NOW THAT'S FUNNY: Part X

Unlike most starlets, Jean Harlow liked to pal around with the

 crew in between takes. Indeed, she did them many favors...

Barbara Stanwyck (left) had a reputation around Hollywood. A good one. She was the consummate professional on the set and consistently impressed her director and co-stars. Members of the film crew were too fans and always gave her a big, warm greeting when she appeared on the sound stage every day. But, Babs went through a rough patch after her separation from Robert Taylor in 1952. She still put on a brave front, but the entire episode had been taxing to her mentally and emotionally. Her sense of self was at a low and her sexual confidence too was not what it used to be. As a result, while she was still hard-working on the set, she was also not herself. She didn't seem to trust herself as she used to. Fritz Lang, who directed her in Clash by Night, was one of many who recognized this. Her angst came to the fore when Babs uncharacteristically took umbrage with a particular scene, insisting that it was badly written and that she didn't want to do it. The plot of the film revolved around a sexually undernourished woman who cuckolds her husband. Fritz drew a connection between the plot and Babs's personal life-- in which she had been cuckolded-- and decided to use it to his advantage, and hers. While discussing the scene, Fritz asked if he could speak honestly. "Naturally," Babs replied. Fritz then stated that he felt nothing was wrong with the scene nor the writing, but that Babs-- via the material-- was being reminded of recent events in her own life. It was thus she that was "off," not the script. This information seemed to take her by surprise and knock her off balance. Babs took a long look at Fritz, drew in a  breath, and seemed to come to a realization. She finally replied: "You son of a bitch." With that, she took but a moment to get in character, hit her mark, and filmed the 2 1/2 page scene perfectly in one take. Babs was back. Good thing Fritz was a smart son of a bitch!

Clearly, Barbara's down to earth, straight-shooter demeanor was what ingratiated her to the people she worked with, and to her fans as well. However, this non-diva persona would ironically also get her into trouble. Babs was far from a glamour goddess. This may have had a lot to do with her harsh upbringing, where she simply valued the integral over the superficial. She also, like all women, was secretly self-conscious and did not have a great deal of confidence in her beauty. As a result, it would take her awhile to find her footing in terms of Hollywood fashion, though with the help of designers like Edith Head, she would eventually prove to not only wear gorgeous clothes but wear then well. Of course, this was only on the screen. In reality, she was still the same old Babs. This is what landed her in trouble. She would be riding on a high when she wrapped on Stella Dallas in 1937. Proud of her performance, she was ecstatic about seeing the finished product at its premiere. When she approached the theater, however, she was man-handled and kept at bay by one of the policeman, who was acting as a security guard. He wouldn't let her pass! In her casual garb, he mistook her for one of the screaming fans, not believing that someone so simply dressed could be a movie star, let alone the star of the film! Luckily, Babs finally got past the brute, who certainly felt like a horse's ass after he realized that he had been detaining the Barbara Stanwyck. Babs learned a valuable lesson that day: fame is the key, but fashion is the ticket. (She shows her lighter side, right).

The Kennedy family nearly established the long abiding relationship between film and politics. The tradition Joseph Kennedy started with his  formation of RKO Pictures and his affairs with Gloria Swanson and Marlene Dietrich was continued by his son John, who made no qualms about his determination to go to Hollywood and... "introduce himself" to Sonja Henie. His list of conquests would come to include a fairly public affair with Marilyn Monroe and a bromance with Frank Sinatra. Both pairings would end badly. Another lady who had temporarily fallen into his trap was Gene Tierney (left), remembered today as one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the silver screen. While separated from husband Oleg Cassini, Gene began filming on Dragonwyck and met JFK, who made an impromptu visit to the set. Now, Gene was a smart lady, but in her vulnerable state, it wasn't difficult for the charming future president to seduce her. All of his compliments and attentions worked like a tonic on her, and soon enough they were enjoying an affair. At the very least, she was able to enact a little revenge on her philandering husband, Oleg. However, the tryst only lasted a year. Gene was head over heels in love, but-- as with most politicians-- Jack's intentions weren't honorable. He had aspirations toward the White House and considered a marriage to a film star to be in conflict with these ambitions. Like his father, he considered Hollywood to be his own private brothel and little more. Gene was broken hearted and betrayed. She managed to temporarily patch things up with Oleg, though the marriage was not to last. Just as she was getting her divorce, Jack was marrying his ideal mate, Jacqueline Lee Bouvier. By 1960, he was running for President. The entire country seemed to be falling under his spell... except Gene. She knew the man on intimate terms, and thus knew that what he promised and what he did were two different things. She voted for Nixon.

Jean Harlow was a sweetie-pie. If there was one thing the world at large could agree on, it was this. An inhumanly beautiful woman with an honest disposition and warm temperament, she didn't seem to have a cruel bone in her body. And what a body! Jean wasn't modest or ashamed when it came to her sexuality, as could be seen in her nude pictorial taken at the popular Griffith Park by photographer friend Edwin Bower Hesser. It was just the human body, what was the big deal? (You've seen one ass, you've seen 'em all). Of course, her controlling mother often coaxed her into displaying her more sensual side, because that was what drew attention and-- in Hollywood-- acting roles. Still, at the very least, Jean was able to maintain a sense of humor about it. If destiny decided to make her sexual joke, then by damn she was going to be the one laughing the loudest! Because she was able to make such fun of herself, she endeared herself to many of the men around her, who quickly saw the little girl beneath the erotic facade. As such, she was able to become chums with men like Spencer Tracy and Clark Gable, who otherwise would have been more inclined to seduce her. Instead, she won her way into their hearts and became like a sister to them. Clark in particular was protective of her, especially while filming Red Dust, portions of which had to be done after the "suicide" of Jean's husband, Paul Bern. Clark and director Victor Fleming, along with the rest of the male-heavy crew, were very supportive of her during her grief. This was their way of saying "thank you" to the girl that had brought so much sunshine into their lives-- an example of which occurred before the Bern tragedy. Jean was filming her infamous bathing sequence in a barrel with Clark (right). As the cameras rolled, before Victor called "action," Jean stood up from the barrel, topless, and shouted out: "This is for the boys in the editing room!" She then plunged back into the barrel, laughing hysterically with the rest of the very appreciative male crew. Unfortunately, the 'boys in the editing room' never got to see Jean's present. Victor immediately removed the film from the camera and destroyed it, knowing that if it ever got out it would be a publicity nightmare for her. Well, at least she tried!

