HOLLYWOOD NOTES.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 52, 2 March 1929, Page 5 (Supplement)

HOLLYWOOD NOTES.

GOSSIP OF THE STUDIOS. (By MOLLIE MERRICK.) (Copyright N.A.N.A. and "Auckland Star.") HOLLYWOOD (Cal.), January 22. The studios are full of young boys and girls from the United States of America all determined to become stars or starve in the attempt. Yet when Vilma

Banky's new picture demanded a typically American youth, 1 her director went to New York after scouring the Hollywood film colony to find a 100 per cent American. And he came back with Robert Montgomery, a New York stage star, signed up for - the leading part. The typical American is excellently gToomed, but not slicked as is the Continental type. There is a definite suggestion of meticulous care as to his person, but no inference of dandyism. And the Hollywood boy with his marcelled hair, perfumed handkercbief and touched-up eyelashes is overdone for the big American idea. Jimmie Murray was an American type that made good in a big picture. In some way he is typical of the smalltown boy translated to the city—inducted to city ways through necessity rather than through choice. Hollywood has been* wondering what Vilma Banky, with her fragmentary English, would do in an all-talkie picture, but Jimmie Gleason solved that trouble by the simple method of making her a Hungarian immigrant girl cast into the maelstrom of New York. Through the medium of the cheap restaurant which caters to those liking wholesome food at low prices, Banky will be featured in a waitress role which gives her a. much more extensive human emotional gamut than most of her characterisations warrant.

The price of youth often means far more than sufficient cash to face the beauty surgeon. Mae Murray, the film colony's perennial flapper, doesn't drink, smoke, eat meat or sugar. All her food

is prepared with honey. A coffee substitute f u rnishes her morning beverage. Fruits, vegetables anil nuts make up her daily menus.' She dance's each day,, and exercises extensively. Does her stunt at the beauty parlours—every Hollywood actress must. Her figure is as elastic and lovely ae that of most eighteen-year-old girls. Plastic surgery has kept her face from exhibiting the conventional ravages of age. But when a lady has had a couple of dozen lifts—more or less extravagantly speaking—the face loses its motion. There is a set expression to the eye slant. But the Princess Mdivani is happy, cheats Father Time considerably and can dance splendidly. It's worth a life of salad, carrots and surgery to achieve all that.

When King Vidor said he wanted to make an all-negro picture he provided himself with the most interesting cinema opportunity Hollywood affords! When he let me come in on the stage where these children of emotion were registering a story for the fearful microphones to pick up he gave me a treat. Several of these players are well known to the theatre-going public. None of them had ever appeared before the cameras. Yet an intensely dramatic scene had two short rehearsals, then was made in sound.

Hammering went on all about us in the great sound stage. During the rehearsal there was a continuous background of metal ringing out on metal, the buzzing of saws and the whine of the plane. The stages are being operated night and day, so carpentry cannot be left for an off moment. There just Isn't any. When the actual scene is to be made King Vidor cries out, "Quiet, please!" And the grinning carpenters lay down their tools and light cigarettes. It's their idea of a soft snap. William De Mille said perhaps the most interesting, thing about "talkies" when he explained that "Talkies are like a deaf and dumb child. You have nothing but love and pity for the child if you are certain it will never talk. But let it once start in, and you'll never be satisfied - with it unless it talks, and talks well."

Several of the older members of the industry are openly against talkers. The majority of the youth of the industry are for them. Harold Lloyd is one of the few young men not sold entirely on the idea. An analysis of the towns in which Harold Lloyd's greatest circulation lies proves them to be small centres where theatres are not yet wired to talking pictures. Motion picture stars wear the chic aviation costumes of the day. Air plane travel is popular with Hollywood professionals, who are always more or less pressed for time. Local designers have developed the mode in a number of smart colours. The cut is as snappy as a well-done riding haibit. Clara Bow flew north to several of the football games. She wore a blue leather hel-met, coat and breeches. The coat, which had a slight flare to the skirt, was belted snugly at the normal waistline. The helmet and breeches were made of the softest dull glazed kid, almost as pliant as broad-

cloth. Beneath the brilliant blue helmet a few stray locks of Clara's bright red hair lent a futuristic touch. When Clara tried dancing in a downtown hotel in San Francisco, she was swamped by college boys who surrounded her begging for dances. There were so many that she would have been there yet if she hadn't made a clever escape. This is one reason why so many movieites never dance in public. When Mabel Normand wanted to surprise her husband, Lew Cody, who is spending the holidays in New York, with a unique Christmas present, she had some moving pictures made of herself. She found out. a few things while making them. The entire ways of studios had been changed since Mabel worked at the Mack Sennett lot. She was vastly entertained by facing a camera in the new panchromatic make-up. The new sound stages motorised cameras and

modernistic stage-settings had all been developed since the last time Mabel Normand stood before the clicking eye.

Mack Sennetl, that dean of women's beauty and infallible judge of humour, says Mabel Normand is the one woman in the world who could make the public laugh heartily,' and could still look pretty. Sennett's contention is that the public doesn't want to be made to laugh by women. They want pretty women and funny men.

Morality has hit Hollywood with a bang. Henceforth ladies must live, but discreetly. That is, if the slip of paper called a contract counts for anything. The first of these "discretion" precautions has been written into Alice White's guarantee of employment and stardom, and, in the involvements of contractual phraselogy, conveys the following: "Miss White shall constantly consult and take counsel with her conscience during her term of employment and shall, with good faith and to the best of her ability, follow the dictates of her better self both in her private and public life."

Marriage clauses are old stuff in movieland. Those forbidden by the requirements of their business agreements to wed, merely slip off to Agua Caliente and promise to love, honour and obey. Return to Hollywood, take separate apartments, promise their producers to see nothing of each other. It is ull laid down to an emotional rush and is soon forgotten, so long as domesticity is not heavily played to the public.

Petty Com peon finds herself in the pleasant position of holding off eager producers who are offering one role after another. Betty CJompson couldn't even get a poor part with niem a year ago. In their opinion the lady was "all

washed up." Then she scored a hit, and

ha<s staged one success after another since. J a me* Crnze. her 'nusband, is the fastest director on the Hollywood lots. One of the highest priced, also. His wife never works in hie pictures. He never interferes with her work. It's a bargain which has turned out . satisfactorily.