Silver Screen (May-Oct 1939)

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Lasting — does not wash out. Just brush or comb it in. One application Imparts desired color. Simply retouch as new gray appears. Easy to prove by tinting a test lock of your hair. 50c at drug or toilet counters always on a money-back guarantee. Retain your youthlul charm. Get BROWNATONE today. How Women Rule the Men in Hollywood [Continued from page 37] men and raise horses and cabbages and alfalfa like everything. Old-fashioned femininity is the keynote now-a-days, one learns, and Hollywood houses simply foam with starched ruffles and polka dots and flower sprigs and little pink bows on the piano. I haven't seen a regular, masculine, leather-covered arm chair in years! I wonder whether Annabella really meant it or whether it was just a honeymoon gesture? She and Tyrone took Grace Moore's house after they were married. I am told that when they were inspecting it and came to what had been Grace's, and would be Annabella's bedroom, Ty paused and hooted. "Not that!" he cried. "It's too much. Not that!" And Annabella agreed in the most amiable fashion. The cause of the Power hoots were the peach satin walls. So — the peach satin was duly ripped off and gay wall paper substituted. But I kinda wonder. Once a woman has seen a bedroom with peach satin walls — isn't she apt to brood a little about it all? Then there is food. A visiting celebrity from the Continent asked me, oh, most confidentially, "Don't the people in Hollywood ever really have anything to eat? Everything they serve you at the most elaborate houses is so — so — wholesome. So — how you say? — UN-filling. I have never seen so many salads and so many vegetables or meats without sauces. Why is it? Don't they like to eat or don't they know how?" Without thinking for even a moment I replied: "They're all on diets." Then I had to reconsider. "Almost all the women are on diets," I amended. "They give their guests what they think they will like and what they think the guests will dare to eat." "Oh, I see! Then that is why almost every man I visit who owns a house immediately takes me outside to show me his barbecue pit ! The men in this strange place must go outdoors to cook their own steaks and joints and eat garlic if they wish. Is that it? Inside they get only lettuce leaves and rye crackers. The poor men! Do they revolt by building barbecue pits?" Well, it's perfectly true that almost every house in and about the picture colony which has a man in it also has a barbecue pit outside it. Most of the barbecue pits are used pretty regularly but I haven't caught a glamour girl toasting her face over one. Maybe a barbecue pit can be a symbol of revolt. Maybe. . . . One recalls that when the Brown Derby first came into favor years ago, its famous and featured luncheon dish was an enormous hamburger steak, served sizzling in its own juice from its own iron skillet, at the table. But not for long. The hamburgers gave way to dainty chicken patties, with green peas and a salad — and a glass case appeared, filled with lettuce and fresh vegetables and aspics for dainty (and reducing) appetites. Similar changes have taken place in the menus of every hearty, masculine restaurant which has opened its doors since: then. Roast beef inevitably gives way toi spinach ring with mushrooms or vegetable plate with a touch of shrimp. Now one reads that a "salad bar" will shortly be opened, featuring nothing but raw, fresh salads with "health dressings." The boys and girls can hardly wait. For the boys have been converted. Or have they? Even so young a man-about-town as Mickey Rooney finds his path a trifle thorny when he deals with the other sex. "In other towns," he told me, "dating must be pretty easy. I mean, she wants to go — maybe, and then her father says either she can go, or she can't. And there you are. Here, if you wanta take a girl somewhere, you find out whether she wants to go. Just like other places. But then, you find out whether her parents will let her go. Then you find out whether the studio she's working for thinks she's old enough, or do you have to take a chaperon? Then you find out whether her folks and the studio think she's old enough to have an evening dress — and whether she has it. Then you try to find out where she may 'be seen' and whether you can take her somewhere else, later, for supper. "You gotta try to get an inconspicuous table for some of 'em. But there's the other kind, too, who's trying to get along and who wants to be seen as much as she can. You fight the photographers off for some of them and try to get the photogs to be good to some of the others. It gets a man dizzy!" I pounced on Errol Flynn on the set when he wasn't expecting me. To my huge astonishment, he was as serious as the dickens about all this. "Hollywood is the only place I can think of in which the women know as much about a man's business as the man does," he pronounced, looking positively ponderous. "The women are in the business. So it follows that there is probably no other place where men discuss their business and professional affairs with women as freely and as fully as they do here. "And then," he wound up, waving his hand, despairingly, "the men get pushed around anyway! I don't know how it happens. But it does. Women decide where you'll go, what you'll eat and wear and what sort of damfool games you'll play while you're all dressed up. Life in Hollywood has ruffles on it. You can't -win!" He sounded so awfully depressed about it all that I just gave him what I hoped was a comforting little pat on the shoulder and then stole away. Does anyone ever give a real stag party in Hollywood? Bob Montgomery gave one once for Noel Coward and no one was more surprised at its success than was Bob. "We just sat and talked," he marveled. "We didn't play any games or wear any funny hats or anything. It was wonderful!" That's the only stag party I can recall