Carrol Baker's (left) relationship with producer Joe Levine was not a happy one. They had a lengthy work relationship that spanned several films and, as she was under contract to him, he acted more finitely as her agent. Levine and her husband of the time, Jack Garfein, often behaved as an offensive team in pressuring her to take jobs she wasn't interested in. As such, over time, her antipathy for Levine grew, and she came to resent his boorish manners and at times underhanded business tactics. At one point, she suffered a nervous breakdown as a result of the brutal work regimen and constant mental and emotional stresses the men in her life were putting her through. A tough cookie, she eventually pulled herself together, crawled out from under her husband-- whom she had been supporting nearly their entire marriage-- and exorcised herself from Levine's control. In time, she let bygones be bygones and-- having reached a much better place in her life-- decided to not look back on her relationship with Levine with bitterness. After all, she had not been the only person to suffer under his tyranny. Later, she found herself in Rome on St. Patrick's Day, celebrating at the Irish Embassy. Suddenly, she felt herself being grabbed from behind. Before she knew it, she was spun around and was being bent backward in a passionate kiss from none other than Peter O'Toole! She had never met Peter, so she was obviously flabbergasted. "I love you!" he exclaimed. "Isn't this rather sudden?" she laughed. Peter explained that he had loved her ever since he had learned that she too had "suffered under the producer of a thousand broken promises, Joseph Levine!" Peter had worked with the obviously unmannerly Levine on The Lion in Winter. While the picture was a phenomenon, Levine's less than stellar reputation had sullied at least Peter's opinion of him. For her part, Carroll was finally grateful that Levine had come into her life, if only because he had earned her a smacker from the tall Englishman with piercing blue eyes!

John Gilbert was the Lothario of the silver screen. Handsome, gentlemanly, passionate, intelligent... and humorous. He definitely hit all the marks on a lady's checklist, including that of his good friend and neighbor Colleen Moore (right). Colleen had watched John indulge in and survive several romantic relationships, including that with second wife Leatrice Joy and his lengthy, tumultuous affair with Greta Garbo. Yet, while Colleen found him charming, she had never succumbed to his charms, if only because she didn't think their friendship worth the sacrifice. It's not like she wasn't tempted, though. Colleen would recall throwing a party for some of her more elite, straight-laced Hollywood friends. It was a classy affair, and as a gracious and down-to-earth lady herself, quiet nights like this-- enjoying conversation with articulate friends-- was much more enjoyable than the rag-tag benders that some of the other stars decided to indulge in. Yet, the peaceful harmony of her modest soiree was surreptitiously interrupted. Colleen happened to notice out of the corner of her eye that her maid was making exaggerated hand motions to get her attention. Colleen politely excused herself and asked her housekeeper, "What's the haps?" Her maid then explained that there was an unexpected visitor waiting for her. Upstairs. In her bed. "What?!" Colleen quickly made her way to her bedroom only to find John Gilbert lying in wait. He sat on her bed, under the covers, with a big grin on his face: "Well, here I am, you lucky woman!" Colleen couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing! This seemed an offer too good to refuse... But what to do about her uptight guests? Colleen stumbled back downstairs, her face probably still red from cackling, and quickly ushered her friends out the door. All this time, she wasn't quite certain whether she was going to accept John's seductive offer, or merely laugh off the incident as another one of his intoxicated blunders. However, he made the decision for her. When she returned to her bedroom, he had already gone. Oh, missed opportunities... In any case, this remained one of her favorite, hysterical memories of her troubled, boyish, and always adorable friend.

John tries his moves on Lillian Gish instead, in La Boheme.

HISTORY LESSON: Royal Wives

Rita Hayworth weds Prince Aly Khan May 27, 1949-- and becomes a 

bona fide Princess!

America has always been its own land, influenced by the East but varied in its interpretations. We have no ruler, but we do have some guy we appoint every four years to help guide this ship. We have no palaces, but our richest society members can afford extravagant mansions at which we can marvel. We have no capitol Kingdom... but we do have Hollywood. As Tinsel Town grew into a burgeoning community of wealth and fame, our stars became the Kings and Queens of our universe-- the cream of the crop, the most beautiful we had to offer. As our economy boomed and we proved our mettle as builders, entrepreneurs, and even master businessmen, this little punch of public appeal lent us even more respect from the more aged countries across the sea-- who seemed antiques to our brave new, and finally thriving world. Hollywood would help put us on the map as a definite competitor in business, for as the world wars ensued and stalled filmmaking in the initially, equally prosperous German and French cinematic worlds, America's cameras kept rolling, and rolling, and rolling. As film continues to be one of the most far-reaching mediums in existence, so too do the faces that grace the silver screen remain the most famous and the most adored. These American idols, thus, became idols the world over, and soon, more historically rooted royal families started rubbing elbows with our own invented, ordained beings.

The first King and Queen of Hollywood, Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, bridged this gap when they began entertaining the Duke of Alba, the Duke of Sutherland, the Marquis of Vienna, the King of Spain, the Prussian Princess, and the Prince of Sweden at their own illustrious, colonial style castle: Pickfair. Different curious foreign figureheads too began visiting the stars on the film set to see how they created their magic pull. Lon Chaney once entertained the Princess of Sweden in between shots on the lot (see his hamming here), and Russian government leader Premier Nikita Khrushchev later came to visit Shirley MacLaine on the set of Can-Can (right)-- he would memorably say, after watching the high-kicks, "The face of humanity is prettier than it's backside." (Can-can you believe it)? Some may have poo-pooed celebrity appeal, declaring that these newly appointed social rulers were not given their position through generational inheritance, as true royalty was, but the grit and determination of self-made American men and women somehow made their new, elevated status seem even more deserved. After all, true Kings and Queens were simply famous for being famous, wealthy, and guiding the general course of their nations. How were Hollywood idols any different? At least they didn't pretend to be entitled. They had worked hard, and publicly, to earn their places in adulation. They too were not chosen by a metaphysical God, but were chosen by the people and for the people. They were not creatures of tradition, but creatures of change: modern, alive, now. At the very least, they made things interesting... and much more aesthetically pleasing.

In no time at all, as if Hollywood had just discovered a great new plot, true royalty began romantically courting this new American royalty. Not surprisingly, the male heir to the foreign throne was usually the one who came to woo a beautiful American Princess back to his Kingdom. The movie starlet, after all, was the ultimate, two-dimensional sex object. A Prince was just a regular man in the end, and he saw marriage to a film goddess as the culmination of all his fantasies, just like any other guy. The only hiccup, of course, was that the perfection on the screen was an illusion, and these gorgeous screen creatures were actually three-dimensional, full-blooded women. Life with them would prove to be much more complicated off camera. Of course, the ladies too would make the mistake of getting involved with a real Prince as a result of their own yearning Princess fantasies. As such, more often than not, the glass slipper would prove to be a little too tight, and an alliance between the various Kingdoms and the world of America seemed not to be, if only because America's modernity is naturally averse to old-fashioned values and traditions. American movie stars are working women, not housewives nor the placid trophies and ornaments that the magazine covers make them to be. Nonetheless, more than one couple would defy reality, try to bring a fairy tale to life, and marry in the name of Love (aka delusion). Almost always, they would divorce in the name of War. (Marilyn Monroe tries to win Laurence Olivier's heart (and crown) in The Prince and the Showgirl, right).

