MENTAL MONTAGE: The Sincerest Form of Flattery

Marlene, as an extreme personality- here in Blonde Venus-- 

was practically begging to be caricatured.

The struggle for fame and celebrity in Hollywood is a continual one. Even when someone has a few films under his belt and has a somewhat familiar face, the work that goes into maintaining his star status and position is more difficult than the public can ever imagine. Therefore, it naturally follows that no celeb is ever comfortable on his pedestal, which at any moment may topple. If he takes a break to blink, his moment may be over forever. From the outside, it looks easy, but to the one swimming upstream, it is impossible to ever utter the words, "I made it!" There is one tell-tale sign, however, to intimate that one has evolved past the cluster of "working actors" to the realm of bona fide "star," or perhaps even to the land of "legend." If you're popular enough to be mocked, heavily referenced, or flat-out imitated, you may have finally surmounted the curve. Today's stars can look forward to a lambast on "SNL" or "South Park," but before the days of television, there were only movies. Here are some stars who were big enough to be [mocked] in pictures.

The most obvious example is the hilarious haranguing of this month's muse, Marlene Dietrich, by one of the Queens of Comedy, Madeline Kahn, in Blazing Saddles (left). Mel Brooks's lampoon of the Western genre was derived from many classic films, including Dodge City, but the reference to Destry Rides Again never becomes more obvious than when Madeline takes the stage as Lili Von Schtupp. "Lili," one assumes, is a reference to one of Marlene's classic songs, "Lili Marleen" and "Schtupp" to... well, that's one Yiddish word everyone understands, I think. Madeline's every mannerism as Lili is clearly taken from the assertively sexual "Frenchy" that Marlene portrayed in Destry, and Madeline's impression of Marlene's accented speech is too humorously exaggerated and aped: "Oh, a wed wose..." Nothing is so spectacular as her rendition of the original song, "I'm So Tired." Her comedic expertise makes the performance more than a hammy imitation, it is genius. With Gene Wilder's so-quick-you'll-miss-it gun draw and Cleavon Little's confident and sly portrayal of the west's first black sheriff, there are few moments for one to draw breaths between laughs during the film, but it is Madeline's Marlene that takes the cake. As Marlene was still alive when the film was released, one wonders at her reaction, if she even saw it. Another screen beauty, Hedy Lamarr, gets a "shout out" as well, since Harvey Korman's character is named "Hedley Lamar." However, Hedy was not flattered, and sued Mel Brooks for what she considered to be the gross use of her name.

Another great parody comes via Carole Lombard in The Princess Comes Across. This screwball comedy is a mish-mash of mystery, murder, and maritime love. Carole portrays actress wannabe Wanda Nash who, in order to conceal her identity, pretends to be a Swedish princess (Olga) on her cruise to America, resulting in a lengthy, pitch-perfect send up of none other than Greta Garbo. From the moment Carole appears as Olga, beautiful, glamorous, and aloof, there is no question as to whom she is imitating. Her distant, irritated poise and uber-European accent-- "Dis is verry annoying..."-- draws an instant comparison to the eternal, gorgeous hermit who only wanted to "be alone." Of course, Carole is at her best when the mask comes off and her abrupt Brooklyn character has time to rant and fuss about the stress of maintaining her hidden identity and dealing with all those dead bodies that keep piling up on deck. A romance too ensues between Olga/Wanda and bandleader King Mantell, portrayed by a constant Carole co-star, (there's an alliteration for ya'), Fred MacMurray. Greta's very anti-social, dramatic, enigmatic, and slightly egotistical persona made her an easy person to duplicate, but through Carole's comedic expertise the likeness is exquisite (see right). With that special Carole stamp, we have a character who is part elegant and part kooky. For one great Hollywood screen goddess to portray another is superb, and the divide between the easy-going, deviant manner of Carole versus the otherworldy iciness of Garbo is both clear and divine.

