Moving Picture Exhibitors' Association.

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

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that modest little pay envelope.

The nephew of the illustrious Paul Armstrong has done
right well in the lillums. He slipped into pictures just at that
psychological moment before talkies, when stage people were
still invited out, and could drink their coffee without worrying
about ground glass in the bottom of the cup.

Bob had every intention of becoming a lawyer. He was
going to study at the University of Washington, but once, after
a hectic session with a pair of musty tomes, he had a bright
idea for a vaudeville sketch and three months before gradua-
tion presented it at a theater in Portland. Somebody saw it
and Bob found himself in New York, minus a sheepskin, but
well satisfied with a tube of greasepaint.

IT was in "Is Zat So?" that he found his first real stage suc-
cess. He and Jimmy Gleason knocked 'em for a row of lead
boxing gloves both in America and London. In Hollywood he
deserted the footlights for the kleigs. From then on he's been
stepping from one picture to another until he's punch-drunk.
He has played in three dozen films. "The Racketeer" and
"Oh, Yeah!" are his latest.

Bob is married to Jeanne Kent, an actress. They live in
Beverly Hills, entertain pleasantly, get invited out to smart
dinners and make all the other gestures necessary to screen

His closest pal is Jimmy Gleason — they think, act, toil, play
as one. Their teaming, personally and professionally, is one of
the great friendships of the stage and screen. Perfect mates in
business — perfect foils at telling gags. Damon and Pythias,
Bob and Jimmy, allee same thing.

All of which doesn't hurt the Gleason-Annstrong starring
pictures one bit.


THOSE hard-boiled cynics who'll tell you that Tom Mix's
horse uses a double, thought it was a studio publicity
gag when Norma Terris married Dr. Jerome Wagner just
as she warbled the last high C in " Married in Hollywood. "

"So," said Norma, "we took the stigma off it by having the
ceremony performed in Beverly Hills. "

And right after the wedding the presidents of the trans-
continental airplane companies rubbed their hands together
and called it a big day. For Norma, one of the latest recruits
from Broadway, and Dr. Wagner will commute between Holly-
wood and New York.

Norma is different from most of the film gals. She's quite
tall and, although her hair is dark brown and her eyes are
black, hers is not the conventional type of brunette beauty.
But you're so used to beauty in Hollywood.

There is something else, you know — mostly a voice, and
Norma Terris has that.

For two years she was Magnolia in Ziegfeld's "Show Boat."

Because she had not been long in Hollywood her marriage
didn't cause a ripple on the sound wave, yet it was one of the
most spectacular that has yet been recorded in the annals of
film romances.

TWO years ago she met Dr. Wagner. In June she came to
Hollywood. He followed, begging her to marry him. She
refused. He returned to his stethoscopes and sphygmomanom-
eters, but he spent most of this time on the long distance
telephone. And then Norma said "yes" so, in case she'd
change her mind, he hopped a plane and married her right
away at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Mack, dignified
for the tired member of the "Two Black Crows," and his
little woman.

Because there were arteries hardening in New York, the
couple jumped on a plane again and winged their way to the
Eastern city. But there's a contract waiting for Norma in
Hollywood that has to be fulfilled.

The doctor can't give up his practice. And that's how air-
plane companies get rich.

Norma had a glamorous rise in the show world, topping it off
with this slam-bang marriage.

It was "Show Boat" that made her famous, and it is "Show
Boat" that will mark her as long as she trills on stage or screen.
"Oh, yes," our youngsters will say, "Daddy took me to see her
play Magnolia." Up to the moment that magnificent
Ziegfeldian bolt struck her for fame and fortune, she was just
another young leading woman, forever on the make for jobs on
Broadway. Now she's a personage.

Yup — it's forever just like the old song says—

"Mix the lot— what have you got?— MAGNOLIA!"


Ruth Harriet Louise

<Ty/70ULD you recognize in this seductive girl with the come-
yy hither-or-I'll-come-after-you eyes, that demure Httle in-
genue, Anita Page? Anita always plays the sweet young
thing whose mother didn't tell her. Maybe the M-G-M producers
were only experimenting in this picture

0H, It Is, Is It?

So Hollywood Is a Man I ess
Town, eh? The Masculine
Side of a Celebrated Controversy



So Hollywood is a manless town, is it?
And the picture girls lean on their chins and sigh wanly
for a romance unsupplied by local lads, do they?
Whilst their bright and languorous eyes inspect incoming
trains for boy-friends not connected with the film racket, is
that it?

