L.A. La Land: Fame, Fortune, and Forensics

STAR OF THE MONTH: Linda Darnell

2012-02-01T12:24:00.000-08:00

Linda Darnell: the "Glory Girl."

Linda Darnell was just a regular girl from Texas, but most importantly, she was just a girl. Scooped up by Twentieth-Century Fox when she was just 15-years-old, her adolescent, romanticizing mind would become both awestruck at her good fortune and dumbfounded at the illusion it turned out to be. Her dream-come-true turned out to be a malfunctioning nightmare that clipped her young life short after robbing her of her youthful innocence. Linda Darnell was a beautiful, fresh creature forced into an environment that didn't suit her naivete nor cater to her vulnerabilities. Like a tortoise without a shell, she would come to seek refuge where she could find it: in her work, in her dreams, in alcohol, in denial... But nothing could protect her from her own violent fate-- when the living Hell of her life and torment came to claim her, suffocating forever the little girl hopes that had promised a castle in the sky and brought her instead face to face with the Big Bad Wolf. But shed no tears for this casualty: she was a tougher cookie than you think...

How is it that we all start out on the same end of this yellow brick road, but wind up in different places? A great many on their travels decide to turn around, for "there's no place like home." Others get lost in the seductive poppy fields; others' routes are cut short but their own personal wicked witch. Very few make it to the Emerald City. Linda was one of those who thought she had arrived only to realize that she had landed somewhere else. The "witch" of her life, as is too often the case, was her mother. Oh, mother... What a complicated relationship. The love and support of good parenting seems to be at the backbone of nearly every success story, while every Hollywood victim seems to be plagued by the lack of it. For every Ginger Rogers there are a dozen like Harlow, Lake, Flynn, Bow, and Gilbert. So it was that Linda by bad fortune was born to Maggie Pearl Brown. This is not to say that Pearl was a wholly bad parent, bereft of maternal instinct, nor that she did not truly love her children. Certainly, the woman had her good qualities. Her flaw, however, was a fatal one in that she projected all of her own dreams and desires onto her daughter Linda's back. What she failed to accomplish for herself, she vowed to vicariously triumph through her second born-- the most beautiful of her children, the most talented, and also the one most like herself. To understand the life of Linda, you have to understand Pearl.

Linda with her mother, Pearl.

Pearl was the daughter of Mary York and Thomas Gaugh Brown. Her father passed on his half-Cherokee blood to his tempestuous daughter, whose restless unruly spirit yearned for an exciting life outside Clifton, TN. A beautiful young woman, she enjoyed and craved attention, but was loathe to settle down in the conventional way and start a home and family like the other girls. Inside her beat the heart of a wild thing, and her "otherness" shirked convention and jumped into the arms of Lawrence Ketroe after her father's untimely passing. At 14, she was married, and soon she had birthed two children: Richard and Evelyn. Larry's ambitions were ill defined, and after the family ran out of cash, Larry ran out on them. Her dreams dashed, Pearl now found herself a lone mother of two living in Texas. But the grief that resulted from her youthful impetuosity was coupled with an iron will. For all her faults, she wanted to provide for her children-- she may be temporarily beaten, but broken she was not. Forced to put Richard and Evelyn in temporary care at an orphanage, Pearl went into a rage when she learned that they had been adopted by new parents and were forever out of her reach. Here, the last tether of tenderness in her heart seemed to snap. Completely alone, Pearl obsessively embraced religion to keep her sanity. Her luck changed when she made the acquaintance of a bashful and soft-spoken postman, Calvin Roy Darnell. Intoxicated by her energy, he married her. The two moved into a modest house in Oak Cliff and had four children together: Undeen, Monetta, Monte, and son Calvin, Jr. (In an ironic twist, Pearl also discovered her two eldest children, Richard and Evelyn, living mere blocks away). At first, Pearl put more focus into pretty, eldest daughter Undeen, hoping that through dancing and elocution classes the younger party could finish what her mother had started. Undeen was not an entertainer, however, and proved both un-gifted and unwilling in the realm of performance. But Monetta, who was born with her mother's same dark, intense features, too seemed to inherit her eager gift for the stage.

Linda at about 14, dressed to the gills for one of her talent shows.

The question remains, did Monetta truly want to become a star, or was she brainwashed from her earliest memories to think that was what she wanted? A natural talent, Monetta's soft beauty and amiable nature made her easy prey for Pearl's ambitions. While Linda would inherit a temper to match her mother's, it was not as intense nor as frequent in its eruption. Monetta was "sweet" and well-liked whereas her mother was erratic, or as son Calvin put it, a "fire-breathing dragon." Monetta did not argue Pearl's wishes, wanting to please her and hoping that in doing so she could earn the love and affection that she had always craved. Monetta was thus crafted into a sensitive soldier: obedient, focused, and constantly stressed. So adamant was she that she had to become a movie star that she never stopped to ask if that was what she truly wanted. She found little time to play with the kids at her school, where she was well-liked but a bit ostracized for her impeccable appearance, far too mature for her years. Most of her time was spent at home, studying, learning piano, performing skits, or cavorting with the multiple animals that were housed with her family: chickens, turtles, rabbits, etc. It was a wild life, indeed. Monetta proved a model student who balanced her good grades with daydreams of stardom. She began performing in talent shows, usually singing "Alice Blue Gown," modeling, dancing, and even performing in some minor theaterical productions. As she was only a young-un when she really started making the rounds, she was coached by Pearl to tell judges that she was older. Despite her self-effacing nature, Monetta could be determined, which is what caught the attention of scout Ivan Kahn. Charmed by Monetta, he was shocked to learn that she was only 14! A screen test was scheduled, and though Fox was interested, Monetta's age posed a problem: too young for an ingenue, too old for child roles.

Linda stars opposite her childhood crush Tyrone Power in The Mark of Zorro.

Undeterred, Monetta diligently kept in touch with Fox while concurrently landing a short-term contract at RKO for their "Gateway to Hollywood Contest." The competition intrigued Darryl F. Zanuck, who decided that he wanted Monetta at Fox after all, with a couple of stipulations-- she change her name to Linda, and she leave the finagling Pearl behind. By now convinced that this was her own dream and determined to escape Pearl's clutches, the new "Linda Darnell" made no objections and made her big debut in Hotel for Women. Life was good. Living with Undeen in her early Hollywood days, Linda quickly became accustomed to the long hours, publicity gamuts, and the art of film acting. Suddenly, the little Texan girl was being cast in films opposite her crush Tyrone Power: Daytime Wife, Brigham Young, The Mark of Zorro, and Blood and Sand. In most of her early roles, she portrayed the young, virginal figure-- American as apple pie and sweet as candy. Yet, the flash was not enough to alter her sensibilities. Linda did not become a party girl, but preferred to stay at home and read or prep for the next day's work. Still a teen, Linda may have been intoxicated by the freedom-- something that she had never experienced under Pearl's control-- but she was still impressionable and uncertain on her own. Since her parents' marriage was long since one in name only, and Calvin had preferred life outside the home, Linda too was longing for the paternal figure she'd never really had. For this reason, she quickly fell under the spell of the attentive cinematographer, Pev Marley. With a 22 year age difference, few in the community saw it coming when they eloped on April 18, 1943.

Linda shocked fans and critics with her sultry, stunning turn in Summer Storm.

Pev provided the shoulder Linda needed to cry on, the support system that bulked up her confidence, and the sounding board that advised her in her career. Despite this, the marriage was a rocky one. With Linda's insecurity and tender age, arguments and misunderstandings were imminent, and Linda's personal pain was only deepened when she discovered that she could not bear children. The result, adopting daughter Lola, brought some light into her life, but constant threats of divorce and reconciliations made her private life a hazard, especially after she moved her entire family out to California and had to contend with Pearl's jealousy and constant implications of ingratitude. Ironically, Linda's career was soaring. Growing sick of her sweet girl roles, she turned the tables by showing up as grown woman with an edge in films like Summer Storm and her greatest triumph A Letter to Three Wives-- which incidentally ignited a passionate affair between herself and director Joseph L. Manckiewicz. She hoped the hot and heavy film adaptation Forever Amber would be her true star-making turn, but it failed to draw in the expected business. A success it was; a legend of filmmaking it was not. The experience nearly killed her, as she was on a strenuous diet that induced multiple collapses on the set. Her unfortunate crutch during times of woe was the bottle, a habit taught her by her husband. Under the influence, the normally kind and sweet-natured Linda became angry, unmanageable, and filthy of tongue. As her marriage finally crumbled, Linda found herself on her own once again, especially after her contract with Fox was cancelled-- a result of the new-fangled invention known as television that was picking off stars one by one. Suddenly, the phone stopped ringing, parts were few and far between, and Linda was left to face herself for the first time.

Linda's role in A Letter to Three Wives was her favorite and her most

remembered. Who can forget the line: "What I got don't need beads."

(With Ann Sothern and Jeanne Crain).

Having grown up on dreams of film and then later on film sets, life outside the movies was unfathomable. Suffering too much too soon, Linda had developed into a lost child of sorts. She was raised as an adult and had matured into a disconcerted infant. Once a star, she was already out of work at 28. Linda took jobs in television and found herself to be a natural actress on the stage-- an experience she found more gratifying than any of her film work-- and she too sought comfort in love, marrying twice more to Phillip Liebmann and Merle Roy Robertson-- both unsuccessful. To cleanse her soul, she devoted herself to charity, opening up "The Girls Town of Italy" and working with "The Kidney Foundation," but it did not salve the pain of her own disintegrating relationship with her daughter Lola nor the pain of discovery that her long time lover's latest film-- The Barefoot Contessa, which Mankiewicz had penned for her-- had gone to Ava Gardner and not herself. Unsuccessfully freelancing, Linda landed roles here and there, but after Zero Hour! in 1957, she would be off the big screen for seven years. Stage roles and nightclub acts became the main sources of her income. After her third marriage collapsed, she tried to commit suicide multiple times via overdose, but was fortunately saved. Her home and belongings were auctioned off, and Linda was right back where she started: nowhere. Linda suffered through a bout of alopecia areata, the death of first husband Pev-- with whom she had remained friendly-- and unemployment, but still she would accept help from no one. She was determined to build herself back up on her own terms, as she had never done before. The process strangely brought her closer to Lola, and friends started seeing the sweet girl that they had always known re-emerging from a cocoon of bitterness and cynicism, which for years had become her only protection.

Fox had hoped the Forever Amber would be the equivalent of Gone with the Wind

for their studio. While a financial success, it was not a windfall, and it was a

bitter disappointment for Linda. (With Cornel Wilde).

Life seemed to be turning in the right direction again when Linda was cast in a cameo role in Black Spurs, and she was a hit with the cast and crew-- all who delighted in working with a legend who was as kind and down to earth as they had always imagined. Staying with longtime friend Jeanne Curtis in April of '65, Linda was determined to fix her finances and get back on track. Late on the night of the 8th, she saw that Star Dust, one of her earliest films, was playing on Television. As a lark, the group, including Jeanne's daughter Patty, sat watching the film, then everyone went off to bed-- except for Linda, who as always was suffering from insomnia. Some time in the night, the house caught fire. The three women were able to reach each other, and through the smoke and flames Jeanne managed to get Patty out an upstairs window, but when she turned behind her for Linda, her friend had disappeared. Jeanne made it outside and waited for the appearance of her friend, but Linda's charred body would not emerge until the fire department arrived and barely saved her life. With ninety percent of her body covered in burns, Linda held on for thirty-three hours as friends and well-wishers flooded her room with flowers. At 2:20pm on April 10, 1965, Linda Darnell made her final exit at the age of forty-one. The news was kept from Pearl, who passed on less than a year later.

Linda's beauty was always mixed with a wholesomeness that

made her castable as the girl-next-door or

man's most dangerous threat.

A shooting star is here and gone, seen only by a lucky few before it disappears into the dark recesses of space. So too was Linda's short life a "blink and you'll miss it" affair; her stardom a phenomenon so brief that attempting to catch it out of the corner of one's eye is certain to result in a sort of existential whiplash. Too much of Linda's life was built upon a fable-- a dream that stardom would bring her happiness and fulfilment. Hollywood became a religion to her, one she practiced devoutly, until her faith was pulled out from under her by time, circumstance, and perhaps simply the cruel hands of fate. In her later years, though still young years, Linda would for the first time discover herself as a human being, question her desires, and attempt to clean up the mess that a lifetime of delusions had made. Just as she started to embark on her second chance adventure, all hope was snuffed out. Luckily, Linda did not fade away with her last breaths. Her memory is still cherished by those who knew her-- friends like Ann Miller who recall the friendly, old-fashioned girl with a love of animals and a generous spirit. The innocent girl who was tread upon and manipulated by a corrupt business too remains gorgeous and unaltered in the films that gave her the only peace she ever knew. Whether one prefers the doe-eyed Linda or the femme fatale, her films are there to satisfy. With the best of her left on the silver screen, even the savage ending of her life cannot tarnish what we hold dear. As Keats said, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever./ Its loveliness increases; it will never/ Pass into nothingness." And so it is that Linda's "Star Dust" lingers, and we remain mesmerized.

HOT SPOTS in CA: The Gene Autry Western Heritage Museum

2012-01-25T11:07:00.000-08:00

In the old west you had to be "in it to win it." Could you stand days on end

in this cramped space?

Marlene Dietrich is most remembered for her seductive roles in top and tails, but the German vixen was also a surprising hit in Westerns. Her most popularly remembered role is that of Frenchy in Destry Rides Again, but she also starred in The Spoilers and Rancho Notorious. Her co-star in The Spoilers just so happens to be last month's L.A. La star, John Wayne. So, in honor of both, here is further tribute to the Western via the delightful and very informative Autry National Center. Giddy up!

~ ~ ~

Located in the seemingly infinite space of Griffith Park, this gem is housed right across the parking lot from the Los Angeles Zoo. Inside, there are both permanent displays that commemorate the very harrowing, inspiring, and sometimes violent roots of our nation's past and westward movement-- as well as the manifestation of this history in our cinematic past-- and temporary, rotating displays that showcase different artists, craftsman, etc, which are evidence of our still adherent yet evolving culture from these early days. The museum itself is named for Hollywood's favorite singing cowboy, Gene Autry, but gunslingers aren't the only faction of our culture that are examined: the American Indian, women, Chinese immigrants, Mexicans, etc. are all showcased, and the interrelations between these many peoples are thoroughly investigated.

Gene greets his guests.

The navigation of the fairly large building begins, as always, at the beginning. The front entrance is encased in a courtyard, smack in the center of which is a sculpture commemorating Mr. Autry. Behind him is a movie theater, which occasionally plays, of course, Westerns or other educational programs, and across from this is a small eatery. Attached to the main building is the gift shop, in which one can purchase anything from the usual cheesy knick-knack, to old movie posters, to American Indian crafts like the "secret box"-- which is a very intricately detailed and beautifully designed box that an unskilled person will have an incredible amount of trouble opening. Luckily, this wasn't my first rodeo. (BTW, if you're interested, I particularly like Heartwood Creations, which can be found here).

Alberto Valdes's "Christmas Child."

The inner sanctum is divided into an upstairs and a down. The upper left is dedicated to two rotating displays. When I attended last, I was fortunate enough to be able to view "Art Along the Hyphen: The Mexican-American Generation," which obviously honors the "Chicano" artists in our nation's history. All of the portraits and sculptures were very vivid in their perspective of Mexican-American life, from the beauty of to the struggle of the Mexican immigrant. The greatest surprise to me was my introduction to the artist Alberto Valdes whose provocative paintings were composed of such vibrant colors that they literally seemed to glow. His palette and use of shapes produce the most amazing emotional effects and equally stimulate the eye and mind. A few of his pictures were very specific in the images that they were trying to relate, while others were more intricate and subjective-- surreal but not bizarre. Forgive me, I'm not an art major, so I don't know the correct terms. In layman's terms, they were pretty and pretty cool.

Just a few strands of entwined grass. No biggie.

The next showroom possessed a collection of American Indian basketry. I know what you're thinking: "Baskets... Riveting." Well, it kind of was. In the center of the room was a large circular map of the entire country, and the locations of different tribes were delineated by examples of their particular weaving "style." It was a truly interesting thing to see how the different techniques and artistic penchants varied based on the separate tribes and their regions. As for the baskets themselves, which came in all shaped and sizes, these things were intricate! There were some jaw-dropping videos playing that showed modern weavers at work, and to say that their fingers are nimble is an understatement. I'm still not at all certain how they are able to make all of those delicious little patterns with the wicker and sweetgrass and whatnot, but my lack of awareness did not hamper my aesthetic enjoyment.

The gang's all here: Hollywood's favorite cowboys decorate

the downstairs wall in a jaw-dropping mural.

Moving downstairs, I was immediately hit in the face with an exquisite mural depicting early man's emergence in the west transitioning to the cowboy movie star. The portrait is literally a panorama of visual history. It begins with the hey-day of the American Indian, moves to the collision of natives and white settlers, and ends with movie and television stars like Gary Cooper, Tom Mix, and William S. Hart. It was at this point that I realized non-flash photography was allowed and all of the covert pics that I had been taking were unnecessary. I thought I was being stealthy; turns out no one cared. After taking some shots of the astounding painting, I turned directly behind me and ventured to the outdoor exhibit that tried to bring to life the physical environment and vegetation of the old west. A small space composed of a mini-waterfall and pond, there really wasn't much to look at, but a couple of kids were having a heck of a time "sifting for gold" at an educational exhibit.

One of many reasons I am proud to be a (modern) American-

better medical care.

Thus I re-entered and began my investigation of the historical portion of the museum. This turned out to be my favorite part. I have been to history museums before, but it has admittedly been awhile, so perhaps that is why I was so enthralled with all of the archaeology, or maybe it was the specificity of the subject matter that I found so fascinating. In any case, what I was about to witness was a thorough, moving, and surprising tribute to America's early expansion. The bottom level is divided into three portions: Opportunity, Community, and The Cowboy. I started in "Opportunity," and found myself looking at typical odds and ends of civilian life now made atypical due to their antiquated state. I was most impressed with an early medical kit, perhaps because I have two family members in the dental profession, and I found myself grabbing my jaw and thanking God that medical science has progressed. Much of this section was dedicated to the story of early militia or lawmen, and several compartments honored their efforts toward the establishment of order in the Wild West-- not an easy task as people continued to make their move into the unknown and ungoverned territory. Old uniforms, still in incredible condition, were showcased, as well as weaponry. Other items typically found on the long stage rides-- remember this is pre-locomotive-- were also on display, including luggage, toiletries, and an old coach in toto. Looking at the size of the thing, I was at once impressed by how much larger it was than I had imagined and also was in awe of the fact that, despite this, it still seemed far too small for so many people to be packed inside for such long travels. Our forefathers and mothers were certainly patient.

The integration of the American Indian into typical eastern ways was not

smooth nor welcome. But here is an example of such

assimilation-- native law adapts to "foreign"

government to protect their own.

In the next section, I came across examples of every day life in the West. The most intriguing portion was dedicated to dissecting all of the different factions and how they operated independently from and also in relation to each other. Racism was an issue that certainly came to the forefront, and it was amazing to see even in these early days how many different religions and ethnicities co-existed and at the same time sought their own individual spaces from each other. Mormons, Chinese Immigrants, African American, Italians... You name it. in these early days, birds of a feather flocked together to produce some sort of stability amidst the chaos that came, not just from the danger and suspicion of the nature around them nor from the Native Americans observing them with equal puzzlement and frustration, but from each other. The color of one's skin, the religion he practiced, or the nation from which he had come, became defining factors that tied him to his own people and divided him from all others. As this co-mingling slowly merged into a (slightly) more civilized combination of communities, prejudice gave way to abundance. But along with the daily laundry and cooking, there too was need for fun, which is why the saloon room was one of the highlights of the exhibit for me. With an actual bar complete with ancient liquor bottles and beer advertisements, poker tables, and a roulette wheel, I could almost smell the tobacco. If there is one thing that brings all mankind together, it's liquor.

Can ya' smell the whiskey?

The final portion was completely dedicated to the life of the cowboy. In addition to a display depicting the famous shoot-out at the OK Corral featuring Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp, there too was a Colt gallery with some of the most amazing pistols I have ever seen: jewelry for men. Further down, several displays replicated the daily life and toil of the authentic American cowboy, and it was nowhere near as glamorous as the movies portray it, lemme tell ya'. These men worked hard, sweated, fought steers, tangled with barbed wire, and drove cattle across the country, not so much in the name of progress or money-- excluding of course the cattle baron-- but to survive. For the authentic cowboy, the lifestyle possessed no glamour and little respite. It was simply a job-- a way to make a living. Strange how the memory of these pioneers has evolved into perhaps the most romanticized piece of American mythology. However, our continuing appreciation is a good thing. Without these fellows of spur and saddle putting down roots, we wouldn't be sittin' so pretty in our ivory towers, now would we?

A couple of the prize Colts on display. Purty ain't they?

Which brings me to the final portion of the museum: "Imagination." This section was dedicated entirely to the cowboy as a cultural icon and the way he has manifested himself in several mediums, including music, television, and-- of course-- movies. From the silent heroes, to the rhinestone cowboys, to the singin' Gene Autry, every brand of Western celebrity was investigated. Movie buffs will be pleased to see costumes from some of their favorite films as worn by their favorite performers, including Clint Eastwood, John Wayne, and Betty Hutton. Because the Western genre has become somewhat buried in present cinema, it was nice to see so much of it revived for public viewing, and the true impact that it has had on this country and its descendants was blatantly identified. Perhaps because this is a history that only we as Americans possess, do we cherish it so greatly. Of course, the power of the cowboy and the Western has drifted into other countries and affected other filmmakers and other film goers, but it is a past that is undeniably in our bones and a part of our souls. There is no cowboy but the American cowboy, which is perhaps why the stars of the silver screen who adorned their heads with ten gallon hats remain some of the most revered in the history of film.

The costumes of Duke and Kate from Rooster Cogburn.

