Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1926)

17 If you are an ardent fan, it is not hard to recognize them all, and most of them respond gayly to greetings from the crowds. Stars in Hollywood itors in the West have many thrilling opportunities to This article tells just where and how they can be seen. Reid dapper young man she had been seen with for weeks. The aid of Ruby, the pretty, red-haired vender of cigarettes, was needed on this one. "Michael Arlen !" Ruby whispered in awed tones. One evening, I sat next to a table occupied by a family of enthusiastic fans, newly arrived in town. With them was a little girl who should have been in bed at that hour. In fact, I can think of no better place for that particular child at any hour. She had a vivid imagination and a loud, clear voice. Four distinct times she saw Mary Pickford enter, and announced it in no uncertain terms. And her family had utter faith in all her observations. "Quick, Gertrude," hissed her mother, "who's that coming in now?" "Florence Vidor," replied Gertrude loudly. I turned round just in time to see my young friend, Dorothy Manners, hastily beating an embarrassed retreat to a secluded corner. Dorothy is a familiar figure at Montmartre, and there is always at least one party arguing as to her identity, her dark-eyed, magnoliaskinned beauty being startling even in Hollywood. At the Wednesday and Friday night dancing contests, Charlie Chaplin usually applauds from the best ringside table. If your luck is good, you happen in on a night when Metro-Goldwyn's Joan Crawford is strutting her Charleston with one Jerry Chrysler. The cheering and yelling, of quite collegiate abandon, always awards them the cup. Each contest night, a star is invited to be hostess and to present the cup. When Vilma Bankv presided recently, she appeared amazed at the noisy warring during the contest. At the close, the excitement grew to its ■usual intensity, directors of reputed dignity and stars of careful reserve shouting, hissing, stamping, whistling. The mouselike Vilma looked readv to scurry away with fright at these strange customs. At closing time, one o'clock, ermines and jeweled vanities are gathered up, and with a "Good night. Prof-!" the chatting groups trail down the stairs to the long line of purring, imported limousines in the street, which glide slowly away, carrying their celebrated occupants to their luxurious homes. Previews. The motion-picture equivalent to an Atlantic City tryout of a stage plav is the advance showing of a picture at a neighborhood theater in Hollywood. The producer, star, director, and cast, assemble to see how it gets over, which scenes flop, where cutting is needed. It is run after the regular program, before a typical, impartial audience. Sometimes it is flashed on as a surprise, sometimes it is announced beforehand. On the roof of the Granada Theater, seemingly the favorite for such showings, is a giant searchlight. When this is seen sweeping the sky, a preview is promised, and the family callously desert the scrapings and squeakings that indicate Chicago-at-last, and make full speed ahead for the little Spanish Theater. The presence of the company somewhere in the darkened house rather subdues one's critical tendencies into a courteous silence. But at the preview of Elinor Glyn's "The Only Thing," the most heroic struggles for composure collapsed into gales of helpless laughter. When Conrad Nagel and Eleanor Boardman swooned into one of Madame's typical, amorous interludes, the most unemotional of citizens writhed in paroxysms of mirth. This is the only preview I have seen that was not attended by the cast. The only visible celebrity was young Irving Thalberg, of dark, sardonic face, and he was undeniably laughing. One wondered if the famous boy producer could be treating lightly one of the company's productions. Some of the stars hurry out so quickly from previews, when the lights go up, that the patrons are cheated of half their show. The Talmadges, of well-known indifference to the plaudits of the mob, fairly rush for their car. The less sensitive players, however, take their time and exit in line, even as you and I. Corinne Griffith always wears a big, droopy hat, and no one recognizes her. Sally O'Neill comes with all her sisters and adoring big brothers, all looking as if they had just left a tennis game. Aileen Pringle usually comes in stunning sport clothes — and hatless. She doesn't pose for the ring of spectators, but is just her own lovely, sophisticated self. Ramon Novarro always comes alone, and causes cooing flutters among the mothers and aunts and what not. Ramon is still a Hollywood sensation, of course, but his hermitlike mode of living and unsensational reserve render him too remote to suit the fancies of young ladies who have the volcanic Jack Gilbert right in their midst. The discriminating older women, however, will admit no rival for Ramon's wit and charm. Sometimes at the end of a preview, there are passed to the outgoing audience cards upon which you are asked to write your opinion of the picture and to mail it to . Continued on page 100