THE REEL REALS: Cedric Gibbons

Cedric Gibbons

One would be hard pressed to find an MGM feature film in the 1920s-1950s bracket that doesn't have Cedric Gibbons listed as "Art Director" in the opening credits. This guy got around the Lot, his work in design and aesthetic composition-- from set dressing to architectural conception-- almost single-handedly defining the Golden Era of the studio's look. With an eye for detail and a gift for creating a visual texture befitting each project's subliminal and environmental realities, he quickly built up a reputation as the head honcho of MGM's art department. 

So totally had Cedric ingratiated himself to the studio's function and reputation, that he was given a contractual stipulation crediting his name to every MGM feature release. This explains why he has over 1000 projects on his resume, though he may have merely supervised or signed off on a great many of them. He primarily got his crafty hands dirty during the beginning of his career. Yet, during his reign, he was such a staple of the Hollywood elite, that he was just as popular and well-known around town as any of the stars, many of whom would call him friend. Indeed, he was even married to Dolores del Rio for a time, a woman so beautiful that he probably wished that he had designed her himself.  

As well as being an instrumental figure in giving credence to cinema as an art form through his steadfast work, he also saw to it that honor would be forever bestowed upon this burgeoning industry, its innovations, and its talents, by signing up with other fellow soldiers like Douglas Fairbanks to create The Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences. In fact, he designed the trophy that would later be labeled "Oscar." This Irish lad passed away in Hollywood after his many decades of loyal service at the age of 67, leaving a legacy behind him that all cinematic artists continue to build upon and re-envision every generation.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Lupe Velez

Lupe Velez

"Fame" and "infamy" are practically the same thing in Hollywood. As such, "notoriety" has a very different meaning when viewed in a Tinsel Town context. Thousands upon thousands of hopefuls migrate to Hollywood every year in the hopes of becoming a movie star, in the hopes of obtaining celebrity status, or in the hopes of attaining eternal glory. Yet, to live forever, you have to die, and in most cases you have to die either tragically young or just plain horribly. It has often been argued whether or not names like Dean, Phoenix, or Monroe would contain the same power and mystique they do today if the bearers would have lived to healthy, ripe old ages. I'd like to think so. After all, the Brandos, Stewarts, and Crawfords certainly did. Yet, the golden era stars have a more powerful hold over pop culture than their silent forbears. So few people are familiar with the early pioneers, minus the obvious gems: Chaplin, Garbo, Gish... That is, unless their names are touched with debaucherous rumor. As such, one wonders, would we still recall Fatty Arbuckle if it weren't for that tragic and unfortunate scandal? Would Mary Miles Minter mean anything to anyone if not for her implication in the death of William Desmond Taylor? And, the biggest question for this month: would anyone remember Lupe Velez if she hadn't taken her own young life far too soon? Do you even know of whom I'm speaking, brave new world? If not, let me tell you: Lupe was AWESOME. That is capitalized. All caps. On purpose. Yes, Lupe is another Hollywood tragedy. Yes, she is another butterfly crushed on the wheel of fate. Yes, her death took her fame and made her infamous. But her life makes her splendid and fascinating still. Behold the brazen vixen:

Lupe Velez: the Mexican Spitfire. Indeed. Lupe's nicknames would always play off her exuberant personality and its tendency toward natural disaster: The Tropical Hurricane, The Mexican Hurricane, The Mexican Wildcat, The Mexican Madcap, Whoopee Lupe, and The Hot Tamale! Still, she started simply enough, albeit with more spunk than most. Maria de Guadalupe Villalobos-Velez aka "Lupe" was born on July 18th, 1908 in San Luis Potosi. She certainly had a greater amount of pep than her siblings, and this she apparently inherited from her equally vibrant and troublesome father. Both were frenetic bundles of energy who enjoyed practical jokes and raising occasional Hell, but fortunately Lupe inherited the loving maternal instinct that her father lacked. He would eventually disappear in the midst of war, remarry, and also turn his back on his daughter after she revealed her thespian inclinations. This is why, in her career, she is billed by her mother's last name and not her father's. In fact, in many ways Lupe would become the father and breadwinner of her family. After causing a ruckus in convent school, wherein she enjoyed taunting the nuns with her projected tongue while their backs were turned, Lupe would be the only member of her family to put up her dukes when times got tough. While the Mexican Revolution continued and her soldier father consequently went missing (and presumed dead!), the family's original fortune dwindled, and Lupe devised a plan. She would put her love of mugging, singing, dancing, and her stellar impersonations to use and earn money on the stage! All the better for her. She dreamed of being an actress and loved soaking in the films at the local theater where she learned to bat her eyes seductively or alternately march into the fray, sword in hand. As a result, she got a lot of acting practice as a little girl giving performances on her rooftop.

