HISTORY LESSON: Man Enough? Part 2 - The Studio Era

Continued from Part 1 - Silents

William Powell represents the depression-era man in My Man Godfrey,
a film that showcased the struggle of masculinity through the dark age 
and, finally, his triumph: mind over matter, always with comedy.

... And then, the storm came. As the silent era dissipated like yesterday’s old dreams, the talkie revolution stepped in. Simultaneously, the Great Depression would hit. America would feel the full effects of both phenomena, but not immediately. Life continued on clumsily in the ignorance that tragedy could be averted while the movies tried to learn to speak. It would take man awhile to notice the desperation of the concurrent financial disaster, just as the cinematic medium used the period for experimentation, slowly trying to re-establish what exactly it was doing. As men, breadwinners, and former tough guys, started getting laid off, the male ego took a real blow. The movies valiantly saved the day, becoming one of the only successful businesses during this period. Why? They gave guys their guts back. The male archetype on film hollered, screamed, and took no prisoners. The early ‘30s were ruled by cavemen. With a finger on the slowing pulse of manhood, the leading men started to holler at the world and beat their chests, and the movies really started to scream...

The thirties introduced men with equal parts spit and polish, glamour and grit. They were dapper-- to counteract the cloud of poverty-- and dangerous-- to compensate for the national feeling of powerlessness. The Gangster took shape, introducing the era's only comprehensible form of the prosperous male: the criminal. If you couldn’t make an honest buck, you could make millions of them dishonestly. Crime was the only thing that paid. The world that slapped the populace in the face was, therefore, was about to get bitch-slapped right back. James Cagney (left in The Public Enemy) made his fierce entry into the medium alongside George Raft and Edward G. Robinson, birthing the contemporary embodiment of the American Dream turned Nightmare, while somehow inspiring hope. Mirroring the growing public desperation, these ultimate underdogs got scrappy. They would lie, cheat, or steal to get ahead, and somehow beat their own bad rap by getting “badder.” 

Iconic films like Angels with Dirty Faces and Little Caesar produced a new, unlikely hero. Suddenly, audiences were sympathizing with the bad guy, who indeed was (at least initially) morally irredeemable. These "gents" were not your token, attractive guys either. Robertson’s bull-dog face only made him fill the shoes more ably of his internally ugly characters. Paul Muni as the original Scarface used cosmetics and body padding to make himself look absolutely Cro-Magnon in the role (right). These were the internal beasts coming out to play who, in a time of deprivation, took any and everything they wanted on behalf of their viewers, who had little more than their theater tickets to give them solace. By screwing the system that screwed them and defying the law with every breath, these guys filled their pockets with cash, dressed to the nines, and bathed in champagne. 

George Brent manhandles Barbara Stanwyck's "tramp"
in The Purchase Price.

They also had any woman they wanted-- those who wouldn’t have given them the time of day under normal circumstances. Money bought happiness. These “dames,” who were only looking for the highest bidder, were purchased like posh gold watches and discarded instead of rewound when they became outdated. It was about building from the ground up, after all. You have to drop the dead weight on the way to better things. As each gangster ascended, he dropped the “sluts” he had picked up along the way as soon as a better one came along. Mobsters weren’t into emotional investment. They wanted the best-- now. They also made certain to show a woman who was boss. Who can forget Cagney pushing that grapefruit into Mae Clarke’s face? The message was clear, “Keep your mouth shut and your legs spread.” This pumped up the ego while humiliated men fell in stature down the familial food chain, their wives taking on jobs to help out the family finances. It reestablished their position as the patriarch.

Edward G. Robinson as "Little Caesar."

Why did the public respond so heartily to these guys? Aside from the obvious cathartic release for men who could watch and live vicariously, the acting and writing of the time was so superb that the villains were given astounding humanity, however corrupted. These men were complicated. As lascivious as they may have been, audiences also saw the little boys within them-- their "holy" spirits may have been broken after living in the gutter, but the stars were still in their eyes. They also lived in constant fear, however well hidden behind their tough guy facades. Constantly hunted by the feds or competing thugs, there was a big, red target on each of their backs. An enemy could take them out at any minute, even when they were simply doing all they could to survive. Nothing in life is free, and while they may have left a trail of blood behind them, they bore their own scars and took their own hits. It’s a dog eat dog life... The interesting and scandalous layers of their personas, peppered in the subtext of the writing, also enriched their stories. Robinson’s homoerotic friendship with Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. in Little Caesar or Paul Muni’s uncomfortable and possessive relationship with his sister (Ann Dvorak ) in Scarface illuminated the multiple cracks in the impenetrable male facade. They were fascinating, dark, disturbed, and disturbingly real.

