THE REEL REALS: Angela Lansbury

Angela Lansbury

Angela Lansbury. One could nearly stop right there. Her name encapsulates so much about film and television culture. She has graced the stage, screen, the tube, and has been actively working in the industry from her tender teenage years to the present. She is a permanent fixture-- a living signature of the legacy of Hollywood. With her ethereal, pre-Raphaelite beauty and true actor's courage, she took her thespian training in England and easily translated it to the states. Her birth in cinema, her survival instinct-- that cultivated when her father prematurely passed away and forced her to step forward and be independent-- and her unavoidable but hopefully distant exit from this world, seem to bookend the very story of Hollywood itself.

With her talent, Angela could certainly have become a huge movie star had she so wished. However, her intelligent and curious nature was more intrigued by the interpretation of character than the fringe benefits (and pratfalls) of stardom. As such, her impressive collection of roles are both distinctive and diverse. Not only did she debut in one of the greatest psychological thrillers of all time, Gaslight, but director George Cukor was so taken with her cockney, bad girl that he declared she reacted better to the camera than anyone he had ever witnessed. Her innocent girl fallen in The Picture of Dorian Gray showed audiences that she could portray both sides of the coin, and not only that, but every side to every coin ever minted: ambition (State of the Union), romanticism (Samson and Delilah), and outright, diabolical, divine evil (The Manchurian Candidate). Whatever it took, this slugger didn't hold back, and when Television took over, she took "to the mattresses" and came out an even bigger champion than before in the iconic series "Murder She Wrote." 

Her graceful ability to hold a scene, her physicalized insight into her characters, and the depth of intelligence and emotion behind her large, dreamy eyes have kept this lady working for seventy years. If that's not impressive... I don't know what is.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Ingrid Bergman - Part Two

Hitch discovers his new muse. He probably thought Ingrid's
face was made just for him, and his love of it is shown in
their three collaborations.

When Ingrid arrived in the United States, she very quickly learned the film industry motto: "Hurry up and wait." While languishing in New York to await her first project- a remake of the Swedish hit Intermezzo, Ingrid did her best to stay occupied with sight-seeing, reading, and falling in love with ice cream. However, she would consistently pester David O. Selznick to put her to work! Unlike the average person, who groans when peeling themselves from the covers each morning and longs for the lazy clock to reach 5pm, Ingrid wasn't happy unless she was on the move and either preparing a character or performing as one. Her regular calls and telegrams to David and Kay Brown were desperate pleas: "Put me to work!" Finally, she got her wish. Intermezzo: A Love Story would prove to be less poetic than its foreign counterpart, but in reprising her role (as the romantic and ambitious younger lover and protégé of a married master violinist aka Leslie Howard), Ingrid did not come up short. Indeed, in this musically driven tale of the complications of passion and duty, she fittingly struck a chord with American audiences.

Already off to a great start, Selznick began establishing his campaign to promote Ingrid. Confused by her lack of pretense and low-maintenance upkeep-- Ingrid tried to refuse apartment accommodations, thinking that her dressing room/trailer provided more than enough space for her-- as well as her clear-headed drive, David didn't know how to capitalize off her regular girl persona. This issue was further complicated by the fact that Ingrid  refused to play games. When Selznick suggested that Ingrid make certain changes to her appearance, accent, etc, she-- very Garbo-like-- basically said, "Either you want me for the role or you don't. I guess we can call the whole thing off." Ah, the lightning bolt: the singular thing that made Ingrid so irregular was her regularity. She was down to earth, modest, kind, unspoiled, sincere... Thus, she was touted in all the papers and magazines as the (obscenely beautiful) girl-next-door-from-another-continent. The ploy worked. The public was quickly in love.

Ingrid's sexually provocative, humiliated, and defeated turn as Ivy in
Victor Fleming's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde turned more than
a few heads. There are rumors that she and Tracy had an
affair during filming, but it seems unlikely, as it was
Victor on whom Ingrid had a school girl crush.

The film that would tip the scales in Ingrid's direction to all out fanaticism was Victor Fleming's Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Eager for complicated work and displeased with the lackluster films she was given so far, Ingrid refused to play Jekyll's vanilla fiancé (later assumed by Lana Turner) and fought for the role of "Ivy" the prostitute. It was a wise decision, and her performance not only knocked Spencer Tracy's socks off but stole the entire film out from under him. Her mixture of provocative sensuality, later broken and disturbed by the diabolical Hyde, was both powerful and pitiful. This portrayal also started the character type that Ingrid consciously or unconsciously would be attracted to throughout her career, or likewise the persona that audiences would most identify her with. Her most popular performances remain that of a woman on the cusp of insanity. Her fragility, while shrouded in madness, is constantly tested, but her inner strength always seems to carry her back to lucidity and even triumph. While Ingrid projected an incredible amount of vulnerability in her roles, there too was a toughness. You may break my mind, but you'll never have my heart! This made her relatable as an actress, which made her the ultimate martyr and someone her audience would energetically root for.

For several years, Ingrid was untouchable. Casablanca was surprisingly a misery to make behind-the-scenes, especially for a perpetual craftsman like herself, as so much of it was created in the moment with little subtext to build upon. Her need to dig for the depth of "Ilsa Lund" was thus met with little help from director Michael Curtiz. To her amazement, the hackneyed approach to the film resulted in a classic that remains one of the most celebrated films of all time. Forbidden love, the temptation for both romantic and political escape, the tragic but brilliant ending when one impossible ending is sacrificed for another... From the casting, to the direction, to the frame composition, Casablanca remains perfect to film lovers. Gaslight was soon to follow, as was Ingrid's first Oscar, which she won for playing the mentally terrorized, paranoid, and desperate "Paula Alquist" opposite Charles Boyer's brutally sadistic (and magnificent) "Gregory Anton." With the help of George Cukor, Ingrid was easily able to project both the taut mania of her character and her cathartic retribution, resulting in one of her greatest performances.

