Moving Picture Exhibitors' Association.

Photoplay (Volume 36 – 37 (Jul. - Dec. 1929)) online

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details, and name real names. This is no place for the reverend
clergy and tots of tender years.

It is only fair to begin by saying that when I went to Holly-
wood I was fed up to the eyelashes with the ordinarj' Eastern
variety of orgy. I had guzzled green Maryland rye on the
very shadow of the dome of our nation's capitol. I had sluiced
down New Jersey beer till my head felt like the Graf Zeppelin
and my feet were three feet off the ground. I was sick to death
of gin still warm from the kitchen sink, and the accompanying
beaver-board sandwiches, hot ginger ale, airless apartments,
dumb wisecracks, silly hostesses and sticky girls.
But Hollywood!

THERE, thought I, will be something new in the way of star-
spangled debauches! There, among the gold-plated actors
and ruby-starred magnates will be something fresh and tasty in
the way of sin. I'll have the finest, truest sort of depravity to
relate to my innocent kiddies in the long winter evenings to
come, as I sit around listening to my blood pressure rise.

So, poof! I am in Hollywood — Mother and I.

"Sin!" I told the porters, the bellboys, the room clerk, the
press agents. "I want to see some new sin, fresh from your
own ranches. How is your sin today, out here?"

"Fine!" thundered a voice at my elbow. Turning quickly
and drawing my .45 like a flash, I saw that it issued from the
stylish stout body of my friend Arthur Caesar, dialogue writer
for the film foundry of the Messrs. Warner.

" When did you get here? " roared the Cae-
sarian body. " My dash dash dash dash blank
cypher, it's good to see you! I'm giving you
a party tonight. I'll send a car for you at nine .



By



Leonard Hail



"Mother," I said that evening, "lay out

the old gutter-stained drinking clothes.

We're going to a Hollywood party, and we'll

be back a week from Thursday. "

" Do you think we'd better? " said the dear soul. " Remember

that time you threw the bus boy through Childs' window?

What about the — "

"Mother," I said, very firmly, "that was mere Childs play.
Tonight we lose our amateur standing and get in the big
money. These people out here really know how to sin. When
they orgy, they stay orgied. So let's have no more of this
reminiscing. Just lay out those old pants and the bullet
proof vest!"

So Mother shut up, packed the [ please turn to p.age 96 ]



"Mother," I said,
"lay out the drinking
clothes. We're going
to a Hollywood party,
and we'll be back a
week from Thursday!"



Good. Oh kay!



So long!'




Well, there I was, one step from Go
morrah. How the girls would say, when I
got back home, "Isn't he just- too interest-
ing-looking. A little dissipated, you know,
and cynical! I'll just bet he's been places
and done things!"



W-O-vJ^



29




Greta Garbo



Girls Dodge



n g




LIPPING



T



HE



A FEW weeks ago the much-written-about engagement
of Clara Bow, the queen of the movie flappers, and
Harry Richman, the big song and dance boy from
Broadway, exploded with a large bang on the front
pages of a thousand metropolitan newspapers.

It appeared that Clara and Harry were not engaged any
more. It appeared that the stunning ten thousand dollar
diamond that Harry had slipped — before the camera — on
Clara's fourth finger, left hand, was very much like "button,
button, who's got the button" in the old nursery rhyme.

Only this version was, "Diamond, diamond, who owned the
diamond in the first place?"

Nor was that all. It even came out — with a good deal of
newspaper space expended using both Clara's and Harry's
names — that Harry's love had been peddled around Hollywood
like so much cement before the contractors' convention. It
wasn't so much that Harry's little heart needed a home as that
Harry's fame needed a good strong publicity boost.

The bright promoters of the cabaret boy's romantic urge even
had offered Harry first, it was revealed, to Greta Garbo. The
Swedish Sphinx inferred by a rich Swedish silence that when
she wanted a man she could get one by her own efforts. Still,
they egged her on. They told her about all the pictures they
would get her — and Harry — in the papers. They raved about
all the columns of space. Said Garbo, " I luff no man. My
chesljefls empty." Which may have mc jit her old smuggler's

chest where she keeps
the gold pieces, for all
anybody can tell.

AU of which raises an
interesting question.

It's not so much,
"Why don't people get
married in Hollywood?"
as, "Why don't they
want to?"

All over the rest of the
world, people do it.
Chinks do it. Japs do it.
Up in Lapland, little
Laps do it, as the old
song has it. That is,
they fall in love. And
when they fall in love,
everywhere else, almost
always they get married.



How and why stars and

near-stars sidestep that

fatal "I will!"



