Word: hollywoodized
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...CROSBY AND MR. MERCER (Decca,). Last June, when the genial Westwood Marching and Chowder Club (North Hollywood Branch) put on its second Breakaway Minstrel Show, the Olio was enlivened by " 'Lasses' (Molasses) Mercer and 'Chittlins' (pig or calf intestines) Crosby in an erudite analyseration of swing." The "analyseration" was sung to the music of the 1920's famed duet Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Shean, new words by Lyricist Mercer (Cowboy From Brooklyn, et al.). The summer's most amusing ditty gets more amusing when Crosby explains to Mercer that jazz is merely old-fashioned...
Died. Max Factor, 61, onetime Russian Imperial Court cosmetician and wigmaker who became Hollywood's No. 1 make-up artist; of a liver and kidney ailment: in Beverly Hills. In 1935 Mr. Factor gave a $25,000 party for 10,000 people to open a $600,000 cosmetic factory "of proportions created only for royalty in the past...
...Hollywood guides linger loquaciously in front of the tomb of Rudolf Valentino in the Hollywood Cemetery. Every year, they say, on the anniversary of Valentino's death, a mysterious, thickly-veiled Woman in Black is driven to the gates by a chauffeur, alights, places a bunch of red roses on Valentino's tomb, dabs daintily at her eyes with a black-bordered handkerchief, departs. Last year there came also an old man with a beard, a grey skull cap and a staff of yellow ribbons, who knelt and prayed, then played The Sheik of Araby on a mouth...
...legend of the Women in Black was more Hollywood than ever. Russell Birdwell, chief press-agent for Selznick International, told a story: Ten years ago, when he was producing one-reelers on the Hollywood scene, he paid a blonde young lady $5 to pose by the Valentino tomb. The story of the annual visit he made up out of his own head. When the first Woman in Black showed up next year with her bunch of red roses, no one was more surprised than Russell Birdwell...
...Columbia). Part of the campaign now being conducted by Hollywood studios to persuade the U. S. Department of Justice that there is real competition in the cinema business is a competitive race to the screen with accounts of how a mettlesome, unsleeping special prosecutor breaks up rackets. In I Am the Law, Edward G. Robinson looks less like New York's District Attorney Thomas E. Dewey than Chester Morris did (Smashing the Rackets) or Walter Abel (Racket Busters). He plays the part of a law school professor, an authority on criminal law, absentminded, mild as milk. On a leave...