The ingenue gives good face... and bod. Her "exotic" beauty

was always played up in her career.

Any talk of marriage-- and she had many suitors with her gorgeous features and natural charisma-- was overruled and put out of mind as she began her career. As she herself said, "When anyone have say to Lupe 'You cannot do!' it is like when they wave a red flag before the eyes of a bull to get the bull started!'" This is how she forced her way into a solo performance when the manager of the local theater tried to offer her a chorus girl's spot. Her reception was wild, perhaps because she took the stage with no stockings. She sang, she strummed the ukulele, but mostly she moved-- and fast! Her shimmying about got the men in the audience in an uproar, and she became an overnight sensation. Soon enough, she was being lauded as one of the favorite entertainers in Mexico! She was learning the ropes of performance fast. She was also learning how to handle catty females, who seemed to sabotage her at every turn-- jealous of her beauty and threatened by her popularity. She was once so angered by the constant badgering she suffered that she punched her fist through a window and performed onstage with a bloody hand! Lupe got back at the "mean girls" my impersonating them onstage and making a mockery of their affectations and exaggerated talents. This only endeared the public to her more. Along with her great beauty, Lupe had a raging sense of humor. Her lack of pretense and utter sincerity allowed her to form a bond with her audience, which tore the fourth wall away. Her attitude, which continued later in her career, was always, "I may be up here on stage, but you know I am really down there with you." She did not inherit any vanity after her success and went through life as she always had: grocery shopping, eating at cheap cafes, and putting on no airs. She was an approachable femme fatale: a rare find. Even after her film success, she could be found cracking up with crew members or spectators between takes.

Lupe tangoes her way to stardom with Douglas Fairbanks in The Gaucho.

When Lupe saw a chance to advance her career by going rogue in Hollywood, she took it. After being hand-picked by Richard Bennett to audition for  the stage play "The Dove," she earned a free ride to the land of eternal sunshine. Unfortunately, Mexico was not ready to let her go. She and her chihuahua were halted at customs when she was discovered to be both underage at seventeen and lacking her mother's signature on her pass. Lupe went home, corrected the mistakes, and tried again. After this second attempt, she arrived in L.A, using what little English she knew ("Hell!" being one of the words) only to find that her opportunity with Bennett was lost. She was determined to stay and make something of herself nonetheless, and she obtained bit parts in Hal Roach comedies opposite luminaries like Laurel & Hardy and Charley Chase. Then came the big lift! She was offered the chance of a lifetime when Douglas Fairbanks asked her to audition as his hot-blooded, comedic love interest in The Gaucho. Ironically, when Lupe arrived, Doug found her to be too "innocent." That was a laugh. He quickly altered his opinion when she refused to take off her shoes for the audition. Then, as instructed, she punched Eve Southern in a scene, but a bit too hard-- she gave her a black eye. Doug cast her, and the nineteen-year-old Lupe tangoed her way to glory. From this moment on, her career in Hollywood grew and grew. Her personality on film was alive and infectious-- she practically jumped off the screen. Not only did she gives actors like the ever electric Fairbanks a run for his money with her scene-stealing, but she also won the respect of her peers. Lon Chaney paid her the highest of compliments while working with her on Where East is East, even after her surprising talent nearly mopped the floor with the entire cast. In addition, each director and crew member she came across was inspired and touched by the way she approached her work with both great focus and professionalism. When she made a mistake, she would literally kick herself in the rump-- she was so hard on herself that no one else had to be. When the talkie revolution came, she easily transferred to sound, despite her accent, which was a true testament to her star power.

