STAR OF THE MONTH: Ann Sheridan - Biography

The "Oomph" Girl: Ann Sheridan

Before Ann Sheridan was a movie star in Hollywood, she was living in Denton, TX as lil’ Clara Lou, the youngest of five children, who possessed a surprising blend of Scottish, Irish, and even Cherokee blood. Clara Lou was one of those fortunate children born with a special gleam in her eye. Where she looked, she saw opportunity and a world for the taking. She was not greedy by any means, just enthusiastic about what each new day would bring. With her solid Southern roots and strict family morals, Clara Lou mixed in her own optimistic and loving attitude to mature into a young woman of great spirit and responsibility. Childhood friends would remember her as a girl always ready to pick a mop, broom, or hammer and help out.

She preferred male company from the beginning, if only because the gents' had more freedom in their fun. She liked riding horses, shooting tin cans, and working on cars (a hobby that would follow her to California). "Lulu" spent most of her time daydreaming about being a big band singer! People took life too seriously, she believed. All these standards for decent behavior or expected ways of life were a bore. Naturally, Clara Lou’s wishes to be a stage performer were not appreciated by her family, who was very religious. Though she maintained that she was always close to her family, one picks up on the veiled references to some unforgotten tensions in her past. In addition to lacking her parents’ support in her wishes, Ann would later remark again and again on the hypocrisy of religion and hypocritical people in general. Though, out of respect to her kin, she never went into specifics, she made no secret of the fact that finding a way out of Denton was a desire that had been burning in her belly from an early age. Though she was going to school to become a teacher-- majoring in art-- she longed for escape, for freedom, and a life without guilt or judgment. She wanted to be herself.

Ann gives good cheesecake

While the folks may have voted “No” on singing, at least one member of her family was pro-Clara Lou. In 1932, her sister, Kitty, learned that a little Paramount contest was in the works, searching for new talent. They were using the upcoming film Search for Beauty as a flimsy excuse to drum up publicity and interest in their studio. Clara Lou had heard of the "Search for Beauty" contest—young beauts with good gams looking for a chance in the spotlight. She thought it was ridiculous! Imagine her surprise when she learned that she was a finalist, because Kitty had secretly entered her in the contest! Not only did Clara Lou earn a part in the film, she got herself a contract too-- which was not something many of the other finalists could boast. After Clara Lou's ride to Tinsel Town, she never looked back. She had found her new home. It wasn’t all gravy, however. After her blink-and-you’ll-miss-it appearance on the screen, she worked hard to get somewhere in the business. While other winners of the contest faded into the back-drop, fell prey to Hollywood’s dangers, or packed it in and moved home, Clara Lou busted her tookus, taking any publicity photos asked of her, performing in whatever roles necessary, and building up her resume.

Despite her impressive, unlearned acting ability and out-of-this-world beauty, she couldn’t seem to get anywhere beyond silly supporting roles in B-pictures-- aside from her first leading role in Car 99. When she left Paramount in 1935, she was plucked by Warner Brothers. Nonetheless, after noticeable parts in The Great O'Malley with Pat O'Brien and San Quentin with O'Brien and Humphrey Bogart, her career still seemed to be going nowhere. "Ann"—who had officially changed her name at studio suggestion in 1934-- was mostly being used as a body double. She once cracked that she lined up to buy a ticket at the theater to see the back of her own head, her hands, or her legs on the big screen. Naturally, she started getting nostalgic, thinking that maybe Mom and Dad had had a little more sense than she had given them credit for. Maybe it was time to haul it in after all... Then, she got her big break!

Ann’s casting opposite James Cagney in Angels with Dirty Faces was a godsend! Not only was she working with the incredible Jim, a pro who took special care to teach her the ropes, but for the first time, her fast-talking wisecracks were on full display. Unlike other heroines—all sweet or all tough—Ann was a little of both. She was a woman, but she was a woman who could take care of herself. She didn’t need any guy for nuthin’, so if you want to make a move, Buster, you better have something better goin’ on than a nice suit of clothes. And she won’t take to lip, neither! Ann’s onscreen characters, who were reliable, sturdy girls were still not exactly "gal Fridays." She was there to lean on if she thought the cause was worthy, and only then would she give the hero her heart. She was a tough cookie, a quick thinker, and nobody’s fool—yet another strong female paving the way for pre-feminists. Despite this sudden burst in her career, she didn’t skyrocket the way she had hoped. BUT, she had made a great impression on the public, her co-stars, and everyone she had or would soon work with. Some directors initially thought that Ann didn’t give a damn about acting or the craft, because she was so easy-going, cracking up and playing pranks between takes. Then, they would see her at work and realize her incredible gift for simply being Ann unfiltered. Soon enough, she had several people fighting in her corner, and with her own right hook, she was about to take aim and knock the socks off Hollywood. In the case of Ann Sheridan, a little publicity gimmick went a long way.

