Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1938)

BUSMAN'S BY ERNEST V. HEYN SCRATCH a European and you'll find a movie fan. While European leaders rub political theories together like boy scouts their sticks of wood, threatening to turn Europe into an unquenchable holocaust, there's one thing everybody has in common — the cinema. Herr Hitler may say "No" to "Blockade" for political reasons, as he did to "Lost Horizon" for "artistic reasons" or to Eddie Cantor for personal reasons. The Lord Chamberlain may ban "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" because it will frighten little children out of their British accents. La Belle France may turn out a highly praised film, "Pepe le Moko," unintelligible to the rest of the world, until it is transcribed into international film language by Hollywood under the title "Algiers." Signor Mussolini may view with jaundiced eye the entertainments of a community which gave the hot-foot to his son Vittorio. In fact, you may find the most curious inhibitions and nationalistic restrictions all over cinematic Europe, but can you find me a European who isn't in some measure as movie-mad as you and I? You might be surprised to see in Amsterdam, as I did on my recent trip, a huge painted portrait of Olivia de Havilland in front of a theater quaintly called "The Roxy." You would be surprised not only because the portrait is such a bad likeness of lovely Livvie (that being the way of Dutch posters) but also because the title on the marquee will throw you for a loss. Perhaps your Dutch is better than mine, but I dare you to find me a less intelligible and more poisonous movie title than this one: "Een Liefdesgeschiedenis in de Comedie Francaise." We simple-minded Americans called the picture "The Great Garrick!" (My Dutch informant told me that the literal translation of the formidable title is "A Love Affair in the Comedie Francaise," which doesn't sound nearly so frightening once you get the hang of it.) f Or, if you wandered on the Champs Elysees one superbly hot summer's day and then, to avoid the jostling crowd and the hectic screech of Parisian taxicab horns, entered the cinema beyond Le Rond Point, you would find "Snow White" quite as enchanting if less intelligible with her French lingo and the Dwarfs, even Dopey, quite as amusing in their Gallic incarnations. HO matter how you look at it, everybody goes to the movies, and mostly to American movies! And everybody tries to emulate them. In London, for instance, the most important productions in work seemed to me to be those which represented a well-mannered and friendly collaboration between American and British talents. At Denham, where I was taken one bright Monday late in June, I found three companies in action, all of them under different sponsorship but all of them virtually under the same roof. There is a spirit of co-operation at the Denham studio which is quite astounding, considering that all three companies are rivals. Underneath the pleasant camaraderie (for instance, everyone meets at noon in the same commissary and a visitor such as myself is gracefully shifted from one rival set to another) someone might find the sort of bad feeling that HOLIDAY ■ The Executive Editor of PHOTO PLAY takes a vacation look ing over movies i in Eu rope so frequently exists between studios in Hollywood— but if it was there I missed it. I spent part of the day with a very charming gentleman named Geoffrey Carter, who is in charge of publicity for the Metro-GoldwynMayer Company, at the moment filming "The Citadel." Later in the day when he found out that I wanted to meet the "Prison Without Bars" company he gracefully arranged a meeting with John Myers, who is in charge of publicity for London Films. This atmosphere of friendliness is only one reason that Denham is an experience. As King Vidor, the director of "The Citadel," put it: "Everything was so different in London when my wife and I first arrived here — until we walked out on this set. Here, except for a few British colloquialisms, it's a dead ringer for a Hollywood set. They don't use the word grip for the electrician — but aside from that I can't see any difference!" I WATCHED a scene in which Robert Donat is portraying one of the more dissolute moments in the life of Doctor Andrew Manson. Unless my observation, heightened by my extreme interest in the important production, was faulty, this studio operates on a par with the finest studio in Hollywood. Lest you think this is the influence entirely of the great production methods of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, I can tell you that the other companies under the same roof proceeded with equal efficiency, softened by that magnificent aura of delay which is so quintessential^ a part of a Hollywood set. London Films is remaking a great French success called "Prison Sans Barreaux," which stars Corinne Luchaire and which is to be Corinne Luchaire (above right), playing in "Prison Without Bars," is spoken of as one of the "finds" of the year. Even H. G. Wells (above) proved himself a movie fan and makes a startling statement presented to the English-speaking public with the same star under the title "Prison Without Bars." Miss Luchaire, whom I met briefly, is so attractive a blonde that she does not need to be beautiful. She seems not at all movie -wise, but is spoken of as one of the "finds" of the year. In her company is Edna Best, wife of Herbert Marshall, who seems to me to be the most gallant and engaging Englishwoman I have met. Herbert Wilcox is producing a sequel to "Queen Victoria," titled "Sixty Glorious Years." Again Anne Nagel will play Victoria and Anton Walbrook will play Albert, but I question the wisdom of this sort of historical sequel, from a box-office standpoint. When I had lunch with Robert Donat and Geoffrey Carter in the commissary, a jovial Charles Laughton sat at the table beside me; near by was Ruth Chatterton, who was making "A Royal Divorce"; Pierre Blanchar, who did such (Continued on page 83) PHOTOPLAY