HOLLYWOOD IN PERSON.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18938, 7 December 1929, Page 25 (Supplement)

HOLLYWOOD IN PERSON.

(CONTINUED.)

joy most of the laughs, which Rogers calls so rapidly that the business of adapting the rhythm of the story, to them must have been a tremendous problem. In days when Pola Negri was getting 10.000 dollars a week to make sheep s eyes into the camera, Will Rogers was commapding 2500 dollars a week. Today the Princess Mdivani is practically forgotten by a village “gone Broad- . way,” and Will Rogers, fresh from a season’s triumph in Manhattan, puts the comedy laurels on his brow with, this American story which will be hard to beat. Frank Borsage, a director who has scored a high number of successes, craftily surrounds the comedian with a cast of such balance and excellence that he builds a success for himself as well. The Guilt Rubbed Off. Ronald Colman has a penchant for out-of-the-way places where very very-much-in-the-way ladies cannot intrude upon his recuperative moments. He sought such a one when his recent picture—a tiring story of life in a penal colony—was finished. The place selected was a remote resort in Sonoma county, California, on the Russian River. Colman had planned to stay a week. But the quiet and country air worked such wonders that he fain would have extended the visit. “Sorry, sir, these •ooms are taken for die rest of the nonth,” the proprietor informed aim with courteous egret. Ronald Colman had been staying there under an assumed name, to insure privacy from autographomaniacs and such insect life. Very reluctantly he disclosed his identity. But the heavens didn’t fall. The proprietor repeated: “Sorry, Mr Colman, but I’ve nothing at all left, and the rooms you’re occupying have been promised guests who come here every fall. In a bit of a dudgeon, Ronald marched off to pack up his bags. A witness to the little encounter approached the proprietor: “I say, that was Ronald Colman, in case * you thought he was putting anything over on you ” “I don’t know what he is in Hollywood, but he’s a paying guest here, and his rooms are rented ” Which explains why some of our reigning monarchs return from little adventurings in the hinterland with eome of the gilt rubbed off. The Bennett Sisters. Two Bennett beauties now glorify the local screen and give movie charmers a run for their money with the colony’s bachelors. Constance and Joan Bennett are leading lights among the newer importations. They are blonde as Hollywood ever dared to be—but with a difference. They bring a tradition of the stage, however brief, for both are scarcely out of their teens and Constance displays a veneer of continental living which 311st isn’t found among most of the village belles. Constance returns to the screen which she left some time back to become Mrs Philip Plant, Jun. She bought the conventional pearls, travelled on the usual yachts, dined in the usual Riviera haunts and completed the circle by the usual divorce—fully pressagented by all these things. The first vehicle for her audible career is therefore the story of a very, very, very rich girl who has much too much of everything in this world, including gentlemen who are mad about her. Persistent efforts on her part to be poor while wearing tons of Alencon lace, genuine diamond circles in her chapeaux, a good six inches of assorted bracelets of first-water stones, the above-mention-ed pearls and the pelts of distinguished members of the fur kingdom—all come to naught. She gets the very poor boy—stories are ending happily again this season—and remains the daughter of the very, yery, very rich papa who has made all this shenanigan possible. I am not intending to throw obloquy on this story. It is entertaining in the extreme. Women will adore the latest in Paris frocks and lingerie, and men quite naturally will be lost in the charm display which is the blonde Miss Bennett. If you want acting, there is Regis Toomey, that chap I hailed last January as a find in the movie. From the way he is taking the laurels in one picture and another, the prophecy wasn’t far from wrong. He is at once lovable, genuine and pathetic in this new characterisation. And he manages to drop down on a bench the first time he calls on the young lady and sing a very “sedimental” song—passably well. The “sedimental” song just can’t be escaped these days. Buddy Rogers sings in some of his newest films. Whenever you hear such dialogue as: “Young man. I think you’re beginning to like me,” you can T»e pretty sure the answer will be: “I’d like to see the chap who wouldn't fall in love with a girl like you.” Which means that “A Girl Like You” or some little tune will be launched forthwith. They get away with it fairly well. I’d hate to think of the chaos if all the writers in the country were suddenly forced to burst into song! Dull Days in Hollywood. The village is enjoying a spell of news quiet: Aside from the facts that: Merna Kennedy and James Hall are being watched for symptoms of their declaring a three-day intention-to-wed, which is a custom of this part of the country: Bull Montana announces his engagement to the buxom Mary Poulsen: (A year ago he appealed to the police to protect him from the assaults on his cranium with a slipper heel which was the way diminutive Jackie Laverne. his fortner w T ife, chose to subjugate him): Crowds forming before a village show-place to watch Joan Crawford impress her hand and footprints in wet cement. Carmel Myers and her husband entertain Max Steuer, famous five-hundred-dollar-a-minute attorney: This place is full of five hundred dollar a year directors. Chancing to draw Ramon Novarro for mv dinner partner last evening (this is decidedly a social “break” in the village), I learned some interesting things while acquiring the enmity of the feminine element. Novarro tells me that Pola Negri has been as widely feted among her own little group as of yore. That she is quite contemptuous of the Gold (.'oast so far as the professional engagement is concerned, and has not even troubled to seek a voice test from the powers that be. But she sang one evening— most beautifully, it seems. It is a talent Pola had little time to exercise when she was reigning belle of Hollywood’s beauties. It is a hot, earthy voice, and quite in keeping with the torrid personality built up by Negri during her American stay. While Hollywood has gone tan with such a vengeance that not a single woman can be found who is not cooked to a smooth, even nut-brown as far as

