Picture-Play Magazine (1933)

19 LAUGH By James Roy Fuller Illustrated by Rawls and, turning upon an unsuspecting editor of a fan magazine, accused him of being Mr. Griffith in disguise ! And he said it with all the seriousness that one can develop over a glass of wine. The nonfan has set notions, whereas a genuine fan worth the paper used in writing to "What the Fans Think" is open to new impressions and new faces every time he sees a movie. No doubt the fathers of many fans still think of Marion Davies as the leading screen ingenue, that Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks are the only decently married people in Hollywood, that Billie Dove is the reigning beauty, boast that they never recognize any face on the screen except Dorothy Gish's, and claim that "Pudd'n'-head Wilson" was the one bright spot in screen history. Nothing against papa, of course, but he just is not a fan and is as proud of it as you are of being one. Still it must be admitted even by the most devoted fan-daughters that if father hears at the Rotary luncheon that Rin-Tin-Tin in his last pictures was really another police dog named Bevo, then Bevo it is to him. The nonfan knows his movies only when he doesn't know them. Some of the stand-patters who annoy the enthusiastic new fans with their quaint film aberrations will assure you that they read an occasional article about movies, thank you, and are decidedly "up" on their cinema news. In case you fans have wondered how this can be, here's why. Too often articles in magazines for the general public publish material written by people who have exactly the same views as those old-time casual moviegoers you know. Or else the writer is a clever one who writes what the old-timers want to read. I've seen articles written by a man whose chief interest is in finding out .where the best goose-liver sandwiches are to be found, judging by his writings, and yet he solemnly tells all about the film capital on the other side of the continent. His name is considered an attraction on the contents page, but what he tells about movies is only a rehash of what the avernonfan tells "And you, Mr. Editor, are nobody but D.W.Griffith in disguise," insisted a man who had been in Hollywood and "met all the people." age ■"■"PTiantly If a casual dropper-in at the movies says Jimmy Durante is really Polly Moran, there's no use arguing. He knows. you every time he gets started on films. That is, that Charlie Chaplin is the greatest film artist of all ; that Mary Pickford is America's Sweetheart, and the first lady of Hollywood, and so on. The Pickford tradition is so well-fixed in the public mind that even some of the fans and fan-magazine writers fall for it and keep the ball rolling. Naturally, our elders and the elderly-minded scoff at the enthusiastic quest for details concerning the private lives of our favorite players. They say, "Oh, who gives a tinker's dam what Norma Shearer eats for breakfast!" Or, "Why the fuss about Garbo's personality?" And then they turn to an article by Emil Ludwig which says that Charlie Chaplin is a master mind with an I. Q. equal to Einstein's, and, by way of proving it, relates an incident in a Continental restaurant. A tired singer goes through her song and dance, although the customers in the cafe have gone home except Mr. Chaplin and Mr. Ludwig. The singer goes right ahead. "Touching," says Mr. Chaplin. Thus Mr. Ludwig exposes the Chaplin soul. All right, to every man his meat, but incidentally, you know that articles in your fan magazines are not recitals of stars' diets. This crack about not caring what stars eat for breakfast is just another of those traditions that earmark the outsiders. As for that, in 1928 it was considered an item of great human interest to tell what President Hoover ate for breakfast at the Waldorf just before his election. Each course was photographed, and, aid end to end, the pictures ran clear across a full-size newspaper. Melon, cereal, lamb chops, potatoes, muffins — well, here's your material for a snappy comeback when somebody razzes you about wanting to know what the stars eat. So the honest-to-goodness fans form almost a secret society, you see, whether organized into clubs Continued on page 65