Mabel normand

 Louella Parsons

It had to be. Mabel Normand had to leave New York and all her million and nine fans here to return to California and start work on “Maggie,” her next Goldwyn picture. She put off the evil day just as long as she could, and finally when she did decide to leave town she left in such a typical Mabel hurry that not half of her friends knew she had departed.

Our first knowledge that she had left town came in a tele­gram of farewell from Streator, Illinois. Not knowing she had checked out from her hotel, and expecting to see her at dinner Sunday, it was somewhat of a shock to learn she was on her way to the Coast.

But being a creature of impulse, everyone expects Miss Normand to act on them: and everyone loves her for being as she is.
* from Photoplay, February 1920

Trying to get to see Mabel Normand, alone, is like trying to interview the Sphinx, with a party of Cook’s tourists around. Mabel was late. Of course, interesting women are always late. But Mabel wasn’t only late; she mistook a minute for a rubber band, and stretched it into an hour. I stood there, in the Ritz, watching the world go by, that part of the world that causes race suicide among fur-bearing animals, prosperity among jewelers, and distress among husbands -- their own, and other people’s. Finally, Mabel came -- a little girl, and the thing that strikes you most about her is her childish, eager, pouting mouth -- it gives her an alice-in-wonderland look, that her eyes, a little deeper and browner and sadder than you’d expect, contradict. And she wore one of those S.R.O. dresses -- you know; standing-room-only. “Listen, look”-- She made me think of one of Booth Tarkington’s seventeen year old ladies. “They’re some people waiting to see. I told ‘em I’d be here -- we’d better go.” We rode through the park -- even a traffic cop said “Hello” to her. She talked -- “Happiness,” said Mabel, “is simply a state of mind. I’ve never lost my mind. When things go wrong with you -- kid yourself.” I think if someone dared her to play it, she’d jazz Juliet. I fell for Mabel. You would, yourself.

 Louella Parsons

Mabel Normand’s one ambition in life when she was in New York was to get the proper sort of vehicle. She has in her young life had some roles which she wishes she might forget. Samuel Goldwyn has determined to let Miss Normand have her own way in getting better vehicles; in fact, he insists that her future stories be suitable to her. “The Slim Princess“ will give her one of the most delectable roles of her career. No one doubts the Goldwyn Company will utilize all the possibilities and make a production every one will enjoy. There is an abundance of opportunity for settings, location and costuming.
* from Wid’s Daily, February 1, 1920

A Wonderful Comedy and All to Victor Schertzinger‘s Credit

Mabel Normand in

“PINTO”

Goldwyn

AUTHOR…………Victor Schertzinger

SCENARIO BY…..Gerald C. Duffy

CAMERMAN…….George Webber

AS A WHOLE……Comedy-drama with the accent all on the comedy; a sure-fire entertainment, best the star has done for this company.

STORY……………Approaches burlesque at times but always registers and retains interest.

DIRECTION………Schertzinger certainly knows how to handle this star; has done a fine piece of work.

PHOTOGRAPHY…Very good.

LIGHTINGS………Excellent.

CAMERA WORK…Good

STAR……………...Registers wonderfully well in role built specially for her; gets over some great comedy business.

SUPPORT…………All good; Cullen Landis most acceptable leading man.

EXTERIORS………Western and fashionable eastern stuff.

INTERIORS……….Appropriate

DETAIL……………Subject is particularly well titled, many of the lines being good for comedy.

CHARACTER OF STORY………Cowgirl’s experiences in the usually effete east.

LENGTH OF PRODUCTION……..About 5,000.

The only things the matter with many of Mabel Normand’s Goldwyn pictures were story and direction. But in “Pinto“ she has them both supplied in one fell swoop by none other than Victor Schertzinger, one time director for Charles Ray. “Pinto” is a great comedy, just the right sort of story for the star and one which has been screened with due regard for her talents in the comedy line. And it is to Schertzinger‘s credit. He seems to be one of the few old Ince directors who, on another lot, manages to retain the sure-fire Ince method of development of plot and general smoothness of action.

Then, too, that sense of comedy which Schertzinger evinced in handling the Ray subjects is again apparent here both in the writing and directing of “Pinto.” He has not allowed himself to be hampered by any conventional comedy bounds and “Pinto” further reveals itself as a picture possessing considerable original and enriching comedy business, even though its actual frame-work is more or less of a scenario tin-type.