eye can see—and eye can see quite £ bit these days—Pola remains the white orchid in a group of meadow flowers The pale face and burning moutt framed by long, curling raven locks are still her trademark. She retains her mysterv. It is not outside the realms i of possibility that Pola Negri is waiting - for the moguls to hear of her vocal ; accomplishments. Playing indifferent is the greatest —in fact, the only—wear pon with which to combat Hollywood. ! I have a feeling that if they want • Pola they must bid for her. And Pola . Negri isn’t satisfied to come back to ■ this village which, she claims, crushed . her completely, under any other cirL cumstances. 5 Novarro tells me he will make a i. Spanish picture when the costume play [ of the Napoleonic era on which he is , now engaged is completed. His great endeavour at present is his attempt to [ persuade producers to allow him to . sing in Spanish. Thus far they insist ; on all the songs being in English. But I understand Jose Mojica has made such a hit with his Spanish and Mexican songs that he will be allowed to sing them as written. If so, everyone . capable of a Spanish syllable will get an opportunity to exercise his talents. A Romance Renewed. The romance weather-vane pomts to the revival of an abandoned love story. Drifting about a Culver City studio lot, whom should I see but Nils Asther and Vivian Duncan holding hands in a doorway and very frankly making ; sheep’s eyes at each other. “H’m,” said someone, “is this the ■ way it looks?” i “Very much so,” said the gallant ■ Nils, with a radiant smile at the little blonde Duncan, who was giggling along ; at a great rate. A year ago the engagement of Vivian ; Duncan and Nils Asther was announc- • ed. The Swedish star had only recently come *o the village. And the little Duncans were not making sound pictures for Hollywood movie magnates at salaries that would stagger you. A blight fell| upon the romance. Just why, nobody knew. Nils of Sweden took to his house, anu a cer tain taciturnity and objection to Hollywood parties be- , came his chief characteristic. More ; recently still he has been the faithful swain of Greta Garbo. But these two are of the same blood, and friends of both predicted short shrift for that , romance. The pretty little tableau with Vivian Duncan would lead one to believe that the difference \has been made up. That a ring will sparkle on her finger again—that the idyll will be resumed. Either that, or they get engaged each summer for fun! Noticeable Costumes. Eleanor Boardman has gone rube most delightfully. At a luncheon party yesterday she arrived with a broad-brimmed panama hat jammed down over lengthy hair wind-touted as a Gainsborough hoy’s. Her tan face was absolutely innocent of powder or the slightest hint of colour. Not even so much as a tint on the lips. Her straight little red and white print frock had an organdie ruffle about the throat, and her bare feet were thrust into straw-coloured, low-heeled shoes of rough silk. She smacked ot country air and laissez faire and devil maycare and anything else you can think of in the same rhythm. And she caprped the climax by ordering a glass of buttermilk and a green salad. With a hey and a ho and a hey nonry no! Considerably less hey and ho marked the costume of Mrs Rupert Hughes at the same luncheon hour. She was dressed in pale corn colour, the cool delicious shade of a tamale husk, and her pale face and red-gold hair made ; an exquisite colour symphony. And Evelyn Brent at the next table looked as if she were lunching at the Marguery with her tight skull cap of dark red agnes