Variety (January 1951)

PICTURES Farly^fifth Wednesday, January S, 1951 An Upset Mother Hollywood. As most Hollywood knows, I took my first lessons in acting from my mother at her school, the Evelyn Offield School, in Muskogee, Okla. I think, perhaps, that if in the many roles I have played in motion / By ART Hollywood. Man musing . : . Been quite a while since I l^st put a column together. So many subjects to chew on, too— including a couple that are guaranteed to buckle any guy’s bridgework. So let’s send for a dentist— -and gnaw on one of those, Just to see how many teeth a guy can lose in one bite. No tougher subject than the beefs about what some palm off as Hollywood reporting. The snide arid sheering approach to Hollywood news coverage still marks some of the lads and lasses \yho profess to patrol the filmville beat. Those of us who’ve been around a : while regard it as naive— even juvenile. But some of the Hollywood paragraph-purveyors — and occasional counterparls. around the country— still seem to think that the derogatory slant is a mark of sophistication. Even thodgh it comes out more buhkhead than Bankhead. . Credit N^nnally Johnson with having, pushed the biggest pin into that bromide-balloon, in his foreword to Hete. Martin’s book, “Hollywood ; Without Makeup.” Johnson, once a pretty good . newspaperman himself, , devastalingiy pointed out that what some of. them thought was so smart and. sophisticated actually was corny and ^ callow. He described Martin as a “very unfashionable”, writer because he didn't avail himself of the familiar and popular routine. Observed Johnson, “The basic note is aloof amusement. . From time immemorial (circa X925) this has been the stylish approach to Holly vvood and its citizens , . . It’s about , a . thousand times easier to slap these things off with the bid stencil than to. write straight from;taw every time.” . Hate to use the ‘T-used-tb-be-a-newspapermammyself” routine, but I like to think I’m still, a fair judge, of new'S-papering. And I’lh contend anywhere that a pretty, good case could be made out for this argument; There’s’ far more reader interest today in adult coverage than in the staleness of a snide-and-sneering approach. Sometimes a ARTHUR two on the proposition that people today would rather read much more copy in a constructive vein than they might have held still for back in another era when some of today’s wilted yardsticks were first established. Else why did that recent committee report to the Associated Press Managing Editors Association complain about stories that “wallow in filth /and sordidness?” (Just to be clear, the shot wasn’t aimed at A. P.’s Hollywood bureau). Seems to me perfectly logical that the public should prefer sound stories about the favorites it has embraced— . rather, than yarns that snipe and. slur. The individuals concerned are celebrities only, .because the public has so decreed— because Joe America saw them, enjoyed them, feels he .knows them and certainly likes them enough to go see them again and again. Obviously, he thinks of them in a fiiendly and aft'ectipnate way. . Sure, he’ll accept it vyhen a newspaperman puts the. knock on somebody who had it coming because of . some misbehavior. But the gratuitous type of rap or the harmful item written' without any sense of respbnsibiliiy usually turns the resentment against the writer rather than the Victim. As many a pillar-filler has found out. ■ , . There are a lot of other angles that might be batted around, too, in any musings re Holly wood’s grounds for. complaint . about certain types of press exaggeration and derogatory emphasis. 'Time and again leaders in Hollywood have had press clippings thrust at them, the inaccuracy of which merely served as a vivid reminder of the quote that “Caesar’s wife must not only be free from shameful conduct but euen from shameful report” . And there are those who. warn, “Never fight a paper —unless you’Ve got a paper.” . ; All in all, the vast majority of newspapermen are trying to do an honest job of fair and factual reporting — and are most responsive when their attention is called to obvious unfairness. This has been demonstrated time and pictures, the performances as comedian be considered good, it is because, somewhere down the line 1 have taken from her natural sense of humor. After being with Paramount for several years, the studio was finally convinced that Evelyn was neither too young nor too old to play my mother. So it was in “Too Much