The New Pictures

Little Lord Fauntleroy (Selznick).

Almost any screen rendering of Frances Hodgson Burnett's famed story about an attachment between a small boy and his mother, which modern psychiatry might regard as dangerous if not traumatic, would automatically have been assured of an enthusiastic response from female cinemaddicts. However, not content to let the first production of Selznick International

Pictures depend upon the haloed sentimentality of its source, Producer Selznick has made this picture much more than a stock sample of Hollywood lavender & old lace. Although it exudes the nostalgic charm that has proved so palatable to cinemaudiences in adaptations of other Victorian classics, it is essentially not the story of a little boy's exaggerated devotion to his mother but that of a Brooklyn urchin who makes good in the old country. Handsomely rewritten for the screen by Hugh Walpole, beautifully staged, and superbly directed by John Cromwell, it affords proof that Selznick International is off to a flying start and offers an actors' holiday to Freddie Bartholomew, C. Aubrey Smith and Dolores Costello Barrymore, recalled from retirement to play the role of "Dearest," Fauntleroy's mother.

Ceddie (Bartholomew) is discovered in Brooklyn where his best friends are the apple woman on the corner, the bootblack and the neighborhood grocer (Guy Kibbee). When his grandfather's solicitor (Henry Stephenson) calls to announce that Ceddie is heir to the Earldom of Dorincourt, Ceddie and Dearest embark for England. When they get there the tragic separation of Ceddie and his mother, whom the crotchety Old Earl (Smith) refuses to meet, is soft-pedaled. The emphasis is placed on Ceddie's dealings with his grandfather, upon whom his influence is so healthy that the Old Earl presently stops dunning his tenants, takes to churchgoing, is cured of his gout. The menace of an imposter Qackie Searl) for Ceddie's heirdom appears and is disposed of. The picture ends with a ceremonious and charming scene in which Ceddie, Dearest and the Old Earl are happily reunited on Ceddie's tenth birthday, while Ceddie's Brooklyn friends, gaily hobnobbing with the county families, celebrate on the castle lawn. Good shot: Ceddie apologizing to the grocer for having acquired a title.

Dolores Costello modeled for James Montgomery Flagg at 16, did a turn in George White's Scandals at 19, was screen-tested, hired by Warner Bros. At 21, she was already a star in her own right when she played, in The Sea Beast with John Barrymore. After one more picture together. When a Man Loves, they were married. Dolores went to live in the Barrymore mansion, Bella Vista, on a bleak crest over Beverly Hills, taking her place among the Barrymore trophies of field & stream, the Barrymore whimsicalities and the Barrymore dinosaur egg obtained from Roy Chapman Andrews. She laughed at her husband's epigrams, tolerated his sycophants, condoned his escapades, bore him Dolores (5), John (3).

In 1934 John Barrimore went abroad to make a picture, said he would be back by Christmas. At Christmas Mrs. Barrymore hoped for a postcard. None came. Mrs. Barrymore denied rifts until just before the famed Caribbean junket of her husband with his young friend Elaine Barrie (nee Jacobs). Then, last May, she moved out of Bella Vista, started divorce proceedings. She rented a house for $250 a month on Irving Street, Los Angeles, pleased that it was big enough to hold the Barrymore furniture. She and her sister Helene are living together in the way they did when they went to Hollywood twelve years ago. They have a butler, cook and maid. Dolores takes her daughter around the block to school, hems her child's dresses, likes to drive down to the beach on Sundays. She belong's to no beach club. She sees only three or four close friends. When they insisted that she should be gay, she put on a white wig, went to a Mayfair Club dance.

On her way to President Roosevelt's Warm Springs Foundation, where the premiere of Fauntleroy was held, Mrs. Barrymore dropped her desolate reserve, talked to newsmen about her marriage: "I am quite through, of course -- my sense of humor is exhausted. . . ."

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