Boy, my howitzer! My black-jack, machine gun, and kris!
My Big Bertha and bullet-proof vest! We sally forth to talk
back. The starlets have bitten the hands which feed them.
And they must be shown that the hand which feeds may also

The complaint by the glittery gals that the men of the town
are indifferent to romance, is but another demonstration that
this is the age of frankness. Nowadays we don't call a spade a
spade; it's a dirty old shovel. We are outspoken. Bald. Even

Consequently let us be done with this hooey surrounding
the film cutie. Let us strip her of her glamorous trappings,
bring her into the light of criticism, and show her for the shame-
less hussy she is. The sort who drains a fella for years; and
when he at last becomes wary, casts him aside with the crack
that he was a good kid while he

had it.

With such creatures rampant
on the moving picture crest, is
it any wonder that the boys
are ducking at the first faint
whiff of perfume?

The answer is, no. Sadly but

The Hollywood girl is beauti-
ful. She is beautiful with the
beauty of the last illusion, per-
fection caught at a translucent
moment and quickened into

*Editorial note: Katherine Albert's article in
the September PHOTOPLAY, "Hollywood— A
Manless Town," caused a storm of indignation
among the males of the celluloid city. At a
torchlight meeting attended by all the brothers
not between pictures with laryngitis, Mr. Gray
(spelling champion of Toluca Lake) was assigned
to prepare the brief of Cutie versus Morality
Clause: or It's Cheaper to Play Pool.

flesh. With the new and simple elegance which lately has
marked her clothing (the influence of such sartorial wows as the
Bennetts and Kay Francis), she has become capable of causing
the angels up in the sky to weep with desire. Which is a hell
of a thing for an angel to have to do.

BUT we live in, after all, a rather sharply regulated world.
And if the angels have teary moments because they can't
contact the most dazzling of the earth-maidens — well, they'll
never have to cry over alimony, Christmas, Whitsuntide, and
Valentine's Day presents, the constant flow of minor (miner?)
gifts necessary to keep in good standing, or any of those menac-
ing excursions when Baby wants to go buy-buy.

And herewith we approach the heart of our brief. The
movie girls have designated a number of reasons, personal
characteristics for the most part, why the film male is becoming
increasingly wary of the fimmale. They have pointed out
that some are too abstracted, some too smart-cracking, some
too this, or too that.

But woman-wise, they have side-stepped the reason behind
these seemingly calloused attitudes: i.e. self-protection. Or —

Money! Money! MONEY!
How, for instance, can a kid
like Billy Bakewell, just out of
the military academy, get more
than a casual nod from the
clerks in Milnor's?

How can Matty Kemp,
Buster Collier, Hugh Allen, or
Rex Lease, trodding the pre-
carious path of the free-lance,
feel the same way about dia-
monds that ^eggy Joyce does?
Mine eyes are still lame from



Chorus girls at work. Larry Ceballos, dance
director of film revusicals, is showing the gals how
to hit the high spots. Looks like the answer to the
old query, "How high is up?"

Billie Dove, the Ziegfeld girl of days of old, with
sweeping lines and classic features, meets
Maxine Cantway, the Ziegfeld model of 1929 —
the modern hey! hey! chorus girl of stage and

SHE goes to work at 8:30, and she's on time. She toils all
day, and sometimes far into the night. She lives with the
old folks at home, and when she isn't toiling she goes to
bed long before midnight. She is a hard worker, and isn't
too frivolous in spite of the fact that she is just high school age.

Now guess who?

Not Pollyanna.

Not Elsie Dinsmore.

You'd never guess.

She is the movie chorus girl, and she is as different from her
sisters who gladden the eyes of the t. b. m. as is Peggy Hopkins
Joyce from Mabel Walker Willebrandt.

One of the pleasanter features of talking pictures is the arrival
of the 1929 model lady of the ensemble. There are more than
two thousand of them living in stucco bungalows and apart-
ment houses in Hollywood. None of them dwell in the familiar
theatrical boarding house, so common in New York.

You can find in Hollywood a Hindu Yogi, a white elephant,
and a boulevard where apparently your car rolls uphill, but
durned if you can find a theatrical boarding house.

The chorus miss has taken the place of the more improvident,
and, by the same token, more colorful extra girl of years past —
the type of extra girl you met in " Merton of the Movies." At
that, these young strangers in our midst are a self-reliant bunch,

u ■




By Roland Francis

even if they wouldn't know a stage-door Johnny from Peter the

Where are her "extra" sisters of the old silent days? Now
they belong to history. Their beauty and ability to wear
clothes with the necessary dash were not sufficient requisites for
the talking screen. They couldn't dance, and they couldn't
sing " Mammy." They had to find work in other fields. Some
of them are waitresses now, others are manicurists. A few of

She Must Dance! She
Must Sing! She's
Pretty and Pert, and
So's Her Old Adagio!