In the film Monkey Business, Groucho, Chico, Zeppo, and Harpo Marx all used their singing skills and slight physical resemblance to Maurice Chevalier to comic effect. On yet another seafaring voyage, the four brothers are stow-aways (see left) who cause the usual amount of Marxian chaos and girl-chasing on their way to America. Groucho woos Thelma Todd, Zeppo befriends a pretty passenger, and Harpo and Chico step in as the vessel's very under-qualified barbers, all while evading capture and the anger of one very miffed gangster. After they make it across the Atlantic, they are left in a quandary: without passports, they will  be unable to disembark. Luckily, they swipe an ID from a passenger who coincidentally happens to be the Maurice Chevalier. One by one, they take turns offering the passport to the authorities, who of course doubt their identity. Forced to prove themselves as the French crooner and Lothario, they each sing the Chevalier classic, "You Brought a New Kind of Love to Me," only to be denied access to American soil for their very poor impersonations. Ironically, the deliberately mute Harpo comes closest to victory, as he lip syncs the verses to a recording strapped on his back, but a slight malfunction botches his liberation as well. However, as in all things Marx, all's well that ends crazily, and hats off to Maurice for the honorary mention.

A very direct homage was paid to everyone's favorite ghoul, Boris Karloff (right), as well. "Arsenic and Old Lace" was a play penned by Joseph Kesselring in the early '40s. The plot revolved around two lovable old ladies who perform the benevolent service of murdering old, lonely men past their prime-- somewhat akin to the way the Eskimos set their elder community members adrift, or so I've heard. Their plot is discovered by their nephew, Mortimer, who is in the midst of possible matrimony. As if the shock of blood on his sweet aunties' hands isn't enough, he too has to combat an uncle who thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt, and his brother Jonathan, another murdering criminal, who returns home with a new face to hide his identity. Unfortunately, the doctor who performed the plastic surgery was intoxicated during the operation, and Jonathan came out looking like... Boris Karloff. Of all the horrifying faces to be trapped with! Audiences totally responded to the joke, which obviously runs throughout the entire play. Of course, the real clincher was that Boris Karloff was playing the role of Jonathan himself! Sadly, for various contractual reasons, Boris was unable to participate in the film version of 1944, which starred Cary Grant as Mortimer and the capable Raymond Massey stepping in as the facially mutated Jonathan. Since the play and the film made Boris even more immortal than he already was, I suppose he had the last laugh.

Sometimes, in the quest for stardom, one starlet makes it over another by a hair. This was definitely the case with Veronica Lake, whose iconic 'do (left) made her a sensation in her own day and keeps her a legend in ours. Ronni's hair was her "thing," just like Marlene was known for her gams and Jimmy Durante was known for his schnoz. Articles were written about her mop's hygienic upkeep and daily grooming regimen, public service announcements for safety were made with her hair used as a prop, and countless jokes were made at her expense. Possessing a good sense of humor, Ronni took the jests in kind. After all, they only helped to boost her appeal. If it took her mane to keep her in the mainstream, then so be it. Yet another reference to her famous tresses was made in Billy Wilder's first directorial effort, The Major and the Minor. Ginger Rogers, in yet another case of hidden identity, runs into trouble when she cannot afford an adult train ticket, which causes her to pose as an adolescent for cheaper fare. Unfortunately, she gets mixed up with, and sexually attracted to, fellow traveler Ray Milland while in disguise and winds up at his military academy still portraying a precocious pre-teen. Forced to attend a junior dance, she encounters a room full of young women who "all think they're Veronica Lake": cue camera pan to a row of seated girls with their faces half-covered in hair. It is a priceless guffaw that is typical of Wilder's comedies. Not only was it a fantastic gag at the time, but this small, hilarious reference also places it firmly in its timeline when modern viewers watch it today.

Speaking of sexpots... Marilyn Monroe topped them all (right). Her star power would be exemplified ad nauseum during her life, as it continues to be in her death, but interestingly it too was brought to life via Jack Lemmon. The two had worked together in the film Some Like It Hot, and while the consummately professional Jack was a little put off by Marilyn's at times erratic behavior, he could not deny her inexplicable charisma and warmth, which in the end gave him a soft spot for her. A year later, now as one of Billy Wilder's favorite actors, Jack was given the leading role in The Apartment opposite Shirley MacLaine. Acclaimed for its comedy and sympathy, it in a way reunited Jack with his conflicted friend when one particular scene pays homage to Marilyn-- although, since Billy too worked with Marilyn, this was a way of professionally tipping his hat to her screen power despite their post-Hot feud. Early in the film, Jack's C.C. Baxter is called by work colleague Joe Dobisch (Ray Walston), who is in a frenzy, because he just picked up a girl and has nowhere to take her for a sexual rendezvous. Since Baxter's apartment has become the go-to for cheating spouses, Joe asks for the use of his digs. When Baxter begs off so he can rest, Joe becomes adamant. The girl, he insists, is exceptional: "She looks like Marilyn Monroe!" With that, how can Baxter refuse? He gives up his room so that his work superior can live out every man's fantasy-- or at least as close as a guy like him will ever get. "Marilyn" and "Monroe" were apparantly the secret passwords.

