HOLLYWOOD NOTES

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 303, 23 December 1933, Page 10 (Supplement)

HOLLYWOOD NOTES

GOSSIP OF THE STUDIOS,

THE DIETRICH VIEW OF LIFE,

HOLLYWOOD (Calif.), November 21

Dear Reader, —I am continuing my temporary routine of presenting you a few lines of other people's views. This week it is to be a sort of "Design For Living," to quote Noel Coward, contributed by Marlene Dietrich. — MOLLIE MERRICK. All my life —and there is every assurance that the scheme of things will continue —I have never planned a move. Chance, luck, circumstance, predestination —call it what you will —has been the governing factor of my life. 1 had nothing to do with my birth; I most likely will have nothing to do with my future. My philosophy of life is simply one of resignation. It is all embraced in that one big, little quatrain of Omar's: " Into this universe, and why, not knowing Nor whence, like water, willy-nilly (lowing And out of it, as wind along the waste I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing." I want to say, however, that I do not set myself adrift, because that is the easy way of life. To corre;t any such misunderstanding, let me say that things just happen to me, regardless of any precaution I may take to prevent them; and, on the other hand, any little plans I may make usually fail to materialise. Fate has played ironic and pleasant tricks on me so long as I can remember. As a child 1 wished —more than anything else —to become a concert violinist. My knowledge of music and expression of the instrument were commendable. Then, for no physical reason that I recall, a ganglion developed in my wrist and made this goal impossible. It means simply that circumstances were holding me according to the available material, and that I had nothing to do with that material. My career, too, came through chance. I hadn't the genu of such an idea on the day I became an actress. If it hadn't been for the war, my father's death and the turmoil of post-war Germany, I should have continued in the sheltered and strict existence of my youth. But I happened to have what it takes to be a stage person, and,

urged by necessity, I remained in the theatre until that lucky-starred evening when Josef von Sternberg chanced to see me in a Max Reinhardt play and brought me into pictures.

Any "Design For Living" 1 may have now doesn't concern me so much as my eight-year-old daughter, Maria. And, even in that regard, I appreciate the futility of extensive planning. I can, however, guide her around, or over, the suffering I knew. It is Nature's wa}' of making people the victims of enough punishment before they grow up.

When Maria grows up I will not try to mould her future. I realise the insurmountable natural handicaps. I can only watch and hope and provide the comforts at my disposal. To me there is nothing sad or frightening in being a fatalist. On the contrary, it is much more interesting than an ordered or planned existence. I prefer the life that comes suddenly upon adventure and romance. Anticipation doesn't spoil the thrill and dull the edge of zest. Frankly, I must plead guilty to a philosophy of mysterious predestination. That, if anything, is my "Design For Living." In Mr. Coward's play the

characters had some choice about matters, but that, you see, is a drama, and I am speaking about life. —MARLENE DIETRICH.

Head of the class —"Henry VITI."; a picture made in Metric Old England, a place from which hitherto we have been accustomed to see the most depressing releases. Head of the class for dialogue—the same picture which hasn't a prithee, sire, damme or any other archaic old thing to bore the hearer. "Hal," that bluff old fellow, speaks even as you and I, and he's so human that there is nothing incongruous about it. Head of the class for photography —the same picture, which has the finest "shots" of all kinds —indoor, outdoor, and German camera shots which have a meaning and do not interfere with the story—that I have yet seen. And last, but not least, best scene of the week: that superb comedy scene in which Henry tells Anne of Clevcs the facts of life. Never anything so cnchantingly funny in the history of cinematics —or the stage, within my observation.

By all of which you may gather I like "Henry VIII." I'll confide in "youse," as we say in this delightful climate. I consider it far and away the best picture I've seen in ages and ages. And if it qould have the American Academy prize I would be happy, but I daresay it's not eligible.