George Hurrell became a great champion for Ann, using his

artistic eye to capture her beauty and personal texture

to put the "Ooooh" in her Oomph!

After Ann completed supporting roles as a naughty opportunist who blindsides John Garfield in They Made Me a Criminal and yet another naughty dance hall songstress in the Errol Flynn western Dodge City, notorious columnist Walter Winchell gave her an unexpected plug. While mentioning her underutilized talents, he chastised Warners for not giving her better roles with more "umph." That quip definitely got some eager corporate tails wagging, as they finally realized that they had a hot-cha-ching commodity on their hands! (It always amazes me when studio heads don't "know what to do" with pretty, talented actresses). Thus, publicity agent Bob Taplinger staged a rigged competition to decide who should bear the title of Hollywood's true "Oomph Girl"--which had a definite sexual connotation. To no one's surprise, Ann was crowned, though no one deserved it more. She, of course, took the label for what it was: a label indeed, one that would eventually become a stigma. After some advice from Paul Muni, an actor whom she respected, she took the joke in stride, determined to use the current media attention to improve her career, bargain for better roles, and hopefully show the world that she was more than just a "looker." In a nut shell, Ann took the biggest lemon of her life and made lemonade, but then that was just her style. What followed was a slew of some of the most beautiful studio portraits ever taken, magazine covers galore, and an incredible spike in her films' ticket sales as people lined up to see just what "Oomph" was.

Overcoming her "Oomph" was a hurdle, however. Ann seemed to be handed fairly ridiculous vehicles, which she was expected to sell based on her star power alone. It usually worked, but it was bad business to not give such a bankable star better writing and better scripts. Ann's laid-back demeanor didn't do her many favors either, as she initially didn't fight for the parts she should have had, (though she would show more gumption in business later). For the most part, she was handed hackneyed remakes of previous successes by Bette Davis, Joan Blondell, or Ann Harding. When she received the Harvard Lampoon Award for "the actress least likely to succeed," it fed her willful side but also put a chink in her confidence. She held her chin a little higher when Princeton claimed her as their own in retaliation, made her honorary editor of their own journal-- The Advocate-- and staged a picket outside the Lampoon! Great fans and solid, soulful performances in City for Conquest and King's Row earned her increasingly good reviews and critics became more and more impressed with her. Playing against type, she also showed her sharp, comic edge as a Hollywood diva opposite a surprisingly vanilla Bette in The Man Who Came to Dinner. 

With good pal Bogie in It All Came True.

With Ann's acting, it was all about timing. That was her gift, whether she was performing in a drama, screwball comedy, romance, or dark masterpiece. No one could spout off one-liners and comebacks like Ann, who gave sass with as much ease as she could shoot a pistol. She also knew when to let a moment land, playing with the emotions behind the words. Ann was never poetic about her art. She admired actresses of acclaim like Bette Davis (like everyone else), but she was both savvy and perhaps a bit too self-deprecating about her talent. She knew she wasn't a studied character thespian, and she knew she didn't have the exotic appeal of glamour goddesses like Garbo and Dietrich. She believed she was a capable lead who knew how to deliver her lines and did her best. This pure, unadulterated honesty of Ann's all-American appeal is exactly what singled her out from her contemporaries and made her a comfortable soul-mate for her fans. Additionally, she would consistently be on Hollywood's "best dressed" celebs lists. So, yet again, Ann played the star and enjoyed the act, but beneath it all, she was still the gap-toothed Clara Lou. She adhered to the rules, enjoyed the fame, but colored outside the lines by simply staying true to herself and never losing touch with what life was all about: happiness. 

Making beautiful, kooky music with Jack Benny in

George Washington Slept Here.