The Love Goddess Becomes a Live Princess

Rita Hayworth met Persian Prince Aly Khan in Cannes through Elsa Maxwell. Much like her second husband, Orson Welles, Aly was on a mission for Rita, in his case after seeing The Loves of Carmen (left). Rita wasn't a fool. She knew why men were interested in her: her stardom, her sex appeal, her screen persona. She knew too that it was all bull-hockey. Just as she had Orson, Rita initially rebuffed Aly's advances-- after all, she was already dining with the Shah of Iran and King Farouk-- but she finally agreed to meet him for an afternoon visit. Yet, to show that she was no easy sell, she showed up late from another date and dressed in a casual pair of shorts as if to say, "Look bud, I'm just a regular girl-- but not a daft one." Of course, her moderate attempts at self-preservation started to crack due to her natural, maternal nature and sensitive heart. Aly was persistent and charming. Most importantly, he was attentive. During the early days of their courtship, it was as if there weren't any other people in the world. Aly even proved to be a devoted father figure to Rita's daughter Rebecca, giving her much more affection than her own father (Welles). After Rita's recent divorce, heartbreak, and her growing, increased antipathy toward Hollywood, an escape with an exotic Prince seemed to be just what the doctor ordered. After a fortune teller encouraged Rita to dive into the relationship, that's just what she did-- although certain people believe that Aly paid the "psychic" in advance for every premonition she would foretell.

Despite their love for each other, matrimony wasn't going to be as simple as a swapping of vows. First, Rita had to win over Aly's father-- Aga Khan III, the head of Ismaili Muslims. A very shy person, Rita was afraid she wouldn't be able to impress him, but Aga was immediately enchanted with the American beauty, whom he deemed incomparably lady-like. Step-one completed, Aly had to clear up one final snafu- a divorce from his wife Joan Yarde-Buller, with whom he had already had two sons. The divorce was obtained after much effort and protest, and Rita was unceremoniously dubbed a homewrecker-- this despite the fact that the wedded couple had been separated for some time, and Aly had been unfaithful with a slew of women before Rita. Needless to say, Joan should have been grateful for the release and sumptuous alimony, and Rita should have been more skeptical of her suitor. But, as they say, love is blind. The wedding of Rita Hayworth to Aly Khan was held in May of 1949 to much ballyhoo, despite their attempts to keep it quiet and private. The paparazzi party-crashers and the chaos of the day was nearly enough to send super-shy Rita into a nervous breakdown, but she made it through the ceremony. Little did anyone know that she was already a couple of months pregnant with her daughter with Aly, Princess Yasmin, who would be born in December of the same year.

Almost immediately, the beauty of their love affair became one beast of a burden. Rita was not cut out for politics nor the party life, which is what Aly's somewhat immature existence was all about. Instead of a quiet life away from the cameras, she seemed to be even more scrutinized and imprisoned than ever. Aly would throw or attend lavish get-togethers, often leaving Rita surrounded by strangers or else completely alone at home. He too did not give up his wandering eye. After Rita had had enough, she smuggled her daughters out of Cannes and back into America, fearing that Aga Khan would try to stop her from taking his heiress granddaughter. Such was not the case, but once the divorce proceedings commenced, a great debate was waged regarding custody, as well as what religion Yasmin (with mom and sis Rebecca, left) would be raised to practice. The Aga wanted her to receive Muslim instruction; Rita wanted her to be raised a "normal, Christian, American child," although she probably used the religion issue as a bargaining chip to maintain U.S. public sympathy. Aly, for his part, tried unsuccessfully to win his wife back, but despite her vulnerabilities, Rita was not the shrinking violet that she was sometimes believed to be. She wanted her freedom back and hopefully a chance at happiness with a man who could give her the life she'd always dreamed of. Aly, nice guy though he was, was not it. He would return to his wayfaring ways, seducing Joan Fontaine, Yvonne De Carlo and Gene Tierney, all while still legally wed to Rita. Rita would endure two more failed marriages, never finding her Prince Charming. You go to bed with a Prince, and you wake up with a frog...

Gloria Swanson and the Guy with a Long Name (Henri le Bailly, the Marquis de La Coudraye de La Falaise)... and Constance Bennett

She was the ultimate silent screen siren. He was a French nobleman who had inherited his title (Marquis de La Coudraye) from his grandfather. There was much appealing about Gloria Swanson-- diminutive but almost dangerously beautiful, glamorous, and noted for her embrace of a decadent lifestyle (see right). It seemed that she was only waiting for a like-minded man to make her healthy brand of business-savvy narcissism an official Queenship. Henri was equally intriguing. Born into privilege-- but not money-- he had to work for a living, which made him a rare, down-to-earth regal. The legendarily handsome man, who preferred to be called "Hank,"  became a war hero then set his sights on Hollywood. He served as a translator on the set of  Madame Sans-Gêne (1925), where he met his leading lady, Gloria. Though he took on jobs as her assistant, he lacked the business smarts of his wife, and Gloria remained the family breadwinner. Clearly, she hadn't married him for money, so it must have been his title alone that she found so hypnotic. The marriage only lasted until 1931, by which time both were already thoroughly involved with their replacement spouses: Irish sportsman Michael Farmer for her and Constance Bennett, another actress, for him. But some believe that it was the appearance of business partner Joseph Kennedy in Gloria's life that put the final nail in the relationship's coffin. Joe sent Henri to France to work at Pathe simply to get him out of the way. Joe wasn't the gentleman Henri was, and he wouldn't stick around too long after Gloria's career took a dive after Queen Kelly, particularly since her financial woes were partly his fault. By this time, Henri had already written Gloria a letter suggesting that they amicably call it "kaput." Thus, Gloria turned to Farmer, whom she accidentally wed while still technically married to Henri-- thus instigating a bigamy charge. Oy. Vey. Henri and Gloria remained friendly, though, unlike her former two spouses Wallace Beery and Harry Samborn. Henri was a great guy, just not husband material.

Constance Bennett would disagree. Henri's marriage to Constance (left) would last a few years longer than his partnership with Gloria, and at first they seemed a good team. Constance was herself true "Hollywood royalty," having come from a family of esteemed thespians, including father Richard and sister Joan. Her beauty was as famed as Gloria's, as was her impeccable sense of fashion. A shrewd business-woman, she too had a love of controversy, which is perhaps why she jumped at the chance to wed a nobleman, and most importantly, a nobleman who was still married to Gloria Swanson! Always ambivalent toward the press, this royal wedding probably seemed like more of a game to her than anything else, and the fun-loving Henri simply enjoyed being along for the ride-- with beautiful company, of course. The duo had some successes as a couple, such as establishing a production company, Bennett Productions, through which they produced two films together, but by 1940, both their business and personal institutions hit the skids: too much flash, too little substance. Connie quickly moved on to actor Gilbert Roland (for awhile) before settling on army Gen. John Theron Coulter. Henri would marry again to a Colombian divorcee, but would die with no heir to pass on his notorious title. Just as well, for the moniker hadn't served him too well in the end. Heavy is the head the wears the crown... 

