Silver Screen (Nov 1935-Mar 1936)

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When constipation clogs the pores with intestinal wastes, CLEANSE INTERNALLY with Garfield Tea. Helps relieve the clogged system promptly, mildly, effectively. At your drug store — 10 c and 35c. "ToEt saw Lt 1 .kTyn."-1^ GARFIELD TEA my of ottxx. ° "One application of Sem-Pray Creme made my red, rough skin lovelier." — Mrs. E. P. M., Omaha, Neb. Sem-Pray's rare Eastern oils clear, freshen, soften skin instantly. Also smooths away erasable lines, wrinkles. Refines pores. Concentrated. Outlasts 5 ordinary jars of cream. Get SemPray today at all good drug and department stores, 60c. Or send 10c for 7 days supply, to Mme. LaNore, Sem-Pray Saons, Grand Rapids, Mich., Suite 127-S. The Folks Next Door [Continued from page 53] guessed, but it isn't all lyric— oh no. Dick can play several musical instruments, or so he and a few thousand other people thought, until recently, when his secretary handed him a letter from a young lady who lived near, which read: "—and if Mr. Powell must keep up that din night after night why doesn't he learn how to play!" Practicing, you see, is a different thing from the finished product as you hear it in the theatre. But it's an ill wind that doesn't blow some fresh air to somebody. The next day the real estate people got a commission to hunt for a country home for Dick. Young George Breakston has a desert tortoise, several in fact. He polishes their backs so that they shine like anything, and each one has his name and address and "please return" carved. in its back. Sometimes they wander a mile or more away, and so far have been good-naturedly returned, but when they burrow into the petunia beds of the lady next door George takes time to pull himself together before he calls to collect them. Bette Davis bought an old model T Ford for eighteen dollars and she and her husband Harmon Nelson got a great kick out of going to all the swanky film openings and parties in it. Well that's all right— it was done for a joke and hostesses got as much fun out of the prank, since it was Bette Davis who did it, as Bette herself. But if you were Bette's next door neighbor, would you like to have a comedy coach like that parked practically in front of your house hour after hour. Not if you lived on a Rolls Royce or Packard street, you wouldn't. So until Bette got tired of the gag and bought a real car, she wasn't very popular in the neighborhood. Roger Pryor lives in an apartment house and he loves skeet shooting, and that's not a good combination. Everyone in the house seems to like Roger well enough, some of the inmates are film people like himself, but they don't like his shooting and they have formed a little conspiracy against him. When they hear him making for the roof, and the noise proclaims the fact that he has arrived, they straggle up there, too, for sun baths, to play ping pong or quoits or hand ball. This clutters up the roof and cramps Roger's style and recently he confided to a friend that he was going to move into a house so he wouldn't be eternally pestered by the neighbors! If you're going to continue the skeet shooting, Roger, a house won't do you a bit of good— you'll have to buy a ranch in Chatsworth or the Santa Monica mountains, and even then look out for the echo. No neighbor would like an echo booming in his window minute after minute. Even though you're a movie celeb and wired for sound. With Warren William it's dogs. Believe it, or not, some people do keep chickens in and around Hollywood and Beverly Hills and Warren's dogs like 'em. Chicken killing is really a bad habit and I'm surprised Warren hasn't spoken harshly to his pups or whatever it is you do to break dogs of this habit but, if he has tried, his methods haven't worked. So far all the headway he has been able to make with the irate owners of the chicks is to pay the bills— and you'd be surprised how much more expensive a dead chicken is than a live one. Adrienne Ames has a badminton court and she likes to play at night. The catch to that is that she has to have flood lights on the court wheh shine or rather glare into the rooms of the houses on both sides of her. Her neighbors seethed in silence for awhile with Adrienne quite unconscious of the discomfort she was causing, until one evening she heard some one say, "There's that woman playing badminton again," and down went the shades. Next day the electricians were busy turning the lights so that they would stay on the court where they belonged. A day or so after Ralph and Catherine Bellamy moved into their new apartment they dashed down one morning early to try out the tennis court that lay between the apartment house and the somewhat imposing home next door. They hadn't been playing long when two young and very attractive girls appeared, all ready for a game of tennis, and they seemed much surprised that the court was occupied. "Muscled in on their hour," thought Ralph and went on playing. He muffed a ball and as he went to get it he heard one of them say, "I wouldn't say anything— he'll get discouraged soon." That rankled because Ralph isn't a bad player but, then again, he isn't Fred Perry either and the first thing he knew he had an inferiority complex and began missing balls all over the place. "My tennis isn't so bad people have to feel sorry for me, is it?" he asked his wife as they left— a lot sooner than he had at first intended. "No dear— but I think that was just a polite way of asking us to get off their private tennis court!" Tibbett — The Troubadour [Continued from page 24] Have I fotgotten to mention he was a symphony of tonal beauty, all togged out in cream silk pajamas with a high Russian collar and trimmed in a dull mahogany red that harmonized perfectly with the walls, and with a robe to match? He was, and the press was duly overwhelmed! But never fear that Larry's going arty on us in the fillums. He takes nothing seriously, least of all himself, and he has a perfectly gorgeous sense of humor that some one may have the good sense to recognize and do something constructive about. At any rate forget he's a Metropolitan star and all the stuffy traditions that have come to be associated with such Elysian grandeur and take Larry for what he is, a pretty swell guy who's about to sally forth in a moompichur that, he feels, will at last give him the chance Grace Moore had in "One Night of Love." "It was terrible," he will assure you, "how unprepared motion pictures were, just a few years ago, for the recording of voice. But we must not forget those first sad efforts were part of the pioneering spirit which has made possible the fine musical film of today. However I, for one, am proud of having been part of that frightfully premature effort. I have always militantly pioneered for popularpriced English-spoken opera and I really believe the cinema has solved the problem for the music-hungry masses. I am also firmly convinced that fine musicals have progressed beyond the cycle stage, and now, fully entrenched, are to become an integral part of basic motion picture production!" And there you are! So you'd better tune