HILL-BILLY FROM ARKANSAS

Southland Times, Issue 23287, 25 August 1937, Page 9

HILL-BILLY FROM ARKANSAS

DICK POWELL’S ROAD TO FILMS A THEATRE BACKGROUND Amid the nautical setting of “The Singing Marine” we talked to Dick Powell, writes Jennie Conelly in The Age, Melbourne. With us was a young man from one of the Los Angeles radio stations, and we started talking about radio almost at once. “You’ve been on the air quite often, I suppose.” I said to Mr Powell. He grinned. “Yes,” he replied. “I used to sing on radio programmes before I ever went into pictures.” He started singing in the church choir as a small boy, and has been singing ever since. He has sung with a concert orchestra, made recordings of songs for various companies, and finally became quite famous as a master of ceremonies at a theatre in Louisville, Kentucky, one of the towns that has been recently inundated by the Ohio river. “Is that your home town?” we asked him. “Oh no, I’m a hill-billy from Arkansas,” he replied. Anything less like a hill-billy than the immaculate young figure in the marine uniform I have never seen. We had seen a few of these wild mountaineers in North Carolina and it was hard to believe that young Powell started his life in such primitive surroundings—as he says, ten miles from any modem conveniences! We told him that the name Arkansas had been one of our chief stumbling blocks in our attempts to learn to speak the American language; he grinned again, and agreed that it is just one of those trick names—you pronounce it Arkensaw. This language question occupied the next few minutes, and we decided that the radio would probably in course of time standardize the American accent and sound the knell of the dialects, as the 8.8. C. is said to be doing in England. Mr Powell said he thought the movies were doing the same thing, and we agreed that they were certainly spreading American! “What about television? Are you interested in that at all?” we asked him. “Very interested,” was the answer. “I’ve made a test for television even, but wasn’t very satisfactory. I think it will be a long time before they perfect it.”

We ventured the opinion that television was much further advanced than the public realized, but was being held back for commercial reasons. Mr Powell disagreed, and thought that if the companies handling it could market it, they would do so. “People have been waiting for it for ten years or so,” he insisted, “everybody is waiting for it, all over the world. They’ve been talking about it for as long as I can remember. No-

thing has ever had so much advance publicity.” , , “What was the test like?” we asked him. “Was it the same as an ordinary film test?”

“Gee, no, they simply burn you up with the lights,” he answered. They have them right on to you, and the cameras right on top of you too! Before Dick Powell came to Hollywood he had had three very successful years as a theatrical master of ceremonies in Pittsburg. He could sing, and, without any trouble, he could play almost any musical instrument. When he arrived in Hollywood he had a big following of “fans” already interested in his career, and he has never lost their interest. It really does seem as if the days of the novice making good in the movies have gone for ever. In almost every case the people who succeed in the films have had at least, several years of experience in appearing before the public, in some capacity or other, even if it has. not been stage experience. Champions at specialized sport, like Sonja Henie or Johnnie Wiessmuller, often turn into stars of the screen, after they have become stars in their own particular firmament. They have the poise and self-control that go a long way towards making an actor on stage or screen. A famous Los Angeles columnist joined our little group while we were talking to Dick Powell. Behind our backs one of the feminine members of the cast was being rigorously rehearsed for a scene she was shortly to play with the leading man. Powell, glancing over our heads, saw her being released, and set to get ready for the shot, and he prepared to leave us too. “I’ve got to change into a different uniform for them to take this bit,” he explained. “You, buddy can come and talk to me while I dress,” and gathering the columnist—a little bird of a man—under his arm he departed. We, declining an invitation to “sit around and see them take it,” departed also, meditating on the metamorphosis of the Arkansas farm boy. From hillbilly tq Hollywood is a big jump.