Screenland (Sept 1922–Feb 1923)

MOUVWOOD c*uron.M*A. Confessions / of a J tar INTERVIEWER Bv One Who Was Too Honest <5 Authors, as well as stars, expect printers' ink to be mixed with saccharine. Even humorists take themselves seriously. This whimsical interviewer relates some delightful incidents of her meeting the great writers and their reactions to the truth she told about them. This is the best "confession" published in this popular series. ev U NLIKE most of my predecessors in thH series, my confession must be one of too much honesty. I am not given to complimentary slush, especially if I care a button about the celebrity interviewed. But I am not at all sure that honesty is the best policy in interviewing. My victims rarely appreciate my crude and faithfully verbatim reports of their more or less profound remarks, or my disgustingly honest descriptions of their persons. For this reason my paper does not often let me loose upon the picture stars. Only now and again with grave misgivings. For some subtle reason, picture stars are understood to be infinitely more hyper-sensitive and woundful — why can it be.' Mostly, therefore, it is the other kind of celebrity that is delivered unto me. I recall, for instance, that I did not make any sort of a hit with Theda Bara. She had just taken the Randolph Huntington Miner residence and had announced her intention of renouncing horrid vamp parts forever, going in strictly for the good, the true and the beautiful henceforth. So the stage was all set for me to discover Theda in a Mary Pickford gown, feeding the baby chickens in the garden. Very effective. Nice books were scattered around the living room as evidence of superior reading. Ingenue kid sister was around. Said Theda: "I love the great-out-of-doors, don't you?" "I love flowers, you know, especially the sweet old-fashioned ones." "There is nothing like the music of the birds in spring-time, is there?" "The sunshine, oh. the beautiful sunshine, it makes my heart sing." "You know, the public doesn't understand me. They think I am like the horrid parts I play and I'm not a bit. My tastes are very simple. Oh, yes, and I love children. And — and housekeeping, you know. I am not a bit of a vamp, really. So I am going to give up that sort of part and be myself. One should be one's self, don't you think?" And so on. Well, I felt that Theda was not talking recklessly and impulsively; that she had, in fact, weighed her words with proper care. Who was I to improve upon such profound thoughts? So I quoted her verbatim, adding a few comparative remarks anent former and q Elinor Glyn said : "I am a sybarite and I must have exquisite "things about mc. If I were poor I would sit up all night to launder my fine underwear. . . . / never allow a man to kiss me after smoking until he has cleaned his teeth." Photo by Keyes. present inhabitants of the society home (quite nicely in favor of Theda in point of interest) and generally basked in conscious reportorial rectitude. What more could I do? But Theda was not satisfied. Said I was ridiculing her, cruelly misinterpreted her. T HEN there was Mrs. Gertrude Atherton, who had just arrived as one of Goldwyn's hectically advertised "eminent authors." Mrs. Atherton began by saying she hoped our rendezvous was not a public place "because I have promised the W. C. T. U. that I will not smoke in public." Thenshe smoked a nice, large, fat cigarette poised on the point of a hatpin to save her fingers getting nicotiny. She added: "You know Samuel Goldwyn plagued me to come, kept right after me. I didn't want to and hope I shan't regret it. What do you want me to say ? I am sure I don't know what to say. Clayton, come here and tell me what to talk about. Oh, yes. Well, Mr. Gold