THE FILM STAR.

Otago Witness, Issue 3882, 7 August 1928, Page 81

THE FILM STAR.

By

Marjorie Bowen.

(Copyright.—For the Otago Witness.) They said it couldn’t be done; and they looked at each other rather glumly. Volnak said: “Of course you could get a society girl.” But Jadis Casey, with milky coffeecoloured eyes watering behind thick pebble glasses, was not comforted. “Ah, that—a society girl! ” “ Well,” said Volnak, on the defensive and stuttering with an accent vaguely supposed to be Greek, “ something you must have, and quickly you must have it —three, four, you try, and we to the big expense going! ” “ There isn’t anyone could touch it—not among the old gang,” replied Casey bitterly, pulling at a smooth and robust cigar peculiarly like himself.

“ There is Peggy Riveen,” suggested Volnak, wistfully.

“ Some doll,” replied Casey, bitterly. Don’t she show the lipstick and the rouge on a close-up? When did she last have a birthday? Ain’t she been on every lay-out in a harem get-up, advertising the kind of cigarette they pay you to smoke and the brand of champagne you give your grandmother the day before she dies? Aw, get a move on.”

“ I ain’t got no thinking left. You the mistake made in this high-brow, uplift film taking. We ain’t got no pure icy Angelinas in this trade.”

“ You’re on the wrong rail again, Volnak. Can the pure icy Angelinas stunt. I want just a good, sweet English gentlewoman with a lovely face.” “ Help! I tell you a society girl. And you smile.”

“ I smile. Do you think, Volnak, a society girl looks like a good, sweet English gentlewoman, even with a year’s training and five hundred a week to make her smile? ”

But Volnak was sullen; he looked reflectively up at a large mezzotint of Lady Blessington, by Lawrence, that hung above the practical desk in the flam boyant office; under this hung forlornly from a rack the first “ pulls ” of the synopsis of “ A Noble Lady,” the new film of Regency times, which the “ Sun bright Film Company ” had brought to such perfection in every particular save that of the leading part, which was that of the heroine of the tale, the young, fair, high-born and immaculate Countess of Parthmore.

“ You can’t even find the face,” sighed Casej'. “You might find the face—but it would be earning a fat figure with some other show—or on a tin of tooth paste,” said Volnak. “ But what for do you stand for the real thing, Casey? Some doll can dress the patt, sure, smart enough for the fans in front.”

“ I gotta artistic conscience,” said Casey, doggedly, wiping the weak eyes behind the pebbles. “I gotta find that girl.” Volnak rose wearily. “ Coming down to' see the highway scenes shot ? ” he asked. “Where?” Grinton has found a first-class place; kind o’ Garden o’ Eden, home sweet home, and kneeling at mother’s knee, I heard the angels smile place. Sheep got blue .ribbons on, daisies, nice churchyard—moss over everything, houses falling down, and you don’t get no bathroom. Grinton’s God Almighty keen. Gotta rustle down.”

"I’m along.” The huge sleek Rolls Royce, revealing a perfection of scientific elegance, was a source of wonder in King’s Lawn, which had never seen anything save an occasional charabanc, for the village was quite off the track, beaten or otherwise, being isolate in a little-known part of Somerset; a source of lesser but insistent admiration were the other cars, a small fleet of them that brought the actors, who came over every day to play

in the Highway scenes of “A Noble Lady ” scenes that could be taken without the heroine, and for which King’s Lawn formed a background that Grinton, the stage manager, described again and again with that poor overworked word “ ideal.”

A long street of white-fronted, thatched houses, with gay little gardens in front, and bloomy orchards at the back, sloped down to meadows where the May hay stood breast high and the lark sang all day, and beyond that to woods and copses full of bluebells and late violets and wild roses.

Casey and Volnak, who really loved their work and were both intelligent film producers and kindly, active men, hastened about in the big blue car, distributing largesse to the villagers, to whom they were unintelligible, and making themselves generally extremely popular.

“ I’d put Lady Parthmore in this scene,” said Grinton, sadly, “ if we’d got Lady Parthmore.”

