HOLLYWOOD NOTES.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 46, 23 February 1929, Page 5

HOLLYWOOD NOTES.

GOSSIP OF THE STUDIOS.

(By MOLLIE MERRICK.)

(Copyright N.A.N.A. and "Auckland Star.")

HOLLYWOOD (Cal.), January 15.

Corinne Griffith is going down in the social scale, so far as pictures are concerned. She has done.away with beauties in gorgeous raiment in her present picture, to play the part of a stenographer. And a tired and sometimes bedraggled one at that.

And in her next picture she'll be a cashier in a Budapest cafe. You can't be much of a clotheshorse in that capacity. Corrinne wants to show the world she can act. And she has had a very hard time convincing producers that she will register without all the ostrich plumes, diamonds, ermine wraps and conventional studio flub-

dubbery most lovely actresses have to bear.

This actress is one of the old-timers of pictures. Of course, being an old-timer in pictures isn't anything. That means you've survived the slaughter for ten years or more. On the legitimate you're getting a foothold after the first six years. But here in Hollywood time and money fly fast.

Corinne Griffith has withstood, the prevalent mania for artificiality nobly. Here is a girl with plain garden variety brown hair, the colour nature gave her. In a city full of white henna montrosities, varying shades of red from cerise to burgundy, and weird and wonderful variants of yellow including brass, ochre and daffodil—she strikes a sincere and natural note.

"What are talkies doing to the Talinadgo girls? Connie Talmadge is on the Riviera making a picture, after a year of idleness. And .Norma has slipped over to Europe to join her, leaving quietly from the north, where she had. gone on a motor tour.

These sisters, together with Mary Pickford and Anita Stewart, were among the pioneers of movie-making. They moved along at a triumphant pace up to a twelye-month ago.

But the movies suffered a head-on collision with progress. That change affected the technique of old-timers far more than it can possibly affect the newcomers who have not yet solidified their mode of emotional reaction into a definite programme. Norma Talmadge

is waiting for Wil-

liam J. Lock, that Norma Te.lmadge. charming British

gentleman, to write her a story. Mr. Locke had to get acquainted with movies and with Hollywood in general first. He writes a novel in type far removed from movie purposes. Psychology maintains over action in every instance. And, as we all know, movies depend on a combination of psychology and action, with the last-named taking first place.

Latest news from the front says the picture will not be a talkie. It is a dangerous day for the artist who cannot bring novelty to the screen. The public is becoming accustomed to a three-ring circus. And the. sudden change from a babe to a precocious smartie, which the movie has undergone, may beach finally and for all some of our movie pioneers.

The little bird who tells things in Hollywood (and is busier by reason of this than any producer or star) lets me in on the fact that Lupe is in love.

Now the Mexican beauty has been seen with a score of more admirers each season since she came to Hollywood. They have all been men of wealth and established fame. Notable among them have been A 1 Jolson and Tom Mis.

Lupo Velez loved their admiration. Their orchids. Adored the big, black, shiny limousines, the obsequious head waiters, and the excellent vintages that travelled in their wake. She rolled her black eyes and showed her white teeth,

and registered enthusiasm -in her

own particular way. And they say in Hollywood that the word "whoopee" was just made to rhyme with Lupe.

Then Gary Cooper joined the ranks. And elbowed the older genties with heavier pocket books out of the way. But Gary Cooper is six feet two, has a waist line which is the envy of Hollywood, beaueoup sex appeal, and is in tremendous demand by the feminine element, which alone is sufficient to make a Lupe Velez anxious to annex him.

But Lupe is in love, it seems. She doesn't in the least care that Gary Cooper hasn't the same amount of money her other admirers have had. This is romance, with a fine accent.

Lupe is a star in her own right, with an income which permits of slippers at one hundred dollars a pair. A town car and a glorious roadster. She has but little time for either of them, for being a successful star means working night and day almost, in Hollywood. «

Life for her is glamorous—each day packed with tremendous significant detail. Her brother lives with her. He is a musician. One day they quarrel, and there are stormy words and tears and much tearing of raven locks. The next day they kiss and make up, and then they are gloriously happy again. It will always be that way with lovely Lupe.

