Screenland (May-Oct 1931)

112 SCREENLAND sider her nothing but a demure child, others dub her shrewd, naive, affable, snooty — and I got myself in the dog-house when I accused her of changing her mind every three seconds. "That's just like something you'd say," she pointed out equably. "Even though you know perfectly well I only change my mind every three months ! And not only my mind, but my entire awareness of life— the very essence of my being changes completely. And each change is preceded by great mental suffering. And furthermore, each change is absolutely sincere. I always know what I want. At one time I was positive that dress-designing would be my life work, then I definitely set my mind on a newspaper career only to discard that in favor of becoming a great lawyer. Then came the stage and pictures : I would become the greatest living actress ! And while up to date I have shown no great promise," she added seriously — for Sid is her own least charitable critic — "I feel I have the talent, and if only I can develop it I might achieve even that!" She has the determination, courage and talent. Nothing should stop her. And in spite of the variety of impressions, she has but one real fault : she throws away her love and affection. "Perhaps that's true," she admits. "But it's just because I like to give instead of lake. Oh, yes, I know I overdo it as far as my love is concerned ! And it never seems to be appreciated except in a pitifully few cases. As a result I always get hurt. But I'll never learn different. I don't even want to learn ! — even though I've spent many, many crushed, miserable and lonely nights. With an actress there is no such thing as unhappiness — for even in deepest sorrow we are living life, tingling with existence. "And only by existing to the utmost may I achieve that end for which I have finally decided to shape my life — I want to become a great woman ! By that I mean a complete woman, a woman who gives something to the world, something everlasting. And since an actress gives to her public, I can be both a great actress and a great woman. True joy," Sid added as though in a dream, "comes only through giving. Now perhaps you know why I want to fall in love, for without love a woman is absurdly incomplete." And who was I, after all, to argue with her about it? Betty Bronson, the little ingenue of yesteryear, went baby-vamp in "Lover Come Back." Why, Peter Pan! We'd hardly know you! "And there are no specifications for this man of mine, except that he be intelligent and sympathetic — not necessarily sympathetic toward me. but rather, toward humanity! Of course it must be the real kind of love, a love which once in my life I thought I had found; but I guess it must have been a sort of half-way love," she continued a bit wistfully, "for now there's nothing left of it at all! And even that disappeared when I became an adult." "May I ask how long you've been an adult?" I inquired. "Figure it out for yourself," was her startling reply. "I"m beginning to feel weary, and when I feel weary I like to curl up on the couch with an apple and forget everything, including myself." So while Sid nibbles that apple, let's just "figure it out for ourselves." It's really absurdly simple. She has been an adult for exactly eight months. Last fall she was running around with a personable young director. Obviously they were infatuated with each other, and equally as obviously this infatuation would never last. On New Year's Eve she entertained with a party of seven. A few seconds before midnight I noticed she was standing on a raised brick step in front of the fireplace, the mantel looming over her head. She was gowned in a loose, flowing, white robe that was gathered to the youthful curves of her body by a belt of gold. Never have I seen her hair so lustrous and black, her face so frightfully pale, nor her large eyes so dark and unseeing. As though in a trance she stared at the semi-circle formed by her guests. Then I noticed that someone was missing. Suddenly from down in Hollywood there rose a terrific din. Clanging bells intermingled with the screeching of sirens. The New Year had come in ! And Sidney's guests wished her all the happiness and luck in the world — but Sidney was watching a ghost. Fully a half minute must have elapsed before she appeared to understand just what had happened. Then with a rather bewildered smile, a smile, however, which seemed imbued with a new and becoming dignity, she wished each and everyone of the crowd a Happy New Year. At that moment La Petite Poupee had become a woman, and the ghost of her half-love had passed away. Now she wants most desperately to find the real sort of love, a love all-enduring, with a sympathetic and intelligent man. Come early and avoid the rush ! was wearing a most entrancing pirate beach costume in blue to set off her eyes, when she made this statement, and there was the most provocative little quiver to her lips, so it's just as well no eligible gentleman was around to prove too consoling. 'Tis said Pola was once a very poor girl. Difficult to believe! She gives an impression of having been born to great wealth. She doesn't have homes, but establishments. She gives orders magnificently. She entertains rarely but when she does it is all on a superlative scale. People surrounding her become "subjects" and grovel, or else hate her and rebel. One suspects her of acting all the time — Carmen, du Barry, Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, all the reigning beauties of history. But I think this is unconscious ; her dramatic instinct dominates her life. Any young man so fortunate as to have a love affair with Pola must, perforce, add enormously to his experience. She must be equal to a dozen lesser women. Just now she is in an ecstacy of ambition. Her time in Europe has been spent in developing her talents in all directions. Pola is Back — to Stay? Continued from page 26 So that, what she once did on instinct, she will now do with efficient, studied preparation. If the studio thinks it will be hard to find stories for Pola, she has a dozen ideas in her own capable head. She knows exactly the type of person she wishes to portray — wild, dramatic, turbulent and dangerous women. But that doesn't prevent her shining as an intellect at dinner parties. One of Pola's charms is that she is interested in so many things besides pictures. She can discuss world problems with the best masculine brains and comfortably settle the affairs of nations with a few crisp comments. She can be most illuminating on the subject of French politics. She knows all about the future of America, and she is extraordinarily well informed on military matters, economics, or any other subject any brilliant gentleman would like to discuss. Of course we know that brilliant gentlemen are supposed to prefer stupid women. Pola disproves it. She dazzles them with her intellectuality and makes 'em like it. But then, of course, she knows all the superlative little feminine tricks on the side — the treacle that disguises the castor oil ! While making clever contracts at the most acceptable figures, Pola can unblushingly remark that it is a mistake to worship money, that bad times will lead us to a new ideal in which money, wealth, will play a minor part. And then she will nonchalantly mention her "castle in France" or her "estate in Poland," and in the same breath assure us that she has returned to Hollywood a "humble person." She is credited with much philanthropy ; indeed, she holds documents from Poland blessing her for her bounty to orphans. Still one can imagine her remembering them as "my poor" like a reigning princess. One simply cannot imagine Pola having mere relatives. She doesn't fit into any picture of domesticity whatever. St;.ll it is on record that she not only had a mother but lived with that mother in a cellar when the Germans were bombarding Warsaw. She appeared on the stage there before hostile German officers and made them applaud her. No doubt about it, this Pola has sumptuous courage. There is no such word as "defeat" in her philosophy !