Picture Play Magazine (Sep 1921 - Feb 1922)

Off the screen, lovely Harriet Hammond is a without affectation. 'jrl utterly Head First Into Drama Harriet Hammond dived into motion-pictures and pulled hard for a while; now on the crest of a wave of success ■ she pauses to make a few thrilling remarks. By Alden Hughes WHEN any one hears a motion-picture actress sit up and blandly state that she has never seen any of her pictures ; that she doesn't particularly want to see her pictures ; that she wants to change her modus operandi — and that she can't even remember the names of pictures she has been featured in — he suffers a shock. Having pretty thoroughly explored the Hollywood backwoods, I'm used to shocks, yet I rise to confess that Harriet Hammond commands my full respect and hands me a real thrill. "I can remember the name of only one of my comedies," she said in answer to a query of mine. "It is 'Home Talent,' and I've never seen it because I don't ever go to see my pictures." You can draw your own conclusions. The conclusion that I drew, but which Miss Hammond didn't necessarily substantiate, is the fact that she doesn't like comedy. "I wore bathing suits for three years," she added, "because, by wearing them, I saw a chance to get into dramatic pictures without having to beg for jobs at studio gates." While they don't always express themselves quite so frankly, all the rest of the girls who have ever "got anywhere" from erstwhile comedy appearances — and I refer to Gloria Swanson, Mary Thurman, Juanita Hansen, Betty Compson, and a number of others — feel the same way. Comedy, they'll tell you, is an excellent training school. but after you've taken your course you want to graduate. "Being a professional beauty has its disadvantages as well as its pearls. For instance, if you are fortunate enough to be able to capitalize on your looks and figure you instantly incur the jealousy of your less-lovely sisters, who comfort themselves with the thought that you're perfectly brainless and that, because you'll consent to exploit your shapely lines in a Grecian drape or a Mack Sennett bathing suit, you're not exactly — well, modest." Such happen to be the views of the blue-law clan, who, it seems, would like to have all of our very best screen sirens cover their raison d'etre with ankle-length crinolines. When I arrived at Miss Hammond's residence I could hear the well-executed nuances of a Chopin etude. It was Harriet playing her piano — a big, concert grand that took up nearly all of the space in the rather small parlor of her family's bungalow. She lives with her family. As I had come up the walk I could see her brother tinkering with the innards of an automol^ile. I met her father, an elderly, genial man with kind eyes and a whimsical smile, who spoke proudly of Miss Hammond as "my daughter, Harriet," and seemed to radiate good cheer and . paternal interest. And, while I didn't happen to be introduced to Mrs. Hammond, I could hear her walking about in the next room, and I was told that she was setting the table for dinner. Perhaps when I tell you that the Hammonds are real, simple "home folks" you will understand, as I did, how it happens that the lovely Harriet is a girl totally without affectation. She gives none of the impression of \ trying to act so as to make you believe in some artificiality. She tries to create no illusion nor to ensnare a reporter into saying nice things about her. The studio publicity man told me that I would find her quiet and reserved ; that she, in lacking a sense of theatrical sensationalism, differed from any other girl he had ever met at a comedy studio. She lived up to his description— and more. "Once I thought," said Miss „ , Hammond, in telling me Harriet has sacrificed everythins; to her ambition; she goes to bed at nine and arises at six. of her career, "that I wanted to be a concert pianist. My music is the dearest thing in life Continued on page 108