Screenland (May-Oct 1931)

102 SCREENLAND so many intrigue her Irish fancy. There's Jane Seymour, who died after the birth of Edward VI, who moans as she walks through the Silver Stick Gallery at Hampton Court Palace ; there's Catherine Howard, another wife of Henry VIII, who goes shrieking along the Haunted Gallery in the same palace, just as she did at her arrest when her husband paid no attention to her shrieks. There's another ghost at this palace — Mrs. Penn, foster mother of the orphaned prince, Jane's son. She was a favorite of the prince's father and on his death was given apartments in the palace. After she died, a monument was erected to her memory, but later on when they pulled down the church her tomb was disturbed and she has haunted the palace ever since. "Don't you love that ?" says Maureen O'Sullivan. The Successful Mr. Menjou Continued from page 66 gusto. "I've been working for a solid week and a half," he announced with, we imagine, a bit of a swagger, "and I wouldn't be surprised if the Vitagraph people gave me a steady job." And although at that time Menjou missed a contract, he worked more or less steadily for the next nineteen years, only seven months of this period being spent on the stage, vaudeville. Now he rates as an outstanding success, both artistically and financially, as well as mentally. And, furthermore, he could have been successful in any other line of endeavor that he might have chosen. For he possesses a vitality, a persistency, personality and ability that simply can't be downed. He is more than a competent artist, being a first class business man as well : a sane, intelligent, provident fellow who snorts derisively when one inquires about his early struggles. "Any stories about the hardships I'm supposed to have experienced are vastly exaggerated ; for I have never had any. Father provided handsomely when I went to school. In fact, he assisted until I started to clickin pictures. Of course I've worked, and worked hard, but that's not exactly a hardship. I can recall but one time in my life that I was actually short of cash, and that was one night in New York when I took a thirty-cent room at the Mills Hotel. But even then I wasn't particularly worried about finances. I admit that I had a rather lonely night of it, but anyone will tell >ou that under certain conditions New York can be the loneliest spot in the world. You see, I've always endeavored to save a certain percent of my salary, thereby forestalling any financial crisis, and I've succeeded in saving considerable." When asked if he were in pictures simply because of the money, he at first complained that my question wasn't fair, but finally he admitted that he was : most definitely. "But naturally," his words raced on — this fellow's thoughts travel like lightning and he talks just twice as fast — "I enjoy my work. A man's a fool to do anything he doesn't enjoy — if he can avoid it. Just for example, take the case of an artist who is passionately fond of painting. Now if he's a good artist, imbued with a certain amount of luck, he'll make money ; and if he isn't a good artist imbued with luck, he'd best acquire a passion for plumbing." Which is pretty good advice for anyone. You can't miss being a success, according to Menjou, if you work hard and intelligently, and happen to be shot with luck. Insofar as he, himself, is concerned, he'd leave pictures flat if he had an independent income. "And then I suppose I'd travel," he supposes rather vaguely, "and go sightseeing— and meet people, and things like that—" But personally I think Menjou would be lost without a job of some sort. There is a vital, sensitive driving force in the man that prohibits prolonged idleness. It is this force that kept boosting him on toward success, after his debut in 1912. Every year he made more money, and acquired better parts, until finally just be Rich Melton is one of the boys answering the call, "New Men Wanted in the Movies." Looks like the strong, manly type. Here's luck, Rich! fore the war he was given a contract by Paramount in New York. After joining the Ambulance Corps and going to Europe as a private and returning a Captain, he tried producing for a while only to give it up in favor of "A Woman of Paris," following the release of which he was definitely established and starred in eleven successful Paramount pictures. It seemed as though Menjou had won his fight to success : waiter to movie star — and rumor has it that for the first and only time in his life, his head became about three sizes too big for an elephant ; which was unfortunate, especially since the public suddenly tired, not of Menjou himself, but of the Menjou story. "You've no idea how happy I am now that I'm only being featured," he exclaimed last January when I first made his acquaintance. "The responsibilities of stardom are something I shail hereafter avoid desperately. Just picking stories alone is enough to drive a star wild. And besides that, a featured player stays in the money longer, the reason being that since the public sees so little of him it forgets to grow tired. And furthermore I have no desire to direct — why," he inquired most reasonably, "should a well-paid featured player take on the responsibilities of directing until he has to?" Why, indeed? But to sneak back to the final days of his stardom : as though to deliberately multiply his troubles, the talkies came in ; and with a flip of his heels and no kiss for Zukor, Menjou went out. After spending a year or so in Paris, he returned to Hollywood where he made his first talkie for Pathe, a Frencher called "Mori Gosse de Pere." and according to Horton this adds up to "My Kid of a Papa" although after perusing the translation it seems a bit on the free edge. After this picture he was given an M-G-M contract for featured roles, as advertised. Now, however, it looks as though he were to be starred again. And from what I could gather a few weeks ago, he's rather looking forward to it. His new argument being that the public has again become star-minded, and that the talking picture gives him more latitude for enacting a variety of roles, which should greatly help toward insuring his continued popularity. And after taking a breath. I must say that I think he's dead right. Once again Menjou is scooping in the large gold. Naturally he's delighted about it. And he'll be in the money for years to come, in one capacity or another, for he thoroughly knows his job. He makes it his business to study every angle of the motion picture industry, both here and abroad. Nothing sneaks by his keen perception, no problem is too difficult for his comprehension, although if he doesn't stop worrying about the foreign situation he's going to run himself ragged. Menjou, personally, is a charming Babbitt. He passes up the Hollywood night life, preferring his home, his few but solid friends, his wife and garden and books and kennel of Sealyhams. He plays light amiable tennis, swims a bit, and talks whenever he gets a chance. Delightfully. Magnetically. And furiously fast. And watching him the other evening out at the Garden of Allah as he perched precariously on the edge of the swimming pool and balanced a plate of salad on a knee, a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other, all the while talking like lightning to Lila Lee only strengthened my suspicion that he was something of a juggler. And while this suave juggler is happily married to the gorgeous Kathryn Carver, he insists that marriage is the most dangerous venture left to mankind. "The marriage laws nowadays don't give you a chance, especially from alimony hunters. You either gamble or remain single. How do you know, you're going to be able to live with a certain woman until you try it out ? There'll either be radical changes in our divorce laws or Free Love will come in with a bang that will make our reformers tremble in their boots !" And speaking of boots, Menjou is just about the best-dressed man in town, although he is by no stretch of the imagination, dapper. If it weren't for the vital, fiery energy forever seething about in the fellow he might even be termed dignified. At least it was with consummate dignity that he told me he was very much against his wife re-entering pictures. "We hardly see each other as it is," he complained. "If she started out on another career, we'd never be together!" It is quite obvious that he loves his wife and his home and Hollywood (although he claims that a person should get away for three months every year no matter where he lived) — but he points out that true happiness does