Screenland (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

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FltKK for limit, -it time ,,nlv Art t,„Jsyf HOLLYWOOD SCHOOL of MODERN PIANO "School of tin Film Stars" (lxth vear) Dept. 162 C . _l_,HU!_Sunset_ Binllevar d. Holivwm.'l. Calif. Enlarge That Photo Size 8 x 10 or smaller if reqitosted. extras lo buy. You pay postman 45c plus postage. Speeif Superior duality and safe of your picture guaranteed started. Una, one of the grandest people in the world, was the only player on the Metro lot who gave Madge a warm greeting and a friendly hand. And an Evans never forgets. "I thought I was coming to sunny California," said Madge. "Imagine my surprise when I found myself in Little America." I was under the impression for quite a long time that I had met the shyest person in captivity when I met Barbara Stanwyck, but compared with Madge, Barbara is Lady Godiva on a white horse. One cold quizzical look can shrivel Madge completely. A bit of snootiness and she is lost forever. She wasn't born that way, though. Oh no, Madge remembers very definitely that as a child star she must have been an awful little brat. "Much worse than Fannie Brice's Baby Snooks," says Madge. "Adults were always gushing over me and telling me how pretty I was and if I cried they gave me the world. Naturally I thought I was pretty smart." She faintly remembers, and wishes she didn't, that after a certain picture the director said, "And now, little Madgie, you've been a good little girl, and I'm going to give you a great big beautiful doll." "I don't wanna doll," snapped good little Madgie, "I wanna wrist watch with diamonds." Well, you can just imagine what poor Mrs. Evans thought she had on her hands. A gold-digger, no less. But strangely enough Madge did all her digging before the ripe old age of ten. The Evans jewels today have been bought by Miss Evans. Madge's inferiority complex came from being a child star. Everybody made such a fuss over her for several years and then all of a sudden she became a gangly little girl, she lost her contract and no one made a fuss over her. "A grown-up," says Madge, "could have understood it. But I was only a child. I am sure I was more humiliated over losing that contract than any man has ever been over losing a job. To have all the flattery in the world, and then suddenly not a word of praise from anyone. I couldn't figure it out. My pride was hurt and I became abnormally shy and sensitive." When she was fifteen she decided to try to make her "come-back" on the stage, ( Madge has one of those burning loves for the theatre that not even an inferiority complex can dampen), so her mother went with her on a tour of the casting offices in New York. Madge would meet the directors and producers who remembered her as a child star, (and resented the fact that she had grown up — just like I today resent Jackie Cooper being such a big boy in "The Devil Is a Sissy"), and they would be just as cold and detached as were those dear divine friends in Hollywood several years later. "Madge," her mother once said to her, "vou act like a hick from the coun try who has just stepped off a train. You must talk to these agents. You never open your mouth." Well, that became a gag line with the Evanses. Even to this day when Madge is being particularly quiet in a large party of people Mrs. Evans will turn to her offspring and say, "Madge, when does the train get in?" Immediately Madge will perk up just as she did at the age of fifteen in those casting offices and start a bit of nonsensical prattle. Madge is crazy about fortune tellers — not that they ever tell her anything she wants to hear, but she's always hoping they will. "They're always finding a husband and a home and babies for me," says Madge, "and I don't want a husband and a home and babies. I want a career." Right after the glorious success of "Piccadilly Jim" she heard about a "new" fortune teller down at Santa Monica so she promptly dropped in to have her future read in the cards. "I see something marvelous for you," said the woman, "it's wonderful." "Wh-what?" gasped Madge, "a good picture?" "No," said the woman, "a good husband." "Oh," said Madge. Of course you remember Vilma Banlty and Rod LaRocque! Here they are, happy husband and wife, seen visiting in England. They Have the Most Fun Continued from page 57 picture making it over, everybody sits around and talks pictures, and Miriam is interested in other things. So as soon as the last take is in the can, (me being technical), Miriam avee entourage scrams out of here as fast as she can. Last spring when she had finished "These Three" for Sam Goldwyn she decided practically overnight that she would like to go to China — she had never been to China and it seemed a nice place to go. So she made reservations for herself and Michael, (her fouryear-old adopted son), and Mademoiselle and Lennart, (nurse and butler who always accompany La Hop on her safaris). Then the day before the boat sailed she decided she wouldn't go to China after all but she would like a boat trip so she dashed down to San Pedro avee entourage just in time to catch a boat for New York via the Canal. On the boat she happened to pick up some pamphlets describing the fascinating lure of old Mexico so Miriam caught a plane in Panama and flew to Mexico City in time to celebrate several fiestas with the first families. Then back to Hollywood again where she re-opened her beach house at Santa Monica and in a moment of softness persuaded herself that Hollywood wasn't so bad and she would spend a spring here, and have all the charming people she knew down for scrambled eggs and champagne breakfasts at two in the afternoon. But unfortunately Miriam went to a Hollywood party, and as usual every one started talking pictures and griping about contracts: so Miriam began to think longingly of New York in the spring, the apple trees in bloom in Central Park, the gay lights and merry noises on the East River, and the liver and onions with the special mustard at "21." Miriam took the next plane for New York. She opened up her house in Sutton Place, called up a lot of interesting people to come on over and have some fun, sent at least a dozen wires to a dozen producers back in Hollywood informing them that she wasn't the least bit interested in appearing in their pictures, and took in every theatre, every art exhibition, and every smart night club in town. This went on for about two weeks. Then Miriam said : "So much is happening abroad, and I am missing it. Paris in the spring. London in the spring. When does the Normandie sail?" Up went the shutters in Sutton Place. Miriam hadn't been to Europe since 1930 when she had played in London in Belasco's "The Bachelor Father," so she was keen to visit all her old haunts, the quaint little restaurants in Soho, and renew old ac