My voyage of the museum over for the time being, I reluctantly departed. As I drove through the winding roads of Griffith Park in the luxury of my Mazda, I found myself grateful for the fruits I had been gifted after a hard won progression of others' labors. But too, I found myself envious of a rugged life of sweat and determination-- a life earned every day by the mere cost of living it. Though the history that I encountered at the Autry Museum is, indeed, history, I don't feel that what I witnessed there is dead. I think every American and every man, woman, and child who ever has or ever will come to American shores for a better life, possesses within him the same inexplicable need to carve out a niche for himself in an open space wherein he can toil, battle, and finally thrive as the keeper of his own destiny. With crowded cities and cement everywhere, it is hard to see the forest without the trees, but our personal adventures of stakes and claims continue. The Wild West, therefore, will always grow and expand within us, for we carry it in our hearts.

A few of Chuck Connors's belongings.

To visit The Autry Museum:

Griffith Park

4700 Western Heritage Way
Los Angeles, CA 90027-1462
T: 323.667.2000
Tuesday–Friday, 10:00 a.m.–4:00 p.m.

Saturday–Sunday, 11:00 a.m.–5:00 p.m.
Closed on Mondays.

$10 for Adults.

$6 Seniors and Students

$4 Children 3-12 years-old

Free for Children under 3.

Free Parking.

MENTAL MONTAGE: The Sincerest Form of Flattery

2012-01-18T10:03:00.000-08:00

Marlene, as an extreme personality- here in Blonde Venus--

was practically begging to be caricatured.

The struggle for fame and celebrity in Hollywood is a continual one. Even when someone has a few films under his belt and has a somewhat familiar face, the work that goes into maintaining his star status and position is more difficult than the public can ever imagine. Therefore, it naturally follows that no celeb is ever comfortable on his pedestal, which at any moment may topple. If he takes a break to blink, his moment may be over forever. From the outside, it looks easy, but to the one swimming upstream, it is impossible to ever utter the words, "I made it!" There is one tell-tale sign, however, to intimate that one has evolved past the cluster of "working actors" to the realm of bona fide "star," or perhaps even to the land of "legend." If you're popular enough to be mocked, heavily referenced, or flat-out imitated, you may have finally surmounted the curve. Today's stars can look forward to a lambast on "SNL" or "South Park," but before the days of television, there were only movies. Here are some stars who were big enough to be [mocked] in pictures.

The most obvious example is the hilarious haranguing of this month's muse, Marlene Dietrich, by one of the Queens of Comedy, Madeline Kahn, in Blazing Saddles (left). Mel Brooks's lampoon of the Western genre was derived from many classic films, including Dodge City, but the reference to Destry Rides Again never becomes more obvious than when Madeline takes the stage as Lili Von Schtupp. "Lili," one assumes, is a reference to one of Marlene's classic songs, "Lili Marleen" and "Schtupp" to... well, that's one Yiddish word everyone understands, I think. Madeline's every mannerism as Lili is clearly taken from the assertively sexual "Frenchy" that Marlene portrayed in Destry, and Madeline's impression of Marlene's accented speech is too humorously exaggerated and aped: "Oh, a wed wose..." Nothing is so spectacular as her rendition of the original song, "I'm So Tired." Her comedic expertise makes the performance more than a hammy imitation, it is genius. With Gene Wilder's so-quick-you'll-miss-it gun draw and Cleavon Little's confident and sly portrayal of the west's first black sheriff, there are few moments for one to draw breaths between laughs during the film, but it is Madeline's Marlene that takes the cake. As Marlene was still alive when the film was released, one wonders at her reaction, if she even saw it. Another screen beauty, Hedy Lamarr, gets a "shout out" as well, since Harvey Korman's character is named "Hedley Lamar." However, Hedy was not flattered, and sued Mel Brooks for what she considered to be the gross use of her name.

Another great parody comes via Carole Lombard in The Princess Comes Across. This screwball comedy is a mish-mash of mystery, murder, and maritime love. Carole portrays actress wannabe Wanda Nash who, in order to conceal her identity, pretends to be a Swedish princess (Olga) on her cruise to America, resulting in a lengthy, pitch-perfect send up of none other than Greta Garbo. From the moment Carole appears as Olga, beautiful, glamorous, and aloof, there is no question as to whom she is imitating. Her distant, irritated poise and uber-European accent-- "Dis is verry annoying..."-- draws an instant comparison to the eternal, gorgeous hermit who only wanted to "be alone." Of course, Carole is at her best when the mask comes off and her abrupt Brooklyn character has time to rant and fuss about the stress of maintaining her hidden identity and dealing with all those dead bodies that keep piling up on deck. A romance too ensues between Olga/Wanda and bandleader King Mantell, portrayed by a constant Carole co-star, (there's an alliteration for ya'), Fred MacMurray. Greta's very anti-social, dramatic, enigmatic, and slightly egotistical persona made her an easy person to duplicate, but through Carole's comedic expertise the likeness is exquisite (see right). With that special Carole stamp, we have a character who is part elegant and part kooky. For one great Hollywood screen goddess to portray another is superb, and the divide between the easy-going, deviant manner of Carole versus the otherworldy iciness of Garbo is both clear and divine.

In the film Monkey Business, Groucho, Chico, Zeppo, and Harpo Marx all used their singing skills and slight physical resemblance to Maurice Chevalier to comic effect. On yet another seafaring voyage, the four brothers are stow-aways (see left) who cause the usual amount of Marxian chaos and girl-chasing on their way to America. Groucho woos Thelma Todd, Zeppo befriends a pretty passenger, and Harpo and Chico step in as the vessel's very under-qualified barbers, all while evading capture and the anger of one very miffed gangster. After they make it across the Atlantic, they are left in a quandary: without passports, they will be unable to disembark. Luckily, they swipe an ID from a passenger who coincidentally happens to be the Maurice Chevalier. One by one, they take turns offering the passport to the authorities, who of course doubt their identity. Forced to prove themselves as the French crooner and Lothario, they each sing the Chevalier classic, "You Brought a New Kind of Love to Me," only to be denied access to American soil for their very poor impersonations. Ironically, the deliberately mute Harpo comes closest to victory, as he lip syncs the verses to a recording strapped on his back, but a slight malfunction botches his liberation as well. However, as in all things Marx, all's well that ends crazily, and hats off to Maurice for the honorary mention.

A very direct homage was paid to everyone's favorite ghoul, Boris Karloff (right), as well. "Arsenic and Old Lace" was a play penned by Joseph Kesselring in the early '40s. The plot revolved around two lovable old ladies who perform the benevolent service of murdering old, lonely men past their prime-- somewhat akin to the way the Eskimos set their elder community members adrift, or so I've heard. Their plot is discovered by their nephew, Mortimer, who is in the midst of possible matrimony. As if the shock of blood on his sweet aunties' hands isn't enough, he too has to combat an uncle who thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt, and his brother Jonathan, another murdering criminal, who returns home with a new face to hide his identity. Unfortunately, the doctor who performed the plastic surgery was intoxicated during the operation, and Jonathan came out looking like... Boris Karloff. Of all the horrifying faces to be trapped with! Audiences totally responded to the joke, which obviously runs throughout the entire play. Of course, the real clincher was that Boris Karloff was playing the role of Jonathan himself! Sadly, for various contractual reasons, Boris was unable to participate in the film version of 1944, which starred Cary Grant as Mortimer and the capable Raymond Massey stepping in as the facially mutated Jonathan. Since the play and the film made Boris even more immortal than he already was, I suppose he had the last laugh.

Sometimes, in the quest for stardom, one starlet makes it over another by a hair. This was definitely the case with Veronica Lake, whose iconic 'do (left) made her a sensation in her own day and keeps her a legend in ours. Ronni's hair was her "thing," just like Marlene was known for her gams and Jimmy Durante was known for his schnoz. Articles were written about her mop's hygienic upkeep and daily grooming regimen, public service announcements for safety were made with her hair used as a prop, and countless jokes were made at her expense. Possessing a good sense of humor, Ronni took the jests in kind. After all, they only helped to boost her appeal. If it took her mane to keep her in the mainstream, then so be it. Yet another reference to her famous tresses was made in Billy Wilder's first directorial effort, The Major and the Minor. Ginger Rogers, in yet another case of hidden identity, runs into trouble when she cannot afford an adult train ticket, which causes her to pose as an adolescent for cheaper fare. Unfortunately, she gets mixed up with, and sexually attracted to, fellow traveler Ray Milland while in disguise and winds up at his military academy still portraying a precocious pre-teen. Forced to attend a junior dance, she encounters a room full of young women who "all think they're Veronica Lake": cue camera pan to a row of seated girls with their faces half-covered in hair. It is a priceless guffaw that is typical of Wilder's comedies. Not only was it a fantastic gag at the time, but this small, hilarious reference also places it firmly in its timeline when modern viewers watch it today.

Speaking of sexpots... Marilyn Monroe topped them all (right). Her star power would be exemplified ad nauseum during her life, as it continues to be in her death, but interestingly it too was brought to life via Jack Lemmon. The two had worked together in the film Some Like It Hot, and while the consummately professional Jack was a little put off by Marilyn's at times erratic behavior, he could not deny her inexplicable charisma and warmth, which in the end gave him a soft spot for her. A year later, now as one of Billy Wilder's favorite actors, Jack was given the leading role in The Apartment opposite Shirley MacLaine. Acclaimed for its comedy and sympathy, it in a way reunited Jack with his conflicted friend when one particular scene pays homage to Marilyn-- although, since Billy too worked with Marilyn, this was a way of professionally tipping his hat to her screen power despite their post-Hot feud. Early in the film, Jack's C.C. Baxter is called by work colleague Joe Dobisch (Ray Walston), who is in a frenzy, because he just picked up a girl and has nowhere to take her for a sexual rendezvous. Since Baxter's apartment has become the go-to for cheating spouses, Joe asks for the use of his digs. When Baxter begs off so he can rest, Joe becomes adamant. The girl, he insists, is exceptional: "She looks like Marilyn Monroe!" With that, how can Baxter refuse? He gives up his room so that his work superior can live out every man's fantasy-- or at least as close as a guy like him will ever get. "Marilyn" and "Monroe" were apparantly the secret passwords.

Marilyn co-operated in another public celeb kudos earlier in her career when she starred in How to Marry a Millionaire, however Lauren Bacall rightfully maintains the bulk of the credit. The movie, of course, is about three lovely but struggling young women (Lauren, Marilyn, and Betty Grable) who are Hell-bent and determined to marry well to rich men. In the film, Lauren befriends the elder but always gentlemanly William Powell, who resists her advances due to their May-December age gap, yet later decides to court her in earnest (see left). In doing so, the other two gals question Lauren's choice-- he is old after all. But, Lauren rebuffs their quips by making an example of all of the handsome older men in the world: "I've always liked older men. Look at Roosevelt, look at Churchill. Look at that old fellow what's-his-name in The African Queen. Absolutely crazy about him!" In this case, the crack wasn't just business, it was personal, for in real life Lauren was already married to Queen star Humphrey Bogart-- her senior by nearly 25 years. One imagines he found the cinematic joke hilarious and, of course, appreciated the extra publicity.

Lauren Bacall enjoys a day off with her "old man."

NOW, THAT'S FUNNY: Part VII

2012-01-11T09:46:00.000-08:00

Marlene Dietrich was well aware of the effect her sexual wiles had
on men, and she fully took advantage... especially
when the world was in danger.

One of Marlene Dietrich's more public romances was the one she had with the handsome Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. (left). The two would have a lengthy affair following the death of Marlene's previous lover, John Gilbert. If Doug wasn't intimidated enough by Marlene's continuing devotion to this lost love, he would too have to combat the existence of her still living husband, Rudi Sieber, whom she nonchalantly introduced to him at dinner one night. His attraction and affection for Marlene made him stick around, despite her antics, which were not in keeping with typical feminine standards nor accepted gender roles. In truth, he loved her "modern" ways as much as her warmth. Anyway, he had to get used to her methods fast since she took the reigns at their first meeting. Doug recalled being completely spellbound by Marlene's beauty and lack of vanity, becoming determined to possess her. After escorting her home and trying to figure a suave way to make his move, he came to realize that he was the one being seduced: he thanked her for the nightcap, and she escorted him to her bedroom. Their affair was not always so simple. In order to keep the press hounds at bay, Doug often had to find creative ways to escape from his lover's room without raising suspicion. While both were in London, Marlene was staying at Claridge's. After one particular night of passion, Doug decided-- in order to avoid detection and to protect his lover's honor-- that he should shimmy down the fire escape instead of using the door. In doing so, he tied his coat tails behind his back and slid down... landing right in front of a young "bobby" officer. Luckily, being famous has its advantages. The officer gave Doug a knowing smile and asked, "Rehearsing for your next film, Mr. Fairbanks?" Doug replied with a befuddled affirmative and hailed a cab. Luckily, he was able to get Marlene a room below his own bungalow soon after to avoid such intricate escapes... and embarrassments.

While Doug was intoxicated by Marlene as a lover, he was also smitten with her strength and gumption. She left him astounded on separate occasions when she announced her plans to, in one way or another, prevent world disaster by using her abilities of sexual seduction. When she learned that Edward VIII of England was about to abdicate his throne for Wallis Simpson, she became deeply grieved. She was determined to stop her royal friend from making such an error. She told Doug that she was going straight to the Palace to seduce Edward in order to show him that there were better women to be had than the "homely" girl he had set his sights on. She felt sure that this act of diplomacy would be better for everyone-- England needed him! Not knowing what to do, Doug watched as his lover prepared herself for a night of sexual warfare. Unfortunately, her primping took too long, and by the time she arrived at the palace, Edward was not at home. He married Wallis, and the rest is history. Marlene was not deterred in her international shenanigans (see determined pose, right). With the Nazis rising in power, and war creeping closer, she became increasingly agitated at the United States' refusal to act. So, she let Doug in on another plan. Before Marlene gained American citizenship and publicly declared her disdain for the current German political tide, Hitler wanted her back in her native land making movies for their agenda. Marlene wanted to play the secret agent and agree to come home-- with the stipulation that she be able to meet with Hitler "in private." The context of the meeting was understood. She then planned to assassinate the maniacal leader herself! Fearful for his beloved when he realized her seriousness, Doug pointed out the danger of such an attempt, but Marlene said she wasn't afraid to die. He then pointed out that she would be searched, and any weapons she had on her person would be removed before she could see the dictator. She then declared that she would enter naked if she had to. He finally pointed out that even if she succeeded, it would put the lives of her mother Josefine and sister Liesel in jeopardy, as they still lived in Nazi occupied Germany. This finally changed her mind. But, imagine how different history could have been if she had followed through...

Rudolph Valentino was equally renowned for his effect upon the opposite sex. His mere presence instigated women of all ages to go into a frenzy. He had longed in his youth for fame and prosperity, but as he aged, he came to realize that such privileges also came with a price: like privacy... or the ability to exit a building without being mobbed. Fan attention seemed to reach a fever pitch when he and wife Natacha Rambova started taking their dancing tour across the country (left). On a hiatus of sorts from film while he battled the studios for better roles, better pay, and creative freedom, he and Natacha decided to tango their way through the United States. Needless to say, there was mayhem. Tickets were in high demand for their shows, and in addition, throngs of fans methodically cased whatever ballroom or hotel Rudy was performing or staying in. While coming or going to events, Rudy and Natacha were often stampeded and occasionally had to find special exit routes on rooftops to avoid annihilation. From Arizona to Kentucky, they were woman-handled, and their ears were defiled with the cries of screaming females. He underwent one surprising event after another, including the time one ravenous fan tore her way through his dressing tent to catch a glimpse of his perfect form. Rudy may have been frightened at certain times, but he was always as gracious as possible to his fans. Mostly, he was concerned for every one's safety. While performing in Vancouver, BC, one particular female fan become so overcome by the sight of Rudy, that she fainted. The building manager moved her out of the way so she wasn't trampled and deposited her in Rudy's dressing room where Natacha tried to revive her. After finishing a routine, Rudy entered in all his dashing, costumed glory to check the status of the patient. At that moment, the stunned girl opened her eyes, finding herself face to face with her idol, the Rudolph Valentino. Her eyes bulged, she sighed, and with that she fainted dead away. Again. No news on whether she ever recovered.

Yes, movie acting can be treacherous. But just as hazardous as the public trappings of fame is the danger of human absence... at least in one case. In 1913, Lon Chaney was just carving out a career for himself in the movies. After several months in Los Angeles in extra roles, prop jobs, and bit parts, he struck up enough of a reputation with Allan Dwan to start getting regular gigs in the director's films. He was far from famous, but his face was becoming more familiar, and he was definitely bulking up his resume. So it was that Lon joined the rest of Allan's usual troupe (including Pauline Bush and Murdock MacQuarrie) when they traipsed off to Mt. Lowe to begin filming Bloodhounds of the North. Things were rocky from the beginning, with bad weather and torrential rains that kept the cast and crew isolated and indoors. Allan solved the problem by having the cast and crew rehearse not only for Bloodhounds but for his other upcoming features. Once the mud finally dried, Lon-- who had always loved the mountains-- ventured out with fellow actor Arthur Rosson to breathe a deep sigh of relief in the fresh air. Unfortunately, as familiar as he was with the Colorado peaks, Lon was unfamiliar with Californian terrain, and he and Arthur got good and lost. As day turned to night, and the air grew chilly, the two men must have wondered if they would ever find their way out of the canyons. Thankfully, a search party had been sent to find the adventurous twosome. The sight of approaching friends and rescuers must have been a sight for sore eyes after hours of desolation. After all they mayhem, and with his cast in tact, Allan managed to churn out not only Bloodhounds but also Richelieu and Honor of the Mounted in five days. Lon had a part in all of them and kept much closer company with his comrades for the remainder of filming. (Lon plays the aggressor in another wild landscape with William S. Hart in Riddle Gawne, right. This film in 1919, after years of struggle, would help tip Lon over the edge in popularity before The Miracle Man solidified his fame).

James Cagney: actor, dancer... poet??? Yes, indeed. A tough guy on screen, James had a much more artistic bent in his private life. In addition to enjoying the relaxation that painting brought him, he too was a veritable wordsmith. Years spent with his nose buried in books had equipped him with quite the vocabulary and an ability for melodic recitations. He carried a notebook with him that he often scribbled in, doing the random couplet, limerick, or verse. His areas of lyrical expertise ranged from agricultural appreciation, social preponderance, and aesthetic enjoyment-- Joan Blondell was flattered to hear an original Cagney penned in honor of what he described as her perfect caboose. Occasionally, the poems were comical. Jim had a sudden burst of inspiration when riding in the car one day with his wife, Willie. The two came to a red light, and Jim noticed friend and constant co-star Humphrey Bogart sitting in his own car coming from the opposite direction... picking his nose. Bogie picking a boogey? It was too much for Jim to resist. The next day when Bogie came to work, he found the following verse on his dressing table: "In this silly town of ours,/ one sees odd primps and poses,/ but movie stars in fancy cars/ shouldn't pick their famous noses." Jim received no reply. Not every artist is appreciated in his time. (The duo stand left in The Roaring Twenties).

CAST AWAYS: Part IX

2012-01-05T16:53:00.000-08:00

Is it true that "the song remains the same" if played to a different tune? You decide whether The Way We Were can still outdo What Might Have Been:

Marlene and John Gilbert take on the town.

Marlene Dietrich is remembered in cinematic history as being a stone cold... fox. Yet, off screen, her character was much softer and more maternal than any of her performances could have relayed. She would only play a mother once, in Blonde Venus, despite the fact that "mom" was her favorite role in her personal life. Her natural inclination to nurture soon enough drew her to none other than fallen angel John Gilbert. When Lewis Milestone alerted her over dinner that his neighbor, the handsome Jack, was out of work, melancholy, and just doors away, Marlene-- who strongly adhered to the "no man left behind" mentality-- marched up to his house and announced, "John Gilbert, I have come to save you." The stunned heartthrob made no dispute. In addition to enjoying a romantic affair, Marlene also vowed to kick-start Jack's stalled career by insisting that he be cast opposite her in Knight without Armour. It would have been something to see these two lovers together on screen. Sadly, Jack passed away on Jan. 9, 1936 before production was started, so Greta Garbo maintains the reputation of his greatest screen lover (both on and off). Marlene was devastated at Jack's passing and lit votive candles beneath his picture in memory for several months afterward. Yet, she did not hold it against the debonair Robert Donat when he later took on the role of A.J. Fothergill in Knight. In fact, Marlene turned her mother instincts on him as well. When he became ill, production threatened to have him replaced. Again, Marlene stepped in and insisted that the film be postponed until its leading man was better, or else she too would walk. The brass took the bait, and after the grateful Robert recuperated, Marlene toasted his return.

Robert Donat plays Marlene's Knight without Armour,

though in life she was the hero.

Despite her brazen, business savvy ways, Marlene too hit some rough patches. In these times, she was resilient enough to take care of herself, but it was always nice when a helping hand was extended in her direction. Such was the case when it came time to cast Destry Rides Again (left). At this time, Marlene was suffering a dip in popularity, having just been labeled as box-office poison alongside soul sisters Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis, and Joan Crawford. While she still remained adored by fans, love wasn't money, and she needed a great role to re-establish her box-office clout and fill her always dwindling bank account. Luckily, Joe Pasternak had had his eye on her since her silent film and stage days in Germany. He lobbied for her in Destry, despite the fact that the studio wanted Paulette Goddard. Fortune was on Marlene's side, because Paulette turned out to be "unavailable." Marlene got the role, and her "come back" resulted in a box-office sensation-- one of the many films to make 1939 the eternal year of movies. Befittingly, Marlene and Paulette never really got along, especially after Paulette married Marlene's good friend, writer Erich Maria Remarque. Marlene saw him little after the nuptials, but while Paulette may have gotten her pal, Marlene got her career back.

Paulette Goddard could definitely pull off the femme fatale,

but she was no match for Marlene.

