The self-enchanted : Mae Murray : image of an era (1959)

read your lips. Wally, Wally, come back to us . . . look at her . . . good. Camera." She loved Kitty's great velvet hat with its sweeping plumes and her girlish graces. She romped through the scene. Rosher moved his camera for a medium shot. "Miss Murray, stop using your eyes. I want to see response on your face, I want a response from inside." "I'm not dumb," she said earnestly. "If you'll explain." He explained. The basic thing was to project what you felt. Surface projection was usually too much. It became ludicrous. "Tom Forman is an upper-class snob and a beau brummel, but he loves you. Try to understand him." She asked the musicians to play something sad. Analysis was not her forte, emotion was. James Young saw that it worked and toward the end of the picture, he let her have music even during a scene. Let everyone laugh; but before Sweet Kitty was finished, almost every star on the lot was acting to music "If you would just keep in the light," Charlie Rosher told her confidentially. "Sometimes I lose you." "I can't have two ideas in my mind at once. Why don't you have two lights, Charlie, then when I move away from one, the other can pick me up." Oh Kitty was all right. Mae knew it when she saw the rushes. "A little bit of fluff from Follyland" they'd called her in a magazine. Wait until they saw this ! The minute the picture was finished, she started another, The Dream Girl, again a romantic novel but this time with DeMille directing. This was a triumph, one of the two best directors (Griffith was the other, of course) willing to bother with her. This time she'd play a waif named Meg whose only refuge from a brutal father was to hide in a barrel. The drunken father was to be the noted character actor Theodore Roberts. In early scenes with him, she'd be tousled and winsome. In later scenes, beloved by a millionaire's grand 65