He was a nice, young Englishman, who was enjoying his job; the exquisite weather and the idyllic scenery were making him feel quite romantic. “ Stepping out of the coach, you know,” he added, “on to the village green—and then, again, among those apple blossoms. Something dark, you know, and fine, and sparkling—” “ Lead me to her,” groaned Casey. “ There must be such girls about,” said Grinton reflectively. " Think of the lots of pretty girls—” “ Aw, don’t want no pretty girls,” replied Casey, “ but you find the sort of thing I do want and there is a good time coming to you.” “ Well,” said Grinton, “ you never know. Maybe there is someone’s ancestral round here with one fair daughter pining ’mid decayed splendids.” Grinton sometimes wrote sub-titles for the screen, and the flavour thereof had crept into his speech. “ Maybe,” said Volnak, thoughtfully. But there wasn’t; not even a modern villa residence disturbed the fields, the farms, the orchards, the meadows round King’s Lawn.

Grinton wanted a “ shot ” of the church, and it was considered only civil (the “ Sunbright Film ” people were always anxious to be civil) to ask the permission of the vicar.

Casey and Volnak shot along the frequent lanes in the big Rolls-Royce; the vicarage and the church were even more lovely than the village, embowered in sweetness of hawthorn, apple bloom, and wine-hued lilac round the little house and a green gloom of dank grass and yew trees round the little church. “The real thing! ” said Casey. “ But what would you to live here think of ? ” asked Volnak; then words failed him; he gazed dumbly at the solitude.

“ It ain’t living,” replied Casey, comfortably. “It is just being part of a bit of mould—and mould don’t have no feeling.” The opulent chauffeur's clatter on the tiny door brought out a frightened maid, who blushed and giggled and finally admitted that Mr Hawkins was “ out,” but Miss Hawkins was “ in.”

" It makes you think of figures in a weather-cock,” said. Casey. “ Miss Hawkins. Teeth, ankles, slab-sided. Count her hairs.” “Must be some comic!” agreed Volnak. “ But the type is getting scarce Could we fix her up for a one-reel scream ?—‘ Hotv Miss De Lay missed her last chance?’”

But Casey did not answer; he was gazing fixedly up the vicarage path that was lined with tiny bright blue flowers. A girl, putting aside the lilacs, had stepped on to this path, and was coming towards the gate. She wore a gown of white spotted muslin with a blue velvet ribbon round the waist that flowed to the hem, and in one hand she held a large, cheap straw hat.

“ Look! ” hissed Casey. Volnak looked. The two men clung together in the car.

“ Lady Parthmore,” they sighed together.

The girl opened the gate and smiled graciously. “ Did you wish to see my father ? He is visiting in the vilage. lam so sorry.”

“Miss Hawkins?” said Casey, feebly clutching at his hat.

And Volnak could not say anything. For there she stood, tall, graceful, with the dark curls and the large dark eyes, the straight profile, the curved lips, the pure complexion, and the regal bearing; not above 20 at the most, and as fragrant as her own spring flowers. “ I am Harriet Hawkins,” she said with her precise remote manner. “ Could I help you at all?” “Would you believe it?” muttered Volnak.

But Casey, being a practical man, did believe the evidence of his own eyes; in the back of his head he was already running over “ terms.”

“We wanted to photograph the church, Miss Hawkins,” he said aloud in his most correct manner. “ Charming old place. Perhaps we might wait a little not to distort) you.” But Miss Hawkins said, “ Oh yes, of course,” and invited them both into the garden. In half an hour Casey with his kind civility had probed for her history, and she, with her beautiful serenity, had given it.

It was incredible, of course—you had known that it must be when you had

seen her come along between the blue flowers, wearing that muslin dress. She had never been anywhere; till two years, ago she had “ helped ” nurse an invalid mother (Casey had guessed that), and now she “helped” father in the parish.

The living was very poor, and their tortnight’s holiday was spent at some tiny neighbouring seaside place; she also “ helped ” in the house, she made her own clothes, she wrote for the parish magazine, she presided at “ teas ” and “treats”; there really was, she said, plenty to do and no lack of company, and she quoted four elderly maiden ladies as her “ best friends.” Volnak was awestruck.

“ Ain’t you never heard of no beauty competitions? ” he suggested timidly, but it appeared that the vicarage took in only one newspaper, and that was the Evangelical Monitor. “ You—you don’t know much about films?” gulped Casey. No, she had never seen a film; but last Christmas they had some wonderful magic lantern slides of Jerusalem in tiie church; the films, she supposed, were something the same. Casey and Volnak went away, smitten into silence; two miles out of the village they stopped the car and began to talk business.

