Screenland (Nov 1934-Apr 1935)

for January 19 3 5 79 from the movies altogether. I saw Chevalier the other night in a piece called 'Carnival im Liebe.' For a couple of hours I thought I was back home again — until I came outside and found myself in Germany." Marion Davies' personality is not only engaging, but disarming, disconcerting. I think she could stroll nonchalantly into almost any No Man's Land in those blue slacks and they would raise their guns with a frown to fire — and Marion would turn towards them blandly, innocently, maybe light a cigaret and smile. The next moment the would-be combatants are all smiling and saying, "Wilkommen, Camarad !" Marion Davies has a way that is all her own of getting anywhere and anything she wants, giving pleasure to all concerned and pain to none. I don't know of any finer compliment I could pay her. "Yes, there's something in this traveling in foreign countries that gets you, and gives you back something that Hollywood takes out of you," continued Miss Davies. "I want to go places and see things. Places like Constantinople, Egypt, Greece — " "In blue slacks?" I ventured. But Marion Davies didn't return my whimsy. "Why not?" she asked, her large blue eyes challenging me seriously. "What have blue slacks got to do with it? A little thing like that isn't going to change them. And it certainly doesn't bother me. I don't think anything bothers you much after a few years in pictures. No place seems strange after being 'on location' half your life. Or maybe it's because I'm lazy, that I like to go around this way," she continued, putting her two feet up and hugging her ankles with her folded hands. "There'd Warren William in a scene for a picture with HelenTrenholme, one of the important new actresses. be no fun in it if I had to dress for every occasion from morning to night. Where would the vacation be? Whether it is being done or not, I relax completely — read, sleep, play tennis, take the baths, motor, get manicured — and get a big kick out of everything ! That's my idea of a rest cure. "Of course, you can get fed up with this sort of thing, just the same as you can with too much work," continued Miss Davies, on our way upstairs to her suite to get some snap-shots for me, Gandhi barking himself in and out of the elevator and all the way down to his suite. "Oh, I'll probably drop in on London on my way home ; I want to see what's doing in the theatre there. Then a few days in New York — always in the hope of finding something wonderful to put in the movies. I'm not so keen about 'Movie Queen,' that they talk about for my next picture. I want something more important. 'Mary Queen of Scots' is my idea of what I should like to do next, but it is not a certainty. Nothing seems a certainty in the movies at the moment ; big changes are going on in all future programs for pictures. But that's not for me to get a headache over. My job is my part in the picture, and I think I do give them an honest day's work when it comes to that." I left Marian Davies sitting on the "desk" of the Grand Hotel — after she had invaded the sanctity of the inner shrine behind it to find herself paper and pencil — surrounded by the snootiest bunch consisting of hotel manager, reception clerk, room clerk, bell hops in all Europe — who could snub Grand Dukes and coal barons who dared to infringe upon their inalienable rights — but who stood in awe, in wonder, and in admiring esteem before this American Movie Queen — so refreshing, so carefree, breezy, jolly and likable. And that is Marion Davies, of Hollywood, on her vacation in Europe. The Merry MacDonald Hangs Up Her Hat throwing herself into a big, roomy chair by the fireplace, ordered tea and cakes for us. Then, she relaxed. It was the first time I have ever seen Jeanette in a resting mood. Always, she is vibrantly alive. Busy with a dozen different things. She had just returned from the studio when I visited with her, where she had been looking up the French versions of her "Merry Widow" songs, for she was due to make phonograph records that evening before leaving for New York. However, for a few hours, she sat in the big, easy chair and talked about the little things that have suddenly begun to seem important to her. "I never knew that it would be so nice as this when I first decided to take a house," she confessed. "I can't tell you how grand it is to have a home again." Then she told me about her last home, back in Philadelphia where she lived as a child, with her parents and two older sisters. It was a large brown, brick house, one of four in a row. It was in a suburb when her father first bought it, but gradually the city crept out and claimed it. She drew a homey picture of her life in the big house where she was born and spent her childhood. There was everything that children need to keep them happy and occupied. Sand-piles in the back yard. Roses in the garden. Pets all over the place. She says she can't understand how her mother stood for all of their animals. There were always several dogs. One time, they had ten cats. Then there were canaries, pet white mice, turtles, and even a billy goat and a pig. There was a bantam rooster, too, that lived to a great old age. If they failed to put him in the pen every morning, he would give an imitation of Continued from page 23 Mary's lamb and follow them to school. A friend of her parents was visiting with them in the parlor one evening, while she was playing checkers on the floor with the little boy from across the street. Her sisters were deep in a game of "old maid" with their own chums. The man made a remark that stayed with her, although she hardly understood it then. He said : "If they only knew it, these are their whitebread-and-butter days." Jeanette says he was right. Nothing can compete with the glamor that memory throws around a happy childhood. Hers was happy. She had everything to make it so. A happy home. Congenial parents. Friends. Pets. Health. And a consuming ambition. She always wanted to sing and dance. As far back as she can remember she has done both. From her earliest childhood, she sang in the church choir. At nine, she was a soloist at baptisms and christenings. Jeanette was fourteen when she was given the opportunity to begin her career on Broadway. Her sister Blossom had already won some recognition on the stage, so the MacDonalds moved to New York. This was Jeanette's first taste of apartment house living. The only thing that made it endurable was that she had a chance to do what she wanted to do : sing and dance before a critical audience. She missed her pets and she missed her friends. She did not have time to make new ones. She was at the theatre every day so she did not even know the other tenants in the apartment house where she lived. She went back and forth to work by trolley car and spent every spare minute in study and practice. It was over two years before she even had a "boy friend." She lived across from Central Park, so her recreation hours were spent walking, riding horseback, and skating. The change in her mode of living was not too difficult because she was too busy to think about it. She says that she knows now that it must have been hard for her mother to give up all her friends and her home in order to be with her and Blossom, but she never complained. Mrs. MacDonald is a sympathetic and motherly type of woman, who has learned how to feel at home wherever she is. She lives with Jeanette now in Beverly Hills. There are nine large rooms in the MacDonald house. Without too much effort or time, Jeanette has managed to invest the place with an aura of comfort and charm. The drawing-room is beautifully decorated. The predominating color is a soft shade of green. The divans and easy chairs are upholstered in green brocade. The ceiling-high windows are curtained in long folds of the same material. Books are strewn around, with corners turned down. Magazines lie half-open on the little end-tables. Cigarettes peep out of funny, little silver carriers. The focal point of the room is the large painting of Jeanette that hangs on the wall behind one of the large divans. Her bedroom is beautifully done in peach and flesh with gray walls. There is a mammoth bed and a chaise longue with heavy peach satin coverlets. There are dainty ivory and gold pieces on the dressing-table. She is proud of her game room. Its furnishings are modernistic and comfortable. There are tables for bridge, backgammon, and ping-pong. At one end of the room is a balcony from which the latest talking