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About Medford mail tribune. (Medford, Or.) 1909-1989 | View Entire Issue (April 5, 1936)
Looking 'em Over WITH GAIL GARDNER . Five Star Motion Picture Editor. Hollywood. DEAR FOLKS: Some people could raise a tempest in a tea pot just by drinking out of a saucer. Anyhoo, that's what your correspondent discov ered out on the "Captain January" set where lit tle curly Shirley was going through the last two sequences in her latest picture, which is just chock full of coast guard cutters, lighthouses and rocky Maine coasts. When we saw the dirty, oily waterfront and the pounding sea beyond we turned instinctively to Dave Butler, director, with : "Reginald Ringrose, are you going to hesitate now when one step will take you off that wharf?" "Quiet, please," came in shouts from all corners of the set. "Quiet, p-l-e-a-s-e." So we settled down in the shadows and watched from thereon, feeling as ineffective as the guy who tried to get a bucket of maple, syrup out of the Petrified Forest. THE baffling location question, the problem of de vising a waterfront which could be used throughout the picture, had ' been satisfactorily solved by William Darling, art director, who brought forth his trusty old tank for the job. On the tankful of water floated fishing boats and a 7' Shirley, Temple with Buddy Ebsen In "Captain January." coast guard cutter, while "agitators" on three Sides manned by crews of husky workmen, cre ated realistic waves. Vaporized mineral oil, cooled over dry ice, pro vided fog which clung close to the water it's breaking my heart to divulge these secrets. And over to. the right Jack Donohue, former Broadway dancer and now an instructor at Fox, was trying hard to teach young Miss Temple to "truck." Shirley was required to do a dance with Buddy Ebsen, another dancing star, along the "water front." . Each time Shirley tried her steps, she failed. In desperation Donohue sought out Bill Robinson, the uce of truckers. "Shirley knows how to truck," replied Bill, " 'cause I taught her." But when Bill went to Shirley and told her that, she floored everyone with a remarkable bit of pro fessional ethics. "Bill," she returned, "I'm not go ing to tell Mr. Donohue your secrets." THE filming went along smoothly until little Jerry Tucker, 10 years old, was cast as Shirley's nem esis in a schoolroom sequence. Then Shirley dis played the genuine Hollywood temperament. Shirley was tremendously jealous of Jerry's abil ity and was out to show him up. But Jerry went through his scenes with two takes. Shirley had two pages of dialogue which Director Butler planned to break up with close and medium shots. But, when Shirley started there was no stopping her. She waded into those two pages without a hitch Even though they're under contract, young motion picture actresses still have to go to school to learn to act! These photos, made at Twentieth Century-Fox Film studios, show activities In the school, directed by Miss Lillian Barkley. Left to right: Virginia Paxton, a pupil, performs difficult dance step; Dixie Dunbar, now featured player; Miss Barkley, teacher and principal: Miss Barkley's Monday morning weight check-in. The girls are Philllpa Hllber, on scales; Marlon Weldon, Frances Paxton, Geneva Sawyer, Esther Brodelet and Lucille Miller. Here's a Strange School Where Fox Players Learn to Walk; Talk and Act! Film Company Teacher Keeps Eagle Eye On the Weights Of Her Pupils and Her Courses Run From Pantomime To Dancing and Singing; Graduates Are Successful, Too By Donna Risher 9 W KS-p" J Donna Risher LILLIAN BARKLEY, in plain, business-like dress quickly entered the school room at Fox Studios, looked over her class of pupils and remarked: "June Lang has just received her fourth leading role in eight weeks. I should think that would in spire all of you to get to work in earnest." A bright chorus of "ohs" and "ahs" went up. Then Shirley Deane, a tall blond youngster from Fresno, Calif., who is con sidered one of the most apt, spoke up. "Oh, Miss Barkley, I'm so glad for June," she exclaimed. "I'm going to study harder than ever. I took off that extra five pounds you spoke of last week. And I studied my voice lesson for three whole hours and . . ." Miss Barkley smiled. "All right, Shirley," she cut in, "I'll soon find out how much you have studied when we go over the morning lessons." THE lessons in the Fox Film Btock school, how ever, did not begin until Miss Barkley, the coach, had lined up her pupils before the scales. With pad and pencil in hand she weighed each girl carefully to see that no gain in weight had occurred over the week-end. The coach took this occasion to instruct her students in discipline. "If you can't discipline your selves sufficiently to keep your proper weight," she said, "then you might just as well forget the pic ture business. Because this business demands discipline, hard, . uncompromising discipline from the first to the last." The pantomime class came' next. Miss Barkley's students joined with older groups, including a few adult males. Here a lesson in expression and in pantomime continued throughout the regular study period. Later in the afternoon the students went through their dancing and singing lessons, round ing out the day by presenting a little playlet for their teacher. AT THE conclusion Miss Barkley seemed pleased with results. "They are encouraged today," the coach said, "because of the success of their former school mates, June Lang and Dixie Dunbar. These