They fall in love in Hollywood. How they fall! They take
love in a great big way. They love all over the place and partic-
ularly all over the press. But do they marry? Not very often.

In fact, the finest art of love in Hollywood seems to be
slipping the marriage noose.

Now before you all think that I am just a cynical old thing
and prod my memory with shouts and murmurs about \'ilma
Banky and Rod La Rocque, Joan Crawford and Doug Fair-
banks, Jr., and such honeymooners, let me make a list for you.

Think of Messrs. Richard Dix, Charles "Buddy" Rogers,
Carl Laemmle, Jr., William Haines, Charles Farrell, Ben Lyon,
Gilbert Roland, Ramon Novarro, to mention but a few.



QR th

V^ Clara



think, equally, of Miles. Greta Garbo, Bebe Daniels,




;ira Bow, Alice White, Bessie Love, Anita Page,
Dorothy Sebastian, the Day girls, Alice and Alarceline; Lois
Wilson, Sally O'Neill, all the Young sisters — Loretta, Polly Ann
and Sally Blane; Ruth Taylor, Olive Borden, Lois Moran and
numerous others.

Young men of achievement, wealth, brains and handsome
pro tilesin that firstgroup.
Good providers. Excel-
lent husbands. Romantic
lovers. Just what any
girl would want.

Think of the poten-
tial wives in the second
listing. Youth, charm,
money, ambition, IT.
What wives! What little
women! What pets!
Breathes there a man
with soul so dead he
wouldn't like one of
them waiting on his door-
step as the live-three
pulls in each night?

But why don't these
boys and girls marry?
Whv, in fact, don't some




Clarence Brown



A Romance That Lingers



Dorothy Sebastian



30




Ramon Novarro



Charles Farrell



These Boys Like Bachelorhood!



Ronald Colman



M



ARRIAGE



N



OOSE



By Janet French



of them marry each other? If Hollywood was any other town,
you'd soon see them paired off, married and having babies.
That's the law of the universe.

How does Hollywood dare defy the law of the universe?
How does it get that way?

Personally, I think it gets that way because of its individ-
uality and the individuality of its species.

Let's consider the case of Richard Dix.

ABOUT two years back Richard blazoned forth in the pages
of our own Photoplay how much he wanted to marry. He
even promised to be married before another year passed. And
before, during, and since that time it has looked as though
Richard had the most honest intentions toward that promise.
He has been engaged and engaged and engaged.

It started with Lois \\'ilson. Maybe it wasn't an honest to
goodness solitaire diamond-wedding shower engagement, but
certainly everybody thought it was. Everybody expected
those two to be married almost any minute. But suddenly Lois
wasn't seen about very much and Richard was going every-
where with Chariot Byrd.

A cute trick, Chariot. Saucy, provocative and very sweet.
Not as important as Lois professionally, but Richard seemed to

have a terrific crush on
her and she seemed to
have an even more ter-
rific crush on Richard. So
everybody sat back and
waited for Chariot to
become Mrs. Dix. Only
the next thing they knew
Richard was going with
Alyce Mills.

That was real love.
And how! Richard told
everybody. Alyce told
everybody. They played
together in a picture.
Love's young dream.
Bee-yu-tiful. Only
Richard started going
with Mary Brian.

He had loved other




girls before Mary? Don't be sil. This, this was different — for
a couple of months. Then iNIarceline Day caught Richard's
eye. Richard went around with Marceline. And then he
stopped.

Right now his heart — his heart — but why bring that up?

Buddy Rogers hasn't had as many engagements as Richard.
In fact, he's had no formal engagements at all. But he's had
several beautiful interests. Claire Windsor was one, succeeded
by Mary Brian, siicceeded by June Collyer. But it seems that
Buddy went to a fortune teller a year ago September. The
mystic gazed into her crystal and discovered that any 1928
marriage of Buddy's would turn out something terrible. She
said a marriage in 1933 would be pretty neat, however. So
girls who can manage to hang on for the next four years have
a chance.

WORK keeps Ramon Novarro and Junior Laemmle away
from the girls. You know how work is. Takes all one's
time. Becomes the central drive of life. Gives one purpose. Jun-
ior Laemmle was once reported engaged to Alice Day and after
that to Sue Carol. But since those rumors, he's been too busy
looking after his father's Universal studio to spend his evenings
with the girl friends.

Ramon Novarro has a hundred interests. His singing. His
little theater. His trips to Europe. His family. His church.
Personally I believe Ramon to be the perennial bachelor. His
art really is his life.