George Burns had been acting in movies for over 45 years by the time he was cast in The Sunshine Boys. Co-starring Walter Matthau (together right), this film was a precursor to the aging frenemy films that Walter and Jack Lemmon would make later, such as Grumpy Old Men. In Sunshine, the two heroes are old-- and I do mean old-- show business partners, whose days in vaudeville made them stars in their own time but leave them forgotten in present day. However, an opportunity to earn some bookoo bucks and regain former glory comes when they are offered a performance on a television special. The reunion is an unwelcome one, as the two curmudgeons can't stand each other. Chaos ensues. The brilliant comic sparring of George and Walter made the film a surprising hit for a world continually described as youth-centric. George with his dry, crotchety delivery, even won an Academy Award for his performance-- a first for a man of 80. This was a very moving moment in his life, particularly since he was not even slated to star in the film originally. In the beginning, his good friend, the much beloved Jack Benny, was to play Al Lewis, but sadly Benny was in poor health and could not accept the project. After making some initial screen tests with Walter, Benny backed out to rest and hopefully recuperate. Always a gentleman, he recommended his friend George for his abandoned role, which George of course accepted. Not long after, Benny passed away. Thus, when George accepted his long-awaited Oscar, he accepted it not only for himself, but on behalf of his dear, departed friend, without whom he never would have embraced the long-awaited statuette.

George Burns and Jack Benny make beautiful music together.

The Thin Man is a perfect example of the little movie that could. Based upon the mystery novel by Dashiell Hammett, it was given a modest budget by MGM and was ranked during production as a simple B-feature. Always up to the challenge, director W.S. Van Dyke was able to churn out the comedy classic in the allotted two weeks, but even more impressive than his economy was his casting palette. The dynamite combo of William Powell and Myrna Loy as the playfully bickering Nick and Nora Charles (left) remains one for the ages. Though the two had performed together before, in Manhattan Melodrama, their chemistry reached true perfection once they started pulling punches amidst the hilarity of murder and marital discord. Their onscreen relationship was amplified by their offscreen friendship, and a mutual trust and affection would bring theaters-goers their first glimpse of a modern marriage: oozing sarcasm, often drunken, and forever in love. The pairing too became a triple threat when dog Skippy was added to the mix as Asta, who would become yet another beloved dog performer in the ranks of Rin Tin Tin and Lassie. But this hysterical family was almost broken up when William became ill with cancer, which took him off the screen for a year and put a wrench in Thin Man sequels. Because MGM didn't want to lose money on wasted time, they considered replacing William in the continuing series with another actor. Both Melvyn Douglas and Reginald Gardner were considered. Luckily, the studio didn't follow through. The magic of Nick and Nora couldn't be duplicated by anyone other than Bill and Myrn'. After William recuperated, he returned to his favorite cinematic wife with their reign through six Thin Man films never interrupted.

Keep your paws off: this trio's built to last.

Some Like It Hot has been hailed by many as the greatest comedy of all time, which is ironic considering that behind the scenes there was nothing but drama. Most of this centered around the forever conflicted and perpetually late Marilyn Monroe (right), but even Billy Wilder admitted that all the pain was worth it when he saw the rushes. The great comic teaming of handsome cad Tony Curtis and the devilishly absurd Jack Lemmon perfected the onscreen chemistry, and smaller character roles were filled out synchronously by George Raft and Joe E. Brown. It turned out to be a motley match made in Heaven. Who could imagine a better outcome? It is fortunate for continuing audience members that Billy Wilder did not go with his original casting idea for Joe/Josephine and Jerry/Daphne: Danny Kaye and Bob Hope. Some like it not. While definitely superb in the funny department, this duo would not have delivered the same edge nor the necessary sexuality that made the film such a hit. The more youthful albeit worldly interpretations of Tony and Jack definitely turned up the heat in the script. Billy soon latched onto Jack Lemmon after seeing some of the upcoming actor's work, and after Tony campaigned for the role of Joe and proved his acting ability in Sweet Smell of Success, he too was put in heels. Yet, even then, the pairing was in jeopardy. Billy knew he needed a star to bring in an audience, so when Frank Sinatra considered edging in on the role of Jerry/Daphne, the production was put on hold. Thankfully, the macho Sinatra decided that his image wouldn't survive a picture in which he dressed in drag, and the role was gladly handed back to Jack. As for the role of Sugar Kane, originally Mitzi Gaynor was slated to be the one "runnin' wild" with her ukulele, but having "Marilyn Monroe" on the marquee was a better guarantee for revenue. Marilyn had her reservations about playing another dumb blonde, but despite their experience together on The Seven Year Itch, Billy talked her into it. One of Hollywood's finest directors, he was able to maintain control of his haywire film, even with the infamous Black Bart (Paula Strasberg) lurking around set, though handling Marilyn the woman was a chore no one could accomplish. Nonetheless, the film was a sensation, and Marilyn won the Golden Globe for her endearing performance. Thank movie Heaven!

As fate would have it: apparently Sinatra had the pipes,

but lacked the stems. Tony and Jack rocked stilettos

and made it work.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Marlene Dietrich

2012-01-01T11:19:00.000-08:00

Marlene Dietrich is one of those incredibly annoying people who makes everything look easy. From her flawless appearance and sense of fashion, to her unparalleled career on the silver screen and on the stage, to her tireless efforts and ceaseless energy, to the inexplicable way she could attract the opposite sex (or her own), the woman always seemed to get what she wanted. But, "seem" is the key word here. While fans may be hypnotized by her infectious persona and sultry sensuality, there was much work that went behind the make-up. The dignified, impenetrable force of Dietrich's strength-- the core of her integrity-- is the true source of her allure, and why her camera-beloved face remains as well-known and worshipped today as it did during her Hollywood reign. With Marlene, we are always "falling in love again." We can't help it.

Marlene Dietrich

Marie Magdalene Dietrich, nicknamed "Leni," was born in Schoneberg, Germany just outside Berlin on December 27, 1901. From the beginning, it was clear that the child was special, if only because of her exceptional beauty, which every passer-by seemed to comment on. But there was something else to Leni. She was not studious and obedient like her elder sister "Liesel". While she did adhere to her parents' rules and learned early about responsibility and cleanliness, there was too a bit of mischief brewing within that was just waiting to erupt. Leni never connected with her father, Louis Erich Otto Dietrich, who was an imperial officer, but rather watched him curiously from afar. She bonded more with her mother, Josefine Felsing-- of the clockmaker family-- from whom she learned a love of cooking. One piece of education that Leni did not grasp was this concept of "gender roles." Her mother's need to keep up the household and her undeterred respect for her husband-- despite his philandering and slow decent from public dignity-- was at once embraced and refused by her youngest daughter. Leni could accept the duty but shirked the lack of freedom. After her father died-- probably from syphilis, though the girls were told it was from a heart attack-- Leni was parted even more from her understanding of male authority. She never completely learned to open herself up emotionally to any man. There was always a distance, a misconception, and a space she needed to live in to feel safe. She was eternally conflicted. Her need to adhere and rebel would be forever ingrained in her subconscious.

While sister Liesel excelled at school and went on to become a teacher, Marlene-- as Leni was now more glamorously calling herself-- was not so inclined. She received good marks, but had no use for education outside of violin lessons and French class, which she loved. When her favorite French teacher was forced to leave the country when WWI commenced, Marlene had her first taste of war, her first taste of the prejudice it brings, and her first taste of poverty. Her single mother worked hard to keep her girls clothed and fed, but eating potatoes and turnips day after day was unbearable, though as a well-behaved child, Marlene knew never to complain, even when every one in town's skin started turning yellow from the forced diet. Marlene insisted that her skin alone maintained its glorious, porcelain glow-- already she was building a legend for herself. The lack of dairy products also led an older Marlene to believe that the continuous bone breaks she suffered were due to her poor childhood nourishment and lack of calcium. She would never forget these days: not for their want nor for her mother's courage in pulling them all through. Thankfully, Josefine was able to attract the attention of a new husband, another army officer, Lt. Eduard von Losch, who gave the new family firmer legs to stand on and plenty of money to survive. He would too die early, leaving Marlene fatherless yet again, but he did not leave his grieving widow destitute, thank heavens.

A young Marlene in her Weimar years.

As a teen, Marlene decided that she was going to be an artist: a musician. She studied music in Weimar, however, she suffered a tendon inflammation in her wrist that brought her dreams of playing the violin to an end. Her next idea was to become an actress. When she wasn't accepted at the Max Reinhardt Drama School, Josefine must have breathed a sigh of relief, but that wasn't going to stop her Leni. Unlike Liesel, Marlene liked attention. Despite her mother's protestations that she should be more ladylike and demure, Marlene could not deny that she enjoyed capturing male glances and dressing a bit more colorfully. Her ability to put clothes together came from her grandmother, who passed on her own talent for fashion composition. Living in a country that was bereft of the majority of its men only instigated Marlene further in her independence. Weimar women learned to fend for themselves: and Marlene was not going to give that up when the boys came home. She enjoyed engaging in romances with them, though. Her intense sexual passions were born early, and she honestly penned her attraction to both sexes in her diary. While she may have been nursing a crush on screen hero Henny Porten, it would be Rudolf Seiber aka "Rudi" who earned her love and loyalty. After doing some modeling, scoring some small roles in plays and silent films-- such as her debut, The Little Napoleon-- Marlene met her soul mate when auditioning for an extra job on Tragedy of Love. With so many beautiful girls in attendance, she nearly went unnoticed until Rudi caught a glimpse of her bright, green gloves. He cast her in the small role of Lucie, wherein she stole the show-- with her monocle an boa-- and Rudi's heart.

After the duo was married on May 17, 1923, Marlene quickly became pregnant with their first and only child. She took to mothering like a duck to water, and at first thought of giving up the stage to nurture her little Maria. This is symptomatic of much in Marlene's character-- there was always a divide between her natural sense of duty to the ideals of her mother and her own desires. Needless to say, the state of domestic bliss did not remain entrancing. Submission was never in the cards for Marlene, particularly to a man. Thus began one of the most unconventional families in Hollywood history. Marlene and Rudi's physical relationship came to an end, though they remained husband and wife until his dying day. Their mutual love and respect remained, they were best friends, but Marlene needed her freedom, and Rudi was forced to give it to her. While both enjoyed sexual relationships outside the marriage, with Rudi taking in his permanent mistress, dancer Tamara Matul, and Marlene accruing a great number of her own lovers, it seems that it was the absence of sex with each other that was the saving grace of their marriage. They were friends, business partners, and parents. Maria thus grew up with three parents, including Tami, and whatever random "Uncle" or "Aunt" Marlene brought around. While Marlene continued pursuing her career, taking roles on stage and in films-- most of which she would refuse to remember in her later years-- Rudi supported her decision and acted as a business advisor to her. Yet, it would be another man who would truly advance her career.

Marlene eclipses the man who won the first Academy Award for Best Actor,

Emil Jannings, in the film that made her a star: The Blue Angel.

Josef von Sternberg was commissioned to make Germany's first talking picture in 1929, quite the compliment. The Jewish filmmaker from Vienna actually came to Berlin from the United States, where he had been working and building up experience from the editing room to finally the director's chair. While not initially ecstatic about being re-teamed with the ornery Emil Jannings for The Blue Angel-- having worked with him previously on his Academy Award winning performance in The Last Command-- Josef could not turn down this career coup. Finding the girl to portray the desirous and dangerous Lola Lola from the Heinrich Mann novel Professor Unrat (The End of a Tyrant) was another problem all together. With many actresses coming at him for the plum role, Josef was dissatisfied with all of them. Then he happened to catch a glimpse of Marlene on stage in "Two Bow Ties," ironically when sizing up co-star Hans Albers. He would indeed cast matinee idol Hans in the film, but it was a surprise when he called Marlene in for a screen test. She was so certain that she had no chance, due to the disinterest Josef had shown her in their past meeting, that she came to set unprepared and without costume. Her indifference and outright antipathy worked to her benefit, because Josef was completely fascinated with her. Her devious and sensual quality came through in her test wherein she sang, "You're the Cream in My Coffee." Her attitude, allure, and ability to speak fluent English (which was needed, as they would be filming two versions of the film for universal release), in addition to her legs, won her the coveted role. She became a sensation in Germany overnight, though the United States would not catch a glimpse of Lola Lola until after Marlene made her first American film.

Marlene grabs America's attention, and Gary Cooper's, in Morocco.

The Paramount scouts came calling, after it became apparent that Marlene-- an unknown-- had stolen the film from the incomparable Emil Jannings. She and Josef were brought to Hollywood, and she was forced to temporarily leave Rudi and Maria behind. She was put to work on Morocco opposite Gary Cooper where she strolled on camera in a top and tails and sent shock waves through the nation. Audiences loved it: her beauty, her ambivalence, her modernity. Women started wearing trousers and copying Marlene's in-control swagger. The English version of The Blue Angel soon debuted in the US, and shortly thereafter the German version was re-released to rave reviews. Marlene was a star, and a star of her own variety. At first, she was pegged as the German answer to Greta Garbo. No, no. She was "Dietrich," and there was no other. Morocco would earn her her first and only Oscar nomination, and she would continue teaming with Josef von Sternberg on the films that would establish her early Hollywood identity. Josef was hard on her, demanding, insulting, tyrannical, but-- at least at first-- Marlene did not argue or stand up to him. She could not deny the results. She studied the way she was lighted and perfected her makeup to give her the soft and ethereal beauty that wonderfully contrasted the morally questionable characters she portrayed. She was both beauty and the beast; unable to be trusted but unable to be resisted. Androgynous, mysterious, warm, yet detached. From Morocco to Blonde Venus, to The Shanghai Express, to The Devil is a Woman... while Josef's films were often lacking in interesting plot, they were rich in scenery. His mise en scene, frame compositions, and the beauty with which he filmed his favorite actress made his movies aphrodisiacs to a hungry, salivating public. They too made Marlene Dietrich a star.

However, in time, Marlene outgrew Josef and his controlling tantrums. She had learned all she needed to know and could control her image without him. Josef returned mistakenly to Europe, and Marlene remained in America. However, despite her savvy business sense, she had sticky fingers, and often spent money she didn't have on herself and family, basically becoming the breadwinner after Rudi, Tami, and Maria joined her in the U.S. This forced her hand, and she had to accept less than stellar roles in films that weakened her appeal and reputation. Yet, she stuck with it, even after she was labeled box-office poison. The faith of Joe Pasternak brought her back to the limelight in Destry Rides Again, and she reached the closest she would come to acting genius when friend Billy Wilder cast her in Witness for the Prosecution. Through it all, whether her films were flops or not, she maintained audience loyalty, and her public appearances brought out crowds in droves. Her bed was never cold either, and her list of lovers allegedly included everyone from Douglas Fairbanks, Jr, John Wayne, Mercedes de Acosta, Jimmy Stewart, and Jean Gabin-- the only man who came close to stealing her from Rudi. To her lovers and friends, she was part vixen and part mother hen, cooking her mother's favorite recipes for those she took a liking to and making her special soup for anyone who seemed ill. She too had a knack for re-arranging closets. Her crews loved her, for despite her growing fame and her need to control her own lighting and wardrobe, she was friendly and accommodating. She was a pro who came to set knowing her lines and ready to work with the team. When she felt one of her co-stars or someone on crew was being mistreated, she would simply walk off until things were set right.

Marlene entertains the boys during WWII. She considered it one of the most

enriching and important acts of her life.

This heroic part of her nature is her most compelling feature. Though her acting is something to behold-- at times brilliant, at times hammily overdone-- it is not her film work so much as her persona that makes her a lasting fascination. Marlene time and again lent her strength to those in need, to those weaker than herself, or to those who did not possess her same go-get-it attitude. While men like Ernest Hemingway and Noel Coward were drawn to her beauty and intellect, they were enveloped by her warmth, which was far-reaching. She made a direct point to try to save the life of John Gilbert after his career had plummeted, and in addition to being a guiding force that reunited him with his daughter, a grateful Leatrice Gilbert Fountain, she too took him out in public and tried to get him working again. It was a valiant effort sadly failed. She would mourn his passing deeply but remained a caring mother figure to Leatrice. Most noteworthy are her efforts during the war. Marlene was vocal from the beginning that her home country was being enveloped by madness, and she forsook her homeland to become a grateful American citizen. She pressured America to get invested in WWII before anyone would admit such horrors could touch us, and after we did, she became one of the soldiers' favorite entertainers. She would generally enter on stage by slipping one of her famous legs through the curtain, then use her musical talents to sing a wartime favorite, such as "Lili Marleen," or play the musical saw. She went uncomplainingly without her usual glamour to bring peace to men fighting a battle she found all too familiar to that of her youth. When she traveled in a one woman show in her later years, many of these boys returned to see her back stage and thank her for what she had done.

Marlene stuns Tyrone Power with her stems in Witness for the Prosecution.

Whatever personal pains or torments Marlene possessed, she always kept hidden behind her exquisite mask of professionalism and personality. As she aged, the softness of her beauty gave way to a hardened look-- the result of pulling her skin back beneath her wig-- that turned her into somewhat of a caricature of her former self, yet a still beloved one. After scoring in Stage Fright, A Foreign Affair, and Judgment at Nuremberg-- for which she had to give the painful "we did not know" speech that she did not agree with-- Marlene slowly faded from the silver screen. She embraced the stage of her youth, touring with Burt Bacharach or playing to packed houses in Las Vegas. However, despite the fact that she defied her own age, she could not escape it. Repeated falls and broken bones, which she always ignored in order to continue the show, caught up with her. A dependence on pain pills and alcohol too took their toll. After her husband Rudi died, Marlene became further despondent, especially as her always loving but complicated relationship with her daughter suffered. She ended her days alone, hiding from the world, and bedridden, too ashamed to show the world that the beauty they had so long counted on had faded. Friends like Billy Wilder or Doug Fairbanks, Jr. would try to call and cheer her only to be met with a fake French accent insisting that she wasn't there. Marlene had always insisted that she would die young. She would live to be 90, passing away on May 6, 1992. She wanted to be buried in her beloved Paris and, always conscientious, wanted to be placed in a cemetery next to a nice restaurant, so her visitors would have somewhere to eat. She was instead sent home to lie near her mother Josefine in Berlin. Her homecoming was warmly welcomed by locals, some of whom during the war years had shunned her and had even spat at her when she returned post WWII to perform. Time had healed those wounds; she re-emerged as an international hero. After spending a life away from her native soil, Marlene was finally home.

Quintessential Dietrich: taken while filming Seven Sinners.

Marlene's last screen appearance was in Just a Gigolo, an error in judgement perhaps, but a necessary one considering the spending habits that had left her a bit destitute. She demanded to appear with a veil covering her face to mute her age. She was reluctant, nervous about appearing on camera in less than her usual top form. Members of the crew were surprised at first to see the frail, 75-year-old woman exiting her dressing room-- they had spent their lives worshipping a much more vibrant Marlene on the screen. But, as always, she did not disappoint. After taking one look at herself in a full length mirror, Dietrich emerged. Her confidence and poise in tact, she went to set and belted her heart out one last time for the cameras, leaving not a dry eye in the male-packed house. That was Marlene, and that is the Marlene we still see. She refused to ever disappoint her audiences, but doing so required her to forever meld with the image of a tempting, unattainable siren. Never a great "actress," she still leaves us in awe. Never a great singer, she still lures us to dangerous yet inviting waters. Josefine once called her, "my little soldier." So she was. So she remains.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Toupee of the Day to ya'!

2011-12-27T16:46:00.000-08:00

Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis both donned fancy wigs

in Some Like It Hot but to calculated, comic effect.

In Hollywood, youth is everything. This goes beyond the need of an artist to stay young and attractive. It has even more to do with maintaining one's image so as not to disappoint the public. Change is death-- at least that is what so many celebrities have been led to believe. For every movie star at his peak, there are hundreds, perhaps even thousands, waiting to take his place. To maintain their relationships with their fans, many celebs resort to plastic surgery, sadistic diets, and outrageous workout routines. The refusal to age becomes a bit of an obsession to some: such as Joan Crawford, who was so desperate to maintain her own illusion of youth that she created for herself a somewhat crazed looking mask of makeup, which included exaggerated eyebrows and ghastly lips. Women are most often pegged as paying overt attention to their appearance, but the guys are also suckered by Hollywood's ageism. While women pile on cosmetics and slip into their spanks, men tighten their girdles... and commission new hairpieces. Here are a few examples of male vanity rearing its ugly head and covering its baldness with a bald-faced lie: the toupee.

John Wayne (left) wasn't a self-absorbed or superficial man, but he knew how much his image meant. Therefore, he was willing to obey the rules by muting the true effects of his age as he matured before the screen. For one, he always went on a strict workout regime before each film so he could shave off a few pounds-- though known as the typical man's man, he was never too pressured to hide his paunch in the later years. One stipulation he could not avoid was camouflaging his thinning hair. After several years in the business, the thick head of curls that earned "oohs" and "ahhs" during The Big Trail started disappearing, but the studio saw to it that his handsome face remain bedecked with a full head of artificial hair. There was at least one instance on set when his hairpiece actually caught on fire during an action sequence! Duke always laughed it off, finding the whole thing absurd, and he didn't continue the facade at home, as his friends Walter Reed and Budd Boetticher would recall. One day, Water and Budd were visiting Duke at his house in Encino. When they left, the rain was pouring, and their car got stuck in the mud. A few police officers happened upon them and asked what they were doing. They replied, of course, that they had been visiting John and had gotten stuck on their way home. One particular cop didn't believe them, thinking that a star as big as the Duke would live in a much fancier part of town. So, to prove themselves, Budd and Walter took the officer up to the house. Duke answered the door, sans toupee, and the fellas explained the debate to him. He then drawled, "Well, I'm Duke." The cop replied, "You don't look like John Wayne." John followed up with the deadpan, "What the Hell do you want me to do? Go in and put my hairpiece on?" The group burst into laughter. Now starstruck, the cop and his fellow officers asked for autographs, which Duke whole-heartedly gave.

