THE REEL REALS: Erich von Stroheim

Erich von Stroheim

Lord knows I love a good Austrian, and it could be said that Erich von Stroheim is the best of the worst. He cut his teeth in Hollywood by banking on his Germanic heritage by playing sadistic foreigners in the push for propaganda films during the Great War. In a way, he maintained his "soldier's position when he turned to directing, strutting around like some combination of a General and a Monarch in his boots, riding crop, and monocle. All this, while absurd from the outside, was but a calculated way for him to differentiate himself from the rest of the pack. No one remembers "normal" or "average," after all. (Think of him as the Marilyn Manson or Lady Gaga of his day). Of course, Erich's penchants for grandiosity and making a bold statement also interfered with his creative process. He never quite learned how to edit himself-- either in behavior or in artistry-- which brings us to the best and the worst of him.

Erich's unique talent as a filmmaker was his eye for detail. (See, the monocle helped)! His films are by nature all epics. The lush compositions of his sets, mise en scenes, the wardrobe, etc, make his jaw-dropping even today: the screen still seems to drip with his startling authenticity. In terms of story, Erich pulled no punches, standing in as the precursor to Orson Welles, directing movies that turned a pointed finger at the audience. Unfortunately, his aesthetic sensibilities, while savory to the eye and intellect, were uncomfortable for tooshies and equally drove MGM crazy as he bled them dry reshooting and perfecting every project, making them bigger and bigger, longer and longer. Irving Thalberg had to fire him from Merry Go Round, Gloria Swanson did the same when Queen Kelly started spiraling out of control, and his ultimate success, Greed, which clocked in at somewhere between 7-10 hours had to be cut to shreds in order to be both bearable to audiences and releasable-- some theaters weren't even open that many hours! 

Finally, his overzealous penchants put an end to his directorial efforts, but Erich was able to continue his acting career, as his notoriety had guaranteed him an eternal place in the spotlight. He churned out impressive and iconic performances in Le Grande Illusion, Portrait d'un Assassin, and of course, Sunset Boulevard. While Hollywood may have shunned his filmmaking, film lovers sure haven't, and we continue to be enchanted, bewitched, and transfixed by his efforts-- still remarkable and some of the best examples of cinematic genius from the silent era.

THE REEL REALS: Constance Talmadge



Constance "Dutch" Talmadge


The Talmadge sisters were three: Norma the glamorous, Natalie the silent, and Connie the clown. Constance Talmadge was one of silent cinema's original firecrackers. Unlike the elegantly postured Norma or the shy and depressive Natalie, Constance-- nicknamed "Dutch"-- was a buoyant woman of energy and fun. Raised to be assertive and strong-- all the Talmadge women learned to fend for themselves when their alcoholic father abandoned them-- Connie embraced the absurdity and harsh realities of life and combatted them with her humor and independent spirit. Embarking on a career in cinema almost as a gag-- "Well, why the Hell not?"-- she may not have taken the craft as seriously as the more ambitious Norma, but she possessed an even more charismatic presence that would draw contemporary audiences to the flame of her warmth and vivacity.

Constance was a staple in what would be known today as the Romantic Comedy wherein she naturally transitioned her bright personality to that of the hammy but attractive buffoon, perhaps not going as far as fellow comedienne Mabel Normand but packing her emotional sentiment with an equal blend of hilarity. Her most recognizable role remains that of the Mountain girl in D.W. Griffith's Intolerance, but she performed as the leading lady in many popular films of the time including both shorts and features: Her Night of Romance, The Love Expert, A Pair of Silk Stockings, etc. When the talkies intruded on the family profession, the sisters opted to bow out, probably predicting that their Brooklyn accents wouldn't translate well into sound. Constance had no regrets and let bygones be bygones.

Constance's private life unfortunately dwindled in her late years. Once wooed by Irving Thalberg, Connie's need for personal liberty was not easy to be contained. She was married four times and her high-living ways-- her hopes of outrunning the past and making the best of things-- caught up with her when she became dependent on alcohol. Still, the tough old bird made it to the 1970s before her candle was finally snuffed out. Though nowhere near as popular as she was in her own day, her goofy, honest, and infectious performances inspired future funny females whose work allows her own to live on. Remnants of her own contributions can still be found in the blessed modern world of DVD and live streaming, where she continues to encourage her audiences to laugh it up. What else have ya' got in the end?

NOW, THAT'S FUNNY: Part 11

Despite appearances, Mary Pickford was not one liable to be pushed around,

(here in Little Annie Rooney).