“ Say, you’re a boob not to have offered her a contract on the nail. Who knows what will come prowling about, snapping her up? ”

“ Stay steady. She ain’t been snapped up for 20 years.” “ She’s a kid. Wait till someone sees her,” said Casey shrewdly. “Or wait till she sees herself. She don’t know—anything. Sitting there working mats and kettle holders!” —he became eloquent —“ bun fights and school children! She don’t know that she’s alive—yet! Ain’t she glorious? Got the air right, got the walk right—a good looker, too!” “ It’s a type you don’t get to meet in a hurry,” said Volnak with professional zest. “A queenly kid. How are you going to fix it ? ”

“ I’m thinking,” replied Casey, Who was a fair dealer. “ She’s worth big money, so there ain’t no sore feeling when she finds out what she’s worth.” That afternoon two exotic-looking men in crepe de chine shirts and other ultraexpensive clothes sat in the vicarage parlour and talked with the Rev. Septimus Hawkins and his daughter Harriet. They were flanked and ambushed by chairs and whatnots, ferns and brackets, antimacassars and wool mats, framed photographs, and views of Venice and Cardiff formed the background. They drank strong tea out of the kind of Chinese cups you buy at a fancy bazaar, and ate home-made buns with clotted cream.

Mr Hawkins had the broadmindedness of extreme candour and simplicity; when Casey had mustered enough plain English to make him understand what he wanted, he “ saw no objection ” to his daughter “ being photographed for the pla-y,” which Casey had most earnestly impressed on him had a high educational historical, and religious value. “ We just want your daughter to oe herself, Mr Hawkins. We will show her just what to wear and just what to do. The more often she goes to church and says her prayers the better we’ll like it; that is just the atmosphere we want to get across to the public.” Miss Hawkins thought that it would be nice; her beautiful serenity was not ruffled.

“Of course, she could not be away long; there was so much to do in Kind’s Lawn.”

Just this one film as a try-out,’ pleaded Casey. “ And then, if you like, we’ll fix up another contract.” Mr Hawkins was quite excited. Two earnest, good men,” he remarked when the visitors had gone, “though peculiar in appearance. Is it not wonderful what is being done for people nowadays in the way of moral instruction?” “ I shall rather like to go to London,” said Miss Hawkins dreamily.

“As my parochial duties will not permit me to accompany you, perhaps we could arrange for Miss Widlet to do so.”

“ But, father, the expense? ” “ Surely, my dear, these two gentlemen will be responsible for the expense ? ” They were. The contract offered to Miss Hawkins was repelled with frightened nervousness. It was too much money! Oh, too much!

The expenses of the two ladies and perhaps a small honorarium for his daughter—protested Mr Hawkins. So his daughter was engaged for a fifth of the sum Casey had offered, and even then seemed dazed. Miss Widlet, a red-haired individual of 50 years and a great force of character. literally jumped at the chance; that is to say, she really leaped into the air when it was suggested that she should chaperon Harriet to town. Casey, who accepted her at once as an-intellectual equal, tried to make an ally of her. “ You beat it up to town with us, and you’ll never regret it. This place is only fit to go on a two-a-penny picture postcard—it’s no sort of dug-out for a woman like you.” “ I agree,” said Miss Widlet.

“ But, say,” added Casey, “ when I last went to Miss Hawkins there was a young fella hanging around. I guess he is no attraction ? ”

“ None whatever,” said Miss Widlet, firmly. “ That is the new doctor, a very ordinary young man.”

She was called Doreen Desmond; Casey said, “ I don’t stand for those two ‘ H’s ’ ’’ and Grinton said people liked a “ hint ” of T_ ’

In silks and lace shawls, in pearls and high combs, in riding habits and billowing ball dreses, she sailed though “ A Noble Lady,” always with her beautiful serenity, her aloof little smile, her chill little air. They all agreed that she was “exquisite,” there was really no other word for her; "I’m glad I do it well,” was all she said, smilftig kindly on their praises.

Casey began to think out half-a-dozen plots with this lovely figure as the centre. But if she don’t stay? ” suggested Volnak timidly. “ There’s big firms after her with big money.” She is a Christian,” said Casey. “We found her. She’ll stay. She’s a n \ ce . kid,” added the fatherly little man, wiping his eyes behind the thick glasses, “ and I’m fond of her ” “ We’re all fond of her,” sighed Volnak. “ She’s a little girl I should like to see have a real good time, but, somehow, it don’t seem easy. My Sarah, she takes for her the-big fancy.” This w'as Mrs Volnak. Eastern above, always in good black and real pearls, overflowing in flesh and kindness; she petted the new star in a soft polyglot and predicted for her a future that would have made an hour in paradise envious. “ Ain’t you the fortunate baby ? ” she cooed. Do you ever think of when you were ’way back with them teas and Sunday readings ? ” “I do,” said Harriet, "and it makes me cry.”

