Little Me Read online

  at last! • I am Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter • Script difficulties • My gala première

  CERTAIN OTHER ACTRESSES, who shall remain nameless, have found a certain amount of comfort in stating that I, Belle Poitrine, “married” my career. What they mean to imply, I can only assume, is that, as the wife of the most fabulous producer in motion pictures, I had but to express the whim that I would like to be a star in order to become one overnight. How laughable! Let me state, here and now, that no amount of “pull,” no amount of money, no amount of publicity and advertising will make anyone a star unless he or she has that “certain something” to create public adoration. Don’t ask me why, I simply had it. Some do, others do not. However, if it eases the pangs of jealousy for my “knockers” to believe that I used undue influence to attain my position as one of the “all-time greats,” far be it from me to deprive them of their bitter pleasure.

  For the “record,” however, I would like to say three things in my own defense:

  First of all, I was a seasoned actress with many years of experience on both the legitimate stage and in films, when I reappeared at Metronome Studios intent on rising to stardom.

  Unlike Anne Sten, Simone Simon, Jane Russell, Faith Domergue and others, I did not begin my American talking picture career in star status. Instead, mine was a slow, steady climb from featured player to supporting player and then to star—after the position had been earned by dint of hard, diligent work. I worked in eleven films over a period of nearly two years before my big “break” finally came. Can one call that “undue influence”?

  Although I may appear to be “telling tales out of school,” I would like to make it clearly known to my detractors that my husband, Morris Buchsbaum, did not want me to go into films! In fact, he literally got onto his knees and begged me not to pursue my career at Metronome!! At first I was shocked, but I quickly understood how my husband felt: Morris wanted me for his very own. I was his wife, his hostess, his confidante, his guiding hand in every important business deal, his advisor and constant companion. Moreover, was I not the mother of his child and heir? Sobbing into his pillow he said brokenly, “I will be a ruined man if you make so much as one picture at my studio!” I tried to comfort him. “Nonsense,” I said soothingly, “it is wrong for you to be so selfish, Morris darling. Because I am your private joy, you are unwilling to have me become a public delight. But there is enough of little me for all to share. As a creative artiste, Morris, you know how cruel it is to deprive the public of an idol, especially when I am perfectly capable of being a goddess to you and an inspiration to the millions of Little People whose lives will become richer because of my talent and because of your magnanimity in sharing me with them.” He continued sobbing the night through, and he was still a broken man when I insisted on accompanying him to the studio the following morning.

  So much for my receiving any favors not granted to lesser actresses!

  My return to Metronome, as an employee, was a triumph in every sense of the word. Manny and the publicity department had done a wonderful job. All of the studio’s top-ranking stars were waiting at the gate to greet me— many in full costume and make-up, looking unreal and “other worldly” against the hurly-burly of Buchsbaum Boulevard. Even Magdalena Montezuma, the biggest box office attraction of Metronome, was on hand, appropriately dressed in one of the garish costumes she wore as a French strumpet in Grue of the Rue de Trop. For some reason of which I am totally ignorant, Magdalena has never liked me. However, on this occasion she was civil enough, although I couldn’t help remarking how very tired she looked (from overwork she would have you believe) and how unbecoming her costumes were (although this was intended as a criticism of the gown designer). Metronome Momentous Moments was there to record the event for newsreel audiences all over the world. I made a brief, gracious speech of thanks and then got back into the limousine to be driven to the script department, where I was to be shown the available properties about to go into production and choose the one I most preferred. But while rolling past the great sound stages, the bustling outdoor “sets,” I was once more struck by the odd quirks of fate. To think that less than ten years ago I was an unknown little “extra,” pounding helplessly, hopelessly, at the employees’ entrance for a “bit” part and today I was riding along the main thoroughfare of this great studio in the owner’s private car, about to be given my “pick” of all the available female rôles. How often I’ve said it, but I’ll say it again—Life is odd!