Chorus girls at play. Talkies have brought a

new era for these chorines. No more backstage

waits in a stuffy theater. Sun-baths, instead,

on the green grass of "the lot"

dance routines for another. Champagne and lobster after mid-
night produce headaches the next morning, and a chorus girl
who came to the studio all fagged would meet herself going out
the gate.

Not many of them come from New York. Most of them
have lived in and around [ please turn to page 122 ]

the more fortunate are successful secretaries,
salesladies, and buyers for stores. You may
meet the old extra girl anywhere in Holly-
wood. Most of them are just "waiting
around" for a return of the silent picture.

There is nothing wrong with the pay of the
new extra girl. It assuredly beats typing and
clerking. The old extra girl, if she had drawn
such a salarV', would have had illusions of
grandeur and snubbed Gloria Swanson. The
girls who display the epidermis in the screen
all-talking, singing, dancing and what-have-
you productions make, on the average, $75
weekly. During rehearsals they make $40.
Not bad money for any miss in her 'teens.
And not bad money for the highest paid
chorus girls in New

The studio chor-
ines have to work
and work hard.
They must keep in
training like ath-
letes. Quite likely
they will be work-
ing in one picture
and rehearsing

Seven little tonics
from the chorus of
M-G-M's "Holly-
wood Revue." The
talkies are uni-
versal in their ap-
peal. Even the
tired business man
is not forgotten!


ossip of All

Janet Gayiiar, wed and gone,
Sees the soft Hawaiian dawn.
Loves her husband, too, by heckl
Not a bushel, but a Peck!

JEANNE EAGELS, that grand actress but wild and untam-
able star, dropped dead in a doctor's waiting room in New
York not long ago at the age of thirty-five.

The way of her tragic passing told many things about her
stormy career during the last few years of her life. She had
grown increasingly hard to handle in the theater, and when she
turned to the studios after having been banned by the actors'
union, she increased the problems of her directors by her wilful-
ness and irregularity.

But poor, poor Jeanne! She's gone home, and all is forgiven.
She had all the instability of a temperamental plaver in
wretched health. She could not save herself. She left the
American theater the imperishable memory of her Sadie
Thompson in "Rain," which she played for over four years.
She left the screen one monumental performance in "The
Letter," first of the adult talkies.

So the blonde girl, hurled about by the storms of life, be-
queathed us these memories. Cal will never hear "The Wabash
Blues," or the pounding of steady rain, but he will think of
Sadie Thompson in her cheap finery, and the tom-toms beating
in the hills of Pago-Pago, and the Rev. Davidson wrestling for
her soul.

HO hum! Remember how Ellen Frank, Pittsburgh dancer,
sued Harry Richman, Mr. Bow-elect, for $250,000?
How she charged that he shut her up in his compartment on
a train to Cleveland and beat her, etc.?

Well, that's off. Richman says he settled out of court for
$700. "I told them to get rid of the matter because it was a
nuisance," says Broadway Harry. "But the charges were
ridiculous. "

Again, ho hum! For $700, a beating? Hardly a tiny slap!

CLARA BOW is waging a terrific battle to keep down the
pounds. She is in far from satisfactory health and has
been warned by her physician.

She has a natural tendency to take on weight, and to meet


Our little Janet
Gaynor decided
to Go Away on a
honeymoon, and
naturally needed
a Going Away out-
fit. Platinum grey
crepe Elizabeth,
it is, trimmed
with platinum
fox. The hat is
of grey soleil.
The duds were
grey, but the sun
bright, and Lydell
was crazy about
it all

Hollywood did everything but
call out the militia when Rudy
Vallee crooned into town to
make his first talkie, "The Vaga-
bond Lover." Here's the band
leader at the station, with his
papa and mamma, Mr. and Mrs.
Charles Vallee, and a few loiter-
ing chorus maids

this peril she abstains to the point of under-nourishment.

In addition she uses a vacuum device to break down fat cells,
and electrical treatments are used on her hips. It's a heck of
a life.

Hollywood remembers how too many pounds almost ruined
the career of Molly O'Day, and her heroic and unavailing
struggle to become slender. What will happen to Clara?

'T^WO independent producers met over the noonday
herring. "Well, Max," said one, "how much do you think
I made last month?" The other gave him a sour look,
and this answer — "Half!"