Clark Gable's "Babe Stewart" checks
something out at the library- Carole
Lombard- representing a healthy,
male, sexual appetite and the
norm of objectification.

Clark Gable was also a hoodlum and racketeer, strong arming Norma Shearer in A Free Soul and scheming his way to the top in San Francisco or China Seas. He too was portrayed as a rough and tumble guy whose good fortune was his good looks. His cocky manner generally presented itself with more suavity than his super-mafia brothers. He was a disrespectful, respectable self-made man. He played a little dirty, but he often found absolution in the end, generally in the arms of a woman, whom he had cleaned himself up to properly protect. His masculinity was therefore defined both by his abilities to be a provider but also to "fly right." He acted a bit as the bridge between the depression’s beginning and its end, his characters always being a bit edgy and unattainable but still able to outgrow their selfishness to settle down in a modern way with an equally broken but secretly angelic woman. By the end of the roaring gangster era, he maintained his macho yet became more innately decent. Even "Rhett Butler" became a family man. Still, whether playing house with Myrna Loy in Wife vs. Secretary or bad guy made good in Hold Your Man opposite Jean Harlow or No Man of Her Own opposite Carole Lombard, he showcased a man whose hands were dirty but at heart was a well-hidden, good guy. His great victory was triumphing over his circumstances and shedding his bad boy skin to become a real man. His “manliness” and his eventual passion and responsibility for his chosen woman made him catnip to the ladies as well.

Man's man Bogie roughs up the effeminate Peter Lorre,
and puts the "bitch" in his place in The Maltese
Falcon.

Of course, there were different varieties of men in this period. Muni and Spencer Tracy were the symbolic martyrs of fallen men, churning out socially conscious pictures like I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang or Fury. Tracy's dominance in this particular field would continue throughout his career, portraying compelling figures battling changing sociopolitical tides. He remains a master in the craft, and his version of the American male would transcend and mature with the ever-changing world. Errol Flynn and Tyrone Power were the caution-be-damned, overgrown boy heroes (in tights) who maintained our optimism in the face of danger. Their spirits sharpened our belief systems and our personal quest for poetic justice, "with a little sex thrown in." Bogie led the noir revolution, establishing a man with his own definitions of morality and right and wrong. He was a bad guy who was a good guy, solving crimes with unnecessary roughness and street smarts. He also maintained his manhood by defeating the femme fatale, drawing a hard line between the sexual and the romantic. He saw to it that the man wore the pants and equally took it upon himself to take down the villain. His "Gal Friday," in contrast to the sexy succubus trying to drain him of his power, was protected purely because of her submission, even as she also took on harder edges like Lauren Bacall. The harsh world that had changed him had to accept him, warts and all, and this was exemplified by this attentive and never deterred Gal Friday. His damaged goods but wizened hero helped pave the way to fiscal and social “normalcy” as the depression eased up. However, the noir shadows he brought along with him would always indicate the ghosts of our past. He was the face of an aged America.

Captain America, Gary Cooper, in The Pride
of the Yankees, the morale boosting war-
time film that promoted wholesome
values through the great national
pastime of baseball.

There too were more romantic moral compasses, like James Stewart, Henry Fonda, or Gary Cooper, whose messages of righteousness started to increasingly transcend the domestic sphere and get political, particularly as the thirties became the forties. Their all-American heroes, by promoting “all-American ideals,” portrayed the prototypical male as one bound by duty, country, and integrity. Films like Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Ox-Bow Incident, etc, presented fighters for truth, justice, and the American way, even when the hero was a humble guy who bore less muscle than the formerly prosperous, gun-toting gangster. The interesting William Powell provided the ideal modern husband, as the often half-drunk but always charming "Nick Charles" of The Thin Man series. He solved crime and made love to his wife, triumphing over the horror of life by accepting it as the greatest gag ever played-- not to be taken seriously. In essence, he laughed in the face of danger. As WWII gained steam and our country’s participation in it became inevitable (after the Pearl Harbor horror), redefining America as something worth saving became the dominant concern. We needed unsung heroes to finally be heard. Their message-- that we were all going to be all right-- was vital to morale as our villains switched masks from the government, the Man, or the tax-man to the foreigner.