Lupe and fellow Mexican actress Dolores del Rio. Despite publicity

gags, the two got along well.

Of course, Lupe's "exotic" looks and origin always played into both her onscreen and off screen life. Though admittedly she knew very little English when she arrived in the United States, by the time the talkies had emerged, she had already learned to speak it elegantly. Nonetheless, in all of her film work and in every interview, the Spanish-speaking lady's language barrier was always exaggerated for comic effect. Her Mexican heritage was both her schtick and a stigma. Because Lupe was hot-tempered in reality and a very fun-loving, high-living kind of gal, her antics were always blamed or laughed off as a symptom of her Mexican-ness. Instead of this serving as a celebration of her ethnicity, it often felt like a slap in the face. As Michelle Vogel pointed out in her biography of Lupe, the actress's only real rival in Hollywood was the equally Mexican-born Dolores del Rio. As such, the gossip mills set tongues wagging with talks of a vengeful rivalry between the two ladies-- and ladies they were. They had no issues with each other and were never really in competition for roles, because they were such different people. However, Dolores carried herself with more grace and diplomacy than Lupe, who was essentially the Mexican Lucille Ball. Consequently, Lupe had much more trouble crossing over into the world of the truly-- "sniff, sniff"-- elite. Thus, her heritage was used to tie her to cliched acting roles and, quite often, to make fun of her in her private life. Lupe would play it up in the press to maintain her persona, but the pretense came to hurt her deeply.

No acting necessary: Loop and Coop fell in love quickly 

on the set of Wolf Song.

And her private life was a blazin'! Aside from her childhood sweetheart, whom she left for the stage, and the millionaire who tried to marry her in Mexico, whom she refused, Lupe didn't seem to have too much time for love. Men, yes. Love, no. That is, until she met her exact opposite: Gary Cooper. Tall, quiet, bashful, and ever-patient, Coop was easily taken in by Lupe when they began work on Wolf Song. Much as he had been attracted to Clara Bow, Coop seemed to be entranced by all of the fiery qualities in Lupe that he did not possess. She, in turn, was enamored of his calmness in the face of her constant storms. The tales of their lovers brawls are legendary, and usually involve Coop sitting silently as Lupe howled at him like a banshee. He would later proudly show off the war wounds that she had left him-- literally. I'm talking scars, people. Obviously, with their polar temperaments, the union couldn't last. They grew increasingly jealous and suspicious of each other, though Lupe always protested to be a one-man woman. (Sadly, monogmony was not one of Coop's major qualities). The straw that broke the camel's back was said to be Coop's mother, Alice, who never approved of Lupe, nor had she approved of Clara. Coop thus settled down with the more acceptable socialite Veronica "Rocky" Balfe, and Lupe lived with an eternal broken heart. Friends believe she never fully recovered, and she would openly admit to those closest to her that Coop was the love of her life: the one that got away, the only man she ever loved...

She thought she had found a better partner when she wed Johnny Weissmuller. He was Tarzan, for Pete's sake! Certainly he could handle a little heat in the so-called kitchen. Well, he could... For a time. But Johnny also quickly realized that the great passion and love that drew him to Lupe could not withstand their obvious differences. After her divorce from Johnny, Lupe would enjoy a brief engagement to Guinn "Big Boy" Williams, but that too eventually went kaput. Through it all, Lupe's career had enjoyed its ups and downs. For a time, her career seemed to be taking quite the nosedive, and she was often shoved into silly B-films in supporting roles. The public seemed to be losing interest, and her studio was losing faith in her. She did a handful of projects abroad, but she was quickly back in the limelight with the success of The Girl From Mexico. This launched the series with which she is most often associated: The Mexican Spitfire. Again, the films lampooned her accent and caricatured "Lupe" persona, but her timing and often improvised sense of comedy made the films (eight in all) huge hits. The plots centered around misunderstandings, mistaken identities, and the always hilarious strains of marital discord. Partnered with funny man Leon Errol, the two fools volleyed off each other while the cast of supporting players merely rotated around them and held on for dear life! It seemed that Lupe had managed to salvage her career, and it was only getting better. Little did the public know that the funniest woman on the silver screen was privately hurting.

