Picture Play Magazine (Sep 1926 - Feb 1927)

94 Hollywood Society Knows Its Onions Continued from page 26 It has become the fashion, lately, for the sweet young things of the town to form themselves into clubs. There are the Thalians, the Regulars, Our Girls, to mention only a few. Some are for girls exclusively. Others admit the beaux as well. These clubs have set a rather nice standard for themselves, and will permit as members only young players whose codes and conduct are quite free of any whispering gossip. Jobyna Ralston, Marian Nixon, Joan Crawford, Alice Day, Esther Ralston, Priscilla and Marjorie Bonner, Dorothy Manners, Virginia Brown Faire, Duane Thompson, Rita Carewe — girls like these — very regular young people. Earnest and serious — but not too serious to play as happily as the debutantes of any other town. The madcap Constance Talmadge has a court all her own. From Biltmore, to beach, to Cocoanut Grove, to theater, to Montmartre — they dash tirelessly. The best orchestras in town for even informal parties, fresh, fragile gowns for every occasion. The air for several feet around the yellow-haired Connie always black with immaculate dinner coats and sleek, devoted male heads. Breaths held at the flicker of her long eyelashes. The heart-busting belle of the town, Connie — or "Dutch," as she is more appropriately known among her coterie. Members of the recent Scandinavian inundation have so far hesitated to stir from their own colony. Victor Seastrom, Lars Hanson, Greta Garbo, and Mauritz Stiller — all these and their countrymen live in what has become a Swedish community at Santa Monica. They are quiet people with clear, calm blue eyes. Trying very earnestly tc habituate themselves to the rush and flurry of the studios. And not quite equal, yet, to the strain of combining six or seven hours of play with nine hours of work in one day. In their magnificent house on a hill above Silver Lake, between Hollywoodand Los Angeles, Mr. and Mrs. Antonio Moreno are at home to their friends. And, like the location of their home, their acquaintance list is a compromise between Hollywood film folk and the elite of Los Angeles society. The charming Mrs. Tony is a member of one of the first families of California. Tony is one of the bestliked men in pictures. They entertain delightfully — delightful people. Last summer saw for the beach clubs a vogue that almost became a frenzy until there was no room left to erect another. The Casa del Mar, the Edgewater, the Gables, the Santa Monica — every expanse of beach available between the luxurious seaside homes of vacationing stars converted into elaborate playgrounds with gold-plated memberships. Marion Davies, Bebe Daniels, Ward Crane, Norma Talmadge, Edmund Goulding, Harold Lloyd, Matt Moore, Helen Ferguson, and Bill Russell — all have big, comfortable houses by the ocean. With urbane informality, week-end parties formed themselves here. Dropping in Satur day afternoon, hot and tired from the studio. Too lazy to leave, spending Sunday acquiring a fashionable tan on the sand. Nice, friendly parties these, with the hosts doing just as they pleased, and expecting the guests to do the same. Open house on Sundays is a very popular Hollywood custom. One of the most pleasant to visit is King Vidor's colorful Mexican home on top of a high Beverly hill. Donald Ogden Stewart, Irving Thalberg, Johnny Weaver, Norma Shearer, Harry and Alice Behn, Charles and Mrs. "Ray, Jack Gilbert, Marion Davies, and Eleanor Boardman and King. In the swimming pool, on the tennis court, in the garden, at the piano or radio, in a corner reading, all friends — observing no unnecessary formality. Eleanor pouring tea, raids on the cakes and sandwiches, King — if persuaded — performing absurd tricks, of which he is very proud, with matches and cards, or singing negro spirituals in a soft, melting tenor. It is perhaps the most sane and charming household in Hollywood, that of King and his wife. Its atmosphere one of dignity without hauteur, of good taste, of comfort. And of peace — a rare, rare thing in this town of struggling poor and unhappy rich. Parties and theaters, bridge and tennis, clans and cliques. The same the world over; the same in sentiment if not in form. It might be Des Moines, or Memphis, or Seattle, or Baltimore. The only difference is that it's Hollywood. Ballade of a Movie Plot ~By Harold Seton. When I asked Professor Logic About a new screen play, He elucidated Upon it in this way : It was a domestic problem, and very complicated indeed. In the beginning A and B's happiness is on a very high plane until a new equation loom's up in the figure of C, and then affairs take on a new curve in this hitherto tranquil sphere. It's now the eternal triangle. Then, after a while, A vows B is no longer on the square, and B contends that C is base, and. soon A and B's relationship terminates, and the final solution seemed to me quite inadequate for affairs ever to have reached right angles again ! But when I quizzed the Flapper, She wisely shook her head, And in terms emphatic This is what she said : Why, it was a modern love drama, and grand, simply giand. Dorothy De Vere was the wife. She was the sweetest thing, and wore the darlingest clothes I ever saw. She looked ravishing. And Harold Hill was the husband. He was wonderful, simply wonderful. He has such soulful eyes, and all that, and makes love divinely. Gloria Gav was the vamp. She was grand in the part — so alluring and mysteriouslike — and wore such daring gowns. I'm crazv about her. I really don't remember the plot, but it was thrilling. Oh, the play was grand ! But when I questioned Tommy — • Who views love dramas coldly — He gave a scornful sniff, And this is what he told me : Ah, gee, it was punk! It made me tired. You just bet you couldn't pay me to see it again. It was another of them plays where all the married folks are tryin' to get single — an' all the single ones tryin' to get married ! Just a lot of guvs weepin' and moonin' from the start to the end. Huh ! there wasn't a cowboy or an Indian in it. It was punk !