Meanwhile, Ann's un-teachable rhythm thrived when she was teamed with Jack Benny in George Washington Slept Here. As WWII raged on, Ann was very vocal in her support of the call to arms and very loyal to the men fighting the battles. She entertained troops overseas, danced with them at the Hollywood Canteen, and took part in the all-star war-morale film Thank Your Lucky Stars. Unlike other actresses, Ann wanted her roles to age as she did. Thus, in keeping with her own maturity, she continued turning heads with her dramatic performances in the films like the strange and fascinating noir, Nora Prentiss, or her "realistic and poignant interpretation," The Unfaithful. Still, there were many projects in which she was slated to appear that never took shape, mostly due her choice of daring material that made the censors sweat and were consequently scrapped. Though she finally won a long overdue pay bump with script approval, she was all but ignored by the studio and treated like an old, reliable mare who would loyally carry them to victory. She was not given the attention her career deserved. Finally, in 1949, Ann bought out the last remaining months of her Warners contract and began freelancing. And hallelujah, because she was teamed with Cary Grant in one of the funniest comedies of all time! I Was a Male War Bride turned out to be the perfect blend of chemistry and comic ping-pong. It was a slick casting decision, for what other woman could strong-arm the ever-dapper Cary into donning drag and get away with laughing at him at the same time!? It is unfortunate that the duo never made another film together. Unfortunately, it was while filming that Ann developed a chronic bronchial infection that would come back to haunt her.

With Cary Grant in the gender bender triumph, I Was a Male War Bride.



  Now pushing 40, Ann began to work primarily in radio and television. She also spent much time in her beloved Mexico and nonchalantly took a three year hiatus from work as if she were just out for a brief walk. The world of acting is cruel to women. The age of 41 is the unspoken beginning of the fade-out for most film actresses. Ann understood this and took it in stride. One might suspect that in this period of her life, Ann might slow down and start building a family, but Ann's private life was as atypical as her BS-detector was spot on. She had a brief marriage to actor Edward Norris in the '30s, which ended primarily due to his own jealousy over her rising career as his own stalled. (Ann probably told him to cut the crap then packed her bags). Interestingly, they remained friends, and Norris would hint at his silly regrets later. In the '40s, Ann had a lengthy love affair with her complete opposite: the ever-serious and properly tuxed George Brent. They wed... and were divorced a year later.

Perhaps Ann's most lasting relationship was that with elder press agent Steve Hanagan. They never married, and while some suggest that this was due to his surprisingly invested mother's interference, it is also more than possible that Ann had decided by then that she just wasn't the marrying kind. They eventually split, and Steve passed away not much later, bequeathing Ann the bulk of his estate-- which turned out to include more debt than anything else. As ever, Ann paid for everything without complaint. Hints at the source of Ann's relationship troubles can be gleaned from her early upbringing. Her resultant need for independence and a life without rules certainly clashed with the standard ideals of "wivelihood" (new word).  In theory, the idea of eternal love was alluring; in reality, Ann perhaps found it too difficult to entirely give herself to anyone, nor could she tolerate being a trophy wife. She wanted to be loved-- no one as warm and giving  as she could not but hope for some of the same in return-- but whatever secret fears or mistrusts she carried within, seemed to hamper all of her liaisons.

With soon-to-be real life husband in Honeymoon for Three.

Her friendships on the other hand... those were things that Ann did well!!! As in her childhood, her best buddies were always men. She and Errol Flynn were thick as thieves when working together during Dodge City, Edge of Darkness, and her last Warners film, Silver City. Most particularly, she was good friends with Humphrey Bogart, who was not the easiest guy to charm. The rapport that she was able to build with these rapscallions is revelatory of her true self. Ann was a straight-shooting, salt-of-the-earth gal. She cared more about her poodles, which she eventually raised in droves, than she did about anything that highfalutin Hollywood seemed to be interested in. She was simple, direct, and honest. There was no feigned innocence or diva tantrums or skirt chasing when she was around. More likely, there were pranks and laughs and the old eye roll, particularly when she started filming yet another stinker: "Well boys, this is gonna be a train wreck, but we may as well enjoy it!"