A great shot depicting both the tigress and the scared kitten inside.

It has been speculated by many that Lupe suffered from the mental strains of bi-polar disorder. This would explain the mood-swings, the failures of her romantic relationships, and possibly her death. As much as we may try to probe into someone's psychology to try to understand why she took her own life, a spectator can never fully grasp the complexities and pains that drive a person to take such drastic measures. What we know in retrospect is that Lupe was four months pregnant when she committed suicide with the aid of 75 Seconal pills. The reason, which she herself stipulated in one of her suicide notes, (she addressed one to her lover and the other to her faithful housekeeper), was that the father of her child refused to marry her. Alone, this reason doesn't seem like reason enough, not with the publicly known Lupe being so brimming with life. However, if you add onto this her possible mental disorder, years of misfortune in love, and her actually very real religious life, we may be getting closer to the truth. She thought to bear a child out of wedlock was an unforgiveable sin. There too is well-founded speculation that the child she took with her to the other side was not that of her current amour--Harald Ramond aka Harald Maresch-- but that of long lost love and sometimes lover Gary Cooper. 

When Lupe's plan to have her sister Josefina raise her child temporarily until she could "adopt" it fell through-- due to Josefina's noncommittal attitude-- it is quite possible that in a weak moment, Lupe felt hopeless, alone, and betrayed. Some think she merely meant to make a statement, using an attempted suicide as a stunt to garner sympathy from Harald and force a proposal, but the amount of Seconal in her body-- even more than killed Carole Landis later in 1948-- doesn't suggest that this was an accidental overdose. Lupe, as always, went full throttle. In addition, Harald had in fact proposed to her, but was unable to commit to a quick marriage, due to what one assumes was his marital status to another woman. He too wanted to prove that he could earn enough to support her. It is believed that when he suggested that he and Lupe have a "fake marriage" until they could make it official,  she misunderstood his reasoning. But, perhaps she just tired of the charade, and the hiding, and the white-washed BS. Lupe had always played it straight with the public, never hiding behind edited words or false idol appearances. With the loss of another Prince Charming, life had become too desperate. Thus, on the night of Dec. 13, 1944, Lupe succumbed to her own insecurities and despite what certain slanderous, false historians say, she died in her bed-- not with her head in the toilet. She was but 36-years-old. She once said, "I've never met a man with whom I didn't have to fight to exist." She had finally pulled the gloves off. Fittingly, the night after her death, the Hollywood Legion Stadium-- where she had attended so many boxing matches, revving both the fighters and the crowd up-- paid her tribute by placing a spotlight on the seat that she would normally have occupied. The bell was lightly tapped in her honor as well.

And this is what gorgeous looks like: Lupe was equally capable

of dramatic roles, and her directors were amazed at the

way she could turn on the waterworks at will.

It is always those who laugh loudest that seem to be the most in pain. Comedy and tragedy, which seem so far apart, are closer than one assumes. Thus, Lupe Velez, the always hamming firecracker from Mexico, was covering up an ocean of secrets with her brave, bold facade. She certainly would not wish to be remembered the way she currently is-- as yet another Hollywood tragedy, mocked in such publications as Hollywood Babylon. The real Lupe was something different. The real Lupe, who triumphed again and again over her own madness, was good friends with and the comic envy of Carole Lombard. The real Lupe had a love and passion for life that drew men and fans to her like moths to a flame. The real Lupe was incredibly generous, providing for her family, doling out her fortune, and using her limited Hollywood power to help anyone in need. Lupe was an eternal dreamer, a woman of great humor, who-- despite her extensive jewelry collection, which single-handedly saved her from the crash of '29-- had no vanity. She was just as comfortable laughing it up with the guys-- Errol Flynn was known to wander over to her house for a late night game of cards when he, like she, was unable to sleep-- as she was endearing women to her, most of whom-- like Estelle Taylor and Mary Pickford-- always offered her a protective, maternal gaze. Lupe was such an unpretentious woman of the earth, that her escape to Heaven seems almost absurd. But there was more, much more, to this dynamo than met the eye. Now, her secrets are buried with her, as is a flame in Hollywood history that should have burned on much, much longer.