Pinto is a western girl who has been reared by five godfathers. She wears a sombrero, chaps, uses the lariat and rides as if she were a regular cowboy. Then there comes the time when her godfather in New York, Pop Audrey sends for her. Pop has great wealth and a wife who is a snob and, worse than that, deceitful. Pinto is of a mind that New York is a big ranch and receives an awful shock when she gets there in company with Looey, her ancient tutor and companion.

There follows her initiation into society, her romance with Bob De Witt and her final unmasking of Mrs. Audrey’s deceit before Pop. And the end finds her on her way back west with Bob and Pop as companions. Scenes that are sure-fire laugh-getters are Pinto’s meeting with Pop in the course of which she breaks up Mrs. Audrey’s tea, Pinto and Looey wandering around lower New York asking where Pop Audrey lives. Bob’s instructions to Pinto on how to act with men during which sequence he makes love to her, and society’s frantic efforts to escape when Looey, filled with red-eye shoots up a lawn party.

Miss Normand is well supported by Cullen Landis as leading man and by George Nichols as Pop Audrey. Others are Edythe Chapman, Hallam Cooley and Edward Johnson.

Give it the Limit in Advertising and Exploitation

Box Office Analysis for Exhibitor

There isn’t a single doubt but that “Pinto” is going to register strongly with every sort of audience. Its appeal isn’t limited to any class or classes. You know how even and well running the Ray pictures were that Schertzinger made for Ince. Well, he’s got the same wonderful smoothness into this feature, and what with the good stuff he had put into the story in the way of comedy, he’s succeeded in making a wonderfully fine picture.

Give it the limit in advertising and exploitation. The business you do on it should only be confined to the capacity of your house. Advertise it to the kids, advertise it to the old folks that like a good comedy. Play it up in every conceivable fashion for it’s going to “get” any and all audiences and you won’t have the smallest kick after it’s all over.

It is a fact which seems strange in these advanced days but which is nevertheless true, that in fiction and on the screen when East meets West virtue is always on the side of the latter. It would probably prove a profitable expedition if some enterprising naturalist armed himself with the necessary implements and went into the well known wild-and-woolly and tried to bag a real western snob. According to the ritual of the romance writers, the East is the sole producer of snobbery. “Pinto“ is no exception to the rule. But Mabel Normand is so indomitably amusing and effervescent that one almost forgets to question the conventional characters and situations of the picture. There are of course some incidents in “Pinto“ which are different and, thank heaven, not common to life in the effete East. For example, Pinto, on one occasion lassooes a young man who is standing under her window and drags him up into her room to save him from a scolding.

The story recounts the adventures of a wild young creature of the ranch who comes to New York and falls into immediate disfavor with her snobbish hostess. The host is goodhearted, however, because he is an ex-ranchman. Pinto rewards him for his kindness by catching his wife in an affair and exposing her. Whereupon the ex-ranchman returns to his ranch accompanied by Pinto and her newly acquired sweetheart.

Not much of a story to offer to a sophisticated audience, but to see Miss Normand romping through the role of Pinto, makes up for a great deal. A buoyant personality and a store of experience in how to make the most of a good situation make her a real pleasure to watch. The supporting cast is entirely satisfactory, and the direction excellent. Taking it all in all, an evening spent with “Pinto“ is quite worth while, provided you don’t want to take your entertainment too seriously.

One of the big incidents in the story is the charity entertainment which the lady of the house is planning. For once she and her husband are enthusiastic over the same thing, and Pinto shares their enthusiasm. Mabel Normand always has to be engaged in staging some private circus, if not for an orphan asylum as in “Jinx,” then for a society show or some other gathering. At any rate, an alcoholic participant rides into the scene on horseback and causes a most alarming situation.
* from Dramatic Mirror, February 7, 1920

There is only one Mabel Normand. Consequently, there is nothing to compare her with. If you like her you like her, and if you don’t, you don’t. In the latter taste, you are indeed to be pitied if you find yourself compelled to sit through a Mabel Normand picture. Luckily there are few members of the screen loving public who don’t like Mabel, and their number is becoming less all the time. Anyone who can sit through “Jinx“ and come away without profound respect for Miss Normand’s comedy ability, is indeed exceptional.

