Picture-Play Magazine (Mar-Aug 1926)

43 The Tactful Bolshevik The quiet and retiring Lois Wilson has rebelled, and is showing every one that she has more spirit and dash than was realized. By Myrtle Gebhart. HOLLYWOOD'S schoolma'am has turned into a lad} bolshevik. Waving a red banner, Lois Wilson has revolted and marched to victory. I always thought that Lois had more determination than her meek and gentle manner indicated. Now I know it. From her Charlestoning heels, she has shaken the dust of the Nemesis that has followed her for years. "Oh, Lois couldn't do that!" people used to say. Lois, snapping her fingers at an astounded Hollywood, is now doing what other girls do, what she has always wanted to do. She is having a grand good time, and she is wearing red. The ice-cream-social girl has become a Welsh-rarebit sensation. Pale-blue linen of self-effacing modesty is replaced by the scarlet chiffon of sophistication. Whereas she used to be tranquil and submissive, now she is a ripple of enthusiasms, mischievous and, at times, even defiant. The first time she received orchids from an admirer, she took them off the ice a dozen times to sneak rapturous gazes, but was too timorous to wear them. Now, Lois wouldn't seem fully clothed without an orchid or, when gowned in her favorite crimson, a white camellia on her shoulder. "A glass of champagne on a kitchen table," a Hollywood wit recently summed up the change in Lois which, startling as the transformation may seem to the eye, has not really been a very deep upheaval of character. What does she remind me of ? Queen Anne silver in the breakfast room of a Hollywood bungalow — a marron glace dashed with spices — Christmastime, with red holly berries falling on the snow, and sleigh bells a-jingjing. For, though the vestal's white robes are crimson now, the purity and sweetness of her face are unmarred. One evening, at a party at Patsy Ruth Miller's, a girl dashed in, whirling scarlet skirts. She spun me about excitedly. Her face was Lois', and surely those were Lois' fine brown eyes, even though they bubbled with a surprising merriment. But the rest of her — I came to, sitting on the stairs, weak from shock. For seven years Hollywood has known and admired Lois as a sweet and lovely and capable, but reserved girl. Loved by her friends for her loyalty and sincerity, she was overshadowed by more individual personalities — brilliant butterflies sailing into the sunlight on colorful wings. Our amiable Lois, of the breakfast-food wholesomeness, seemed grooved into a rut. Pier days were .schedules of routine. She seldom went out socially, except to very quiet parties at girls' homes, on Our Club nights. But recently, to Hollywood's consternation, there breezed in from eight months in New York a young lady of such sparkle and charm that she blithely sailed to the head of the popularity lists. Lois, in red, sitting on the floor amid a group of youngsters playing Coffee Pot — the most nimble of wit, the first to grasp the elusive verbs. Lois, clever at repartee in the flashing Arlen language, skillful at verbal fencing, flirting ever so little. Oh, not enough to sharpen Mrs. Grundy's tongue, but just to the point of whetting interest. Lois entertaining with luncheons and dinner dances at the Montmartre — Lois on the tennis courts, at the gym, agile and graceful as she dashes through the sports — Lois with her engagement book filled for weeks ahead. Can this be the Lois who used to sit at home of an evening reading, or doing the family mending under the^ soft glow of a rose-shaded lamp? The days now simply haven't enough hours to encompass the activities which she is eager to squeeze into them. There is work, there are French lessons and dancing classes and gym hours, new books to read, countless places to go. Clothes to buy — gay-colored clothes. Not bold colors, you understand — merely challenging. Rushing home, she dresses in a whirlwind for an evening's gayety. To be sure, there is a hangover of our practical, methodical Lois. She will hang up her clothes and fold things in orderly array, instead of leaving them in a jumble of pink lingerie and silver slippers and ruby earrings. But even in that spotlessly neat bedroom is the imprint of the new Lois. There is a red-leather desk set! Everywhere, she is the merry center of attraction. When a party breaks up, she wonders why everybody else is so tired. "Remember, Fve seven years of energy stored up," she laughs. "Don't worry, I shan't abuse my health. Fm tireless, and this bottled-up exuberance must be let out." Hollywood fairly hectored Lois into this — worms will turn. Her hopes used to be raised when executives would promise her sophisticated roles, or when she would plan a daring frock, only to be doused by that shocked, "Oh, Lois, you couldn't do that !" Lois used humbly to agree, and then would feel crushed for weeks, morosely brooding over her disappointments'. For seven years, she drew the leavings from the studio grab bag — the insipid parts that only obliging Lois would play, the prim school-teacher, the saccharine heroine of stereotyped Westerns, a precise young wife, the oldfashioned sweetheart — models all of decorous young womanhood. Pier amiability knew no limits. Once,' when an actress was needed to play a part scarcely more than a bit in a Negri film, Lois — a featured player! — agreed to do it. Her length of service exceeds that of any player still with the Paramount organization. Gradually, she has built up a following, particularly in the small towns, where her likable sincerity made her seem like the girl next door who bakes cakes and gingerbread, crochets, and minds the baby. Never has there been any glamour of the actress about Lois. Deciding that, to obtain the more vital roles that she longed for, she must first prove her adaptability, she began a definite campaign. A red dress, a dash of the Charleston, and schooling in clever repartee, have done what hours of argument never could have accomplished." They have taken Lois from the corner into the spotlight. Tentatively, she experimented. She became a bit more talkative, and took up sports, and read the smart books, and bought a yellow scarf. Quick to notice the response these little overtures evoked, she ventured upon her campaign in earnest. Fortunately for her, at about Continued on page 99