She had female pals, of course, but very few. She is often mentioned in the same breath as other notorious party girls like Ava Gardner and Lana Turner, and one can imagine that they were one Hell of a trio. With Ava's sad and bold sensuality and Lana's rebellious Hellion in Prima Donna poise, Ann was the more rational and practical one. It has been said that she could "toss back a few," but just how many is unknown. Suffice it to say, she was not the type to sip wine. Whiskey was probably more her speed. Yet, despite whatever late night appearances she may have made with whatever rag-tag pals that came into the picture, Ann never believed in the version of life that she was presenting to the public. She would go have fun, take the glitz for what it was, then go home and de-oomph. Unlike Lana, for whom celebrity was an ongoing performance, Ann never really gave a hoot about it all and didn't allow people who were caught up with the glam come into her inner space.

As Ann got older, she took parts as they came: a supporting role in the musical version of The Women-- retitled The Opposite Sex-- and acclaimed performances in Woman on the run, Steel Town, and Just Across the Street. Continuing radio and television work, she also met a new paramour, Scott McKay, while taking a stab at stage work. A fan of Soaps, which were a personal guilty pleasure, Ann worked for a season on "Another World"-- during which she married Scott, probably under studio pressure-- as her tendency to live with lovers "in sin" was not kosher with the public. Then, she received the great honor of being offered a series of her own: "Pistols 'n' Petticoats." Unfortunately, it was during this period that Ann became gravely ill. She learned that she was suffering from terminal cancer of the liver and esophagus. Suddenly, that nagging cough that wouldn't go away, her difficulty swallowing, and her increasing weight loss, made sense. Her past bronchial infection and years of chain smoking certainly hadn't helped matters. Still, Ann pressed on, continuing her role in the series despite the great pain it caused her. Shooting had a taxing and tiring effect on her body, yet she filmed 25 episodes under these dire circumstances-- without complaint and always with a smile on her face. Unfortunately, she would not live to finish the first season. While lying peacefully in bed in San Fernando, Ann passed away on Jan. 21, 1967. It is said that in her last words, she looked at her husband Scott and said, "I'm going to be all right." However, this may have been more of a good-bye than her mere stubborn gumption. Finally, the ever-fighting Texan girl was totally and completely free.

Ann resembles Clara Bow a great deal in her younger photos.

While she possessed Clara's sense of fun and adventure,

she also has the dangerous edge that makes her

vulnerability in photos like this fascinating.

Ann is one of those performers who is too rarely discussed. She isn't on the short list of cinematic heroes, where the Tracy and Hepburns' and Garlands and Hayworths hold center stage. Yet, Ann was all right with that. She didn't need the entire world; she just needed her own small piece of it. She still possesses a certain corner in the field of film with the usual tough, Warner dames, but her particular, impenetrable space is very unique. She commendably kept up with the gangsters, the crooners, and the hams, side-stepping, singing (beautifully, btw), and mugging with her own equal cocktail of guts and glamour. Her sleepy, heavily-lidded eyes still peep at you when flipping through the old, classic picture books, where she doesn't entice so much as make her own statement: "Here I am, like it or not." Her assertive photographs seem as equally erotic as they are visible shrugs. She is half in and half out, but she is still the one directing the camera's gaze. Whatever she's holding back remains undetected to the naked eye. Yet, this somehow makes her photos even more potent. Watching her performances is like meeting up with an old friend, whose cozy voice always makes you feel better. Life seems easier when Ann's around, even if watching a taut thriller. With "Annie," you're safe. At the very least, you're enjoying yourself. As she herself said, "What's the use of living if you can't have fun?"

STAR OF THE MONTH: Ann Sheridan - Prologue

Clara Lou Sheridan! (Now, please pardon me while I go question 

my sexuality...).