mesh, her brown imperturbable face of which one does not tire, her sophisticated summer frock cf creamy crepe, and some strange dark brownish red and white large print. A straight little jacket, hip-length, of the same print, was donned to hide the creamy blouse as she d* parted. And the final touch to the ensemble was the red blown-glass choker which tied the colour scheme firmly. When a Hollywood lady goes colour she goes all the way. So thus it was that Elise Schildkraut wore a poisonous shade of marsh yellow crepe, which fierce and bilious colour was repeated again in a flaring h'afi cf the same. Yet most of her time this Hollywooden lady wears green in all its lovely shades. Perhaps she’s on her colour vacation. Frances Goldwyn, who accompanied her, chose china blue and white. A soft printed chiffon made in the very feminine and ruffly manner of recent frocks and topped off by a wide-brim-med hat of blue. In a corner sat a quiet little woman in black with a touch of pale blue about the throat. Flat heeled patent leather shoes. A small black felt hat pulled down unmodishly over her fascinating brown eyes. Helen Hayes, one of our greatest actresses, uncontaminated by the Hollyw’ood virus. Making a Whoopee. The question most often asked about this village is: “Just how do they make whoopee?” The answer various ways. But an extract from a ' letter describing a village party and written to a friend of mine gives some faint idea of the playful spirit of movieland in its moments of relaxation. I shall call the host “ X,” and if that doesn’t remind you too much of your algebra days you will probably be in- ‘ terested in this first-hand account of Hollywood whoopee. The participant . writes:— “ When we first came over here they ’ gave a party,for us. It was at the ’ home of Mr X, and the entire lot was \ invited. X has a very fine home, furI nished with exquisite taste, and his cellar is of the best. It was hardly the J setting for a Hollywood party'. “The evening was spent in dialling the ’phone upstairs so that the ’phone • downstairs would ring, and X would ’ be called to the phone three times in every' five minutes. In fighting, and, 5 incidentally', smashing things up^—in pouring water from glasses, then pitchers, and finally buckets on anyone who was not watching; you were safe no- ' where in the room, because there are balconies and corners, and always somebody was sneaking up and drenching ’ you until every r one in the place was dripping water and the carpets were out of sight in the deluge. “ This was very hard on suits, and one chap had made the mistake of 1 wearing a new suit, into the pockets of which they smeared cheese and caviar ■ while he wasn’t looking. “ Doors were torn from hinges. There 1 were more fights. Through all this X was directing, getting the boys to- • gether to sing around the piano, making ; everybody turn somersaults, doing dance routines and supervising the ; water throwing. Finally all the lights in. the house went out. In the moonlight that came in through the great windows we could see a shape moving under the watery rug. The lights were quickly turned on, and it was found to be Y under the rug—Y who runs l one of the largest concerns in the* ini dustry. lie said he was playing ghost.

Y then conceived the idea of breaking all the windows, but X, our host, put everyone out. “ The prize trick of the evening consisted of taking six very fine bottles of champagne and. putting vinegar in them. It cost X over two hundred dollars to have his home repaired afterward. He has been very careful since then who he invites there.”