Silver Screen (May-Oct 1939)

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The enlightening impressions of a visiting English star soon to be seen as "Nurse Edith Cavell." By Anna Neagle like mad in order to get ahead, too. And here I was again, bound for California this time. The sharpest contrast I have ever seen in my life was between that stretch of desert — and Hollywood, just forty miles further on. You look out of the train window and see endless reaches of barren land and you realize with terrific force what the pioneers must have endured crossing that country. Then — Hollywood, lush, luxurious beyond one's dreams. The homes here would be ducal palaces in Europe. The whole place is wrapped up in glamour. It scared me. Is it wise, I wondered, to let yourself get into a different world like this? Especially when you might have to return to the ordinary rub-a-dub world some day? There seems to be only one answer: Don't let yourself live in the Glamour World to such an extent that you can't go back to the other . . . Hollywood is an amazing sect unto itself. Everyone "talks shop." Whether you are on the set, lunching at the Brown Derby, or sunning near the Pacific, you talk movies! It's fun. And disturbing, too, in a way, because you feel so out of touch -with things outside. It's like living in a very gay pink cloud and wondering what — on the earth — is happening! There's nothing like that in England. My little cottage in Shenley is miles from where other professional people live for the simple reason that we have no movie colony such as exists in Beverly Hills. We are merely an industry over there. Here, Hollywood is an extremely colorful institution. And when that well-oiled publicity machine starts moving! Shortly after my arrival, a tall young man said, "How aboul taking 'stills' tomorrow?" Now, of course, I was used to that. At home we take "heads" or still pictures, too. In a gallery. And for never more than a couple of hours. But here — I arrived at seven A.M. to find an operator from the makeup department and a hairdresser waiting for 'me just as if we'd been making a picture. "We're driving up to Santa Barbara for outdoor shots," explained the tall young man. I thought it was just over the hill some place. We drove . . . and drove . . . for a hundred and twenty-five miles up along the beautiful coast line. To get still pictures! Why if you drove that far in England you'd be practically out of the country! And quite as amazing — a young lady from the publicity department had ordered gowns in my size from the Los Angeles shops for what is technically known as a "fashion sitting." She had seen me only once, but she had my style down so perfectly that I bought two on the spot for my personal use. A charming red, white, and blue sport frock and a white garden dress. When you see that publicity machine in operation you begin to understand why, in England, we know more about the Hollywood stars than we do about our own! Almost any English girl can tell you about Sonja Henie's favorite colors and what Joan Crawford likes for breakfast. You see, over there during the whole course of making a picture possibly eight or ten critics come down from London to visit the set. Over here, we've had that many almost every day for four-o'clock tea. The other day one of them said to me, "You must find this life strenuous after working in England. You do things so much more leisurely over there." As a matter of fact, the exact opposite is true. Time means nothing here. Because the American producer has no budgetand-schedule nightmares to haunt him into a frenzy of action. Over there, banks do not support the films and the financial backing is raised privately in most cases. Time, consequently, means everything. [Continued on page 76] 1HMHHHH for October 1939 45