Merle Oberon end Laurenc* Olivier som will be at the Nanking. a great deal to do with his early days in Hollywood. He is eternally grateful to them, though they did to keep him out of pictures.
spending a week-end with family and confided to them that he longed to get into films, but nobody would take him seriously.
He had tried indoor horse-racing in New York, wine selling in Cuba and reporting in Canada. He reached California in a small Japanese freighter. But still he couldn't convince anybody that he seriously wanted a job.
Would Not be Dissuaded The Young family did their best to dissuade him. "We're not going to help in anybody's disillusionment," they said. "So we'll tell you the truth at once. We won't raise a help you to get into When the week-end was over Niven made to go. "Where?" demanded the candid Youngs. He tried to lie. They said, "Nonsense, you're staying here." And for six weeks he did Then a typical Hollywood thing hap&ened. At a dinner party he met Sam*Goldwyn, to whom he had applied a dozen times for a test.
"Why don't you let me see a test of you?" asked Sam suddenly. The result was a seven years' contract, of which Niven has now worked about three years and made himself one of the most popular of featured players—that little regiment of non-stars for whom, I find, filmgoers have a great affection. Niven's performance in "The Prisoner of Zenda" alone put him very high in that class.
Early in his film career he had a galling—but funny—experience. He played a tiny part in an unimportant picture. All he had to do was open a door and walk into a room. He did not even know what the rest of the story was.
When the pre-view came he took a girl friend. As the film proceeded he recognized the scenery and excitedly whispered to the girl, "Here I come."
The door opened and a completely strange young man walked in and played Niven's part. Nobody had bothered to tell him he had been "replaced."
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.