Company Manners
In Hollywood and Detroit, art bowed to purity without a whimper.
Producer David O. Selznick, whose outdoors extravaganza, Duel in the Sun, had shocked moralists of several faiths, tinkered busily here & there, finally won from the Catholic Legion of Decency a "B" rating—meaning that the picture is now considered bad only in spots. Number of spots pared out: 46. But the costly, sure-fire Duel, Selznick assured the world, was practically as long as ever, and "its dramatic values and integrity have not suffered in the least."
When Detroit's policeman-censor threatened to close Eugene O'Neill's A Moon for the Misbegotten unless the actors stopped saying certain words, the words were just quietly dropped. Detroiters would no longer suffer the psychic trauma of: 1) "whore," 2) "bastard," 3) "God damn," 4) "son of a bitch," and 5) "blonde pig."
Past Masters
Paul Claudel, onetime Ambassador to the U.S., whose Tidings Brought to Mary hit Broadway some 25 years ago, was finally inducted into the French Academy, at the age of 78.
To George Bernard Shaw, who watches his diet, went a thoughtful tribute from Literary Heavyweight Gene Tunney, who also watches his: a shipment of nuts, apples, pineapples, dates.
Poet Stephen Spender had a new job. The tall,wavy-haired Oxonian was hired (for next fall) to tell the young ladies at Sarah Lawrence College, in suburban Bronxville, N.Y., about literature and philosophy.
Doris Duke Cromwell had a new job too. The richest-blonde-in-the-world, who did some fitful corresponding for the Hearst papers a couple of years ago (TIME, Nov. 26, 1945), was hired by opulent Harper's Bazaar to work in its Paris bureau. Her reportorial specialty: fine feathers. In a busy week, Heiress Doris was also chosen by M. Louis, a hairdresser of high principles, as one of the Ten Worst-Tressed Ladies in America. Sniffed Louis: "It seems as though all she does to her hair is comb it."
Ingrid Bergman was another on Louis' list. His horrid word for her coifs: "vapid." Miss Bergman scarcely knew what to think. Simultaneously, the smart-chart Town & Country published a full-page, seven-picture spread of Bergman hairdos, held her tresses up to its readers as "a shining example."
Middle-aged cinemaddicts enjoyed a pleasant flashback to the windblown-bob era. Clara Bow, now a rancher's wife and mother of two, made a brief comeback, of a sort. Handsomer to the camera's eye than she was in the blowsy 20s, the onetime "It" Girl regained the spotlight as a result of another woman's triumph. A listener who managed to identify Clara's voice in a radio contest won $17,590 in prizes (including an airplane, a refrigerator, an automobile, a furnace, a fur coat, maid service for a year).
Homebodies
Sold by the beauteous Duchess of Kent: household special-effects accumulated by the late Duke. The Duchess, now in smaller quarters, has no room for them. At auction in London, a Sèvres china dessert service brought £609, a pair of porcelain vases £1,260, a walnut settee £1,785. Total receipts: £92,341.