  Relaxing on the “set” of “Papaya Paradise”— Lyons Maine, Letch Feeley, Little Me and Carstairs Bagley

  As I was a bit “rusty,” from not having acted in several years, and as I did not wish to appear “grabby” by selecting a very large part for myself, I finally settled on the rôle of Tampa-tampa, a native girl in a South Seas epic called Papaya Paradise. Helen Highwater was once again well enough to work and was appearing in the feminine lead—an American missionary’s daughter who redeems the son of an English duke, even though the young man (magnificently enacted by Dudley du Pont) has “gone native” and is little better than a beachcomber. Cast as the island storekeeper was my especial favorite, that great character actor, Carstairs Bagley, and I was especially drawn to the appearance of a newcomer to films, a most compelling boy named Letch Feeley, who had come from a filling station in Pamona by way of the Pasadena Playhouse. One look at this young man and I knew that he had “what it takes”— real star quality; I can spot it anywhere.

  Although no screen test was required for my being cast in Papaya Paradise,I did not wish to appear as one having special privileges and I graciously consented to appear with Mr. Feeley in his test. And I must say that in his tapa-cloth sarong he was most impressive. The scene we did for the test was a very emotional one in which I, as Tampa-tampa, tell my native fiancé of an impending hurricane, tidal wave and volcanic eruption. Mr. Feeley was very nervous but, of course, I was not. In my best pidgin English I read my one and only speech:

  “Great god Jujube angry at white sinners. Big fire and water come. Must sacrifice native virgin to appease angry god.”

  Poor Letch Feeley! He was so nervous that he “blew up” in his “lines” four times. Seeing that the director was growing very impatient, I asked for a “break” and took the young man to my dressing room for a relaxing drink. We were alone together for only half an hour but it worked wonders. He went through the next “take” with “flying colors.” We sat together in the darkened screening room when they showed the “rushes.” From all quarters I could hear such remarks as “look at those legs!” and “what a body!” and “a perfect Apollo Belvedere.” I am accustomed to praise but I felt so sorry for poor Mr. Feeley. Nobody remarked about him at all! However, he got the part! I dropped him off at his rooming house and, as he stepped down from my car, he pressed my hand and said, “Mrs. Buchsbaum, I owe it all to you.” Somehow I felt good all over, just realizing that I had helped this young “unknown” up one rung on the ladder to success.

  The Papaya Paradise company was just “one big happy family.” It was great fun working with such lovable old “pros” as Highwater, du Pont and Bagley. Helen, ever up to her fun-loving old tricks, had a portable bar rolled onto the “set” every morning at ten and, even on “location” at Malibu Beach, the whole project took on the air of a big picnic. Both Dudley du Pont (“Cuddly Dudley” as the wardrobe men called him) and Carstairs Bagley took to young Letch Feeley like “ducks to water,” and they both outdid themselves inviting him to their homes in the evenings for extra rehearsal sessions so that he would be perfect. The film was a great success—both commercially and critically—and one reviewer even coined the word “soporific” to describe it. This, I suppose, was meant to combine “superb” and “terrific,” but the term certainly caught on as I have heard it used many times—once or twice even applied to my own performances—since those carefree days in the sarongs and leis of Papaya Paradise.

  But I was not satisfied to bask in the g
lory of my success as a simple native girl. I was determined to grow as an actress. Talking pictures were now all the “rage.” If you were a star you had to talk, and I did not wish to be left behind like “Jack” Gilbert, “Connie” and Norma Talmadge, Vilma Banky and others who, for various reasons, did not take kindly to “talkies” or vice-versa. I had had only one line in Papaya Paradise, and the storm sound effects had been so loud that not very much of my speech could be heard. Still, I was not entirely satisfied with the timbre of my voice. Feeling that a beautiful speaking voice is the hallmark of every great actress— and of every great lady—I engaged the services of Dame Florence Fleming, a retired star of the London stage, to give me lessons in speech. My progress was even swifter than I had hoped in my wildest dreams for, after six sessions, Dame Florence said, “Miss Poitrine, it is foolish for me to continue taking your money as there is absolutely nothing that anyone can do to your voice.”