There are those who
thought that Charles
Farrell truly loved Janet
Gaynor. But when the
wedding bells rang, it
was Lydell Peck and not
Charlie who responded.
Charlie lives his life of
blessed bachelorhood
rather silently.

Then there's Ben
Lyon. You've heard of
JNIr. Lyon and his en-
gagements? Listed in the
order of their receipt
they are: that lamented,
beautiful creature,

[ PLEASE TURN TO
PAGE 137 ]




Alice White



Two Romantic Free-Lances



Richard Dix



31




Gl



oria s



M



ew



Clothes



Miss Swanson has selected one of the most
successful models of the new season, devel-
oped in platinum broadtail. Note the
severe line which cuts midway across the
forehead, the close-fitting crown and long,
graceful sides



an



d L^oiff



ure



J *i:iTt^B3"i" ; r



^






This handsome formal wrap is worn by Miss Swan-
son in "The Trespasser." It is of Goblin blue Peau
de Soir silk and ermine. The ermine is caught cape-
fashion over the left shoulder and is carried around
in a dashing modernistic line to cover the lower
portion of the wrap on the opposite side. The dis-
tinctive costume jewelry is of green, black and white
cut crystal

S2









Luxury, femininity, dig-
nity — and above all, chic^
are the keynotes




We dare to predict that
this stunning coiffure will
be discussed and copied
by smart women the
world over. Its charm is
in the skilful blending of
severity and femininity




Miss Swanson's street frock of blue
Jersey combines many of the
important new style elements.
Notable features are the raised
waistline, the flared skirt dipping
slightly lower in back, and the long,
wide scarf. The inserted design is
of blue satin crepe, both sides of
the material being used. The hat
has the new, high-on-the-forehead
line



Exquisite detail and line mark this
luxurious evening gown, matching
in color and material the wrap on
the opposite page. The gown is
extremely short in front, sloping
sharply to a long, irregular hem-
line. Panels form a train




33



Herr Lubitsch, Der Old Master from Ger-




THE most striking photofjraph, friends, to be smuggled from the
sound stages since the silent drama found its larynx. It shows
Ernst Lubitsch, the great German director, doing something un-
heard of in the history of pictures— staging two scenes at one and the
same time, and without the aid of a plug hat full of rabbits. Herr
Lubitsch sits on the milking stool between the two camera booths. In

3Jf



the secluded garden nook on the left are Lupine Lane and Lillian Roth.
Before the screen on the right, and seated on a sofa, are Maurice
Chevalier and Jeanette MacDonald, star and leading lady of the new
Paramount singie-talkie, "The Love Parade." The script and score
of the production called for a double duet by these four principals,
and Herr Lubitsch was forced to devise ways and means for directing



many, Directs Two Talkie Scenes at Once




two sets of actors with one wave of the wand. So he had his hirelings
erect the two sets cheek to cheek, arranged his people, and went at it.
In the foreground are the two camera booths, each with its crew of
camera and sound geniuses. At the left, out of the picture except for
one bold fiddler, is the orchestra which accompanies the singers. Over
the heads of the actors you can see the malicious microphones, sus-



pended on cords. And this gives you a good idea of the enormous num-
ber of lights necessary to shine up a talking picture scene. Our hard-
working directors may soon be expected to direct three scenes, juggle
four pool balls, eat a bacon and tomato sandwich and sing "Mammy"
simultaneously. Just out of camera range old Cal York, Photopl.\y's
studio nuisance, is being strangled by four assistant directors.

35




Abbe



/UST how do you think these mellow
curves will register? And if so, what?
The silver-haired gent listening to the do-
re-mi is none other than Mr. Mack Sennett,
who was making comedies when Hollywood
Boulevard was a cow-path. The nameless
young lady, who has passed the eye-test with
honor, is now hurling her high C into the mi-
crophone, in the hope of making a comedy
that is not only funnier, but louder. Of course,
with Mack's bathing girls a historic institu-
tion, Mr. Sennett couldn't think of running a
voice test if the young lady wore galoshes and
a raccoon coat. He just couldn't hear a thing!



36




ilmlandjiRoval



amily,

Second
Edition



The world wonders
whether Joan and
Doug will uphold
the Pickford-Fair-
banks tradition

By

Frances Hughes




Young Doug Fairbanks and the bride, Joan Crawford, who

do not like to be called the Crown Prince and Princess of

Hollywood, having a little sunshine and privacy on one of

the famous California beaches



THEIR home in the exclusive Brentwood Heights district
is called "El Jodo," a contraction of Joan and Dodo
(Doug's pet name).
The luxurious palace that houses Queen Mary Pick-
ford and King Douglas Fairbanks is known the world over as
"Pickfair."