War heroes fighting for freedom, women, and country, filled theaters as men (including some of our stars) took to the skies and propaganda took wing. Mr. America himself led the way. John Wayne (right) had long been wearing the badge and toting the pistol of the unofficial Sheriff of the United States. His characters became increasingly rugged and uncompromising in their unbreakable defense of liberty. His cowboys and soldiers, whether at their most pure-hearted in his early career (Stagecoach, Flying Tigers) or bitter toward his later career (The Searchers, The Green Berets) were symptomatic of man’s need to hold onto his own patch of earth, fighting for it to the teeth. As the cowboy, he was more of a drifter, and a somewhat Godless one at that. His religion, always, was freedom. As the soldier, this religion became wider in scope-- from the open plain to the entirety of the country-- as he guided men abroad, defending his personal definition of human rights and taking down whatever foreigner was threatening his sense of safety. Increasingly politically incorrect and thick-skinned as the years progressed, he was the Uncle Sam holding onto ideals that remain cemented in our culture. He made the United States feel safe to contemporary audiences. His unmannerly, unforgiving and, by modern standards, skewed perception of reality, was consistently saved by the palpable sadness he carried within him, again creating for men a man with a hidden depth. Buried emotions-- the refusal to be interpreted as a “sissy”-- were the glue that held America together. This submergence may harden the man, but it saved his brothers. So, the gangster became the soldier, still pointing a gun, the ultimate symbol of masculine power, to create and maintain the intimidating fortress of the United States. 

Jimmy Stewart made a career representing and fighting for the little guy. An
average looking and awkward sounding fellow, he was an underdog who
somehow made a home for himself as a bona fide leading man. The
messages in his films-- fighting passionately for truth and mankind
in general-- left people with the pleasing sensation that integrity
would win out in the end, no matter the circumstances.

Thanks in part to these films, America would entertain this necessarily self-centered focus for some time. Men were never as large as they were in the Studio Era. While the United States quaked under the pressures of the economy and then the second World War, we created larger than life heroes to bear the brunt of our desperation and rescue us from Hell on earth. Our men got dirtier, a little nastier, but they too became a little more authentic. There was truth-telling going on beneath the studio finessed perfection. While Hollywood was already veering toward its reliance on handsome faces, the cracks and flaws of man were becoming more visible, all of their howling, shooting, and manhandling covering up the paranoia they experienced at the loss of their livelihood and therefore their manhood. The variations of these different male prototypes has solidified them in history as the ultimate personality stars. None will ever be as famous as these guys, nor so important to upholding the mirage of Americana. However, as times changed, and as new threats appeared in the apple blossom gardens of American Eden-- the brief quiet following the war-- new movies with new heroes would lead us into another chapter. The biggest threat to man's sacrosanct structuring and exhibiting of the domestic bliss of the nuclear family would be one Hell of an atomic bomb: the "method" actor.

To Be Continued in the Final Chapter-- Method to the Modern

MENTAL MONTAGE: Toupee of the Day to ya'!

Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis both donned fancy wigs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Didja Know: Part III

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

 ... "virgin" is a dirty word?

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


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

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

HISTORY LESSON: Movie Stars and the Mob

Hollywood's favorite Gangster: James Cagney

There is something intoxicating about the element of danger, isn't there? All of our favorite actors possess it. Who is Brando without it? For that matter, who is Davis without it? Just as different celebrities hypnotize us through their various characters, so too were they mesmerized by a certain breed of the male animal that was even more intoxicating than themselves-- the gangster. Brutal, violent, merciless, not to mention unlawful, the birth of the thug came with the death of alcohol. In protecting human beings by taking away their booze, prohibition ironically unearthed an even more foul, yet even more tempting, villain. Iconically remembered with Tommy guns, cigars, and sometimes baseball bats (thanks to Robert De Niro's turn in The Untouchables), these tough guys emerged from a world of hard knocks and ruthlessness with no other agenda than to make a buck off other men's weaknesses. Businessmen and bruisers, they became rich and powerful through drugs, gambling, white slavery... You name it. Their legacy is a strange and dark mutation of the American dream. Living as the Royalty of the Underworld, it wasn't long before live villains started rubbing elbows with screen heroes. Elbows... and then some.

