Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1935)

122 PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE FOR MAY, 1935 *S& get your copy OF "NO MORE ALIBIS" By Sylvia of Hollywood Turn to Inside Back Cover Now! ANY PHOTO ENLARGED Size 8x10 inches or smaller if desired. Same price for full length or bust form, groups, landscapes, pet animals, etc., or enlargements of any part of group picture. Safe return of original photo guaranteed. SEND NO MONEY ^"'fnaptt (any size* and within a week you will receive your beautiful life-like enlargement, guaranteed fadeless. Pay postman 47c plus postage— or send 49c with order and we pay pot;t.ige. Big 16x20-inch enlargement sent CO D. 78c plus postage or send 80c and we pay postage. Take advantage of this amazing offer now. Send your pnotos today Specify t>ize wanted. STANDARD ART STUDIOS on Street, Dept. 136-E, CHICAGO, 104 Jeller ILLIKOIS "A Woman may Marry whom She Likes!" — said Thackeray. This great author knew the power of women— better than most women do. Men are helpless in thehands of women who really know how to handle them. You have such^ powers. You can develop and use them to win a husband, a home and happiness. Read the secrets of "Fascinating 'Womanhood" a daring book which shows how women attract men by using the simple laws of man's psychology. Don't let romance and love pass you by. Send us only 10c and we will send you the booklet entitled Secrets of Fascinating 'Womanhood" — an interesting synopsis of the revelations in "Fascinating Womanhood." Sent in plain wrapper. Psychology Press, Dept. 4-E, 585 Kingsland Avenue, St. Lou is. Mo. assets than Joan. But today they both are forgotten. They didn't have the stuff to win, that's all. Dorothy hailed from the sleepy flowerladen land of Alabama. In addition to the soft slur of her southern accent, she brought with her a heritage of plain, honest laziness. She didn't care enough about a career to work and sacrifice for it. It was fun while it lasted, but she gave it up without a sigh of regret to marry the screen's Bill Boyd. Anita had everything in her favor. She was naturally beautiful and she was a "born actress," in a youthful emotional fashion. If she had possessed the driving force of Joan Crawford or the iron will of Norma Shearer, she might have become one of the screen's greatest stars. But she tossed away the golden opportunities for which other girls pray and work and dream. During the silent days Anita's beauty over-shadowed her physical awkwardness and her untrained voice. Her friends saw the handwriting on the wall. They begged her to take dancing lessons to acquire grace and poise, to take voice lessons to smooth and develop her tones. But Anita didn't listen. She could find neither the time nor the desire to prepare for the tomorrow which swept her into oblivion. KA AUREEN O'SULLIVAN almost followed ' " ' in Anita's footsteps. Recently she has taken a new lease on her professional life and she may go far, if she really settles down to hard, determined effort. But, for a while, it looked as if Maureen were headed straight for complete failure. She came from Ireland to Hollywood as the leading woman in John McCormack's one and only motion picture. She was plunged into a spot-light with no preliminary struggle or hard apprenticeship. She was young and untried. She fell in love, and that love became more important to her than a career or stardom or anything. She lost interest in her world. Finally the studio released her from her contract. She drifted around Hollywood until she had exactly one hundred dollars left. Then by sheer good luck, she was given the part of Jane with Johnny Weissmuller in "Tarzan." " I guess I don't care enough about success," she admitted when she tried to explain her own lack of desire to fight for her future. That's the answer to many failures. The people who succeed are the ones who care more for success and accomplishment than they do for their own personal happiness. It is impossible to be contentedly happy under the terrific stress and strain of Hollywood competition. If they are going to win the game, they must check their own private lives and emotions at the front door. Maureen is too soft for Hollywood. Not putty soft or silly soft. But gently, bruisingly soft. She is the average, well-reared girl, whom you find in thousands of protected homes, a girl who was born to be cared for and sheltered. Not many young men and girls have the grit, the slave-driving will power to climb slowly but surely. The few real stars, the ones who remain at the top year after year, are the ones who have earned that stardom by their own tireless efforts. The flashes in the pan flicker out as quickly as they flashed. Dozens have appeared over night on a pedestal built of publicity and have disappeared in the cold, gray light of the next morning. There are a few " flashes" who don't belong in this category. Mae West and Fred Astaire, for instance. But they aren't merely taking a flyer in pictures. They came to Hollywood to work and make the screen their life. Ant hind them lies a long road of struggle and l ■ which has prepared them for the Holly\ i battle. Clark Gable was one of the screen's \ amazing, almost over-night, successes, i there was a time, several years agi Clark wore out the benches in the studio ing offices, when he was glad to receiv . extra's paycheck for a day's work. CI; i entire life has been one long struggle. S'e has no illusions about easy success. Now he is plodding sturdily along the st path, trying to hold that popularity w came to him so suddenly. He honestly tri give his best effort to every part he p whether he likes it or not. And there are n parts which he does not like. But never a i . plaint from Clark. He knows very well th , many pictures he has been merely the foi'i the feminine star. As he says, "I was t there, that's all." But he was there with • and vigor and Gableish vitality. And n i woman in the audience forgot that he among those present on the screen. The Clark Gable of today is a gilt-edged e leather edition of the paper-backed Gar I four years ago. He has honed himself shape with a fine, pumice-sharp determina He has developed ease of manner, easit speech and, best of all, ease of personalit) "You can't stand still in this game," C; will tell you. "You've got to go either toward or forward." He has made up his st will to go forward as long as it is hum possible. When Clark first stepped into the H wood picture, Bob Montgomery was the bi and shining light of the M-G-M studio. To Clark and Wallace Beery, the ageless, cha less Wally, share top masculine honor n popularity. Bob has slipped far down in ranks. He doesn't care enough about H wood success to work for it. Probably fame and fortune came too e; for Bob. He arrived in motion pictur young, untried juvenile from the stage. Bi e he knew what it was all about, he found hir i a star. And he is letting this stardom p slowly through his fingers. He slides thr< h his screen roles as he slides through his jauntily, debonairly, carefreely. That is ) charming and amusing, but it doesn't 1 lasting success. Bob lives and works in H wood but his heart is on the Broadway s and in the peaceful calm of his Connec farm. No fighting blood runs through I veins. C VERY year the various studios give conti •— to promising boys and girls, hoping J they may discover among them a new stalls personality. These contracts contain f months options, that provide a proto period in which the youngsters must p L their worth. It is impossible to put a fingi « the qualities which make for success, but y veteran studio carpenter can recognize IP when he sees them. That luscious blonde. " is talking so gaily and coquet tishly bet'.;" scenes, is thinking of the safe regularity o'-' weekly pay check and of the fun which Hy wood offers. That other blonde, who is String her script so feverishly, even thougl,ie has only one line to speak, who is watchin; !f more experienced actors' every move with eager eyes, will probably go places, if sh< ■' an opportunity. There was little Mary Carlisle, for inst; 6 She found a job as a chorus dancing girl. | she didn't stay there long. It was her only I to get inside a studio. She couldn't dance »