Screenland ((Jan–Jun 1947))

Larry Parks next will make femme hearts flutter in Columbia's "The Swordsman." Scenes from picture on opposite page show him in costume and with Ellen Drew. Vera-Ellen might be registered under her civilian label instead of her nom de cinema. When he caught up with Miss Rohe, the publicist grabbed her hand, saying sternly. "Come with me. You're leaving for Boston in two hours." Vera regarded him aghast. "I can't," she demurred. "I have three exams scheduled for tomorrow." P.S. Her profs agreed to give her the exams later. It isn't enough that Vera should pursue knowledge when she is between pictures; she works at it even on the set. While we were making "Carnival in Costa Rica" I watched her engaging in long conversations with the Spanishspeaking extras on the picture. Finally I asked if she were making an Enchilada Gallup Poll. "No, just learning to speak Spanish," she explained, rattling off a few blithe phrases. She didn't translate for me, but I'll bet tortillas she said, "And why don't you do something constructive?" I wanted to explain with dignity that making a picture and trying to shop by telephone for a layette was quite educational enough for me at the moment. Which brings up another interesting fact of our friendship: when my son was born, Vera gave him a sweater which he will be ready to wear when he's about a year old. It is Tyrolean with patch pockets of heart-shaped red felt — oofully "what the smart yearling will wear." Also, when we finished "Carnival in Costa Rica" I gave Vera-Ellen a gold key with a heart-shaped head. Each of us has made a hobby of collecting heartshaped objects since we were children. I started my collection when my mother brought me a necklace made up of heartshaped stones from Paris. We were told that this quaint conceit had once belonged to the crown jewels of Poland. Vera started to collect hearts after her best beau in first grade gave her a heartshaped locket for Valentine's Day. She manages nowadays to wear heart-shaped buckles on most of her shoes, and you'll never catch her sans some garment on which there are appliqued hearts. Her gloves, dresses, coats, jackets, and bobbysox are usually embroidered in heart motif, and her rings, earrings, bracelets, and even hair combs consist of the same design. Naturally she doesn't wear them all at once. I thought she was carrying it a bit far when she brought home-made fudge to the set in heart-shaped tins. Not that I objected to the shape the candy was in, but the shape threatening me if I let myself eat as much of the candy as I wanted. When Vera puts together a batch of fudge, the angels drool. During the war, Vera-Ellen carried on a lively correspondence with literally thousands of servicemen. She did a good many camp shows, and during the social hour afterward she usually met a few gross of G.I.s who admitted that they weren't answering mail call as often as morale demanded. V-E conscientiously look their names and addresses while asking questions about their home towns and general background. This activity explained her interest in newspapers. I used to watch her scanning papers on the set. When she came across a small article about some teacher, formerly of Podunk Union High School, having won the Air Medal, she cut it out and placed it in her script, saying, "I correspond with a boy who used to be a student; at P.U.H.S. The next time I write, I'll enclose this clipping. He'll get a bang out of it." You can imagine how dull her scissors were after clipping columns for four years. Armed with this knowledge about my marathon letter-writing friend, I was not surprised one afternoon when she showed me a snapshot she had just received. It showed a motherly woman standing beside a strapping man in uniform, and both were standing beside a huge flower bed laid out in the letters "V-E." On the back of the picture was this message: "Our neighbors ask us if the letters stand for 'Victory-Europe,' but we explain that, to us, V-E means Vera-Ellen, the girl who was so faithful in keeping hundreds of boys, including my own son, informed about events in this country while they were overseas." When V-E has some spare time from picture-making, letter-writing, study, practice, church work (she sings in the choir at the Lutheran Church to which she belongs) , and doubtless ten or fifteen other pursuits about which I haven't yet heard, she pores over maps. She obviously has an inclination to go somewhere in order to accumulate a few more firsthand facts. Recently, V-E and her mother decided to take a brief trailer trip. They canvassed dealers, but found that it would be easier to lay hold of a Sherman Tank than a trailer. Giving up the notion gracefully, they set out in their jampacked sedan. When they drove through the Northern California town of San Jose, Vera remembered that she had a fan living there. This fan had written a letter each week since the release of V-E's first picture, "Wonder Man." After consulting the directory, Vera telephoned, but learned that her friend had married and established a home of her own. Undaunted, Miss Persistent traced the fan, who wouldn't quite believe that the caller was the Vera-Ellen from Hollywood. It ended with Vera and her mother having dinner with the fan and her family. Incidentally, the fan is a Nisei (second generation Japanese girl — thoroughly American.) One interesting thing about the world in which we live is that no matter how much adulation a person gets, there is always a barb on the wire somewhere. No matter how smooth your scrambled eggs, you usually bite into a fragment of shell. In Vera's case, one of her critics is her own grandmother, Mrs. Mary Rohe, who lives in Minnesota. Mrs. Rohe has never seen a film because she considers motion pictures wicked. She caught sight of V-E's newspaper and magazine pictures and wrote a scandalized letter to California, roundly disapproving of the brief dancing costumes necessary for execution of many tap routines. In comparison with a bathing suit, most of Vera's costumes seem sweetly Victorian. Now, however, Mrs. Rohe plans to see "Carnival in Costa Rica" because V-E dances in a long, tier-skirted wedding dress. Very proper, very pretty and, confidentially, I thought it more provocative than the traditional short ballet skirt. After having seen "Carnival" I think Mrs. Rohe will join me in saying that there are few girls in the world who can equal Vera-Ellen in talent, intellect, and downright sweetness of character. I'm tremendously proud to be one of her uncountable friends. 72 SCREENLAND