Screenland (May 1943-Oct 1944)

Anna Sten wearing costume for starring role in new film "Three Russian Girls." handicap myself before I had a chance to look around. In Europe I had been trained for the diplomatic service. My uncle felt I should have a solid foundation before entering business. So on June 16, 1939, I enrolled in a business course at UCLA. Going to college was a short cut to learning American ways. A degree of evaluation giving me credit for my studies in Vienna made this all possible. For four months I rubbed elbows with eight thousand American students. I worked hard, learned a lot. At times I was very bewildered. A national magazine came to photograph college boys putting white mice in their mouths. For some reason never explained to me, we had to let our beards grow for a week. At dances they did something called "cutting in." I thought they were trying to pick a fight. I hadn't j et learned to take care of myself as Americans did. If they do "cutting in" on me, I told myself, I'll use jiu-jitsu! Along about this time I got to thinking about the Vienna Opera House, the Burg Theater in Vienna. Perhaps because I already realized I did not want to become a business man. I had always liked acting but never dared mention it to my father. I could no longer continue with my diplomatic career. Surely my father would approve if he knew. Suddenly his words came back to me. "Never do anything in life unless you are prepared for it." I had heard the Pasadena Playhouse was the best. In October. 1939, I enrolled. Things happened fast. I gave lessons in French, German, tennis and fencing to earn a living while trying to become an actor. Until July, 1940, when I graduated, I tried to learn all I could. When I was assistant director of the Odets play, "Rocket To The Moon," I seemed to be floating on air. The leading lady was a brilliant young actress named Gwen Anderson. She was ambitious. She had dreams. She seemed to understand these same gnawing yearnings in me. We had nothing, and yet when we dis covered we were in love it seemed like we had the whole world. Along about this time I got my first job in the movies. The bit of a bell hop in "Escape," with Norma Shearer, introduced me to the heavenly smell of movie makeup. I netted the huge sum of one hundred and five dollars in three days. More American magic! The night of the preview I took Gwennie and all my relations. Even in the concentration camp I had never been as scared. My part was cut out of the picture. On May 6, 1941, we were married. I felt like I had just become the president of the United States. In Del Monte we enrolled in a stock company where Gwennie acted in plays I directed. Ofttimes we were weary but never discouraged. I knew Gwennie had great talent. She had faith in me. We had each other. It was a good life. After Del Monte came a bit in "International Squadron" for Warner Bros. Gwennie was being tested at the various studios. I realized that economic independence was important if I wanted to become a successful actor. So I became a business man despite myself. With the money received from the picture, I made a down payment on a gas station. For a year I managed to make about forty dollars a week. When studios called for an interview, I'd bang the door shut, change my clothes on the way as I raced over. Then I'd rush back and climb into my overalls again. There followed bits and small parts in "The Navy Comes Through," "To Be Or Not To Be," "The Pied Piper." At Columbia they offered me seventy-five dollars for half an hour's work dubbing in Hitler's voice in "The Flyer Takes A Wife." I felt by making it sound as despicable as possible I was justified in taking the job! All this time I kept hoping I'd land in the theater. Gwennie never stopped hoping she'd get a break in the movies. Here is where fate stepped in. On December 7, 1941, I was in the midst of making "Mrs. Miniver." I felt it was a good beginning, that I might probably get other roles now. When it was released six months later, to my great surprise I began to get contract offers. I wasn't impressed with myself. I felt I had just played the only bad guy in a good picture. So the part probably stuck out like a sore thumb. Gwennie wanted to try her luck in New York. Much as I would miss her, I knew it was right that she should go. With our new economic security it was now possible. Two months later she landed the lead in "Janie." The play is still going strong on Broadway. In August, 1942, I signed a contract with Warner Bros. I signed here because they promised to let me direct as well as act. There followed roles in "Casablanca," "Edge Of Darkness," "Northern Pursuit" with Errol Flynn, and now "Passage To Marseilles." Even though I had to refuse, I think my biggest thrill came when Guthrie McClintock offered me a role opposite Katharine Cornell in "Three Sisters." The offer came, incidentally, on the fifth anniversary of the Nazi invasion of Austria! The last five years have been rich with fulfillment. The most important five years of my life. And yet, even with all the joy, there must be pain. You can fight your life today and tomorrow — but you can't fight destiny. Gwennie and I are divorced! Something neither of us ever dreamed could happen. With sorrow and regret I say it. But you have to accept fate as you accept wars. You have to bow to fate. It must not have been in the cards that we should stay married. When Gwennie went to New York, there was no visible sign of success for either of Us. We both succeeded at the same time. There were always three thousand Anna Sten and John Kent Smith, having successfully eluded the Nazis, pause to rest in a hay-loft in this scene from "Three Russian Girls," released by United Artists. 74 SCREENLAND