Mae, Pola, and Those Damn Mdvanis

The noble Mdvani family hailed from Georgia-- not the American State, but the Eurasian country nestled between Eastern Europe and Western Russia (ironically, a Georgian Prince, Gregory Eristoff, would tutor Rita Hayworth in royal etiquette during her marriage to Aly). While the Mdvani name and their country are little familiar to the ears today, they caused quite a scandal in the 1920s that would make them, briefly, both famous and infamous. The family was understandably unnerved during the Russian revolution of 1917, which encouraged the five offspring of parents Zakhari and Elizabeth Mdvani to flee to Paris. Of course, woeful times of war were not going to knock this highbrow family off their pedestal, and the killer instinct-- or rather lady-killer instinct-- led to them all finding safe harbor through fortunate marriages-- emphasis on the "fortune." They were thus referred to as the "marrying Mdvanis." The three sisters Alexis, Isabelle, and Nina did well for themselves, the latter of whom married Denis Conan Doyle, son of author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but it was the two brothers, Serge and David who would make the greatest claims to fame by wedding Hollywood starlets. David found a paramour and partner in Mae Murray (right). The "girl with the bee-stung lips" was hit by Cupid's arrow, and the duo wed in 1926. Unfortunately, after David had bled the movie queen dry and bankrupted her, he abandoned her for better prospects.

For his part, Serge attached himself to drama queen extraordinaire and exotic film siren Pola Negri (left) in 1927, but after she too lost her fortune in the stock market crash, he quickly ditched her to find a more profitable union. This proved to be more than enough impetus for Mae and Pola to spend the rest of their lives single. Mae had already endured three prior marriages, including one to director Robert Z. Leonard, and her heart was officially finito. Her acting career would too become non-existent, and she ended her days in near poverty at the Motion Picture Country Home. Pola, memorably devastated (and overstated) at the funeral of lover Rudolph Valentino, had too suffered through a previous marriage to Polish Count Eugene Dambski-- oh yeah, she was married to a Count too, and thus was temporarily a Countess, which she happily publicized. Anyway, after the debacle with ol' Serge, she opted to forevermore avoid the sacrament of marriage... and allegedly men. She was rumored to favor only the fairer sex throughout the rest of her life (though indiscriminately). Temporarily, Mae and Pola were regal sister-in-laws; afterward, they were separately, equally, and thoroughly disenchanted.

The Near Miss (Flynn)

Errol Flynn had no shortage of women to choose from. While in his early Hollywood days, this was a welcome bonus to his celebrity, which only enhanced his already irrefutable charm, as he aged, he seemed to favor a quieter, less pretentious lifestyle. Of course, two failed marriages (to actresses Lili Damita and Nora Eddington) had certainly weathered him, particularly the first. After the notorious statutory rape trial that dragged his name through the mud and left his reputation forever sullied by the popular phrase "In Like Flynn," he felt that he had been through the ringer. Despite public perception, he was not proud of his reputation as, what he found akin to being, a gigolo. This was particularly embarrassing for him as a father, a job that for once he was totally devoted to. The skills he lacked as a faithful husband, he made up for as a loving dad. As he tried to leave boyish hijinks behind in pursuit of more mature aspirations-- a career in writing, an acting reputation of repute-- he too thought it time to man-up in the ways of matrimony. Perhaps in a further need to class-ify himself, he drew his attention to Romanian Princess Irene Ghika. The two became engaged (right), with Errol perhaps hoping that some of her royal blood would rub off on him. He, in turn, made suggestions about getting a career started for her in film. However, the nuptials never came to pass. It took one mere look at newcomer Patrice Wymore on the set of Rocky Mountain for Errol to forget all about that royal bird, Ghika. He would settle for being a mere Hollywood Prince by marrying Patrice in 1950. They remained married until his death, though at the end they had become estranged. All of the hard living in Errol's earliest years had fractured his chances at love and happiness, perhaps because he had never truly learned to love himself. But, as he would say, he had still had "one Hell of a time."

The Happy Ending

The one royal wedding that has gone down in history as a true fairy tale is that between Grace Kelly and Prince Albert Rainier III of Monaco (left). Having met on May 6, 1955 while Grace visited Cannes (strangely where Rita and Aly had met), Grace had not been interested at all in meeting the Prince, and was a bit miffed that she was expected to take time out of her vacation for, essentially, a publicity ploy to meet some guy who happened to be royal. She was still engaging in a fling with Jean-Pierre Aumont anyway, so romance was not on the agenda. Begrudgingly, she agreed to the meet n' greet, so imagine her annoyance when Rainier showed up late for his personal tour of the palace. Despite this, Grace made nice, and Albert was cordial, but no one would exactly say that sparks flew at this meeting. Still, something had been ignited. Unlike the fiery, passionate affairs that both had engaged in previously, this romance began slowly. The two found themselves still thinking of each other after they had politely parted, and a correspondence began. What could a little love letter or two hurt? After all, Albert had, from Grace's own lips, been "charming." While Grace began performing her role as the conflicted Princess Alexandra in The Swan, few people knew of her secret affair with a man who would in time make her a real life Princess!

After coming to know each other through their letters more than most people ever do, and meeting clandestinely when appropriate, they fell in love, and Albert proposed. He was under the wire and in need of bringing an heir to the throne. He saw his meeting with Grace, therefore, as fortuitous. Her natural aristocratic air, intelligence, and poise made her a prime candidate for a royal wife, which is why she said "Yes" and then "I do." Grace finished filming on High Society, then boarded the S.S. Constitution for her new home across the sea in April of 1956. The wedding was extravagant and the event of the season, not to mention one of the most memorable movie star moments of all time. As a woman of discipline and duty, Grace would fulfill her obligations as a political wife, including mothering three children (right) and enduring the snooze-fest schmooze-sessions she had to attend as Rainier's arm candy. There would be a tinge of regret in her choice to leave her career behind, and unfulfilled roles and opportunities must have hung heavy on her heart. Nonetheless, she remained Princess Grace of Monaco until her dying day and proved to little girls everywhere that impossible dreams do come true.

Paramount was ecstatic about the publicity Gloria Swanson's

marriage to Henri de la Falaise generated.

When it comes down to it, all of these marriages or attempted marriages were about dreams. Everyone is looking for his or her perfect soul mate-- a fellow traveler who will walk this crazy, winding road with them and give them peace. Too often, the illusion of what one wants is far from reality, which is why most of these regal pairings wound up royally screwed. Yet, you can't hold it against them for trying. When offered the chance of a lifetime, one is bound to seize it, even at the cost of not thinking it through. You can't blame the stars for trying to solidify their own powerful but somehow unsteady existence by "marrying up;" nor can you blame movie-loving royalty for literally reaching for the Stars. In either case, the film performers who failed at the altar still reign supreme on the silver screen. Since many of them will be remembered long after names like Mdvani and Ghika are forgotten, I think we know who really rules the world.

