Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1940)

IMAGINE Ml HOOKED UP WW ASHM! My Friend Fred V Stuck at a bridge party with a real expert—it was grim. Not one smile did he break all evening— till I fished out my package of Beeman's. "Ah!" says he, with a longing look, "Beeman's, the ace of flavors!" So what could I do but offer him some? "Thanks!" he said, looking happy for the first time. "I can't pass a flavor like Beeman's! It's got a freshness, a tempting tang, that scores with me and scores big! Honors to you, partner — you hold the tops in fine flavor!" — That cheered me up— and darned if we didn't win first prize! 4/PS* 7?/GESr/OM In his own home, Fred continues his clowning. He does a wonderful impersonation of a punch-drunk actor; his sparring partner is a very bored bull mastiff puppy named Smokey. Fred also does a sensational dancing impersonation of a well-known dictator. In the pool, he has a wonderful time amusing his two sons by walking off the diving board into space. He races them at swimming and lets them "rescue'' him from drowning. And I remember a time when he happened to catch his reflection in a mirror and casually remarked, "Do I look as much like Stan Laurel to you as I do to myself?" Away from his work, Fred is carefree and fun-loving. He plays lots of golf, usually with Randy Scott and David Niven, occasionally with Bing Crosby, whom he once framed with one of those exploding golf balls. I HE friendship and companionship of Douglas Fairbanks, Sr., is a loss that Fred feels deeply. Fred literally idolized him for the clean entertainment he gave the world, for his passionate love of life and living. One of Fred's ambitions was to find one gag that would fool the senior Fairbanks, who was past master at the gentle art of ribbing and doing magic. A caddy had a purse with three pockets — each pocket sewed tightly shut, yet the caddy passed a coin through all three. Fred got very excited and bought the purse. "I'll bet Douglas, Sr. will never get this one," Fred beamed. Next day on the golf course, he tried it out on Fairbanks — who, of course, got it immediately. His loyalty is outstanding. When M-G-M interrupted his honeymoon and persuaded him to dance with Joan Crawford in "Dancing Lady," it was a vital step in Fred's career. Never having worked in a studio, Fred was uneasy. Because a Broadway reputation meant very little in Hollywood in those days, Fred wondered if the gateman would even know who he was. Maybe they wouldn't allow him to dance his own way. In fact, the whole prospect really frightened him. There was a publicity man who took Fred around the lot. He showed him to his dressing room, the make-up department, the wardrobe. He accompanied Fred to the set because Fred felt strange in a strange place. Fred has never forgotten this. He has the chap for dinner once a week, brings him gifts from New York and Europe, and remembers his birthdays. One night I was with Fred on one of his rare visits to a night club. Fred excused himself and made his way across the room. This surprised me, as Fred always asks for an inconspicuous table and isn't too fond of dancing in public places, not because he doesn't like to dance, but because he thinks he's a bad ballroom dancer. A few minutes later he returned and explained: "I wanted to say hello to a man over there. When Adele and I were kids in vaudeville, he gave us our first job." Fred has a horror of being wrong. He hates getting mad and is usually the mild-mannered person he appears to be. Comes a situation he believes to be right, he'll fight with an overwhelming amount of tenacity. One day I visited him on the "Castles" set. Fred thought a certain scene should be played one way. Director Henry Potter was of a different opinion. Fred won his point. Later, when we started work on "Broadway Melody," we passed Potter (Continued from page 22) on the lot. Fred stopped him and said: "Henry, I've been meaning to tell you this for a long time. You were right about that scene in the 'Castles.' I wish I had done it your way." IN order to do good work, Fred must please himself. A perfect illustration of this happened when we did our "Don't Monkey with Broadway"' number. It was a corny vaudeville routine, one that could be very unfunny if not handled with special care. During the dance there was a gag in which Fred was supposed to give the effect of planting a well-aimed kick in the seat of my pants. We tried it several times with Fred faking the kick. It looked fine to Director Norman Taurog. But Fred began to pace back and forth, saying nothing. Knowing how Fred punishes himself when he isn't satisfied, I suggested: "Why don't we try it again, Freddy? This time don't fake that kick. I think if you just let me have it, the number will look much better." Fred instantly brightened. We did eighteen more takes! That night when I got home I ate my dinner standing up. Just as I was carefully lowering a black and