Ann Sheridan is a hard lady to get a hold of. While she was very warm and accessible to friends during her lifetime, she was also a woman who cleverly only played the Hollywood game half way. She would pose for the necessary cheesecake photos; she would adhere to the publicity gags. Most of all, she would do her job and do it well, creating with her own sharp, down-to-earth personality a new brand of female who was part Stanwyck and part Harlow. Unlike Stanwyck, there was bark but no bite. Ann was more the eye-rolling, “Yeah, whatever Bub,” kind of girl. Unlike Harlow, to whom her photographs are often compared, she was sexual but not objective—her sensuality was mature and mysterious, whereas Jean’s was much more innocent and inviting. However, Ann's palpable veil of cynicism and distance, which made her incredibly popular during her lifetime, is the very thing that makes her puzzling to historians. In all honesty, I have been on ­­my own eternal quest to find out who this incredible woman was. The title of this article might as well be “Searching for Ann: Mission Impossible!” It began with my cemetery jaunts. Ann found her way onto my list of “Celebrities to Find” when I began my Hollywood grave-hunting, but I actually had little knowledge of her. I had heard her name, and surely I had seen her face without knowing it, but my self-education was not yet as overflowing as it is now. I learned that Ann was unfortunately tucked away in Chapel of the Pines, hidden from visitors. I shrugged my shoulders, said “Oh well,” and directed my attention to Mae Busch across the hall instead. 

Then, via my introduction to Ann in films like Dodge City and Angels with Dirty Faces, I began asking myself: “Who is that actress? She’s fun!” I learned a little—a very little—about Ann when she was  mentioned in others’ biographies, but literature devoted entirely to the actress seemed scarce, aside from an old Bio-bibliography by Margie Schultz that was about $100+ bucks on Amazon. (Eek. I mean, I bought it when the price took a dip, but still...). Needless to say, I had to put Ann on hold again and again, awaiting the arrival of new information, which could possibly guide me through her life. A bit of good luck came my way when I learned that Ann’s ashes had been unearthed from the bowels of Chapel and had been given a plum position at Hollywood Forever Cemetery in the Chapel Columbarium. “Great! Now I can at least pay my respects!” Hardly. Every time I went the cemetery, the Columbarium was either locked or in the middle of an expected funeral service. (Son of a B). I had to come and go, trying several times to visit Ann. Finally, one day, I had a chance. I crept up the Chapel steps to peer into the window of her plot—complete with urn, pictures, and the Life Magazine cover she graced in 1939. Strangely, I felt better-- better that she was out in the open were she can be better remembered by those as invested in our cinematic, cultural history as I. I still felt attracted to her somehow, but this, I realized, was as good as I was ever going to get. As much as I may want to be best buds with Ann, she is long since gone. As much as I may want to learn more about her private life and personality, I am only afforded vague snippets. Just as her tomb, I am left with my nose pressed against a pane of glass, where—just as her daring, impenetrable gaze in those incredible George Hurrell photos—I am left fascinated but unsatisfied. What is she hiding???

That’s how Ann wanted it, I suppose. Despite her tom-boy, good time gal demeanor, she played the best version of celebrity possible. She put on a good show while holding just enough back to keep for herself. It is on the silver screen where you enjoy her company, then she draws the shade and dwells in her own private world. The mix of her innate amiability and clever tactics of “withholding information” worked perfectly together on the screen. This becomes apparent when reading review after review of her work, which consistently commended her for her “naturalness” and “honesty.” The tricks she had up her sleeve lent her an incredible depth that continues to make modern audiences fall in love with her. Who was she??? I'd say, One Hell of a Dame! In specifics, I’m less certain, but I will do my best to build a portrait.

What's lurking in Ann's past? Tune in tomorrow for more!!!

To Be Continued...

DIDJA KNOW: Part V

Ummm, Lon? Watcha doin?

Whodah-thunkit? Didja know that...


... Bill Hart was the first ambidextrous cowboy?

There's a reason they called him "Two-gun Bill." Prior to William S. Hart's use of dual six-shooters (left), cinematic cowboys had preferred the simple, one-handed draw. To exhibit more danger, Bill opted to fill both his mitts with ammunition, making him doubly dangerous on the silver screen, thus making his usually menacing characters all the harder to tame into the good-hearted heroes he typically became by the films' ends. So inspirational were Bill's morally salvaged heroes that a later lawman even took his name, becoming "Two Gun Hart" during the big prohibition battles. Of course, this other "Hart" had more than fanaticism to thank for his name change; it was also a strategic move. His birth name was James Vincenzo Capone. He had a brother named Al. Just like in the movies, they were on opposite sides of the law. Interestingly, during the roaring twenties of flappers, mobsters, and booze, James had identified with an antiquated cowboy to get his message across. With dual arms, he meant business, and his use of Hart's name was meant to strike the fear of God into his less law-abiding contemporaries. No news on Al's reaction, but Bill must have been proud.