Ingrid intensified the effect of "Paula's" paranoia and increasing madness
in Gaslight by showcasing her wholesomeness and rationality in the
film's beginning. This made the character's deterioration all the
more painful to watch. When she realizes that she has been
deceived, the tigress she unleashes on her tormentor
(Charles Boyer) is much more fearful because of
the brink to which she has been pushed.

In between various films such as The Bells of St. Mary's and Hollywood dinner parties, Ingrid was able to make the acquaintance of another director whom she truly admired: Alfred Hitchcock. His equal admiration and fascination for her would turn into complete and utter obsession while filming their first collaboration, Spellbound. An intricate mystery with complicated, psychological underpinnings, the finished product remains fascinating and thankfully manageable due to the sturdy execution of both Ingrid and her leading man, Gregory Peck. However, it is Notorious that remain not only 'notorious' but sanctified as perhaps the greatest Hitchcock film ever made. Of course, that label is hard to bestow, considering the many different pictures, techniques, and experiments that he made throughout his career. Still, with the Ingrid-Cary Grant combo and the tangled plotline of espionage and romance, it is a definite front-runner. Hitch's school-boy adoration for his leading lady also turned into an aesthetic achievement, exemplified by the caressing light, shadows, and fixating close-ups that allow us to capture every nuance, eye-shift, and tick of Ingrid's portrayal of the fallen, redeemed, destroyed, and resurrected "Alicia Huberman." Ingrid made two lifelong friends in both Cary and Hitch during filming, and their names remain eternally, artistically entwined as a result.

The success of Notorious, aside from Hitchcock's artistry at one of its peaks,
was due in large part to the astounding chemistry between Ingrid and Cary.
Quickly becoming good chums in real life, their onscreen characters,
while often spiteful in their actions, had an attraction of mutual
fascination, with one character watching the other with
laughter in the eyes. It  is still refreshing to watch
 Ingrid poke fun at the super serious
"Devlin" and cut him down to size.

Sadly, Ingrid's personal life was not faring too well, and things were about to become worse. Her marriage to husband Petter had been disintegrating for some time. Ingrid relied on Petter's judgment greatly, particularly at the beginning of their marriage, thus he held the reins in terms of all major decision making. This patriarchal structure soon made her feel like more of a servant than a wife. Petter, perhaps to combat his own insecurities over the fact that his wife was such a success, made himself her de facto manager, consultant, and accountant. Ingrid was essentially given an allowance for the work she so willingly did to support her family, while Petter handled the cash-- including payments for his continuing medical education-- while consistently meddling in and complicating her professional relationships. He insisted on overseeing Ingrid's contracts, instructing her on which projects to take, bartering for better deals, and he equally saw to it that he was given a financial cut directly from the studio. Selznick himself became irate at Petter's intrusion into Ingrid's affairs, as the latter had no education whatsoever in the film business. As such, while Ingrid started twisting beneath her lover's thumb, acting became her only escape. She asked for a divorce, but Petter refused. Eventually, as the two remained passionlessly separated but together, Ingrid sought emotional comfort elsewhere, finding lovers in Victor Fleming, Robert Capa, and Larry Adler. Then, Petter asked for a divorce. The couple decided, for the good of their marital "corporation," that they should keep up appearances. They had no plans to marry others anyway.


At least, the didn't until Ingrid saw the great neo-realist accomplishment of Italian cinema, Rome, Open City. Blown away by the filmmaking, authentic acting, and brutal storytelling, Ingrid became determined to work with the film's director, Roberto Rossellini. As he was looking for American money to finance his foreign films, he jumped at the chance to work with Ingrid when he received her fan letter. Despite the fact that Roberto was married, having an affair with Anna Magnani, and simultaneously sleeping with a plethora of other women, he fell in love with Ingrid, and she was as smitten with him. Finding a man who supported her creativity instead of condescending to it, as Petter had, the two quickly started a quiet affair that turned into the Mt. Vesuvius of scandals. Ingrid filed for divorce, Petter sued for custody of daughter Pia and won, and the public turned against the angelic actress whom they had once adored. She had betrayed them by making the crystalline image of perfection that they had projected upon her counterfeit. Ingrid found herself unceremoniously blacklisted. As she refused to play ugly, as Petter did-- ignoring his own faults in the marriage and shamelessly slandering her in all the papers-- Ingrid was fingered as the guilty party. Strangely, it was her own sense of decency and loyalty that was the nail in her coffin. She actually felt an incredible amount of guilt, and in recompense ,never spoke out in her own defense to combat Petter's accusations. After filming Stromboli in Italy with Roberto, the duo wed, and Ingrid soon announced that she was pregnant. To America, she was just a fallen woman in exile.

Ingrid, Roberto, Robertino, Isotta, and Isabella.

Strangely, Ingrid was not loathed at all by her new Italian compatriots. They found her glamorous and fascinating, and they celebrated her presence in their country. Despite Ingrid's hopes, her professional alliance with Roberto did not prove to be felicitous. None of his films ever measured up to the groundbreaking Rome, Open City, and despite Ingrid's performances, Roberto's "naturalistic" style proved to be little more than a symptom of his lack of organization and creative incoherence. While he spent money like water, she had to work twice as hard to earn her growing family's keep. The growing Pia now had three step-siblings: brother Robertino (Robin) and twin sisters Isabella and Isotta!

Ingrid's children became her only blessing. As a mother, Ingrid was always emotionally present and protective of her children, yet her number one devotion remained her work. She would often grow stir-crazy after being inactive for too long, and her need to work made her a loving but inconsistent mother. Her latter three children, growing up in a household with two artistic parents, took no offense to Ingrid's comings and goings nor their father's. It was the norm for them. However, things were different with Pia, who rarely got to see her mother due to her social exclusion from American shores and Petter's resistence to their meetings. With Petter filling poison in her daughter's ear, Ingrid's relationship with her eldest child would remain tense and guilt-ridden. It would take time for her two separate families to coalesce into one.

Mysterious and hypnotic photo of Ingrid which explores
the dark inner turmoil of the classic beauty.
Photographer: Sam Shaw in Rome, 1963.