The Jinx is the nickname of an orphan who is some way has become attached to a circus. She brings disaster to everybody she comes in contact with, and is treated accordingly. Her greatest misdemeanor, however, occurs when she takes the place of the serpentine dancer and disgraces the show before all who might possibly get it out of its financial difficulties. The dire fate that is sure to overtake her when she and the manager get together causes her to run away. An orphan asylum offers the most convenient refuge, and here she stages an amateur circus which is a riot of amusement. Here also she is found by the wild man of the show, who does not share the company’s prejudice against her, and we are left to suppose that at some date after the end of the picture the two become a happy bride and groom.

Obviously such a story as this is not sufficient to entertain even the most simple minded audience without mammoth assistance from the cast. In this case the cast is ninety-nine per cent Mabel Normand.

If it excites you any to know it, a dinner was given last Tuesday night in honor of Samuel Goldwyn, president of the Gold­wyn Pictures Corporation, by Vice-President Abraham Lehr, at the Alexandria. Among those present were Thompson Buchanan, J. G. Hawks, Reginald Barker, Victor Schertzinger, A. G. Gibbons, Gouvernor Morris, Henry Ittleson, Sidney Olcott, T. Hays Hunter, Mabel Normand and Tom Moore.

Mr. Goldwyn made an interesting speech outlining the aims and ambitions of the Goldwyn organization.

* from New York Morning Telegraph, March 25, 1920

The friends of Mabel Normand are due for a shock. With her usual vivacious manner of giving those she likes a surprise, Miss Normand arrived in New York without saying a word to any one. Shopping is her purpose, and she has been here two days, keeping herself and her mission so completely hidden no one would have guessed she was in the city if she hadn’t forgotten to wear a veil while she was buying out the Fifth avenue shops.

One thing about Mabel, her friends love her so much no one ever pays any attention to a little thing like her failure to give a ring on the telephone or drop a note announcing her presence in the city.
* from Los Angeles Herald, March 26, 1920

Mabel Normand Rests

Mabel Normand Goldwyn star is taking a short rest in between pictures. She has finished “The Slim Princess,” and is recreating in the mountains for a few days.

 Truman B. Handy

You won’t find the word “mabelescent” in the dictionary because it isn’t there. Nor is it of common usage. -- it was invented especially to fit Mabel Normand, simply because there isn’t any other phrase at all indigenous to the vivacious one. And everybody on the “lot” is using it.

The impulsive Miss Normand expresses herself as “flattered;” says that it pleases her to have a word coined in her honor. But in the case of “mabelescent” the coining wasn’t an honor; it was a necessity, or so I am told.

“Oh, cootie.”

It sounded very sweet, but somewhat uncertain, and not knowing to what the feminine voice referred, we at once drew conclusion, having heard of the various varieties of tricks so catalogued by our returned soldier friends. The owner of the voice was nowhere in evidence, and we had vivid mental pictures of some downtrodden “extra” girl with a burning ambition to get ahead, receiving a directorial rebuke or something.

But there wasn’t a soul in sight, except a petite person, whom we found around the corner of a “set” who was dressed in a cotton nightgown of voluminous folds and wrinkles, who wore a funny little hat over her left ear, a pair of Number Six shoes and a man’s overcoat. Her hair was “just thrown together,” as she explained to us, she imagined she had a cold, and she was playing with a funny little kitten with large, blue saucer eyes -- the “cootie” in question.

And not to forget our sense of comic values may it be observed that Miss Normand, as the trig person in the nightgown proved to be, was enjoying her leisure in a luxurious studio drawing-room, roofed with glass and canvas, its drab-colored walls hung with drapes of dark brown velvet, renaissance furniture lending éclat to the atmosphere, and a large, bear-skin rug furnishing a foot-warmer for the gaminesque, mabelescent creature before us.

“Oh,” she greeted us. “This is a shock. Cootie, behave yourself. I don’t like familiarity, not even from cats.”

Miss Normand is a distinct surprise, one of those interesting persons who talk about woman suffrage, who is as human as everybody around her, who likes ham and eggs and corn beef and cabbage like all the rest of us, and who, behind the mask of make-up, is a real woman, a “good scout,” as the studio hands term her.

One of the latter vouchsafed a certain amount of information concerning her. It seems that when she drew her first five hundred dollars for a week’s work before the camera some season ago she was quite upset, and wore a perplexed look about the studio. She seemed uneasy, and after various intimate conversations with her associates, proceeded downtown to purchase a car. At the gate she met a number of the men extras, who greeted her familiarly as “Mabel,” one of whom noticed her apparent discomfort.

