Screenland (May-Oct 1938)

?nd has the most uncanny sense of anticipation of one's wants, whether they be Basil's or a guest's. Ambrose took me in tow, and a moment later, I found myself in an enormous chair in Rathbone's own particular sanctuary — a dark-walled room with gay Venetian blinds, monk's cloth sort of stuff here and there, scores of books, a white desk, and another dog who looked at me, but said nothing. Then Basil burst in. "Didn't know you were here, old chap ! Did Ambrose take your bags? You're just across the hall. Ouida — Mrs. Rathbone — will be here in a second. Did you find a cigarette? Let's talk a few minutes, and then we'll do something." In the few minutes which elapsed before Mrs. Rathbone appeared, Basil and I had dismissed the War, discussed tennis, and touched on motion pictures. He interrupted before we got very far with that subject. "Are you interested in 16 mm. film?" he inquired. A truly fanatic gleam came into his eye. "Before you leave, I simply must show you some of my film. I have thou sands of feet of it. There's London, Paris, Vienna, Budapest. First shot I made was when I was leaving Pasadena for England, and I've a complete record from then on. I've also taken a lot of stuff on the sets. Ambrose cuts the film for me. You will see it, won't you?" I was mumbling something which I hoped sounded enthusiastic, when Mrs. Rathbone, vivacious and pretty, came in to greet me, to bustle with brief plans for her own afternoon, to ask after Basil's plans, to hope that we would remain cheerful and good friends until she could join us before dinner. "And don't let Basil bore you with his motion pictures," she concluded, before she was off like a gay and busy breeze. "You're going to see pictures, if it's the last thing I do," said Basil grimly, as Ambrose entered the room. Ambrose went quietly to a cupboard, and drew therefrom a tattered sweater, an old pair of crepe-soled shoes, and the most disreputable pair of brown trousers I have ever seen. At the sight of these habiliments, Leo, the spaniel, who had been reposing on the studio couch, suddenly went mad, dancing, leaping, yapping. "Ambrose and Leo think I'm planning to go walking," Basil explained. "Ambrose always knows what I want to do, before I know it myself. Leo doesn't know he is going walking until he sees these trousers." He held them up and chuckled. They had holes in the knees and in the seat. "Dog-walking garments. Had em for years. And they're not done for, yet. Hope you brought something disreputable with you. Rodion, my son, you know, is coming, too." I nodded, and went across the hall to my room, where I found that Ambrose had laid out some flannel bags, a sweater, which looked almost indecently new to me, and some sports shoes. I hadn't expected to feel overdressed with this Rathbone man, but I really did wish I had a hole in something. I eventually found Basil and Rodion out by the six little dog houses, where Rodion was putting them on leash. Recently from England, Avhere he has taken a course at Bristol University in electrical engineering, he had just received news that day to report to the sound department at Warners' studio, the following Monday. As Rodion went ahead of us with the dogs, Basil explained: "I thought, maybe, he might like to try the acting end of the business, but after watching me he decided that he couldn't stand the extra obligations of an actor's life — I mean the conferences with agents between pictures ; conferences with publicity representatives; interviews; dentists, (Please turn to page 88) The beautiful Rathbone home, left above, is in Los Feliz Hills, just outside Hollywood. Center left, Basil and Mrs. Rathbone (Ouida Bergere) leading the cozy, simple life — between parties for celebrated friends. Left, the cocktail bar, and at right another corner of the Rathbone home, the library, with Basil showing his son Rodion a sword with which his uncle was knighted by King Edward VII. 65