  

Marilyn co-operated in another public celeb kudos earlier in her career when she starred in How to Marry a Millionaire, however Lauren Bacall rightfully maintains the bulk of the credit. The movie, of course, is about three lovely but struggling young women (Lauren, Marilyn, and Betty Grable) who are Hell-bent and determined to marry well to rich men. In the film, Lauren befriends the elder but always gentlemanly William Powell, who resists her advances due to their May-December age gap, yet later decides to court her in earnest (see left). In doing so, the other two gals question Lauren's choice-- he is old after all. But, Lauren rebuffs their quips by making an example of all of the handsome older men in the world: "I've always liked older men. Look at Roosevelt, look at Churchill. Look at that old fellow what's-his-name in The African Queen. Absolutely crazy about him!" In this case, the crack wasn't just business, it was personal, for in real life Lauren was already married to Queen star Humphrey Bogart-- her senior by nearly 25 years. One imagines he found the cinematic joke hilarious and, of course, appreciated the extra publicity.

Lauren Bacall enjoys a day off with her "old man."

STAR OF THE MONTH: Cecil B. DeMille

Cecil B. DeMille- Director and Renaissance Man.

That's right, this time around I chose to feature a director. Not just any director-- the director. The name DeMille still has a powerful resonance and serves at times as the very definition of Hollywood itself. This makes perfect sense, being that ol' CB was one of the founding fathers of this luxurious place we know as La La Land. And trust me, luxury has everything to do with it.


While DeMille was an artist and craftsman, working behind the scenes in the original days of Hollywood-- back when orange groves and pepper trees lined the major through street of Prospect-- at heart he was a showman. In fact, he studied acting first, attending the same school at which his father-- a playwright-- had once taught: The American Academy of Dramatic Arts (ring any bells?). Taking the brains of his father, the passion of his mother, and the flamboyance of family friend David Belasco, young Cecil matured from a curious and ambitious youth into a vivacious and unstoppable entrepreneur. He took odd jobs in the theatre circuit-- writing plays, directing, producing, even acting-- all of which he could perform ably, but it wasn't until a partnership with Jesse L. Lasky and Sam Goldwyn brought him into the cinematic world that his life was forever altered-- and our world as well. His first directorial effort, The Squaw Man, made with the help of Oscar Apfel, is still historically cited as the first full-length feature film made in Hollywood.

Jesse L. Lasky, Adolph Zukor, Sam Goldfish (Goldwyn), Cecil and Albert 

Kaufman- Founding fathers of Famous Players-Lasky.

The match was struck, and the fire in DeMille was ignited. He would work without even stopping for breath from 1914-1959. Forty-five years worth of dedication, drive, passion, and vigor would inevitably leave behind a legacy of unparalleled celluloid glory. After his contemporaries, including hero D.W. Griffith, disappeared into obscurity, DeMille always marched on, his energy for his work kept alive by the devout love of his craft. As the times changed, DeMille may not have exactly changed his own style, but he allowed it to expand, pushing the envelope further and further each time with respect to his artistic capabilities and his aesthetic extravagances. He loved movies, and he watched them as much as he made them, keeping up with the latest directors, the latest techniques, and the newest innovations. Over time, he fell into the immaculate cliche he had contrived for himself, that of the egotistical mouthpiece of God. His epic religious features, meant to strike the fear of a higher power into his viewers, too allowed them to indulge unapologetically in their sensual sides. While every film preached a lesson of love, brotherhood, and humility before one's maker, it too presented a very thorny and enjoyable segue on the crooked way to righteousness.

The King of Kings- DeMille's piety. (H.B. Warner as Christ).