“What AM I going to do with this money?” she asked him in reply to his question. “I never can spend it, not even if I buy a motor.”

Whereupon she at once proceeded to distribute it, in denominations of tens and twenties, to her less fortunate brothers of the studio.

“I couldn’t run a car if I had one,” she remarked during the distribution process, “and I don’t like a man in uniform perched on the front seat.”

At the studios they will tell you that Miss Normand is impulsive, generous, spontaneous, which the following will illustrate.

In one of her productions, “When Doctors Disagree,” the company was on location at a reform school near Los Angeles. Miss Normand, the director and the remainder of the workers had been “shooting” for a short time in the spacious grounds, when it was noticed that a number of the boys of the institution were watching Miss Normand. Shortly after lunch one little fellow, slipping away from his associates, commenced to pick a bouquet of flowers from the garden. However, every time an austere-looking guard was seen to approach, the child would hide the bunch of blooms behind his back, resuming his flower gathering when apparently unobserved. Miss Normand watched him with interest, and was on the verge of speaking to him when she noticed a larger boy steal up behind him and snatch the bunch from his hand.

At once he proceeded to Miss Normand, and handed it to her, at which the younger boy commenced to cry, thus attracting the guard’s attention. He was severely reprimanded for picking the flowers, while the other boy was probably put in solitary confinement for his offense. Meanwhile, however, the various other inmates of the school completely gleaned the garden and hedges of their blooms, piling them in Miss Normand’s car. She tried to pity the first offender by offering him sort of gift, only to learn that he could receive nothing, but that perhaps the guards would let him keep a photograph.

The next day a second surprise was accorded the school when Miss Normand arrived in her car, bearing in one hand a photograph in a splendid silver frame, and in the other a permit from the county authorities to take the juvenile offender for a motor ride.

Miss Normand has probably had as varied a career as anyone in motion pictures. She first appeared before the camera in the never-to-be-forgotten Keystones, in which she won for herself the reputation of being the first screen comedienne to have an unflagging sense of comedy, a beautiful face and a cast-iron constitution.

Off-stage Miss Normand is beautiful, with an exquisite natural color in her face, curly hair of soft black, and large, expressive brown eyes. She wears extremely modish clothes, but the screen seems to demand that she be a gamin. And by nature she is not a gamin. When her comedy make-up is off she looks and acts like any other healthy, pretty American woman who does her own shopping, casts her own vote and is otherwise herself and no one else. Because she is a comique, she is thought of as hoyendish. Miss Normand’s gravity is far more compelling than her seriousness. She is always amusing, and funniest when she tries to be serious. She has a philosophy all of her own, namely, that God is good, American is Arcady, motion pictures are the greatest thing in life, and her mother is the most wonderful person in the world.

Which latter fact shows that her heart is still in the right place.

 Margaret Ettinger

Los Angeles --- After resting a month upon the completion of “The Slim Princess,” Mabel Normand began work again this week. Her new story is “Rosa Alvara,”¹⁵⁶ with Victor Schertzinger directing.
* from New York Morning Telegraph, May 9, 1920

 Frances Agnew

Mabel Normand and director Victor Schertzinger, Hugh Thompson, Doris Pawn, Tully Marshall, Eugenie Besserer and Buster Trow departed for San Francisco, where they are taking exteriors for “Rosa Alvara,” by Pearl Curran.
* from Variety, May 21, 1920

Mabel Normand On Speaking Stage¹⁵⁷

Mabel Normand is to debut on the speaking stage in the fall, having signed a contract with A. H. Woods. The picture star was secured by Rufus LeMaire when the latter was here several weeks ago.

The piece is said to have the title of “Go Easy, Mabel.” Miss Normand is under contract with Goldwyn until fall. She drew attention first in supporting Charlie Chaplin and reached film stardom when Goldwyn entered the field.
* from New York Morning Telegraph, May 23, 1920

 Louella Parsons

Mabel Normand believes she knows how Nicky Arnstein succeeded in fooling the public. Just a little artful disguise, cleverly applied, does the trick. She was in San Francisco, wither she had gone to make some scenes in “Rosa Alvara,” a forthcoming Goldwyn picture. According to a member of the party, it was arranged that she dive from a boat. A big crowd gathered at the pier. When Mabel heard of the curious mob assembled to watch her stunt, she decided to fool the crowd gathered there to see her perform.

