Screenland (Nov 1935-Apr 1936)

for December 1935 67 were just a holiday thought, but of course it had been in the back of our heads all the time, only we pretended it wasn't, so as not to be too disappointed if we failed. Going to California always reminded me of a joke. An Englishman once came over — this is just a joke — and got to New York and thought he'd like to go to California. After about four hours on the train, he asked the porter if they were near California, and the porter said no. Then at every station he'd ask him again, and at last after about a day had gone past, he said : "I'm sure you must be fooling me. This must be California." And the porter said : "No, not yet." And when they finally did arrive at California, the Englishman said : "Lord, I don't think it was such a great thing that Columbus discovered America. He couldn't have missed it." That's just a joke, but still we understood how the Englishman felt, being rather impatient to get there ourselves. Only there was one point where I should have willingly stopped, and that was when we saw some cowboys go cantering down the trail in sombreros and red shirts, just as they do in the books about cowboys. I think I might really have leaped through the window with excitement, except that the window was fortunately closed. I -decided then and there to get off at the next station and be a cowboy. But Cis decided otherwise. When I grow up and retire, however, I'm going to buy a nice ranch and have all the family over from England, and then we can all be cowboys together — though now I come to think of it, I don't know that Granny would specially care about wearing sombreros and red shirts. Well, the next thing that happened, we arrived at Hollywood, and Cis wrote a letter to Mr. Selznick, and strange to relate, this time there came an answer. I remember Cis looking at the answer, rather dumbfounded, and saying : "Well, it seems they answer letters in America." And the letter asked us to come to the studio. Mr. Selznick was there and several gentlemen whom I didn't know at the time, though later I knew them very well — Mr. George Cukor and Mr. Hugh Walpole and Mr. Estabrook and Mr. Rowland Leigh who's my most intimate gentleman friend now, and by the way, he gave me a gun. He felt Cis might object to the gun, and he thoughtfully gave her a drip-coffee pot at the same time — to disarm her, she said. So now I'm armed and she's disarmed. It's not really dangerous though, you see, because of course I don't put any bullets into it, but it's rather nice, just having it to flourish about and startle people with. I try not to startle them badly — just enough so that it's pleasant for me and not unpleasant for them. Well, to get back to the studio : they asked me if I'd read it — the book, I mean. And I said : Yes, I've read it four times." And then they asked me to do a recitation, and I did : "Friends, Romans, Countrymen." I can't recall everything that happened, but I remember Mr. Cukor saying : "This is David. And I thought he meant me, but I couldn't be quite sure, and Cis and I looked at each other and I could see she was feeling the same way. And then when we found they really did mean me, we were terribly happy, of course, because of having hoped so long. I can't say what part of the film I enjoyed best, because every scene had its sadnesses and its gladnesses, if you see what I mean — one day I was happy, then I wasn't, then I was — in the film, of course. In myself I was always happy. One reason was because of Mr. Cukor. I love Mr. Cukor. When I had to cry, some directors might have said : "Now you've got to cry." But Mr. Cukor would take me aside and talk to me about the scene and the why and the wherefore, and why David was crying, and how much to cry, and just sort of work with me. But one day, I remember, the tears refused to roll out, try as I might. You can see how that would be, can't you, if you were perfectly happy and had nothing at all to cry about? Only it was very important that I should, because in the picture my mother was dying. So Mr. Cukor called Cis and said: "Please try to make Freddie cry." And Cis took me just off the set, and said : "Freddie, I want you to think of someone you love dying — me, for instance." And I said : "Oh no, Cis — it must be something reasonable. P'raps if I saw you crying, it might help." So we both sat together, and I said : "Cry, Cis, cry," and presently she did, and then I did. And suddenly I looked up, and there was an electrician looking down at us from above, and he was holding a lamp and looking down at us like this, with his mouth and his eyes wide open. And it was so very funny that we both burst out laughing and then we had to start all over again. That's one of my choicest memories, this electrician sort of gawping down at us while we sat there peacefully sobbing together. The first day on the set I hardly realized what was happening really, because there was so much to distract me, like the booms and the lights and all the contraptions, and people calling: "Hold it" and "Save them" and "Turn them over." And another interesting thing was to see the characters come out, just as though they were coming out of the book, like Aunt Betsy and dear old Peggotty and Mr. Micawbcr and the Murdstones. Oh, and that reminds me — I'd like people to know, because they sometimes ask me whether I hated the Murdstones. Even Miss Kemble Cooper herself — she played Miss Murdstone, you remember — once asked me: "Freddie, don't you hate me?" But of course I didn't — only on the set — otherwise she was charming. And Basil — Mr. Rathbone, who played David's cruel stepfather — is my friend, and my heart quite ached for him, because I knew the beating part was more difficult for him than for me. Oh, but I'll tell you one thing that was really funny. Basil, you see, is so tall, and when he arrived at Aunt Betsy's on the small little donkey — not a donkey, a burro — well, poor Basil being so tall, could almost cross his knees under the burro — and it did look funny to see this tall, severe-looking gentleman — he's not really severe, you understand, just in the films — to see him come stalking in on this little burro, as though he were sort of pushing it along. We had many a laugh over that burro, Basil and I. That was when we were on location with the burros, and I loved being on location, because Mr. Cukor used to order ice cream for everyone. He had only a tiny carton for himself, because he was dieting, though I and everyone else had nice large ones. But one day he did me an even greater service than ice cream. There was something strange about it, because only the night before, Cis had dreamed about seeing me in a field, and there were horses in the field, and she thought I was being crushed under these horses, which made her a little uneasy. Well, sure enough, we were dding the scene where David is bidding the Mieaivbers goodby. And how it happened I can't imagine, but as I reached up to Mrs. Micazvbcr, I missed my footing and slipped under the horse and the horse started to go. But Mr. Cukor grabbed me and pulled me out before I was damaged or even had time to be frightened. So Cis decided she wouldn't worry about dreams while I had such a good protector, since she has quite enough to worry her without, poor darling. I mean she has a vivid imagination, and always expects to find me in pieces on her doorstep. There's only one thing I didn't like about "David Copperfield" — or rather, about films generally — and that's being measured for costumes, because they try so many different angles and thingummies, and I'm not very good about standing still, because I'd far rather not. P'raps I shouldn't mention it at all, only when you're telling your life, I think you should mention the shadows with the sunlight, especially when they're such small shadows, otherwise it might be monotonous. Like seeing films, for instance. I once saw the trailer for "The Bride of Frankenstein" — all about a monster and his beautiful bride. I should have liked awfully to see the film, but Cis said no, it was too horrible. I love seeing beautiful films, like "House of Rothschild" and "Naughty Marietta," but I do think, if you see too many of them, they're likely to get tiresome after a bit. But if you see a nice little horror for a change, you appreciate the beautiful things all the more. It's one of the points Cis doesn't quite agree about. Well, then the film was finished, and the next exciting thing was the preview. We were dressing and I remember I was snapping my garters, it's a habit I have, when suddenly I looked at Cis and realized what an extremely important event was happening in our lives, so I asked God please to make "Copperfield" a success and reward my auntie for all her kindness, because this was her night. Then we went to the preview at the Chinese Theatre, and there were a great many people, and someone put me in front Fellow artists and pals, snapped at an auspicious occasion! Nelson Eddy is shown presenting the nice new car to Freddie Bartholomew, as a birthday gift from Louis B. Mayer, head of M-G-M studio, their "home" lot.