The face of the star. From Pickford to Pfeiffer, from Keaton to Cruise, it has been the stars, that select group of former mortals, who are responsible for drawing the masses into the movie houses. Their faces and physiques, and not for one moment any of the words they say. The stars are blessed, according to Robert Towne, with having ''features that are ruthlessly efficient,'' with being able to convey a staggering amount of information without ever opening their mouths. Stars are the monster's best friend.
Stars are the money.
Such scripts tend to be filled with any number of plot holes, individual scenes that work while the whole of the picture doesn't, all too often leaving the audience as much in the d ark as the theater it's sitting in. Increasingly, to court and to please the stars, the monster is turning out pictures that have a beginning, a muddle and an end. Happily, throughout their ordeal, the Dunnes had a secret weapon. They had each other. What a comfort to have your wife and best friend, who happen to be one and the same, present to witness the inanities and indignities of ''creative'' meetings, to have someone to throw a look to, to suppress a smile with.