Silver Screen (Feb-Oct 1935)

Hollywood By Ellzabeth WilS01i she made down to Los Angeles to a preview with Bill and Carole. The radio in the car suddenly crashed through with the "Blue Danube." "May I have this waltz?" Bill inquired formally. "Yes, thank you," said Carole. So these two mad people got out of the car and went into a stately waltz right there in the middle of Wilshire Boulevard, while the traffic whirred about them. "You dance divinely," said Bill, "do you think talking pictures are here to stay?" "No," said Carole, "I think they're only a fad. Actors will never leave Broadway." Those two kept that up until a radio announcer butted breathlessly in to tell about Mr. Levy's two pants suits. Carole's stories are famous, so famous in fact that it is easier to break through the Notre Dame line than it is to get into her dressing room at lunch time, what with Crosbvs and Marx Brothers and Ralls and standees and pushovers. But the biggest laugh I ever got out of Lombard was one quiet day, when only about fifty of her friends were present, when she suddenly threw the newspaper aside, rose dramatically, and announced, "Oh— Oh— at last I have found the way I want to die." We all bustled over, quite curious to learn what manner of extinction appealed to the Lombard, and following her fingertip read. INDIAN DIES AT 106. Which recalls to mind the interview I had with Nancy Carroll about four or five years ago in New York when I was writing her life story for the magazine. "And how do you want to die, Miss Carroll?" I asked, already jotting down "on the dance floor of life." "I want to die at ninety," said Nancy, "shot by a jealous husband." Well, when we got over to Bill's house (he hasn't moved into his magnificent estate— gorgeously fitted up by Billv Haines with hits of the Acropolis— as yet, and for a while there, din ing the recent California gubernatorial contest, he wasn't sure thai he ever would, so he quaintly called it Sinclair's summer home) one evening recently there were a crowd of merry people, including Jean Harlow, Myr na Loy, the Charlie Butterworths, the Dick Barthelmesses, Una Merkel, and the usual uninviteds. Bill was over in the corner with a group of men telling them a naughty story The fountain of Charles Butterworth's humor always runs dry — very. In "The Night is Young." Irvin Cobb is so famous for writing, speaking and other good works that he has no more privacy than a goldfish. (He originated that classic phrase.) In addition to her shining blonde personality, Carole Lombard has a brilliant sense of wit. he had picked up that day in the barber shop. He had just reached the climax of the story— the place where he had to use a vulgar wordwhen one of those sweet Little Nells joined the group of men. The quickly cleaned up story fell flatter than a flannel cake. "And so," said Bill with a faint shrug, "like Iris March, I died for purity." Seeing Charlie Butterworth, that droll comedian, again reminded me of the last time I had seen him in New York. Butterworth, off the screen, is just the same as Butterworth on the screen. The same kind of humor and the same deadpan expression. Every time one of Charlie's friends calls him up and invites him and his wife to go to a preview Charlie always asks, "Is Toby Wing in it?" It seems that Charlie has been admiring the Wing curves and contours in the fan magazines for quite some time, but has never been able to find her in a picture. The last time I had seen Charlie in the flesh was at a party in New York the winter he was appearing in "Flying Colors," and doing bed-room scenes and black-outs with Patsy Kelly. The hostess that night was one of those gushing, insistent women on the look out lor "something for nothing." She gurgled to Charlie, "Of course I didn't invite you here as an entertainer, Mr. Butterworth, but couldn't you do just one of the sketches from your show for us?" "Do you care which sketch I do?" Charlie asked solicitously. Then he proceeded to take off his pants, put them across his arm, and walk out of the room, and out of the party. Lewis Milestone came in later in the evening, beaming all ovei himself because of the success of the preview of his latest picture. "The Captain Hates the Sea." Which picture was a pain in the neck to the producer, the director, and the cast from beginning to end. The "location" was an old ship which floated aimlessly about the Pacific week alter week, month alio month, waiting for the fog to clear so that Milestone could "shoot." With the cast getting more and more bored week alter week, month alter month. 1 inalh H.iit\ ( ohn. the producer with an eagle eye on the cash box, wired the director, "Foi heaven's sake finish the picture. The cost is staggering." To which "Milly" replied, "The cast is staggering too." Charlie and Dick and Milh then went into a siege of those produce] stories, which are very funnv, to Hollywood, but nol to Kansas (though I still laugh at the one [Continued on page O3J for February 1935 27