So she put a bath robe over her gown, borrowed a soft hat from one of the men and threw a bath towel over her shoulder. With the addition of dark glasses on her nose, the disguise was complete, and she walked through the crowd without any one recognizing her.

“Seems to me,” said Mabel afterward, “that it would be a mighty easy trick to disguise one’s self and fool the police if they wanted one, but one didn’t want to be had.”
* from New York Morning Telegraph, June 6, 1920

 Frances Agnew

Los Angeles, May 31 -- Mabel Normand returns from New York within the week to begin work with Director Victor Schertzinger on “Head Over Heels,” the play which served Mizi Hajos on the stage. Incidentally, Goldwyn folk here emphatically deny the local story that Miss Normand has cut short her Goldwyn contract to appear on the stage under the management of A. H. Woods. They insist Miss Normand is to remain loyal to her film public for some time yet.
* from New York Morning Telegraph, June 13, 1920

Madge Kennedy, Mabel Normand and Tom Moore may like to read this story -- then again they may not. It is difficult to decide whether or not it is a compliment to the company’s stars. The story ran in the Canton (Ohio) Repository, as an interview with Dr. A. G. Hyde, superintendent of the Massillon State Hospital on entertainment for the insane. In it, he says “the insane have their movie favorites just as other movie fans have. The patients in the Massillon Hospital seem to prefer pictures featuring Madge Kennedy, Mabel Normand and Tom Moore. Other players are popular, too, but these three are the favorites.”

After having been delayed in her current picture, “Head Over Heels,” for two days due to an accident to her eyes, Mabel Normand, Goldwyn star, resumed work Monday.

The accident happened last Saturday at the studio. The glass interior of a Thermos bottle containing hot coffee broke and particles of gas flew into Miss Normand’s eyes. This glass was removed by the studio physician, and after suffering greatly for two days, Miss Normand feels that her two lovely optics are now quite out of danger.
* from Dramatic Mirror, June 19, 1920

HOW TO BE A COMEDIENNE

By Mabel Normand

I am not a highbrow. If I were I wouldn’t be earning my living by being funny -- or trying to be. I know more about jazz than I do about classical music. Not that I’m not fond of a concert now and then, but on the whole I like syncopation better. My heart beats to a jazz tune I guess. The world goes round to the sound of the international rag, as Irving Berlin said; and I think the rag he meant was that of laughter and pleasure and joy. It’s a good tune! I know it by heart; and my ambition is to be able to play it on the old piano of the world with my eyes shut.

I think that.

One of the secrets of being a comedienne is in knowing jazz because when you know the syncopated tunes you know the songs to which the average heart responds, and so, in a way you know humanity. To be a comedienne you’ve got to be human. That’s the truth of the matter. You’ve got to appreciate that side of people which is queer, ridiculous, and yet lovable. You can’t make people laugh just by being odd. You’ve got to be more than that. You’ve got to be a little bit pathetic.

When people laugh most the tears start from their eyes, because laughter and pain aren’t nearly so far apart as they seem to be. I sometimes think they are twins and you can’t knock against their cradle without disturbing both of them, although, if you’re lucky, laughter will be louder than his brother. But you can never tell.

And that’s not the half of it, dearie, as the funny-men say in the papers. Try to burlesque somebody. You’ll notice that you probably do it with the sort of a brush that the bill-board posters use while small boys admiringly surround them. But you won’t appear as clever to grown-ups as the poster-pasters do to the younger generation. Your brush is too thick, too wide, too everything. Burlesque is a delicate art, believe me. I’m no highbrow, as I said before, but I know that. And I know too, that when you make fun of people you have to mimic them with just the slightest exaggeration in order to be really funny. If you overdo it, you ruin, you ruin your performance, and it’s pretty hard not to overdo your act. You have to watch every gesture, every action, no matter how small. A careless lifting of eye-brows may spoil a perfectly good hand-gesture. Watch your step all the time, and watch everything else you have about you, too. If you seem to have any idea that you’re playing at something, you won’t get across.