Why do good girls always want the bad boys? You'd think a lady would know to run far and fast when a man with a more-than-disreputable reputation came into view, yet the opposite effect more popularly occurs. Even some of our most beloved starlets have been hoodwinked by the charms of a devious gangster. Be it the allure of being that close to danger, the attraction of power, the money and spoils the "hood" is able to provide (however his means of obtaining them), certain women have temporarily muted their common sense for a forbidden adrenaline rush. One such lady was Lucille Ball (looking very much the gangster's moll in her role for Dance Girl Dance, left). As a fourteen year-old youngster, her first major boyfriend was a local hood named Johnny DeVita, whose resume included "chauffeuring" for his sketchy father-- aka transporting whiskey. Johnny was tough, which Lucille found a turn-on, and the fact that he carried a gun around made her even more enamored. However, not long after his dad was shot and killed, Johnny would find himself in Jail for his own transgressions. Lucy's taste didn't change much when she became a struggling model in NY. Working for Hattie Carnegie, she often came across gang members looking for good-looking dames to show a swell time. Lucy struck up friendships with many of these fellows, which helped her get a free meal or two, not to mention a false sense of protection. After a neighborhood shootout, she earned the nickname "two-gun." Just why remains a mystery.

Another tough guy Lucy would date and befriend was George Raft. Raft (right) had a lot of mobster ties dating all the way back to his boyhood. He had no ambitions to rise in the ranks of that type of "business," but he ingratiated himself to a number of wise guys who would later call on him for favors when he became a movie star. Mae West would recall meeting Raft for the first time when he was a mere chauffeur for Owney Madden. They had a brief fling, which left Mae reminiscing in later years that George was "all man." Mae, like Lucy, had a taste for the bad boys, but was too smart a business woman to get involved too deeply with them. Emotions remained out of the equation. Strangely, she tried to coerce Raft into appearing in her latest stage production, "Sex," but George had no ambitions toward being an actor either. He had no ambitions at all it seemed, other than to just live as comfortably as possible. It was thus a shock to Mae when, later, George made it to Hollywood before she did and secured a role for her in what would be her film debut: Night After Night. It was a welcome reunion. Despite this, Raft was known by some as hot-tempered and threatening. He still carried around a gun, cozied up to thugs, and had no qualms about slapping someone around. He would even testify on behalf of Bugsy Siegel when the latter was brought up on bookmaking charges. Yet, George seemed to have a soft spot for certain ladies. In addition to Mae, he was helpful to Lucy when he loaned her the money to rent her first bungalow in Hollywood. It was a touching move, for it allowed her to move her entire family from Jamestown to L.A. It would take her more than six years to pay him back, but her pal said that there was no rush.

Pat DiCicco also had mob connections. Publicly an acting agent, privately he was good friends with the likes of Lucky Luciano. Luckily, whatever fling Lucy Ball had with Pat was brief, but Carole Landis was too suckered by his deceptive charms. Initially turned on by his confidence and swagger, she soon found that her Prince Charming had some major rage issues. Their affair would quickly come to an end after a mysterious hospital visit: she was reported to be undergoing cosmetic surgery on her nose, though it is commonly believed that she was repairing the physical damage of a brutal beating. The girl was perfect, after all; she didn't need plastic surgery. Whatever the source of her visit, it marked the end of their relationship. Most notoriously, it was comedienne Thelma Todd who was all too seriously involved with Pat. The two were married in the 1930s (see newlyweds left). Like the others, Thelma fell for what she mistook as Pat's strength, only to find herself constantly on the receiving end of his anger and jealousy. A common error, most women sought these men in hopes of finding protection but put themselves in the line of fire instead... literally. As their marriage was ending, Pat introduced Thelma to Lucky Luciano aka Charles Lucifer, and the two began their own affair. But, as Lucky put the pressure on Thelma to give him space in her Sidewalk Cafe to use as a gambling center, Thelma adamantly refused. Consequently, she was found dead in her garage on December 16, 1935. Though Lucky was certainly the mastermind behind her "accidental" demise, many believed Pat too played an intricate part in ending his ex-wife's life. Since all of Tinsel Town knew this, it makes it strange that any other woman would give Pat a second glance, but in addition to winning over Lucy and Carole, Pat too would tac Joan Blondell, Gloria Vanderbilt, Virginia Bruce, and Elizabeth Taylor onto his roster.