Harmony/’ that she got her first part in pictures. In the bustling tension of the starting day she decided to sit down and try to keep out of the way. Nobody noticed her effort to find a place to sit, and not wanting to be presumptuous, she passed up the directors’ chairs with names printed on them, i.e., “Script,” “Dialogue,” “Eddie Sutherland,” “Bing Crosby” and even the one marked for' “Jack Oakie.” She finally fOund ah abandoned one without a name on -it.; ' I’m sure no human philosophy could possibly figure put how those worn strips of canvass held the wooden arms and legs together long enough for her to carry it oyer and place it carefully near the camera, where she thought she could see the scenes and yet be put of the way. She sat down. When Crosby and I rushed to her rescue she was already back up on her feet again. “Are you hU right?” we asked concernedly. “Oh, yes, “ Evelyn said; and added with the kind of timing that comedians take, a lifetime to learn, “My name Wasn’t On this chair so It kind of upset me.” —Jack Oakie. 0\ir village was very sweet and friendly and everything was fine, The trouble began last fall when the twins started school. 'This, of course, made Hodges and me members of the village P.T.A.” “P.T.A.,” snarled Sam. “And I got a hundred grand tied up in Romeo and Juliet.” fellow is reminded of this in odd ways. Like the time that that Chicago paper launched what was. supposed to be a very funny feature: The most unflattering photos they could find of some of our most glamorous movie stars.. Contrary to expectations, far more readers resented the. series than enjoyed it and the paper itself reported, “Many letters had been written to the ‘Voice of the Editor’ by readers who objected to the treatment accorded to the stars.” I ■ The ‘Pro’ Approach Another illustration: Not long ago One of the fan mags varied the diet by running a feature on churchgoing Hollywood’ans. The editor reported subsequently that the article “drew more fan letters than any other feature again. The offenders aren’t many— and perhaps this airing will be one more contribution toward bringing about the better balance that the industry feels is in order today. And maybe this would be a good tinie, too, to close by recalling a couple of chunks out of a column by Earl Wilson, written after he had visited Will Rogers Memorial at Claremore, Oklahoma. Wrote Wilson: “It seemed to me, as I finished the tour, that Will Rogers did pretty good by Writing pieces that hurt nobody, just as did another guy named Ernie Pyle. Every day I get a couple of pounds of hurtful, poisonous news that would be pretty readable. For years i’ye.been throwing it away and. now after visiting Claremore I hope I’m never going to quit throwing it away. I. think I’m going to be heeding a bigger wastebasket.” Got a better tag? in the issue.” We’re all familiar with all the tired arguments that scandal and the Big Knock are gobbled up by the average reader. But then again, maybe reader tastes have advanced a little since the dizzier days of the New York Graphic. Certainly that was an interesting comment, by a pretty good newspaperman who runs the Milwaukee Journal, J. Donald Ferguson: “Circulation will balloon up just as well when it rains and people buy papers to put on their head as when you dig up a good scandal— and the boost will last just as long.” And, on the subject of changing tastes, there’s also that comment by Editor Basil Waters of the Chicago Daily News about Fulton Oursler’s syndicated series stressing the .nioral note : “People would have laughed you out of town if you had run that kind of stuff in the 20’s.” . Not that some of the lads who put their dispatches or columns on the wires out of Hollywood or do Hollywood stuff locally can be expected to turn into church editors. But some of them, with very little effort, certainly could strike a much better balance — and would, to their great surprise, find that their yarns are deyeloping more, not less, news interest. Better balance certainly seems in order when you take the case of a correspondent for one of the rnajor wire services who devoted an entire dispatch to reviewing a book about Hollywood which every important eastern publisher had turned down because the auther’s pipelines seemed more like sewer-pipe lines. Not only did the correspondent choose to give the tome nationwide publicity, but led off with the book’s, smelliest morsel —something about an alleged starletWho, according to rumor, once had been