  Poitrine speaks! I learn to talk refined

  With the talking-picture craze, so came the popularity of big movie musicals such as The Hollywood Review, Happy Days, Broadway Melody, Gold Diggers of Broadway, the Fox Movietone Follies and a host of others. Metronome was planning its own all-star revue, The Broadway Barcarole of 1930, in which such New York “headliners” as Marilyn Miller, “Al” Jolson, Helen Morgan, “Fanny” Brice and “Bobby” Clark were appearing for brief “turns.” All of the most important stars on the Metronome “lot” were also asked to do specialty “numbers.” To be in the Barcarole gave a performer a great cachet at Metronome. I was eager to join in the fun although none of my own specialty material seemed quite suitable for family entertainment—or so Morris said. But to show that I was neither a “snob” nor stand-offish, I said that I would be perfectly willing to lead the “show girls” out in the beauty parade. This spectacle was called “A Gay Bouquet of Old Broadway”—a lovely number written especially for the film by George Frederick Handel and “Herbie” Resnick. Each girl represented a different flower and I was cast as Broadway Rose. It was great fun and after our taxing routine was finally filmed and “in the can,” the dance director, Ares Mars, paid me a beautiful compliment by saying “Belle, you’re the only broad in Hollywood who can telescope one day’s shooting into three.” However, I did not allow flattery to turn my head and I was always wary of it, knowing that many sycophants hoped to get to dear Morris and to improve their positions by “soft soaping” little me.

  Other rôles which I played during 1930 were Anne Boleyn in Oh Henry! with a truly stellar cast. Carstairs Bagley was a perfect “scream” as Henry VIII—off camera as well as on. Because she claimed to be Spanish, Magdalena Montezuma played his first wife, Catherine of Aragon; Vivienne Vixen was Jane Seymour; Nan Badian was moving as Catherine Howard; Laura Gray played Anne of Cleves and Alida Freeborn was Catherine Parr. Such a collection of talent and beauty that the critic for the New York Times was moved to headline his review “Westminster Was Never Like This.” Another critic spoke of the film as “the Westminster Kennel Club,” obviously a misprint. Next I assayed the rôle of Cynthia Plantagenet in Bottle Babies, which attempted to show what happens to débutantes when they get in with the wrong set. After that I had the great pleasure of playing with young Letch Feeley once again. He had become—very briefly, as I had other plans for him—the sixteenth Tarzan. Together we tried to bring some standards of art and dignity to a silly animal picture called Tarzan’s Other Wife. In it I played Daphne, the title rôle. However, I was indignant at the waste of talent for such rubbish as this. As I said to Morris, “Letch Feeley has a lot more than shows in that Tarzan costume and I want to make use of it.” “B” pictures indeed! I wound up the year with an extremely moving performance as a girl who had gone wrong in a shocking exposé picture entitled Penal Institute. It certainly woke up the public to the conditions in reformatories and if you think I am simply “blowing my own horn,” I quote Mae Tinee, film critic for the Chicago Tribune: “A truly shocking picture in this day and age . . . Belle Poitrine’s performance will certainly put drowsy customers right where they ought to be.” So much for my first year as a real actress.

  When 1931 finally came around I was ready for it! I had a year’s solid experience—six pictures—“under my belt,” and my confidence was fully restored. I was at sort of a lull in my career, owing largely to the lack of challenging new material. Nothing on hand at Metronome seemed quite right for me when a grand opportunity presented itself. Magdalena Montezuma was scheduled to make a picture called ¡Viva Tequila! The story concerned two sisters in Mexico, during a revolution, who become involved with a young American aviator (Dudley du Pont). Both sisters fall in love with the pilot. The revolutionary forces are marching on their village. He can save only one. He saves the star (Montezuma, naturally!) and the younger sister valiantly stays behind to be raped and slaughtered by the enemy. My dear friend, pert little Lupe Velez, had been engaged to play the younger sister, Dolores, but at the last moment a prior commitment made it impossible for her to accept. As I lived in a Spanish house, why would I not be perfect as Dolores? Morris was maddeningly uncooperative, largely, I believe, because most of the picture was to be “shot” at a distant “location” in Mexico, and he was so insanely jealous of me that he could not bear to let me out of his sight. Finally, I won, had a long session with the director and the part was mine.