The string bean of swing, Fred Astaire (right), also had a toupee of his own, but he was much more insecure about it than Duke. Short and frail of build, Fred was never totally confident in his appearance, despite the fact that his fans found him adorable. He mostly hated his hands, which he considered too large, and he concocted special postures and ways of holding his fingers together to make them appear smaller. He too suffered from the curse of male age when he started losing his hair. Frequent partner Ginger Rogers would get to see first-hand the dark side of Fred's usually light mood when he was caught bare-headed. They were filming the last production day on Top Hat when director Mark Sandrich suddenly decided he wanted to add a final dance sequence-- ya' know, to put a fun period on the film. Since the dancing duo always liked to rehearse everything, this last minute decision cramped their style. Ginger was more inclined to just go with it, but Fred-- who was a professional and perfectionist-- was greatly put out and concerned about the improvisation. Nonetheless, Ginger coaxed him to just go ahead: she'd "follow his lead." So, the partners sauntered down the stairs of the set, adding dance steps as they descended. All seemed well until Fred's hat fell off. To Ginger's shock, Fred turned bright red and started howling, "No, no, no!" He then stormed over to a wall and kicked it with one of his famous feet, not once, but five times. Ginger and Mark later discovered the source of his ire: because he was wearing a hat in the scene and had not intended to show his head, he had not put on his toupee. The threat of his thinning head being on display was apparently more than he could handle. Eventually, Fred cooled down, and the scene came together with the audience none the wiser as to what was (or rather wasn't) hiding beneath that infamous Top Hat.

After Bing Crosby (left) passed through a half century of life, he began to panic. Fifty-years-old is too old for Tinsel Town, and as younger men arrived in Hollywood every day, the aging crooner felt his time in the spotlight coming to an end. His personal life was in shambles too. By 1954, he had lost his long-suffering wife Dixie, and his long-term love affair with alcohol was going full throttle. Feeling himself seep into a crack from which he may never be able to crawl, he knew he needed a big hit to get him back on track. While his voice remained in top form, he could not deny that he was getting older and that maybe his film characters should start aging with him. He had relied on his charm and voice to carry him through his other films, but if he was going to stay on top, he needed to act like a real actor. Enter George Seaton and his film adaptation of The Country Girl. Teaming up with William Holden-- another aging but still handsome leading man-- and Grace Kelly-- whom Bing originally opposed in favor of Jennifer Jones-- Bing got ready to tackle one of the most difficult and memorable performances of his career. The role hit close to home. For a former playboy to play a washed up, alcoholic, faithless has-been was... uncomfortable. And though Bing trusted that the role could showcase his range, he feared that audiences would associate him with his character and that he would lose his prestige in the industry as a swoon-inducing Lothario. When filming began, it was clear to all that he had lost his swagger. He arrived two hours late the first day and was later found fretting and sulking in his dressing room. Most shockingly, he was wearing his favorite 20-year-old hairpiece, which made Seaton cringe. Bing refused to give up his ratty, old toupee, believing that it shaved decades off his appearance. As the director pressured him to get to set, Bing nearly broke into tears: he couldn't perform without his lucky hair! Finally, Seaton saw that the wig was more to Bing than a head of hair-- it was a physical symbol of his insecurity. Finally, Seaton got to his actor, saying that he understood how frightening this whole experience must be. He finished with, "Let's be frightened together." Bing perked up, left his dead hair behind, and churned out an Academy Award nominated performance.

Sextette is a best forgotten film. It remains notorious simply for its leading lady, Mae West, who was just as lustful and vibrant at 85 as she had been at 25. Mae was still her usual, sensual, optimistic self, and she felt as healthy as ever, but she could not deny that her film career seemed to be coming to an end. She was long past her hey-days of the '30s when She Done Him Wrong made her a superstar. She remained a very public figure, continuously discussed and lampooned, and age never cramped her style as she continued to be one of the hardest working women in showbiz-- though Vegas shows had become the order of the day over feature films. She always preferred the stage anyway, so it was a welcome change. It seemed time to bid farewell to the silver screen and to do so in grand fashion. This extended not just to her extravagant wardrobe, but to the film's casting. Boasting a plethora of attractive and unexpected supporting characters-- including Timothy Dalton, Tony Curtis, Ringo Starr, Alice Cooper, George Hamilton, and Keith Moon-- the greatest casting coup of all was winning old flame George Raft's participation. It was actually a "thank you," for George had given Mae her first screen credit in his film Night After Night. However, George was not too inclined to accept Mae's heartfelt favor. He was old, and unlike Mae, tired and ill. But, she coaxed him into it. Eager for the reunion, Mae was aghast when she spied George's toupee in his dressing room before filming began. "What's this?" she asked Marvin Paige, the casting director. When he revealed that it was George's hairpiece, Mae became distraught. "No, no, no," she insisted. She preferred him in the slicked-back style of their youths. "I like him greasy," she insisted. One problem: George had little hair left to grease. This left the production in a dilemma. George hated wearing a hairpiece in the first place, so losing it was no problem, but slicking back non-existent hair was also out. Finally, a solution was found-- he would wear a hat for his scenes. No hair, no worry. The film, sadly, was far from a hit, but it did form a perfect circle in the film careers of George and Mae. It turned out to be the last film either of them ever made. Both passed away in November of 1980 with Mae surprisingly beating George to the punch by two days. Always with gentlemen, "ladies first." (The two in younger days, right).

DIDJA KNOW: Didja Catch That?

2011-12-21T16:31:00.000-08:00

This edition of "Didjas" includes a motley assortment of near misses. For one who is unaware, unobservant, or perhaps simply uninvested, these quick little ditties and bits of info may slip right past your nose, eyes, and ears. Perhaps now with a second look, you'll be able to catch them!

John Wayne, Monty Clift, and Walter Brennan in Red River:

their belt buckles were about to be upgraded.

The film Red River turned out to be a triumph for everyone involved. Howard Hawks crafted one of our most perfect Westerns, John Wayne proved that he could act (and age) with great grace and conviction, and Montgomery Clift made an astounding cinematic debut. Hawks was so proud of the film and all those who took part in it that he gave the cast and crew members a piece of memorabilia: a belt buckle with the infamous cattle brand featured in the film-- which symbolized one of the plot's major sources of contention between the main characters. The design included a "D" for Thomas Dunson-- Wayne's character-- two wavy lines signifying the river, the words "Red River," the date, and the recipient's initials. But didja catch a sight of this belt onscreen? The Duke wore his belt-buckle on camera in several of his future movies, including Rio Bravo and El Dorado. Allegedly, in order to honor their professional and personal relationship, Duke wore the buckle in all of his later Hawks-directed films. It has been spied in his wardrobe in nine films total. If you squint, maybe you'll see it too.

A sample of the Red River Belt Buckle.

Duke had a habit of honoring those who had helped him in some way. Just as Hawks helped boost his career and earned him respect in the industry, idol Harry Carey had inspired and aided him in his early days as a prop boy and B-Western star. They would even appear in several films together and, in addition to Duke befriending Harry's wife Ollie Carey, he too would take his son, Harry Carey, Jr. under his wing and treat him like family. After Harry passed away in 1947, Duke was despondent and missed his friend and mentor terribly. He was too supportive of Ollie in her grief, which was still palpable when they began filming another classic, The Searchers, even ten years later. In this film, Duke would find a way to pay homage to his late, great friend. Didja catch that stance he does at the very end of the film? After Duke's Ethan Edwards returns niece Debbie (Natalie Wood) to the arms of the rest of her kin, he stands alone in the doorway, grabs his right elbow as he takes in the reunion, and slowly turns and saunters off (see left). This posture was reminiscent of Carey and wasn't even in the original script. While filming, Duke was going through the scene as rehearsed when he happened to glimpse Ollie standing behind the camera. Stopping to honor her late husband, he prolonged the already poignant moment by grabbing his arm as Carey would have done. Thus, as he completed one of the best Westerns ever made and sealed his place in time as America's favorite cowboy, he too gave tribute to one of the ghosts of its past. The moment brought tears to Ollie's eyes and to a great deal of fans' as well. (An interesting side note is that Duke, who had typically been imbibing the night before-- most probably with Ward Bond-- was incredibly hung over during the scene. Later, an equally touched Harry Carey, Jr. arranged to have a sign placed on Duke's hotel room door at Goulding's Lodge. It read: "In this room, John Wayne got drunk before he shot one of the most famous scenes in motion picture history").

Keeping up with the frenetic pace and overlapping dialogue of Howard Hawks's His Gal Friday would give anyone a migraine-- albeit one that they would thoroughly enjoy. The film in its day was groundbreaking in portraying human speech the way it truly occurs-- with one person talking over another and interrupted thoughts cut off mid-sentence. This tactful style created a more believable atmosphere for the fast-talking reporters of the newspaper world, in which lead characters and divorcing spouses Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell battle with verbal spears (right). Russell and Grant, both British, pulled off the speedy American banter effortlessly and made Hollywood history in the process. People may not have understood everything they were hearing all the time, and some viewers certainly struggled with choosing which eclipsing voice to listen to, but box-office revenue proved that no one minded. Thrown into the mix was a reference that many may have missed. Didja catch that zinger Cary made to an ominous politician? He stated: "The last fellow who tried to threaten me was Archie Leach. He cut his own throat two weeks later." Archie Leach, of course, was Cary's born name. For those who noticed, it was yet another cherry on a rip-roaring, nearly indiscernible sundae.

D.W. Griffith is notorious for his star-making relationships with his ingenues, but he also did a great deal for Wallace Reid. By casting the struggling artist in his controversial classic, Birth of a Nation, he ignited Wally's career, which was a bittersweet event for Wally, who would have preferred a career behind the camera. Nonetheless, audiences responded to him heartily-- mostly because the handsome actor appeared shirtless and consequently showed his brawn in an impressive fight sequence. But Wally's role as the savory Blacksmith was not his only contribution to the film. Didja catch those cameos by Jesus Christ? Well, it wasn't Jesus, it was Wally. It turns out that Wally performed in several of the tableaux Griffith had concocted featuring the Son of the King, though most them hit the cutting room floor. One such sequence featured Abraham Lincoln and Christ shipping the African slaves back to their native land. Another featured Jesus hanging from the cross-- the filming of which was very difficult on a shivering, scantily clad Wally. The crew continuously fed him brandy to keep him warm, and as a result he was so drunk when he was finally pulled down that he had to be carried off the set. Most of these images featuring Christ were considered too graphic and were cut after the Los Angeles premiere, but his superimposed image is still see at the film's end (left), which I am assuming is all Wallace Reid. (In addition: Didja catch those faces in Griffith's Intolerance? Many of Hollywood's elite, Wally included, made uncredited cameos in the Babylonian battle sequence. Some of the stars to take a piece of another controversial Griffith pie were Douglas Fairbanks, Seena Owen, Erich von Stroheim, King Vidor, Monte Blue, and Owen Moore. Most notoriously, Lillian Gish appears as the woman rocking her baby in the intermittent sequences bridging the film's four storylines together: "Out of the cradle, ceaselessly rocking").

Douglas Fairbanks (right) was Hollywood's favorite hero during his reign as the ultimate swashbuckler and carefree righter-of-wrongs. The films made at his summit, from The Three Musketeers to The Iron Mask, came to define and perhaps even create the cinematic epic. A physical dynamo and equally creative chap, he had a direct hand in pushing the envelope of filmic possibilities technically and artistically. By the time he made The Black Pirate, he was one of the biggest stars in the world, and he showed this by using his clout to implement the new color process into this film as well as staging one of cinema's most famous and thereafter oft-repeated stunts: his character slices through a ship's sails and slides down. But, another interesting moment happens amidst his outrageous actions of daring do. Didja catch that kiss? When Doug finally plants a wet one on his leading lady, the camera hones in on the embrace behind the girl's back, showing only the back of her head. In fact, it was not the movie's actress Billie Dove giving Doug a smackaroo-- it was his wife, Mary Pickford. Turns out she was on the lot shooting Sparrows and decided to stop by for the scene, not out of curiosity but jealousy. She insisted on being the woman Doug kissed, so director Albert Parker staged the scenario so that it could be done. Doug probably didn't mind, since he always loathed romantic sequences. He was always more comfortable working with a saber than with his lips.

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes was a phenomenon. The comedic performances of Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe in their roles as the feisty Dorothy Shaw and the deceptively dimwitted Lorelei Lee caused a sensation. The musical numbers, ridiculous plot, and show-stopping "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" sequence resulted in a bona fide hit, thanks again to this column's apparent savior-- director Howard Hawks. The costuming by Travilla was also something to behold, with lavish gowns that adorned two of cinema's favorite figures with great panache and sex appeal. One glorious gown barely made an appearance but remains a notorious piece of cinematic fashion history. Didja catch that gold dress? Marilyn wore it while dancing with Charles Coburn (Piggy) in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it aside. It is more memorable as being the dress that Marilyn wore in one of her most famous photos, where she lusciously entices the camera as only she could do (left). Yet, though she was the actress to make the gown famous, she was not the first to wear it. In truth, Ginger Rogers gave the glittering threads their debut when she wore the same gold lame gown previously in Dreamboat. Marilyn, with whom Ginger had become friendly while filming Monkey Business, happened to stop by the set of Dreamboat one day and saw the dress. She liked it and asked to wear it in Blondes, which is exactly what happened. Of course, Marilyn totally stole Ginger's thunder, and the latter lady is rarely given credit for debuting this piece of cinematic gold.

Ginger models a slightly more demure version of the dress in Dreamboat.

The dress where it is currently on display at Grauman's Chinese Theatre.

(The reflection of the girl to the right is me, not a ghost).

Keep your eyes peeled until next time!!!

MENTAL MONTAGE: Play It Again, Sam

2011-12-14T12:48:00.000-08:00

The players of cinema's past occasionally indulge in a little game of repetition. I'm not referring to the phenomenon of an actor reprising a role in a series of films, as Johnny Depp has done most recently with his Captain Jack Sparrow character from the Pirates of the Caribbean anthology. Instead, I more particularly draw attention to a complete duplication of a role or film throughout a performer's career. Just as Michael Sheen has been called upon to reprise his role as Tony Blair in numerous, unrelated films (The Queen, The Special Relationship), so too have past stars sunk their teeth into a part or a story that they find themselves unable to let go of-- or perhaps conversely the role will not let go of them. Here are a few examples of Flicker-Show Double-Takes. Sometimes, Deja Vu is more than a feeling; it is a fact.

Rooster Cogburn shows Mattie Ross how to fire a pistol. John Wayne's
interpretation of the weathered but fiery Rooster Cogburn in True Grit

would ignite more than audience appreciation-- it would

demand a sequel.

The most obvious example is John Wayne's reprisal of the role of Rooster Cogburn from the Academy Award winning True Grit in the following feature Rooster Cogburn 6 years later. After the huge success of the first film, the Duke was asked to get back in the saddle, literally, to cash in on a plum character to whom his audiences had so energetically responded. The plot of the first film involved Marshal Cogburn aiding a young girl, Mattie Ross (Kim Darby), in her quest to avenge the death of her father by the hand of Tom Chaney. Chaos ensues amidst comic relief, justice is won, and unexpected affection is born. Duke's convincing and multi-layered performance was reason enough for the studio to come up with a belated sequel of sorts. This time, Rooster would go toe-to-toe not with a precocious girl but with an equally iron-willed woman, Eula Goodnight (Katharine Hepburn). Instead of generational miscomprehension, flirtation and unfulfilled romance permeate the story, with Rooster again tracking down a band of outlaws who have this time killed Eula's father. Both films possess a certain charm and daring, and both remain classics, though True Grit is the most honored. Interestingly, Rooster Cogburn in a way was a duplication for Kate Hepburn as well, since she had portrayed a very similar character to Eula when she starred opposite Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen. In both, she plays a strong, older, religious female who is unceremoniously usurped of her home and family-- in Queen,the loss is her brother-- and joins an older curmudgeon on an unexpected journey. In both, victory is, of course, won, and her obstinacy and devotion inevitably whittle down her male counterparts' hearts to nothing. The African Queen remains more noteworthy for Kate, but it is in Rooster Cogburn that you get to witness the 68-year-old actress operate a machine gun. Not too shabby.

Don't mess with the classics: John and Kate continue to kick

tail even in their sixties.

Clark Gable too came back for another round, but this time he appeared in his own remake. In 1932, Clark had starred opposite Jean Harlow (together, left) and Mary Astor in Red Dust. In 1953, proving that at age 52 he was still indeed The King, he again ventured into the wild, but this time with Ava Gardner and Grace Kelly. The plots remain almost identical, with the love triangle of the un-tameable Dennis Carson/Victor Marswell (Gable) caught between the virgin and the whore, and the complex nature of both women making it difficult to decide who deserves which title. In the end, he lets the dutiful-- albeit tempted-- married woman go and embraces his true soul mate-- the tainted but lovable shipwrecked floozy with a heart of gold. The main difference in story is Clark's profession, which in Red Dust involves running a rubber plantation and in Mogambo is the trapping of animals. Yet, in both films, his happy isolation is invaded: first by a sensuous woman of the world and later by a prudish couple who are either surveying or studying anthropology as the story dictates. Artistically, both versions are triumphs, with Gable not failing to establish believable chemistry with all four women. There is a definite charm in watching him volley off true life pal Jean Harlow in the former version, but Ava Gardner brings such comedy and heart to her own interpretation of "Honey Bear" that Mogambo cannot be ignored. Mary Astor, already a seasoned performer by the time of filming, seems much more at home than Grace Kelly, for whom Mogambo was only her third film, but the smoldering lust beneath both women's placid demeanors is evident and thoroughly intriguing. Pitting director Victor Fleming against John Ford is too a hard debate to wage, with perhaps Ford coming a little closer to victory. In all honesty, the competition results in a draw. The Red Dust vs. Mogambo phenomenon is most profound for the fact that it is a direct remake that re-stars its male lead, cementing the fact that no one, but no one, can replace Clark Gable.

Choices, choices... Poor Clark must choose between the

luscious Ava and the tempting Grace in Mogambo.

Peter O'Toole is too no stranger to double-takes, and his performance as Henry II in Becket made certain that no other actor could possibly usurp his throne. He put the crown on again 4 years later when he starred in The Lion in Winter. Nominated for his portrayal both times, he would miss out on Academy Award night first to Rex Harrison for My Fair Lady and later to Cliff Robertson for Charly. The first film witnesses a young Henry-- about 15 years after inheriting the throne-- and his constant battles with friend, moral compass, and foe Thomas Beckett. In the end, Henry's immaturity and selfishness, along with his inherent need to protect his throne and his England, forces him to take arms against Becket (played with equal magnificence by Richard Burton) and have him killed (he eyes his work, right). Fast forward to 13 or so years later in the story of Lion. Henry has wizened and is facing his mortality. Recasting Peter in the role was more than a logical move; it was a brilliant one. The audience literally sees how he has aged; how the years of battle and politics have taken their toll, and too how he has successfully grown into his role as his country's leader. His errors of the past with Becket remain buried in his bones, a penance he still pays, and this past conflict is referred to whenever Henry's wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine (Kate Hepburn), wants to stick a needle in. The plot this time revolves around Henry's need to secure a heir to his throne. Sons Richard (Anthony Hopkins), Geoffrey (John Castle), and John (Nigel Terry) all plot, back stab, and battle for the place of honor. Eleanor stirs the pot, not just as a mother, but as a long since spurned lover whose husband has literally kept her locked up in jail to keep her out of his hair and give him free reign to indulge in numerous dalliances, including one with Alais (Jane Merrow), whom he means to marry after divorcing Eleanor. The bitter but unbreakable love between Henry and Eleanor comes to vengeful heights in this Christmas film that engenders anything but familial affection, and the performances of the entire cast are perfection. The dual Henry II films are both superb-- with the writing of Lion pushing it ever so slightly into the realm of cinematic genius-- but watching the progression of Peter O'Toole's Henry is the real reward.

The King and Queen prepare to feast... on each other.

Keeping things regal: before Cate Blanchett became the go-to girl for Queen Elizabeth, Flora Robson enjoyed the same privilege. Getting her start on the stage, Flora turned heads when she appeared as another Liz, Empress Elisabeth in Alexander Korda's The Rise of Catherine the Great. This in turn led to her casting as the notorious English ruler, Elizabeth I, in the 1937 production of Fire Over England. The film, while historically interesting, is more noteworthy today due to its casting of lovers Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh, who were hot and heavy and both married to other spouses at the time of the filming. To see them before they had reached mutual and independent glory in Wuthering Heights (for him) and Gone with the Wind (for her) is quite interesting. But, while the acclaimed thespians fumble their way through the new medium, albeit eloquently, Flora holds her own and portrays her Queen with a combination of ferocity and humanity (all three, left). Her superb characterization was lauded as the best representation of the enigmatic Queen yet, which led to her casting a few years later in The Sea Hawk. This time, the plot, while equally full of intrigue and corruption, was lighter fare. Enjoying the company of Errol Flynn in his role as yet another charming swashbuckler, Flora's Queen this time around is more light-hearted and emotionally vulnerable, yet her power still comes into play when necessary. Her subtle and denied attractions to her leading men in both roles are pivotal in giving her character sympathy, yet her stoicism and sense of duty ring true in her portrayals of a matriarch. The Sea Hawk is a much more enjoyable film, involving piracy and romance, and Flora truly shines. Rumor has it that even the eternal cad Errol was smitten with her and loved every minute of working with a woman whom he considered to be a true pro.

Flora dominates Flynn in The Sea Hawk, a film into which both actors

injected a lightness and humor that reflected their

off-screen friendship.

Cecil B. DeMille was one man who loved to outdo himself. Proud of his cinematic accomplishments but never satisfied, growing technological advancements only made him more frustrated that his classic efforts became dated and outmoded over time. While he would too duplicate his work when he made the sequel to his cinematic debut, The Squaw Man- The Squaw Man's Son, starring Wallace Reid-- it wasn't until 1956 that he decided to give a piece of his work a complete and utter face lift. The Ten Commandments of 1923 was astounding in its day, and yet another reason that Cecil was being hailed as the filmmaker of his generation. The controversial religious themes, the risque subject matter, and the over the top special-effects splendor, left audiences enthralled and overwhelmed. Yet, as the years passed, and as Cecil always kept the conflicting urges of Godliness and Naughtiness close to his heart, he saw more and more opportunities to improve upon his past majesty-- if only to prove that just because his work was aging, it didn't mean that he couldn't keep up with the times. So, after 3 decades, he gave Moses another go, this time with Charlton Heston replacing Theodore Roberts as the chosen vessel to lead his people out of Egypt. Now in color, the scenes became even more vivid than in their silent predecessor. Special Effects too made the great parting of the Red Sea something to behold, the likes of which had never been seen before. Hailed by many as his best work, the film oddly would not be the one for which he won the ever desired Academy Award-- that honor was bestowed upon his The Greatest Show on Earth-- yet, as his last film, and an epic one at that, it remains his own personal testament-- not of the messages of right and wrong, but of what the great medium of Movies was capable.

