Screenland (Apr-Oct 1930)

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If pleaaed. tell your frienda about it. yes, I know — she doesn't give 'em a chance. But why doesn't she ? Because when she did, they wouldn't take it. Because somehow the notion had got abroad that this was the life-size, sure-fire, all-time picture of Connie Bennett and what are you going to do about it? "All right — you can judge a person only by what that person is to you — and to me that picture of Connie Bennett's a slander. To me she's a hard-working, straightthinking, fair-minded person with no more than her decent share of human inconsistencies. Can you call a woman selfindulgent who works without a murmur for six weeks on end from eight in the morning to midnight and later? Can you call a woman vain who's the first to recognize her own limitations — who's forever kidding her 'funny little face' and her 'funny little talent,' as she calls them — and not with the hope of being contradicted, either. She knows what she's got and she knows what she hasn't got, too — and that's what I like and respect about Connie Bennett. "I'll tell you another person who's completely without vanity, whatever you may have heard, and that's Jack Barrymore." Through my mind flashed the memory of something I had heard about Barrymore, which bore out Mr. Cukor's statement. He had been enthusiastic about the part of the shell-shocked husband in "A Bill of Divorcement" and eager to make the most of it. Appearing on the set fur his first rehearsal, he had buttonholed Mr. Cukor. "Listen, George," John Barrymore is alleged to have said, cocking that eyebrow, "now listen hard. If I try to do a single hammy thing in this picture, kick me, will you ? — kindly but firmly, kick me !" Whether his instructions were obeyed is not on record, but that the desired result was achieved is proven, if by no other fact than that Sister Ethel, hypercritical where any of the Barrymores are concerned, called Hilary Fairfield his finest performance. "It's a holiday," Mr. Cukor was saying, "to have Barrymore in a film. ' He works like a demon, he co-operates 100 per cent, he thinks the director's a great guy, and I've never known his humor to fail him. Here's another thing. Barrymore's been called an ace scene-stealer. From my point of view there's no such thing as scene-stealing. The director's always there on the job. The thing he wants in the foreground is the thing the camera takes, and if Barrymore or any other actor seems to be stealing a scene, it's because he's better than anyone else in that scene and not because he's resorting to tricks. If he is, it's the director's fault. "I never noticed any scene-stealing propensities in Barrymore. On the contrary. He was as keen about Hepburn's success as his own — found her exciting and stimulating to work with. It's true he teased her mercilessly — but she could take it— not only take it but bounce it right backagain — and they got along like a couple of Siamese twins. As for Billie Burke — he adored her, as who didn't? "You know Ziegfeld died while we were making that picture. We were doing a scene late one cold Friday night, when she was called to the hospital. She ran out to the car in her make-up — without a coat. She'd never told anyone how sick he was. After he died she wrote me a note : 'Please make me work hard. It'll be good for me.' She came back the following Wednesday — got in at 6.30 to be made up and have her hair done. Just once she broke down, and then apologized to the make-up man because he had to mascara her lashes again. She's an enchanting creature, Billie Burke — " his voice softened and his eyes grew gentle as he gazed off into space — "charming — wise — a great sport — a great lady." "Hepburn?" Cukor grinned, as the question brought him back to here and now. "Yes, she's a personality, all right — a minx, that's what she is — a paradox. Hard and tender. Cocksure about herself, yet humble about her work. Straight as a knife and slippery as a snake. But more brains than she knows what to do with — and a hard worker. "She was a little bumptious, to begin with — as they're likely to be when they first come out. She'd argue about everything before she did it. But that wore off. She had to understand exactly what you wanted and why — couldn't do a thing mechanically just because she was told to. But when she understood, she'd do it like a saint. "She's absolutely unselfconscious — or at any rate," he murmured thoughtfully, "she succeeds in producing that impression. Does whatever she damn pleases, and anyone who doesn't like it, too bad. She'd come to the studio in a pair of old overalls, runover moccasins, and a tight sweater, with a kerchief knotted round her head a la Russc. She'd drive up in a magnificent car — though she kept insisting she didn't know where her next meal was coming from — and climb into the studio through a window. She was always telling the most fantastic lies about herself — not that she cared whether you believed 'em or not ■ — art for art's sake — I couldn't tell you to this day whether she's a daughter of millions or a Cinderella ! "When the picture was finished, we could hardly hold her. She was sure she was rotten. As I look back on it now, it seems to me I spent all my time dragging her off the step of a train. " 'I've got no money,' she kept moaning, 'I've got to get back to New York and get me a job. Sooner I get there, sooner I'll eat.' "She wouldn't go to the preview — ran away to Santa Barbara to spend the night. Thought we were kidding when we told her next day the preview report on her'd been 100 per cent. "You know," Mr. Cukor said, breaking off suddenly, "that's one of the things I resent about the way the movies are treated — if you'll excuse my airing my views again. I resent the snooty attitude of the press — the detached, superior airs they give themselves. 'When Hepburn arrived, nobody met her but the photographer,' they say; 'now they're all making a hullaballoo about her.' Well, and why not. for Pete's sake?" cried Mr. Cukor, flinging out his arms in despair. "That's not the movies, that's life. If you're an unknown in any walk of life, you're grateful even for the photographer. If you're a celebrity, you get a hullaballoo. That wasn't invented in Hollywood. 'Now she has a patio,' they say. Good Lord, is that supposed to be funny?" he inquired plaintively. "Everyone in Hollywood has a patio. You might as well say, 'Now she has a kitchen sink.' 'We hope,' " he quoted in hollow tones, " 'we hope Hollywood won't spoil this exquisite girl.' Did it ever occur to them that it was the malign