  If I had known then what I know now, perhaps I would have done Morris’ bidding. Never before or since have I met such a vicious, egotistical and despotic star as Magdalena Montezuma! To begin with, she was madly envious of my youth, my beauty, my talent, my rapid rise and my position as Mrs. Morris Buchsbaum. But that was only the beginning! What really enraged Magdalena was my portable dressing room. Marion Davies may have had the first portable dressing room in Hollywood, but Belle Poitrine had the largest! As a going-away gift to myself I had ordered it—them to be accurate—from the Mack Truck works. My dressing room was two orchid-colored Mack Trucks which, when backed together, made a lovely little suite. Compared to my new quarters, Montezuma’s old White trailer looked sick!

  “Early Talkies”

  above: As Anne Boleyn in “Oh Henry!” with Vivienne Vixen and Carstairs Bagley.

  As Broadway Rose in “The Broadway Barcarole of 1930” with Helen Highwater as Virginia Creeper.

  With Helen Highwater in “Bottle Babies”

  above: With Letch Feeley in “Tarzan’s Other Wife.” I played Daphne.

  Pixie Portnoy, Letch Feeley and “Yours Truly” in “Sawdust Circe”

  above: Magdalena Montezuma, Little Me and Dudley du Pont in “ Viva Tequila!”

  Like many persons of Latin extraction (although there is some very legitimate doubt about this), Magdalena had a strong streak of jealousy in her make-up and she certainly took it out on little me! Poor Dudley (our male lead) kept saying that he felt as though he were in No Man’s Land, between two enemy forces.

  I, for my part, tried to behave like a professional and a lady. I was always polite with a cheery, personal pleasantry of some sort or another on my lips. I was punctual, helpful and courteous to everyone connected with the film. When Montezuma claims that I tried to undermine her confidence by making remarks about her costumes and make-up (and I know that she does so to this day), it is simply the work of a sick, warped mind trying to twist a kindly, constructive criticism into a deadly insult. The truth behind these stories is simply that, as the producer’s wife, I wanted everything to be perfect and if a certain dress made Magdalena look thick in the middle (she has a tendency toward plumpness, if not downright obesity), if her make-up looked matronly during the daylight sequences (when she was supposed to be a girl of twenty), I said so to be helpful and in the interests of having a first-class production. Her famous story about my having “stripped her naked” right on the “set” is also a gross exaggeration. What actually happened is that Montezuma arrived late on the “set” (quite “hung over,” if the truth were told, although it is not generally kn
own that she drinks to excess) with a long thread hanging from her costume. After saying “Good afternoon, Magdalena” (I was being jocular and good-natured, as it was nearly eleven in the morning and we had been called for eight o’clock!), I remarked that she looked tired and that her extra sleep hadn’t helped enormously. All of this, of course, she greeted with her typical sneer. Then I noticed this loose thread and said, “Wait a minute, darling, I don’t want you to ruin still another scene.” I pulled at the thread and the next thing I knew, her whole costume simply disintegrated and she was standing only in her shoes!! But I can hardly be blamed if “Señorita” Montezuma was so unfastidious as not even to wear undergarments when she was on camera. In fact, I even said that her costumes would fit far better if she wore a really firm foundation. Montezuma was livid. She stormed off to her rickety old dressing room in hysterics and work had to be suspended for the day.

  After that she was insupportable. She talked and rattled her castanets during all of my scenes. I know it was she who put the itching powder in my cold cream and who sent me on a wild goose chase, all the way to Taxco, after a certain telegram signed “Ronald Colman” appeared under my dressing room door. She also tried to work against me through the director, and this I know for a fact as I was in his hotel room myself when she telephoned to arrange an assignation with him! But the lowest trick of all was trying to curry favor with the critics at my expense (as well as creating a terrible loss for the film itself!) and this Magdalena did all too thoroughly, as almost every review compared my performance most unfavorably with hers. Needless to say, we were not on cordial terms when the picture was completed! I am too big a person to endure such pettiness and such childish display of ego and “spleen.” I resolved, then and there, that the next time I appeared with Magdalena Montezuma, I would be the star and she the supporting player.