Another infamous Hollywood death that has been tied to in some respect to gang warfare is that of The Black Dahlia, Elizabeth Short. Though many would attest that the macabre nature of her death and the precision with which she was brutally sawed in half suggested the work of a calculating psychopath or serial killer, there were also clues attached to her body that pointed to none other than Bugsy Siegel (right). One theory postulates that newspaper magnate Norman Chandler paid Siegel, along with the aid of a couple of other thugs and a doctor, to kill Bettie after she became pregnant with Norman's child. He feared the threat of a scandal and the tarnishing of his illustrious family's name. If so, this would explain the brutality with which Bettie was beaten across the head and face-- the sadistic Bugsy had a penchant for "pistol whipping." Because her uterus was removed, this too lends to the speculation that her murder was used to cover up an abortion/pregnancy. Also, her body was dumped not far from Bugsy foe Jack Dragna's house, and-- something the police did not let the press in on-- a "D" was carved into her skin, which many attribute to an antagonistic Sicilian "Eff you" from Bugsy to Dragna. With Bugsy's schedule, flying back and forth non-stop while finalizing his precious Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas, it is possible that he was present to have just enough time to take part in the murder and, knowing him, enjoy it.

Whether or not he did play a role in Bettie's end, Bugsy had a very prominent role in Hollywood-- with both the women and the men. Whatever his sickening and reprehensible behavior in fact, he was able to at least concoct enough fiction to make him fascinating to all of the glitterati. He could be seen on the town at various shindigs, rubbing elbows with Clark Gable and Gary Cooper-- and George Raft, of course. Naturally, the man known as the handsomest thug too partnered up with several actresses, including Marie McDonald and Wendy Barrie. He was also in tight with Jean Harlow's abysmal step-father, Marino Bello, which put him in contact with Jean as well. (Harlow, of course, is also rumored to have had a relationship with Abner "Longie" Zwillman, who helped her secure her first acting contract. He too was said to carry around a locket containing hair from her... uh... nether-regions). Whether these actors truly liked Bugsy or merely tolerated him out of fear is uncertain. One would at least hope that they had their guards up. Most notoriously, Bugsy had a violent and torrential relationship with wannabe actress Virginia "Sugar" Hill (left), who was supposedly just as venomous and abusive as her lover. It would be at Virginia's home in Beverly Hills, 810 N. Linden Drive, where Bugsy would finally meet his maker and face the music for all of his worldly crimes. He was shot clean through the eye. His murder was believed to be payback for all of the money he owed his Flamingo investors.

But all of these names were floating around Hollywood for a reason. The Mob was moving West-- away from the Metropolises of New York and Chicago-- to do big business in show business. Names like Siegel, Luciano, Mickey Cohen, Meyer Lansky, and Frank Nitti are attached to Movieland for very specific reasons. One is now known as "The Great Hollywood Shakedown." Two lesser known names involved are those most responsible for what was to become an enormous extortion racket- Willie Bioff (right) and George Brown. Their scheme started in Chicago, where after dabbling in prostitution, they set their sights on the Stagehands Union. Step one, membership. The slogan was simple: join us you little, underpaid children... or be beaten within an inch of your life. Step Two, after Increasing dues, B&B threatened theater owners with "strikes" if they didn't pay up monthly fees for the use of the union members. Theater owners Sam Katz and Barney Balaban were some of the first hit with the new, raw deal. To keep their theaters running, they played the game, and business continued smoothly. Frank Nitti, Al Capone's heir, soon partnered up (or rather took over), and the venture moved West. Capone had already laid the ground work, and Nitti wanted to finish the job. With the corrupt Buron Fitts running things as the District Attorney in Los Angeles, a complete goon-takeover wouldn't be difficult.

