HOLLYWOOD IN PERSON.

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 97, 26 April 1930, Page 5 (Supplement)

HOLLYWOOD IN PERSON.

GOSSIP OF THE STUDIOS. (By MOLLIE MERRICK.) HOLLYWOOD (Cal.), March 13. The prize friendship of the village 5b between Ronald Colman and Bill Powell. Both are different from the ordinary run —which means they are content to do'their work and enjoy their leisure hours in much the same manner the nonfamous do. Tennis is Column's favourite pastime. Bill Poweli, who is not athletically inclined, is one of the outstanding movie personages because his menacing exterior hides a brain of singularly fine calibre. He also has wit—a quality not expected in those who succeed before the camera. Bill Powell began to tie a personage before talkies had their way with us. I almost said their day, but come to think of it, "their way" is more subtle. With that first impressive monstrosity of talkie art, "Interference," Bill Powell strode into 'the limelight. He survived the unnaturalness of it; so did

Evelyn Brent, Clive Brook and Doris Kenyon, for that matter. And one way as well be truthful about it —the talkies were in such a state at that time that "Interference" seemed "pretty good work, Tempus fugit! So does some of our enthusiasm for audible 151 m work. On the subject of friendship in the colony, there are Evelyn Brent and Priscilla Dean, who have known each .other since the days of silent struggles. Evelyn Brent is now a star. Priscilla Dean is a memory. But the friendship endures.. That happens now and then even in movie circles. Then there are George Bancroft and Harry Green. I don't know what I can say about them. Jack Oakie and Skeets Gallagher seem to crave each other's company. Carlotta King and Catherine Dale Owen celebrate victories and weep over mutual defeats — although there hasn't been much weeping in the vicinity of these blondes. Both have landed on their feet —Carlotta with the "Desert Song" and Catherine Dale Owen as leading lady with Jack Gilbert in "Olympia," and now with Lawrence Tibbett in "Bogue Song," or whatever box-office title they give this picture. Bessie Love and Carinel Myers have been good friends for years. C'armel is one of the silent film successes, whose voice came in handy when movies began to talk. She really sings, does this girl—and that's an advantage, you know. Moreover, she's a beauty. That cant be denied. Bessie Love is one of the girls who looked into the eyes of defeat in the o-lum hour just before the talkies came along, and crowned herself with laurels and'filled her bank-book with fat little figures. There's the friendship of Alice Joyce and Anna Q. Nilsson. This is one of the loveliest of the entire colony. Both women have iiad singularly successful movie careers. Alice Joyce, beautiful, serene, and with an aristocratic mien, which made her valuable when the wild grace of her first youth passed, and Anna Q-, who seemed never to lose the taut lissom quality which endeared her to fans.

It may seem strange that I have concentrated on friendship, but in this hit-and-miss colony, this come-and-go group, friendship is a rare thing. The successful band together. They give fat dinners," wear fat jewels and discuss their fat salaries. Then there is the brotherhood of the non-arrived. They talk good talk still have ideals—and hopes. When they succeed they join the above-mentioned ranks. This is Hollywood — where nothing succeeds but success. I've been set-visiting. It's the thing most visitors to the colony long to do. Producers make it as difficult as possible. You go from one stage to another. You are halted by uniformed officials and asked for your credentials. • And when you've convinced these Cerberus i

creatures you are qualified to enter the sacred precincts where sound films are made you are grudgingly permitted in. You proceed into an airless barn, lined with felt, packed with lights, teeming with humanity about to make an "immortal epic" before your eyes. Just as you are ready to venture some pleasantry about the whole proceeding the ominous 'shout, "Silence, please," or "quiet," goes over the room. Immediately you are seized with a desire to clear your throat —to cough—to sneeze—to do any number of noisy things. I have a feeling Calvin Coolidge would wax garrulous on a sound stage. I heard Ramon Novarro singing in his charming fashion. It occurred to me that here is one of the handsomest men in movieland, as well as one of the most talented. The theatre in his home, one of his diversions during the years of silent films, stood him in good stead. He would give concerts for his friends — the little group which includes the musical and literary professionals. His voice, product of years of training with such Specialists as Louis Graveure, is beautiful, and excellently prepared for the work he is now doing. His acting ability has always been unquestioned. When he is cast in the role of a romantic Latin —-and not put us in the guise of an American navy officer or some such balderdash —he is one of the most successful artists in the colony.

A boy who began in a minstrel show and who now gives 40,000 dollars away with utter nonchalance —A 1 Jolson —110 longer merely sings and acts for a gigantic salary, but has his percentage of the proceeds as well. He is the man

who put talking pictures on the financial map, who made millionaires of a pair of Hollywood producers fearsomely awaiting the sheriff's padlock. Irving Berlin is the singing waiter of New York's East Side, who is so familiar with millions that the salary subject must be gilt-edged in order that he may hear it at all. The title chosen is "Mammy." It will probably go through vicissitudes like "The Heart of Black Napoleon" and "Night Song in the Jungle" before it subsides to good box-office such as "SingSong Boy" or something equally saccharine. \ ' Mary Eaton and Millard Webb were married on a Sunday, so they could be sure of one day to themselves. . Patsy Ruth "Miller and Tay Garnett followed suit. They got their one day. But on the Monday morning both had to. be on their respective lots when the clock struck nine. Janet Gaynor and Lydell Peck did likewise. But honeymoons are the last thing to worry a producer. His concern is to get colour cameras and sound stages; to get players for the roles and to get stories for his players. Who cares whether they get married or not? Certainly not the man who has his money in the picture.

Generously upholstered ladies, just passed the lialf-century mark, don English hats which have a way of accentuating that half-a-hundred, and button themselves tightly into the most tailored of coats. Their jodhpurs are a bit comical, but their bank accounts didn't permit of such nonsense in their youth. Besides, everyone has an automobile. They're positively common. And "all the girls " are riding. As one beauty doctor says, "I can make forty look like twenty-five, if she'll keep off horses."