Screenland (Apr-Oct 1930)

for May 1933 17 An Open Letter to Mary Pickford D EAR MARY: What's your secret? I'm not just puntitle of your new I really want to from M «_ Mary said "I call this my 'Kiki' hat — but maybe I shouldn't remind you!" ning the picture, know. There's no explaining you. Garbo a Mystery Woman? Why, Garbo is just Anita Louise in comparison. You, Mary Pickford, are the real sphinx of the cinema. And I'd like to know the answer. You know I hadn't seen you for a while, and in the meantime I'd met Garbo and Dietrich and Bennett; cheered Crawford and watched a whole new school of ingenues swim in. Mary Pickford? Oh — ah, yes; I'd heard the name. But — really, she makes so few films these days; and after all, we don't have a "queen of the movies" any more; too, too old-fashioned. And what do you think of Katharine Hepburn? I know better now. I went up to see you, Mary, while you were in Manhattan on your way to join Douglas in Europe — went up for just a nice, quiet talk for auld lang syne, etc. And I had the surprise of my life. The queen is dead, eh? Long live the queen, eh? Will some bright little boy or girl please give me a new expression meaning "Oh, yeah?" For you were holding court, Mary; your hotel apartment was just a big throne room, and your subjects the "names" of New York society and finance, with Lady Astor's sister, and a great stage star, and a countess or two for color. I thought Connie Bennett lived a crowded life; that Claudette Colbert had the busiest telephone; that Lilian Harvey was in demand — but these girls are practically in retirement compared to you, Mary. Just a sample of an average, quiet Pickford afternoon: "Will you okay this sketch for the billboard, Miss Pickford?" asked representative Mark Larkin. "My name is too big," you said. "Now, boss," said Mark, "we want your name big. We're selling Mary Pickford." "You're selling Mary Pickford in 'Secrets' with Leslie Howard," you said firmly. "Make my name smaller than the title. But leave Frances Marion's name as large as you can get it." You grinned at me, that same impish Irish grin. "Here I am transacting business in this!" and you gestured with tiny hands at your dress, a filmy white evening gown that a desperate fitter was following you around trying to put together in time for dinner that evening. "But it will look nice, especially with my new rubies." And you scooped them up — both hands filled with red and white glitter. "They're an investment!" "Are they real?" asked the great stage star, Laurette Taylor, also impish and Irish. "Try them on." So you put on the earrings and the choker and the ring and the bracelet, and looked like a pleased child dressing up. "A present from me to me," you said. "Mary!" cried Lady Astor's sister. "That other bracelet rolled on the floor." So down you went on hands and knees and picked up the diamond and ruby bracelet — and a penny. Pennies and rubies — that's Pickford. "Will you be at the Countess' villa in Rome?" "Are you going on to China with Douglas?" "Why aren't you staying until your picture opens?" "I think so — positively no, but I may weaken — yes, I'd like to stay for the opening but I'd rather meet Douglas. I must reduce a bit on the boat, but how can I, it's an Italian boat with grand spaghetti — yes, I liked doing 'Secrets' and I think it's a good picture but it's funny, I didn't want to do it at first — Frank Borzage asked me if I wanted some Menthol for the crying scenes — I was so insulted! I've never used anything yet to make me cry in a scene, the hard part is to stop crying." By this time the fitter had given up hope. You were running from room to room, talking to Kathleen Norris and Lillian Gish, signing checks, dashing off telegrams. And looking like Mary Pickford has always looked, very tiny and determined, reminding herself, she says, of her scatter-brained Irish terrier. Nothing has changed, really. Pickford is still Queen Mary. "There's no use trying to put on an act, is there?" you said. "Not for me, anyway. You know before I left Hollywood I had to make a very serious speech for the Motion Picture Relief Fund. I wore my most dignified dress, and when they made me get out in the middle of a big ballroom to talk, I felt pretty important. And the newsreel cameramen were there, and I thought my speech wasn't so bad, really. All in all, I came home feeling I had made a rather good impression. And then I happened to glance down at my feet. They looked funny. I had each shoe on the wrong foot!"