TAKE ONE, TWO, THREE: The Lady is a Tramp

Some of our best films are adaptations of famous novels: Gone with the Wind, Double Indemnity, Ian Fleming's 007 Series, etc. During the Golden Studio Era, when a producer wanted a dramatic story with punch and passion, he turned to W. Somerset Maugham. Bette Davis had Maugham's genius to thank for two of her most popular roles in cinematic versions of both Of Human Bondage and The Letter. Gene Tierney embodied one of his venomous villainesses in The Razor's Edge. Greta Garbo behaved naughtily then piously for him in The Painted Veil. His work was written, adapted, then re-written and re-adapted several times throughout cinematic history, including re-makes of the aforementioned pieces. However, one particular story has been directed and performed in such vastly different and distinctive ways that it is well worth investigating. His tumultuous tale "Miss Thompson," later retitled "Rain," hit book stands in 1921 and enthralled readers around the world with its themes of sex, religion, and torrential downpour. It didn't take Hollywood long to smell an equally cinematic sensation, with emphasis on the "sin."

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Gloria proves why she's a star in her Maugham piece.

The 1928 offering, silent film Sadie Thompson, stars none other than Gloria Swanson as the title character. Looking her most beautiful in a visually hypnotic film directed by Raoul Walsh, one's heart breaks with the knowledge that at this height of artistry, the land of sound was about to enter cinema and send us back to technological kindergarten. The movie opens aboard a boat docked in Pago Pago. One by one, we are introduced to the key characters, who are asked to write a quotation describing their outlook on life. Missionary Alfred Davidson (Lionel Barrymore) writes of the importance of "reform." His wife (Blanche Friderici) writes of "righteousness." Fellow passenger Dr. Angus McPhail (Charles Lane) writes of the importance of "tolerance." Finally, we meet the spunky Sadie, who offers her own personal rendition of, essentially, make love while the sun shines: "Smile, Bozo, smile!" From the outset, Walsh sets us up with the realization that this film is going to be about people and how their different outlooks and lifestyles can, at best, flavor life and, at worst, cause a dangerous friction that instigates natural disaster. The natural disaster in this film is rain, which, almost as soon as the boat docks, begins to shoot from the sky like daggers.

The whole company is forced to disembark and remain on the island of Tutuila, because the boat has been quarantined for small pox. The "plague" has arrived, but just who has brought it remains a mystery. When the main characters are thrown into closer contact at the lodgings of trader Joe Horn (James A. Marcus), Davidson becomes certain that the source is Sadie. A solemn meal between the Davidsons and Dr. & Mrs. McPhail is interrupted by the lively Sadie and her quickly made Marine friends, who play loud jazz music in her room and enjoy themselves in general. "Fun" and "Sin" are essentially synonyms to Davidson. When Sadie emerges from her bedroom, surrounded by the eager Marines, Davidson's eyes hit her with a ferocity that is difficult to describe as either hate, fear, or desire. Since we all preach the hardest against the things we fear the most, Davidson's creeping sexuality, as instigated by Sadie, evokes the missionary's wrath. He is certain that she is one of those "girls" from San Francisco. A prostitute! God knows, all sexual, lively women are whores, so he makes it his goal to "save her," or rather castrate her from her natural passion for life. (Gloria looks her man-eating loveliest, left).

Meanwhile, Sadie is having the time of her life, surrounded by fawning soldiers who haven't seen an American girl, nor one so gorgeous, in a long time. She cozies up quickly to Sgt. Tim O'Hara (Walsh in his last acting role, right), who is somehow different from the others. The duo don't draw up much heat, but they have an almost immediate rapport and affection that is real, if obviously more intensely felt by the male party. Sadie isn't heartless, though. She is heading away from a chaotic past to a respectable job offer at a steamship company. You can tell she's "been around" in the quiet moments that Walsh allows her to have-- alone in her room, she tries to brush off her dirty fur and counts the pins that she's saved from all the servicemen she's known. She doesn't add O'Hara's pin to her trophies, and because of this, we know he is already special to her. In this, we realize that the jovial front she puts on is an act... but not a total one. She possesses sadness but is not governed by it. She has hope-- a hope that lies across the sea in a better life. Davidson interprets this as ignorance. He even goes so far to say of the locals, "I actually have to teach them what sin is!" He, in effect, is the Devil, who comes into Eden and offers an apple of shame that no one was even hungry for. Is sin "sin" if no one's getting hurt? It is the missionary that enacts evil in this story.  We know this due to Barrymore's physical embodiment of sinister judgment. We too know that Sadie is a sainted Eve, if for no other reason than the monogram of her initials "ST" plastered across her breast. (In certain scenes it looks like she is sporting a tattoo as well, but I couldn't quite make it out).

Davidson comes to Sadie and offers her salvation, which she first tries to politely refuse (left) but then, insulted,  she rages against him in all her 4'11" fury-- and believe me, this pint-sized lady grows stories when she's provoked! He grabs her in a sexually dominating way, forcing her to her knees, and commands her to repent. Sadie refuses to take the bait, and Davidson thus connives with the local governor to have her deported back to San Francisco. O'Hara continues to step in as her knight in shining armor, offering her an even better dream of a life together in Sydney, but when she begs the governor to let her go to Australia instead of California, he holds firm. Without Davidson's blessing-- and his own political safety-- the governor cannot grant escape. Sadie is trapped. Another altercation ensues between Sadie and Davidson, and it comes out that Sadie cannot return to San Francisco, not just because of her promiscuous past, but because she has been implicated in a murder, of which she maintains her innocence. Davidson argues that she must return to California, and thus prison, to suffer for her sins. For this, Sadie calls him a "hypocrite" who has no concept of how she has already suffered.

Then, the shift. Sadie returns angrily to her room, alone, without her music or Marine friends to distract her. Outside, the rain continues to pour, and through her window, it looks like she is on board a sinking ship as the water beats against her window. Walsh produces a fantastic, terrifying fantasy sequence, in which Sadie imagines herself imprisoned-- without freedom, the flame of her life is snuffed out. Overcome with fear, she howls up to Mr. Davidson as if from the bowels of Hell, and he comes to her again with his demands of repentance. Struck by his power in her vulnerable state, she finally submits to him. Gone is the lively woman of vim and vigor; in her place is a penitent nun, who throws her make-up and baubles away. Davidson now has complete control, and he thrives on it. Sadie will return to San Francisco and fulfill his self-professed prophecy as the new Son of Man. O'Hara tries to win Sadie back to her senses, begging her to come with him to Sydney, but her head is so confused that she isn't certain which angel whispering in her ear is the good or the bad (right). She chooses Davidson.