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part Six

Rita Hayworth helps her boyfriend-- and future husband-- Orson Welles

with one of his Magic Shows.

One of many descriptive words applied to Orson Welles is "magician." As he played the role of a sort of intellectual trickster figure in Hollywood, creating hypnotic illusions and entrancing audiences, the title seems to fit. However, Orson had a fascination for magic that was literal as well as figurative. Captivating a live audience, keeping them enthralled, and shocking them to resulting ecstatic applause was a way of marrying both the ambitious man and his idealistic and playful youth. It was one of few ways that the overgrown boy allowed himself to indulge in his more childish nature, so often hidden. This is because the curiosity he held for the art started in his boyhood, and was one of few things that he and his father shared-- that and alcohol. Richard Welles enjoyed a good magic show, and while his son perfected his own tricks, he decided to give him a special treat: he took him to see the great Harry Houdini! When going back stage, Orson was probably as close as he would ever be to starstruck. Of course, his already scintillating ambition won the day, and he performed a handkerchief trick for Houdini, who watched appreciatively. Afterward, Harry praised the young chap but told him to keep practising and practising until the gag was perfect, even if it took a thousand times. Orson did. When he returned at a later date to show Houdini his improvement, he was surprised to see another magician teaching the master a new trick. This disappointed the peeping boy, who realised that maybe Houdini was, after all, just a man applying a craft like everyone else and not as Godlike as he had assumed. While this crushed Orson's little, innocent heart, it also taught him a great lesson-- never let them see what's up your sleeve; maintaining the illusion is the real power. This tactic was heartily applied. Later, Orson prepared a very elaborate magic show, which he performed for the servicemen during WWII. He used his current girlfriend, Rita Hayworth, as his assistant during the show, through the length of which he made several costume changes. After Columbia Pictures'  Harry Cohn objected to Rita's involvement in the show, much to her chagrin, she had to bow out, and Marlene Dietrich stepped in on her behalf. (Previously, Orson had also done a performance where he sawed ex-girlfriend Dolores Del Rio in half).

 

Marlene fills in for Rita Hayworth as Orson's assistant. Marlene was also

an avid wartime entertainer and was always happy to do her part.

When Lon Chaney was a young theatrical performer trying to eek out a living in vaudeville (left circa 1905), he traveled around a great deal. As was typical in those days, actors would join up with a troupe only to find themselves abandoned in a strange city when the financing went kaput and left them penniless. Dusting yourself off and starting over became second nature to him early on, and for an ambitious youth with unquenchable passion and itchy feet, the trials were worth it. At the very least, he got to travel around the country-- sometimes on trains that were moving so slowly that one could hop off and take a brief stroll before hopping back aboard. He too got to meet some interesting and talented people. In 1910, he and his first wife, Frances "Cleva" Creighton were living in Los Angeles, and Lon got a gig working with the Ferris Hartman Company at the Grand Opera House on Main Street. He was in gifted company, including a chubby young singer and comedian with light feet and a kind heart. Then, people called him Roscoe Arbuckle, but later he would be known as "Fatty." Lon also rubbed shoulders with Robert Z. Leonard, who would later become a film director and re-team with Lon in Hollywood for Danger-- Go Slow. Most importantly, Lon met the woman who would become his second wife, Hazel Hastings, though at the time, the married man took little notice of her. She and the other chorus girls helped out in babysitting his young son: Creighton Chaney, later known as Lon Chaney, Jr. Cleva had little time, since she was performing herself as a singer and equally was descending into alcoholism. Hazel would recall Lon's early ambitions toward comedy and his natural penchant for making people laugh, as well as his talents as a song and dance man. However, his later career in Hollywood would become the exact opposite. Odd how time (and a damaging divorce) can change things...

Former vaudeville star Fatty Arbuckle teams up as a movie star 

with Charlie Chaplin in The Rounders.