When she wanted to go on the stage in Mexico they told her she was not beautiful enough. Lupe, at fourteen, had yet to blossom into the siren she has become in Hollywood.

She taught herself imitations. Using lace curtains for mantillas and wooden curtain rings for earrings. Taught herself to dance and to sing. Every Latin can learn the guitar, and Lupe is no exception. Every night of her life she kisses her mother's picture, for Lupe's devotion as a daughter is as extravagant as her devotion to art and to life.

John Gilbert is considered. Hollywood's most fool-proof actor. By this one means tbat artistically speaking, Gilbert can do no wrong.

A recent award give him credit for four outstanding performances in, 1923 as against three by Emil Jannings. I wasn't giving the award. But the committee which did felt that Gilbert's S.A. and trim waistline counted more than the tremendous faithfulness to detail and to life which the Jannings characterisations contribute to the screen. Gilbert is not conventionally handsome. He sat at the director's table in his studio yesterday, shaking dice to see who would pay for luncheon. This is a John Gilbert. sport of those who make pictures. The loser is often stung for as much as 50 dollars. But attendance at the long board is a badge of success, so nobody misses these luncheon sessions.

Gilbert has a keen face. There is youth and much of the eagle quality. A searching countenance. Tremendous co-ordination and a strong impression of impatience. Slow trains, slow conversation, slow methods would bore him exceedingly. He does not have to bo told things more than once. His telling of a story is the shortest conversational route between two points. The one danger that has threatened his career has been that it might become easy. Talkies, with their involvement of uncertainty will eliminate this.

John Gilbert's next public appearance will be in an all talkie. Fred Niblo will be at the helm, and his broad experience can be relied upon to bring something excellent.

Hollywood has its own rules of etiquette. Its own ideas of fashion. It is the queen of laissez-faire. The crowned head of "who cares?"

„ The show is always going on. The hand may be quicker than the eye, but just let your eye roam in Hollywood and you'll see plenty to interest. And of a quality not to be found in any other part of the world.

Beautiful ladies at luncheon—on display. Beautiful ladies glancing out of the corners of their eyes at rivals who keep strolling into the luncheon room. The air is thick with "dearies" and "darlings."

The miasma of jealousy and rivalry is so thick that you could" cut it with a knife. But on the surface all professionals are born with one purpose—to fool rivals of the same sex into thinking that they're not important enough to start a pang of jealousy. No Hollywood beauty appears twice the same week in the same costume. Those who make a fetish of being smart rarely appear twice publicly in the same clothing.

An undisputed queen of chic is Lilyan Tashman. She and her husband, Eddie Lowe, on parade at luncheon yesterday, were the epitome of what the smart man and woman should wear.

Lilyan Tashman's grey beige hat was moulded to her tiny head. It was innocent of so much as the smallest pleat, and boasted a wee flare at the sides, reminiscent of a Dutch baby's bonnet. Lilyan wore a gown of the same shade in flat crepe, unrelieved by colour and bare of trimming save for two looselytied bows. One at the hips in front, the other directly above, at the bottom of the deep V neckline. The gown was conspicuous for its tight hip-modelling. And Tashman is conspicuous for her exquisite hips. It was a fortunate combination.

Her overcoat was the same shade of moleskin—palest grey biege—as were her shoes and gloves. The overcoat was collarless and the straight sleeves were without cuffs, but the pockets were marked in their smart V cut. And there were a pair, one directly above the other, on either side of the coat. Dorothy Mackaill. liinrtiintr in

l, mutuiug ill cue same room, was in i green, the soft sil- | very shade of young : spring leaves. A tiny felt hat pullwl down on her pale blonde hair. A closetitting frock of green knitted material— she is slender and supple,' and wears informal frocks very well. A scarf which combined some vivid greens Dorothy Mackaill. with bei ? e anfl smoke colour, and a green topcoat in a sport material. Evelyn Brent gave a note of formality in her sable overcoat and wine-coloured gown. Her hat, wine coloured felt, was made with a visor-like brim, and her glazed kid shoes were of the same shade as her costume.