Herein we have the two DeMille's: the craftsman and the poet, the moral liberal and the political conservative, the lover and the fighter, the tactician and the showman. DeMille is either accused of being a slave-driving fascist-- marching around the set in his boots and riding breeches, followed everywhere by his chair boy, and shouting out brash commands through his megaphone-- or a dastardly seducer-- injecting his sexual, sinful, and exuberant films with a moral lesson simply to get them past the sensors. The truth is, both versions are true. "Indulgent" is, in fact, the best word with which to describe CB. His brimming intelligence yearned to ask every question, his passionate side sought to fulfill every pleasure, and his spiritual side hoped to do honor to the only being he was humble before, God himself. His silent films remain dangerous and inventive contributions to a quickly growing and expanding medium, and his sound pictures have found their place in hedonistic kitsch. But in either case, the one unifying factor is detail: the composition of every enchanting frame in every rich scene. DeMille produced vivid, living texture-- films his audiences could very nearly reach out and touch. It is this reason beyond any other that they last. Beyond the story, beyond the cheesy dialogue, beyond the special effects that still leave directors like Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese spellbound, is the painterly, fluid, lusciously dripping quality of each masterpiece. This is why DeMille is synonymous with "Classic."

The Affairs of Anatol: DeMille's hedonism. (Gloria Swanson, the woman

he made a star, and Wallace Reid).

As controversial as DeMille remains, his lasting imprint on cinema is justified. But his impression was left on more than the screen. Those who knew him in his life were struck by how this cinematic God could so seamlessly come back down to earth. Many personal accounts recall the tenderness with which he dealt with those he loved and the generosity he provided to those in need. After his father passed away in his youth, the adult CB would always provide for his mother and even his brother, Bill (who too was a director, though a less notorious one), and his wife and children-- oh, and his three mistresses, who were not lookers but were intellectually vibrant and integral to his life. When actors from the silent period witnessed their careers disappearing into the abyss of sound, Cecil always found them parts in his films. He and his wife, Constance, began many charities, particularly for children and women. He lavished friends with gifts, enjoyed his wealth while living simply, and lived each day with the ambition of sucking all the marrow he could out of life. This he did up until the end, when, in 1956, his determination to re-make and improve upon his original silent film, The Ten Commandments, nearly killed him. In fact, perhaps it did. But he succeeded, and his last directorial effort became the pinnacle success of his career, (though The King of Kings remained his proudest film).

 Samson and Delilah: the DeMille unity. 

(Directing Hedy Lamarr and Victor Mature).

We cannot imagine a Hollywood without DeMille, for he was and is Hollywood. He built it as if with his own two hands, and he made it something bigger, something greater, something grander. Cecil and cinema are inseparable, which is why he was the necessary ingredient in Billy Wilder's Hollywood masterpiece, Sunset Boulevard. His mere name carried the context needed to relay all that movies are, all that they endow, and all that they represent. While a director in memory, he was at heart an actor, putting on the greatest show of his life by being the untouchable, indefinable Cecil B. DeMille. What he did, no one else could do, and the effort has taken down many men, (as Joe Mankiewicz could attest after his own Cleopatra debacle). CB gave his movies everything he had and gave us a limitless world in return. Vincent Price once said that you weren't a movie star until you had appeared in a DeMille picture. I suppose it goes without saying that you aren't a film lover until you've seen a DeMille film. With that said: All right, Mr. DeMille. We're ready for your close-up.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Judy Garland

America's Eternal Sweetheart: Judy Garland.

The contradiction between the real and the reel life has always been stark. Still, despite the fact that we know that our stars and the drama and extravagance of the cinematic world are glamorized, we somehow come to identify a screen persona as the person herself. Judy Garland, therefore, remains a bashful, awkward, yet enchanting innocent. She represents the eternal, hopeful child within us, and her voice echoes the power and passion dwelling inside even the most silent or insecure of vessels. She was the Hollywood ugly duckling who blossomed into a beautiful swan, emerging as the personification of our own transformation of self-conscious youths to (hopefully) secure adults. Her humility in her roles and the profound grace of her musicality have made her eternal-- the girl unanimously loved and forever remembered. She is the only performer with the ability to gain our trust and carry us far and away, even over the rainbow. In front of the camera, Judy was at her best, but oh how different the tale of her personal life. As delicate and lovable as her Betsy Booth was, just as dark and tormented was her true nature. Judy Garland was ever-lovable. Frances Gumm, however, was plain shocking.

With good pal and constant collaborator, Mickey Rooney,

as Betsy Booth in Love Finds Andy Hardy.

