Screenland (Nov 1934-Apr 1935)

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for April 19 3 3 67 To Elissa, however, America is not taken for granted. It is here that she has discovered the ideal spot in which to live; work that thrills her, and countless new friends. "You will please tell them," she said to me, "that even now I should not have spoken like this of my marriage if I had not believed I owe some explanation. Always, before, I have had to hedge in interviews. There was a role to be played, an illusion to maintain. "Today I am free to be myself and here in America we do not let an impetuous, young marriage ruin our lives. Nor do we go on indefinitely sacrificing ourselves. Not, at least, when we stumble upon the sad fact that the effort has not been appreciated!" Elissa has high hopes for the future and I believe that she will gain her wishes. She frankly declares that many of her film assignments have been silly, vapid characterizations and she wonders how she survived them. Under long-term contract to Paramount now, she is delighted with the manner in which this studio is handling her. "This is my home," she repeated, "whether or not I last in pictures. You don't adopt a career as an actress ; it adopts you. There will always be my writing, anyway." To date she has written her novels in long-hand, but at Christmas she was given a portable typewriter. Soon, I fancy, she'll be banging away on it with American speed ! That Elissa, the intellectual, approves so wholeheartedly of Hollywood is balm to those of us who have had to stand up under the scorn of the cynics. No withering blasts from Landi. And the very definite interest she displays in her fans is worthy of mentioning, also. Instead of branding fan letters as a burden, she eagerly looks forward to them. But has she everything she wants ? I say no ! _ You'll remember that she hastily altered it to "everything material." I recall, too, that during our conversation she expressed some kind of a wish for American children running around her home. Eventually I believe she is going to meet the man who'll make her life truly complete. Meanwhile, a salute to Landi, first of the English imports to go 100% American, with no reservations. Why, knowing this "haughty creature" as the regular girl she actually is, I won't be amazed if on my next jaunt to the beach I catch her riding the roller coasters and cheerily waving a hot dog ! Key-holing Montgomery Continued from page 25 Bob Montgomery makes acquaintances easily but he clings to his old friends, and above you see him with his wife and two of his closest friends, Chester and Sue Morris, attending one of the Hollywood night clubs. any — is not permitted to use her own judgment." Bob insists upon periodical vacations away from Hollywood, in order to "get a new grip on himself," he says. He has a farm in New England, on which is a rambling old country home. He likes to go there because there he finds the extreme in conservatism, to counteract the effect of the other extreme in modernism which is in Hollywood. He has no telephone on his New England estate. When he goes there, he is literally swallowed alive. He disappears as quickly and completely as a magician's trick egg, and he reappears as suddenly as the same magician's rabbit. Bob is a confusing combinaion of serious man and playful, likable boy. About his business, he is the man : concise, terse, quick-thinking, and slightly stubborn. At play he is still in his 'teens : prankish, dry of wit, alert to every opportunity for amusement. When he is the man, his eyes are blue-grey and they hold a steely glint that commands respect. When he is the boy, his eyes turn a brighter blue, and they advertise his inner merriment. No man in pictures, not even Jimmy Cagney and Clark Gable, look off-screen more like their on-screen selves than does Montgomery. That is why he cannot appear publicly without being recognized. Even though he manages to hide his face, the public seems to spot his very mannerisms. His hobby, his favorite sport, his pet, are all one — horses. Anything in the form of horseflesh attracts him. The new racetrack near Hollywood is his daily habitat, when he is not working. He owns several horses of his own, and I suspect he'd rather be photographed with one of his horses than with Garbo. His visits to the New England farm mean hours and hours of riding and foxhunting. You have heard and read little about his love for the latter sport, because he is afraid the public might misconstrue. He fears the gossips might write : "So, Robert Montgomery is riding to hounds ! Is he trying to go social ?" Consequently he remains discreetly silent anent his foxhunting. Bob clings to old friends. He is slow to make new ones. I have never known another man who chose his intimates more cautiously. Note that I specified intimates: Bob makes acquaintances easily, but he accepts a rare few of these as real friends. Chester and Sue Morris are perhaps his closest friends. The Montgomerys and the Morrisses are together almost constantly. They kid each other unmercifully, do Bob and Chester. Just the other day, when Morris and I had lunch together, he said : "On days when I work, I let Bob make a few bets for me out at the race-track. Half a dozen times he has telephoned to tell me how much he lost for me, but he has never called to tell me how much he won!" A few words back, I mentioned Montgomery's attitude toward gossip. Perhaps I should also have added that he regards gossip as part of the business ; as a "necessary evil." He once said to me : "When I return home at the end of a working day, I leave the gossip at the studio. I don't take my make-up home, nor do I take my picture costumes. I think of gossip as I do of make-up and costumes — part of the game, and a part to be left inside the studio gates." He never troubles himself much with "rules of living," but once, in answer to a question as to his personal credo, he answered, "Live and encourage to live." There is a popular old adage which advises, "Live and let live." I think Montgomery's rule is an improvement. He not only lets the other guy live, but he lends a helping hand. In this respect, I personally know several young actors and actresses who owe much to the advice and help of Montgomery. To mention their names would be to obligate them to Bob. He does not wish that, therefore their names must remain secret. He likes to relax completely. He is not lazy; he is too busy and too nervously energetic for that. But he enjoys, as an example of his relaxation, to lounge in his car and be motored by a chauffeur. On other occasions, when he is not in such lazy mood, he prefers to drive himself. He dislikes absurdities in business. He points with an accusing grimace at an outstanding example of this. A few years ago, a writer for a national magazine was sent to Hollywood from New York for the sole purpose of interviewing him. For days prior to her arrival, the studio publicity department repeated to Bob, "She'll be here soon. This interview will be something." And Bob would say in return, "What will she interview me about?" And the reply invariably would be the same, "Wait and see." Before the woman's arrival, Bob was on nervous edge; so much so that he almost dreaded the interview. When the big day finally arrived and, after proper introductions, they were seated at luncheon together, _ she told Montgomery the subject of the interview. She wanted him to give his advice to young girls in love! "I can't talk on such a subject!" Bob exploded. "What do I know about young girls in love ? You are talking to an actor, not the dean of a girls' college. I'm terribly sorry that you have made this long trip across country for nothing but — what can I do? I wasn't told the subject of the interview, or I would have warned you in advance." The woman went storyless. As far as his personal control of his interviews is concerned, Bob will permit no "silly rubbish," as he calls it, to be written. He hates it.