Next, New York's Lucky Luciano (left) was brought into the loop in a temporary or at least feigned truce, and the two branches would work together to take over Tinsel Town. Adding the projectionists' unions and IATSE to the scheme, they could return to men like Balaban, now in Hollywood running Paramount, and demand huge payments to keep their theaters running and their studios filming. The film-businessmen would be forced to pay or suffer the consequences: the loss of their livelihoods or worse, the loss of their lives. All of the major studios were hit: Paramount, Warners, Twentieth-Century, MGM... Game, Set, Match. In a way, it worked for everyone. Under mob control, the studios ran more efficiently than ever, as long as they payed up, and moguls actually saved money paying the bad guys instead of paying the Unions directly. Needless to say, the union members were the ones getting truly and financially screwed. As hot-shot gang members became commonplace at Hollywood parties, corruption whipped into full swing. Producer Joe Schenck even got in on the action via a Dupont Film monopoly, for which he paid ol' Bioff off with a Ranch. The feds caught up with him, however, ironically from a tip from Montgomery Clift, then the SAG President, whose informants alerted the IRS to the fishy financial goings-on. Schenck served five years in prison as a result. By the end of the '40s, with the cat out of the bag, the whole troupe of accomplices was led into court both for participation in the extortion plot and tax evasion. Most would get off due to their connections, but some did not fare as well, including Nitti, who blew his own brains out when the prospect of facing jail time became too daunting. The only one who escaped completely was Lucky, who (after killing Thelma Todd), had left the whole racket, or rather was kicked out by his own partners, to return to New York. He was later deported back to his native Sicily where he would die in 1962 at the ripe old age of 69. One hopes his soul did not fare as well.

Frank Sinatra (right) was the man most notoriously associated with the Mafia in the latter days of Hollywood's golden age. It is common knowledge by now that it was through Old Blue Eyes's influence and mob connections that the Kennedys were able to buy their way into the White House. Of course, after they got what they wanted, the Prez quickly disappeared from Frank's life so that his pristine public image wouldn't be maligned. Frank was... ticked. (There are continuing theories that many members of the mafia, who had connections with the Kennedy family, were outraged by the political family's inability to "do business" properly. While many in America were shocked when JFK was shot dead, those in the underworld were not). Frank often overcompensated for his diminutive stature by surrounding himself by powerful people. His big voice and even bigger ego were all the guy needed, but his need to appear tough and throw his weight around was enhanced by his relationships with gangsters. Sam Giancana and Mickey Cohen were co-owners of Frank's Cal Neva Lodge. Skinny D'Amato was the manager. Frank was also throughout his life associated with Joe and Rocco Fischetti and John Formosa. While this made him somewhat of a moral and political threat, it equally boosted his fan appeal and public image. His male fans particularly were more intrigued when they learned that little Frankie was more than just a singing heartthrob for the ladies. He was a bad-ass mother-f*cker! Say what you will, no one messed with Frank. Well, almost. Frank got a little miffed at Lucille's beloved Desi Arnaz after he started producing "The Untouchables." He felt it was insulting to both Italians and "his friends." Yet, even after he tried to persuade his Cuban comrade to pull the plug, Desi sweet-talked him out of his anger. As Frank himself would say, "I just can't stay mad at the guy."

Edward G. Robinson takes a bullet and makes a hit in Little Caesar.

"The Untouchables" turned out to be a huge hit for Desilu Studios, and one of many Hollywood products that contributed to our understanding of gang warfare. The show would make Robert Stack a star, though his role was that of Det. Eliot Ness (a character reprised by Kevin Kostner in the film version). The show was, however, more about the triumph of good over evil, whereas earlier Hollywood films made in the gangster infiltration hey-day-- specifically those produced during the pre-code era-- had a tendency to glorify the thugs, the goons, and the hoods. It's funny that, aside from Sinatra and Raft, some of the actors most famous for playing these guys were very far from their screen selves. Edward G. Robinson, the infamous pug-faced actor who rose to fame in Little Caesar, was in life an educated aesthete who collected fine art, had a wide knowledge of music and culture, and could speak seven languages fluently. And Cagney, the mad hero of Public Enemy and White Heat? His portrayals of gangsters were convincing, because he observed them while growing up in the Lower East Side of NY. But, while he studied them, he did not assimilate, despite the fact that many of his friends did. He put his passions and angst into his art, becoming a song and dance man instead. His true self would come to the forefront in Yankee Doodle Dandy. Though admitted facades that could never possess the brutality of the real truth, the classic reel tales of booze, violence, and "bidness," are still offers we can't refuse. I guess the flesh and blood (and I do mean blood) realities were just as enticing for some celebs, though dancing with the Devil too often left then burned.