Finding herself soon in the same place that she had been with husband #1, husband #2 slowly became just as judgmental and controlling, not to mention philandering. Ingrid considered it a deserved punishment. Yet, as her marriage to Roberto started to die, Ingrid's artistic life was coming back to life. After performing almost solely for Roberto, due to his possessiveness, she finally made a creative partnership with Jean Renoir and performed in his Elena and Her Men. This peaked interest from other filmmakers. Was she finally going to come out from hiding?

Almost immediately, Ingrid would get an offer from old pal Kay Brown and 20th Century Fox to appear in Anastasia. Ecstatic about the opportunity and nervous about the public's reception, Ingrid took on the project and churned out her first smash hit in 6 years. Suddenly, the tides were starting to turn and public favor tipped in her direction once more. As time heals all wounds, people began to forgive and forget. Likewise, public governmental figures who had once lambasted Ingrid for her "indecency" were soon muttering apologies and supplicating themselves at her feet due to their reawakened respect for and awe of her work. Fittingly, at the Academy Awards in 1957, it was the loyal Cary Grant who bestowed the Best Actress Oscar on Ingrid in her absentia. It was the perfect way for Hollywood to welcome her back. But would she come???

Ingrid and Michael Redgrave in "Hedda Gabler."

Sadly, Anastasia would be the straw that broke her marriage's back. Roberto was threatened by Ingrid's career, which would continue in its excellence without him over the next quarter century. Mixing her projects between the stage and screen, she would complete compelling work abroad in "Tea and Sympathy" and "Hedda Gabler" and return to the America stage for the first time in 20 years in "More Stately Mansions." She had also returned to business on the silver screen, reuniting with Cary for the delightful comedy Indiscreet and teaming with Walter Matthau and Goldie Hawn in Cactus Flower. Ingrid proved that age was not something to hide from, but something to embrace. She had already shown herself to the world anyway, warts and all, so all that was left to re-introduce was her incandescent beauty. Ingrid Bergman was back, and she continued to brighten movie theaters and earn critical kudos, including her acclaimed work in The Visit and her third and final Oscar-winning performance in Murder on the Orient Express. Autumn Sonata proved to be a poignant and personal piece of film, showing Ingrid's craft at its finest. The tale of an emotionally bitter and tension fraught relationship between mother and daughter, it too became her love song to her daughter Pia, with whom she had slowly reconciled. She also married for the third time to producer Lars Schmidt, who understood and embraced her eccentricities and personal needs like no other before. While her work ethic, as always, drove a wedge between them-- leading to another divorce, done secretly--Lars remained a consistent friend and ally for the remainder of her days. Indeed, her friendships with Roberto and the majority of her ex-lovers was quite remarkable. Ingrid had no malice for anyone. She always made her piece with the past and moved forward.

Unfortunately, there was one thing that Ingrid could not escape-- death-- and she would become ill with the same disease that had claimed her father's life: cancer. Her many years of chain-smoking certainly hadn't help matters, but it was the growths in her breasts that would torment her. After enduring two mastectomies and feeling her body weakening, Ingrid was in constant pain during her final performance in the television movie, "A Woman Called Golda." As ever, she refused to complain, arrived on time, and gave a performance that both honored the real-life character she portrayed and her own lifetime of deep and conscientious work. As usual, she put aside any medical issues during her sickness to make things easier for the crew. For example, when close-ups of her hands had to be shot for one particular scene, Ingrid insisted on performing the snippets herself, and she willingly drained the fluid from her swelled arm for several days to do so-- a pro til the end. Ingrid would sadly pass away on her 67th birthday (Aug. 29th, 1982), after spending the evening having a final champagne toast with jovial friends and loved ones. Thus, having completed a perfect circle, she faded out of this life as bravely and gently as she had lived it.

"Be yourself. The world worships the original." Ingrid
had no qualms with "roughing it" during For Whom
the Bell Tolls. In fact, she enjoyed fishing
between takes.

I have noticeably devoted a lengthy retrospective of Ms. Bergman, her life, and her art, and hopefully my words have been able to indicate why. Ingrid was stunning. Her art was sublime, pure in its motivations, and uncontaminated by the pollutants of public scrutiny, industrial disingenuousness, and personal pain. Instead, just as when she was a little girl, she carried her worries, shames, fears, and passions with her deep inside, only opening them up as her own Pandora's box when they would be most useful-- and even helpful. Every time she approached the camera, "[her] old friend," she purposely disappeared into the same dream world that she had once created with her father and willingly left her guts on the floor every take, every time. As such, we continue to worship the characters that she birthed, die beside her in each martyrdom, and come back to life with each redemption. Her humanity, her scrupulousness, and her virtue were as true in her personal life as in her work. Ingrid was not a movie star. Ingrid was-- and is-- everything.

HISTORY LESSON: Hollywood's Best Friend

Man's Best Friend. Hint: it's actually the guy on the left.

Life in show business is and has always been a bit cut-throat. Or a lot cut-throat... Needless to say, while competitive artists are scrambling to get to the top, or even just to get a paycheck, a lot of back-stabbing and corporate manhandling manifests itself in typical, menacing fashion. They say keep your friends close and your enemies closer, but in Hollywood-- the land of superficial relationships-- when you find a "good egg," it always works to one's benefit to hold onto it. One such diamond in the rough during the final roar of the studio era was Roddy McDowall. Due to the length of his career in film-- which spanned 6 decades, from the age of 10 to the age of 70-- and his naturally generous nature, Roddy became the sort of go-to boy about town. During his reign as a Hollywood character actor and occasional, atypical leading man, he got to know and befriend some of Hollywood's brightest talents and tragediennes. As a result, until his death, he was too a major source of information for any historian, author, or documentarian looking to dig into the secrets of Movieland's past. Having starred in everything from Lassie Come Home to Planet of the Apes, his career was nothing to sniff at either. He was, in fact, issued an apology from the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences when they failed to nominate him for his performance as "Octavian" in Cleopatra, beings that his contribution was one of the few bright, honest moments in an otherwise disastrous, albeit fascinating, experiment in cinematic gluttony. Everyone seemed to love Roddy, professionally and personally, though he is far less recognized than many of his heartthrob contemporaries. So, what was it that made this guy so darn swell? If you want to know the measure of a man, count his friends:

