Word: natashas
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...ideal material to exhibit the varied talents of the Barrymore family. Ethel could be regal and throaty as the Tsarina. Lionel could leer and spit as Rasputin. John could push his delicate profile through a series of love scenes as a Prince Chegodiev. There was also a Princess Natasha with whom Chegodiev was in love. When Rasputin seduces Princess Natasha, Chegodiev proceeds to murder the monk in accord with history...
Film executives forgot that Prince Youssoupov, widely known as the killer of Rasputin, is very much alive and no stranger to the courts. Spurred by a shrewd woman lawyer in Manhattan, named Fanny Holtzman, Princess Youssoupov brought suit against M-G-M claiming that the character of Princess Natasha was supposedly patterned after her own and that she had suffered grievous wrong at the suggestion that she had been seduced or raped by Rasputin...
What M-G-M was paying Sir William Jowitt's large fee for was not to get this story made a matter of oath but to try to show that the cinema characters of Prince Chegodiev and Princess Natasha were not drawn from the Youssoupovs. Very quickly he made the following points...
Next came a file of potent witnesses who testified that they could find no connection between the character of the cinema's Princess Natasha and Princess Youssoupov. Most impressive was Commander Oliver Stillingfleet Locker-Lampson. Now a Conservative M. P. for Birmingham, he is the son of famed Poet Frederick Locker-Lampson. During the War he went to Russia in command of a squadron of armored cars. Last week in London he testified...
...respectable widower, lived in increasingly uncomfortable sin with his gold-digging mistress. Fellow-lodgers were Andre Franconi, impeccable barber, suffering in silence his earned reputation of irresistible ladies' man, slowly dying from incurable syphilis; the Otto Drollingers, pseudo-intelligentsia, who played at being Russians and called themselves Vanya & Natasha. In a nearby basement a learned, demented printer worked feverishly on his endless history, left his work sporadically to dash out around Union Square, scattering neatly printed cards of warning and doom. In the Square every day were old Mother Volga, pretzel-seller, and Mr. Feibelman, the hot chestnutman, bitter...