two girls had natural talent to begin with. But natural talent is useless unless it is 'polished up'. It must be supplemented with diction, tone quality, pan tomime and expression. "I preach to my girls, " she added, "that oppor- and at such speed that Butler was confounded. "That's marvelous, Shirley," complimented Bu ler, "but what's the grand rush?" Shirley cast a sidelong glance at Jerry. "I thought," she returned, "that you had forgot ten, maybe, that. I was in the picture." Which proves as old Ben Johnson used to say to Cardinal Richelieu in the Bull's Head Tavern, "You never can tell when baby talk will come out of a full-grown beard." Cordially yours, GAIL. tunity is of use only to those who are equipped to grasp it. And the opportunity in this school is great. "The Fox studios maintain this school, free of charge to the students for the purpose of giving these promising young women the right founda tion work which will prepare them for careers in pictures. They have nothing to do but to apply themselves." IT ISN'T all school work for the stock players, though. They are frequently used as "atmos phere" in everything from cafe scenes to drawing room sequences: Some of the girls "double in brass" in chorus work and are known' as "show girls" girls who can do chorus routines. Some times they get a "bit" that is to say, they speak a line or two. They're under contract but that high sounding phrase doesn't, in this instance, mean a great deal, for salaries to stock people aren't up in the star and featured player class. Only three of the group of stock players are daughters of California. Julie Cabanne arrived by way of Hollywood, Shirley Deane is from Fresno and Philippa Hilber is from Los Angeles. Girls whose accents require liss Barkley's special attention are Lynn Ban from Roanoke, Virginia, Mary Blackwood from Alexandria, Louisiana, and Anita Thompson from Dallas, Texas. Illinois claims Esther Brodelet of Chicago and Fred Wallace from Peoria. Marion Weldon comes from Duluth, Minn., while Geneva Sawyer hails from Minneapolis. Ann Nagel and Paul McVty hail from Boston. Dorothy Dearjng comes from Parachute, Colo., Patricia Farr is a former resi dent of Kansas City and William Stelling claims Weehawken, New Jersey, as his home. Gossip FROM THE STUDIOS AND SOCIAL CENTERS OF HOLLYWOOD By Jane Up Victor Klllan "But," he con- The oute Kelly twins know when to smile for the camera and they art making a tremendous hit at the M-G-M studio, where they appear with Chester Morris, who is holding them. THIS may sound like a nightmare to some, but to Victor Kilian it is his "great predicament." Victor lives momentarily expecting an order which will de-pant him. He is determined to escape, if possible. It all started back in New York when the actor appeared in a play called "Valley Forge." For comedy, Victor went through the play without pants, always on the search for a nether garment that would fit him. It was a running gag which brought down the house and which culminated in Victor ap pearing "in the last act in a pair of women's bloomers. THE pants gag made Victor's part outstanding. In fact, it drew the attention of the movies to him, but once here in Holly wood, Victor hoped to do some acting. To date, executives, writ ers, directors and fellow actors have kept suggesting that the actor do his "pants routine." With courage in hand, Victor has quelled each and every suggestion. hded, "a great fear is coming over me. "Imagine making a bid to fame on a no-pants basis.' Imagine being condemned never to wear pants again. They have me scared. Now, I buy two pairs of pants with every suit. I go over my clothes daily in the closet to see that no one has absconded with my trousers, thus forcing me into my terrifying routine." DIXIE DUNBAR'S first screen opportunity to "act with my face Instead of my feet," was given the little Georgia dancer with the assignment of a featured role in "The -First . Baby." Although she has achieved high places with her dancing, Dixie was beginning to believe the studio execs thought of her as a woman without a voice. IT WAS embarrassing, to say the least, when Dr. Joel Pressman, husband of Claudette Colbert, forgot his own telephone number. Dr. Pressman arrived on the set promptly at 6 p. m., to take his wife home. She had already been dismissed for the day. He sought out the telephone, then fumbled through his pockets. He couldn't find his telephone number. He asked everyone around the set without luck. He tried the studio telephone operator and was informed the number was "private." In desperation, Dr. Pressman made the rounds of Directors' Row, knocking at doors. Finally he located Director Frank Lloyd, who provided him with the sought-for number of his own home. Pressman then wrote the number in his hat so he wouldn't lose it. NO ACTOR can be Important in Hollywood, it must be understood, without a swimming pool. So, with a real stroke of genius, Michael Whalen, who is being whirled along with a star-bound wind, has settled the vital matter of how to acquire position at the least possible expense. He has rented himself a Hollywood hilltop home with a swimming pool, a fact which makes him a blood brother to the film elect. But Mike's pool is different. It is as dry as the Sahara, and Mike says it will stay that way for some time. It costs $40 minimum to fill one of these tiled holes in the ground, and until his streak of lUck recently, young Whalen thought $10 was the na tional debt. PAGE FIVE-B Dixie Dunbar