That brings me to the serious side of being funny. To be a comedienne you have to take yourself with the seriousness of a politician receiving the nomination for alderman from the hands of his fellow citizens. Charlie Chaplin, for instance, rarely smiles in his pictures. That’s one of the reasons he’s so funny! And if he does smile, it is pathetically and just enough to balance his tremendous gravity. When he sees a big policeman he takes off his hat to him with an air which implies that it is the most serious and sincere act in his life. If he throws a brick at the copper he does it with the same air. He takes his victories and defeats in the same melancholy way -- almost.

To be a comedienne, don’t try to teach a lesson. Leave that to Longfellow and the poets. Just try to be human and serious. Try to remember that people’s spirits are raised by seeing a man chase a hat down the street.

There’s something funny in the misfortunes of our neighbors. It isn’t a kindly thing, but it is a fact that there’s no getting around.

To be a comedienne you have to have something about you that is appealing. It’s hard to say just what the thing is, because you can’t put your hands on it; it isn’t a block of wood or a glass of wine. It’s a way of quaintness, a pleasant quality that’s natural and not artificial.

And here again we come to the root of humor that I mentioned before: being human. That’s being natural. When I played the part of a poor little hoyden in one of my pictures -- “Jinx“ I -- tried to remember during the entire making of the production that I was a homeless little wretch grateful for kindness from anyone. In another picture I played the part of a little slavey who longed from the kitchen to reach the bliss of the grand ball-room upstairs. And when I reached there and played the part of a lady I tried not to forget that I had been a slavey a few moments before. Things puzzled me a little; I wasn’t quite sure that what I did was the correct thing, but I was as good as the rest in my heart and proud of my clothes; oh, so very, very proud of my new, fashionable clothes!

I don’t think that any correspondence course will make a comedienne out of a girl. But neither do I believe that it’s all a gift. It requires a facility and a lot of hard work. Practice makes perfect, I’ve heard. Who was it said that creation is ten percent inspiration and ninety per cent perspiration? Not a pretty picture, but a true one. Work, work, work. Study every little detail of your personality. Try to find out what little peculiarities you have that can be developed for audiences and the director. Stand before your mirror and make faces at yourself. Twist your features, your arms, your body. Find out if you really have a sense of humor in your funny bone and if your spine appreciates a joke.

Pay particular attention to your mouth. I can’t figure out how many different ways a pair of lips can be funny.--.and charming. Men try to figure it out, but even they haven’t succeeded in finding the answer, I hear. If you keep your hair in a Grecian knot you may look like a goddess, but if you plaster it down over your ears and leave a little loop hanging over your left eye you may look more appealing than in the other pose -- and genuinely funny, too.

Don’t set any standard for yourself. I have discovered that the things which make people roar with laughter in one part of the country will have just the other effect elsewhere. Geography is a peculiar thing. It seems that climate has an effect on people’s humor. A southerner will laugh at a houn’ dawg joke that will bore a northerner. That’s one of the fifty-seven reasons why it’s so hard to find out what makes everybody laugh -- because there are things that do,¹⁵⁸ and the real comedienne is the one who gets hold of those things and uses them until they finally lose out. And remember this; if you are lucky enough to discover a gesture with a universal appeal, never forget that its get-across qualities are temporary.

Don’t work a gesture to death. If you do, you’ll find out quickly enough that you have lost out with the trick. There’s an art in knowing just when to drop the thing. It isn’t when it’s at the height of its popular appeal and it isn’t when it’s an eye-sore to the public. My own humble opinion is that it’s just after it has reached its climax as an applause-getter. But you have to be ready with something new. That’s why there’s so much work in being funny. You can’t afford to lay your wits aside for a moment. They have to be laboring for you all the time, and not part of the time. And you’ll find they won’t labor if you don’t.

In my forthcoming Goldwyn picture “The Slim Princess“ I had to keep my wits working all the time I was making scenes, notwithstanding the fact that a great humorist, George Ade, was responsible for the situations. But even Ade will not aid you -- pardon the pun -- unless you Ade yourself. I had to keep at top speed every moment in order to have my action suit the caption and the cut-in and the close-up.

And I guess that’s all. Counting up what I’ve said I think that I want to emphasize again the ground from which we have to begin -- being human, except the villain and even he isn’t a perfect thirty-six of his species. Forget all about “showing-off;” remember that you’re sincere and fresh and kind (I don’t like malicious humor). Hum a jazz tune and don’t be a snob. If you are, you won’t be a comedienne. But above all, don’t neglect the jazz element. The world goes around to the sound of it, to the sound of the jazz of laughter!