. K o^’ 11 luake me cr y if y°u leave the kunbuglitj answered Mrs Volnak. “ But other people offer very good contracts,” put in Miss Widlet, with a gleam in her voice.

After the trade show of “ A Noble Lady ” had been received with tumultuous approval by the buyers, they gave the little girl from the country, who iooked like a great lady, a big banquet at the . Resplendant,” and there Harriet silent in a full dress of lilac and silver tissue, met Stephen Hope, the youn <r millionaire flying man, who was such a hero in so many worlds. Casey and Volnak watched the youm* people nervously. ' ° Hope was a nice brown young man with grey eyes; as unspoilt as Harriet herself, and, from the very first, quite tremendously smitten by the stately, dark young beauty who was so entirely different to any other “star,” film or otherwise.

‘‘This is where she finishes with us,” said Volnak gloomily. But both his wife and Casey were optimistic. It was more fun, they said, acting for the films and being the success Harriet was, even than being married to a man like Hope. And every sensible girl knew it. Miss Widlet, approached on the subject would not commit herself; a huge American company was “ after ” Harriet, and Mr Hope was really very delightful and Harriet, darling child, was so very quiet and reserved, such a prudent, careful little thing. She was, no doubt, thinking out, as it was her duty to think out, what was the very best thing for her to do at this important stage of Her career.

Harriet saw a good deal of Mr Hope; he took her out in his silver car, he sent her orchids and roses and carnations and boxes of chocolates so gorgeous that you would not know that they were chocolates at all, and finally he asked her to marry him; Harriet told Miss Widlet with no ruffling of her beautiful serenity. “ It means the abandonment of your career,” said the elder lady, dubiously. She had had her hair shingled and her features rejuvenated, and was understudying Jezebel in a vamp film Casey was bringing out. “I should not like your father to know,” she had said, “ but they say I have the most forceful personality and the right kind of thinness for one of these harem frocks, and I like the work.”

“ There are three contracts to choose from,” she added briskly, “ and Mr Hope, quite the best of your countless admirers.”

“ I wonder what father would advise,” said Harriet, dreamily, playing with a long string of pearls. “ I shouldn’t ask him,” replied Miss Widlet. “He is quite happy in King’s Lawn—so obviously the right man in the right place.” That evening Stephen Hope called to plead his own cause.

Miss Widlet was in the next room practising sinuous movements before a long glass framed in gilt wreaths of cupids. “You’ve got the world at your feet,” she heard the lover say. “ I’ve no right to expect you to look at me ” Miss Widlet remembered how dishonourable it w T as to eavesdrop, and how many maids she had dismissed for this vice, and crept to the crack of the door and listened with both ears wide open.

In a light that was all amber and opal and rose, Harriet sat on a striped yellow couch in a simple shell-pink frock that had cost lOOgns; she w’ore her dark curls in the “ period ” style of the Regency that she had made fashionable by a thousand photographs, and she listened quite seriously while Stephen Hope talked. “ You don’t know how wonderful things can be—there’s the Riviera—Egypt— Algiers, yachting—the Alps—England, too, in the autumn, hunting, you’d like that ”

“ I’m sure it all sounds very nice,” said Harriet, when he had talked himself out. “ I’ll let you know to-morrow.” And when he had gone, reluctantly, leaving a sheaf of white lilae and tuberoses on the coueh, Miss Widlet saw

Harriet tffiSfce something from her pearlsewn bag and kiss it; something small that could not be distinguished in that rosy, amber, opal light. The next morning Miss Widlet (she called herself Lava Upsilof now, by the way) was lying in bed in a nest of pale blue baby pillows when the maid brought in her breakfast. There was a note oft the tortoiseshell tray: Dear Miss Widlet, —I am returning home by the 8.15. Father is beginning to miss me, and I am sadly behind in my parish duties. I feel sure that you will not wish to accompany me, and I am just going . quietly, to avoid any fuss. With love. Your sincere friend, Harriet. And she had gone—really gone, in the provincial coat and skirt she had travelled to London in, and carrying a small handbag. Miss Widlet rang up Casey and rang up Volnak. And collapsed.