Montgomery Clift (left) had a slow start in entering the social stratosphere. Home schooled for the majority of his early life, his brief attempt at public school was cut short when he and his elder brother, Brooks, were mercilessly bullied and harassed by the other students-- not a promising indication of civilian life. As such, his childhood, while filled with intellectual and artistic pursuits, was bereft of friendships outside his family-- which included his super close twin sister, with whom he had a secret, collaborative language. It is thus surprising that Monty turned out as warm, curious, and friendly as he did. Nonetheless, despite his many friendships within and without the industry, he was not one prone to trust others and rarely forged relationships that made him comfortable enough to confide his own personal issues. He took Elizabeth Taylor to his heart, of course. Another pal he let into his inner circle was the always non-threatening, easy-going Roddy. In fact, it was Roddy's 'easy-goingness' that was so effective in the friendship. The duo became acquainted by running in the same circle of friends, often going to parties together. When Monty's sour side would reveal itself, Roddy could always be counted on to temper the stormy conditions. For example, Monty didn't take a liking to Merv Griffin at one particular party-- the reasons remain unknown-- and the two ended up having a friendly, but not really friendly, pie-throwing fight. Sensing trouble brewing, Roddy would step in on occasions such as these by offering up a joke or aside that rendered the antagonistic situation hilarious and ended the hostility. Blaine Waller recalled, "[Roddy] was one of the funniest people I've ever met... We would actually fall on the floor laughing at him."

This sense of humor would carry over into smaller social gatherings, most particularly in the Monty-Liz Taylor-Roddy trio. The pals once ran amok at the Plaza Hotel after Elizabeth was presented with an exorbitant bill. In retaliation, she called for back-up. Roddy and Monty appeared, and the three performers caused quite a ruckus by getting tipsy on martinis and engaging in over-the-top pranks. They started hanging all the pictures they could get their hands on upside down, unscrewing bathroom fixtures, and throwing toilet paper around like streamers on New Years! Monty also swiped some exclusive Plaza towels and subsequently set them out for Elizabeth whenever she came to visit him at his own home. Laughs aside, the skirmish got the three friends in trouble, because the charade landed in the press. But, friends that play together, stay together. Monty trusted Roddy implicitly, and Roddy was equally enchanted by Monty's vitality, passion, and talent. His empathy for Monty's personal torments made him an easy ear and reliable shoulder. Monty's various secretaries always screened his calls, but Roddy was one of few whose voice was able to go directly through to the troubled actor. Always curious and supportive of Monty's career, he became an even more reliable touchstone after Monty's devastating car accident. He was deeply grieved at his death, and thus he treasured a photo he had taken of him, which he placed in his notorious powder room, now on display at The Hollywood Museum. The two would collaborate on but one picture, Monty's last: The Defector. (Liz and Roddy frolic in younger days, right).

Roddy, having literally grown up within the industry, had a profound respect for both it and the artists who had endured, survived, and even thrived within it. He had a particular fascination with female stars of the past, whom he idolized. As such, he struck up many odd and unlikely bonds with some of the most evasive Queens of the silver screen. One of these was Jean Arthur (left). In fact, Jean must have sensed a like soul, for she actually pursued a friendship with Roddy, sending him a fan letter after seeing him perform in a "Hallmark Hall of Fame" production of Saint Joan. Having earlier performed in the role of Joan of Arc herself, she saw in Roddy the perfect cast mate that she'd never had. Roddy returned the favor by visiting Jean on the set of her new television show, which was unfortunately a quick flop. He was surprised to see such a huge starlet, known as a creme-de-la-creme comedienne, behaving as frightened, stressed, and insecure as Jean. For whatever reason, Jean took Roddy into her inner circle, and he remained a steadfast confidante until her death. He worked diligently, but ineffectually, at bolstering her self-esteem, and was able to maneuver the precarious mine-field of Jean's emotions and mistrust. Jean loved Roddy, but she had ground rules: for example, No Pictures! Yet, Roddy was able to sneak photos of her on his camera when she wasn't paying attention. She even acquiesced and let him publish two of her pictures in his celebrity picture book Double Exposure: Take Two. Roddy was both flabbergasted and honored. It was Jean's way of showing that, deep down, she recognized his support and wanted to return the favor. It was always clear that a relationship with Jean could be a one-way street. Despite her peculiarities, Roddy loved her anyway.

Louise Brooks (right) was equally indignant to scrutiny in her later years, although she became much more vocal about her Hollywood experiences through interviews with people such as Kenneth Tynan, in addition to her own writings. Yet, she let few into her inner circle, perhaps worried about how avid fans would react to her age and the loss of her famous beauty. It was a sentiment shared by many of the women who had once been held up in their youths for their physical perfections. Luckily, with Louise, it was always more about brains than body, so she could let her guard down when she felt appreciated for the former. Enter Roddy, who again would use his passion for photography to crack a tough cookie. Roddy approached Louise in 1965 about appearing in his first effort, Double Exposure, to which the actress surprisingly agreed and even offered a blurb about Buster Keaton. Already a 37-year-old man at the time, Roddy was still so moved by Louise's presence, voice, and personal power that he left her apartment moved beyond comprehension. He would recall how he had randomly begun crying in the elevator upon his departure, as if he had just stepped away from God himself! Of course, he had to endure the usual attacks of paranoia that Louise exhibited and even moments of cruelty, in which she blatantly trashed Planet of the Apes, for example-- a film of which Roddy had been a part. Of course, the latter insult was meant to be protective, for she thought he was "wasting his talent." Roddy was equally protective of Louise, and because she had entrusted him into her life, he honored the privilege by not "selling her out" to others. As with Jean, Roddy respected the actress enough to adhere to the stipulations of her odd behavior, perhaps understanding, as a survivor of the film world himself, that the effects are often hard to get over.

