Screenland (Nov 1934-Apr 1935)

74 BRIGHT Men may hate extreme styles, but there's one beauty point that always gets them, in business or in ballrooms. Lovely eyes! Practice looking eager and attentive; twothirds of the trick of that "starry-eyed" look is a matter of concentration. The other third is a little patented implement called Kurlash. Slip your eyelashes into this for a few moments each morning. They emerge with the lovely, lasting curl Nature forgot to give them. Curled lashes look much longer and make eyes sparkle . . . and Kurlash costs only $1 at any leading store. Men do not like an artificial "beaded" look on eyelashes, which is why so many professional beauties are using new liquid mascara Lashtint. $1 buys a charming dressing-table bottle . . . water-proof and tear-proof (remove it with cold cream) to make thin or pale lashes appear dark and luxuriant. Shopping or business over — and a sudden urge for beauty overcomes you! How lucky you are if out of your handbag comes Lashpac. From one end a stick of mascara pushes forward to use both on lashes and eyebrows. A tiny brush for grooming swings from the other end. Mrs. D. N. writes that it makes a most original $1 bridge prize! Jane Heath will gladly give you personal advice on eye beauty^ ij you write her a note care oj Department C-4, The Kurlash Company, Rochester, N Y. The Kurlash Company oj Canada, at Toronto, 3. Copr. The Kurlash Co., Inc. 1935. her and writing her poems which were beautiful and sentimental, and it was all just awfully romantic with stolen kisses in the wings, and after-theatre suppers in Joe's speakeasy. One night Claudctte noticed that Norman's face was flushed and he was coughing badly so she rushed him home to her apartment, called a doctor, left him in charge of a surprised mother and grandmother, and dashed back to the theatre in time to go on with his understudy. Norman was laid low with flu for several weeks and Claudette divided her time between the theatre and his bedside. In March, three months after meeting him, she married him, and the famous "separate residence marriage," which you have read so much about, was started. At first they maintained separate apartments because for professional reasons they wished to keep their marriage a secret. Then later because it seemed more romantic that way. Then still later because when Claudette was in New York Norman was in Hollywood. It was while she was appearing in "The Barker" that Claudette made her first moving picture, a silent picture with Ben Lyon, called "For the Love of Mike," which was made at the old Cosmopolite i Studio in New York. When she first saw herself on the screen she had such a head-ache she had to go home and take six aspirins. She swore never to do it again. But she did. Talking pict ires came in with a bang and Paramount signed Claudette for two pictures, the first with Edward G. Robinson, called "A Hole in the Wall" — simply awful ! — but the second, "The Lady Lies," with Walter Huston, Charlie Ruggles, and little Tom Brown, was a tremendous hit, and established Claudette as a movie favorite. Paramount lost no time in signing her to a long-term contract. She has been with that company ever since, although two of her best pictures this past year, "It Happened One Night" and "Imitation of Life," were made at Columbia and Universal respectively. Before deserting the stage Claudette appeared in the Theatre Guild production of "Dynamo" and in Elmer Rice's "See Naples and Die." She hasn't been on the stage since 1929. When the Astoria studio was closed in New York in the spring of 1933, Paramount sent Claudette to Hollywood, where she has been ever since. Hampered many times by bad pictures she has slowly but surely climbed the well-known ladder of fame until today she's "the top" as Cole Porter says. She is one of the most sought-after stars in Hollywood, and has more money-making pictures to her credit than almost any other personality. And she has the satisfaction of knowing that she is what she is, and she has what she has, all because of hard work. As one old crap-shooter to another I tell you that little Lily Chauchoin played it the hard way — and won. But what happened to love and romance? They drooped and wilted and finally died along the way, just as they have always done since time began. Claudette and Norman were awfully young and terribly in love. And life looked so simple. But it wasn't. Claudette had high hopes for Norman and herself playing in the same Broadway plays, and making the same Paramount pictures, and remaining forever the lovers that they were, but you know how it is with the best laid plans of mice and men. Claudette and Norman, after all their scheming and planning, never really played together but once, and that was in "The Young Man of Manhattan." They had only been married a short time when Norman was signed by Hollywood and was sent to the Coast to make pictures for Screen land Acme A London Bobbie stops traffic for a star who stops many a show. Above, Eddie Cantor in England on his recent vacation, strolling the London streets. nearly all the studios. Claudette's contract called for her to make pictures in New York. Everytime Claudette planned to catch the Chief for Hollywood she was called back for retakes, and the same thing happened to Norman. Twice they met in Chicago for a brief week-end together. It's rather impossible to keep a romance alive under such conditions. Only pale ladies in old classics can sigh over a memory, cherish a dream, and pine over a faded rose petal. Modern youth calls for something more tangible. Transcontinental love after all is not really very satisfactory. When Claudette arrived in Hollywood, where Norman had been for three years, they both knew in their hearts that they no longer loved each other. The passing years had brought new interests, new friends, new careers, new ambitions, and there was nothing left for them to cling to, nothing but the wraith of a memory of a boy and girl desperately in love in New York City. They made every effort to recapture those lost raptures, and those silly little things they used to say to each other backstage : they lived together for a while; they dashed away to Death Valley to spend New Year's alone together ; they bought each other handsome presents, and they talked of a trip around the world that they knew they would never take — but when love dies it dies, and there is really nothing you can do about it. So Claudette and Norman are definitely separated now, much further than they were when three thousand miles of America lay between them. It's sort of sad, isn't it, two such lovable children who had to grow up. But, as the French say, e'est la vie, and what can we do about it?