Does that mean that Joan and Doug have attempted to up-
hold the Pickford-Fairbanks tradition? Does that mean that
an ex -chorus girl thinks herself capable of entertaining royalty,
being the charming mistress of a well-appointed home, and
otherwise conducting herself as befits the second generation of
the royal family?

Not much!

"We'll build up our own tradition," say Joan and Doug in
unison.

"And some day," adds Doug, "we'll not be pointed out as
Douglas Fairbanks' children. He'll be known as the father of
Joan and Doug!"

Joan Crawford, once Lucille Le Seur of the Winter Garden
Roof, once Billie Cassin, who worked her way through a Kansas
City school by waiting on tables, has become Mrs. Douglas
Fairbanks, Jn, and Mrs. Fairbanks, Jr., says emphatically,
"I wish his name were Smith or Jones or Brown — anything
but Fairbanks!"

IT'S always been a pet theory of mine that, Shakespeare to
the contrary, there is much in a name and that Juliet wouldn't
have loved her balcony hero half so well had he been called Joe
Doakes instead of Romeo Montague.

Joan's love for Doug is constant, but it would be easier for
her if he were not of the house of Fairbanks.

" I'm sick of this royal family stuff. Certainly I was a chorus
girl. But I didn't stay one all my life, did I?"

The tongues of the gossips wagged before and after the mar-
riage. Not long ago at a party when Joan refused a cocktail she
overheard a girl say, "How grand she is! Now that she's Mrs.
Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., she couldn't be caught with a drink in
her hand. Why, I remember when she used to get blind, staring
cock-eyed."



I've known Joan Crawford intimately for four years. I've
shared her confidences and the hospitality of her home. I've
seen her in the throes of despair and on the gayest parties.
And I have never known her to drink anything stronger than
soda pop !

The pattern of Joan's life has changed. There's no doubt
about that. The wild child with a restless, groping soul and an
ever-questioning, never-answered intelligence, who won danc-
ing cups at JNIontmartre and Cocoanut Grove, who spent her
money as freely as her affections, has become a poised young
matron. But it isn't because she married Douglas Fairbanks,
Jr. It's because she married the man she loves.

It is true that she has left the over-done, exotic apartments
to manage a tasteful, beautiful home in Brentwood.

SHE has never had a real home before. That house is the end
of the dream of a little girl who stored her treasures in a tiny
room in the back of a laundry and later moved them to a hall
bedroom above the scream ol New York traflic. In " El Jodo"
the silver is of the finest. Long creme-colored tapers grow out
of antique candle sticks (a wedding gift from Billy Haines). The
table glows with lace and beautiful linen. It is Joan's home,
a home for which she would not have had the taste two years
ago, before she met the man she loves.

Even this, the end of the dream, is ammunition for the gos-
sips. "I remember Joan," they say, "before she was Mrs. Fair-
banks, when she didn't need four servants."

All of her mental and spiritual growth has been blamed on
the tradition.

But it isn't the tradition. It is Doug himself who has changed
her.

Doug, Jr., has been criticised for his hand in bringing Joan
up the way she should go, but every book he has asked her to
read, every art exhibit he has taken her to, every concert he has
brought her, has made her a more delightful person.

In a sense he has done for Joan what his father did for :Mary
Pickford, yet the ideals of father and son are dift'erent. Doug,
Sr., is a doer; young Doug, a dreamer.

Slight as they are in frame, there [ please turn to page 96]

37




lUust rated by

Everett
Shinn



TKtiy



A short story that is
based on a real life epi-
sode in the Talkies



Meet Mr. Jack Delancey, the three
dollar a night sheik, who wears tan
brogans under his Arabian nightgown

A MOON of dull gold hung like a spotlight in the sky.
Silhouetted against it was a figure in a long white
burnoose, walking with slow, stately tread across the
narrow stone parapet. Now and then he paused and
faced the East. He might have been murmuring a prayer to
Allah — while his caravans rested.

But the prayer would have been a crossword puzzle to
Allah, and could those below have heard it, their illusion of
desert skies and Songs of Araby would have been quickly
shattered.

" Gosh, it's cold up here, " the sheik was saying to his shadow.
"Tomorrow night I'll keep my coat on under this damned
nightgown. It's enough to put a guy to sleep, jogging along
at this snail's pace. VVonder how many miles I'll cover in an
evening?" The tan brogues beneath the while burnoose paced
off another fifteen steps, then paused to face the East.

The long milky fingers of a battery of searchlights combed
the evening sky, telling the world that Jed Neuman, Holly-
wood's master showman, was launching another screen epic.