... Bill Hart was almost a United Artist?

When Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin, and D.W. Griffith (right) set out to build their own movie distribution company, their aim was to give themselves more control (and profit) over their artistic projects and to open the door for more independent producers. It was a daring move to step away from the already well-established companies of Metro and Famous Players, and many of the studio heads viewed this moment with trepidation: "The lunatics have taken charge of the asylum," cried Richard A. Rowland! What did movie stars know about business anyway? In any case, the foursome started the venture with high hopes and, knowing that they would need a lot of clout to survive the uphill battle, they invited a fifth power player, Bill, along for the ride. As a huge star of equal caliber-- one who had joined them on those morale boosting war bond tours, a fact too often forgotten-- Bill seemed like the perfect fifth wheel on this movie trolley. He was all for the new business, having long become disenchanted with the business tactics of old friend Thomas Ince and later Jesse Lasky. While he always looked upon Adolph Zukor with respect, Bill was an independent man who wanted to make his own films his own way. All those money guys kept mucking up his vision. However, the plan for a partnership fell through over monetary disagreements. The original four wanted to use their own money to finance pictures and thus maintain complete control, but this notion made Bill nervous. Thus, he backed out. In the end, it looks like Bill may have been right. While the formation of United Artists was a big moment that started the wheel rolling on star-owned, independent production companies, the fab four couldn't withstand the competition of the larger studios, particularly as films got longer and sound came into play. The expense became too much, Joseph Schenck was brought in to hold the reins, and the original players slowly drifted away.


... Doug was literally a big kid?

It's not a surprise that Doug Fairbanks was involved in the landmark UA formation. While he was more the energetic, charismatic front man, leaving the business quarreling to wife Mary and BFF Charlie, Doug's fingers were always in a lot of cinematic pies. After leaving the stage for the screen, he leapt to success in a series of outrageous boy-to-man comedies before becoming the ultimate, silent, action hero. He also later helped to establish the first film curriculum at the University of Southern California, finally alerting the world that film was indeed an art. He loved movies, and he loved to "wow" audiences. His stunts are legendary, and-- as a daredevil-- he insisted on performing them himself. A lot of stress was put on the directors and technicians of his films, who spent a lot of time in fear that he would kill himself. Even when they tried to bring a stuntman in for him, they would often catch Doug sneakily doubling his own double. While leaping from horses and jumping from trampolines over abysses in Robin Hood were a bit nerve-wracking for the crew to witness, some stunts were more enjoyable to watch, such as the infamous curtain slide sequence. Director Allan Dwan was excited to be working with such an enthusiastic collaborator as Doug on Robin Hood (left). When he shared his visions of action sequences on the set, Doug's eyes lit up just like Christmas! During the big castle battle scene, he explained how Doug was to ascend the stairs, being chased by fighting knights. To escape, he would eventually hop the balustrade and slide down a drape. Literally slide. Dwan revealed the mechanics of the trick, pulling back the lengthy fabric and showing the large children's slide hidden beneath it. He demonstrated the stunt himself, and turned to see Doug chomping at the bit to follow. Doug jumped on the slide and proceeded to slide down dozens of times just like a child! He would have gone on all day, but eventually, the crew got down to business and captured the notorious sequence. The film was a huge success, cementing Doug's place as the #1 Hollywood Hero. 

Doug plays with Mary aka Hams it up.

And another "didja know": the area of Los Angeles (Thousand Oaks) where Doug filmed a lot of the Sherwood Forest sequences for Robin Hood was named for the production. After the film wrapped, the legend continued: Potrero Lake became Sherwood Lake and the nearby park became Maid Marian Park. Golfers still enjoy swinging their clubs at Sherwood Country Club to this day, which would make an athlete like Doug pretty happy. 


... The Monster had bridge-work?