THE lucky colleen has been chosen. Director Frank Borzage,
directing John McCormack's first Fox single, looked all over
Erin for Jawn's leading woman. His eyes lighted on a pretty






It's in the old Garbo blood, for
Greta's brother is an actor, too!
His name is Sven, and he is here
shown rocking the boat in a
scene from "The Robot," a new
Swedish film. The young lady
is Miss Karin Gillberg, another
argument for better ship service
to Scandinavia

Lured to the door
of her beach
house by the
plaintive wail of
a hungry little
microphone, our
fiendish camera-
man snapped this
charming infor-
mal picture of the
queenly Alice
Joyce at play.
And when one
gets a photograph
of Alice on the
romp, one has
something nice

eighteen-year-old lass named Maureen O'SuIlivan. Whipping
a contract from his pocket, he had her on the dotted line for
five years before you could say Brian Boru Finnegan.

She's a bobbed-haired brunette, and is now in Hollywood.

A BUSTED heart and an ornery nature caused Alice Day
a lot of grief some nights ago.

At eleven in the evening a lad left Alice's apartment with
a broken heart and a cantankerous spirit. .\t midnight a taxi
driver came to the door. "The cab you ordered, Miss!" said
he. But she hadn't.

In the course of the ne.xt few hours two ambulances, two
limousines, nine ta.xis, a police surgeon and several assorted
cops had come screaming up to the Day home on hurry calls.

.\lice had only wanted a little peace and quiet, but she got
a four-alarm fire with all the trimmings.


A little checking up showed that the same voice had asked
for all the service — and it was a male voice.

Alice, being one of the best, wouldn't give the name of the
sweet-natured lad she suspected. But Cal bets she wouldn't
mind getting behind him with a baseball bat for about two

THE happiest, cutest and coyest little bridegroom in all
the West, not long ago, was Bull jMontana — wrestler, actor
and known to fame as the boy with the elephant ears.

For the Bool had married again — had married a girl named
Mary Poulson, described as a widow, a blonde and about
twenty-five. Somewhere around here is a picture of the pair,
and you can see for yourselves what a peach Mrs. Bool No. 2
really is.

It's not so long ago that Montana came crying to the law
courts, complaining bitterly that little wife No. 1 had beaten
and lacerated him, body and soul. He seems to have been
freed in plenty of time to corral this pretty blonde he has
honored with his storied name.

A nice quiet wedding, they say. Hardly any one was hurt,
and if any good red vino flowed free, the public at large never
heard of it.

And so Big Bool, the boy- with the mainsail ears, and his
Little Mary, go hand in hand toward the sunset — together.

A ONES CHRISTINE JOHNSON, smart scenarist, has
■^^the bridge prize racket lashed to the mast. She gives
knit underwear to the luckylady or gent.

Two reasons. 1. It's cheaper. 2. The prize lasts all
season. No one will lug the darned stuff home !

THE romance between Dolores del Rio and Teddy Joyce, the
Pittsburgh master of ceremonies, booms along, reports our
Romance Reporter.

And there's a reason for it all.

Joyce makes del Rio laughi He's a jolly, clowning sort of
kid, and keeps the dark star in stitches all the time they are
romping around together.

Remember that Dolo married in her teens, and married a
man older than herself — a dignified Mexican gentleman full



Kid Cupid and the little blonde bride
have a headlock clamped on Bull Mon-
tana, and in about two grunts bis shoul-
ders will be flat on the mat. The Old
Bool and Mary Poulson, the day they
got the license that would make her Mrs.
Bull Montana Number Two

Meet the merry-makers of "Rio Rita." Seated
in front are Hiram S. Brown, president* of
Radio Pictures, Bebe Daniels and William Le
Baron, producer. Harry Tierney, composer,
is|standing. Others: Luther Reed, some swell
director; Victor Baravalle, music, and Max Ree

of family traditions, and all that. If there was a romance with
Edwin Carewe, which both deny, it was with a man who had
a daughter as old as the star.

Now she's found a young fellow who can laugh and tell gags
and make Dolores whoop and guffaw, and old Cal, for one,
can't help but be for it, somehow. He can even forgive her
putting bangles on his wrists, and buying little pieces of senti-
mental jewelry for both to wear.

The person who doesn't get a lot of laughs as he or she
totters dizzily from the cradle to the tomb is getting badly
gypped. Why shouldn't del Rio collect her share?

THE month's bad news, from our special Bad News Re-

It was Hollywood's greatest summer for weddings. Love-
birds twittered all over the place, and we were all saying how
Hollywood was the happiest, lovey-doviest place in the whole
world. Well, we might have known it was too good to last.
For a flock of divorce suits suddenly hit Hollywood like a ton
of gold brick.