The erotic charge of Barrymore during these final scenes is electric. Sadie is his triumph. He has annihilated her light and made it his own. It excites him. He tells her that she no longer has to return to San Francisco, but when she still opts for spiritual salvation, it only increases his desire. She has become his Saint, his great treasure. He wants her, and he savagely takes her-- behind closed doors, of course. Rape is about power, domination, and submission. Sadie was a sexual threat to Davidson, and he has finally had his vengeance, but the price is his soul. After this great betrayal, Barrymore's dead body is pulled ashore in a fishing net, feet first, and it is reported that he has killed himself by slitting his own throat. Cut to Sadie, who has reverted completely back to her old self-- dressed to the gills and referring to men as "Pigs!" She has paid the price for her blind faith, for it was not in God but in a man with a God complex. She is disgusted with herself and with the traitor that manipulated her out of her reason and her strength. Yet, when she hears that Davidson has killed himself, she shows that she still possesses the humanity that Davidson tried to steal, for she pities him. She forgives him for his sins, an ability that the self-professed spiritual man lacked-- he did not show her such kindness. Sadie, as the true Saint, is rewarded for her compassion and goodness-- a lamb in wolves' clothing-- and she is able to sail off into the sunset to Sydney, where she will await Sgt. O'Hara and their heavenly life together.

This has been hailed as the greatest adaptation of Maugham's classic, and after watching it, one can understand why. The poetry and vitality of the visual artistry and the impassioned performances of Barrymore and Swanson in particular are perfect in their beauty and horror. The story was too good to let go of, however. In 1932, before the production code came creeping in, there was another chance to interpret this story and explore it in a new, and hopefully bolder, way.

The tigress peers out from her jungle.

The film this time would be titled Rain, and from the get-go, we see why. The film's opening is filled with ominous storm clouds and threatening bullets of rain that interrupt the serenity of placid, crystal surfaces with chaotic splashes and ripples. The violent storm increases, and the earth is turned to mud, as the Marines sludge through and make quickly disappearing tracks. The theme this time is therefore an investigation of nature itself, or rather how human nature mirrors that of the natural world. Human beings are simply the vessels of their own private storms-- disasters waiting to happen. For this reason, when we meet the prime characters for the first time, they are all faceless. Instead, we are met with their passports and the sounds of their voices, which are indicators enough. Mrs. Davidson is a bit stuffy, Dr. McPhail seems pleasant, and this time, Mr. Davidson, played superbly by Walter Huston, too doesn't seem like an all-out villain. He makes polite conversation, and when the camera reveals him for the first time, he stands in stark contrast to the always maniacally vibrating Barrymore of the former film. For this reason, his character will be more fascinating to watch. His self-destruction becomes more of an inner battle, so deeply is he steeped in self-denial-- the denial of his primal self.

Sadie's entrance is, of course, the most important. We see her hands grasp the edges of her cabin door one at a time, both bedecked with garish, spangled bracelets. Then her two feet emerge from the door, heeled and wide apart in a warrior stance. Then, we see her face, and Dear Greek God, is it scary! This is not the lightly flitting Gloria Swanson-- vibrant but delicate-- of the past film; this is Joan Crawford in the beginning of her transformation from the delicate ingenue of her youth to the protective mask of exaggerated eyebrows and lips that we see in her later career (left). Lipstick is smeared across her mouth in a giant, clowning frown  (allegedly her idea), and her large eyes are emphasized by the thick lashes that weigh down the lids of her world-weary peepers. This woman, with cigarette planted firmly in her mouth, is tired. Tired of it all. She's not putting on any pretenses. This world is bull sh*t, and she knows it. She can barely even summon the strength to open her mouth to form words, but instead communicates in deep-throated mumbles and slurs. But, all in all, she's not a bad gal. She still makes nice with the people that are nice to her, like the Marines and Horn, the latter played comically by Guy Kibbee. But she still knows her place. When the quarantine (for cholera) keeps her ashore, she personally quarantines herself in her room, away from the religious Davidsons whom she knows want no part of her.

The same moment of introduction between cat and mouse occurs. Sadie makes a ruckus in her room, and at first, the more forgiving Davidson, as played by Huston, makes little of it in a "Live and let live" kind of way. But then... he sees her. Sadie exits her room with her gang of soldiers, and Davidson peers over his shoulder, taking her in deeply and slowly. Here, his anger is not as abruptly ignited as Barrymore's; instead, Sadie's image is subtly impregnated in his soul, and it will take time for Davidson's fear of her and his own desires to give birth to the wrath that is to come. The supporting cast is given more life here. Horn and McPhail have many conversations about how hypocritical the world is, including Horn's decision to retreat "back to nature," because of the restrictions of more civilized life. McPhail too, though nasally played by Kendall Lee, is vocal in his dislike of Davidson's "Thou shalt not enjoy thyself" viewpoint. Sadie's suitor is unfortunately played by William Gargan, an overgrown child who comes across as a doofus (right)-- no match for the man's man that Walsh portrayed in the previous film. At no point in time is it clear why a worldly dame like Sadie is even interested in this O'Hara, except perhaps to amuse herself at his ignorance.

In many ways, this film falls far short of its predecessor. Despite some impressive camera-work and brilliant cinematography, the film becomes steeped in camp and is proof of why Joan Crawford remains the cult classic leading lady she is. (Perhaps this is why director Lewis Milestone remained uncredited???). The movie's salvation comes via the performances of the two leads and the slow way they wrap around each other in their various attempts at manipulation, the clincher being that Sadie does not know until too late that she is the mouse and Davidson the snake. You have to hand it to Joan that beneath her overdone appearance, her luminous eyes still convey the despair her exterior seeks to hide. Initially, Davidson approaches Sadie with stoic control and alleged compassion when he offers the gift of her salvation. Sadie takes the opportunity to both show her truly vulnerable self and to hopefully use this man's kindness to her advantage. Yet, she is unable to seduce him with either her sexiness or girlishness the way she is the other guys (left); Davidson is not enticed by feminine power but by the destruction of it. The only person that seems aware of the danger to come is Mrs. Davidson (Beulah Bondi), who early on sees her husband mark his prey and says: "I wouldn't be in that girl's shoes for anything in the world." This statement echoes in the ears-- what evils has she seen in her husband already? 

Again, Davidson tries to woo Sadie to the Lord, which she finds comical at first, but when he starts making those threats of deportation, her anger rears its head. The low-angle/high-angle camera shots emphasize the growing power of Davidson over the weakening Sadie, who first promises to behave and be "quiet as a mouse," if he promises to leave her alone, but later retaliates against his attempts to possess her soul: "You want another scalp!" She sees that despite appearances, he is the true savage. She won't submit and refuses to fall to her knees before him. Both are wild beasts battling their natures out-- their need for independence and control. The rain outside becomes even more isolating during their epic battles, as if it more thoroughly needs to wash away whatever violence is being incurred, but so deep are the implications that it cannot easily remove the stains. As Sadie's self-conviction cools, her normally sound reason and bull sh*t detector start to malfunction. Her will is weakening, and soon the obvious signs of Davidson's evil are not so easily read. They intimidate her into obedience instead of defense. After she asks the ineffectual McPhail for help, she strolls around Horn's porch and is greeted with the shadows of Davidson and his wife. They are praying. It is horrifying. Horn's wife refers to Davidson as a "witch doctor." They are dangerous, shadow people, and most certainly not of God.