The process of turning Boris Karloff into the undead muse of Dr. Frankenstein was not easy. Many make-up tests had to be performed, undone, recreated, reapplied, etc. Finally, the magic of cinema's best-remembered villain came to life,  thanks to make-up artist Jack Pierce. A flattened head, heavily-lidded and deadened eyes, metal clamps, elongated limbs, and the staggering, baby-like movements of Boris's physicality birthed a killer to be both feared and pitied (right). There was one last touch that Boris added to give his horrific anti-hero a bit more ghoulishness. See, Boris had a dental bridge on the right side of his mouth. He offered to remove it during filming to give his creature a sunken cheek. This enhanced his already emaciated and cadaverous appearance. It was a small decision that completed the sickly pallor and fearsomeness now so famous in movie history. Another note on Boris's experience as the monster: during the length of filming the epic, Boris worked incredibly long hours, often between 15-16 a day. Having to arrive early for the make-up application, then to sit, work, and sweat in the cosmetics all day, was a tough feat for even the strongest guy, particularly with the sadistic James Whale as director. Whale at one point had Boris carry co-star Colin Clive up a hill to the soon-burning windmill, which resulted in the chronic back-pain Boris was to suffer the rest of his life. All of the torture turned out to be worth it... but it also instigated Boris's interest in forming the Screen Actors Guild! 

Boris arrives at 4am to get "pretty" ugly. Jack Pierce enhances

his sunken cheek to the left.

And another "didja know": Boris was made up in room #5 of Universal Studios for his work on Frankenstein and many future films. It was known as "The Bugaboudoir" because of its eerie cinematic connotations-- Lon Chaney had applied his make-up for The Phantom of the Opera here, and Conrad Veidt had used the room during The Man Who Laughs, as did Bela Lugosi during Dracula.


... Movie Stars were sticky?

People have often wondered how it was that photographers like Cecil Beaton, Clarence SInclair Bull, and George Hurrell were able to create such glowing, erotic, and ethereal portraits of the studio era's favorite celebrities. Skin that glowed, eyes that shined... Never an error, not a flaw. No wonder celebs were so envied! These stars were unreal! However, these images were just as re-touched as today's air-brushed, photo-shopped creations. While George Hurrell, for example, used his own specific type of panchromatic film and a particular style of lighting technique (including the new "bounce" light scheme) to create the heavenly and alluring atmospheres he's so known for, he also had to go back over his prints with a fine-tooth-comb to root out any lines or imperfections. James Sharp, for example, spent six hours retouching George's portrait of Joan Crawford for Laughing Sinners (left). Another theory has been postulated that George actually used another trick to give his stars a little extra sheen: vaseline. Allegedly, he had them rub it on their skin to give them that extra special effect of being lit-from within. So, either these folks were radio-active, or indeed there was a store-bought, gooey substance reflecting the camera's lights off them. Ironically, George favored very little make-up on his stars and shot them as bare as he could get them. Some say that George did indeed use vaseline, to enhance Jean Harlow's eyes for example; others say that this is just a silly rumor and that all of George's genius lied in his lighting and visual-editing. Hell, I believe the former. No one's skin does that on its own!


... Tod Browning liked ducks?

Well, he did. At least that's how it looks. Remember that classic final scene in Freaks when villainess Olga Baclanova, is given her due? After taunting and manipulating "midget" Harry Earles and the other members of the circus troupe-- including siamese twins and pin-heads-- Olga is rewarded for her treason by being attacked and mutilated into... a duck. Lying in a pit of dirt, squawking and flapping her arms, one is left uncertain whether to laugh, cry, or scream (right). As with most Browning epics, the question "What the Hell am I watching?" flits through the brain. Where Browning got his ideas and how he chose to implement them has always been a point of curiosity and fascination for his fans. This instance could be hailed as creative and macabre genius or taken as awkward absurdity. Of course, the uneasy feeling that the audience leaves with is always the point. There was only one actor who could pull off such a feathered performance and still hold the audience's sympathy... and in fact, Lon Chaney did wear the same duck suit featured in Freaks in a scene that was cut from his earlier collaboration with Tod, West of Zanzibar. That's right: Phantom, Cripple, Hunchback, Duck. Lon was Tod's dream actor, and though they were known to butt heads every now and then,  Tod enjoyed crafting particularly outrageous characters around Lon, simply because he knew that the 1000-faced man could pull it off. Hence, Tod would build the character first and the script later. After Lon passed away in 1930, Tod was left without his muse... but he still had the duck suit. Well, he found a use for it. It is interesting that one of Tod's only major, classic masterpieces without his favorite actor still had a touch of Lon in it. Birds of a feather...