Ava Gardner (left) too became enchanted with Roddy when they worked together on his sole directorial effort Tam Lin (The Devil's Widow). The two had actually met in the forties, when Roddy was but a young boy and Ava a much more developed young woman, though a mere six years his senior. They saw each other at the MGM "school" for child stars, though a more social friendship would have to wait a few years. Another faded love goddess by 1969, Roddy's eager interest in Ava's life and career and his utmost respect for her as a person put her at ease during the shoot and allowed her to relax under the pressure of her role. Though only in her late forties, she felt like an ancient, old lady among the rest of the youthful cast. In the film, Ava was to play a "demonic godmother to a band of swinging, stoned young wastrels." More literally, she played a witch in a contemporary "horror fable." Ava didn't want to accept the project, as she had been enjoying time away from pressure-filled Hollywood, but Roddy coaxed her into it. He wanted to get her back to work, and she wanted to help him become a director. The project didn't wind up doing much for either professionally, but it did help them forge a strong bond. Roddy adored Ava, and vice versa. Ava wound up enjoying her time on the shoot for the most part, where she became den mother to the younger actors, who always called her "Big A." Roddy tried to get Ava to trust herself as an actress, but as she had never valued her own talent, his constant compliments and reassurances did little good, other than to warm her heart a bit. His attentions did provide a missing comfort from her life, and it was enough to make them friends for life.

Clearly, despite his own fame and reputation, Roddy could definitely "geek out" in the presence of celebrities whom he considered iconic, and who had in fact inspired his own childhood fascination with acting and cinema. For this reason, the fanatic in him would go out of his way to meet those personalities whom he had especially admired. He had a little help from George Cukor in arranging the following dream situation: a meeting between Greta Garbo and Mae West (right)! Roddy approached George with a kind of dare to get the two infamous and obviously different women together: "George, you're the only person who could get Greta Garbo and Mae West to your house for dinner together, and I want to be invited!" Challenge extended. Challenge accepted! If there were any man who got around more-- in a totally innocent sense-- than Roddy McDowall, it was George Cukor. Thus, a miracle occurred, and two polar opposites on the feminine, sexual spectrum met... and became thick as thieves for their brief meeting! Both were somewhat intimidated and definitely impressed by the opposing woman's talents and fame. Mae, when introduced, even gave the bashful Garbo a kiss, a moment that George noted was particularly unusual. After a bit of an awkward dinner, the two women found a quiet corner and talked all night long. The rest of the guests, Roddy included, sat salivating nearby and watched with rapt attention: What could they possibly be talking about!? Roddy could have used the moment to edge his way in, but somehow, what he was witnessing was too perfect to disrupt. He never became close with either woman as a result, but watching the sexually ambivalent Greta talking to the sexually luxurious Mae about the latter's surprisingly heavy shoes was enough for him. 

It is always interesting to witness a star who is just as starstruck as the Average Joe. Roddy definitely fit the bill, and it is perhaps his humble and genial nature that, not only made him an appealing presence on the screen, but allowed him to endear himself to so many big screen performers. His loyalty to the cinematic realm was very strong and equally devout. In fact, he is allegedly responsible for another particularly moving honor: bestowing Florence Lawrence with her headstone at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, for her grave had for a great many years remained unmarked. If true, it indicates indeed Roddy's passion and interest in the people that made the world of movies so grand. The respect he paid to others has certainly been paid back to him in the continued interest each generation shows in his work. Roddy, thank you for being a friend!

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part XI

Two big Hollywood stars would meet Bette Davis back 

when she was an innocent ingenue... But that 

Bette didn't last for long.

Believe it or not, when Bette Davis first arrived in Hollywood, she was a much more demure figure than history recalls. An insecure, uncomplaining worker, she gave her all for long hours in ridiculous projects in order to make a good impression and hopefully carve out a niche for herself. With her self-esteem at a low, she would need time, experience, and box-office clout before she transformed into the demanding diva we all know and love. Also not popularly known is the fact that Bette remained a virgin until her wedding day-- a fact she proudly proclaimed in later life... before listing the names of her following lovers. Thus, young, unmarried, innocent Bette stood out like a sore thumb in her early days of Hollywood. Unaccustomed to men and unaccustomed to the business, she had a thing or two to learn. One evening, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. thought he would help her out.

On New Years Eve of 1931, Bette was attending a posh Hollywood party being thrown by Lois Wilson. She had hoped to meet some important people, schmooze, etc, but as shy as she was, she spent most of the night in a corner by herself. Doug (left), clearly drunk at this point, noticed the delicate, doe-eyed, cream-puff and swaggered over to her. In her eye-catching gown, with decolletage on display, Doug must have noticed the strange inconsistency between her shut-off demeanor and her come-hither gown. Clearly, this was a girl hoping for attention yet unable to play the Hollywood game-- i.e. use her sexuality to gain control. Thus, reaching into her dress and groping one of her breasts, he offered the following advice: "You should use ice on your breasts the way my wife does." His wife of the time, incidentally, was Joan Crawford. He then stumbled away. Bette was mortified! She rushed home in tears, terrified of this new place called Hollywood and its questionable inhabitants. She quickly wed her first husband, Ham Nelson-- a much more bashful fellow-- in an attempt at normalcy, but Doug's slurred words must have had some effect. Though she never had a penchant for ice, she got the underlying message, and slowly came out of her cocoon and became one Hell of a bulldozing butterfly. One wonders if she ever thanked Doug for the tip? One wonders if (sober) he even remembered giving it???

