Dangerous Crossroads Ahead
by Ann Roberts
(Unknown publication)
Hollywood is trying hard to understand Jennifer Jones, the provocative young star who jumped from obscurity to fame in one picture. So far it is as hardly confused about her as she seems to be about herself. It cannot help wondering where the road she is traveling in headstrong fashion will lead.
On a Sunday afternoon not long ago, a tall, slim, dark-haired girl walkd up to the boxoffice of the Carthay Circle Theater in Los Angeles, paid $1.10 for a ticket, and quietly slipped in to see a movie. Several hours later, she emerged, her face a mask. Silently she climbed into her car and drove away.
The incident went unnoticed save by a few, but those few felt sadness and pity at the heartbreaking bit of real life drama they had seen. For the tall, slim girl was Jennifer Jones, and alone and unrecognized she had just witnessed for the first time the picture, "Song of Bernadette," which made her a star.
Three nights before, the same theater had been a blaze of lights. Scores of searchlight beams had penciled the sky, proclaiming the occasion as a top premiere in time-honored fashion.
It was night of triumph, designed to pay tribute alike to a great picture and a great new artist. It wasn't exactly a parallel to the premiere of "Hell's Angels," which unexpectedly zoomed Jean Harlow into the spotlight and stardom; for it was no secret that Jennifer was destined for a place among filmdom's mighty names by public acclaim, once her performance as the humble little peasant girl who became a saint was seen. Hollywood, in its most lavish fashion, was saying, "Here, Jennifer Jones, is your dream come true."
With excellent reason, therefore, Hollywood was shocked when Jennifer failed to appear to receive its homage, and for the second time in as many months it rocked with speculation about the unknown girl from Oklahoma who was riding rough-shod over its taboos and traditions. Rightly or wrongly, it interpreted her absence at the premiere as ingratitude to Twentieth Century Fox studio, which naturally was counting on her presence as the highlight of the evening; as a tacit slap in the face of her staunchest advocates, Producer William Perlberg and Director Henry King, who had gambled their professional reputations by giving her, an unknown, the prize acting plum of the year; as a definite snub to her fellow workers who had come to wish her well.
Exactly why Jennifer did not attend the premiere is still a moot and widely-argued question. Without doubt she wanted to attend. It was to be her Big Night, and hers alone. Never again, she must have realized, would such a night come with the same importance and glory for her.
True, Jennifer is now co-starring in another picture, the David O. Selznick production of "Since You Went Away" with a mighty cast including Claudette Colbert, Shirley Temple, Monty Woolley, Joseph Cotten, Lionel Barrymore and Robert Walker. Its premiere undoubtedly will equal that of "Bernadette" as a brilliant affair. However, it will be her second picture, and therefore lacking the glamour and trappings of a debut. Furthermore, it is scarcely likely that Miss Colbert and Miss Temple and the Messrs. Woolley, Cotten, Walker and Barrymore (all of them stars with careers which must be safeguarded zealously) will permit Miss Jones to run away with the picture so far as to make it a personal triumph. Even should they be so magnanimously inclined, the story does not permit it as "Bernadette" did.
In Jennifer's mind too, as the date of the premiere approached, must have been the memory of another night of triumph. It was the preview of "Bataan", the picture which won Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer stardom for Robert Walker, the husband from whom she now is separated. As they entered the theater they were two unknowns; when they came out Bob was a Somebody. Fans clamored for his autograph and studio executives buzzed excitedly around him, while Jennifer stood unnoticed in the background.
As they were walking to their car, Bob put his arm around her. "Just wait, Jen," he said. "That's will happen to you, only bigger!"
Unquestionably, Jennifer planned to attend the premiere. She was to be the dinner guest that night of Producer and Mrs. Perlberg, and go on to the theater with them. Because she was uncertain as to the proper dress for the affair, she bought two new gowns, one long and one short, so she could follow Mrs. Perlberg's lead in either case. Friends reported that she was bubbling with excitement and anticipation.
Suddenly, the day before the premiere, it was announced by Selznick, to whom she is under personal contract and from whom Twentieth Century Fox borrowed her for "Bernadette," that Jennifer would not attend. At three o'clock on the afternoon of the premiere, Mrs. Perlberg learned she would not have Jennifer as a dinner guest.
