HOLLYWOOD IN PERSON.

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20274, 7 April 1934, Page 30 (Supplement)

HOLLYWOOD IN PERSON.

(BY MOLLIE MERRICK.) HOLLYWOOD, March 9

Randolph Scott, the last of the film cowboys to make good in a big way, it would seem, has at last come into his own. The way to make Hollywood’s highest altitudes is through the Western hero stuff. Gary Cooper, who pours cocktails with the best of them; “ Buck Arlen,” sometimes called Richard; Warner Baxter and George O’Brien, all came into the Hollywood scene through Western films. When Randolph Scott, from Virginia and 6ft 2in, arrived in Hollywood he found so many men in tall hats and wearing spurs on the sets that there appeared to be no place for him. So he went over to Pasadena’s Little Theatre and there waited for a motion picture “ break ” while working for Gilmor Brdwn. The “break” came and Scott entered films. About the same time a tall, dark fellow was beginning to make good also—Cary Grant. The two took a Los Feliz Hills house and set up a hospitable bachelor establishment. They were pals. Then Cary I Grant fell ill and went to England. | Along came his best opportunity since i he played opposite Mae West, the lead-' ing masculine role in “ Thirty Day! Princess ” with Sylvia Sidney. Cary Grant, ill in England, sent word that he could not take the part. So it was given to Randolph Scott, his chum, with a proviso. That proviso w£s that if Cary Grant recovered, Scott would . have to give up the part. Grant re- j covered, and Scott lost the big chance to get out of Western “ bonnets ” and into drawing-room comedy. But a reward is coming. Randolph Scott, the last of the Western heroes to get into drawing-room entertainment, may play opposite Miriam Hopkins in “ Shoe the Wild Mare.” Going Sensible? Is Hollywood “ going sensible ” ? The routine is being broken into; there is ** certain something in the air which bodes evil for some of the gay nonsensicalities of the past; there is a lament, able tendency on the part of cinema folk to mind their own business; and, we all know, minding one’s business is the beginning of loss of the gossip trade, and the gossip trade feeds the world on the gay doings of the film city. The most amazing indication of our change of tempo was the fact that John Gilbert and his wife, Virginia Bruce, announced their impending divorce on the heels of a great farrago of publicity about the Gilbert-Garbo reunion on the screen. Did the gossips de luxe of Hollywood spring into action with rumours that Gilbert’s revived affection for Greta Garbo precipitated the matrimonial schism ? They did not. Tney yawned, shrugged

at the idea of John being unhappy with his third wife, recorded the facts as nearly as it was possible to get them, and went back to their pinochle games with a wry smile. True, La Garbo was playing the immortal' game known as fascination, with a somewhat more public deal than she gives her romances as a rule, with the handsome director, Rouben Mammoulian. Even this episode did not bring all Hollywood to the Garbo hideout with hungry ears. The majority were perfectly willing to wait and see what the enigmatic Greta would do about her director-admirer. When the two were said to be visiting one of the matrimonial hideouts, there were pictures and rumours in the casual manner—but no fireworks as of yore. When the New York tabloids were berserk about Katharine Hepburn, after discovering that she was living under two names in Manhattan—or, at least, so they claimed—they ran photographs of friend husband’s modest basement apartment in the East Forties, and more photographs of Katharine Hepburn’s imposing home in the East Forties—just around the corner, to be exact. They ran stolen snapshots of the two, made with candid cameras by concealed camera crafters. They n;ade a big hullabaloo over the private’‘life of the newest film rage—in Manhattan ! And what of Hollywood? Did it seize avidly on the fact that Katharine Hepburn was allowing her husband to go his modest way in his own modest little apartment while she lived as a great film star should, just around the corner? Did it play up the story with garnishings—dragging in once again all the separate-establishment happilymarried couples in this vicinity? It did not, although that method of procedure would have been the conventional one about a year ago. Hollywood seemed to say: “ What of it? How’s her last picture?” and so on.

That fading ciniosity is the first sign of a great worldliness. The city of amazing hot-dog stands, restaurants that rival the Arabian Nights’ entertainment for their outlandish and lavish imaginative quality, has long had a surface sophistication. Our professional public use the jargon of the day with the same flair that cosmopolites use it. They shoot through time and space with the frequency of air-mail pilots or Pullman conductors, anyway —so it is understandable how they could maintain the gesture of the faraway world and yet retain the petty curiosity and gabble of their own village. But to-day, when someone says at a party: “Gloria Swanson is renting her beautiful Beverly Hills home for a right royal sum and is looking at houses in the five-hundred-a-month class’’-—the answer is different. Yesterday it would have been: “No! Why, she must be * on the rocks * completely. Poor Gloria. Imagine having to economise' in that dreadful fashion. Five hundred a month—why, that’s a hovel to Gloria.” Then the wheels-would turn, bringing up all the vicissitudes of the lady; wonderings would go on as to what part husband Michael Farmer would play in the new life in the five-hun--dred-a-month hovel, and out of it all would be built the first rumours of a possible Swanson-Farmer divorce. To-day? To-day \they shrug, grin, observe “Well, aren’t we all?” and go right back to their pinochle. Mrs Gary Cooper. One of the smartest women to appear in our restaurants for a long time is Sondra Cooper (Mrs Gary Cooper, if you please), who hides her laughter (for she and her bridegroom seem to do a great deal of laughing) under a hat as big as a cartwheel, as flat as a pancake and as black as night. The hat is made of glistening Toyo straw and makes her little heart-shaped face look all the smaller by contrast. She wears a grey gown with this huge black hat, and black suede pumps complete the colour scheme—unless you want to overlook a pair of silver foxes that would make any woman’s mouth water, and the pristine crinkly suede gloves that cost so much and wear so briefly. A 11 Box-office Winner.** Irving Thalberg sees a potential “ box-office winner ” in Gloria Swanson, despite the ups and downs of her past career. So, from now on, Gloria, who has signed a long-term contract with M.-G.-M., will appear for that company under the best of conditions. Apparently the best conditions include separation from Michael Farmer, the handsome young husband whom Gloria married under unconventional circumstances before her divorce from the Marquis de la Falaise was complete. It is said that Gloria Swanson will sever her marital connections with Farmer shortly; also that papers will be served on that gentleman some place in Switzerland, and her new picture career will be achieved without encumbrances of that type. Gloria Swanson has rented her huge home in Beverly Hills and has been eyeing the Lawrence Tibbett home—a block or so away—as a possible domicile. This isn’t any shanty, believe you me. Gloria is silent as to her plans—that is, officially silent—-but her garrulous friends tell us all these things will come to pass, including a big “ comeback.” (Copyright by the “Star” and the N.A.N.A. All rights reserved.).