a sinister-looking kid
Joan Crawford on the set of Dream of Love, 1928
To people who know her, there is nothing phony, no brittle assortment of fine mannerisms, about Joan. She never falls into any depressing attitudes of refinement; she puts her elbows on the table, scatters cigarette ashes around, and, on occasion, swears like a lady. She is a rather grave girl on the whole, curiously compelling to be with, perhaps because of her spectacular gift for listening. She has a knack for giving her entire attention to the people who talk to her, so that, transfixed by those astonishing eyes and by the air of expectancy which surrounds her, they begin to glow and to feel that they are being pretty interesting, after all. Entirely self-taught, she is never stilted, because everything she does is the result of a study so eager and so minute that it has come to be natural to her. (“Starlight Starbright” by Margaret Case Harriman, Vanity Fair, February 1936)