The Selznick explanation was that Jennifer had been working hard all week; that she would be needed on the set of "Since You Went Away" for important scenes until late evening; that she was over-tired and not well; that the shooting schedule could not be rearranged; and that attending the premiere would be too much a strain after working all day.
Hollywood is a notoriously hard taskmaster, but it seldom is so heartless as to deny anyone an irretrivable moment of glory because of a shooting schedule!
It is true that Jennifer was not well. She had been fighting off an attack of the flu for several days, and probably did not look her best. But surely if she was too ill to go to a theater, she was too ill for working in important scenes until late evening. Perhaps, as was said by a close friend, it was because she was nervous and afraid to face too many strangers at the premiere. In that event she unwisely permitted her personal feelings to outweigh a definite responsibility to the studio which had made her a star.
Whatever her reason, Hollywood felt Jennifer had let it down, and for the second time. The first time was when she separated from her husband on the eve of the release of "Song of Bernadette."
Just as everyone is pulling for them to patch up their differences and make their marriage whole again, everyone was genuinely sorry when the Walker-Jones marriage broke up last November. The heartbreak seemed so senseless and unnecessary. Everyone was genuinely stunned, too, for theirs had appeared to be the perfect Cinderella story: two kids who gladly had shared hardship and struggle in quest of success and then, almost miraculously, had won it at the same time - Jennifer with the coveted role of Bernadette, and Bob with his outstanding work in "Bataan" and "Madame Curie" leading to his stardom in the forthcoming "See Here, Private Hargrove." That in itself had eliminated the No. One bugaboo in Hollywood marriage - the destructive influence of one career outstripping another in the same family. On the surface it seemed their happiness was too well founded ever to be shaken; they had youth, two beautiful children, financial security, and a double-barreled future stretching ahead.
Two kids with the world by the tail - someone said of them. Why the marriage broke up in no one's concern. Many explanations have been propounded, many guesses made. None of them can be entirely authentic, since none of them came from either Jennifer or Bob. Perhaps it wasn't the sudden smash-up it seemed, but the culmination of a growing friction over a long period of time; most couples put a face on things even when they were aware that all is not well. Perhaps one was to blame, perhaps there was justification on both sides. Either way, it is no one's business.
Certain aspects of how and when the marriage break was made public, however, was Hollywood's legitimate business, since it reflected unfavorably, and many were hurt by it.
Extraordinary care had to be exercised in the casting of the role of Bernadette, and not alone from the standpoint of dramatic ability. Because it was the story of a girl the Catholic church canonized, the church rightly enough insisted that no breath or censure attach to the person who portrayed Saint Bernadette. Being a Catholic, Jennifer knew the reason for this and the responsibility it entailed. Since she was a married woman portraying the virgin peasant girl, it was doubly important her marriage be perfect.
Naturally, considerable publicity was given this phase of Jennifer's personal life. Interviews were written about her Catholic background and training, and her happy marriage, which was blessed by two sons. These stories were in print and the advertising campaign for "Bernadette" well under way all over the country - when Jennifer announced the break-up of her marriage.
No one questioned Jennifer's right to separate from her husband if she chose. That certainly was her own affair. Hollywood did feel, however, and strongly, that a sense of responsibility and fair play to the studio which had a two-million dollar investment in her and "The Song of Bernadette" should have prompted her to put aside her personal difficulties, and temporarily postpone the separation.
There is no malic in Jennifer. Neither is there affectation or conceit. She is a thoroughly nice girl, rather shy and extremely sensitive. Undoubtedly she acted as her conscience dictated.
Hollywood can quarrel, however, with her contention tha tshe is entitled to the dignity of a private life which the public is not priveleged to invade. That is pure sophistry in anyone who elects the limelight of a motion picture career. When the public ceases to be interested in her as a person, Jennifer Jones will cease to be a star.
Once there was another girl who had many of Jennifer's qualities. She too made a brilliant start and was called by many the "new Duse" as Selznick proclaims Jennifer a "young Duse". For two successive years she won the coveted Academy Award and seemed destined to become one of Hollywood's immortals.