Chuck Heston lays down the law in The Ten Commandments and

changes the rules of sin and cinema forever.

As we movie viewers are the recipients of contagious filmmaking-- which infects and spreads the same stories over and over with remakes upon remakes upon regurgitated remakes-- it is no surprise when we find ourselves getting that old, familiar feeling while watching the latest take on, say, the age old boy-meets-girl storyline. But, to witness one of our pioneers blatantly plagiarizing himself is a rare and somewhat baffling occurrence. Somehow, the above exceptions prove that sometimes it is indeed okay to be two-timed. While one artist ripping off or trying to out-do another can be somewhat abrasive to our sensibilities, witnessing the results of an auteur going mono e mono with himself can be quite revelatory, curious, and provocative. It is more common to see an actor take on similar roles to those he has in the past, or for a director to bring to life similar story lines that suit his tastes, but while Michael Haneke re-making his own 10-year-old Funny Games shot for shot may at first appear absurd, it is too entertaining for the audience to level the artist against himself and see what different ingredients against a different time can induce. This anomaly is actually the perfect measuring stick for change. Comparing one draft to another, we more fully witness how history "happens" by watching the way one particular performer has aged with time.

DON'T FORGET!!!

2011-12-09T09:00:00.000-08:00

It's time to buy your Mont Alto Movie Orchestra calendar. The 2012 edition is all about animals! All purchases go toward the preservation of silent film. Christmas is right around the corner, and it makes a great gift.

Go here to make your donation/purchase. All it takes is ten seconds and 15 smackaroos!

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part VIII

2011-12-07T09:06:00.000-08:00

Loretta Young, whom old pal John Wayne always called Gretchen, would help

him in his early Hollywood career by getting him roles in The Life

of Jimmy Dolan and Three Girls Lost (above).

Football was a big part of John Wayne's life. Not only was it an important part of his close relationship with his father, but it also helped him get to college. Ironically, it would also bring him into the world of Hollywood. John was no stranger to the world of film, having grown up in Glendale and witnessed first hand actual location shoots. But, while focusing on his law degree, he had little time for the make-believe games that he had enjoyed in his youth-- when he had played "movies" with his friends. Nonetheless, the creme de la creme would seek him out, or more particularly his football team, when he began playing college ball for USC. John would later come to emulate the more authentic cowboys of William S. Hart and Harry Carey, but it was the flashy rhinestone cowboy and buckaroo Tom Mix (left) who had the most immediate affect on his life. Tom was a huge football fan, and he used to come to the games to cheer the Trojans on. In return for getting his own private box at the field to entertain guests, he made a promise to coach Howard Jones to "help out some of his boys" by giving them summer jobs. A man of his word, Tom soon had John and a handful of others working as prop boys on the Fox Studios lot. In addition, John worked up close and personal in the Tom Mix hit The K&A Train Robbery. It is possible that he even appeared in it as an extra, playing one of the thugs Tom shoots early in the film.

But, perhaps more interesting on another level was the USC connection John made with Clara Bow (above), who too loved coming to the local games. Of course, she was probably more interested in looking at the young fellas in their uniforms, but who could blame her? There is no doubt that the tall and handsome Duke caught her eye, but she didn't play favorites. In fact, she used to invite the whole team up to her house on Saturday nights after the home games for dinner. Later, such behavior would lead to scandalous rumors-- all complete BS-- that Clara was sexually working her way through the entire team. These allegations were published in salacious rag mags like GraphicC. As the prototypical "flapper" of the 1920s, Clara's free-wheeling and uninhibited ways onscreen and off ruffled feathers and caught her a lot of flack. Sadly, she was too often misconstrued and publicly ridiculed, as in this instance, where her kind intentions to share her wealth and hospitality with starstruck youths backfired on her in the press. There was never any "funny business" to speak of between her and the team, and Duke would never forge any kind of relationship with her other than one based on the memory of a beautiful actress who acted like a kind sister to a bunch of tongue-tied, starry-eyed bucks. By letting them hang out at her palace, she must have made them feel like kings!

Another team member that may have been present at these casual soirees is Ward Bond (above). Turns out that Ward also wore the Trojan jersey and played as a lineman on the team with Duke. Strangely enough, the duo did not originally get along. Outwardly, they were as different as two men could be. Duke was charismatic, yet somewhat bashful, well mannered, educated, and noted for his classic good looks. Ward, on the other hand, was gruff, abrasive, openly promiscuous, arrogant, and constantly getting into trouble. Ward's behavior would annoy Duke... at least at first. Later, after Duke had started working for John Ford, Ward would come back into the picture. Ford wanted to use the famed football team in his film Salute, and he assigned Duke the task of recruiting some of the players as well as his Sigma Chi brothers. Much to his chagrin, Ford gave Ward one of the prime spots, having taken a liking to his "ugly face." Knowing the two didn't get along, Ford took great pride in bunking Duke and Ward together on the train to Annapolis. Perhaps because he found his behavior so shocking and amusing, Ford latched onto to Ward. His brazenness and inability to be intimidated by the notorious director intrigued the senior party, who would both take him on as a friend and cast him in several of his films. Duke too softened after sharing a bunk with Ward. His caustic manners, at first irritating, surprisingly became endearing... and somewhat reassuring. The two became lifelong friends and got into several drunken shenanigans together, often with Ford too in attendance. Not everyone would cozy up to Ward as easily as Duke and Ford did, and he irritated them from time to time over the years. But, as Ford would say, "Ward is a son of a bitch, but he's our son of a bitch."

Loretta Young also knew Duke when he was a USC boy. It turns out that Duke and ol' Gretchen Belzer (as she was known then) went way back, again to his football days. While attending college his freshman year, Duke was set up in the conventional way on a slew of blind dates. He and his friends would pick up a girl or two and go out dancing and whatnot. It was never a serious thing; just a group of friends having fun. One of Duke's dates was with Loretta's sister, Polly Ann, which in turn must have initially introduced him to Loretta. He and Polly Ann never became more than chums, and she set him up with another friend, Carmen Saenz. Again, Duke kept things casual and wasn't too interested... until he dropped Carmen at home and was introduced to her younger sister, Josie. Here, Duke fell head over heels. Thus commenced a 7 year courtship-- the result of Josie's much opposed family. Not seeing anything bright in Duke's future, the Saenz's weren't an easy sell, being upper crust "Hispanic blue bloods." They were against the match-- particularly after Duke lost his scholarship when he injured his shoulder, and even moreso when they discovered that Duke was not exactly a steadfast Catholic. Nonetheless, he and Josie suffered through the ups and downs, and he finally received her parents' consent. In addition to helping Duke in his career-- helping him land a role opposite herself in films like Three Girls Lost-- Loretta stepped in and offered up the gardens at her parents' Bel Air estate as a wedding place, since the duo's conflicting religions would not allow them to marry in the Catholic church. Loretta was present at the wedding (above with the happy couple), as were George O'Brien and Henry Fonda, but despite the fact that Duke was already working in Hollywood, he was not yet big enough of a star to demand more media attention. The nuptials were barely noted in the press, and when they were, Duke's fraternity brothers and USC teammates-- who served as groomsmen-- received more press than he. Six more years would change that. Still, he always honored his days at USC.

STAR OF THE MONTH: John Wayne

2011-12-01T12:32:00.000-08:00

The Duke

John Wayne. The name alone conjures countless representations. John Wayne is the eternal definition of the masculine identity. John Wayne is the absolute embodiment of the perfect cowboy. John Wayne is the unequaled, unparalleled standard of the movie star-- and he is all these things 32 years after his death. How did a shy, insecure, average-American boy become one of the most famous people who ever lived? Because he was just as equally composed of determination, integrity, and-- of course-- "true grit." The Western hero has nearly become a mockery in modern cinema-- lampooned, caricatured, and misconstrued. He is a great fiction that we no longer comprehend, at least not popularly. Explain then why in the latest poll, which tallied young America's favorite movie star, John Wayne is still listed as #1? Because, young, old, male, female, black, white, liberal, conservative, John still represents the heart of this great country, and our hearts are still with him.

Marion Mitchell Morrison as a young

football player.

Such limitless greatness was not apparent in Marion Robert Morrison's early years in Winterset, IA. Born to a charismatic, loving father, Clyde-- who worked primarily as a pharmacist-- and a harsh, detached mother-- who was never satisfied with either her eldest son or her husband-- Marion had few thoughts of grandeur in his youth. A repeating mantra in his head was that he simply wasn't good enough, at least not where mother Molly was concerned. In fact, Molly showed her displeasure by depriving Marion of his middle name, her father's, and giving it to her second born-- Robert Emmett Morrison. Marion became Marion Mitchell instead-- one of many events in his childhood that left him feeling ashamed and outcast. His one salvation was Clyde, who adored his son and taught him to play football, live right, work hard, and above all, be honest. These early life lessons would stick with Marion until the end. In life, he would trust and forge great friendships with men, and always remain wary of women, whom he could never fathom. Kind, gentlemanly, and respectful, he would fall in love rarely, put women on a pedestal, and leave them there, never able to completely surrender his heart. From the beginning, he was a "man's man." Though endowed with a natural tenderness and empathy, the home was not where he would find solace. He found his peace through work, beginning even in childhood where he became a very focused, model student. Garnering straight "A"s, he too accrued a great number of friends, surprising his mother by becoming popular with fellow students and-- especially after moving to Glendale, CA-- drooled after by co-eds who were lining up for a date with the tall, handsome teen. By this time, he was known as "Duke," a pet name derived literally from his pet Airedale. Locals had called the dog "Big Duke" and Marion "Little Duke." (One wonders if this influenced the Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade writers. You know what I mean)? Because he found his given name "girly" and was equally tired of being picked on, Marion welcomed the change. For the rest of his life, he insisted that friends call him by his nickname.

John's good looks helped him land the lead in The Big Trail,

but ironically he would not achieve fame until he had

weathered a bit into the "man's man" ideal.

After earning a scholarship to play football at USC and enduring the break-up of his parents' marriage, Duke began studying for a law degree. Always a hard worker, he masterfully balanced his studies, football, social life, and several jobs to earn his keep. Disaster struck when he injured his shoulder while showing off for the girls at the beach in a body-surfing stunt gone wrong, which cost him his scholarship. Unable to afford the school that had no more use for him, he dropped out and went to work at Fox Studios where he had already been putting in some time as a prop boy and sometimes extra during the summer. Fate wanted Duke in the movies. After witnessing some of his childhood idols like Harry Carey and Tom Mix in action, Duke would get his own shot at fame. He would meet director John Ford, one of the most important people in his life, in 1926. Ford noticed the kid at work, heard he was a football player, and decided to play a prank on him. He asked Duke to get into position, then kicked him over. Though sweet-natured, Duke also had a temper and a willingness to fight. He challenged Ford to try his trick again, only this time, Duke tackled him. A lifetime friendship was born. Duke would work with Ford, continuing work as a prop boy where he learned to properly dress a set and give it as much character as the actors in it. He occasionally would stand in as a stunt performer, and sometimes Ford would even assign him small roles. However, another influential figure would give Duke his first break. Raoul Walsh would see the 6'4" youth unloading a truck and joking around when he decided that the Duke had the right combination of brawn and charm to be his leading man in The Big Trail. When offered a screen test, Duke replied with a "Sure, why not?" At the premiere, he invited both parents, but Molly refused to come unless Duke dis-invited his father. He refused, and Clyde and his proud step-mother attended what Duke hoped would be a life-changing moment. The role brought him a great deal of critical acclaim but failed to boost him into the mainstream. Despite his hopes, he would languish in B-movies for another 9 years. Yet, he had discovered himself as an actor, and he would throw the same amount of gusto into learning that craft as he had into everything else.

John was frequently miscast in his early cinematic attempts,

including this bit part opposite Barbara Stanwyck

in Baby Face.

The greatest tragedy of The Big Trail was losing his relationship with John Ford, who was both mentor and slave-driver. A sado-masochistic relationship, Ford supplied Duke with another father figure but was also harsh and critical like Duke's mother. Unlike Molly, however, Ford could be pleased, which is perhaps why Duke worked so hard to impress him. Yet, when Duke took on The Big Trail, Ford gave him the cold shoulder, perhaps feeling betrayed that his protege had wandered off to another director or perhaps just jealous of the younger man's success. The fracture in their relationship had its benefits, for Duke got one Hell of an education making B-Westerns for poverty row studios like Republic Pictures. Fast-paced, poorly-written cliffhangers and serials, John became a low-level star to the thousands of young boys and more rural clientele who enjoyed the simple, uncomplicated nature of low-budget flicks like Riders of Destiny and Rainbow Valley. Duke slowly lost his uncertainties and insecurities, learned how to think fast and keep up. He too started building a character: one with which he would be identified the rest of his life. The graceful beauty of his youthful good looks slowly began to harden into the more mature, macho adult that would make him a "real man" and not just a heartthrob, as he had originally been publicized. He copied the stilted and poignant line delivery of his hero Harry Carey-- creating that signature drawl with meaningful pauses-- friend Paul Fix would help him develop his rolling walk, and Yakima Canutt helped him perfect his stunt work and fights scenes. His cowboy was not clean and polished, nor flashy and cocky. He was a real guy. Comfortable on a horse and handy with a gun, the B-Westerns molded Duke, now known as John Wayne, into an actor but even moreso into the most important cowboy in cinematic history. John Ford was ready to forgive.

John finds stardom and his signature persona in Stagecoach,

one of the greatest Westerns ever made.

Stagecoach was one of the many movies that made 1939 the biggest year of Hollywood cinema. It too would mark a turning point in Duke's life. Having already been in Tinsel Town for over a decade, he had worked long and hard for the great opportunity Ford now laid at his feet. In Stagecoach, his turn as the Ringo Kid would forever seal him into the American mind as our favorite cowboy. With a mixture of diligence and innocence, raw power and grace, he became a sensation. This film kicked a door open that would never again be slammed shut in his face. John went on to star in film after film, cementing his reputation and crafting his John Wayne character, which would harden over the years. As he aged as a man, his characters aged with him. Red River, The Searchers, Rio Bravo, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon-- they all came to define the masculine image. Embodied in Duke were the sacrifices man made for his country and countrymen. Justice, righteousness, and the risks and stakes in upholding these virtues were displayed in his persona. When America went to war, so too did Duke, who rotated between the saddle and the army when ideals of patriotism were the most needed. Critics started taking notice of his acting as he continued to prove himself through They Were Expendable, In Harm's Way, and The Sands of Iwo Jima, the latter of which earned him his first Academy Award nomination and also his place in cemented history at Grauman's Chinese Theatre. He represented to men the man they wanted to be and to women the man who would protect them, whose seemingly impenetrable heart made him all the more alluring. Though romance was never the most important thing on the agenda in his films, he proved to have great chemistry with Marlene Dietrich, Gail Russell, and most importantly Maureen O'Hara, who matched him step for step in strength, courage, and gumption.

John Ford had trouble getting financing for the little Irish film

The Quiet Man, but the electric chemistry of Duke and Maureen

and the comedy of Barry Fitzgerald warmed America's heart.

Duke worked hard to protect his screen image and to see that his ideals and sense of integrity were passed on in all of his roles. When he thought of testing the waters and entertaining more variety, Ollie Carey reminded him of the importance his solid presence dictated to audiences, and how much they relied on him-- like the rock of Gibraltar-- to remain their strong and steady savior. He remained faithful to this ideal, but it came at a price. He suffered through three failed marriages, though the last did not end in divorce but separation. He tried all kinds of women, wedding first the Virgin (Josephine Saenz), then the Whore (Chata Baur), and finally the Lady (Pilar Pallete), all of whom were "exotic," Spanish women who adhered to old-fashioned principals of a patriarchal family life. But because Duke grew up fearing the domestic lifestyle, he was never able to completely give himself over to any of the women that loved him. He regretted his broken family and the effect it had on what would grow into his brood of 7 children. In retrospect, he would wish that he had stayed with Josie-- who had proved to be the perfect mother and wife-- and was always guilty that he had unintentionally crafted the same unsavory home life for his children that he had had for himself. Though he always remained a good father, constantly bringing his children to set, and even working onscreen with son Patrick and producing with son Michael, he couldn't deny that his life was his work, and he found more solace with his team of men, "The Young Men's Purity and Total Abstinence and Snooker Pool Association" (of which John Ford, Ward Bond, Henry Fonda, Johnny Weissmuller, and Robert Preston were a few of the drunken members) than he ever did at home. He was too itchy, too bored, too anxious. Life was outdoors, on a film set, or on his yacht: the Wild Goose. He knew well how to live. Loving, on the other hand-- as tender and kind a friend as he was to so many, both male and female-- was a craft too deep for him to fathom personally.

Always more cozy with the fellas: John, Dean Martin, Ricky Nelson

and Howard Hawks on the set of Rio Bravo, another triumph.

And he was adored, even when his politics began to chafe the majority. A Republican in Hollywood is never popular, particularly in the Vietnam years when Duke was currently at odds with the young, mainstream liberal movement that made a fossil out of his ideals. But while his convictions were strong, his agenda was not selfish. He made decisions based not on what was right or left, but what he felt to be right or wrong. An educated man who had spent a majority of his youth with his life buried in books and studies, his judgments-- whether one agreed or disagreed-- were based on sound reason, and he did from time to time ruffle the feathers of his own "party." For example, he tried to lighten up on the HUAC witch trial refugees who were looking for work, while others were less willing to forgive. Though Duke took a firm anti-communist stance, he also believed in forgiveness, and above all he didn't want to rob a man of his desire to work. His opinions were declared loud and clear, but what is less remarked on was his ability to listen. He did not judge a man for having an opposing view, and preferred it to someone who was by nature a "yes man." While his name was constantly dragged through the mud by people with more liberal sentiments, he never returned the favor. Jane Fonda publicly ridiculed him, but-- as he was friends with her father-- he only kidded her about it in public. Nancy Reagan would remember him as one of the gentlest men who ever lived, which is no surprise; but he too had the great respect of Katharine Hepburn-- as much a Democrat as he was a Republican. Kirk Douglas too enjoyed his company despite their vastly different outlooks, and he earned Barbara Walters's undying respect when he paid her a kindness early in her career. Despite any negative publicity he garnered for his views, still nothing could sully his reputation. People still loved him and looked up to him, from Bertolt Brecht to Emperor Hirohito.

Duke's diligence pays off at the 1970 Academy Awards,

with Barbara Streisand.

Duke's popularity may have waned slightly from time to time, but it was always present. This is because he represented something beyond politics that every American could relate to, which was America itself. A man who loved his country and paid homage to the men willing to fight for its freedoms, he never let social agenda or controversy cloud this truth: that he lived in the greatest country in the world. When all the world had gone mad, when everything seemed to be going to Hell, Duke and his films could always be depended on to light the way to the simplest and purest of lessons in eras of even the greatest confusion. All a man needed was bravery, loyalty, and decency. While others were lost in the gray or seeing red, Duke always painted things in black and white. There is a hero; there is a villain. There is a right; there is a wrong. You do what is just, not what comes easiest. You take the path that leads to honor, not the one that is less rocky. His understated acting, where everything was relayed through his eyes, is often submerged beneath the caricature history has made of him. It would take him years, over forty in the business, to finally earn his Academy Award for Best Male Performance for his portrayal of Rooster Cogburn in True Grit, and this he only earned by creating a character with great humor and mocking. But those who worked with him knew his genius long before, including Monty Clift who continually tried and failed to upstage him, never fully comprehending why he couldn't overshadow the Duke. Because... no one could. Burt Reynolds once said that John Wayne was "the only movie star [he'd] ever met that was not only exactly what [he] thought [he'd] be, but more." He remains our pillar of strength, our moral compass, our father, our leader, our friend. The last great American model, it seems, shall never crumble. Nor should it, even if it is to remind us of our great blessings. Left, Right, or Wrong, patriotism and love of country have no side. But they do share a face: a rugged, battle-worn one with thin blue eyes that can either freeze an enemy or warm a heart. God Bless America, and God Bless Hollywood for giving us John Wayne!

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part VII

2011-11-23T06:58:00.000-08:00

More close encounters of the celeb kind. Enjoy!

James Cagney's many talents would help pave his

way to Hollywood.

In 1921, James Cagney and his girlfriend Willie Vernon were traveling around with different vaudeville troupes trying to save enough money to start a life together. There were highs and lows, but Jim was a determined guy devoted to doing whatever it took to earn money to keep himself and his family back home afloat. If that meant taking a job outside the entertainment business, he was fine with it. However, Willie always pushed him to pursue his stage talents, even if it cost them the extra dough. Every once and awhile, Jim would get a lucky leg up. One such opportunity was taking a gig with a trio that had just lost it's third member. Thus, the group Parker, Rand, and Cagney was born. Unfortunately, the comic trio did not fare well and reviews were poor. Apparently, the writing and gags were old hat and not very funny, which is perhaps why the original member had ducked out. Originally, the group had been called Parker, Rand, and Leach. James would later bump into Archibald Leach after both men had gone Hollywood and the latter had changed his name to Cary Grant. One wonders if they ever laughed over their shared stage mishap.

The young Archie Leach, after he had become the more

polished Cary Grant.

Jim may have never gotten to Hollywood at all had it not been for the help of another famous fellow. It turns out that Al Jolson (left) owned the rights to the smash play, "Sinners' Holiday," in which both Jim and pal Joan Blondell had had success. Jolson was impressed with their performances. When he worked a deal with Warner Brothers to have the play produced into the film Penny Arcade, he urged Jack Warner to see the staged version himself and check out the new talents before he went about making casting decisions. Jack agreed and was impressed. He wound up giving both Jim and Joan contracts with Warners and they appeared in the same supporting roles in the film. Jack would both enjoy and regret his decision, since Jim would prove to be one of his biggest moneymakers, but also one of the largest thorns in his backside. Interestingly, Al Jolson would be indirectly responsible for getting Jim's good friend Pat O'Brien a movie contract with Warners as well, because Jack also happened to go and see Pat's latest play when he was in town at this time.

