Screenland (May-Oct 1940)

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They give happy relief and will help the 15 miles of kidney tubes flush out poisonous waste from your blood. Get Doan's Pills. Hollywood Sundays Continued from page 61 affair was lifted on and driven out to Beverly Hills to be a Christmas present for David Selznick, producer of the epic. They carried the immense book with its live contents into the Christmas tree-filled hall and out stepped the girl saying, as she did a much practiced curtsey, "Merry Christmas to you and / should be Scarlett." But, and here's the sad part of the story, they had gone to the wrong house and who should the terrified girl confront when she looked up from her graceful bow but Paulette Goddard, who as you know thought at that time that she ought to be Scarlett! Vivien Leigh especially loves these informal Sunday lunches. It gives her a chance to see new faces and talk about other things besides "Gone with the Wind." People who only know one side of the story shouldn't criticise her for refusing all parties and never going out nights to the Hollywood gay spots. Although she certainly isn't the type of girl to do anything she doesn't want to, the last thing you can call her is high-hat. It's just that after ten months' solid work from 8 :00 in the morning to very often later than 8 :00 in the evening, most Sundays and national holidays, too, anyone would be too tired to do anything but eat at home and go straight to bed. You can't blame her if she did get a bit difficult and not feel too kindly toward Hollywood, always seeing the same faces every day (except for different directors!), and with a leading man who dropped her like a hot cake the moment the "take" was through to go and see his attractive new wife, while the best Vivien could do was to talk very long-distance to the person she likes best. When Ina Claire is in Hollywood she's sure to appear for lunch and today, the best-dressed actress on the New York stage, she's here with enough flowers pinned on her to open up a nursery, enough jewels sparkling to set up a fire, and her new San Francisco husband. When they aren't sitting together she calls out to him and waves every five minutes, "Hello there, lawyer !" and suddenly turns and questions, pointing" at her husband, "Just who is that attractive man over there? Why, that's my husband!" Just at the moment everything's fine and dandy for Miss Claire and she looks even more This dark-haired, blue-eyed charmer who came to pictures via the Bing Crosby Talent Contest, is Janet Waldo. Watch for her on the screen in her new film, "Those Were the Days." attractive than ever, if that's possible. I saw some female heads get down in a huddle and that look in the eye and quick movement of lips which I know from experience means dirt's flying and I edged over to do that horrid trick of eavesdropping. It seems Phyllis Povah, who had never been to Hollywood before but was brought here by M-G-M to repeat the brilliant performance in "The Women" she gave on the New York stage, was feeling a bit lonely at first not knowing many movie people, and wandered alone into a restaurant for a bite to eat. Imagine her delight when she saw someone she knew very well among so many strangers and rushing up to him said how delighted she was to see him again and what was new and on and on till she realized he was being polite in a kind of foggy way but didn't remember her. "Looky here," she said, "you don't know me, do you? Well, I'm Phyllis Povah, and I know your face so well but I can't think of your name, either." "Oh, my name's Clark Gable," he replied, and that's where Miss Povah wanted the floor to open up and swallow her because she had never met Mr. Gable before in her life but had seen him on the screen so often she felt absolutely sure they were old friends! I know the feeling, don't you? If you think that's embarrassing, wait until you hear what once happened to host Cukor. Driving down Sunset Boulevard he saw a motorcycle cop giving Katharine Hepburn in her station wagon a ticket. Trying to be very funny he pulled up alongside and informed the cop that he'd seen her going 70 miles an hour, passing through a red light and nearly knocking down a poor old woman with two small children and to arrest her at once and take her off to jail. All of which was very gay till the utterly strange woman who wasn't Miss Hepburn turned around and slapped him in the face. I also overheard how to play a dirty trick on someone if it's worth fifty cents to you. Bill Haines did it to George Cukor. Wait until they are in the barber shop with someone working on their hair, nails, and shoes, and the place is very full. Then have a Western Union boy arrive and sing to the poor person who can't get up out of the chair Happy Birthday to You. If that isn't an embarrassing situation I don't know what is. You wouldn't think anything short of an earthquake could silence this gathering of chattering friends but suddenly in pops Elsa Maxwell bubbling over with something that must be very important indeed from the look of terrific excitement on her face. At least Hitler's dead or the 20th Century-Fox studios are on fire. But no, it's another new Maxwell game and to a poor unbright boy like me quite amazing. Try and see if you can figure it out yourself. Maxwell sat down, while around her stood Fannie Brice, Ina Claire, by this time not the theater's best dressed woman by any means with her hat and coat off and some of the corsage floating on the pooF to keep fresh, host George and myself. "Now," dictates Elsa, "in strict slowish rhythm put your hands on my head one at a time, first your right hands then the second time round your left hands, pressing down all the time with the palms and keeping strict time. That makes eight beats. Now each of you people put your two index fingers together, that's all, just the two fingers, and a pair of you put your fingers under my knees and the other pair under my arms and lift. You see the ninth beat is taken up in moving your hands from the top of my head to your other position." Well, I wish you could have seen the way Maxwell shot up over shoulder high,-' and I promise you none 92 Sr. REE-NLAND