Her name was Luise Rainer.
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by Ann Roberts
(Unknown publication)
Hollywood is trying hard to understand Jennifer Jones, the provocative young star who jumped from obscurity to fame in one picture. So far it is as hardly confused about her as she seems to be about herself. It cannot help wondering where the road she is traveling in headstrong fashion will lead.
On a Sunday afternoon not long ago, a tall, slim, dark-haired girl walkd up to the boxoffice of the Carthay Circle Theater in Los Angeles, paid $1.10 for a ticket, and quietly slipped in to see a movie. Several hours later, she emerged, her face a mask. Silently she climbed into her car and drove away.
The incident went unnoticed save by a few, but those few felt sadness and pity at the heartbreaking bit of real life drama they had seen. For the tall, slim girl was Jennifer Jones, and alone and unrecognized she had just witnessed for the first time the picture, "Song of Bernadette," which made her a star.
Three nights before, the same theater had been a blaze of lights. Scores of searchlight beams had penciled the sky, proclaiming the occasion as a top premiere in time-honored fashion.
It was night of triumph, designed to pay tribute alike to a great picture and a great new artist. It wasn't exactly a parallel to the premiere of "Hell's Angels," which unexpectedly zoomed Jean Harlow into the spotlight and stardom; for it was no secret that Jennifer was destined for a place among filmdom's mighty names by public acclaim, once her performance as the humble little peasant girl who became a saint was seen. Hollywood, in its most lavish fashion, was saying, "Here, Jennifer Jones, is your dream come true."
With excellent reason, therefore, Hollywood was shocked when Jennifer failed to appear to receive its homage, and for the second time in as many months it rocked with speculation about the unknown girl from Oklahoma who was riding rough-shod over its taboos and traditions. Rightly or wrongly, it interpreted her absence at the premiere as ingratitude to Twentieth Century Fox studio, which naturally was counting on her presence as the highlight of the evening; as a tacit slap in the face of her staunchest advocates, Producer William Perlberg and Director Henry King, who had gambled their professional reputations by giving her, an unknown, the prize acting plum of the year; as a definite snub to her fellow workers who had come to wish her well.
Exactly why Jennifer did not attend the premiere is still a moot and widely-argued question. Without doubt she wanted to attend. It was to be her Big Night, and hers alone. Never again, she must have realized, would such a night come with the same importance and glory for her.
True, Jennifer is now co-starring in another picture, the David O. Selznick production of "Since You Went Away" with a mighty cast including Claudette Colbert, Shirley Temple, Monty Woolley, Joseph Cotten, Lionel Barrymore and Robert Walker. Its premiere undoubtedly will equal that of "Bernadette" as a brilliant affair. However, it will be her second picture, and therefore lacking the glamour and trappings of a debut. Furthermore, it is scarcely likely that Miss Colbert and Miss Temple and the Messrs. Woolley, Cotten, Walker and Barrymore (all of them stars with careers which must be safeguarded zealously) will permit Miss Jones to run away with the picture so far as to make it a personal triumph. Even should they be so magnanimously inclined, the story does not permit it as "Bernadette" did.
In Jennifer's mind too, as the date of the premiere approached, must have been the memory of another night of triumph. It was the preview of "Bataan", the picture which won Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer stardom for Robert Walker, the husband from whom she now is separated. As they entered the theater they were two unknowns; when they came out Bob was a Somebody. Fans clamored for his autograph and studio executives buzzed excitedly around him, while Jennifer stood unnoticed in the background.
As they were walking to their car, Bob put his arm around her. "Just wait, Jen," he said. "That's will happen to you, only bigger!"
Unquestionably, Jennifer planned to attend the premiere. She was to be the dinner guest that night of Producer and Mrs. Perlberg, and go on to the theater with them. Because she was uncertain as to the proper dress for the affair, she bought two new gowns, one long and one short, so she could follow Mrs. Perlberg's lead in either case. Friends reported that she was bubbling with excitement and anticipation.
Suddenly, the day before the premiere, it was announced by Selznick, to whom she is under personal contract and from whom Twentieth Century Fox borrowed her for "Bernadette," that Jennifer would not attend. At three o'clock on the afternoon of the premiere, Mrs. Perlberg learned she would not have Jennifer as a dinner guest.