There are a lot of stories regarding the competitive relationship that Bette shared with Joan Crawford, which came to life fully in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? While Bette always craved Joan's star appeal, Joan always envied Bette's talent. Their conflicting egos would make the shooting of this particular film a tense affair. Coincidentally, it was their only collaboration. But, Bette actually had a more profound rivalry and deep-rooted hate-fest going with Miriam Hopkins (right). Interestingly, these two ladies crossed paths long before Bette's Hollywood days when both were members of George Cukor's theater company in New York in 1928. At the time, Miriam was the leading lady and Bette a mere featured ingenue. The tables turned and the mini-degrees of separation continued when Bette starred in Jezebel, a role that Miriam had brought to life on the stage. Bette then had an affair with Anatole Litvak, Miriam's husband, who directed her in The Sisters. By 1939, when the two ladies starred together in The Old Maid, there was definitely some animosity. Bette wanted to play both of the lead roles herself, as a dual force phenomenon, but failed to convince production. Miriam was cast opposite her instead. Afterward, Bette would recall Miriam as being a great actress but a "total bitch." Of course, Bette conveniently forgot her tryst with Anatole, which was a major factor in Miriam's hatred. On the set, the ladies continuously tried to out-do each other, as they later would in Old Acquaintance. Bette would conspire with the director and keep Miriam out of the loop; Miriam would over-act and position herself so that Bette couldn't steal the frame. When it came time for Bette's character in Old Acquaintance to shake the daylights out of Miriam's character, there was little acting involved. Yet, because the two had such history together, it made their performances opposite each other much more intricate and believable. Some frenemies go waaaaaaaay back.

Two other Hollywood ladies were 'old acquaintances,' but in their case, there was genuine friendship. Back in 1922, Mae Clarke (left) was dancing with a slew of other hopeful young women on the stages of The New Amsterdam Theatre in New York as a part of the illustrious "Ziegfeld's Follies." Her roommate and fellow high-kicker during this time? Barbara Stanwyck. The two were close friends with mutual aspirations toward fame, fortune, and getting the Hell out of a compromising lifestyle. At the time, they were living above a laundry with a third roomie, Walda, trying to eek by. Later they all moved to the Knickerbocker. In Barbara's memory: "I just wanted to survive and eat and have a nice coat." Happily, both Mae and Babs would shimmy their way out of NYC and come to mutual acclaim in Hollywood. Barbara's personal ambition was a little stronger than Mae's, so she would enjoy a lengthier and more memorable career, though Mae's roles as gangsters' molls also give her a safe place in cinematic history. Certainly, when the two pals crossed paths in Hollywood, years after their youthful, scantily-clad beginnings, they must have shared a laugh about the old days and how far they had come. Despite the pain of those years, Barbara always remembered them with fondness, most probably because of the bonds and alliances she shared with so many young women experiencing and trying to survive the same circumstances.

When Veronica Lake came to Hollywood at sixteen, she had mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was in a place where dreams allegedly came true and where some of her screen-heroes came to life. On the other hand, she wasn't sure about all this acting jazz and wasn't too happy about her mother's plans to push her into the spotlight. Her experience in Tinsel Town would go down in history as one of the most tragic examples of the monster celebrity machine, but there were too some good days. One of these days occurred when Ronni and the family-- including her mother, stepfather, and cousin-- first pulled into Los Angeles in 1938. Famished after a long trip, they stopped to eat at a drive-in burger joint. Suddenly, another car pulled beside them. Casually glancing at the driver next-door, Ronni's jaw hit the floor when she saw that it was one of her idols: Anne Shirley (right)!!! She tried to play it cool, but she was overcome with excitement. Ronni watched Anne scarf down a burger with as much attention as she gave to any of her films, then sighed as the starlet drove away. Funnily enough, Ronni would later work with Anne in Sorority House, although Ronni played a measly extra in the film. Ronni never had the courage to tell Anne about their shared lunch, but she did muster the strength to introduce herself and express her gratitude at being able to work with, or at least near, her. Anne was a doll, and wished Ronni much luck in her career. The wish came true when Ronni became the peek-a-boo girl of the movies.

Carroll Baker's career-changing trek to Los Angeles was equally illuminating. When in flight for her first meeting with George Stevens regarding a possible role in Giant-- one she inevitably got-- Carroll was killing time with a little reading. She had just wed Jack Garfein, and in order to become more accustomed to and appreciative of her husband's religious life, she had brought The History of the Jews along for the ride. As her eyes flicked from page to page, she heard a voice: "What's a shiksa like you doing reading The History of the Jews?" Carroll looked up and her eyes bulged. It was Danny Kaye (left)!!! Not only that, but he was flying with famed director Mervyn LeRoy! The two men shared chuckles over her choice in literature and then got to talking. When she mentioned the Giant offer, Mervyn wished her luck, but Danny offered a warning: "Go back!" Concerned for the young girl, after having endured his share of sleaziness and back-stabbing in Hollywood, Danny continued with the fatherly advice, urging Carroll that Tinsel Town wasn't "for everyone." Carroll took the information to heart, but at a young age, she had already encountered more than a few harsh life lessons and felt ready to take the plunge regardless. After some personal hurdles, she certainly may have wondered whether she should have taken Danny's advice, but in the end she conquered both her demons and Hollywood, becoming one of the most memorable performers of the "Method" generation.

Some celebrity meetings are less exciting, if only because at the time, the mutual stars don't know that they're stars: they're children. When Louise Brooks (right) was growing up in Cherryvale, KS, she was already sporting her notorious Buster Brown haircut and exploring the world of dance, but she lacked all other indications of her later splendor-- save maybe her "devilish" personality and an early fascination with films. At the age of four, she was just a young-un, enjoying her youth, playing with neighborhood kids, and getting into the usual bits of trouble. Of course, her childhood was not an easy one, including familial tensions and a tragic experience of sexual abuse that would definitely shape her protective, defiant demeanor. While part of the neighborhood band of kids, she somehow still seemed on her own, separate, and a bit puzzling to her contemporaries-- one of whom was Vivian Vance, the lady later known as Ethel Mertz on "I Love Lucy." At the time, Vivian's last name was still "Jones." She and her sister Venus lived across the street from "Lulu" and they were all close chums, though the sisters often had trouble keeping up with Louise's never-ending energy. They also knew not to come between Louise and her fudge. No one, but NO ONE, ate Louise's fudge. In later years, few would even think to put Vivian and Louise in the same category, but in their youths, Venus would recall that Louise's passion for dancing mixed well with Viv's already well-honed comedy skills. Who knew that the Queen of the Silent Screen was once BFFs with the Princess of the TV set?

