we all do what we really want to do. Yet like any other girl, I want to get married. I want a home, a husband, and children. But too, I want that marriage to have a fairly even chance for success. And on the way up in Hollywood you can’t waver. Your own personal happiness, if any, awaits you at the top. But, I know that any attempt to -mix movies and matrimony at this point -would be fatal for me. I know Caulfield far too well. I would want to continue to give a hundred per cent to my career and give another hundred to my marriage. No matter what system you use, that’s mathematically impossible. So while -my heart may say, “Go ahead, Joan, take a chance,” my head keeps shaking no and at this writing my head still rules my heart. Hollywood is very hard on romance, anyway. You go out with someone once or twice, and the startled gentleman picks up his morning paper to read where somebody says he’s going to marry you. Then he’s scared off. And so, in a sense, are you. You worry about whether he thinks you are in any way responsible for the matchmaking urges columnists have. Actually, I’m still naive enough to be