Joan and Jim break into the biz in Penny Arcade.

In the entertainment industry, it's all about who you know. Grace Kelly (right) was very fortunate that, in addition to her own strength and determination, she had an "in" in the theater world through her playwright uncle: George Kelly. After studying drama and appearing in her 31-second film debut in Fourteen Hours, Grace was ready to start treading the boards for real, and after a few roles in various plays, she was looking for a part to showcase her range. Luckily, a plum role fell right in her lap via producer Grant Gaither in New York. Gaither had worked with George Kelly in the past on his hit play "Craig's Wife," so when discussion began about casting a beautiful ingenue to play the role of a society girl who becomes a nightclub singer in Gaither's latest production "Alexander," Grace's name came up. She was quickly cast and went to work at the Albany Playhouse. Sadly, the play premiered to modest reviews and didn't run long. One bonus that came out of the play, aside from the experience, was the chance to spend time with a famous co-star: Leatrice Joy, the silent film siren. The two got along well, and Leatrice certainly saw in the young actress a bit of herself. In a way, she certainly felt that she was passing the torch to Grace, whose fame would later far surpass her own former but equally impressive glory.

Leatrice Joy defined what a star beauty was before

Grace Kelly cornered the market.

Every good parent understands the importance of introducing art to their children. This is why, despite the unbalanced nature of Norma Jeane Mortenson's mentally ill mother Gladys, one can give her kudos for trying to bring music into her little girl's life. After losing her two older children when they were taken from her by her husband, Jasper Baker, Gladys projected a lot of animosity against her "illegitemate" daughter, whom she blamed for her wreck of a life. But, at times, Gladys had moments of clarity and displayed her love for the only person who truly loved her, and she worked diligently at several jobs to be able to afford a nice home for the two of them. Having lived in a topsy turvy world where she spent a lot of time with random relatives and babysitters, Norma Jeane was excited to finally be living with her mother, who continued to run hot and cold. In one of her warmer moments, Gladys bought a white baby grand piano for Norma Jeane and paid for her to receive lessons. The little girl was not a natural, but it gave her and her mother great pleasure to know that she was tickling the ivories of an instrument that had once belonged the movie star Fredric March. Eventually, Gladys went broke, lost the house and the piano, and Norma Jeane was farmed out once more. When she grew older, Marilyn Monroe hunted for the piano, which represented to her one of the happiest and most innocent periods of her life. In time, she found it (see left). Billy Wilder too privileged from Marilyn's limited knowledge of the instrument: the scene in The Seven Year Itch, in which Marilyn plays chopsticks, was the only one she completed in one take. Today, the piano belongs to Marilyn fan and songstress Mariah Carey, who has stipulated that upon her death it be placed in a museum.

Little did Fredric March know, his musical appreciation
effected more people than himself.

The premiere of Cecil B. DeMille's infamous religious masterpiece The King of Kings was-- in keeping with all things Cecil-- stupendous. Debuting at the newly built Grauman's Chinese Theatre (as it would have appeared at the premiere, right), the pre-show was as jaw-dropping as the film itself. An intricate series of prologues were staged, depicting infamous scenes from the Bible. In total, 100 performers were cast to put the production together, and each scene depicted a different tableau from the scriptures, chronologically leading up to the tale of The King of Kings. All of the famous glitterati were there, including Mary Pickford, who pressed the button to open the curtains. So incredible was the production, that the actual film didn't begin until well after 11pm. One avid film-goer would remember the experience vividly, even after he later rose in the ranks of filmdom himself. Watching then as a young, 12-year-old boy, Gregory Peck, a pharmacist's son, was enraptured by the ornate splendor. He would recall the costumed, Mandarin ushers, the scent of the incense, and the plush carpeting leading to the screen. He could easily see why the fanfare cost $5,000,000 all said. Such an experience only inflamed the secret desire in him to be in the film business. His original plan to become a doctor would be brushed aside in the hope that one day he too would enjoy being a part of such a rich, heart-wrenching piece of artistry. Wonder if he ever thanked Cecil for the sign from God?

Gregory Peck would ditch the medical books for the stage.

Growing up in Jamestown, it was apparent to several local people that Lucille Ball (left) was destined to be an entertainer. It was especially clear to her mother, who encouraged Lucy to enroll at the prestigious Robert Minton-John Murray Anderson School of Drama. Of course, this was also probably done to keep the young girl out of trouble and keep her focused on her future-- after all, she was hanging around with thugs. It took a lot of hard work, and scrimping and saving for Lucy to afford a spot at the notable academy, which was also the only one of its kind. Previous generations hadn't been "taught" how to act; they had simply taught themselves when traveling the vaudeville circuits. Lucy's experience was limited, but it was her same natural, self-taught ability and her limited vaudeville experience that landed her a spot in the exclusive school. Earning her spot, she was on a high when classes began in Manhattan, but her confidence quickly dwindled. The competition was fierce, and Lucy came off as an unstudied, uncoordinated ham. The teachers' criticisms were harsh and very damaging to her self esteem. Her former assurance in her abilities disappeared, particularly because all the attention at the school was going to another talented ingenue, who had both students and faculty alike astounded by her passion and abilities. With all eyes on Bette Davis, Lucy had little chance of success. When cuts were made after the first term, all but 12 of the original 70 students were sent home. Bette made it; Lucy did not. While Bette would consider her courses there a mere stepping stone on her way to fame and notoriety, Lucy would consider the whole thing a serious hurdle between her and the prosperous life she finally found after decades of struggle. She would later state, "All I learned in drama school was how to be frightened." Luckily, she later taught us all how to laugh.

The eyes have it: even as a young woman, Bette's

determination was obvious.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Say what???

2011-11-16T09:12:00.000-08:00

All they needed was a good father figure: the Dead End Kids pose during

Angels with Dirty Faces. Jim Cagney rarely played family guy roles, and

his relationship with these characters is perhaps the closest he ever

came.

As much as we love our dear stars, they too make mistakes. Despite their grand, seemingly impenetrable reputations, they are in fact fallible, flawed, dare I say, "human." Even some of the celebrities I adore the most have at times exhibited such uncharacteristic and "off" behavior that it sort of left me doing the dumb dog look-- the ol' head tilted, one eyebrow up, "huh?" kinda thing. While occassional, deviant star behavior hasn't turned me against anyone, the consternation at the discrepancy between the perfect individual I had imagined and their imperfect actions does make an impact. At the very least, it reveals another level to the idol, which in turn only makes him or her more fascinating. Just when you think you have someone figured out, you realize you don't. Here is a cluster of out-of-character moves some of my favorite screen stars have made. After getting over the original irked feeling I received upon these discoveries, I was left trying to wrap my brain around them, and eventually I was able to conclude what I felt to be the source of their surprising, quirky moves. To err is devine...

JAMES CAGNEY & HIS CHILDREN

Perhaps of all the guffaws I've encountered, this one most particularly made me go, "Who? What? Why?!" James Cagney (right) came from a big, gregarious and supportive family. A warm and nurturing man himself, it only made sense that he want to become a father and pass on the same familial tidings to his own young brood. Well, apparently the will was there but the follow-through was weak. Jim had wanted children for some time, but discovered that he was sterile, so to fulfill his parental destiny he and wife Frances adopted two children, son Jim, Jr. in 1940, followed shortly by daughter Casey. While the outcome is not as notorious as the Joan Crawford/Mommie Dearest episode, it was far from a happy ending. See, Junior and Casey didn't even live in the same house as Jim and Frances! They had their own cottage out back, where they were mostly looked after by their own housekeeper. Jim was always kind to them and saw them when he could, but since he was a busy man focused on his work, he rarely had time to indulge full-time in a father-child relationship. Frances would claim that they built the house simply so the children would not be in the way while Jim learned his lines and prepared for the next day's shoot. He needed quiet and the space to focus and craft his characters. Obviously, one can understand that Jim was a busy man who was very dedicated to his art, but he too was a homebody. He never really went out unless to meet his buddies in the "Irish Mafia," so a normal domestic style would seem in keeping with his personality. It doesn't add up. So, what's the deal Jimbo? Why even adopt the kids if you don't want a real family?

DIAGNOSIS: The jury is still out on this one, but there are hints into the peculiar nature of Jim's home life. The only apparent glitch in the Cagney family system that raised a red flag was the relationship between his mother and siblings vs. his wife. Apparently, Frances aka "Willie" never fully got along with the rest of the Cagney clan. One suspects that this was because she and matriarch Carrie Cagney were both strong women vying for Jim's attention. When family get-togethers were had, Jim was always happy to go, but Willie was rarely invited, and when she was, she still didn't attend. Being the driving force behind Jim and his career, on paper it seems like Willie was a controlling, dominating woman-- albeit a devoted one. There is no argument that she deeply loved Jim, and indeed it was her suggestion that they even adopt in the first place. Unfortunately, she soon found that parenting wasn't her style. It is remembered by friends that Jim was always closer to the children than Willie. It is also recalled that Willie had a bit of a temper-- a trait which neighbors would witness from time to time-- while Jim always remained level and calm. For Willie, Jim came first, and clearly, the kids were a distant second. Perhaps, it was truly Willie who liked her space? Perhaps she convinced Jim that it would be better if the kids lived out back in their own house and left them to themselves? But then, it seems cruel to simply blame "the wife." Who knows... Since Jim was always kind to neighborhood kids and his pals' children, he clearly wasn't some emotionless monster. Whatever the cause of the odd decision, the result was not good. Both Junior and Casey became emotionally estranged from their adoptive parents as a result of their detached upbringing.

LON CHANEY & HIS FAN MAIL

Every movie lover has their number one favorite: the star that he or she thinks hung the moon. If one lives outside of Hollywood, the chances of seeing this personality in person are slim to none, so there are very few places one can turn for fanatic satisfaction: the theater, the movie magazine, or... the fan letter. As film personalities in the early days of cinema slowly turned into those glowing figures that we now know as movie stars, the desire to reach out and touch one became, well, Paramount in an avid viewer's mind. The need to make contact with or forge a connection with someone valued as larger than life could be an obsession to some, and soon enough random guys and gals began picking up their pens to write gushing letters to all the Gods and Goddesses on Mt. Olympus. Some were ridiculous, others erotic, some crazy, but most were just honest indications from a grateful public that one's screen work was affecting lives. It is always difficult to go out on a limb and open your heart to someone, especially someone you admire, but every day hundreds of people took the chance and crossed their fingers that their favorite "One" would respond to them with some token of him or herself: a photo, an autograph, or even a reply! In all his years, Lon Chaney (left in The Blackbird), who was one of the biggest and most worshipped of all film personalities, rarely ever answered his fan mail. He could often be seen toting his latest large bag of fan letters to the nearest dumpster bin, thus depositing numerous broken hearts into his "high-priced secretary." Why the cold shoulder Lon? Don't you love the fans that love you?

DIAGNOSIS: This one is fairly understandable when you break it down. Considering the number of fan letters Lon was certain to have gotten in a week, plus the amount of time he spent working, it is doubtful that he had any real time to go through his numerous letters. Nor did any other star for that matter. Taking exception to people like Mae West, Joan Crawford, or John Wayne, who lived for their fans, very few celebrities actually took the time to sit down and sift through their fan mail and send personal responses. Occassionally, one may respond to a letter here or there, but let's face it: the majority of autographed pictures sent from the studios were signed by an assistant, not the star himself. In addition, Lon was never in the business for the adulation. It was a job. Pure and simple. He publicly stated that he believed performers should pay more attention to their work and less to their fan mail, which he considered an inaccurate measuring stick for one's popularity. While he certainly respected the fans that kept food on his table, he was always uncomfortable with fantaticism. His dark brown eyes were notorious for boring holes into strangers with a pondering, "All right bub, what's the agenda?" He didn't want to either feed into the idea that he was extraordinary nor play the celebrity game of inflated egos begging for attention. He wanted too to maintain his station as the man of mystery, not just as a publicity coup, but because he sincerely wished for a private life away from the set. When the director yelled "cut," that's just what he did: cut and run. So, while it may make one chafe that he wasn't more attentive to his fans, you can't really blame him either. In person, he was always warm and pleasant, but he didn't suffer fools gladly and he even moreso tried to prevent himself from looking like one.

CARY GRANT & HIS AUTOGRAPH

In the same vein as Lon and his fan mail was Cary Grant's (right) reaction to his live fans. A strange phenomenon occurred later in Cary's career when he was accosted by a salivating worshiper. When asked for his John Hancock, he would ask for 25 cents. Eh? What's that? Yeah, I know. I had the same reaction. Why in God's name would a man who had more money than God ask for 25 God darned cents? It seems inconceivable that the man who was so light-hearted, charismatic, and often goofy in his films could be such a miser. In fact, it became a bit of a running joke in Hollywood that he was, for lack of a better word, a cheapskate. In effect, he was in life what comedian Jack Benny played on screen. Of course, there is no harm in knowing the value of a dollar, and in fact it's an admirable quality, but the whole concept of charging fans seems to be a bit overkill. One wonders what happened to the people that didn't happen to have a quarter on them. Did they just glumly skulk away? Were there revolts? Tears? Tirades?! The contrast between the witty, warm and caring pal that Hollywood friends recall and the man who would make such a demand of his fans-- who equally adored him-- seems a pill too hard to swallow. What's the deal Cary? Are you as cold-hearted as all that? Should we change your name to Ebenezer Grant?

DIAGNOSIS: From the lips of Eva Marie Saint: "He felt if you put a price tag around your neck, people appreciated you more." What few seem to realize about Cary is that he wasn't born the suave, polished dominant male force he appeared to be on the screen. His childhood memories were as bleak and cold as the chilly British air that used to freeze him to his bones. Little Archie Leach would lose his mother when she was placed in a mental facility for her chronic depression. He was then abandoned by his father when he found a new wife and family. Lonely, hungry and with no desire to finish school, Archie just wanted to escape, which he did when he joined a vaudeville troupe and hooked a ship to the US of A in 1920. After more struggles in the acting world, his determination to make something of himself and shake away the melancholy of his past paid off. After being handpicked by Mae West for a plum role in her first major film She Done Him Wrong, the new Cary Grant took off professionally and never looked back. But, his impoverished childhood always haunted him, and while he was secretly very charitable, he too had a reputation for being tight with a penny. Yet, while Eva's assessment can thus be considered accurate-- that Cary wanted to both maintain his position and prove his worth, while making a bit of a profit-- he too, I believe, used this tactic as a form of protection. Proud of his accomplishments, but always insecure of himself, he would once quip: "Everyone wants to be Cary Grant. I want to be Cary Grant." He wasn't joking. Public attention, while appreciated, also made him uncomfortable, as if sooner or later the fans were going to catch on that he was just a hack in a fancy suit. Thus, the 25 cent deversion tactic became a way to keep the wolves at bay. Hell, I woulda paid it. He was worth much more!

KATE HEPBURN VS. GINGER ROGERS

Katharine Hepburn (left) was considered by many in the film industry, and outside it as well, to be a person of considerable loyalty and strength. The number of times she was called upon to help a friend, a random acquaintance, or even a complete stranger are numerous, a fact that I have recorded in past blogs (see example here ). Her optimistic spirit and sturdy, level-head made her the typical Taurus-gal, which may explain why, while others came and went, lost their careers, or succumbed to mental or physical ailments, Kate always seemed to be as happy and healthy as a horse-- or rather stubborn bull. There too are accounts of her coming off a bit haughty, which is a characteristic she put to brilliant use in films such as Stage Door and The Philadelphia Story. She could rub a more sensitive person the wrong way, merely because she was a bit distant-- flinty. While on the screen she let her emotions unravel, in life she seemed to lead with her head not her heart. She was a woman of wit and gumption, not warmth and tears. Yet the lives she touched and the impact she made is extraordinary, which makes the memories of Ginger Rogers seem so peculiar. Apparently, the two had a bit of a competition going on, although both would deny it. As the top female stars at RKO during their mutual reign, the press made much of their alleged clash of egos, but how factual this rivalry was is debatable. However, while Kate kept mum, Ginger did let loose a couple tales of "off" Kate behavior. One episode recalled Kate kicking Ginger in the shin during a screen test for Mary of Scotland. Another account has Kate tossing a glass of water at Ginger's new mink coat to see whether or not it was "genuine" fur. Ginger expressed no hate at these deeds, but rather consternation. Why the hate, Kate? What did lil' Ginger Snapper ever do to you?

DIAGNOSIS: I think this one comes down to a simple and unfortunate misunderstanding. As Kate is one of my all time favorites, it is natural for me to want to jump to her defense, but I don't think such a inclination is unfounded. Proof in her past shows that she truly was a woman of good character and selflessness. Thus, the strange Ginger fiasco remains a pickle. However, I think it can be traced back to the original incident on Mary of Scotland. At the time, Ginger (right) was sick of playing the same roles over and over and wanted to prove that her talents went beyond her taps. So, she finagled a "fake" audition for the role of Elizabeth Tudor in the film opposite Kate. Ginger was known for her pranks, and with the help of director John Ford, she planned to come do the screen test in makeup under the alias Lady Ainsley in order to convince producer Pandro Berman that she was right for the part.When she hit the set, no one recognized her, except of course Ford and Kate-- who would be doing her "audition" scene with her and had been let in on the scheme. Ginger could sense that Kate wasn't happy, and when they started going through their dialogue, suddenly Kate let out: "Who do you think you're fooling?" and kicked Ginger beneath the table. As this came out of nowhere, I can only imagine that Kate felt that Ginger's shenanigan was devised merely to cause trouble and unnecessarily slow production. She probably thought the whole thing was a gag and was unaware that Ginger was serious about obtaining the role, a theory that Ginger's elaborate wardrobe and fake name encouraged. A pro, such a waste of time certainly miffed Kate, though perhaps she overreacted when showing Ginger where she stood. Ginger didn't get the role, needless to say, and Elizabeth was played by Florence Eldridge.

The RKO divas size each other up in Stage Door.

However, with this bad blood already between them, Kate must have formed the opinion that Ginger was an attention-hungry wise-ass, more interested in fame and games than doing good work. This would explain why she took pleasure in the second event. Ginger had stopped beneath George Stevens's office window on the lot to say "hello" and show off her new coat when Kate jokingly tossed out the water, probably thinking it funny that the superficial diva's silly new coat was in jeopardy-- though as a real mink it obviously went unharmed. The humor did not translate. Ginger made a few efforts over the years to get Kate to warm up to her, though the two would never be friends. Yet, over time, it appears that Kate did soften, perhaps finally realizing that Ginger was a good egg and not the miscreant she had originally thought her to be. When Ginger beat her out for the Oscar, winning for Kitty Foyle against Kate's comeback role in The Philadelphia Story, Kate sent a nice letter of congratulations, and publicly stated that she thought Ginger's performance had been great. Perhaps this event alone proved to her that Ginger was indeed a serious actress. Yet, it may just be a good, ol' fashioned cat fight, which, sadly, all females engage in at one time or another. After all, the two were polar opposites playing the same game: they both were engaged to Howard Hughes at different points, starred in films to equal acclaim, and perhaps just rubbed each other the wrong way. Since Kate never let us in on her side, and we only have Ginger's recollections to go by, it also leaves the question of how trustworthy our narrator is. After all, despite the fact that Ginger was a naturally sweet and well-liked person, no party is completely innocent in a feud. She quite possible could have done something equally out of character to peeve Kate off. In the end, it doesn't really matter since both women walked away equal winners, box office champions, and eternal film idols. The history of film would be lacking without either them, and at least their confrontations make said history more interesting.

Didja Know: Part III

2011-11-09T09:12:00.000-08:00

Here are the latest facts that were "news to me." Didja know that...

Cagney gets a little rough with Bogie in Angels with Dirty Faces.

... James Cagney almost slept with the fishes???

In 1939, James Cagney and George Raft went to work on the intense prison film Each Dawn I Die (left). The two leading men knew each other and got along well. Both had grown up "in the hood" as it were, and had rubbed elbows with some of the nastiest ne'er do wells-- some of whom would go on to become leading gangsters and Mafiosos. However, both managed to keep themselves from becoming too deeply involved in the mobster lifestyle. For his part, Jim stayed completely away from the men he considered morally reprehensible. George, on the other hand, forged certain alliances when acting as a chauffeur for certain goons in his Hell's Kitchen days, yet he never got into the deep stuff. A suave guy, he knew how to play the game, kept things social, and stayed out of the business, while giving the bad guys just enough allegiance to maintain their respect and his own separate life. These connections would come in handy. James and George met again in Hollywood, and Jim got George one of his first big breaks dancing the "Peabody" in Taxi. Later, George would return the favor.

During the big Hollywood shakedown, when gang warfare had resulted in physical and financial intimidation of the studios-- who were forced to use mob managed union workers-- the notoriously stubborn Jack Warner must have been causing the big guns a little bit of irritation. While on the set of Each Dawn I Die, George happened to see his old pal Willie Bioff wandering around the set. Bioff's eyes landed menacingly on Cagney, no friend to the mob, then moved up to a large klieg light hanging above. George then witnessed Bioff give a signal to a worker standing in the rafters. What George didn't know, was that Bioff was planning a celebrity assassination: he wanted to take Cagney out by dropping a light on his head! Offing one of Warner's biggest stars was a definite way of sending the big-wig a message. It has been popularly recalled that George stepped in to save Jim's life, but this is only partially true. George clearly knew that something was afoot, but he didn't know what, and he also knew better than to get in the middle of it. Later, after the film wrapped, Bioff told George that he was indeed going to bump Cagney off, but had been halted because they didn't want to screw up filming for George. So, in effect, George did save Jim's life, even if indirectly. One wonders if Jim ever knew how close he came to curtains???