Vivian Vance... reminiscing about her Cherryvale and 

"Brooksie" days?

MENTAL MONTAGE: Hands Off! The Part's Mine!

Barbara Stanwyck ponders artistic fusion as Stella Dallas.

Every actor has a dream role-- the one he or she is dying to play. When one is passionate about his craft, he will fight tooth and nail for this holy grail of career opportunities: to play the perfect part and prove his mettle as a performer. Sometimes, in reaching for this desired role, one is hoping to kick-start his career. Sometimes, a role comes along that is a departure from the actor's past track record, and he hopes in playing it to expand his horizons. Other times, there is just an inexplicable connection-- the feeling that only he could play this part; that he and the character belong together. Here are a few instances when a zesty actor or actress fought for the role of a lifetime and brought his or her cinematic soul mate to life-- making history in the process, of course.

Barbara Stanwyck never had a long term commitment with any particular studio, which gave her a lot of independence and control over her career. However, there is a downside to this renegade tactic of navigating the film business. Without studio control, she also lacked studio aid, and thus wasn't handed roles on a silver platter the way that many other actresses of the time were. She often joked that she got all the discards or rejected parts that her contemporary leading ladies didn't want. As such, she rarely had first dibs on a desired role, one exception being The Lady Eve, which Preston Sturges designed specifically with her in mind. There was another role that she desperately wanted, however, and the she-panther in her wasn't about to let anyone else get it! That role was "Stella Dallas." The provocative and controversial tale of a girl from the wrong side of the tracks who unsuccessfully tries to climb the social ladder spoke to Babs on many levels. She connected well with characters who were flawed, desperate, and even depraved. The fact that Stella becomes a mother-- at times ill-equipped but always loving-- also spoke to the little girl in her who had been robbed of her own mother when she was young. When word spread around Tinsel Town that Olive Higgins Prouty's blush-worthy novel was going to be adapted into a film, Babs's mouth began to water. She knew that she could give the part all she had, making Stella authentic and real. There was just one problem: Ruth Chatterton. (Babs goes dowdy for her interpretation of "Stella Dallas" left, with Anne Shirley).

Ruth (right) and Babs went waaaaaaay back-- way back to Barbara's days as a struggling chorus girl and thespian. One of her first major screen tests was done in the presence of Ruth, by then an already accomplished actress of the stage and screen, and her presence must have unarmed Babs a bit. Babs was auditioning for the lead in the silent film Broadway Nights when Ruth stopped by the set with her maid. The cameraman was trying to get Barbara to cry for the test, but she couldn't muster the tears-- an issue she would never have later in her career. When he brought out an onion to try to provoke the tears, Ruth started howling with laughter, which was incredibly humiliating. So brutal and unnecessary was the senior lady's assault, that Babs finally howled at her to "shut up!" Needless to say, Babs lost out on the lead, but she did land a supporting role. It was cold comfort. She would never forget this run-in, and used the humiliation as one more bit of inspiration to propel herself toward her own stardom. It worked, for Babs was soon enough living and working steadily in Hollywood. By the time Stella Dallas came up as an opportunity, she had more than proved herself as a woman with star power and talent. Yet, imagine the slap in the face when she learned that Stella had been offered to her old nemesis, Ruth!

Fortunately for Babs, Ruth wasn't interested and passed on the film. There was still a chance, and actually a pretty big one! Due to the nature of the text-- which in the wrong hands could have turned into an embarrassing B-Movie-- and the unglamorous and even matronly metamorphosis that Stella goes through during the course of the story, very few actresses wanted anything to do with it. It could be said that none of them would touch it with a ten foot pole, which again makes Babs such a charming and unconventional Hollywood actress. Others saw scraps; she saw prime rib. When famed director King Vidor signed on to direct, Babs had every hope that the film would be something great. Thus, she asked Joel McCrea (left), with whom she was working on Banjo On My Knee, to lobby for her at his home studio, Goldwyn, where the film was to be produced. This was a favor he was proud to do for his gifted co-star, though he had a rough time convincing Samuel G. of her suitability for the role. Sam thought her too young, un-sexy, and an un-motherly. Joel went to bat and coaxed Sam into a screen test. It paid off. Babs made the test for an already impressed Vidor, landed the part, and certainly gave all of those other reticent leading ladies a lesson when she churned out a painful, funny, multi-faceted performance-- playing aged, sexy, and motherly with ease. At the very least, she stuck it to Ruth.

Another determined lady was Olivia DeHavilland (right). While all the rest of Hollywood was competing for the role of "Scarlett O'Hara" in Gone with the Wind, OdeH was avariciously going after the docile and saintlike role of "Melanie Hamilton." For the passionate brunette to be vying for the role of a placid angel seems a bit contradictory, but that was precisely the allure. Olivia was drawn to Melanie because she could not understand her innate, impenetrable goodness. Being a warm but admittedly flawed person herself, fleshing out this atypical woman seemed like a noble challenge. Most actresses would have looked at the role as vacant and boring, delivering a one-note performance of superficiality with artificial sweetener. Olivia was determined to give Melanie both grace and guts, believing at the time: "there is something I want to say through her that I feel is very important to say to people." Despite her stellar reputation, she had a little trouble landing her dream role.

Firstly, there was Jack Warner, top-dog at Olivia's home studio of Warner Brothers, who was not about to lend one of his leading ladies to the competing Selznick Studios. Secondly, there were other contenders, including her sister Joan Fontaine-- though her bid was an unintentional one. Joan had actually gone to see director George Cukor about playing Scarlett, and after George laughed off what a clear case of miscasting this would be, he suggested that Joan approach the Melanie role. Joan refused, burned by his insult of her non-Scarlett-ness, and haughtily recommended her sister Olivia for Melanie (the two did not get along). Ironically, she inadvertently did Olivia a favor, since the elder sister actually did want the part! George called Olivia in for an interview, and was surprised to learn that she had both David O. Selznick and Howard Hughes vouching for her. In fact, originally, Jack Warner had offered Olivia to Selznick as a package deal with Errol Flynn as "Rhett Butler" and Bette Davis as "Scarlett," but when Selznick refused the trio, he also lost Olivia. Still, she hoped that she could somehow put a bid in for herself alone. George was on board, but Jack Warner was still withholding the prize actress. This made the other prospects of Andrea Leeds, Anne Shirley, Frances Dee, and Elizabeth Allen, etc. very threatening, but Olivia was determined.

