Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1935)

Don't Love Me [ CONTINUED FROM PAGE 51 the story I'll call him Sohlki — looked me over the first day of the shooting schedule and threw up his hands. Uncle Lou recognized the symptoms of temperament in revolt — probably he was expecting it — and took the director off the set to argue with him outside the sound-proof double doors. When they came back everything seemed to be settled. Sohlki avoided me as much as possible, but he was civil enough. I learned afterward that Uncle Lou raised his salary a thousand dollars a week to make him take me on. Uncle Lou is a stubborn little man and he had faith in me. As it turned out, the salary raise never cost the company a nickel, but Uncle Lou couldn't have known that. Sohlki was a huge, vital man, conceited, domineering and sensual. He was either a Russian or a Pole — nobody seemed to know which — and he had a Continental artistry that none of our American-born directors has ever quite attained. Actors liked to work with him because it stamped them with a certain class just to be in one of his productions, but it had to be at the expense of complete suppression of individuality. His players were puppets and they all expressed merely the varying moods of Sohlki. I SUPPOSE it was because of that character' istic of Sohlki's that Uncle Lou hired him to direct me. He had broad features, slightly pocked, a very fair skin and mild blue eyes — not a handsome face but interesting, especially because of the power it expressed. He did not use me at all that day. But I sat around, at his command, and watched him work. The longer I sat, the more I respected him. He drove those four leading men as if they were a chariot team. Sohlki made fewer "takes" of each scene than any director I've ever watched. That was because he got it the way he wanted it before he let the cameras turn over, and he had his crew so thoroughly impressed that nobody dared make a mistake. He asked me to stay after the others had gone. "I'm going to shoot your first scene tomorrow morning, and I can't waste time coaching you while the entire crew stands around at a hundred dollars a minute. Besides, I don't want 'em to laugh at you." He was brutal but honest. I doubt if he really cared whether anyone laughed at me or not. I think he was afraid someone would think he was betraying his talents in directing the clumsy efforts of an inexperienced "ham." He now looked around to see that there was no one watching us. His eye fell on Louella, sound asleep in a chair. She always dozes off if she sits down. "If that wench belongs to you, send her away," he ordered. Who was I to disobey him? By this time I was feeling very insignificant indeed. So I woke Louella up and told her to take the car and go home. "But," protested Louella, "honey, Miss Rachel, how you goin' to get home yourself?" "I'll take her." Sohlki settled that. Louella left, muttering. After she had gone, Sohlki walked up and 98 down for awhile. Remembering the example of the other actors during the day, I kept a discreet silence. I was scared stiff, anyway. Finally, he stopped, turned toward me and grinned. " We're going to see a lot of each other during the shooting of this picture, Miss Adair," he said. "You're not going to like it any better than I am. I've got to teach you the things you ought to have known before you were ever cast in a production of this importance. I admit right now that you have a beautiful figure, but don't expect any special consideration because you've heard I enjoy a pretty face. That's after office hours. Also, When you see James Barton, one of Broadway's best dancing comedians in pKO-Radio's "Captain Hurricane," he will be playing a grizzled sea captain I've directed many women with beautiful figures, but it never got 'em anything yet." He made me so angry I could have bent a stage brace around his neck, but he fascinated me at the same time. He stood there accusing me of being everything that I hated, and I didn't intend to let him get away with it. I felt my blood mounting swiftly to my temples and my fingernails were biting into my palms. Sohlki watched me a minute and then laughed. "Okay, sweetheart — I just wanted to know if you had that in you. If I can make you look like that in front of a camera tomorrow, you won't need to speak a line of dialogue." I DON'T remember yet whether he was teasing ' me just for his own amusement, or if he really was drilling me in the art of acting. But he went on, alternately exasperating me and soothing me until my nerves were in shreds and I was emotionally exhausted. But he kept driving just the same. He was still trying to hammer me into a plow-share or a silk purse or something when I nearly fainted. It \ eleven o'clock, and I was a fairly husky g accustomed to nourishment at regular tervals. Sohlki reproached himself, although I kn that really he was impatient with me beca' I did not live entirely on enthusiasm the v he did. "Come on," he said, putting on his necl and rolling down his shirt-sleeves. " We'll somewhere and I can keep on talking to yo I didn't particularly wish to eat with 1 or do anything with anybody. All I wan was to be left in some quiet corner with a c of beans and a can-opener. But, as you i imagine, I was practically a limp dish-rag his hands by that time, and so used to obey him that I would probably have jumped the Eiffel Tower if he had said to. Sohlki took me to Al Levy's Tavern, Vine Street, which, despite the reputation more highly publicized restaurants, is actu; one of the principal places where motion pict people go for good food and a little quiet. Sohlki ate methodically for ten minu and then talked to me for a half hour whi ate a man's-size meal. I'm really nothing much but a healthy li'j animal, so when I got my stomach lined wj beefsteak, I began to relax. His voice w: on and on and I nearly dozed off. He noticed it at last. "Come on, darlv, we'll go home." "Darling" and "sweetheart," as you pi! ably know, are small conversational coins i show business. Everybody calls everyb ' else by one or the other of the endearing • jectives — even bitterest enemies. Sohlki was driving a large comfort;: roadster and I fell asleep in the seat be;: him. \ A /HEN I woke up — and then only becsjE " ' Sohlki nudged me — the car was stoppe l front of a rather large house in a neighborh 1 which I did not recognize. "Where are we?" I demanded. "I thout you were taking me home?" "I did. This is my home." This was something I understood, or thot t I did. I never fight that sort of an att; . So I simply opened the door and starta I get out of the car. But Sohlki grabbed i "Don't be a fool," he said. "You diit give me your address, you know." I thought back. Maybe I didn't. "This is a nice comfortable old hou" Sohlki said in a matter-of-fact voice. I looked at his watch. "You're going to be yh me on the set in six or seven hours anyVThere's no use travelling all over Hollyud to find a bed when I have one — or two— it as you like." "Thank you," I said. "I still prefer fcH home." I gave him my address. Sohlki shrugged his shoulders. "I sup « my reputation has preceded me. All r 9 darling, I'll take you home. It's a long | and it's getting chilly. If you won't com % I'll go and get us a couple of warm co; He got out of the car. "What kind will'" have, mink or sable?'' "Wolf," I said. Sohlki laughed. "You're asking forty own hide. Can't spare it, darling, and ;