Finally, Davidson's great, orgasmic moment comes. After he confronts Sadie for her early days of whoring in Honolulu and demands that she return to face her jail time, she defies him only to be met by his cold stance and steely voice spitting out the Lord's prayer (right). Despite herself, she finds herself mouthing his words like a puppet. As he stands on the stairs before her, she falls to her knees, and in the throes of ecstasy, his hands reach out to brace the banisters on either side of him. Herein they consummate their relationship as tutor and pupil. The fumbling O'Hara returns to help, but his innocent, baby-like nature is no match for Sadie's defeated she-wolf nor Davidson's tyrannical control over her. Sadie is such a devotee at this point that when not in Davidson's presence, she is lifeless-- although much better looking without all that make-up. Whenever Davidson appears, Sadie animates, her eyes growing large and soaking in the wonder of her true God-- the only man who dared to lead her back to righteousness. (One is reminded of the mutated loyalties of the Manson family). What follows this allegiance is their final, fateful meeting, where all of Sadie's faith in him, and man in general, is crushed. Watching the locals perform their tribal songs, the pounding of the drums sounds out Davidson's own lust and leads him back to Sadie's door, where-- after offering her freedom-- she instead chooses to remain his disciple. As the boat to San Francisco approaches, it looks more like a menacing shark aka Jaws than Sadie's vehicle to salvation, but she still wants to take it. In refusing escape, she has passed the final test and sealed her doom. Now barely unable to contain himself, Davidson follows the unsuspecting Sadie into her bedroom-- walking through the doorway of beads like a man entering the jungle of his own torment. We are left to imagine the example of vengeful lust that occurs.

The result is the same. Milestone copies Walsh's retrieval of Davidson's body from the ocean. O'Hara rushes to Sadie, hoping that she will now consent to go with him to Sydney. We have come full circle. Sadie emerges from her doorway as in the beginning, with both hands clutching violently to the frame, her feet stepping out, and her gawdy-awful face telling us that she has returned to the world of "Pigs!" But, she too forgives Davidson his trespasses when she learns of his sad fate. His sacrificial act reminds her of the last vestige of her own humanity. As the rain dries up, the sun pours in. The evil in man's nature has been destroyed and the good has triumphed. For this reason, Sadie can escape to Sydney with O'Hara (though why, I can hardly imagine.) The world has been wiped clean. The End is a The Beginning of a new world, one where Goodness is the true measure of Godliness. Though a slightly hack-job of a film, this one is worth seeing for all Joan devotees and those who love good-bad movies.

Rita Hayworth's Sadie tries to muck it as best she can in a land of men.

As the opening credits started to role on 1953's Miss Sadie Thompson, I feared that things were only going to get worse in the world of Maugham. However, I was pleasantly surprised by Curtis Bernhardt's take on the Sadie saga. You can hardly blame me for my initial misgivings. The film opens with footage of beaches, palm trees, and jovial harmonica music. Immediately, I was certain that I was about to see some sort of Beach Blanket Bingo meets Gidget fiasco. Then, Bernhardt pulls the switch. The source of the music is found to be a lonesome Marine, soon joined by three of his fellow soldiers, including Phil O'Hara (Aldo Ray), who come out of the ocean after a swim looking more perturbed than happy. Pvt. Edwards (a delightfully menacing Charles Bronson) spits a mouthful of water right into the musician's face with a contemptuous smile. The message is clear: all is not well in paradise. We too get a bit of the age-old idiom "Boys with be boys." And that is exactly what this film is about: Men-- their nature, their desires, their makeups, and their variations. When Sadie Thompson (Rita Hayworth) comes riding up on a speed-boat from her soon quarantined ship, the local soldiers surround her like hungry apes beating their chests. It's been years since they've seen an American girl. They're horny, what can ya' say?

Rita's Sadie is not intimidated. In fact, she thrives on the overpowering male energy. She loves being the belle of the ball, and she knows how to use her sexuality to get what she wants. But she's not vindictive or malicious. In fact, she's a sweetheart. While sensual, her attention to the boys is more motherly than anything else. She wants to make them happy, and she literally sprinkles sunshine wherever she goes. For this reason, the men continue to fight over her, but O'Hara, who looks more like her son than a suitable lover, begins paying particular, protective attention. The thing is, Sadie needs no protection nor help from anyone. She's got this racket cornered. This is Hayworth in one of her best performances. Gone is the big-eyed girl of musical comedies. Here, she is a woman. Sweaty, unapologetic, dominant, and even a bit trashy, she is always confident and in control. Men throw her around on the dance floor like a ragdoll, but she pushes them away and playfully takes center stage in "This is how it's done, boys," fashion (left). She sings and dances alone (yes, it's a musical), both maintaining their desire for her and her power over them. Her independence is too illuminated financially. Whenever someone offers to pay for something, she says that she "always pays her own way." She's not looking for handouts, and she too protects her new friends, whom she doesn't want to see get into trouble for her sake. None of the men see her resilience, of course. They see a pair of legs, a possession, or a sweet little thing, depending on the guy.Their egos continually deny her identity. She lets them respond as they will and exists in her own phenomenal, private universe. This woman has clearly lived a life, but she still has spirit. Whenever a bad situation should rear its head, she offers up an old Japanese saying, "Pft, I should care!"

She should care, because this spark plug quickly acquires the disapproving attention of Davidson, this time played by Jose Ferrer. We see more fully that the source of the world's problems lie with the faults of man and his near-sightedness. Tragedy doesn't enter the picture until Davidson's eyes land on Sadie, who this time is flirting with the Marines at a local substitute for a bar. Right after Davidson's sexual gaze hits Sadie, the rain starts. He, like the others, doesn't see "Miss Sadie Thompson," he sees a sexual play-thing-- one that intimidates his religious laws and his own lust. Unlike Joan's Sadie, who feared the Davidson crowd, or Gloria's, who was ambivalent toward it, Rita's Sadie is welcoming. She makes no apologies for who she is-- life is a party and everyone is invited! She's making a fresh start and nothing is going to trip her up. We do see quiet moments of reflection in her. For example, when the Marines bring up The Emerald Club of Honolulu, the same place from whence Sadie is fleeing, she grows quiet, distant, then snippy. But, any past transgressions are not dwelled upon in length. Sadie wipes unhappiness away like dust off her shoulder. In an early, short song, Sadie sings about the classic three monkeys who "hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil." This is a policy she lives by, perhaps too strongly. She shuts her eyes to the past and her own flaws, as well as the evil intentions of others. This is a feeling Hayworth could totally identify with, since compartmentalization was the source of her own personal survival. Davidson lives by the same policy, except to "see no evil" he simply seeks to destroy anything he deems evil so that he doesn't run the risk of seeing it anymore. Thus, Sadie is his mark-- he must kill her to kill his own desire. In this way, he shuts his eyes instead of allowing them to absorb the whole picture. (The duo have their first confrontation, right).

