by Relman Morin
A French girl, by the name of Harlean Carpentier, told me today of the strange hatred that she bears Jean Harlow. Not so strange, when you come to think of it. All this Twentieth Century Salome did to Harlean Carpentier was wreck her life. Here’s the story:
A few years ago, Harlean had just broken into the movies. She worked her way up through the extra-ranks and finally landed a feminine lead in a picture that later grossed about $10,000,000. So you see it was an important break.
The girl thought, at last, she had become a full-fledged actress. She didn’t realize what Jean Harlow had done to her in that picture. Now, let’s forget the movies, and go back to Harlean Carpentier’s life until the time she came to California.
She was a carefully-sheltered girl. She never went to a party alone, until she was 18. She had her first date when she was 16. As a child, she had been something of a tomboy. She rode horses and played with pigs.
When she was 16, she had that first date, fell in love with the boy, and married him. She had never known another man. They came to California, where the sun shone and the birds sang, in more ways than one–until Jean Harlow came along and wrecked it all.
It was Jean Harlow who pointed out to the movie producers that all of Harlean’s curves were in the right places and she became the Empress of Sensuousness, the Queen of Sex–this girl who had known only one man, and had been as carefully sheltered as a princess.
Jean Harlow created a sort of glorified street-walker on the screen out of the ambitious kid who was Harlean Carpentier. It broke up her home, and ended, for the time being, her chances to be anything more to the screen than a beautiful piece of statuary. That’s why Harlean Carpentier hates Jean Harlow.
They are the same person. One is her real name; the other a movie monicker [sic].
I had luncheon with Jean in her dressing-room yesterday. She ate cottage cheese and tomatoes, which is a very unsiren-like dish, and told me about her ambition to be an actress, and what had happened to it.
She is a frank, straightforward sort of person, who shakes hands with the firm grip of an athlete. She’s wearing a red wig now, for that lead in “The Red-Headed Woman”. And she likes that red wig.
“It’s a symbol of the first chance I ever had to do something in pictures other than rotate my hips,” she said.
Harlow Heaven 