A career in performance was almost inevitable for little Frances. Her father, Frank, who was said to have had an angelic, entrancing voice of his own, was notorious as an entertainer, singer, and theater manager. Her mother, Ethel, was an ambidextrous and driven, if not equal, talent who often played the piano while her husband sang. All three of the Gumm sisters would be pushed onto the stage, but it was the captivating presence and awe-inspiring voice of the youngest girl that would cause the most ruckus. After Ethel recognized the pint-sized girl's larger-than-life talent, all hopes for a normal childhood or a normal life were gone. Though Frances was a mug from the start, adoring life in the spotlight and the love of an audience, she was too young to be positioned as the family breadwinner. After her beloved father passed away, leaving her completely at her mother's mercy, things only grew worse. Smothered, ordered, and condescended to, she would grow up as many child stars do-- with brittle bones, never knowing the strength of independence or the liberty born of personal choice. Thus, the Judy Garland born at MGM in 1935 was destined for stardom and cursed with insecurity.

In her most famous role, as Dorothy Gale in The Wizard of Oz.

The more Judy's onscreen persona was solidified as the good-natured, shy girl-next-door in films like Love Finds Andy Hardy or Babes in Arms, the more she tried to create a vastly different identity in her personal life. In her early roles, she is the hopeless romantic who is always passed over, which was indeed reflective of reality. However, Judy did not sit waiting for Prince Charming to wake up and notice her; she made him notice. While contending with beauties such as Lana Turner, Judy-- who was referred to by LB Mayer as his "little Hunchback"-- hurled herself into romance after romance in the hopes of finding absolution-- to prove her screen self as false and find herself as a woman. Thanks to Mayer and her casting in dowdy roles, Judy didn't think she was beautiful, and she never would. She wanted to be Lana, Hedy, anybody. Becoming sexually active early, she tried to disappear into the arms of men who at least in their actions would insinuate that she was someone worthy, someone better. She never understood her appeal, but as she matured, her natural beauty was unearthed from her teenage awkwardness; a dark and intense young woman and a sexual dynamo in lamb's clothing can be seen in Girl Crazy, Meet Me in St. Louis and The Clock. Garland was gorgeous, and this coupled with her charm and humor endeared many men to her, as friends and/or lovers: Artie Shaw, Frank Sinatra, Tyrone Power, Mickey Rooney, Joseph L. Mankiewicz, etc.

Dark Side of a Bright Star.

But Judy's sexual confusion translated to a great many of these romances. In her quest for a loving man to replace her father and establish her feminine identity, she indeed replicated her father-- a homosexual-- by becoming involved with many men who too were homosexual. She married Vincente Minnelli, with whom she birthed Liza. Another lost love of her life was Ty Power, who was bisexual. She also had, or tried to have, an affair with the closeted homosexual Tom Drake in Meet Me in St. Louis, and in later life, she became involved with Mark Herron, who too was gay. In between she had legitimate relationships with first husband, the good-natured but fairly bland David Rose, mostly as a means of escape from her tyrannical mother, and the imposing bruiser Sidney Luft, who was the antithesis of the sensitive, creative, and artistic men whose sexual natures had been deteriorating to her sense of self. (Ironically, Liza would continue the strange trend of impossible love started by her grandmother Ethel by marrying homosexual actor Peter Allen in 1967, at Judy's suggestion). Judy became far too dependent on the opposite sex for gratification, validation, and love. Bled dry emotionally and financially, Judy was never short of men who wanted to give her attention and affection, but she was lacking a strong and supportive man who could give her the freedom of herself.

Revelling in her inner clown in Easter Parade
with Fred Astaire.

Drugs too were a contributing factor. Pumped full of uppers and downers by her own mother by the age of ten, Judy didn't know how to function without the aid of chemical substances. Her emotions were erratic, undependable, and incredibly fragile. When not coddled-- like the child she was raised to be-- on the set, she was stubborn, uncooperative, and chronically late and/or ill. When shown support, favoritism, and friendship, she could forget her insecurities long enough to come to work energized, fresh, and willing. The triggers that set her off were as unpredictable as her nature. A harsh word from Busby Berkeley could send her on a crying jag; a kind word from Fred Astaire inspired one of her best performances in Easter Parade. To be near her was to live in constant fear, as her children could attest, and the need to walk on egg-shells for fear of upsetting her fragile psyche spawned tension wherever she went, which only added to her own nervous energy. In every still photo of Judy where she is not in the midst of singing, there is a barely discernible look of terror in her eyes-- something dangerous-- as if at any moment she may scream out and tear her own flesh off. Haunted, plagued, unglued, she could never seem to pull herself together. But then, she wasn't treated as a person. As writer J. Randy Taraborrelli so eloquently put it, she was MGM's favorite ATM: "deposit drugs-- uppers, downers, whatever-- and out comes money, and lots of it." Her welfare was not a prime concern.