a call girl. Perhaps that IS hews, worthy of wire coverage. If so, it’s a different league, from what it used to be, . . . Maybe the readers gobbled it up. I Nix on Ingrid Series THE milC SERVANT By MAX SHULMAN^ . . • i . Eva Bryant sat on the divan. Sam. Miller .Was behind h.is desk. “Hello, beautiful,” I said— to Eva, not to Sam. You wouldn’t call Sam beautiful unless your taste happened to run to fat, bald men slightly under five feet tall. . Eva, on the other hand, richly deserved the adjective. Her ingenue, days were long over, but she seemed to improve with age. The flesh stayed firm, , the legs stayed sleek, the middle stayed, flat, and the face got better. >At 40 she could still play Juliet. Sam Miller thought so too. A day earlier he had announced his new production of Romeo . and Juliet, starring Eva Bryant and Elery Hodges. Correction. Starring Ellery Hodges and Eva Bryant. Hodges always got top biling. Max Shuiman “What’s up, Eva?” I asked. “Don’t tell him nothing,” said Sam. “Now, Sam,” said Eva patiently, “we’ve been all through this.. I’ve got to tell him the truth before he starts printing divorce rumors. You know what a skunk he is.” She smiled sweetly at me. I smiled back. I’m not really a skunk; I’m a columnist. “Let him print divorce rumors,” Sam said. “You oughta leave that big jerk anyhow.” My old ears perked up. The big jerk Sam referred to was Ellery Hodges, and trouble in the Hodges-Bryant household was news indeed. Hodges and Bryant were the On the other hand, maybe the reaction was more, in line, with what resulted when one paper started a sensational Bergman series. Along with the first article, the paper ran a box asking readers whether they wanted the series continued. The readers responded in no uncertain terms— and the remaining articles were duhipedi It could be that my evaluation of all this is away off. But things like the above provide plenty of food^^r thought. Might be an interesting subject for an editor^’ seminar one of these days. When I was a newspaperman, I never cared for the type of; guy who would gripe about the lousy yarns and fail to say thanks— or* even remember : — the good ones, So let’s record now the industry’^ debt to any number of colu nnists, /correspondents, editors and broadcasters who go in for straight, . honest reporting — whether the news is good or bad. This particular ;belcli is only for those whose approach reflects a .combination of fourth^rate New Yorker and frustrated Police (jazette. And who make a hcbit of it. Qf course, Ilollywood has a lot to undo because of some types of past press-agentry. But that’s been changing , too — • I and fast!' I _ rhere are other raps, loo. that are a\yay out of order. Somebody pointed out the other, day the way some of the pre.ss clan had been busy sealing the industry’s doom while simultaneously tooting the television horn. It was noted that, by odd coincidence, the author of the. derogatory observations, usually had a TV program oi* else was angling lor one. But the main beef comes back to the few who feel that the only approach to Hollywood, people is “beat their brains out.” Childish, ye.s— but have you ever seen what Junior can do when he gets loose with a hammer? Maybe it’s a nice limb I’m climbing out on. But I’ll still lay a buck or theatre’s ideally wedded couple, complete with twin sons. Since they married in 193'7, they had provided not a single item for the scandalmongers. Their marriage seemed unshakably solid, which was, of course, admirable, but no grist for my mill. My feaders, bless their shrivelled hearts, •Want dirt. . ••• • '■ “You and Hodges feuding?” I asked eagerly. “YOU see, Sam?” said Eva triumphantly. “I told you what he’d think. I’ve got to tell him the truth.” She turned to me. “Hodges and X,” she declared, “are happy, devoted, and very much in love.” “And you got me out 6f bed in the middle of the afternoon to tell me that?” I asked. “Nq,” said Eva. “I have a little news for you. I’m going to be in Saim’s production of Romeo and Juliet witout Hodges.” A little ; ews,. she said. Just like a little news that Fontanne was going to play without Lunt, or Damon without Pythias. Since their marriage Hodges and Bryant had always appeared together. The team had become ah institution. You just never thought of one without the other. “Connecticut they hadda move to,” mumbled 3am darkly, , “What’s Connecticut go to do with this?” t asked. “We live there,” Rya explained. “We moved up about two years ago. The