Picture Play Magazine (Sep 1928 - Feb 1929)

55 Robert Armstrong says he's in Hollywood for good, and he's bought an attractive bungalow to prove it. He Doesn't Look Like An Actor And he doesn't talk like one, but Robert Armstrong, of "is Zat So?" fame, is making his way in Hollywood. Myrtle Gebhart ROBERT ARMSTRONG, who scored on the stage as the prize fighter in "Is Zat So?" and for whom screen success is predicted, doubtlessly had been interviewed many times. But probably never before had a lady interviewer looked him over squintingly the instant he stepped out of the car which brought him from the back lot, and remarked, "You don't look like an actor." And, a bit later, "You don't talk like an actor." The young lady had as her excuse — not apology — the fact that she had just been engaged in spirited conversation with Bill Boyd, had been called "peanut" for the millionth time, resented it exceedingly, and was now hungry and ready to bite nails. A tough prize fighter was just her meat, right then. But he happened to be a gentleman, which was disconcerting. He looked, not surprised, but blankly stupefied. Then, he smiled and murmured, "Thank you !" Later, after the lady had been fed, and had thought of a suitable revenge upon one William Boyd, and therefore was mollified and willing to be pleasant, he amplified the above response. "What you said, acknowledging our introduction in such explosive fashion, is a compliment. I look like an ordinary human being. Every actor is, but few like to seem so." I knew right away — as soon as the other two matters were settled — that I would like this Robert Armstrong. Though I knew he had achieved a reputation for fine work on the stage, I had never seen him. Only three of the six films in which he has appeared have been released, and I had missed them. So I met him with only the idea that, being of the stage, he would be a stage actor. He would let it be understood that, through some mysterious demand, he was fulfilling his duty by living in the West, but that the movie engagement would be temporary, his heart being in the Broadway theater. He would swagger and swank a bit, or a lot, but some, anyhow. He would talk of the ideals of the theater, and use very big words. Instead, he said point-blank that he thought he was in Hollywood for good, if he got over with the public. He didn't seem to think the theater so superior to the little orphan movies. With a little encouragement, which he didn't get, he would have been cross, because his golf was being interfered with. He had worked only two out of five days that week, but stayed around the set, waiting, while a truck wrecked an armored car properly. "Pretty good, at that," I remarked. "You're doing better than most extras. May get ahead yet." If you know your Hollywood, you know there are some people you can talk to that way, and some you can't. He grinned. A regular guy, I decided. Instead of the actor's accent, he has a slow drawl. It sort of drags along a chuckle, with a quizzical undertone, as though he was just getting ready to talk, and meantime was enjoying you and everything hugely. Dressed for his role in "The Cop," he looked like the sort of a bird a respectable girl wouldn't want to be seen with. I might have known the scar over one eye was the movies' label of a gangster, but it looked so real that I didn't mention it until he did. I can be polite and tactful. . He ate bacon and eggs, a man's dish. I'm not so keen about the salad men. He didn't start complaining about anything, except missing golf, which is one of the things you have to endure'patiently from Hollywood men. Very browned, with strong features and piercing eyes, and a face the lines of which indicate experience,