Not all the men on the island are bad guys. Mr. Horn (Harry Bellaver) and Dr. McPhail (Russell Collins) are both wise men who have evolved past primal urges to a place of reason and compassion. They have seen the world, sewn wild oats, admitted their flaws, and embraced them. They have nothing to run from, thus they do not see Sadie as a threat. They are humanly protective, whereas the other men are brutal. They look at her as a daughter as opposed to a sexual toy. Dr. McPhail jumps to Sadie's defense constantly against Davidson in some (often too-on-the-nose) dialogue about the battle between Davidson's invented faith and sense of "wrong" and McPhail's ironically more subjective, scientific reasoning. Even O'Hara is a kind of villain in his immaturity. He tries, very unstealthily, to get into Sadie's pants (left), but he's at least got enough manners to take "no" as an gentleman. Ray is not wholly bad in the role, and his screechy voice mixed with his fighter's physique makes his overgrown boy quite believable if not wholly desirable. Sadie is trapped in the wilderness with all these men and their green uniforms, and it is only her charm and wit that keep her from becoming dinner. But she cannot forever evade Davidson, who first chastises her for going out alone with the Marines, where she will be the only "white" woman (gasp), and later confronts her about her Emerald Club days.

In film, women are constantly made to pay the price for male sexuality. In this case, Sadie is the sacrificial lamb (her attempts to cool off only serve to turn up the heat, right). After she refuses to repent to Davidson, she is humiliated by man's hypocrisy. O'Hara tries, again unsuccessfully, to come to her rescue (oh, the vanity of the male ego), only to be met with the news from Davidson's mouth that Sadie was one of those "Honolulu girls." Sadie knows what is coming, and in waiting for O'Hara's return, she bursts into violent tears, which her "hear no evil" mentality fights to contain. When he returns to her, weathered and angry, she returns his gaze like a drowning flower, steeling herself for a final submergence. One piece of truth, one bite of knowledge, and O'Hara's love for her is destroyed, and his offer of Sydney is off the table. When Sadie resisted O'Hara's earlier sexual advances, he rewarded her chastity with an offer of marriage, but now that he knows she is "dirty," he turns his back on her. Such is the female plight. We must continually avoid the minefield of male sexual tests: if you submit, you get to have sex but lose the ring, and if you're good, you get to marry but probably won't have any fun. Davidson's deep embarrassment comes with the fact that this game was twisted on him, and he ignorantly gave his heart to a whore. This was totally her fault, of course, and now she must suffer. This confrontation evokes from Rita one of her most painful onscreen moments. She tells O'Hara  that when he fell for her, she felt like he was an angel from heaven sent "to take [her] by the hand," but now he slaps that hand away. After being treated like scum by yet another man, her faith in all men is crushed, until Davidson strategically uses the opportunity to accept the hand O'Hara shunned. In effect, this battle over Sadie was a possessive one, with both Davidson and O'Hara trying clumsily to mark their territory. When Davidson wins and enters into his prayers about "thy rod and thy staff," the phallic implications are clear.

After Davidson alters Sadie into the softer student of his enforced rhetoric, he yet again becomes unable to contain his inner, carnal howl. The erotic music and dancing of the locals sends him back to Sadie's door. She has received word that O'Hara is "sorry" and that he still wants her to go to Sydney and wait for him, but it is too late. She has seen the monster in him and cannot forget. Her savior Davidson arrives and again tells her that she is free to go if she wants, but she accepts her fate and the boat back to prison. Turned on, Davidson draws nearer: finally, she is his. Or is she? She draws back when he begins purring in her ear, which erupts his ego-- an echo of the fact that they are on a volcanic island. "Are you scared of me?!" Rejecting him sexually only serves to awaken all of his repressed urges-- apparently he doesn't yet hold all the cards, which is why he jumps to rape to claim final domination and control. This rape scene is the most graphic of all three movies, with Ferrer pouncing on a writhing Hayworth and knocking her to the floor, where one desperate hand claws at a curtain. Her red nails scream violence before the camera fades to black.

The next day, O'Hara rushes to Horn's place to tell Sadie the news of Davidson's suicide, hoping that she has not yet left on the boat. At first, she appears to be gone, but then the sound of hopping music can be heard coming from her room. Not only is she still there, but the real Sadie is back. She wants no piece of O'Hara at first, partly because he humiliated and rejected her, but mostly because she was just raped by another-- yet again-- "Pig!" Then, Davidson's suicide reawakens the mother in her, and she is left with feelings of pity, which counteract her anger. Here is the film's dividing line between men and women. Women are born knowing or willing to know-- hence Eve's embrace of the apple. Men resist learning-- knowing-- because it puts restrictions on their thoughtless actions. It takes longer for them to be schooled. Women, like Sadie, can compromise, adjust to times and circumstances, and give themselves sacrificially as martyrs when necessary, but men take longer to get to the same place. Davidson learned his lessons too late, and his final sacrifice was his life. O'Hara has luckily caught up. His childish illusions of right and wrong, virgin and whore, have been eradicated, and in their place is truth. True emotion and regret grow from this, and now he is wizened like the Doctor and Horn. He is a man that can offer himself and his unwavering support to Sadie. Sex is no longer a dangerous line between them, but-- one hopes-- an act that will finally bring them closer together. As Sadie rides off to Sydney, the audience is left hoping that these two will meet again, bite into this apple of fuller human knowledge together, and be rewarded instead of shamed.

"The Heat is On!" Hayworth takes center stage in the movie's big number,

and proves that she can act.

Maugham said he was proud that it was in an adaptation of one of his books that Rita Hayworth proved that she could act. And boy did she! From the moment she steps ashore, she is a three-dimensional, complicated woman who runs the gamut of emotions and back again. Proud, strong, ashamed, weak, angry, sorrowful, and fully alive, Rita Hayworth makes Sadie completely her own with no stone left unturned in her resistant, then repentant, then redeemed soul. The film, post-code, was quite scandalous, especially in its originally released 3D form, and it was banned in several states after it was defamed by-- you guessed it-- religious groups. Clearly, they didn't take the moral of the story to heart. All three films are fascinating investigations of morality, judgment, sexuality, hypocrisy, and the pain that comes with maturity-- life is no fairy tale. Human beings are destructive beings that seek to destroy themselves or each other when life becomes too confusing, too difficult to box-in or label, or too tempting. Does one obey the rules or break them to obtain happiness? Which solution offers the true Eden? The only answer these films seem to offer is not to jump to conclusions-- not to judge "lest ye be judged." You never know: sometimes the Whore at whom you cast stones just may be the Virgin.