But a hasty observer would notice the happy faces on those few shadow that occasionally obscures the serenity. At the end of the table
Charlie Chaplin, prayed by Anita Page and Louise Brooks, was the famous dance of the rolls, a waiter placed before him a phenomenal mess covered with sugar ice on which stood the sentence now passed into history, thick as a novel and as a nostalgic song of a distant land, "Georgia, my love ... '. Charlot was preoccupied, thinking perhaps Georgia, who was the true legend of his unhappiness about what he wanted to be and never was his humble and graceful life full of dreams. Then he shook himself, and told a scene from the film "City Lights" which was putting the finishing touches.
late lunch the orchestra of Walt Whitmann attack some languid waltz. Mackaill Dorothy was a tireless and only Clara Bow compete with her. Pola Negri, in a corner, to the cozy darkness of a lamp, talked with Ronald Colman.
Slim came with a frightened face: "The bandits ... "He cried. And he had finished the sentence that ten masked figure burst into the room with leveled revolvers: "Hands up ... 'Demanded.
No one fainted, but of course everyone was excited. Only Greta Garbo kept a surprisingly impassive, even looked at it one of the robbers with a tender look and greedy together. Strange woman, for which only the adventure, the extraordinary, were an understandable reality. Nancy Carroll had a furtive lacrimetta thinking of his brilliant clear mounted in platinum and one of those mysterious lords was withdrawing from his fingers.
Suddenly, the bandits took off their masks and appeared ..... appeared Douglas Fairbanks, Wallace Beery, Harold Lloyd and others. The joke had succeeded perfectly, the merry laughter and comments do not count, the epilogue was a unanimous invitation to the King of jazz's most dynamic and syncopated tune of his songs, rhythm. The vast room seemed to become a chasm, but a nice pit, where, however, morality was highly respected. Somehow, I found myself at the feet of Compsom Betty, with a silver bucket on his head and his mouth full of confetti. I heard them murmur
Mac Laglen Bessie Love: "I'm two hours in the garden waiting for you ... Why do not you come? "
Lupe Velez told a story of his Mexican Christmas singing, full of angels, Little Red Riding Hood, the vast expanses of snow. All listened with suspended i1 heart, the music had been silenced. Then, as if awakened from a dream, not without nostalgia, each returned carefree. Lupe is still a little enchanted eyes, which had flourished before the patio of Villalobos, the sweet his father's house. Next to her, Jackie Coogan. bright-eyed and thoughtful collection, taken from the musical voice and light of the dark narrator, his mind wandered away Ricardi in his art and review the Paradise, the house decorated by small flowers, gentle and sad eyes of his great friend, Charlie Chaplin.
At midnight the party was on the pitch. The songs of many different countries are intertwined in a fascinating and new embroidery. Those men, beautiful women, that fed the fantasies of people who were dreaming the same beating the dweller on the banks of rivers such as the shores of the seas, the nomad, the sedentary, the old and the teenager, rejoiced with simplicity and directness, without the nightmare of the lens, which forces them to study a glance, a fold of the lips, a gesture, to live in front of a mirror, without the serene joy of abandonment.
When we left, the first light of dawn lightened the sky. The air was cold and crisp, crossed by the beams of white lights of cars. The roar of the engines were like the last notes of the evening memorable.
Soon the sun would rise, and the studios would have taken his life and eager to go fast, sweeping away illusions and creating stories. But even in this worldly paradise, love, on which there seems to be only fleeting, Christmas was not left without a brotherly kindness.
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