twins, you see, were four years old and we thought they’d be better off outside of New York. We thought they should have green grass and fresh air and all that.” “What is Central Park— a dungeon?” said Sam hotly. “Now, Sam,” Eva soothed. “So you and Hodges started quarreling up in Connecticut?” I prompted. ‘Not at al,” replied Eva, “We were very happy up there. The Paternal Pitch | ‘'Now, Sam,” Eva said again and went on with her story. “One liight last October I managed to drag Hodges to a P.T.A. meeting: — no mean trick, I assure you. Hodges likes to spend his evenings with a bottle of brandy and a photograph album — his own photographs, of course. He was pretty surly about the whole thing. He fidge'ted all through the first part of the meeting, but suddenly he got interested. One of the parents stood up and started complaining about, a hole in the children’s playground. The hole, it seems, gets filled with water when it rains, and the kids all get their feet wet. This parent said that the hole ought to be fixed. Then the chairman of the Board of Education got up and said they didn’t have any funds for fixing holes. Then another parent got up and said they should take the money out of the emergency fund. Then the Chairman got up, and the argument kept getting hotter and hotter, and all of a sudden Hodges was on his feet.” “Hole in the playground!” cried Sarh passionately. “He should have a hole in his head.” “Even .Sam,” said Eva, “would have been moved by Hodges' speech that night. For the first 20 minutes he talked about childrenthose lovable, lisping, curly-haired creatures— and how pitifully empty our lives would be without them. Then, with the audience sobbing softly, he. look up the subject of wet feet. He scared the bejabbers out' of everybody. A child, he said flatly, had a much better chance of surviving, a grenade explosion then wet feet. Wet feet, he said, was far and away the most dangerous thing that could happen to a child. On and on he went, citing a mass of grisly statistics, Until he had the audience confusing damp sox with last rites. Then when he had ■ reduced them to a quivering jelly, he w’ent into his curtain speech. It was a beaut. He made it sound as though the. entire Eastern Seaboard would be littered with the corpses of children unless that hole in the playground got fixed. The whole speech, of course, ^yas delivered in that big cello voice of his. I tell you there wasn’t a dry eye in the place when he finished.” “Except the chairman of the Board, of Education,” said Sam. “That’s right,” Eva admitted. “That thrifty old Yankee was not impressed. But everyone else was, and when the meeting w'as over, they all came running over to Hodges to shake his hand. ‘We need a man like you on the Board of Education,’ they kept telling him, and when Hodges got home he had a gleam in his eye that chilled me to the marrow. “ ‘Now, Hodges,’ I said, ‘I know what you’re thinking, but you can’t do It. Remember, Sam wants us to do Romeo and Juliet for him next season.’ ” Sam groaned; “Hodges,” continued Eva, “turned on me like a wounded lion. How could I talk about play-acting when the lives of little children hung in the balance? Where was my heart, my soul, my feelings? Did I expect him to shirk his manifest, his sacred> duty? He had to run for, the Board of Education; nothing else would do. 1 argued myself hoarse, I kept telling him that the Board of Education was a fulltime job, that he wouldn’t have. time. for the theatre; But It was no use. Hodges had hypnotized himself with his own oratory.” ^ ‘The big ham,” said Sam bitterly. : Bam,’ said Eva, shaking her head. “That’s what makes him such a great actor: he believes everything he says. ’ ■ ■ • “Then he ran?” I asked. in tbe history of representative government,’' said Eva. 1“ spoke; on every platform, every stump, evers .pQich,. every haymow in the village. And what speeches! Jennings Bryan was a mute. But he didn t just make speeches. He shook hands, he kissed babjes^ he passed out cigars, he even judged a ple-bakihE contest. And On election day he personally drove everj voter to the polls in pur station wagon.” ^I howled with laughter. “Poor Sam,” I said, looking at the producer s profoundly disgusted face. “Now Hodges ij so bu.sy With this village Board of Education that he hasn’t got time to play Romeo.” ^ot exactly,” said Eva. “It’s just that he won’t come out of his room. He’s sulking.” “Sulking? Why?” I asked. tha^^^why Sam. “The big jerk lost the election.