blue posterior into a tub of hot water, the phone rang. It was Fred, who hates phoning as much as I do — so I knew something must be wrong. "Did the number really feel all right, George?" Fred inquired anxiously. "I was just worried and wanted to hear you say that it did." "You have no idea how it jeltl" I reassured him. MOVIE BOOK OF THE MONTH Last month, James Hilton's "We Are Not Alone"! This month, Louis Bromfield's "It All Came True"! Next month, another literary classic, equally fine, complete in April PHOTOPLAY — don't miss it! Fred's family, his mother and sister are very sacred to him, a situation which has given rise to the false impression that he's unco-operative. Mrs. Astaire (after seven years of marriage, he still refers to her as "my bride") does not belong to the theatrical world and Fred feels she should not be dragged into it for publicity purposes. He is very modest about his children. When little Freddy came on the set one day, big Fred just greeted him warmly with a "Hello, Son." But there was no concealing the look of pride in his eyes. When Eleanor Powell and I raved about the boy, Fred blushed a little and casually replied, "He is a nice boy, isn't he?" His complete lack of professional jealousy is another fine Astaire quality. The average dancer guards pet steps within an inch of his life. During the filming of "Broadway Melody," Fred eagerly tried his out on us for approval. We did the same with him. There was never a single argument, which is not often the case when three "hoofers" get together. Our pal Eleanor is another perfectionist and consequently a cinch for taking a rib. She has never danced out of rhythm in her whole life. Fred would do it deliberately and then ac I cuse her. I would back him up. What was the poor girl to do? But — just let an outsider pull anything and we were all for one and one for all. Naturally, after so many years, I had no misgivings about working with him. I knew of his tremendous capacity for work. I knew he would expect the best of everyone, because he demands it of himself. Beyond that, nothing bothered me until the realization that I was working with the two best dancers in the world swept over me. "Here I am working with the King and Queen," I said to myself. "Can I hold up my end of it? What happens to me?" So I began to do a bit of worrying myself. The first day we rehearsed there was a terrific tension. Fred sensed something was wrong. It was an embarrassing moment. Then, for no apparent reason, Fred started a hoofer's jam session. He started to clown. I joined in. In no time at all, we were just what we play in the picture — two hoofers trying to get along. Fred himself tells an amusing story on us both. He called me one morning when we were in London and said, "They're advertising a talking picture called The Singing Fool.' It's at the Marble Arch Theater and supposed to be a novelty. Let's go to the matinee' and see what it's all about." We went. Walking home, we agreed that it had some possibilities. "It's a great nov: elty," Fred said, "but it will never last." I heartily agreed. We never dreamed that either of us would ever appear in a "talking picture" — least of all, in the same one! I'VE barely begun to tell about the Astaire I know, but otherwise my story would never end. I would have to tell you about the Fred who isn't a sentimentalist (so he says) , yet who keeps a film library of all his dances, to look' back on some day. Then, there's the Fred who is so interested in breeding race horses, who knows every horse in England and every horse's grandmother. There's Fred, the tennis champ; the fisherman who never returns without a giant marlin; the mighty hunter who shoots his weight in ducks. There's the Fred who keeps up a correspondence with a former valet, now hospitalized. There's the Fred who doesn't think he is the greatest dancer in the world, but who thinks the well-known vaudeville team of "Buck and Bubbles" win: that rating. Then there's the Fred' Astaire who brought a new idea to the screen. He had to battle all the traditions of making musicals. Since the ad: vent of Astaire, there is no cutting away to a close-up of "hot feet." Dancing on' the screen is no longer a gymnastic exhibition. To Fred goes full credit for making the dance a complete picture within itself. Above all, one thought predominates with Fred. He has always been a gentleman. In the club locker room, at: home, on the set, in a producer's office, Fred is always regular, always himself. He's known poverty and he knows success. His values aren't twisted, because he learned one thing early in life — the importance of keeping his own selfrespect. Therefore, he will always have it for others. His life has been good, constructive and clean. As a husband, father, friend and one of the greatest dancers who ever lived, Fred measures up to everything that a gentleman trouper should be. He is a great tribute to our profession. 86 PHOTOPLAY