Screenland (Nov 1937-Apr 1938)

Hollywood's Fantastic First Nights Continued from page 13 engagement ; but it docs mean that they are willing to have their names linked in the next days' new spapers. Columnists, pencils in hand, and cameramen lie in wait at either end of that flower-strewn red carpet. Young actors, and young actresses too, are cautious about their appearances at these openings. Even the older ones, arranging dinner parties to precede the piclure, think twice about their invitations. While stars are treating themselves to facials and new hair-dos at the beauty parlors, the fans are slowly assembling in those grandstands. By noon there are always a few hundred already seated. Property men are spreading out the red carpet, hanking it on either side with hundreds of baskets of flowers several feet high. Distracted box office men are explaining to furious celebrities that there are no more tickets for sale, that even the last seat in the top balcony is gone. No matter where placed, each ticket costs $5.50. Publicity departments discreetly assign them, in the order of importance, trying discreetly to keep separate divorced couples, to remember Hollywood feuds, to see that rival producers do not sit too near the critics. They have all seen the picture before of course, even the critics. They may have seen it in a studio projection room, or at the home of Joan Crawford and Franchot Tone, or Harold Lloyd, or Jack Warner, all of whom love to show pictures. Seeing pictures is a regulation way to wind up a Hollywood Sunday. Sometimes most of Sunday is spent that "way. More hardy than any admirer of double-feature programs, the movie colony can sit through three full-length pictures and three cartoons without a quiver — just a few groans. By the time they reach the theatre, that part of Hollywood looks like a circus. Searchlights with some 300,000 candlepower pierce the sky, guiding the long line of limousines to the playhouse. Police passes are enclosed with all first night Attending a preview! Lana Turner, right, poses with her mother. tickets, as streets surrounding the theatre are shut off to ordinary traffic. The premiere may concentrate on one personality, as "100 Men and a < lirl" did with Deanna Durbin. Deanna, not yet fifteen, wore her first evening dress that night, a blue marquisette trimmed with English daisies and velvet ribbons. Even with the eyes of all Hollywood upon her, little Miss Durbin never for a second lost her amazing poise. Her premiere was one of the year's most brilliant. Sometimes the premieres go in for dignity. "The Life of Emile Zola" had the usual bleachers, the thirty-piece orchestra playing outside the theatre, the hundred efxtra policemen on duty, the broadcast presided over by George Jessel, the crowds of celebrities ranging from Charles Boyer to the John Barrymores. But the theatre scornfully refused to go in for circus stuff, even refraining from sailing a captive balloon, complete with loudspeakers, above the theatre. It was at this premiere, however, that weary celebrities were greeted with short speeches, to be read by them before the microphones. The broadcast lacked the usual cozy series of "Hello, everybodies — I'm awfully glad to be here." These Hollywood openings have only been revived during the past year. They were common enough in the old hoopla days. Sid Grauman used to present prologues before the picture, stage shows so long that sometimes the feature didn't go on until twelve-thirty. After the opening of "Rain," you could see celebrities outside the theatre at five in the morning looking for their cars. The fans were still there too. It was in those days, at Grauman's Chinese, that Wallace Beery did that fatal imitation of Greta Garbo, burlesquing her "I tank I go home" on the stage before all' their fellow workers. It caused a sensation, with Garbo, who doesn't attend premieres, deeply hurt and Beery apologetic for weeks. "City Lights" stopped all of that. Hollywood hadn't noticed the depression yet ; it was still just a word in the newspapers. Charlie Chaplin put on the most spectacular premiere of all time. They had had big openings before, with boulevard traffic cut off, the militia on duty, and all the rest of it. But "City Lights" was shown in downtown Los Angeles, too near the slums. When the stars appeared in furs and jewels, the crowd of twenty thousand or so went mad. They hooted, jeered, rioted, broke into cars, tore finery off stars, and caused many arrests. Hollywood, frightened, stopped going to premieres. Now the depression is over. The Warners, with their bleachers and their bands, began the new vogue for premieres a year ago. As each really important picture comes along, every few weeks, its producers try to put on a bigger show than ever. Soon someone may come along to top that gag of Wilson Mizner's, the best ever pulled at a premiere. The writer went to a good deal of trouble with his joke, even measuring the amount of gasoline needed to reach the theatre entrance. Then he bought an aged flivver for ten dollars, a dilapidated, paintless, fenderless, topless car with flat tires. Attired in all the finer}' he could find, gardenia in buttonhole, top hat on his head, he drove alone to the premiere. The flivver gave one last gasp as he reached the red carpet. Even the announcer was silent as Mr. Mizner emerged. As he started the long, slow walk toward the microphones, a panicky doorman ran after him. The car, he asked, what of the car? Mr. Mizner turned majestically, beamed upon the silent crowd, and said ; "The car? Oh that, my man, is your tip." Lew Ayres, Mary Carlisle, and John Howard, in "Hold 'Em, Navy." The Scream of the Jest Continued from page 21 laugh at her work. It is delightfully droll. Her vague, helpless mannerisms make her outstanding in comedy. With this, Marie is content for the present. If you saw "Wake Up And Live," you saw Joan Davis doing a burlesque Spanish dance that was something not soon overlooked. She is funny. I saw her first in a two-reeler. Once seen, never forgotten. La Davis won a fan. Now she is winning fans galore. Joan has no secret sorrow over art. She always wanted to be funny. Her heart's delight will be to hear herself called the "Female Charlie Chaplin." Starting out in vaudeville, with Si Wills, they appeared as "Wills and Davis." If the bill gave Joan second spot, she got top billing in Si's heart. Funny or not, Joan got her man. She also got Beverly, now four years old. At her home, somewhere amid the canyons of Beverly Hills, I thought myself suddenly transported to Egypt. The architecture resembled what is imagined to be Egyptian. It has a minaret, but no Muezzin to call the unfaithful to prayers. Should you wish to enter the garden of fruit trees from the road, you must toll a cow-bell over the gate. Instead of a cow, Joan appears and lets you in — likely as not wearing a Florentine skull cap and beach gown, smoking a cigarette. Art may be art for those that want it, but let Joan get her laughs. Give her her California canyon Egyptian-Byzantine-cinematic home, Si and Beverly. She's content. She should get dramatic for nothing. Christmas a jear ago I received a card from an unknown person — Martha Raye. I thought it awfully nice of her, since we were strangers. I swore a royal oath that, come what may, this movie maid should one day be the queen of a story. Not the languid lady, Martha is buxom and bouncing, possessing a pair of lungs fit for the barker of a carnival side-show. But is she downhearted ? No ! Garbo and Bergner may keep their places. Martha had only to make an appearance at the Hollywood Trocadero to be clutched to Paramount's heart as its comic consolation. Today, she is monarch of all she portrays-. Not everyone can do her stuff. That is why little Martha can afford to yell and roar. People roar with her. Patsy Kelly squeaks. Since her first Hal Roach comedies, with the late Thelma Todd, Pat has held her public. She doesn't want to be arty. She knows her stuff and 70