Silver Screen (May-Oct 1939)

60 Silver Screen for August 1939 Pictures on the Fire [Continued from page 57] GOOD GIRLS GO TO PARIS," starring Joan Blondell and Melvyn Douglas is shooting. The scene I see is the very last in the picture. The picture is one of those zany comedies, so there's no use trying to give you the plot. BUT — and don't say I didn't tell you — it's better than the first one these two made. Joan is a waitress (but only in the beginning of the picture) who flips wisecracks as effortlessly as she slings hash. When things have quieted down (oh, yes, she had her moments and was even under suspicion of blackmail) and her good name has been cleared — three men want to marry her. But she picks Melvyn, then jerks away from him, dashes out on the terrace and begins sniveling. "Now what's wrong?" Mr. Douglas queries, taking her into his arms. "I was just thinking about poor Tom {Alan Curtis)," she explains and then remembers another admirer, "and poor Paul {Alexander D'Arcy), and poor Ted Dayton {Stanley Brown)." She sighs and sniffs. "It's too bad I can't marry everybody." "Well, you're young yet," Mel consoles her, taking her into his arms. Joan is gowned in a gold and old rose metal cloth evening dress and has never looked lovelier. After the scene is over we sit and dish the dirt for a few minutes. She tells me about Ellen and Normie (her two children) and Dick's (Powell) new radio show — how disappointed she was with her last picture and how delighted she is with this one. "I don't believe there is a finer comedian in the business than Mel Douglas," she concedes generously, "and why producers don't do more with Alan Curtis I'll never know." All this is, indeed, praise from Caesar because Joan, being a fine actress and superb technician herself, is very critical of the work of others and when she says they're good you may put it down as gospel. NEXT we come to the latest Frank Capra production — "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington." Having been sensationally successful with Gary Cooper and Jean Arthur in "Mr. Deeds Goes to Town" and with James Stewart and Jean Arthur in "You Can't Take It With You," he has sort of scrambled picture titles and casts and emerges with the aforesaid title and Jean and Stewart for stars. Of course, the fact that Jean is under contract to Columbia may have had something to do with this, but Stewart was just a happy inspiration. No reflection intended on Jean because if she weren't the splendid actress she is she wouldn't be under contract. This is really a fourteen-carat all-star cast, for every member has been starred at one time or another. In addition to the two mentioned, there are Edward Arnold, Claude Rains, Guv Kibbee, Eugene Pallette, Ruth Donnelly, Beulah Bondi and Astrid Allwyn. To get on with the story. The sudden death of a senator plunges a party machine into a panic. The machine is cor ruptly headed by Arnold, Kibbee and Rains, who must appoint a successor. They want someone who will not pry too deeply into a certain appropriations bill now before Congress. In desperation they appoint Stewart — young and idealistic — who is head of the state's Boy Rangers and who is something of a hero because he and his boys recently halted a forest fire. Jim arrives in Washington, but is so thrilled at his first sight of the capitol dome he wanders off and boards a sightseeing bus, failing to show up at his office (where he is expected) for five hours. When he arrives, his secretary (Jean), who has been assigned to him because she is an old hand at politics, is fit to be tied. "Gee, I'm' sorry," he apologizes when she lights into him. "You see, it wasn't until I was fairly well along in the bics that I realized — " "Did you say — 'bus?' " she interrupts. "One of those sight-seers, you know," he explains. "You see, I — gosh, I've never been called absent-minded or — but there it was — all of a sudden — looking right at me through one of the station doors — " "There what was?" she interrupts again. "Big as life," he continues, gazing at her with wide eyes, "sparkling away there under the sun. I — / started walking toward it — and there was a bus outside and — well — / — / just naturally got aboard — " "Most natural thing in the world," she agrees sarcastically. "I don't believe I've been so thrilled in my — ■" he raves on. "And — oh — that Lincoln Memorial! Gee! There he is — Mr. Lincoln — looking right at you as you come tip the steps — sitting there like he was waiting for someone to come along — " "Well, he's got nothing on me," she interjects, turning towards her hat and coat. "Now, if you're ready, Senator, we can start for the hotel. I'll see that you get there." "Yeah, perhaps you'd better," he sort of laughs. Miss Arthur is blowing her lines this morning and there is an ominous tension on the set that I don't like. So I quietly take my leave without speaking to anyone. LAST, but not least, is "Coast Guard" • with Frances" Dee and Randolph Scott, and Ralph Bellamy. It seems Ralph is the steady type and Randy is the killerdiller with the ladies. Both are fliers — and buddies. Ralph rescues Frances' grandpappy in a wreck at sea. Randy flies him through a dangerous storm to the hospital. Both fall in love with Frances. So far so good. Everything is plausible and they are on an equal footing. Frances falls in love with Randy (the dizzy, happy-go-lucky type) which I also find logical as it is the only explanation I have of why so many dames let me slip through their fingers. BUT after they're married Randy can't settle down to one girl — not even when the girl is as lovely and charming as Frances — and goes back to his old love-'em-and leave-'em tactics. Which only goes to show you how scenario writers' minds work. This scene I see is where Frances and Randy are returning to their apartment after being married. She still has on her wedding veil and dress. He takes her on a trip around the world for their honeymoon — right in their apartment — on one of those trucks hotel porters use to haul trunks around on. A bowl of goldfish on a table is Lake Banff. The canopied bed is Napoleon's tomb. The water rushing out of the faucets in the kitchen sink is Niagara Falls. He presses the lever on a siphon and the soda spurts out. That's Old Faithful. It's a helluva cute scene with swell dialogue and they carry it off in grand style. When the scene is over I chat a few moments with Frances whom we see all too seldom these days. "Have you been married before?" I inquire politely. "Oh, yes," she smiles. "To Joel McCrea — or hadn't you heard?" "I mean for picture purposes," I snap, indicating her green dress. "I detect the absence of virginal white." "Oh, that!" she dismisses my remarks. "This shade of green photographs as white as the driven snow." "I'm relieved," I inform her. "Otherwise I'm sure Columbia would change the name of the picture to 'Second Hand Rose' and I couldn't bear to think of you being bartered in the used bride market." "Get out of here, you idiot," Frances laughs. "I have to study my lines for the next scene." So I trek on down the street to — R-K-O MORE fun here. Only one picture shooting but three of the people I love best are working in it . . . Carole Lombard, Kay Frances and Cary Grant. It's called "Memory of Love." Kay is playing "the other woman" — the sort of part in which she first made a success. Now, if she had been in "Coast Guard" I might be able to understand Randy's philanderings. Well, anyhow, Cary and Kay are married but they don't find marriage the idyl fiction writers in grandmother's time pictured it. Then Cary and Carole meet. Remember that old song from "The Connecticut Yankee?" / took one look at you — That's all I meant to do — And then my heart stood still. That's they. There are many complications but on Christmas Eve we find Carole arriving at the apartment of the unhappy couple. In the picture Kay and Cary hate each other but when I arrive on the set they are just finishing a game of backgammon. "Confound it," Cary mutters, "that's 2460!" My hair (or rather, what's left of it) stands straight up on end. I have heard about the stakes stars and executives play for but the most I ever heard changing hands in a backgammon game is the $600 Mr. Goldwyn lost to Miss Constance Bennett one evening. "Pardon me," I stutter, "is that dollars or Confederate money?" "Dimes," Cary explains briefly. "We're