Eventually, Olivia got desperate. Being a business savvy woman, she decided to approach another shrewd lady for a hand: Mrs. Jack Warner-- Anne. Lili Damita had also used Anne's help when she was trying to get her new hubby Errol cast in Captain Blood. Clearly, this lovely woman held real sway. Thus, Olivia prevailed upon Anne-- at The Brown Derby no less-- to help her in her plight. Jack was so unrelenting in his ministrations and his relationship with the actress was such a contentious one (which would reach a fever pitch in the mid-1940s with the infamous "De Havilland Decision" court case), that Olivia felt only the intervention of a purring Anne to his delicate side would help her win the day. Anne took pity on Olivia and started setting the trap. It worked. From the outside, it looked like Jack had simply made a business move-- trading Olivia's services to Selznick to for Jimmy Stewart's in No Time for Comedy. But the truth was, Olivia had the inside track: his wife. Good riddance, for could there be another Melanie (right)???

Ernest Borgnine (left) was an unlikely candidate for a Hollywood movie star. In fact, even he couldn't see himself in that role. However, familial encouragement and the crazy and unexpected ways of life eventually put him front and center before the camera. He was excited about a great many of the parts that he would eventually play, but there was one in particular that he felt was destined to be his. He first responded to the villainous role of "Sergeant Judson" when he read the novel From Here to Eternity by James Jones. He later acknowledged the uncanny sensation he had that somehow he and Judson were connected. He started bragging to all of his pals that if the book were ever made into a film, he would play the part! He must have willed this phenomenon into existence, because in a very brief time, he was called in for an audition!! With his gruff exterior and natural penchant for playing heavies, he was quickly cast.

Once he landed the role, he was ecstatic! His dream was coming true! Yet, now finding himself in the uber-exclusive company of contemporary idols like Frank Sinatra and Montgomery Clift, Ernest suddenly felt a little unsure of himself. He had an inkling that with his short, stocky stature, he wouldn't be accepted as the intimidating tough guy that he was supposed to play. When not in character, he was a fun-loving, happy-go-lucky guy. He seemed very far from threatening, and thus his casting started raising eyebrows. Even Frank, set to play his nemesis and victim in the film, was uncertain if Ernest could pull off enough menace to make their hostile relationship believable. After all, Frank had a rep to protect. Since his character is supposed to die at Judson's hand, he wanted to make sure Ernest was tough enough to pull it off without making him look like a wimp. In other words, he needed a worthy opponent. Since Frank was still in a career slump and desperate for a hit, his hesitance could be understood. But, all reluctance disappeared once the cameras started rolling. Ernest wore the role of Judson like a loaded gun. Frank was impressed: "My God! He's ten feet tall!" he declared. Ernest proved himself quickly. He would recall the shooting experience as one of the most enriching of his life, as did Frank, who won an Oscar for his performance-- thanks to scary Ernie in his fated role (see fight, right).

Looking back, it seems like the success of The Wizard of Oz was a forgone conclusion. It is so iconic, so deeply rooted in our culture, so eternal that it feels as though it has always existed. This is not so. When building an epic, you have to start from somewhere, and putting all the missing pieces together is a challenge and a headache. One wrong move, and the whole project can collapse, but with the right combination of actors, director, editor, etc-- and just blind luck-- magic can happen. The casting of Wizard is a story in itself, with several possible players uncertain that they wanted anything to do with a silly movie for children. Ray Bolger (left) had no doubts. However, when he was signed on to the project, MGM wanted to cast him as the "Tin Man." Ray had other plans.

A skilled and flexible dancer with an elastic ability of movement, Ray found the Tin Man far too constrictive. Clomping around heavily and statically was something he could achieve, sure, but his natural talent was much more fitted for the gangly, free-moving, and constantly falling character of the "Scarecrow." Ray knew in his heart that he belonged in the role of the Scarecrow, and he lobbied for it resiliently to Louis B. Mayer himself, who finally conceded. The problem was that Buddy Ebsen, an equally likable and talented dancer, had already been cast as the Scarecrow.  An easy-going guy, he had no qualms with Ray's casting coup and generously stepped out of his straw britches and into his tin boots (see right). It was a moment he would come to regret. During the make-up test, aluminum powder was applied to his skin to give him a metallic sheen. Fine. But then, the powder, after much application, got into the air and thus into his lungs. At home one night, Buddy tried to take a breath and couldn't do it! He was rushed to the hospital and was informed that he had to undergo a lengthy recuperation. MGM did not wait for him and cast Jack Haley in his place. He would recall this as the most hurtful and bitterly disappointing moment of his career. A good deed never goes unpunished...

Jack had no knowledge of Buddy's mishap when he began his performance as the Tin Man, and his cosmetics were modified into a pre-mixed solution of the hazardous dust within an aluminum paste, which dispelled the inhalation issue. He suffered no issues with his breathing, though he did get an eye infection. His dreamlike, whimsical version of the Tin Man would thus go down in popular history by happenstance. Ray's success as the Scarecrow (left), on the other hand, was absolutely purposeful, and he was always proud of his work on the film. Certainly, he must have felt guilty that his insistence on playing the Scarecrow had inadvertently sent Buddy to the hospital... but then again, maybe he was glad that fortune had been on his side. His persistence had saved him from that dangerous, silver powder! In the end, despite the disastrous outcome for Buddy, Ray's assessment had been right. He was the perfect person to play the awkward man of straw, and in choosing this role he too proved that he-- like the Scarecrow-- had brains.