In one of her elegant yet somehow fearful poses.

Raised in a dramatic world, Judy knew how to feed on the drama. She had several failed suicide attempts, which garnered public sympathy or antipathy depending on who was asked, but in each case her self-mutilations were barely injurious. She would cut at her throat with glass, just enough to draw blood, but not enough to do harm. These were not quests for death, but loud and resounding cries for help. Cries that went unanswered. Judy had to be her own defender, her own champion, but the only place she felt truly strong and secure was on the stage. After liberating herself from MGM in a bittersweet moment in 1950, she returned to public singing and underwent another transformation as the travelling, musical orator of all human love and pain. Judy wanted to be a dramatic beauty queen, of which she had the capability, but her gift was entertaining. When she hams it up onstage in "A Couple of Swells" in Easter Parade, she is magical in her absurdity. This is what audiences loved about her. This is what she brought to the stage, along with her supreme voice. Every time she sang "Over the Rainbow," no matter how old she got, it brought tears to her own eyes and the watching eyes of her fans. Up and down and up and down, with movie performances sporadically thrown into her older years, Judy journeyed, singing to whomever would have her and hoping that there would at last be an applause to embrace her and make her feel safe at each show's end.

In a brilliant shot depicting the dual nature of one of

Hollywood's most complicated ladies and the
mirror that haunted her.

Judy's show was over on June 22, 1969 when she died of an accidental drug overdose at the age of 47. She was found hunched over on her own toilet. The little girl whose brightness and innocence had wooed us all the way to "Oz" had disintegrated under the pressures and clawing of a life gone haywire. How do you consolidate two such individuals? How can both exist from and within the same being? Such a thing seems impossible. There is one who lives on in wide-eyed wonder in an imaginary world of vibrant color and willful triumph, forever skipping on the yellow brick road, and there is another whose life was turned upside down by the ravages of the tornado and forced to deal with the wreckage left behind. One is a dream; another is a truth. Judy's final victory is that her fans have embraced the dream, and it is into this dreamworld that she continues to draw us like a nonthreatening siren quelling us with the lullabies and beauties a harsher world would otherwise not allow. Bless her for that.

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part IV

Ava Gardner (above) has long been labeled as one of the loveliest women to grace the silver screen. In a town full of beautiful girls, it is no surprise that she occasionally came gorgeous face-to-gorgeous face with one of her fellow competitors for the title of "Most Beautiful." One instance goes way back. When she was making her initial train ride to Hollywood in 1941, she was unaware that another MGM starlet was on board: Hedy Lamarr  (below).  However, while LB Mayer let Ava keep her melodic sounding name upon her arrival, Hedy had not been so lucky. When she was first signed at MGM, LB changed her name from Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler, having decided to name her after Barbara La Marr-- one of Movieville's greatest forgotten beauties. Ava and Eva, who knew? Both girls had been plucked from their native homelands by MGM-- Ava from North Carolina and Hedy from Hungary-- to be made into stars, though Ava was a complete unknown, and Hedy had already appeared in several foreign films (including the notorious Ecstasy). In fact, when Ava first made the rounds in Los Angeles, Jimmy Fidler said she "looked like Hedy Lamarr, only better." Interestingly, the two women would cross paths again after they became famous, this time in Mexico when Ava was on her honeymoon with Frank Sinatra, and Hedy just happened to be vacationing in the same place! It's a small world for Goddesses.

~ ~ ~

A similar parallelism happened to Norma Shearer (left) and another struggling actress. Back when Norma was a model in NY, playing the piano at local movie theaters to get by, she constantly bumped into another ingenue at casting calls. However, while years later people would recall the ambitious and passionate beauty that Norma was even then, they struggled to remember the other girl in their midst: Jean Arthur. Jean (below) was too shy and awkward to draw much attention behind the cameras, but Norma? As photographer Alfred Cheney Johnston put it: "Now... there was an outstanding personality!" The two ladies were very soon off to Hollywood, but they would not share a train. Norma made it out west in early 1923, and Jean followed a few months later. Strangely, people are more familiar with bashful Jean's movies than Norma's these days (thanks to the former's work with Capra and Stevens). Yet, while Norma's acting style seems a bit outmoded in these modern times, the eternal diva lives on in her celluloid kingdom as the dangerous, free-wheeling Prima Donna of her generation.