Of course, Jim always knew that life on a film set was dangerous. Not only is a film celebrity's career constantly in jeopardy due to changing public tastes, competitive talent, or demanding moguls, but before the advent of the Screen Actors Guild-- of which Jim was a proud member and instigator-- performers were often put through the mill emotionally and physically. Overworked, underpaid, and unprotected, the company brass had little concern for the pawns in their money game. After all, if you lose one actor, you can just hire another. This mentality led to the lackadaisical way actors were put in danger. Ever notice how in those old Cagney pictures and likewise gangster films, the shooters are always pointing their guns at a downward angle? This was because they were often shooting with live rounds. For those big productions, when Jim had to outrun or dodge an array of bullets, he wasn't acting. When working on The Public Enemy, for example, a man named "Bailey" was hired as a professional sharpshooter. Having served in the Great War, Bailey was an ace shot. The director would set up the scene and direct the movement, then Jim's character would be instructed to run this way or that away from the spray of bullets, which Bailey, from his gunner platform, calculatingly fired behind him, leaving authentic bullet holes along the walls of the set. Filming these scenes took a lot of guts-- or stupidity. As good a shot as Bailey was, it took a lot of trust for Jim to perform knowing that if he moved a hair out of place, he might lose his whole head! Luckily, the miracle of special effects has made this method of gun play obsolete on the sound stage.

... John Barrymore had one up on Al Jolson?

Everyone recalls The Jazz Singer as being the miracle film that moved cinema from a land of silence to a world of sound. However, this transition did not occur overnight. Even The Jazz Singer itself was not an in toto sound film from start to finish. Instead, it is a silent piece with synced music in various places, into which Al Jolson stealthily added a line of dialogue or two. Before continuous music and dialogue became the norm, there were films produced with random sound effects, profiting off the gimmick of the new innovation. Inserted into the fray were a whistle here, a car horn there, and occasionally entire songs. But, before The Jazz Singer was released in 1927, John Barrymore's romantic epic Don Juan was produced in 1926 (left). It represented another step toward sound film in that it was actually the first film Warner Brothers released with the use of the novel "Vitaphone." Warners really spearheaded the sound film movement by investing in and acquiring this new apparatus, while the rest of the industry remained hesitant both about the change and the huge costs it would incur-- not only in production but in restructuring theaters to suit the new technology. The first Vitaphone feature film, Don Juan was synced from start to finish with sound effects and music, though dialogue was still noticeably absent. When played to packed houses, it was often accompanied by more talkie shorts and even an intro by the fearful censor boss, Will Hays.The film was a huge success as a result, but despite big box office, it failed to recoup its financial losses. This put Harry Warner off a bit, but Sam Warner-- the most forward thinking of the brothers-- really pushed for continued use of the device. His pegged the next Vitaphone feature as The Jazz Singer. Though not the first film produced with the Vitaphone, it would in time prove to be the most vital. Ironically, Sam would pass away one day before the premiere of his greatest success.

... the Egyptian was the first Hollywood movie theater?

Back in the early Hollywood days, the awkward transition from live performance to recorded film was evidenced in the film premiere. These days, one merely sits back as the opening credits start to roll, but in the 1920s especially, the film premiere was made to be almost as big a production as the film itself. Sid Grauman personified the extremities of cinematic extravagance with his plush movie palaces, complete with vast stages for elaborate pre-show performances, skits, dance numbers, and songs. The theater-going experience was just that-- an "experience," and one ripe for the senses. In addition to transporting his paying customers and clientele to various different places as they watched the screen, Sid too constructed his theaters to resemble far off, exotic locales. Grandeur, splendor, pleasure-- there was no holding back, and customers paid to be awed. While his Chinese Theatre is best remembered, he too had great success with a previous venture, The Egyptian Theatre, which opened 5 years earlier in 1922, mere blocks away on Hollywood Boulevard (right). This was the first official Hollywood movie theater because it was built specifically for cinema and was not a transformed storefront or vaudeville theater like the others, including The Iris.

Modeled after the infamous African country, and cashing in on the invigorated interest in the recent King Tut phenomenon, Sid covered the Egyptian's walls with ancient artwork and hieroglyphics, convincing audiences that they were sitting in the midst of a desert mirage. Lining the red carpet entrance, where fans stood to watch their favorite stars attend premieres, there too were rows of vendors offering souvenir items and showcasing costumes and props from the latest flick. Needless to say, the largess made it a huge success. To Sid, it was all in the details. He even had a sentinel fully costumed, standing on the roof of the theater to announce when showtime was about to commence. After the pre-show hooplah, the fan mayhem, and the dancing girls, it's a wonder anyone had any energy left to even watch the scheduled movie. Because Sid created this first massive theater, he literally brought film to Hollywood, which until then wasn't considered the hub of the industry it is today. With studios scattered all around Los Angeles, Hollywood and cinema had little connection until Sid came along, which is why he was given the name "Mr. Hollywood." After nearly 90 years of operation, the Egyptian is still going, though it's interior has changed a great deal. Nonetheless, it remains the oldest running 100%-movie-theater in Hollywood.

... "virgin" is a dirty word?

In 1953, Otto Preminger decided to tackle Hugh Herbert's smash play and turn it into a film. The Moon is Blue, a comedy of wit and manners, may have read like a modern Oscar Wilde play, but it translated like a bombshell. Opposing forces took offense to the very open and lighthearted dialogue with regard to sex. The film's heroine is a young, outspoken, and charming girl played by newcomer Maggie McNamara, who just happens to be a virgin and makes no apology about it. After she meets architect William Holden on the Empire State Building observation deck (where else?), he becomes completely smitten, but is mostly consumed with the idea of-- politely-- ridding her of the tedious "virgin" label. What results is a inept seduction with fellow suitor David Niven thrown into the mix and both boys realizing that they're no match for Maggie's smarts. Despite the fact that all ends well, in matrimony, MPPDA head Joseph Breen was hot under the collar due to the casual way with which sex was discussed, not to mention the open way in which the characters of Holden and Niven went about hatching plans to seduce their innocent prey. Breen refused to give the film the censorship's seal of approval, but Preminger released the film anyway with the help of United Artists. Such a thing was unprecedented. Due to the film's themes and the use of words like "seduction," "mistress," "pregnant," and "virgin"-- the latter of which had never been used in such context in a film before-- several theaters refused to show it. It started at small venues, slowly drumming up a fan following, and eventually earned a hefty $3.5m dollar profit. "Virgin" thus became the word that started the toppling of the production code administration. The film was additionally successful in earning McNamara an Academy Award nomination and winning Niven a Golden Globe, (which was doubly eventful for him, since originally the studio didn't want to cast him, thinking he was old news).

... porn is nearly as old as film itself?

That's right. We've all been dirty perverts a long, long time. It's nothing new. While some pinpoint early German sexual education/health films as the earliest source of pornography, the movie labeled as the first official stag film is 1915's A Free Ride (right). There is some debate as to the year of its release, which may actually have been later, around 1923, but thus far it is the oldest surviving product of our cinematic debauchery. The plot is about as intricate as those today: some random guy picks up some random girls on the side of the road. After he pulls to the side to relieve himself in the desert, one of the two females follows him to do the same. The sight of her panties dropping apparently is more than he can handle, and before you know it... Yadda yadda yowza! Because such levels of sexuality and outright raunchiness were illegal, the film was not released publicly but was instead shown in all-male clubs, so as not to offend delicate, female sensibilities-- excluding of course the two female leads. What can be said about this now hilarious attempt at celluloid erotica, is that the filmmakers apparently embraced its comedy. The director is credited as A. Wise Guy, the DP as Will B. Hard, and the title writer as Will She.

STAR OF THE MONTH: James Cagney

2011-11-01T20:30:00.000-07:00

James Francis Cagney

To his fans, he is the eternal gangster; to his friends he was "the faraway fella'." His reputation on film is that of a man toting guns and intimidating enemies, yet he won an Oscar for his portrayal of song and dance man George M. Cohan in Yankee Doodle Dandy. Passionate and intense in his craft, he was warm, well-read, and private in his personal life. There is little, if anything, negative that someone could say about James Cagney the man, and while one could certainly make incriminating statements about the characters he played, even this would be done with a knowing and respectful intonation: even Jim's crooks were somehow likable. James Cagney-- who preferred 'Jim' to 'Jimmy'-- was a successful actor because he knew where to draw the line between fact and fiction, between right and wrong, between business and nobody's business. Along with his troupe of pals, jokingly called the "Irish Mafia"-- Spencer Tracy, Pat O'Brien, Frank McHugh, Ralph Bellamy, and Robert Montgomery-- Jim would help to define not only what it meant to be a man in depression-era America, but what it meant to be an American full stop. Whatever road he led us down, we would follow; we trusted him even when his characters were mistrustful, because beneath it all, we knew that Jim was being honest. It would be easy to merely reiterate the stories of Jim the film heavy, Jim the original hood, and, of course, Jim and that grapefruit... But there was much more to the man than that. So much, in fact, that his conflicting screen image and the salt of the earth guy he truly was are nearly irreconcilable and very, very hard to articulate. Here goes nothin'!

Jim in one of his personal triumphs: Yankee Doodle Dandy.

Beverly Hills was a long way from James's impoverished youth in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. His alcoholic but warm-hearted father's premature death would have a devastating effect on him-- the second born of what was to become the 5 child brood of James and Carrie Cagney. Jim's memories mixed the bitter and the sweet: his father's jokes, pitchy singing, and friendly rough-housing were too co-mingled with the patriarch's painful migraines and intense physical spells that sent him wailing like a banshee. The breadwinner of the family was lovable but undependable, and a great deal of the financial hardships fell on the determined Carrie and her children. Luckily, where James Sr. was weak, Carrie was strong. The family rock, she coached all of her children to be fighters, to use their heads, and to live right and honestly in the land that had afforded them so many privileges-- even when those privileges were difficult to see. An unspoken truth among the siblings was that the shy but sturdy Jim was her favorite. When he showed talent in drawing, she hoped that he would go on to become an artist. He didn't shrink from the idea, but he had trouble deciding upon his life path. He always seemed to be off on his own, moving through the world without really being a part of it, which was fortunate, since most of his friends got sucked into a life of crime. In his youth, he witnessed pals being arrested and men dying in the streets. While not immune to these tragedies, Jim's familial love and natural optimism pulled him through. Quiet but resilient, he could be counted on in neighborhood fights when there was a wrong to be righted or a smaller kid that had to be defended, but he never started brawls. He finished them. He preferred reading or daydreaming about living on his own farm, splendoring in the earth, and riding horses. The city boy was a country bumpkin at heart.

James put his childhood bouts to use as a boxer in City for Conquest.

Early in life, Jim considered becoming a boxer. With his mobile dexterity and fancy footwork, despite his short stature, he packed quite a wallop. However, Carrie put the kibosh on that rather quickly by challenging him to a duel of fists with her-- she wanted her son tough not dead. Jim instead transferred his physical prowess to a more graceful outlet: dance. His introduction to stage performance was a bit serendipitous. He wound up taking on a role in a play for his brother Harry when he became ill. His natural ability, straightforward delivery, and knack for actually listening to the other actors, made him stand out-- even if he did talk a little too fast. Later, that would become one of his trademarks. Jim graduated from a theater doorman (a job through which he absorbed a true appreciation for the art of performance) to a vaudeville performer uneasily. He loved life on the stage, but he was mostly concerned with finding work that paid. After he met and fell in love with Frances Vernon-- who had a crush on the "cute, quiet, red-headed boy"-- he realized that he could have both. The second strong woman fighting in his corner, Frances, whom Jim called "Willie," pushed him to hone his abilities and embrace his potential. Her belief in him would keep the two of them going when Jim was ready to give it all up to become a doctor, like two of his three brothers. After he and Willie were wed, they started performing in a vaudeville song and dance act together, performed separately when money was needed, and even temporarily opened a dance school to stay afloat. While their professional union ended, the marital one lasted until Jim's death.

Jim and Jean Harlow in a The Public Enemy, a big break for

both of them.

Hollywood entered Jim's life, or vice versa, when he had some success starring opposite lifelong friend Joan Blondell in the play "Penny Arcade," which was made into the film Sinners' Holiday at Warner Brothers. Jim wasn't sure about Tinsel Town and figured he would make one picture and return to the stage, but he was offered a contract and took it. He and Warners would endure a hot and cold relationship for their remaining years together, not because of Jim's vanity or temperament, but because he quite simply didn't need the fame or the BS that went along with it. He only wanted to work. When Warners started giving him lousy roles, or when he saw the sharp contrast between his hefty box-office revenue and his minuscule paycheck, he would simply revolt. With his crafty and business-savvy brother Bill acting as his manager, Jim was able to play the Hollywood game his own way. By sticking to his guns, he would usually get what he wanted, while maintaining his artistic, personal, and professional integrity in the process. This did not always make Jack Warner happy, but he couldn't argue with receipts. This sense of genuineness and innate goodness is what drew audiences to Jim. While Sinners' Holiday was his introduction, he would really burst on the scene in The Public Enemy, using the mannerisms and character traits he had witnessed on the streets of New York to pepper his performance with a startling authenticity that had critics raving. Nasty, selfish, and unapologetic, Jim still managed to be somehow adorable. His approach to his characterizations gave audiences room to breathe and enjoy the fantasy without becoming too emotionally entangled. There was always a glint in his eye, as if to say: "I'm serious about this, but don't take me seriously." With his charm, good looks, and comedic edge, he was quickly tagged as a fan favorite and would hold the title of one of Hollywood's top leading men for the majority of his career.

Jim returned to his gangster roots for White Heat, because he found the

character so compelling. This sequence is one of the most famous

in film history.

Jim is best remembered for these early hoodlum roles, but he portrayed a wide-array of faces over his career. Often cast as a low-class, wise guy with an eye for the ladies, his role in 'G' Men would help to expand his horizons. Playing the role of a guy from the slums who made right and devoted his life to fighting crime, audiences caught their first glimpse of a character much closer to Jim himself. While he slowly edged away from his bad boy roles in films like Angels with Dirty Faces, he would return with a vengeance in the demented, Oedipal role of Cody Jarrett in White Heat. In between, he delivered performances with great humanity, humor, and color in City for Conquest, West Point Story, and The Oklahoma Kid. He was deeply honored to be able to portray one of his childhood heroes, Lon Chaney, in his biopic The Man of a Thousand Faces-- a title that also described Jim himself. But who was he off screen? His costars would remember him as a giving, devoted, and easy-going guy who wasn't afraid to stand up to a dictatorial director and was equally nurturing of new talents. The friends he had, he kept for life, and new ones knew that they were safe under his wing. He did his part in the war effort, doing radio broadcasts and making tours to support the troops, and as he aged he became more and more devoted to land conservation. His love for the outdoors and nature made it important to him to save the pure patches of green as yet untouched. Politically, he was open-minded, starting out left-wing (and at one point even being accused of membership in the Communist party) only to end up a seasoned conservative along side pal Bob Montgomery. Fluent in Yiddish, he enjoyed tossing in a line here or there in his favorite language, whether among friends or in his films. He too would add little mannerisms into his acting roles that had belonged to his father, which would induce his mother to nostalgic tears. Above all, family came first, and he remained close to his siblings and mother for all his years, even helping sister Jeanne when she began pursuing acting. In his work, he played as long as he could, and when he grew old and tired, it was Willie who pushed him to get back into the ring, where she knew he was happiest.

As dastardly as some of his characters, Jim too possessed a certain poise and an

elegance that not only made him attractive to the opposite sex but

enabled him to pursue more varied roles.

James Cagney... What is there to say? As I sit here, writing and deleting what is certain to be a disjointed memorial, I find it difficult to describe who Jim really was, what he represented, and the legacy he left behind. A cinematic icon, he has been an influential force in the careers of film Gods like Eastwood and Scorsese and has left an indelible imprint on the history of film. Throughout his life, he presented vastly different portraits of what it meant to be an American, and as a man who considered himself a true patriot, this is perhaps the best compliment anyone could pay him. From the gritty realism of his gangster portrayals to his embodiment of the ultimate portrait of liberty in Yankee Doodle Dandy, Jim was both sides of the coin and 100% American tender. In later life, as his health failed, he enjoyed time on his farm (the one he had always dreamed of) and painting. Always a positive person, while he shirked the ballyhoo and public attention, he always remained grateful to his peers for their respect, and befriended many young fans who were curious about the aging icon and his unparalleled career. Jim passed away peacefully and with a wink (literally) on March 30, 1986. Having seen many of his friends go before him and seeing the world of Hollywood change around him, the straight shooter-- who could make no sense of the new "method" style of acting-- felt it was the proper time to take his final bow. He would remember his youthful vaudeville days with Willie as the happiest of his life and the enduring hardships of his youth as the most impactful, but it was his Hollywood years that remain with fans. In those years, he lent us his strength, passion, charisma, and swagger, and showed us that there is no moment in life so brutal that you can't handle it with equal parts guts and grace.

Halloween Spooktacular II

2011-10-26T09:43:00.000-07:00

A "boo-tiful" Clara Bow gets in the mood for the Holidays.

This year's tasty greeting of chilly tidings from L.A. La Land comes in the form of the Hollywood Ghost. Just as silver screen souls continue to flicker on long after their deaths, so too do movie stars continue to haunt us in our own waking lives. Apparently, even though fate long ago called "cut," the following immortals choose to keep on living, mugging their way through the after-life, and maintaining their scene-stealing ways. Supernatural celebrity sightings have become almost as sought after as the living kind, and with accumulating stories of ghostly encounters piling up, avid fans often make it a point to visit the places their favorite, famous ghouls continue to haunt. Of course, it could all be tommyrot-- myths and legends built up over time in order to keep our idols close to us-- but then the similarities in various accounts are often a bit too startling to ignore. The locales that various celeb spirits continue to haunt is very curious and definitely indicative of who they were in life. Having never come face to face with a spirit, I can only imagine the exciting, frightening adrenaline rush a lucky (or unlucky) witness gets when encountering the eerie remnants of one they have grown to admire. Whether the fear outweighs the awe all depends on the person.

The Homes:

Errol Flynn (right) was referred to as the "Baron of Mulholland" because of his lush pleasure palace (situated at 7740 Mulholland Dr). The stories of his debaucherous parties and shenanigans are legendary. Though many stories of this Tasmanian's deviltry have been grossly over-exaggerated, the architecture of the building definitely suggested his notorious naughty side: from two way mirrors, to a front door that was really the back door, to wall murals with hidden sexual connotations, Errol always had a way of blending his keen aesthetic eye with his boyish sense of humor. But this home was more than a focal point for Hollywood parties-- it was a symbol of Errol's success, the struggles he had overcome, and the familial comforts he always sought but had trouble either finding or accepting as truth. He adored his home, which he filled with his carefully chosen, masculine decor and his beloved Paul Gauguin painting, "Famille Tahitienne." He surrounded himself with things that made him feel safe and secure; things that made him feel at home. Rumor has it that he did too good a job, for future tenants and guests would occasionally catch a glimpse of the mansion's former master.

The most interesting stories of Errol's continued residence ironically include another Hollywood heartthrob, Ricky Nelson, who moved to the address in 1977. Apparently, Ricky was a fan of the notorious lecher, and got a kick out of it when he had encounters with him. He and his family, including daughter Tracy, were constantly experiencing disturbances, such as loud banging sounds and lights turning on by themselves. One night, Tracy arrived home late. Looking toward the house, she happened to see a male figure staring out the dining room window. She thought it was her father, but when she went inside, she discovered that he was not home. When Ricky called not much later, Tracy asked him about the visitor, to which Ricky replied: "Oh, that's just Errol." After Ricky died in a plane crash in 1985, his surviving family drew the conclusion that Errol had been causing these disturbances to warn his roommate of the upcoming danger. Ricky didn't get the message. After Ricky's demise, the presence allegedly got more menacing. Thus far, there has been no word from Justin Timberlake-- who currently owns the property-- if any other odd occurrences have transpired. Since the original structure was demolished after Nelson's ownership and a new structure built, chances are slim that Errol has stuck around.

Ricky Nelson: soul brother of Errol Flynn.

Rudolph Valentino was equally proud of his Benedict Canyon home at 1436 Bella Drive, which he dubbed Falcon Lair (right) in honor of the unfulfilled film project The Hooded Falcon. The house was a grandiose expression of Rudy and wife Natacha Rambova's notorious passions and exotic tastes. The decor ranged from the oriental to the medieval, and the property housed plenty of room for Rudy's horses and dogs. Rudy became a homebody as he matured and preferred sitting at home by the fire to going out on the town. His home gave him the peace and quiet he needed. Of course, after Natacha left him, the house was also inhabited by bitter memories. Rudy's death in 1926 was a sudden, shocking event to fans and perhaps even moreso to himself. Merely thirty-one years-old at his expiration, Rudy still hasn't accepted the fact that he's dead, and there have been multiple accounts of his presence at his once beloved den. He appears most often in his bedroom and in the former stables. He too has given visitors a creep when they see him peering down from a second story window. Doors are also known to open and shut of their own accord. (George Reeves has also been known to saunter through the halls of his "suicide" house at 1579 Benedict Canyon Drive, ironically wearing his Superman costume, which he continues to bear as his own cross).

The Cemetery:

Some too have reported seeing the ghost of Rudolph Valentino at his gravesite at Hollywood Forever Memorial Park's Cathedral Mausoleum. Strangely, he is often reported as wearing his most famous costume: that of the Sheik. And he's not the only one roaming the stones at this cemetery. Some too claim to see the spirit of the infamous "Lady in Black" still visiting his grave site, as she did for several years until her own death. Also, on the edge of the lake, situated under a large tree, is the grave of Virginia Rappe (left)-- the woman notorious for crying "rape" against Fatty Arbuckle at the St. Francis Hotel in 1921, simultaneously ending his career and Hollywood's pristine image. Virginia actually died from what most scholars now agree was the effects of a botched abortion, which Fatty had nothing to do with. Nonetheless, her death was a tragic one, and the sound of her sobbing can often be heard near her gravestone, where she certainly cries for the film career she never had, the loss of her young life, and the baby she killed. Clifton Webb also has been spotted by his grave in the Abbey of the Psalms Mausoleum. Tucked down a claustrophobic corridor, the eternal man of etiquette, best remembered as Mr. Belvedere, lies in a simple plot indiscernible from his neighbors, identified only by his name. Having suffered through a complicated relationship with his mother as well as a lifetime of meticulously hiding his sexuality from the public, his restless spirit continues to hover about his final resting place. More than one visitor to the this section of the mausoleum has spotted a man in a finely tailored suit and a well-cultivated mustache walking toward them from the far wall, only to disappear as he comes too close for comfort. (Marilyn Monroe has also been reported to visit her own grave across town at Westwood Memorial).

