Silver Screen (Feb-Oct 1935)

52 Silver Screen for February 1935 She went from one studio to another and, in turn, each studio rejected the gallant old trouper. Had it not been for the neverfailing championship and sponsorship of Frances Marion, who never lost faith in the veteran, Marie Dressier never would have landed an M-G-M contract. The "Anna Christie" role launched her on the cyclonic career that might easily have been withheld too long. What conclusions are to be drawn from these $1,000,000 Blunders of Hollywood which I have recited here in some detail? Do they prove that the high officials of the motion and talking picture industry are lunkheads? Not at all. It only proves that none of us are infallible, and that errors can and do take place with amazing regularity. I believe that if the major companies would maintain a closer alliance with their eastern talent scouts, and that if the directors, rather than the producers of pictures, were to pass on candidates for film stardom, that mistakes like these I've cited would be minimized. The heartaches that these Million Dollar Blunders create cannot be estimated in any common denominator of discouragement. Picture the desperation that must have beset Clark Gable when he was released from that first contract. Undoubtedly he had written home to his family on each development. How his mother must have beamed with pleasure as she told the neighbors, over the back-fence, that her youngster had been signed to a Warner contract. Weary months of waiting, hoping, praying that this would lead to something big. Then the curt announcement from the front office that the option would not be re ' newed, and the hesitant letter to the home 1 folks that the placer pan of Hollywood hadn't yielded gold. Just how many scars have been burned into the flesh of sensitive performers by the perpetrators of these mistakes cannot be 1 estimated. The case history of each victim is identical, the same feeling of terror, the same impulse to tears, the same agony of desperation in failure. The Million Dollar Blunders of Hollywood have been the branding irons of the | industry, but luckily those whom the branding iron marks as failures often have cour i age enough to carry on and turn the i shambles of defeat into a glorious triumph. Kitty Carlisle Throws Her Mask Away [Continued from page 47] our scenes together, it simply bolstered up his ego and he lost his shyness while trying to help me overcome mine." "And that," I said dryly, "is a situation in which every self-respecting male longs to find himself— just once." "Exactly," agreed Kitty. "Do you know," she confided after a moment's silence, "that Bing has never yet picked a "hit" song. When we were doing "Love in Bloom" together, he shook his head and said: "This'll never be a hit." I thought he must know and just took it for granted the number would be a flop. Imagine our surprise when it became a sensation! It's generally the outsider who "feels instinctively" when a song is going to be a sure-fire hit. Odd, isn't it?" I asked her if she missed the brilliance of the Continental drawing-rooms and the Court functions. "No-o," she answered. "Of course, it was thrilling to walk up a grand staircase, with men and women in gorgeous uniforms and evening regalia, medals and jewels glittering on every side, and a King and Queen waiting to greet you at the top. But, honestly, I'm glad that part of my life is behind me. It was colorful. At the time, 0 Toby Wing sltiis on the snow clad side-skis of the San Bernardino mountain-skis. it seemed real enough. But I don't miss it. I get lots more fun out of working. Singing . . . that's what I enjoy most. "Out at Paramount, everybody has been so very friendly. Why, when a group of us —Charlie Laughton (what a wit he is!), Bing, Charlie Ruggles, George Raft, Claudette Colbert (there's a woman for you, lovely, gracious, intelligent)— gather in one of the tiny dressing-rooms at about 6:30 in the morning, to be made up, it's just like being back at school. Everybody is so lively, so frank, so genuine. That other life was pleasant, the people I met were interesting, but for the real zest of living give me the people of the stage or screen— writers, artists, actors, they're all alike. Their enthusiasms govern their tongues— they say what they think and to the devil with too much diplomacy, they do what they wish and to the devil with stifling conventions. I sometimes wish I had figuratively been born in a theatrical trunk." "Don't be silly," I admonished her. "A background such as yours is not to be scoffed at. Especially since you've not allowed it to tighten your mind in any way. But tell me truly, doesn't Hollywood itself seem terribly provincial after Rome and Paris and the Riviera?" Kitty said nothing for a moment or two, diplomatic caution locking her tongue. Then she smiled. "What I like about Hollywood most is that for the first time in my adult life I've a home to call my own— everybody out there has a home of his own —I have my own garden, my own servants, I can order my own meals. This is heavenly after living in schools and hotels for years. One thing I miss, though, is music. The symphonies, ' operas, concerts. You can't get them out there. But sj long as I can dash back to New York for an occasional visit, then I like Hollywood." "How did you happen to get into pictures?" "It's really a long story," replied Kitty. But when I decided to go on the stage, I also decided that I wasn't going to be a society amateur. I studied for years under some of the best singing teachers in Europe. Then I went to London to take a course in dramatic acting at the Royal Academy of Art. When I arrived in New York three years ago, I was pretty well equipped. "My first engagement was in vaudeville. A condensed version of 'Rio Rita.' They were gruelling months, and constantlv I heard the people in the act whispering 'Broadway— we must make Broadway.' I began to feel that way, too. "Yet when I was offered the role of the Prince in 'Champagne Sec' I was positively panicky. It was a part secondary to PeggyWood's, but I was told there was a chance for me to steal the show in the second act. I just laughed, perfectly convinced that j with Peggy Wood in the show I would pass | unnoticed. "The day I tried on my costume for that : second act— you remember, long black tights, | cape floating from the shoulder . . . the producer took one look at my legs and said 'You're made.' " Kitty laughed reminiscently. "He really had taken a chance on my legs, you know. I might have been knockkneed or bow legged or something." The play opened in Westport and on the second night Kitty had the misfortune to sprain her ankle while entering the door of the theatre, an improvised barn. It was , only after she had promised not to do the i charming dance number the second act de I manded that her physician allowed her to go on at all. "But when I heard that enchanting Johann Strauss music," said Kitty, | "I forgot my swollen ankle, I forgot my j promise to the doctor— everything but the music which simply lifted me into that dance." It was lucky for Kitty that she did have the grit to go through with the show, after the manner of some of our most seasoned troupers, for that night Mr. Salzberg of Paramount was in the audience and later i asked her to take a test. Thus it was, when J Kitty received offers to make tests for every 1 big picture company in the business on the 1 morning after the show opened in New York, she had to turn them all down. She had already signed a long contract with | Paramount. "Were you nervous when you made your j screen test?" I asked. "No," said Kitty frankly, "I wasn't. I didn't really care then whether I went into . pictures or not. Perhaps that is why I came through O.K. I didn't care enough to be nervous of the outcome. Now that I'm in, though, I'm as nervous as a kitten. Isn't it strange? For now I feel I really must make good." "Sometimes," I said, "the things that at first seem of casual importance in one's scheme of life may eventually become the leitmotif of an eventful career." And so it may prove with Kitty Carlisle, j The screen, of which she had thought only seldom, if at all, is bringing her to the attention of the public in such a way that j her name, like Grace Moore's, will soon be on every intelligent fan's tongue. 'Whereas, j if she had stuck to musical comedy, society musicales, or even went so far as to consider 1 grand opera, the praises of her lovely voice, , her beautiful face, her gracious personality would be sung by only a few. Which would be a pity, for, to quote our friend, Mr. Shakespeare, she comes to us — As lull of spirit as the month of May, And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer. 1