~ ~ ~

Once upon a time in New York, a young dancer was being instructed on new  choreography for the "Embraceable You" number in her upcoming stage production, Girl Crazy. The man teaching her the new moves was a skinny, scrawny sort of fellow, but he also had a strange sort of charm and an amazing talent to boot. An initial curiosity was sparked, and they went out on a date-- dancing of course. Though they liked and respected each other a great deal, romance was not on the menu. Instead, they went their separate ways, working on their own individual entertainment careers. Years later, they would be re-teamed in a major motion picture in which their dance routines stole the show: Flying Down to Rio. Though the magic never happened between them in real life, in reel life they were electric, and audiences would savor them together on the screen nine more times. They would enjoy one of the most enduring romances of cinematic history despite their lack of attraction those years ago.  Back when Fred Astaire was polishing Ginger Rogers's technique on that NY stage, he had no idea that he had just met his professional soul mate!

Destined to Dance- Ginger and Fred

~ ~ ~

When gifted thespian Judith Evelyn (right) was performing in the play "Craig's Wife" in 1947, she had the privilege of working with a young ingenue whom she found to be quite mature for her years. The young blond was educated, ambitious, patient, and generous with her co-stars-- a real pro. Judith was impressed and was certain that the lovely young lady would carve out quite a career for herself. Of course, she had no way of knowing that the junior actress's notoriety would eventually surpass her own. Years later, the two were reunited on the set of Rear Window, in which Judith played the important role of Ms. Lonelyhearts. When Grace Kelly (below) discovered that her former co-star and hero would be working with her, she invited Judith to her dressing room to share a bottle of champagne and celebrate their reunion. They often met during the shoot to catch up and reflect on old times. Judith found Grace to be as humble and sweet-natured as ever. At least some things never change.

~ ~ ~

Now, for a bit of pre-Halloween spookiness...

Franchot Tone (left)was one of the handsomest leading men of his day. Though he is less remembered than some of his contemporaries, he was certainly man enough to win the affections of Joan Crawford, to whom he was briefly married. He was quite the Lothario-- a charming ladies' man. His position as a famous Hollywood actor only made it easier to impress women. One night in 1944, he was out at the infamous Formosa Cafe when he spotted a beautiful young woman with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Naturally, he singled her out as his lady of choice for the evening. They got to talking, and he discovered that she was an aspiring actress. She was quite fascinated with him. She asked him questions and was eager to learn how she too could get her own career going. In his head he thought, "This one's in the bag!" Franchot assured her that he could give her some advice, introduce her to the right people, etc. She was eating out of the palm of his hand by the time he got her into his car to meet an "associate." 

They drove to his swanky bachelor pad, and the young lady's attitude changed when she realized Tone had no associate waiting for her and instead had other things in mind. When Franchot tried to put the moves on her, she resisted completely, trying instead to change the subject back to her career. He realized that he had made a mistake. Despite her beauty and gorgeous curves, she was really a naive little girl at heart. She hadn't come to his room for a rendezvous;  she had really hoped to learn something from him. Feeling a bit embarrassed, Franchot dialed things down, and they talked for awhile before he put her in a cab. Less than 3 years later, he would receive quite a shock when he learned that her body was found beaten, mutilated, and cut in half, lying on a patch of grass at 39th and Norton in downtown LA. The papers were calling her "The Black Dahlia." He had known her only as Bettie Short (pictured below). Disturbed by the experience, he probably looked at every woman he tried to pick up a bit differently after that...

Hope your costume hunting is going well! Just two weeks to go!!!

STAR OF THE MONTH: Grace Kelly

There have been so many beautiful women in cinematic history that it is difficult to choose the most beautiful of them all. Certain names, of course, are mentioned more than others: Garbo, Dietrich, Hepburn... Louis B. Mayer named Hedy Lamarr (really Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler) after the fallen Barbara La Marr, whom he deemed the most beautiful woman in show business, (quite the compliment). Grace Kelly too remains one of the few whom we hold close to our hearts, with men admiring her beauty and women trying to emulate it. It is quite possible that we could give her a promotion from her "Princess Grace" status to make her "Queen Kelly," the most beautiful of all Hollywood beauties. Faces like this, after all, don't come around every day.