Greenwich Village in the the roaring twenties was the place to be. A spiritually and intellectually liberated city, it became a quite the den for artists, youth, creativity, and expression in the 1920s... with a little debauchery, of course. One thing that made it so enticing was its openness to sexuality, and it was one of few places where homosexual couples could walk around openly and without fear of persecution. It was here that future film star William Haines (right) would find himself at home and also meet two lifelong friends: Mitchell Foster and Larry Sullivan. At the time, the couple did much to polish Billy into a more stylish and cultured young man. Later, after Billy made it big, they would help him in his antique business and interior design company as well. While enjoying the nightlife, including seeing female impersonator Jean Malin at Paul and Joe's or Charles Spangles put on his "Josephine and Joseph" routine, Bill would make some other acquaintances. All types of artists migrated to the bustling Village, and it was here that he would meet comedians George Burns and Jack Benny for the first time, both of whom he would call friends for the remainder of his life. He too would meet a young painter, Jack Kelly, who would later become the famous designer Orry Kelly, and a young vaudevillian, Archibald Leach, who would later become Cary Grant. It is also believed that it was here in the village that Billy first met director George Cukor. George was already working in showbiz-- as a doorman at the Criterion Theater. They too would re-team in Hollywood, where Billy would help George inch his way into cinema and too decorate his lush pleasure palace. 

 

Archie Leach aka Cary Grant. The young cockney is already looking

polished here, but he had a way to go before he reached "suave."

Groucho Marx had a great love for the ladies (left with his favorite mark, Margaret Dumont). An intelligent man, he enjoyed the company of equally interesting and funny women, whom he admired. He would remark in later life that he always made the grievous mistake of marrying for beauty over intelligence. At least in his friendships, he was rich in sharp and sassy female companionship. One such gem he enjoyed was Gracie Allen. Their attraction was never physical, but Groucho respected the "Irish tap dancer" and her great humor. One night, he and his gal pal were dining in Schenectady when he spotted another friend across the room. With that, George Burns came over and said "Hello," and Groucho introduced him to Gracie. Groucho would later say that, then and there, George fell in love. George had seen Gracie before, of course, for in the small entertainment world everyone gets to know each other professionally if not personally, but the two had never officially met. Groucho took pride in the fact that it was he who finally brought the two together. Maybe they would have met without him, maybe not, but certainly Groucho held the debt over George's head for the rest of his life. For his part, George was eternally grateful. He would later say that the real talent in the George and Gracie act was all in the latter part. He was nothing without her. Together, they were comic dynamite.

 

The recipe for a successful marriage: love and laughter-

George Burns and Gracie Allen. Take note, Groucho.

Howard Hughes (right) had many relationships with and engagements to beautiful starlets over the years. An awkwardly handsome and eccentric man, he was as alluring as he was confusing. But then, maybe it was all the dough... He once gave the same sapphire ring he had given to Ginger Rogers to Ava Gardner after an exasperated Ginge' gave him the heave-ho. He too was deeply involved with Kathryn Grayson, Katharine Hepburn, etc etc etc. As always, the great innovator saw potential in many things- cinema, air travel, and women. He too saw a goldmine in Norma Jeane Baker, though whether this was of the purely professional or sexual nature we'll never know, (though based on his track record it is easy to guess). While Howard was recuperating from his infamous Beverly Hills plane crash, he saw a picture of Norma Jeane in a bathing suit on the cover of Laff Magazine (below, summer of 1946). Apparently, the picture helped his recovery. He sent his associates on a manhunt to find out who she was and put her under contract at his studio. Her agent at the time, Bunny Ainsworth, caught word of his interest and used the information to advantage-- not to forge a love connection but to help Norma's career. Bunny planted a story with Hedda Hopper that Howard was seeking Norma out and used this as leverage to score her a contract with 20th-Century Fox. "Howard Hughes wants her, so you'd better act fast!" The ploy worked. Soon enough, the beautiful girl was making the screen test that gave cinematographer Leon Shamroy the chills-- both in excitement and in a fearful premonition. Thanks to Howard, Darryl F. Zanuck scooped the ingenue up and put her on her way to becoming Marilyn Monroe.

Marilyn Monroe was still going by her married name, Norma Jean Dougherty

when she did this shoot. It, and her hair color, would soon change.