Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1935)

"Oo-oo-oh-that — oh, that's fine," Mary said, but her voice faltered. "Isn't that nice, Charlie?" "And Charlie, I have the very wife for you," went on the producer. "A beautiful, luscious brunette. Slender and glamorous. You'll be crazy about her. Now I'll just give you two that divorce right now. You are no longer ma and pa of the screen. And good luck to you with your new spouses." He shook the limp hands of the bewildered pair and quickly eased them out the door. For two whole minutes there was complete silence in the room. The producer sat behind his desk, never moving. And then very softly the door was opened. Two people crept slowly back into the room. "Oh-a-hello," Charlie grinned. "Hello," the producer smiled. "You're back soon. What's the matter? Didn't you get what you wanted?" "Yes — oh, yes!" Charlie said, twirling his hat. "Oh, sure!" " Why, you see we were just thinking it over," said Mary. "You see — a — I don't think this other woman, the one you spoke of, would be good for Charlie. I — a— really don't think she'd be safe with Charlie." (Charlie's chest expanded six surprised inches.) " You see, I understand him so well. Here, Charlie let me fix your tie." "And this — this Romeo you know, the one you've got for Mary, well — a — we were just thinking," said Charlie, "Mary says she never could get along with a Romeo. She — th is — " "Oh, please!" Mary suddenly broke 01 "We think, after all, we'll just stay married the screen. We don't want that divorce. J we, Charlie, dear?" "No — no! We don't want it." "Well, quit fiddling," Mary snapped as th walked out of the office. "I can't help it if I have to fiddle, can I. Charlie answered. "Well, there's a — " The voices drifted off into the distance. T producer wiped his nervous brow with a trei bling hand. The world was saved. Mary and Charlie remained the ma ai pa of moviedom. ^Awfternoon" Tea CONTINUED FROM PAGE 82 Love scenes are being rewritten for the screen by the dozen. No longer does the hero say, "Darling, I love you, your wonderful smile, your lovely eyes, your fair hair." Nowadays he barges in with a nonchalance and a pearlheaded cane and says, "I say, old thing, you're a bit all right and all that sort of rot. What? What?" We no longer, alas, go to the Brown Derby. May heaven have mercy on us, we now go to the "Darby." The good old Brown Darby for plum-duff and boiled cabbage. And, come to think of it, maybe that's what gave Al Smith that uncomfortable expression in a recent newsreel. He was beginning to suspect that on his head he wore a "darby." It's enough to wreck any man's nerves, isn't it? Every day brings another load of the British influence. And remember, this doesn't come from the English actors themselves. They're as amazed as anyone. It comes from the Americans who have sprinted off to England normal and sane — or what passes for sane in Hollywood—and back they've come with a kidney pie complex and a Bond Street stoop. Like wildfire, the little mannerisms and customs of the motherland have spread throughout the length and breadth of Hollywood. Louise Fazenda came home and the crumpet idea took hold. Ralph Bellamy came home and in two days coat-of-arm door-knobs opened practically every front door. Charlie Farrell came home and cricket took over polo like the Deans took Detroit. Bill Gargan came home and you should see the prize-fights. Dinner jackets are now the last word in prize-fight attire. At least the first ten rows gleam with white bosomed spectators. Two prize-fighters, new to Hollywood and unaware of the English trend, made their first appearance at a recent Hollywood fight. No sooner had the burly boxers stepped into the ring than the referee handed them a dainty cup of steaming liquid. " Wot's dis?" they asked suspiciously. The referee raised a reproving eyebrow. "It's your tea," he said, "don't be silly." Like a flash the two fighters were at him, tearing the screaming referee into bits before someone interfered. The fight progressed amid subdued enthusiasm. Finally one fighter landed a terrific blow on the other's head. There was a ripple of handclapping from the audience "Jolly well struck, that blow," some ruffian from the fifth row said, and that ended it. Naturally, the errors in swanky drawingrooms gone British are just too ghastly. For instance, one hostess asked a certain screen villain if he would like a crumpet. "No, lady," he answered, "I could never learn to blow the darn thing. I'm good on the bass drum though." "Tell me," a hostess gurgled to Nat Pendleton, "how would you like to play cricket?" "Yea," Nat snapped with scorn, "I see myself rubbing my two legs together to make a funny noise. Why not let me play I'm a bee and sting somebody? " "Do you know anything about Piccadilly?" another gone-British dowager asked a screen comic. "Oh, sure," he replied, "my mother made it out of green tomatoes." "He means piccalilli as I stand here and breathe," an actress gulped before she fell in a swoon. And then there was Bill Gargan who landed home one day and the next went crazy for a bit of good old English bacon. "I've got to have some Wilshire bacon or I can't live," Bill howled as he raced from one restaurant to another in his search. "You're sure you aren't mixed up with Wilshire Boulevard?" one inn-keeper asked, which only sent Bill off all over again. At la at the Vendome he thought he had found i But Bill took one look at what passed forWi shire bacon and, putting his head down on tl table, sobbed out his heart. After six actors and two waiters had finall calmed him down, Bill decided to try the mu fins and marmalade. But again the marmalac .proved another wash-out so Bill rushed horr to the English cook he had brought with hin and the two are now busily pouring kettles < jolly old English marmalade into jolly litti jars and are selling the stuff as fast as it can b made — and no kidding. So get in your oidt early. But can you see the red-headed Iris Gargan lad diddle-daddling around with h; little pots of marmalade? People who sell merchandise in Hollywoo shops are no longer clerks. They are now dark: No relation to the Gables, of course. Why, th English craze has even spread to the telephon operators. A comedian, a little dizzy from too muc English tonic water, strolled into a telephon booth and asked for a number. Presently th operator's voice answered, "Are you there? "Well, not altogether," the actor apologizes "You see, I inherited a little mental troubi from my Aunt Hattie." A famous Hungarian star and his wife come to Hollywood. They are Mr. and Mrs. Peter Lorre. Mr. Lorre has been signed by Columbia. His first picture will be "Crime and Punishment" 98