Screenland (Jun-Oct 1935)

70 had an idea. She immediately went to Trauber with it. "Why can't I play Belle in 'Scarlet Stain'?" she asked. "I thought you were all set in 'Friends Forever'." "You can find a hundred girls to play that !" "And you think I can't get anyone to play Belle?" "It looks that way." "You think you're big enough — after half a dozen minor roles ?" Diana grew earnest. "Honest I am," she said. "You took a chance, getting me here at all. If you'll take one more chance — " "But your first big role, in an unpleasant character !" "I don't care. It would take years, before I'd get that far, any other way. Hundreds of girls like me are trying to get ahead — to say nothing of the thousands of extras. Try me out anyhow !" Trauber smiled. That wouldn't be a bad idea. Diana's salary was low, compared to the girls he'd been considering for the role. He couldn't get anyone he really wanted. This attractive girl with her eager, confident air might be just the SCREENLAND one for the part. The production date had already been delayed. The release date was getting too near for much more experimenting. The next day Diana was given a test for "Scarlet Stain." A pretty little blonde was given her part in "Friends Forever." And Diana waited and worried. What if she'd made a mistake, thrown away her opportunity? She felt that the result would make or break her movie career. Three days later Trauber called her in and told her she could have the part of Belle in "Scarlet Stain." (To Be Continued) I Won't Be A Hollywood Hero! Continued from page 17 his dressing-room. He frankly doesn't care for interviews, but he is too polite to be rude to those who are interested in him. It was a warm Saturday morning, and he had knocked off eighteen holes of golf at Toluca. He looked as if a valet had just turned him out. "There is a regular rigamarole for stars, you know." He grinned and tilted his chair back against the wall. "You're supposed to have dash. To be daffy, I say ! They claim you have to put on an act, and it's curtains when you're caught short without your trimmings." If there had been a spittoon, and if Randy were the sort who'd chew tobacco, he would have aimed for it then. He ran his right hand through his sun-bleached hair and his blue eyes, characteristically stern, twinkled amusedly. "I didn't nourish a dying passion to be a movie actor. Unlike Merton, I never dreamt of a fabulous salary and fans in my food. I prefer my glitter in a Joan Crawford flicker, where I can take it or leave it alone. My money is going into bonds, not into 'front!' " You mustn't infer that Randy isn't serious about his work ; he is. But he sharply defines the line between the actual job of acting and "what a lot of folks expect goes with it." The fast and flashy mode is not for him. "I don't think nonsense is necessary," he went on. "A certain amount of publicity, yes. Of a dignified brand, so you won't blush when you catch your own eye in a mirror. I don't think you have to be ostentatious. "Nor go Bohemian, either. You know," he confided, "my mother is a religious woman and she brought us up in what Hollywood would dub the old-fashioned way. To control our emotions, to respect our elders, and ourselves." Which is why Randy isn't taking his present click big, of course. He was born in the South, of a fine family, and his heritage is not that of the topsy-turvy, irresponsible show-world product. Instead of cultivating influential big shots, he naturally knows them because his good breeding and air of intelligence has attracted them. Others move into Beverly mansions. Randy stays on in his single apartment, untempted by the opportunity for flaunting his fame. His mother's principles, handed on to him, are why he hasn't married yet, too. He is one of "the top" in the feminine rating of the colony. Remarkably handsome, clean-cut, eligible in every respect, Randy would be a terribly romantic lover because he is such an idealist. And an excellent head of a household because he is so steady. The average movie male is impulsive. Fun for a fling, but seldom sure-fire for a long run — as a lady star aptly phrased it for me. I believe an important part of Randy's vogue is due to women sensing the genuine qualities of the man. Here is no suddenly blown-up Lothario. He has dated several of our screen beauties, for he likes companionship. But he has never fallen in love ; Hollywood's standards and his don't agree. Easy-come, easy-go is not in his lexicon ; his must be the bride the years will shine on. So far, he hasn't met a girl whom he could love with all his heart, who could stay on the pedestal a lady should adorn. "Stop me if I'm being too direct," he mused. "But the truth is that most of the girls I've encountered don't seem to want to settle down." Since he obviously was not steeled against reporters, as Hollywood heroes are with their lines calculated to excite, I didn't take advantage of his honestness. You nice young women, cheer up. Men like Randy Scott are going for just your sort, so don't let your code get hotcha ! He hasn't sacrificed directness for diplomacy. As far as that goes, he hasn't given up his varied interests. The one-track mind is standard equipment for the boys in his class. Hollywood heroes are intrigued with themselves and their other topic is the riabvies. This rebel prefers to discuss a variety of things. I had to urge him to talk about himself. "I came West with no serious intentions lurking beneath my calm surface," he declared. "You see, I was destined to go places in the textile manufacturing business. I enrolled at Georgia Tech — you know, 'I'm a rambling wreck from Georgia Tech — !' When Twas permanently blackballed from the varsity, on account of some injuries I received on the frosh football 'Atta boy, Hugh Herbert, stick to it and some day you'll be able to roll your own so they'll smoke. team, I went back to my native state, and to the U. of Virginia." Randy's father was an administrative engineer, and a good one. He sent his pride and joy to Europe and then, realizing the textile business held no allure, attempted to rouse a liking for his own kind of work. Very likely Randy would have stayed there in the South if a chum hadn't persistently extolled the West. Before becoming a solid pillar of Virginia he vacationed in California for five months. "I hadn't even tried to get inside of a studio. Shortly prior to packing for the return trip, my friend and I were golfing with Howard Hughes. He kidded us for leaving without getting a glimpse of 'the inside Hollywood.' We told him okay, go ahead and arrange us a peep. He had us sent out to Fox as extras the next day." Done up in a form-fitting Australian uniform, Randy Scott stood out of the crowd like a neon sign. By noon the head casting director was on the set, expressly to interview him. He left when Randy had consented to a test. Before the end of the day a Cecil DeMille scout had heard of this wonder and had wangled his way in to leave word that the great C. B. desired a conference ! Bewildered at all this attention, and enchanted by his brief glimpse of how pictures were made, Randy reported to DeMille, who was then casting "Dynamite." Being a fellow Southerner, and astute judge of potential talent, and, so it turned out, a friend of a friend of Randy's, the director waxed enthusiastic. "If you'd ever read a line on a stage I'd put you into the lead in my new production !" he exclaimed. "But since this is my very first talkie, I can't take the risk. You ought to stick around out here, though. Get some stage training. I'm sure you've got what we want !" An airmail letter home informed the Scott family of this amazing turn. If he really thought he'd be satisfied with acting, they answered, they had consented to allow him to see what he could do. Comprehending that the sensible move, was to acquire literal instruction, Randy scorned the obvious, flashy system so many Hollywood heroes have followed. He might have been lazy, and relied on pull. He might have gone in for film society, partying until there were other offers. He didn't even bother to "be seen" at premieres and night spots. What he did was to go over to the Pasadena Community Playhouse, the West's foremost dramatic training school. Eight months of coaching there led to three professional juvenile engagements on Hollywood stages. The third play, starring Leo Carrillo, was Randy's last. Paramount put his name on one of their dotted lines and presto, he was a screen hero! That he was capable of stepping into picture prominence in so short a time was due