As the sheik made the return trip across the parapet, in the
golden glow of the prop moon, he was thinking: "Showmanship,
huh? Say, I'll bet half those saps down there don't even see
me. They've got their eyes peeled for the stars."'

He risked a glance toward the street below. It was glutted
with a million dollars' worth of shiny limousines. Blue-coated
officers were trying to keep the milling crowd back of the

38



ropes, which formed a lane leading to the entrance of the
theater. As he reached the far end of the parapet he caught
the voice of the radio announcer, broadcasting the arrival of
the Great and the Near-Great of filmdom.

"Miss Florentine Duval and party are now arriving. Miss
Duval is wearing an ermine evening wrap over a gown of
peach-colored velvet. WiU you step up to the microphone,
Miss Duval, and say a word to your radio friends? "

"Hello everybody," came the throaty voice of the popular
screen star. "It's certainly a big night at the Algeria. Wish
you were here. "

ENTHUSI.\STIC applause from the sidelines as Miss Duval
and party continued their triumphal entrance.

"Yeah, and some day those same yokels'U be paying five
bucks a throw to see Mr. Jack Delancey and party arriving,''
the erstwhile sheik promised his shadow. " And Mr. Delancey '11
be wearing his soup and fish with a gardenia in the buttonhole
and a silk topper. "

Mr. Delancey, it will be gathered, called himself an actor.
Due to the poor eyesight of the makers of pictures, however,
he had been more recently engaged as 'a demonstrator of razor
blades, a feeder for a small time vaudeville star, a soda jerker
and a crystal gazer in the window of a large Oriental store.

It was here the manager of the Algeria had seen him and
offered him three dollars an evening to patrol the roof of the
new theater in his sheik regalia. Mr. Delancey considered it a
genuine tribute to his makeup ability that the shrewd manager
had believed him to be the real thing. Rather than risk dis-
illusioning him, he had arrived at the theater that first night
in costume and makeup. Once the job was cinched, he told
Iiimself, he would make up backstage with the rest of the
actors.

And it was backstage, a week later, that he met Billie, the
little Blue Streak Blues Singer. He had come down off the
roof five minutes early and had caught part of her act. He
had seen her in the wings before and had smiled at her. She
had not bothered to return the smile. That had piqued him.
When Jack Delancey smiled at a girl she usually smiled back.
As he watched her go into a hot tap dance he concluded that
she was a swell little number. Not exactly pretty — but cute.
He liked them cute. He liked her straight, black, shiny bob
and the way she used those naughty eyes. She had the cutest
knees he had ever seen. They were like little round, dimpled
faces.

He watched her take a couple of "bows" and when she ran
offstage he managed to be standing directly in her path.

"You're certainly there, baby," he said audaciously.

" Tell that to the manager, " was her cool retort. " He might
give me another week. " She started to push past him. Then
her eyes fell on the white burnoose hanging over his arm.
"Well, if it isn't the sheik himself." Her red mouth widened
in a smile.

"Jack Delancey's the name," he grinned. "I've been watch-
ing 3'our act. You're pretty good."

"Yeah?" The naughty eyes looked up at him through
heavily mascaraed lashes. "Thanks for the good news."



Sheiks Go JVrong



By Grace Mack



" How about putting on the feed bag after the show?"

She gave him a swift appraisal. Something about his boyish
grin caused her to decide that he was just a harmless kid who
was trying to be friendly instead of fresh.

" O. K.," she agreed. "If you want to wait while I change."

"Sure. I'll stick around."

He was waiting for her at the stage door when she came out.
She looked different in her street clothes. But that was not
surprising since the costume for her act consisted of a very
abbreviated pair of black lace shorts and a little lace thing
which passed for a brassiere.

They walked down the Boulevard, now almost deserted,
and though he had less than two dollars in his pocket, he
optimisticallv piloted her into a popular all night cafe.
Before Billie could even look at the menu he had sold her the
idea of ordering a cheese sandwich on rye and some coffee.

, Billie listened while he talked about Jack Delancey and how
good he was.

"Well, what's a big time boy like you doing in a small time
job?" she finally had an opportunity to ask. "That roof
marathon won't get you anywhere. Vou ought to be in the
movies, I'd say."

HE had already catalogued her as a smart girl but that
last remark proved it.

"You've said it, baby. All I need is a director to agree with
you and it'll be unanimous."

"What's to keep a bright boy like you from finding one?"

"Well, you see you've gotta have influence to get in these
davs," he alibied.

'■Ihirsc fcalliers! If you're as good as you say you are you



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