Mr Hawkins himself opened the door to Casey. The lilacs and roses were over now, but the garden was glad with sunflowers and Michaelmas daisies, and there was a desirable smell of burning leaves. Casey,. nestled in a coat lined with curly fur, inquired with trepidation after Miss Hawkins. “ Ah, yes,” replied the vicar pleasantly. “ My daughter and our little maid are down at the schoolroom preparing the jumble sale for this afternoon. She had been much missed in the parish, sir, much missed—but she quite enjoyed her little change in town. The photographs were, I take it, successful ? ”

“ You don’t never see no papers, do you ? ” said Casey slowly. “ Daily journals? No, my dear sir, we 'are really far too busy in King’s Lawn. Will you come inside and wait ? ” “ No. I’ll get along to that jumble sale and see your daughter.” And he tried to think, “ Perhaps it’s just a stunt to put up her price.”

He went to the hideous 1860 school-

room (the one hideous thing in King’s Lawn), and there she was, arranging old boots and mats and chipped vases and elephants of every degree of whiteness with that same regal air, that same beautiful serenity. The interview was short and disastrous for Casey; he left with that tempting contract unsigned in his pocket and a pile of kettle holders, tea cosies, and eg’ warmers made out of old felt hats and the residue of some miser’s strong bag, which Harriet had made him purchase. On the way back he bedewed them with his tears. “ She likes it,” he murmured. “ She likes it! Would you believe it!” Miss Widlet was not defeated so easily. “Nonsense,” she said sternly to Casey. “ I will go down and bring her back.” She was warmly welcomed at the vicarage, where she stayed, as she had long since disposed of her own house; but made no progress in moving Harriet’s resolution. “ I don’t really care for London,” said the girl sweetly. “ And all those people were funny. Very kind, but I wanted to go home.” “ That evening Miss Widlet, nosing round for an explanation of a blank mystery, did some more eavesdropping. In the lovely autumn twilight she had seen Harriet and a young man seated on the pedestal of the sundial, and, like the unscrupulous person she was, she went and hid in the adjacent summer house, after having ascertained that th° young man was that very ordinary person, the new doctor. And this is what she heard: “Of course, Donald, I don’t care to keep all that monev. I think it is quite a lot.”

“ I will invest it for you, darling, and we will leave it untouched, capital and interest. I would much rather we began * first on my income.” “ So would I,” blissfully from Harriet. “It will be more than enough. And so comfortable, too, being near father.” “ You were away a long time, Harriet.” reproachfully, in the man’s voice, “ and you never told me any of your adventures.” “Oh!” vaguely and disinterestedly, “Nothing happened, really; everyone was very kind. Some of my frocks were pretty, but not really good style.” “ I saw your picture in the papers,” gloomily. “ I couldn’t help that,” apologised Harriet eagerly, “and no one will know who Doreen Desmond is, will they ? ” “I suppose not,” admitted the lover reluctantly, “ but, of course, I don’t want you to do this kind of thing again.” “ Oh, no, Donald, of course not! It was all very silly, and I am glad that it is over.” Not a word of her success, of the contracts offered, of tiie luxury and homage; not a word of Stephen Hope; she was sitting on the sundial base in the moonlight that was slowly silvering the dusk, and, looking up at her lover with humble, happy adoration. Just an ordinary young man with wide shoulders and big hands, earning about as much in a year by hard work as she could command in a week. “If you hadn’t come back soon I should have come and fetched you,” he said authoritatively, putting his arm round her. “ Oh, Donald, darling, when I got your letter with the sprig of rosemary in it I couldn’t stay another minute!” They kissed. Miss Widlet blushed. For herself. “ What is that old woman come here T? 99 fißlrnJ £ha vnnng mqiL

“Oh, she wants me to go back.” “Silly old fool!” “ Oh, darling, she is a dear, really. And she likes being in London and acting for the films.”

“ Good heavens! Well, poor old thing!” “ They kissed again. “Oh, Donald!” murmured Harriet. ‘Lit is good of you to love me! ” Miss Widlet left the summer-house and went indoors to ask the vicar for the trap for the station in the morning. “You have heard that Donald Ferguson and Harriet are engaged ? ” beamed Mr Hawkins. “ Such a fortunate match for the child—a really steady, clever, hard-working young man. I tell Harriet she is very lucky. A man in a thousand!”

“Would you believe it!” exclaimed Miss Widlet faintly.