Little Orphan Julie, cont'd
his part, Julie blew himself to a lot of books and victrola records.
He still orders records by the dozen over the telephone, and plays them
while he learns his lines.
| any other theatrical managers.
The biggest kick in my life was when they made me a member."
His second biggest kick was when Warners sent for him after "Four Daughters" was released. He had already returned to New York, thinking his part would be cut.
"But he was kind of hoping it wouldn't," says Mrs. G.
She is very honest about him. She doesn't know why, but she thinks "he's lousy in pictures."
And she never went to a preview until "Juarez." Then Julie invested in a tuxedo and she, in her first evening dress, and, incidentally, they sported these fine raiments three times that very first week. She was disappointed in "Juarez" because "they showed so much of Julie's back." She would love him to do bigger parts, "but Muni always gets them."
He worships Muni. On the stage he played the office boy to Muni's "Counselor At Law."
"You can learn from him," he says. "And Cagney. And Bette Davis. I could learn from her. I'd like to make 'The Outward Room' with her."
He would also like to do 'Jean Christophe' and the life of the young
poet Heinrich Heine.
there is his grin, which is sudden, honest and lightens his whole face.
And most of all there is his laugh. You see people shake their heads over
it. They say, "You've got to like a guy with a laugh like that."
It starts low and it suddenly shouts and seems to catch on to everybody else's laughter.
I think it's because of those traits that he'll never lose the name of Julie.
His grin and his laugh do not mean he isn't serious. He is --- very. Scratch any liberal organization like "The Motion Picture Guild," whose first picture will be Erika Mann's "School for Barbarians," or "The Motion Picture Democratic Committee," and you will find, head first, among the sponsors --John Garfield.
said good-bye on the set. And he sank down into his chair and I saw him
pause to do a typically Hollywood act. Now, don't get sore, Julie. He
sat in that chair holding a big photograph of himself, and began a requested
autograph. "To One of the Dead End Boys," he wrote, and then
chewed the end of his pen as, like any conscientious star, he thought
of what to say.
I left him figuring it out. <<back to page 1