The Selznick explanation was that Jennifer had been working hard all week; that she would be needed on the set of "Since You Went Away" for important scenes until late evening; that she was over-tired and not well; that the shooting schedule could not be rearranged; and that attending the premiere would be too much a strain after working all day.
Hollywood is a notoriously hard taskmaster, but it seldom is so heartless as to deny anyone an irretrivable moment of glory because of a shooting schedule!
It is true that Jennifer was not well. She had been fighting off an attack of the flu for several days, and probably did not look her best. But surely if she was too ill to go to a theater, she was too ill for working in important scenes until late evening. Perhaps, as was said by a close friend, it was because she was nervous and afraid to face too many strangers at the premiere. In that event she unwisely permitted her personal feelings to outweigh a definite responsibility to the studio which had made her a star.
Whatever her reason, Hollywood felt Jennifer had let it down, and for the second time. The first time was when she separated from her husband on the eve of the release of "Song of Bernadette."
Just as everyone is pulling for them to patch up their differences and make their marriage whole again, everyone was genuinely sorry when the Walker-Jones marriage broke up last November. The heartbreak seemed so senseless and unnecessary. Everyone was genuinely stunned, too, for theirs had appeared to be the perfect Cinderella story: two kids who gladly had shared hardship and struggle in quest of success and then, almost miraculously, had won it at the same time - Jennifer with the coveted role of Bernadette, and Bob with his outstanding work in "Bataan" and "Madame Curie" leading to his stardom in the forthcoming "See Here, Private Hargrove." That in itself had eliminated the No. One bugaboo in Hollywood marriage - the destructive influence of one career outstripping another in the same family. On the surface it seemed their happiness was too well founded ever to be shaken; they had youth, two beautiful children, financial security, and a double-barreled future stretching ahead.
Two kids with the world by the tail - someone said of them. Why the marriage broke up in no one's concern. Many explanations have been propounded, many guesses made. None of them can be entirely authentic, since none of them came from either Jennifer or Bob. Perhaps it wasn't the sudden smash-up it seemed, but the culmination of a growing friction over a long period of time; most couples put a face on things even when they were aware that all is not well. Perhaps one was to blame, perhaps there was justification on both sides. Either way, it is no one's business.
Certain aspects of how and when the marriage break was made public, however, was Hollywood's legitimate business, since it reflected unfavorably, and many were hurt by it.
Extraordinary care had to be exercised in the casting of the role of Bernadette, and not alone from the standpoint of dramatic ability. Because it was the story of a girl the Catholic church canonized, the church rightly enough insisted that no breath or censure attach to the person who portrayed Saint Bernadette. Being a Catholic, Jennifer knew the reason for this and the responsibility it entailed. Since she was a married woman portraying the virgin peasant girl, it was doubly important her marriage be perfect.
Naturally, considerable publicity was given this phase of Jennifer's personal life. Interviews were written about her Catholic background and training, and her happy marriage, which was blessed by two sons. These stories were in print and the advertising campaign for "Bernadette" well under way all over the country - when Jennifer announced the break-up of her marriage.
No one questioned Jennifer's right to separate from her husband if she chose. That certainly was her own affair. Hollywood did feel, however, and strongly, that a sense of responsibility and fair play to the studio which had a two-million dollar investment in her and "The Song of Bernadette" should have prompted her to put aside her personal difficulties, and temporarily postpone the separation.
There is no malic in Jennifer. Neither is there affectation or conceit. She is a thoroughly nice girl, rather shy and extremely sensitive. Undoubtedly she acted as her conscience dictated.
Hollywood can quarrel, however, with her contention tha tshe is entitled to the dignity of a private life which the public is not priveleged to invade. That is pure sophistry in anyone who elects the limelight of a motion picture career. When the public ceases to be interested in her as a person, Jennifer Jones will cease to be a star.
Once there was another girl who had many of Jennifer's qualities. She too made a brilliant start and was called by many the "new Duse" as Selznick proclaims Jennifer a "young Duse". For two successive years she won the coveted Academy Award and seemed destined to become one of Hollywood's immortals.
Her name was Luise Rainer.
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