Clifton Webb: still making a statement.

The Corner:

The famous intersection of Hollywood and Vine has also strangely been momentarily possessed by Ghosts of Hollywood's past. A bench that used to sit at the Northeast corner of the intersection was often occupied by a presence many identified as Lon Chaney. Chaney often sat at this very spot during his younger days, awaiting the bus to take him to the studios where he fought against the other hungry extras for work. As famous or as wealthy as he became, it was these lean years that always remained with him: painful years one can never fully shake off. In the future, after he had achieved success, he would pass this bench on his way to work and offer other struggling actors a ride. For years after his death, people would claim to spot him sitting at the stop, and in time the bench was even dedicated to him (see right, with son Lon Chaney Jr in top left). However, it was eventually (and unfortunately for fans) removed, and with nowhere to rest his weary bones, Lon has been seen no more. (At least not there... There are also accounts of him showing up in his Phantom garb at Stage 28 at Universal Studios where he filmed his most famous role in The Phantom of the Opera). Bela Lugosi also had an interesting moment at Hollywood and Vine... while on the way to his own funeral. Toward the end of his life, the actor was constantly taking long walks down Hollywood Boulevard, often stopping to chat with local merchants whom he'd come to know on the trek to purchase his beloved cigars. During his funeral procession,when the hearse passed through this intersection on its way to The Holy Cross Cemetery in Culver City, the driver temporarily lost control of the vehicle, and it swerved toward Hollywood-- though this route was not on the agenda. Many believe Bela was hoping to stop for one last stogie.

Bela while appearing on Broadway as Dracula: both his

greatest friend and foe. He would be buried

in his cape.

The Restaurant:

Thelma Todd is known to prowl around her former Sidewalk Cafe (left), now home to Paulist Productions, at 17575 Pacific Coast Hwy. A cheerful, easy-going gal in life, the "Ice Cream Blonde's" appearances are never menacing, and her apparition is simply observed moving from room to room or perhaps descending the staircase. The garage where she was found dead, slumped behind the wheel of her car above the cafe at 17531 Posetano Road, also continues to experience disquieting quirks. When Thelma's body was discovered, the car's motor was still running, and the death was initially ruled a suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning-- despite the fact that her face had been clearly beaten in. The structure now appears much as it did when Thelma was alive. It was here that she always parked her car before coming down the long steps to her apartment, which was above the cafe. Today, the Posetano address belongs to another owner who-- as last reported-- uses the garage space for storage. Still, some nights, strange sounds emit from the belly of the house, including the faint sound of a motor running. Some have also recounted the scent of exhaust fumes.

The lovely Thelma in a tragic final photo.

The Hotel:

Clark Gable and Carole Lombard are still remembered as one of Hollywood's favorite golden couples (right). Carole's humor served to lighten the serious Gable's mood, and Gable's stubborn, little-boy-lost mentality induced Carole to mature (at least partly) into a loving housewife. They seemed to be made for each other, and enjoyed their blessed but simple life on their Encino ranch. After Carole's life was cut short on January 16, 1942 in a tragic plane crash, Gable was devastated. Many said that he was never the same; the light in his eyes had gone out. He would survive the love of his life by 18 years, which included two other marriages, until he was finally laid to rest beside her at Glendale Forest Lawn in 1960. However, it is not here that the two reside. Many people claim to see the duo continuing to enjoy dinner and cocktails in the lounge of one of their favorite "haunts": The Lady Windemere, now (The Georgian Hotel at 1415 Ocean Ave, Santa Monica). Various employs have entered the lower level restaurant, formerly a speakeasy-- and thus named "The Speakeasy"--after closing, to find it very much still occupied by a beautiful blond and her handsome partner. However, when they announce that serving hours are over, the figures simply disappear into thin air. (At least they know when to make an exit). In addition, the sounds of disembodied gasps, laughs, or voices saying "Good Morning," are often reported. Clark and Carole may not be completely responsible. This hotel was patronized by many, including Bugsy Siegel and Rose Kennedy, and was popular for its beauty parlor and barber shop as well. (The Roosevelt Hotel is also famous for its plethora of ghostly guests, including Monty Clift and his incessant trumpet playing, Marilyn Monroe's primping in her former mirror, and a mysterious presence and cold spot in the Blossom Room-- home to the first Academy Awards celebration).

"The Speakeasy Room" at The Georgian Hotel-- just imagine the happy

couple in the corner booth.

The Inexplicable:

Carole did a little more haunting on her own. While alive, she became close chums with upcoming comedic ingenue Lucille Ball (right). The two had much in common, including incredible beauty mixed with bawdy humor. Lucy, like many, was crushed by the news of Carole's death, and she missed her friend greatly. There were times she wished that she had Carole's ear to confide in. She particularly craved Carole's sage advice to guide her when things got rough and she felt her career slipping away. When the opportunity to do "I Love Lucy" came up, Lucy was skeptical. Television? Should she do it? What if it tanked? What would happen to her career!?!?! Anxious and full of nerves, she went to sleep, wherein she had a dream that Carole paid her a visit and said: "Honey, go for it!" Lucy listened, awoke, and went on to become the most famous television personality in history. Perhaps, in her sleep, her subconscious simply took the form of her beloved friend; but, perhaps Carole sensed a friend in need from the other side and decided to make a special trip and send a helpful message. Lucy too would go on to a future performance as a ghost. She would allegedly haunt her 1000 North Roxbury Drive home on its last day in existence. While the house was being destroyed, a passer-by happened to catch a glimpse of a flaming red-head wandering around the property. She shook her head, pacing, seeming deeply upset at what was being done to her former abode. She then disappeared around the South corner, never to be seen again... except on the boob tube.

The Theatre:

To cap off her month as L.A. La Land's star, is Olive Thomas's preternatural tale. Olive (left) called The New Amsterdam Theatre in New York home during her years as a Ziegfeld Follies girl. These were very exciting, important years in her life, which is perhaps why-- after her death-- she chooses to return here rather than Hollywood for her occasional visits. Olive has been seen wandering the building, apparently soaking in memories of past times. Sometimes, she is in her typical, jolly mood; other times, she seems overcome with sadness. On rare occasions, she seems peeved and starts a ruckus. One employee recalled making his rounds on the stage when he surprisingly shined his light on a woman dressed in old-fashioned clothing. He thought she had merely gotten locked in, but when he called to her, she simply smiled, blew him a kiss, and disappeared. When he later compared his vision to a photo of Olive Thomas, he grew pale: it was the same girl! Mostly, Olive appears to men, continuing her worldly flirtations with impish grins and friendly greetings, often calling, "Hey, fella!" She once scared a worker away permanently when she appeared and said, "How are you doing, handsome?" His vanity was not flattered. Olive grew anxious when renovations began on the theater, allegedly becoming more vocal and wandering aimlessly in plain sight. She too has a jealous streak. When reunions involving the surviving Ziegfeld girls occur at the theater, Olive causes some serious shaking of the sets and even makes various light bulbs burn out-- simultaneously. She always appears gloriously bedecked, sometimes even wearing a sash that says "Olive," and at other mournful times, she can be spied carrying a champagne glass-- even the spirits indulge in spirits. She too walks in mid air at an area upstairs where the removed glass walkway used to be. To her, it is still there. It appears that the employees who have the courage to stay have grown accustomed to Ollie and her continued performances, often calling out "Good Morning, Olive" when they arrive in the morning and bidding her goodnight when they leave her alone in the dark with nothing but the stage's "ghost light" to keep her company.

The notoriously spooky Vincent Price lightens the mood with a bit of

dancing while filming The House on Haunted Hill.

In life, nothing is black and white. Does it not, therefore, make sense that there is not simply life and death? That there is a strange shade of gray that serves as a home for those who cannot choose a side? Our Gods and Goddesses of black and white movies seem to think so. Just as on the silver screen, they flicker on, continuing their intangible but effective presence in the world of us normal, living souls. Perhaps, to them, we are putting on the show as they exist behind the scenes, watching and observing, enjoying entertaining passion plays performed by those so unaware. Or maybe they simply continue on as if they never left, soaking in their happiest or most profound personal moments, unable to let go and unaware that they already have. Then, there are those who seem compelled to ham it up, to penetrate that thin screen between actor and passive audience, and jump out and say "Boo! I'm still here." Attention-hungry fame hounds are never satiated. Are our film players still playing with us? Putting on a show for their own amusement? Or are they simply lost and unable to make their final exit? Maybe it would be easier for them to bid farewell if we let go of them. As it is, we continue to be enamoured, hypnotized, and equally haunted by the stars who touch our lives, even after their own have ended. As we invoke their spirits every time we pop in a DVD, it should come as no surprise that they remain close to us. Until we ask them to go, they really have no reason to depart.

HISTORY LESSON: Hollywood Suicide

2011-10-20T09:45:00.000-07:00

A title card from The Flapper, which ironically appears after Olive Thomas's character decides

not to kill herself. This single slide could serve as the explanation many have

as to why Olive's death was not a suicide but an accident--

she loved life too much to let go... Or did she?

As Halloween creeps closer, I thought it relevant to dip into the more macabre side of Hollywood. Since All Hallows Eve is embraced as a public indulgence in the sometimes very thin line between life and death, it seems a perfect holiday for La La Land. Hollywood itself, sometimes appearing as a glorious Heaven and others as a torturous Hell, has birthed multiple superstars but has too killed its own children. The most depressing and pitiable of these fallen angels are those who choose to take their own lives. In all cases, the deaths are shocking, unexpected, and heartbreaking, but there are a few that are so unbelievable that, even when given direct reason or motive, one cannot wrap his or her mind around the tragedy; at least I can't. Olive Thomas remains the first official poster girl for the inexplicable, self-inflicted death, which to this day remains debatable. One can continue to turn over the evidence, but the varying testimonies of husband Jack Pickford, the memories of friends, and the final conclusions of medical professionals all produce contradictory evidence. Whether suicide or accident, the outcome is still devastating and Olive still a victim. Journeying down this same vein of the unfathomable and unreasonable disappearance of some of our brightest stars, I've compiled the following collection of some of the most bizarre and yet little discussed suicides in Hollywood History. Years after their shattered ends, one can still cry "Why, oh, why?" to the Hollywood Hills and receive no answer but a pained echo for the lost souls, volleying without end.

LUPE VELEZ:

Lupe was branded the "Mexican Spitfire" due to her feisty, sensual, uncontainable spirit and her obvious heritage. Born in San Luis Potosi, she-- like Dolores Del Rio and Anna May Wong-- paved the way in the industry for "ethnic" girls, bringing her beauty, fire, and passion to the screen with full force. After a stint in vaudeville, Lupe landed in Hollywood where she made unprecedented, scene-stealing appearances in films opposite Douglas Fairbanks (The Gaucho) and Lon Chaney (Where East is East). The girl didn't just have "something," she had something indescribable. Who else in the history of cinema has outshone the Man of a Thousand Faces? Intensely sexual with a temper to match, she had a notorious romance with Gary Cooper-- whose placid demeanor was probably the only one who could withstand her raging bouts of anger-- and a failed marriage to an equal wild man, Johnny Weissmuller. Her career thrived through the silent era, where she gained a reputation as a comedienne with punch and panache, but the coming of talkies allegedly inhibited her career due to her obvious accent-- taking her out of the running of more acceptable, all-American leading ladies-- and later accusations of communist support dampened her public appeal. In her thirties, she did Broadway, returned to her native Mexico-- where she was very popular-- and landed back in Hollywood where she fell into the arms of actor Harald Maresch. Then, on Dec. 13, 1944, Lupe was gone, having taken her own life with the aid of Seconal. She was but 36-years-old. The reason for her shocking end was given by herself in a suicide note: "To Harald, may God forgive you and forgive me too but I prefer to take my life away and our baby's before I bring him with shame, or killing him, Lupe." The reason, therefore, for her desperate final act, was personal shame over the fact that Harald had gotten her pregnant and refused to marry her, but even in this there is controversy.

Lupe may have gone to convent school as a child, but she was far from conventional. A vibrant, caution-be-damned kind of girl, it is doubtful that she killed herself to protect her own reputation and save her child from a life of ridicule. The Lupe the world knew and loved would have most certainly socked anyone in the nose who so much as looked at her child the wrong way. There must be more to the story, and in the end it seems more likely that it was Lupe's own impulsive, defiant behavior that killed her. Perhaps after a lifetime of broken hearts, a lover's refusal of marriage became the last straw. One could argue that she killed herself more to hurt Harald for his betrayal or to simply give one last eff-you to the world that she had considered so cruel. Adela Rogers St. Johns would state that Harald had every intention of marrying Lupe, but simply refused to lie about the date of the nuptials in order to make their child the product of marriage and not conversely marriage the product of the child. If this is true, it makes the suicide even more head-scratching. More puzzling is the speculation that Harald was totally innocent in the debacle and that the child was that of Gary Cooper, with whom Lupe had maintained an on-again off-again affair. The most commonly accepted theory is that Lupe was not a well woman. Her vacillations in temperament indicate that she would have been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder had such a disease been recognized in her day. Friends too reported that, despite her bravado, in which she attacked life with chin out and up, Lupe had great pain and melancholy. On rare occasions, she would open up about her life's disappointments and what she felt was the absence of real love. Her death scene is too debatable because of the way it has been painted. Some state that she was found lying in a bed of white satin, completely composed and beautiful, the way she herself had dramatically staged it. Others attest that she had a violent reaction to the Seconal and died with her head in the toilet, drowning to death. Both are debatable: suicide is never a glossy affair, but one doubts that anyone could "drown" in a toilet, given that the weight of the human body would, if unconscious, naturally slump to the floor. The only hard core truth we can rely on is that Lupe left us all too soon, and whatever reason she had for taking her own life was not reason enough.

GEORGE SANDERS:

Talk about unexpected... The Sultan of Snark and fastest s-wordsman of witty barbs taking his own life? No. Not possible. George Sanders, on screen and off, seemed to be the smartest of them all and ten steps ahead of everyone else. Sitting comfortably on a pedestal of intellect, he looked down his nose at a world of neandrethals and gloated at his own superiority. We counted on his smirking charm to add layers of humor and biting edge to films like The Picture of Dorian Gray and All About Eve, and with every opportunity to impress us with his entrancing voice-- one put to use as Shere Khan in The Jungle Book-- he succeeded. But this Englishman too must have been hiding a secret behind his superior jabs and polished deviance, for his life ended in April of 1972 by his own hand. Even more startling is the fact that he was well into his sixties when he committed this personal atrocity. One thinks of suicide as being the haven for discontented and bruised youths who have given up hope; apparently we never mature past our own insecurities and need for escape. After four marriages, one of which was to Zsa Zsa Gabor, George dwindled into ill health. The aid of alcohol certainly didn't help things, and in his later years he had become mentally unstable, experiencing moments of complete delirium, which resulted in angry outbursts. Losing his mental faculties-- the man whose shrewd mind was his key asset-- was something he could not bear. When he was unable to play his piano, he solved the problem by chopping it to bits. He wandered aimlessly, landing in Barcelona, where he finally said farewell as only he would, with annoyance and condescension: "Dear World, I am leaving because I am bored. I feel I have lived long enough. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool. Good luck." His drug of choice was Nembutal. What remains so indiscernible is that a sharp man such as himself could suddenly become the butt of life's joke.

CHARLES BOYER:

The ultimate French lover, Charles Boyer could inspire amore in even the lowest of skunks-- which he did when Looney Tunes modeled Pepe le Pew after him. With unforgettable performances ranging from superb malevolence in Gaslight to pious romanticism in All This, and Heaven Too, his acting talents were enhanced by a single raised eyebrow that drew women to him like moths to a flame. In his private life, Charles maintained his suavity but had much less ego. Fairly shy but amiable, he was entrancing for reasons aside from his looks-- which was necessary since he was prematurely balding, short, and had a bit of a gut. Originally a student of philosophy and a fluent speaker of five languages, the equally religious man wed his only wife in 1934 and remained faithful to her for the next 44 years (although, James Cagney--also a loyal husband-- would recall overhearing ol' Charles putting the moves on a young actress on one of their WWII morale boosting tours). The classy Irene Dunne named him as one of her two favorite leading men, (Cary Grant being the other), and he was able to befriend even the intensely private Maurice Chevalier. However, despite a prosperous career and happy marriage, darkness too was lurking over Charles's shoulder. After losing his son, Michael-- who shot himself either by accident or suicide on his twenty-first birthday-- Charles lost his beloved wife Pat nearly fourteen years later in 1978. Two days after this tragedy, Charles took his own life, again with the aid of Seconal. It is believed that he did so because the great romantic could not bear life without his paramour, but there had to be more cracks in a man than a broken heart to spur on such a desperate act. Whatever pains he felt in his personal life, he kept hidden, therefore giving a performance that far outshone anything he did on the silver screen. Without Pat as the glue to hold him together against his demons, death must have seemed the only out, but the results still make one shake the head in consternation.

MARGARET SULLAVAN:

Everyone's favorite girl-next-door ruled the silver screen in roles that showcased both her warmth and resilience. Close friends would be impressed with these qualities in her private life, including Jimmy Stewart who was head-over-heels for her in his early career. Maggie was a fighter, and proved it by overcoming a muscular weakness that prevented her from walking when she was a child. Rebellious in spirit, she overcame this malady and grew into a tomboy who shrugged off familial disapproval to pursue a career in dance and theater. When they cut her off financially, she paid her own way, making it all the way to Hollywood and cementing herself as a leading lady with grace and gumption. One of her most remarked upon qualities was her voice, which did not ring out clear as a bell, like so many young ingenues, but was instead deep and lush. Few knew that this was because she had a hearing problem diagnosed as otosclerosis: only by speaking at a deeper register could she even hear herself. As she aged, her condition worsened, which deeply affected her psychologically, as did her divorce from third husband Leland Hayward. After her three children forsook her to live with their father, Margaret was crushed. Separated from her family, she felt alienated and it gave her great pain to see the lives of her loved ones fall apart-- all of her children possessed her same rebellious spirit if not her focused drive. She became increasingly depressed, finding it difficult to sleep, and spent a great deal of time on her own. Though she continued to work, her only real companion seemed to be the foggy static that used to serve as noise in her increasingly isolated and lonely life. After spending time briefly in a mental institution, she was found home in bed suffering a Barbituate overdose on New Years Day 1960. It was too late to save her life. It continues to be argued whether the death was accidental or purposeful, but examining the evidence it seems that Maggie's flinty strength finally succumbed to her emotional abandonment. To make things even more tragic, two of her other children-- Bridget and Bill-- would later commit suicide, continuing the sad legacy. Only daughter Brooke remained to pen the novel of her family's breakdown: Haywire. Watching Maggie's movies today, she remains one of the least likely candidates for such a death, yet there the hard truth lies-- etched in stone.

LOU TELLEGEN:

Lou is a rarely remembered film personality. If he is recalled at all, it is only by history buffs who know him as the one-time husband of screen siren and opera star Geraldine Farrar. A handsome man, he clearly had something in the way of charm, since he was able to woo some of the biggest and most untouchable women in show business, including the illustrious Sarah Bernhardt in addition to Farrar. Charm also helped him in his acting career, where it has been reported that what he lacked in talent he made up for in personality and the ability to forge the correct "relationships." He got his start on the stage after seducing Bernhardt, who cast the young man as her leading man. He had no experience and at the time had just been released from prison. His drive for success was perhaps propelled by his status as an "illegetimate child." The legitimacy that he lacked in infancy, he clearly sought to attain in adulthood through prosperity. His ambition revealed itself in his first marriage-- to a countess. The name of his auto-biography, therefore, seems befitting: Women Have Been Kind. With his good looks, he clearly knew how to play the game to suit his needs, but after three failed marriages he still had not found what he was looking for. Thrown into the mix was his dwindling career, which included stage plays and film roles (including 3 Bad Men), often playing unsavory characters with an agenda. Things took a turn when his handsome face was damaged in a fire, thus leaving him without his oft played Ace. By 1934, he too was suffering from Cancer (a fact that was kept from him) and bankruptcy. With no career, no woman to save him, and a lifetime of mistakes and lost opportunities, Lou at fifty-one had nothing. This makes his death not necessarily surprising, as his sad state was obvious to those around him; what makes his suicide shocking is its execution. Lou's method was masochistic: standing before a mirror, he stabbed himself with a pair of sewing scissors... seven times. Legend has it that this was done while he was surrounded by newspaper clippings of his past glories, which is true figuratively if not literally.

The mysterious and saddening ends of W.S. Van Dyke, Max Linder, Phyllis Haver, Brian Keith, Everett Sloane, etc. could be added to this never-ending list. The question is, is Hollywood really a major contributing culprit in their deaths, or does living larger-than-life simply project a more intense version of universal truths? Clearly, when you have climbed higher than the rest, you have farther to fall, and for those who have once tasted ambrosia on Mount Olympus to be left with only memories of past glories, a quiet, solitary life does not seem as inviting as the eternal silence of death-- which will shut out their unfulfilled desires with their sorrows. If Hollywood were erased from the equation, it seems that all of these stories would have ended the same way, for it does not appear that the loss of fame tipped the scales against Margaret Sullavan or Charles Boyer as it more fully did to Tellegan. Why is it then that this city still seems to be to blame, at least partly? Life in show-business, so rich, passionate, and dramatic seems to induce equally dramatic ends. Just as plot-twists give unsuspecting film viewers a thrilling whip-lash, tabloid truths have too taken us for a loop when things don't end the way we expect them to. Perhaps these deaths seem more brutal because we never expect our stars to die at all-- even when they do die, they don't. Olive Thomas still uproariously mugs at us in her remaining masterpiece, The Flapper-- a film in which she ironically backs out of a half-hearted suicide attempt-- and she has been gone for nearly one-hundred years. This haunting quality only adds to the Hollywood mystique: light and shadows, glamour and debauchery, flecks of gold and celluloid dust. For every lost life, thousands of movie fans are born to take its place; to continue carrying the torch for lights snuffed out by the cool hand of death.