Screenland (Nov 1942-Apr 1943)

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Ingredients in the prescription Mendaco quickly circulate through the blood and commonly help loosen the thick strangling mucus the first day, thus aiding nature lu palliating the terrible recurring choking spasms, and in promoting freer breathing and restful sleep. Mendaco is not a smoke, dope, or injection. Just pleasant, tasteless palliating tablets that have helped thousands of sufferers. Iron clad guarantee — money back unless completely satislactory. Ask your druggist for Mendaco today. Only 60e. That New Blonde Continued from page 35 — and the discovery that she had a temper which required stifling. She promptly stifled it and has been stifling it, at odd moments, ever since. By the time she went into "Scaramouche" she had conquered her gorge and was as amiable as a Cheshire cat. She got seven dollars for her work in "Revelation," but in "Scaramouche" she got a great deal more. Approximately twenty dollars more, to be exact. It promptly joined the seven dollars and various other sums she'd accumulated through recitals, etc., in her personal bank account. She never had a piggy bank. She never even had a pig. After her initial success, she wanted to go right on with her picture career, but Dr. Harry Goodspeed said, "No," very firmly. She could play bits during the vacation seasons, if the opportunity presented itself, but she had to finish her schooling, by parental edict. She picked up bits here and there during the permitted lacunas and increased her mounting store of bullion thereby. Finishing Los Angeles High School, she began to haunt the studios. One studio she haunted was Samuel Goldwyn's. There was something about the glamor of the sage of United Artists that fascinated her. There was also another reason for her interest in that corporation. She'd applied for work at the Goldwyn casting office and a youthful assistant casting director had told her that she'd never get a contract out of him because movie contracts weren't given for pretty faces only. She decided to show him who could and who couldn't get contracts. Exactly one year later she got a contract with him. It was a life contract and that's how she became Marjorie Reynolds. His name was Jack Reynolds and they're still married, but enthusiastically. She began to get work as a dancer, but not at Goldwyn. She went to Paramount, instead, and danced in the line in such gay numbers as "College Humor," "Collegiate," "The Big Broadcast,'' etc. Paramount's dance supervisor at the time was a young man with the priceless name of Danny Dare. If you ever heard anything cuter than that outside of a Kipling poem, you know too much. Her husband told her that if she intended to stay in pictures she'd have to do it with her brains and not her gams. Obediently she threw her dancing slippers into a moldy corner of the attic and turned to legitimate stuff. She took up a career of polishing chairs in casting offices until RKO needed someone lithe and frail to add the delicate touch to a Horse Opera and she, breaking fast and holding her speed through the three miles from her home to Melrose and Gower got the job. She was a solid success in Westerns. Not only was she frail, tender and beautiful, but she could act. There was something of the quality of the frank and open West in her straightforward, forthright personality and it went over big with the Yip-pee trade. Within five years she made forty cliff hangers and had played opposite every top Western star except Gene Autry. She had more or less resigned herself to a career • of smelling moldy hay and bran mash when something startling happened at Paramount. Irving Berlin and Mark Sandrich got together and the result was the script of "Holiday Inn." To make it more terrific, Fred Astaire whipped up eight new routines and Bing Crosby accepted the dual lead with the Omaha Antelope. All Paramount needed was some one new and different to dance with Astaire and sing with Crosby. The catch was that all of these desirabilities had to be incorporated in one carcass. And a NEW one. Ginger Rogers and Rita Hayworth had ridden to stardom on Astaire's flying coattails and Sandrich, as the producer, wanted to develop a new sparkler. Comes now that Flying Young Man With The Daring Ideas, if you'll pardon a new record for the standing broad pun. Ergo, Danny Dare. Danny'd never forgotten how devastating Mar j ore Moore had been in his chorus line. Somewhere back in the multifarious archives of his memory he had filed a mental envelope on her. Aware of the imperative demand for something new, he went out looking for Marjorie Moore. He found no record of a Marjorie Moore anywhere. He whisked through files, called agencies, only stopped short of the morgue. Just as his hopes of uncovering a new Rogers were fixing to emit a gloomy "Bloop" and expire, someone told him that a girl answering the description he gave was at that moment engaged in singlehandedly stemming a stampede over at Monogram. Danny finally located her at three o'clock the following morning, by telephone. He gave her fifteen minutes to reach his studio. "I can't do it; I'll come in in the morning," Marjorie protested, sleepily. "If you've got sense enough to pour beer out of a boot, you'll make it NOW," yelled Danny. Marjorie made it. When she walked into Danny's studio she found it occupied by one wide awake and excited male (Danny) and one soporific and indignant male (Sandrich). Danny had hauled him out of the Ostermoor, too. "This had better be good, but VERY good," said he gloomily. "It will, Butch, it will," said Danny, flipping on a Victrola record. Then he seized Marjorie and went into an Astaire pirouette. At the end of three minutes Sandrich was in the groove. Thirty seconds later he jumped up and cut a rug, himself. He'd gotten a look at Marjorie's China doll face and huge, expressive eyes and capitulated. Or apparently so. "My garsh!" he exclaimed, suddenly. "Can this baby sing?" "Sing?" Danny drew a long breath. "Like a teakettle!" Constance Bennett, In scene with Don Porter, portrays title role In mystery film, "Madam Spy," her first movie since birth of her baby. 82 SCREENLAND