Silver Screen (Nov 1938-Apr 1939)

MORE "Topics For Gossips" [Continued from page 15] most sarcastically. But none other than her own director, James Hogan, now rises to her defense. "Joan faced as many as seven wind machines at a time," he says. "That she weathered their blow and emerged with all and sundry waves in place is entirely to her credit. It's conclusive proof, I think, that you can't ruffle a Bennett." Well, we still think it's remarkable. „_„<§>„_„ |NCE a farm boy, always a farm boy. But the city-bred can't be expected to share their enthusiasms. Bob Burns was doing a milking scene for "The Arkansas Traveler" out on the Paramount ranch. He was doing a mighty good job of it while the cameras recorded his talent. After all, his was the expertness of long experience. Little Dickie Moore watched the performance wide-eyed. When it was over Bob tilted the pale of warm foaming liquid up to the boy for a drink but Dickie's face puckered up in disgust. "It's good, Dickie," urged Bob. "Fresh Jersey milk." "Nothing doing," replied Dickie, "I like my milk from a bottle." THE opening of "I Am Different" at the Los Angeles Biltmore, starring the popular Tallulah Bankhead, was quite the most social event of the early fall season in Hollywood. There hasn't been so much silver fox swishing about in ages— and the things the girls managed to put in their hair, everything from orchids to old bed springs! Every glamour girl wore the new Zaza hair-do, except Claudette Colbert. The premiere marked the first social appearance of Irene Castle, sans animals, which is most remarkable, as she goes to the studio every day accompanied by four dogs, a monkey, and a canary. In the brilliant audience, and dressed to the hilt, were Janet Gaynor and Adrian, Merle Oberon and George Cukor, Paulette Goddard and Bob Benchley, Hedy La Marr and Reggie Gardiner, Claudette Colbert anc man, Fannie Brice and Roger Dp Barrymore and Elaine Barrie, Rilf and Al Jolson, Lupe Velez and F|J| coxon, Charles Bover and , Basil and Ouida Rathbone, Virp-g and J. Walter Ruben, Billie ]9i Haines, Constance Collier, Anna the John Beals, the Joe E. B Buster Colliers, and the Stu Erw BOYS, if you want the real lo your girl's character don't ta} palmist or a phrenologist— take beach. This is the advice of Le Hollywood dance director, whos« is picking and training girls for { "A girl's character is revealed by says Prinz. "If your girl has 1c hustle her off to a preacher, for find her not only affectionate an erate, but loyal and dependable, a girl's character, not only by her by her walk. Intelligent girls lift high when they walk. A girl with a free forceful carriage is inevitably a girl with confidence and poise. Self-conscious girls invariably walk timidly with uncertain steps. Careless girls take uneven, slipshod steps. But girls with firm knees and stiff legs always have firm dispositions." So now you know. HEN Constance Bennett talks on fashions it's well worth your while isten to her. That's one thing Connie knows. "Black is the most distinctive color a woman can wear," Connie told a group to u Motion Pictures Are Your BEST Entertainment" THE motion picture industry depends on your judgment and welcomes your challenge to fresh endeavor, to constant research and experiment. Therefore, as you enter the theatre, remember that you and those around you are the judge and jury. And the more you exercise your privilege of criticism— the more you voice your praise or disapproval to the theatre management— the better pictures will be. the realm of smart society. „_„^>„_» THE new high-pile hair-do being adopted by girls from coast to coast is called the "Zaza" hairdress because Claudette Colbert wears it in her last picture of that name. The period is 1904, and you'll be surprised to see how many styles of that period are quite the thing now. Though fashion dictators say that hair must go up this fall Claudette is one of the few stars who refuses to play follow the leader. "I've worn bangs ever since I've been in pictures," says Claudette, "and I'll continue to wear bangs. Because I think I look best in bangs." She tried the page boy for one day— but that was enough. It's too bad there aren't more women like Claudette. In this day and age when women are yapping for individuality, why they have to go making themselves look ridiculous just because it is the fashion is something Claudette doesn't understand. Fashion is spinach — with apologies to Elizabeth Hawes. . — $ Scene from "The Citadel," famous best seller. The doctor (Robert Donat) applies a dressing to an injured coal miner. Enter The $250,000 Movie QuJ&£-^ GcifL fJp&tS$*1fy*isyl^kix! told me she couldn't act, but agreed to go to our Dramatic School. After a few weeks of intensive training, she passed the screen-test with flying colors. Right now she is in Hollywood, making good progress. "We maintain an 'open door' policy," the Paramount Scout continued. "Everybody rates an interview." Asked the importance of an interview, he answered, "Most .important. It gives me a chance to study their facial expressions and character during different moods. I'll talk to a young man whom I am interviewing about anything but pictures— baseball, football. When he is at ease, not tense, as most of them are at first, and talking freely, I'll purposely, but in a nice way, differ with him, just to see how he reacts. "We really lean over backwards in an effort to make actors out of these young people. We prefer to train them ourselves in our Dramatic School. Here they are taught to act before the camera; if there is any latent talent, it will be brought out. Then, if they come along as expected, we give them a screen-test. "After all," he offered, "what experience does a newcomer get in two years of Summer Stock or in a Broadway show? Sixty percent of the time is spent in the casting IF you meet Pat O'Brien around these days he will tell you the story about the Russian peasant who was being interviewed. "Things are all right with me," the peasant said. "I've got a son who is an engineer and he helps me. I've got another son who is a big lawyer and he helps me. Then I've got another son in America who's on the WPA. If it wasn't for him I'd starve to death." „ — ,<§>„ — „ T~\URING rehearsals of the \-J musical finale of "Sweethearts," Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy were working at the top of a high ramp on a theatre stage setting. The Technicn'^'i '-'-' 7.701 now, ' demurely queried the writer, expecting to be "discovered" himself at any moment, "do you find these prospects?" He was seated not two feet away— and me with the physique of Oliver Hardy, the face of Stan Laurel and the voice of Donald Duck. After all, a writer can always find time to bat out a couple of pictures with Joan Bennett and C. B. DeMille. The two nickels in my pocket rattled together and it was decided there and then that my talents could be had, for the asking, for cinematic exploitation. "More important," the writer continued, hinting broadly, "how do you know when you've got a good, potential leading player?" "Well," he began his explanation, "take Fred MacMurray, for example. We found him playing a saxophone in the band with the show, "Roberta." We sent for him. The minute he walked into this office the atmosphere seemed to change. He told me that he had no acting experience and we knew that photographically he was no Adonis. He isn't what you'd term a handsome man. But he had an honest, sincere, agreeable disposition; an aura of authentic, glowing personality prevailed while talking to him. No one could miss it. You just couldn't help liking the man. After he had attended our Dramatic School, he went to Hollywood and shot right to the top." "Frances Farmer," the Talent Depart f or November 1938 67