Photoplay (Jan-Sep 1937)

120 PHOTOPLAY FOR SEPTEMBER, 1937 GRACE BRADLEY Featured Player In The Columbia Picture— "lovers On Parole" Boyer Breaks His Bonds CONTINUED FROM PAGE 39 ,w BEAUTY HABIT Girls with an eye to conquest rely on SOLO Curlers Ltheglorious.glamorou* curls that everyone adores Curls will brighten your ,oce . • heighten your cTeli'ness. Easy »o J ' with SOLO'Sdandy handy curlers. Buy a few to-dayl JUNIOR RED TOP CURLERS 3 /da 10 On sale at leading dept., dry goods, 5 & JO cent stores LEARN THE NEWESTDANCE "The Palm Beach Rhumba" THE SIMPLE TEACH-U-CHART . WAY Fully illustrated Mail SI. 50 to BILLY «, BEVERLY BEMIS. COMPLETE f. 0. BOX 1951, HOLLYWOOD. CALIF. FREE GET YOUR COPY OF "NO MORE ALIBIS" By Sylvia of Hollywood From Your Book or Department Store NOW WHYL00K0LD? Booklet tells you what to do for lines, pimples, crepey neck, puffiness Now that you can get Calmas French Beauty ^ Film, why keep those nes and pimples? Dhisnewtreatment which originated abroad has beau 1 1 f'u-d hundreds of women from 16 to 60. If you long to ave a beautiful smooth skin and look years younger write to Calmas Products, Take off that math oj wrinkles and pimples. Dept.24-B,677()IIol]ywoodBlvd., I lolly wood, ( !alif., and you will receive ABSOU TKLY I I Ml. a booklet which explains what to do for lines and pimples and how a woman took 10 years olf her face and neck with ('almas French Beauty Film. a language, Boyer was a bit unhappy during the shooting of "The Garden of Allah." "You see," Boyer would explain to his wife evenings, "behind all good acting lies a secret. The secret of thinking the lines as one says them. A sort of union of mind and heart. As for me, I only think how to say words, not what they mean." He began the practice of the long confessional speech in "The Garden of Allah" six weeks before the scene was due to be shot. He'd wander about the location camp, out on the sands at night, saying over and over and over the lines of that confession. Then one day strange things happened. He came in from the swimming pool and faced his wife. "What do you think has happened?" he asked. "I am thinking in English!" A week later he called from his room, "Know ' * what? I dreamed last night in English!" The transformation was quick and amazing. One day only recently an actress given over to cultivated elegance telephoned the Boyer home. "Is this 'Sharl'? 'Sharl Boy-yay'?" There was a moment's pause and then came the answer. "No. But this is Charlie Boy-yer." And Monsieur, from that moment on, was free from the complexes, worries, and chains that had held him for years. True, there will always be the accent. But at least Charlie Boy-yer will think and speak in unison, and that is something He takes great delight in snatching up colloquialisms and adapting them to his own use. In "History Is Made at Night," he approached the director all aglow. "Look, I have invented a line of dialogue I should like to use with Miss Arthur in the next scene. Don't tell her. I want to surprise her " The director consented, and at the end of the scene Boyer looked up, a twinkle in those so dark eyes, and exclaimed a la American, "Well, what do you know about that?" The success was terrific. Jean Arthur, his leading lady, thought it wonderfully clever of him. In fact, they've left that line in exactly as Boyer said it. Gone thus far into the depth of spoken American which, even we admit, is slightly different from the English language, he refuses to retreat. He'll grab the slightest excuse to use his newly found mode of expression. He approached a group of men on the set one day with a slip of paper in his hand. "Look," he said, "I can't make up what this means." "Make out, make out," the prop boy hissed, and, nothing daunted, Boyer spent the rest of the afternoon wandering about the set repeating over and over, "Make out. Make out. Make out." Once free from this fear that crowded his true self into a brooding background, the real Charles Boyer emerged and a right pleasing gentleman he proves to be. Friendly, no longer ill at ease, eager to be a part of the town that for three long years had seemed so remotely cold. lie plays a crack game of tennis. But for some reason, he won't run after the balls which is very gratifying to Mrs. Boyer, who will run after the balls. He goes to parties, has a good time, but inevitably seeks out some member of the group whose enunciation is distinct and perfect. He'll listen attentively, charming beautiful women with his eager attention, and all, well, nearly all, because their sentences are clearly etched gems of perfect diction. To which Charlie — he prefers to be called Charlie — will occasionally contribute his newly found, "Well, what do you know about that?" in places it no more fits than a rabbit. From the moment Charles Boyer announced to his mother in that little town of Figeac, in southwestern France, that he had decided to become an actor, he dedicated himself to the work. There was no room for anything outside. "But, Charles," his mother once said, "why do you not play a little? Are you not interested in play?" He wasn't. And he said so "Mother, lam married to my work. Nothing, no one must come between me and it." All Paris came to understand the serious intent of the rapidly rising star — Charles Boyer. All Hollywood recognized it too, and that was why his sudden marriage soon after his arrival three years ago was a bit of a surprise. A young English actress, Pat Paterson, had also recently arrived and the two met for the first time at a dinner party. "Only a sneaking feeling that it was too soon after our meeting kept us from marrying then," Pat laughs. But three weeks later they did elope to Yuma. Three months later Boyer sailed to France — alone — to fulfil a contract. "It was a good thing," Pat said, "for it gave me time to adjust myself. "The usual fears were stealing over me. 'What have I done?' I'd say over and over to myself those first weeks. A Frenchman just arrived and I just arrived in this new country1 Had we made a mistake? Was it wrong? "But in those six months Charles was away, I found myself. I adjusted myself to a new life and it turned out beautifully." A LL her life Pat Paterson, a tiny blue-eyed '^blonde with intelligence aplenty to match her loveliness, had been accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of theatrical people. "Mad people," she calls them, loving ■ them with her voice. She had married a man, she soon discovered, who had little in common with such hysteria. "On days I'd bang-off (English for throwing a fit) Charles would take me by the shoulders and say, quietly, 'Why'* Why did you bang-off'?" " 'Must I have a reason for banging-off?' I'd say. "The answer was calm, cool, quiet but determined " 'Yes. What is the reason?' "For a time it drove me mad," Pat laughed, "trying to find a logical reason for what was to me a natural outbreak. "But I soon learned it was the wisest thing. Whatever problem arose at the moment was discussed and thrashed out at once. No bad moods were allowed to be carried over."