Saddest of all, perhaps, was Lewis Stone's suit. He charged
his wife, Florence Oakley, with e.xtreme cruelty and lack of con-
sideration. They were married in 1920.

\ye weren't surprised when Blanche Sweet sued Marshall
Neilan. That had been coming on for some time. A property
settlement has been made.

Then blonde Jeannette Loff sued her spouse, Harry K.
Rosebloom, for divorce, charging him with jealousv, phvsical
cruelty and desertion. And Doris Dean Arbuckle sued Fatty
for the second time, elaborating on her charges of crueltv.

Altogether, an unhappy month, and one that took all the
joy out of the numerous marriages of the preceding weeks.

some soul asked Gary

"■\A7HAT is a 'dude ranch'?"

'* Cooper.

This is right up Gary's alley, as he owns a big and well-
paying one up yander thar in Montana, among them purple

"It's a place," explained Gary, "where the cows are just

LEAVE it to some of the foreign stars to give out the white-
hot interviews fit to dethrone kings and break the bank
at Monte Carlo!

Twent)' newshounds of the American press surrounded the


booful Lily Damita in her New York hotel. They chinned
themselves on every word — their jaws were on their wish-
bones as the great star spoke.

"Miss Damita, what do you think of the talking pictures? ''

The Damita paused for two minutes' thought.

"I like them verrreeee motch!" she answered.

"And," quavered an interviewer, "have you a message for
your great public?"

IMore thought by the star. Then she answered:

"Tell my pooblic," said Damita, while the reporters scrib-
bled furiously, "that I nevverrr wear stockeengs! See?" and
she held out one of those immortal Damita stems — quite,
quite bare.

In such pulsing moments is world history made!

THE DAMITA, by the way, is giving up the mike and the
camera and going on the New York stage, for a while.

She is being loudly mentioned as the leading woman of
" Carr>' On, " a new musical comedy which is to star Jack
Donahue, the great singing and dancing comedian, last seen
with Marilyn Miller in " Rosalie. "

This should be duck soup for La Belle Lily, as she was an
ornament of the Parisian merry-merry before she fell for the
camera and the men behind it fell for her. And she's just
deposited a trust fund of 8100,000 for herself in a New York

YOU'VE all heard of the stars laboring in four pictures and
juggling si.x pop bottles at one and the same time. Now
hear the tale of the grand actress who never faced a camera.

A year ago a big-eyed youngster named Zita Johann scored
a great hit in New York in a play called " Machinal. " M-G-^I
snapped her up as star material, and she came to Hollywood
with a twenty-week contract calling for $500 every payday.
For five months she slithered about the lot, mentioned for
that picture and this, but never assigned. The other day
she went back to New York for another big stage role, having
earned 810,000 in beautiful Hollywood without croaking a
note or making one face at a camera. Add it to "Overhead,
Talking Pictures," and let it go. Lucky little Zita!

CARLOTTA KING may beat this record, and at the same
studio. After the singer's "Desert Song" hit, she went
to work on a six-month contract at 8750 a week. As this is
written, Carlotta has collected checks for four months without

A billion dollars' worth of artists having fun.
Dick Barthelmess is host to the group on his
yacht "Pegasus." The others are Florence
Vidor, Mrs. Barthelmess, Jascha Heifetz and
Beatrice Lillie, the British comedy star who
has made some pictures


Another high-strung, nervous Southern
lady makes her bow to the camera. The
child in arms is Miss Harriet Jane Brown.
The other two people in the picture are
merely a couple of proud and doting
parents, Mr. and Mrs. John Mack Brown
of Alabama, suh!

turning loose a single high C. All of which shows that now
and then an actor gets a break and the manager takes a rap.
Who said aiaything about an actors' union in Hollywood? Bah!

"T'VE met some high pressure salesmen in my time," says
Director George Fitzmaurice, pulling at his long white

"But the king of them all," says Fitz, reaching for his
crutches, "is the guy who sold the electric sign to the
Hollywood shop that advertises 'Books for the Blind.' "

THE boss made a little mistake in the October issue, and
all Texas rallied round to correct him.

In "Close-Ups, and Long-Shots,'' he said that the Saturday
night business of Temple, Te.x., was moving forty miles to
I'aris because the movie theater in the latter town had talkies

Online LibraryMoving Picture Exhibitors' AssociationPhotoplay (Volume 36 – 37 (Jul. - Dec. 1929)) → online text (page 125 of 145)