Evening star., 1932-12-04

versus Jean Harlow. A
week ago the horizon was
humming with possibilities.
La Bow was out somewhere in
that distance pruning herself for
her comeback. Miss Harlow was
In the final stages of Red Dust"
Now suddenly with call Her Saw
age" and Red Dust" on us at the
same time (the latter will make
it's much heralded and much post
poned appearance this Friday i,
there Is no question but that out
Of the darkness has come battle
that will be fought to the last
drop.
Never before in screen history
have two such human dynamos
f1ourished at the same time. When
Theda Bara was emoting, Betty
Blythe hadn't even dreamed of
that famous beaded peignoir. And
when, more recently, Miss Estelle
Taylor tossed every green-eyed
rival to the winds, she rose tri-
umphant on her siren wave alone,
unconquerable and unconquered.
Now two ladies of undisputed
charms and lithsome physique
rush upon the scene with such a
landslide of emotions that the fu-
ture seems destined to be etched
with fire and fame and much
human thunder. Miss Bow, trim
med before the wind to eXtraor-
dinarily low poundage, suddenly
scars back into the public eye,
with that well known smile, those
well known dimpleS and that
cackling bravado with which she
prologues her new picture.
Into the present she comes with
not much of an inkling that there
has been past. Charging into
the cinema game with full steam
ahead, she is more sure of herself,
a better actress, and yet indicating
that when she is at her best she
must be eternally kicking, or
scratching, or biting, or tossing
the Bow head around in the man
ner dear only to a Tiffany Thayer
heroine. In other words, she has
not yet attained that restful man
ner of acting which, according to
certain standards, is the gauge by
which the great grow into power.
We admit that the Bow come
back is a strong one, full OF the
things which customers had
hoped and waited for. When she
smiled last week whole rows of
Loew's Fox divans are said to
have quivered When she pursed
her mouth, the audience grew
grave with wonder, and when she
did Jack Dempsey with a large,
playful hound, batting the poor
animal over its head with her
arms and legs and feet, staid pa
irons are said to have been wild
with astonishment.
Later she appeared loosely
gowned in garments that could
have been worn only on the home
plate of the tropics.
Nevertheless, while it is true
that she is once more firmly en-
trenched in the affections of our
happer-land, will it be possible
for her to wobble along the path
of fame with that red-headed
bravado which she pursued be-
fore?
We doubt it. And the doubt
takes the form of slim and trim
Jean Harlow, who, in Red Dust, !"
proves that this seasons sirens
do not scratch and bite and rip
their painted fingernailS to bits.
Instead, they smile approvingly
and they talk amusingly, and they
behave themselves as cauStic and
clever JezebelS who fight their
little fights with mind as we'll as
matter.
Miss Harlow, who would have
Jared much better as Sadie
Thompson than did Joan Craw-
ford with her Bond street accent
Is at the moment whole leaps and
Jumps ahead of Miss Bow. AL
though it has taken her the span
of the latter's retirement to get
over the shock of having to wear
that "Hell's Angels" wrapper she
has learned in this interim not
only how to smile, but how to
act, and whether you believe 1t OF
not, we are certain that in time
she will emerge as an excellent
comedienne as well as a high
blood-pressure tragedienne.
Temporarily, Miss Harlow Il
grounded in Indo-China's swamp'
Gas in Red Dust") portrayinl
wayward sisters who do not mint
the flies and the mosquito net
tings Of boiling point countries
In time she viii have done all Sh'
can with North and South Anna