Don Alvarado — Spanish — with English Reserve (1929) 🇺🇸

When Hernando Cortez conquered Mexico, he started something. It was he and his formidable warriors who blazed the way for the Spanish invasion that swept the conquered territory, pushed on into the great Southwestern areas of the United States, and left for American posterity, even as the Aztecs left for their conquerors, a heritage of romantic history and tradition.

by Madeline Glass

Of more tangible importance is the fact that the Spanish invaders left descendants of such charm and beauty and talent, that many of them have in turn conquered America's amusement stronghold, and endeared themselves to millions of once hated gringos.

In the front rank of these velvet-voiced emissaries of peace is Don Alvarado, who is three quarters Spanish and one quarter English. Don's excellent performances in recent pictures have made him an actor to be reckoned with. He is essentially a romantic type, and it begins to look as if he will become one of the most spectacular gallants of the screen. Don's technique is more intense than Colman's, more subtle than Gilbert's. He glows where others glower.

From such gay and sophisticated roles as the French husband, in Breakfast at Sunrise, to the polished and palpitating Spaniard, in Drums of Love, his work has become increasingly impressive. Unfortunately, directors usually depict romantic love in terms of physical embraces, rather than by acts of kindness and sacrifice. Much as I deplore this stupid tendency, it must be said for Don Alvarado that he at least invests such amorous demonstrations with poignant allure. In The Scarlet Lady, one of the worst pictures of 1928, '29, and '30, he managed to retain some measure of human appeal, in spite of the Russian revolution and Lya de Putti. Recently he completed another Spanish characterization, that of one of the twin brothers in The Bridge of San Luis Rey.

Judging Mr. Alvarado by his hectic screen roles, I had pictured him as being a man in his late twenties, determinedly romantic, and so imbued with Latin fire as to be on the verge of spontaneous combustion. Although I was genuinely interested in him as an actor, I must admit that curiosity had much to do with my desire to talk with him. Possibly, I figured, he would have acquired a fine collection of complexes, doubtful philosophies and flapdoodle notions, that would make interesting reading for the Picture Play clan. But, hang it all, I never seem to have any luck in such matters. The impeccable Novarro himself could not have been more gently circumspect.

The day Mr. Alvarado called to take me to lunch he was suffering from a cold, a misfortune that was not

improved by the drizzling rain and chill wind. From the window beside our table we could look down on drenched and lovely Westlake Park, which has seen service in many a film.

"I didn't have any breakfast," said he, in a somewhat husky voice, "and I am starved." He began to study the menu.

The appearance of this twenty-four-year-old actor is so extraordinary as to cause even well-bred people to stare. He is, by all odds, the handsomest man I have ever seen. His hair is as black as the proverbial raven's wing. His complexion is olive, and of the fine-grained, flawless texture peculiar to certain types of brunettes. Although he has long worn a mustache, he is now clean-shaven — thank Heaven!

Considering his exceptional good looks, it was rather a surprise to learn that he was once an amateur prizefighter. I immediately began asking for details. It required a good bit of probing to get at this phase of his life. In fact, it requires much probing and cross-examining to get him to talk about himself at all. Although he is by no means diffident or introspective, he has, I think, a broad streak of English reserve.

It seems that Don took up boxing, not with the intention of permanently identifying himself with the cauliflower-ear industry, but for the sport of it. When about seventeen years of age, he conceived the not entirely unique idea of running away from his home in New Mexico. So, accompanied by a pal, he set out with the intention of taking Hollywood by storm. At San Bernardino, Don failed to get aboard their private freight-car when it pulled out. Stranded and without money, he was wandering dejectedly along; when he stopped a stranger to ask for a match. The stranger turned out to be a professional pugilist. When he learned of Don's misfortune, he arranged matters so that the runaway was matched to fight. Don won the decision and the munificent sum of twenty dollars, which enabled him to reach Los Angeles and pay the rent of a room. Failing to get work at the studios, he did the practical thing — got a job in a candy factory and kept it for a year.

Through the interest of a friend, he met Robert Z. Leonard, who was directing Mademoiselle Midnight. Leonard thought he had possibilities, and gave him extra work in the picture. Later he went to the Warner studio, where they gave him a job and changed his name from Paige to Alvarado, his mother's maiden name.

"An actor," explained Don, "is like a turtle; treat him kindly, and he comes out of his shell, but treat him badly, and he closes up."

That, surely, is an original idea. I've heard actors compared with many things, but never before with an humble turtle. It is a descriptive simile, and just the sort of remark one would expect from this very conservative and polite actor.

"When I heard they were casting Seventh Heaven at the Fox studio," said he, "I went to see if they would consider me for the role of Chico. While I was looking for the casting director, I met Charlie Farrell [Charles Farrell], who was then playing in another picture. He took me to the director, and recommended me for the part. There was some delay in starting the picture, and meantime Charlie had finished the one he was making. In the end, they gave him the part he had tried to get for me.

"Drums of Love did more for me than any picture I have yet made. I also have a good part in The Bridge of San Luis Rey."

"Why didn't they let you play both twins?" I wanted to know.

"If I had played both, I would have been the star of the picture, and that wouldn't do. More than that, it is very difficult and expensive to have an actor play two parts. I would have had to enact one character, while the director timed each gesture by counting. Then I would have had to get on the other side of the dividing line, and make the gestures of the other character synchronize.

"Lily Damita [Lili Damita] is going to be a sensation in this picture. She looks like a real, old-fashioned beauty, a charmer from out of the past."

He pronounced the word "beauty" with considerable feeling.

The chief trouble in trying to get a story about Don is that he continually talks about the people he likes, and the people who have been kind to him, instead of talking about Don Alvarado. I ask you, what is one to do in such a situation? Where were those flapdoodle ideas I had expected to unearth? When I finally insisted that he tell me about himself, he thought for a moment, then, after counting on his fingers, announced that he had five sisters.

"Last summer," he said, showing more interest than formerly, "I sent for my mother to come and visit me. She had never been out of New Mexico, so you can imagine what a thrill it was for her. My father couldn't come last year, but this summer I intend to have them both visit me.

"All my ancestors have been just good, ordinary people. None of them were rich or famous. My father is in the cattle business. At home we all spoke Spanish, and I am wondering if my English is good enough for talking pictures. I surely hope so, for I want very much to make one."

Another thing he wants to do is to change his name, for he does not like the one given him by the Warners. Did I think it was a good idea? I didn't think it was a good idea, and said so. His present name is now well known to the public, and a change undoubtedly would cause much confusion. Still, I may be wrong in this matter. What do you think? Don would be glad if you would write and tell him your opinion.

Just one thing more — he is married.

Don Alvarado wants to exchange his screen name for Paige, his real one.

Collection: Picture Play Magazine, June 1929