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Job Hunting in Hollywood
Hokum And Gold-Diggers BY LOUISE GALLAGHER
HOLLYWOOD has no reason to develop an inferiority complex. I want to tell you there are more people in this place with a flattering opinion of themselves and their ability than any city in the world. The film capital could, if it wanted to, give points to Paris on style, sheer originality, variety in beauty and exhilarating brands of geniuses. Such words as “genius” and “artist” are used so carelessly and freely with all of the open-hearted friendliness of the west, that you attach no importance to them.
The hokum of Hollywood will never be told. It couldn’t be. What purpose would be gained in demoralizing your dreams of what movie people should be like? And in all fairness it must be said that not all of the pseudo-impressionist belong to the motion picture profession. No indeed! The hills are full of disciples of different cults, the valleys in and around the Hollywood overflow with writers that have and have not arrived, and noble exiles from across the water who assure you that they find the simple life of an American village supremely restful.
In my hotel there is a woman, who recently arrived with her companion, two dogs, a rented piano, an unpronounceable name and an accent that is perfectly killing in that it varies so. Her apartment is just across from me and if ever I heard a down east twang she has it, but only in her own rooms. When on parade she chatters away in a tongue that might be German with a little smattering of Italian thrown in to give color. She asked me one morning if I would take her “Lady in Waiting” to the car line as she had to go in town to do some shopping. On the way to the car line, the lady in waiting told me she taught school for 10 years in her native New Hampshire. I refrained from asking any personal questions about the Austrian countess or if it was customary for them to take one of the ladies with them when they left the court: Everybody in the hotel has been confidentially informed that the real name of the countess cannot be given to the public. But she is getting by with it. You would be amazed to see how easily she puts it over.
Every Little Bit.
Gradually too you begin to add your small bit of hokum. We have had for our stage setting this week in a comedy we are working on, the Hollywood Hotel. Part of the veranda and lawn have been roped off for emoting purposes. The hotel is full of tourists, who have formed an admiring and interested audience, that we have done our best acting for. Handsome young sheiks from points north, south and east have looked upon us with favor. Two prop men have been kept busy keeping our admirers back out of camera range. A gentle looking youth, with a Kreisler roadster and a watchful mama told me he had just arrived and was so enamored with the purple hills and the purple makeup over my eyes he thought he would stay all Winter. He wanted to know all about me. Who I was playing with? What pictures I -had been in, etc. With one eye on the director so as not to miss my cue, I heard myself giving a most interesting and romantic account of myself-hokum every bit of it. Unless you are a strong individualist you just can’t escape it. Modesty is not the keynote of the motion picture players with regard to their own achievements. Gradually also there is a certain hardening process that goes on. Your faith in people gets so many hard bumps that it goes completely over. The first few months I was in pictures, I believed every hard luck story the girls told me; sympathized deeply over scanty wardrobes and rent problems, supplied lunch money and car fare when I had it.
They are so young, so pathetic, so convincing that even yet I am frequently taken in by them. Of course, there are some who really need help, who do “for art’s sake” suffer many hardships. But a great many of them are by nature and previous training, gold diggers. Always they are the girls from large cities and generally have had previous experience on the legitimate stage. When they borrow from you, it is always just a loan that they will pay back as soon as they can get their studio check. It is a month sometimes before you see them again and by that time the small donation has long ago I been forgotten.
There is one girl here I have been very nice to by going out of my way to take her to and from studios. Never during the many times 1 have worked with her has she had enough money with her to buy her luncheon-at least not when I am along. She is so frank about it and her blue eyes are so quick to fill with tears, you just can’t let her go hungry.
A few weeks ago she called me one night about 10 o’clock and asked if she could come over to see me about something of importance. She had called the Sennett Studio to get my home phone number as 1 had never told her where 1 lived. She had a great favor to ask -I was the only one she knew to go to-she hadn’t any people-no one in the world to help her-as usual the tears rolled gently down her good looking cheeks. Would 1 let her have some clothes to wear the next day to go to Goldwyn’s for a test for a good part in a big production that the cast was being made up for? They had told her she must bring for a camera test, a street dress, a sport costume and an evening gown. She didn’t have a thing and unless 1 would let her have the necessary clothes, she would just have to give it up and maybe it was her big chance. She wouldn’t need them but for a few hours and would be sure to get me back my thinks the same day. Who could refuse?
I did though refuse the loan of my one good pair of silver slippers and made her take black satin ones instead: That was three weeks ago and I have never seen her since or been able to get her on the phone. I went to the studio club where she lives and they said she was up in San Francisco on a visit.
Yesterday I met her on a dance set and she was wearing my once beloved orange dress. It looked a wreck. She wasn’t even embarrassed, just said she had been intending to bring back my clothes, but had been working steadily and hadn’t gotten around to it. In my best ice cream voice I told her not to bother, just accept them as my contribution to her career.
Needed A Lesson.
A cameraman, an old timer in the business, who had heard our conversation, looked at me and laughed, “Keep your morale, Birmingham; she is not worth flaring up over. That is the darndest golddigger in the business. She has taught you something you needed to learn, so forget about it. I have been watching her do you on every set you have met on and I didn’t put you wise, because it was best for you to find her out for yourself. She worked with me for three weeks once and worked me every day for her lunch.”
But the pendulum sometimes swings the other way. I found on the lot one morning a small leather bound book. Several pages were written on in ink and the rest were blank. There was no name, but on the outside cover “This Is Valuable,” was printed in large red letters. No one had an idea who the owner was or could understand how the book could be valuable. The first page contained the following:
Horse.
Saddle, plain $25
Saddle, western $35
Saddle, English $45
Feet-Cliffs, Water, Etc.
20 feet, cost $150
30 feet, cost $160
50 feet, cost $200 and up
Trains And Street Cars
Any speed $100 and up
The carpenters and the electrician looked it over, but no one could figure out what connection it could possible have with studio work. However, I took the book to my dressing room and put it on the shelf. A few days later, the gatekeeper asked me if I had seen an advertisement in the morning paper for a book that had supposedly been lost on our lot. That night I called the number given in the paper and described the book I had found to a man.
He was much excited and said he was quite sure it belonged to him and that if it proved to be his lost book, he would gladly pay me the $50 mentioned for its return in the advertisement. Everyone at the studio was anxious to see the man and to learn why the few prices given in the book could mean so much. He proved to be one of the big stunt men in pictures-an athlete who takes all the chances for masculine stars. The book contained his schedule of prices as quoted to all the studios and since its loss he had been afraid. of taking any work, not remembering clearly the prices given different studios. He was overjoyed that I had kept it for him. Also he insisted on giving me a check for $50. I took it when he told me he made $500 to $600 a week and then too, it just about evened up for my orange dress.
I have been having some swimming lessons this week and my instructor, Vance Keith, says that he was swimming director at the Birmingham Athletic Club for two years and that he competed and won a swimming championship from there. He is considered the best instructor here and the Sennett Studio has employed him to teach a few of us how to get our bathing suits wet in the most artistic and correct manner.