Grace was more than a pretty face,  however. Her exteriors merely amplified her inner light: a passion, kindness, and allure that could not be duplicated (no matter how hard Hitchcock tried, hello Vertigo). Her distance, manners, and class put her in a category all her own, and her talent made her deserving of her elevated position in the public eye. Placed high on a pedestal by her fans, she became the unobtainable Goddess, admired from afar and thus more desired than ever. Her collaborations with Hitch (Dial M for Murder, Rear Window, and To Catch a Thief) catapulted her to an even greater position of fame, yet still she remained separate, as if protected by a crystal pane of glass. In life, you always want what you can't have, and so the world fell in love with Grace, who always gave just enough to keep us guessing, keep us wanting, and keep us coming back for more.

Grace on the set of Rear Window with

Hitch. She was his #1 muse by now.

What is most interesting is that this was no publicity ploy or calculated business move. As shrewd as Grace was, she never lied to the public or put on airs to advance her career. Her alleged aloofness was genuine modesty and self-discretion. She may have concealed, but she never misled. The woman she appeared to be was her true self, or at least some portion of herself. There is always more that people don't see, and for a shy, private person like Grace, there was a lot more brimming underneath the surface than the general public would ever know. Elegant and passionate, Grace was also a fighter, but she never used her fists. Instead, she used cunning and style. She went against her family's wishes to be the actress she wanted to become; she went against Hollywood's pleas by saying "farewell forever" and marrying Prince Rainier III of Monaco. She leaned on no one, she asked for nothing, and everything she became she built with her own two, delicate hands. She is rarely given credit for this, seen as merely a pretty girl who got lucky because of her looks. True, her perfectly formed features opened many doors, but the number of "pretty girls" who crash and burn under the pressures of movie town prove that there was much more going on with Grace than her face.

Decadent and charming as she was, Grace was still picked on by the press and the public. Once you're on that pedestal, people love to tear you down. Most often, she was accused of bedding her co-stars, the majority of whom were married. She is linked to Gable, Cooper, and Milland, but only her affair with William Holden is substantiated. Some people claim that she slept with Hitchcock (please) or Bing Crosby, but though Bing fell in love with her on the set of The Country Girl, Grace did not return the sentiment. Everyone fell in love with her it seems; the poor girl couldn't help it! Her true focus was her work, and her diligence gained her a reputation in Hollywood as one of the most professional and unpretentious people in the business. After her struggles to gain complicated and interesting roles, she won herself an Academy Award for her pained and raw performance in The Country Girl, solidifying her reputation as a genuine artist.

 Grace was given her 1955 Oscar by William Holden, 

Co-star and acknowledged lover.

After taking hold of the nation, and the world, she made a handful of movies, and then she was gone. She fell in love with the Prince of Monaco, surrendered herself to a life of duty, family, and some say loneliness, and never returned. Hitch would try to woo her back with Marnie, she herself would make an unreleased short film in the '70s called Rearranged, but a comeback was never to be. She then suffered a brain hemorrhage while driving with her daughter Stephanie, causing her car to go over a hill into a precipice. She succumbed to the effects of a resulting stroke, was taken off life support, and out of this world. Though shockingly wrenched from our grasp, she would have remained as enigmatic and enticing as ever had she lived to be 150. Somehow, she was always ever present, as she is now-- like an ethereal, gossamer blanket enveloping us in her warmth. We miss her and we don't, because she has never left and never will.

Grace on her wedding day with hubby

Prince Rainier III of Monaco.

They say Hitch made her a star, and Rainier made her a Princess, but Grace did all right all by herself. Of all the Kelly siblings, she was voted least likely to succeed. She was the weak one, the sickly one, the quiet one... But it is always the quiet ones you have to look out for. Not satisfied with a ho-hum existence, discontented with her performances-- which she believed could have been better-- and constantly pushing for more in every way, Grace wouldn't stop until she had achieved all of her goals and become the woman she had always wanted to be, even if it went against the grain of every one else's expectations. We remember her as a fashion icon, a sultry adulteress, or a movie star, but I think of her most often as a rebel, and a most atypical one at that: one guided by kindness, generosity, fairness, and spirit. She brought change without ruffling feathers, she raised temperatures by merely raising an eyebrow, she altered cinematic history by simply doing what she thought was right and honest. The coolest Hellraiser you ever met, the snow-capped volcano: Grace Kelly.

Fascinating and Fashionable...