Mary Pickford had a duality that served her well on the silver screen. Just as she easily projected a sense of warmth and grace, she too juxtaposed these softer qualities with an innocently uncivilized, tom-boyish defiance. In many ways, this would keep Mary two steps ahead of the rest of the pack. Being a career-woman in a man's world isn't easy. Mary learned early that being both diminutive and overly feminine put her at a disadvantage. The only way to swim in a sea of sharks without becoming dinner was to bulk up her defense mechanism. Thus, even while she looked as lovely as a daffodil, her assertiveness and her smarts quickly alerted the men in her midst that she was not to be victimized: dangerous things sometimes come in small packages. D.W. Griffith (left) came to know this perhaps more than any other man Mary ever encountered. Once he hit his stride as a short filmmaker, he had started to enjoy his position of power in the tiny Biograph universe. His taste for delicate females was also one that he was able to assuage, both on screen and off. Thus, pint-sized Mary Pickford appeared to him as quite the tempting dollop. That is, until she spoke... Their working relationship was equal parts love and hate; respect and frustration. For example, when the two were shooting To Save Her Soul, Griffith once grabbed Mary and shook her violently, because she was not giving him the burst of emotion he wanted. His attempt at intimidation didn't work. Mary bit him!!! As if that weren't enough, her sister Lottie too jumped to her defense by literally jumping on Griffith's back. Suffice it to say, the Pickford clan made their point: don't mess with the Queen Bee. Fortunately for the audience, it was exactly Mary's independence and resistance that made her a perfect fit in Griffith's increasingly well-crafted films.

A much more amiable friendship and meeting was enjoyed by two other bright stars of silent cinema. Many of the tales of this era, or any era for that matter, are so steeped in rumor and hearsay that they are probably more the products of manufactured lore than historical fact. However, sometimes what isn't true, feels true, and thus becomes true-- at least in the minds of fans. Thus, the way that Douglas Fairbanks met BFF Charlie Chaplin (both right) remains a fond legend that we're just going to go ahead and accept. It goes like this: A random man loitered outside a theater that was playing the new Fairbanks feature. Another man walked up and asked Man #1 if the hot, new Doug was really any good. The first man answered, "He's the best in the business!" The second man asked, "Is he as good as Chaplin?" Man #1 responded, "Fairbanks far surpasses that outmoded Chaplin bloke!" Man #2 paused, then made his move: "I'm Chaplin." Man #1 smiled and replied, "I know. I'm Fairbanks." The laughs didn't stop there. For the length of their friendship, Doug and Charles were always trying to one-up each other on the jokes. They were both energetic men, typically being described as "always on," yet Doug had an optimism and energy that the much more serious and fretful Chaplin found relaxing. They were a great balance, and their pranks are a good representative of the fondness that they shared for each other. For example, when Doug was filming Robin Hood, he was ordered to report particularly early one morning on the castle set. Still wiping the sleep from his eyes, he was surprised to see the drawbridge lower over the moat. A yawning King stepped outside and placed two empty milk bottles beside the massive entrance before scratching his bottom and returning into his fortress. The King, of course, was Chaplin. Doug was in stitches.

Long before Mary Pickford fell in love with Doug Fairbanks, she had become enchanted by another man. This relationship was not romantic, however. Mary was already married to Owen Moore when she met and started working with director Marshall Neilan aka "Mickey" (left). His great humor and vulnerability for the bottle, an attribute all too familiar to Mary, made her immediately attracted to him. They worked well together, and Mary did some of her best work with the director, whom she also called "friend." Of course, Marshall's undependable antics and alcoholism drove the overly professional Ms. Pickford up a wall most of the time. The more the years went on, the more Mickey seemed to mysteriously disappear from the set, show up late, or not at all. Mary would wind up doing his directing for him most of the time. No matter what, she couldn't stay mad at him-- a quality many women shared, including Anna May Wong, who was deeply in love with him for some time. An example of what made Mickey so endearing is evidenced in the following story. When filming Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall, el director was nowhere to be found for the umpteenth time, and Mary was forced to once again step in and take charge. In a scene shooting at Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, she guided the masses from atop a horse. No sooner had the camera started cranking, then the crew noticed a familiar face in the crowd: Marshall Neilan. He didn't seem surprised or insulted at all that Mary had taken over. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the show, (perhaps because he was three sheets to the wind). "Say, you're doing pretty well!" he chirped, merrily. He then sauntered off and let the procession continue without him. He was more focused on finding another drink than guiding Dorothy's ship.

At one time in history, Erich von Stroheim (right) was known as "The Man You Love to Hate." This was not an exaggeration. The Austrian-born actor/director was known for portraying foreign villains on the screen, most typically those representative of the German enemy during The Great War. However, he also played random sleaze-bags and ne'er-do-wells in films like Social Secretary opposite Norma Talmadge. Add to this his reputation as an overly sumptuous director who had Carl Laemmle sweating dollar bills, and you have one disreputable, unattractive individual. The way von Stroheim locked horns with Irving Thalberg, for example, is legendary. During the shooting of one of his masterpieces, Foolish Wives, he had the entire city of Monte Carlo replicated and built at the studio, which put the film over-over-over-budget. With no way to rein himself in artistically, von Stroheim seemed to get bigger and bolder with each project, to a fault. His films Queen Kelly and Greed clocked in at approximately five and nine hours respectively, and due to their length, they clearly had trouble earning money at the box-office. Sore bottoms didn't help his reputation with the public, not to mention the fact that these films could only be shown once or twice a day at any given theater, bringing in one batch of ticket sales, whereas a regular film could be shown several times over and rake in the dough. To put it succinctly, his methods made Orson Welles look like a penny pincher. Despite this over-indulgence and disregard for economy, one couldn't argue Erich's talent. His films remain some of the most visually hypnotic and socially compelling artifacts of silent cinema. He had fans within his own time, of course, but more enemies. (The fact that he strutted around like a self-important monarch complete with a monocle didn't help his reputation with the people). Because the divide between fact and fiction was very flimsy in the early days of celebrity, the public reacted to a public figure not as who he was but as the character he played on the screen, which in Erich's case was the German enemy. As a result, he couldn't eat in public. See, every time he went to grab a bite, he got spat on by some random pedestrian. Best to stay indoors and safe from democracy.

Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle (left) was perhaps the sweetest of all the silent clowns. A large physical presence, his warm-hearted demeanor made him a lovable buffoon who was one of the top box-office draws of his day. Before the shameful and unfortunate court scandal (concerning the death of Virginia Rappe) that would ruin his career and send shock-waves through the nation, Fatty was riding high on the wave of critical and financial success in  early 1921. His baby-faced humor and surprising dexterity made any cinematic offering bearing his name a sure-fire hit. His shenanigans carried over into his private life, where he liked to push the envelope on personal pranks. Of course, a humorous scheme is not truly glorious unless one has a worthy mark. Who better than the icy, all-work-and-no-play studio-head Adolph Zukor? Yet another hard-working immigrant who had endured the harsh realities of adolescent poverty and the resulting disassociation of foreign terrain, Zukor used his personal tragedies to propel him to his hard-bitten position as a major movie power-player. Adolph was one cool customer. In fact, when Fatty would later endure the Rappe scandal, Zukor withdrew studio support and left him to the wolves: it was business, not personal.The studio had to save itself. To Fatty, it was no laughing matter. 

Buster assists Fatty in some more foolishness, while Al St. John and Alice Lake

accompany on the banjo and piano.

Yet, before the storm broke, Fatty was determined to use his own clout to poke fun at the impenetrable Zukor. As always, he used his favorite ally, Buster Keaton, to make the hysterical magic happen: Fatty invited Zukor over for dinner and had Buster pose as his butler. Friends like Syd Grauman, Viola Dana, Bebe Daniels, and Alice Lake, were invited and played along as the other guests. Buster's butler decorum was off all evening. He spilled soup all over himself, he flirted with the women, and he poured water on Fatty's lap. He also incorrectly served the men before the women, resulting in a loud reprimand from Fatty. Buster then switched the shrimp he had just placed on the men's plates with those on the women's plates, as if this solved the problem. Fatty continually took Buster into the kitchen to heatedly reprimand him (while secretly laughing) throughout the evening. Finally, Buster dropped the prize dinner turkey, brushed it off, and tried to continue serving it. Fatty grew so angry that Zukor was nervous! When he saw Fatty smash a bottle over Buster's head (a breakaway), he nearly fainted! The "waiter" fled into the night, only returning later that evening as himself, Buster Keaton. Adolph was excited to meet the comic, and proceeded to tell him all about Fatty's horrible butler... until he noticed a strange resemblance. One assumes that the crowd had a good laugh... Perhaps even Zukor.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Play It Again, Sam II

Garbo suffers as Anna Karenina. Again.

You may recall some months back when I wrote an article referencing certain duplications a specific actor or actress has made in his or her career. My recent research into the work of Ms. Greta Garbo has unearthed another example of this double-take phenomenon, and so I present it amidst my latest batch to you now. It seems fitting, since last week's topic referenced "The Way We Never Were," that this week we delve into "The Way We Were... Twice." Enjoy!

After the tremendous success of the Gilbert-Garbo teaming in Flesh and the Devil-- an erotically charged vehicle that instigated a public fascination with the on and off screen love affair of the two hot stars-- MGM did what all studios do: capitalize. Hence, another pairing with "Jack" Gilbert and Greta in an adaptation of the Leo Tolstoy classic Anna Karenina. Forbidden romance? A foreign, chilly terrain that features Garbo's remote persona? The effect of Jack's passion melting her heart? Sold. To sensationalize things further, the film was given a new title and the studio advertised it thus: "John Gilbert and Greta Garbo in Love" (see left). The film was a huge success, further cementing Greta's rapidly growing reputation as the (reluctant) femme fatale of the film business. Brandon Hurst portrayed her cuckolded husband Karenin in the film, and Philippe De Lacy  assumed the role of her son, which gave her the rare opportunity to play a mother. It was a role that surprisingly fit her naturally and provided perhaps the greatest relationship in the entire film. Lots of things had changed a mere 8 years later in 1935. "Garbo talked," and her relationship with Jack Gilbert was over romantically. Greta's characters on film, while maintaining their complexities, had become somewhat less venomous. Prodded by Salka Viertel, Greta agreed to do a re-make of her former success in sound: Anna Karenina. Thus, she stepped back into the tragic heroine's elegant shoes once more, but this time her love interest, Vronsky, would be played by Fredric March, her spurned husband by Basil Rathbone, and her child by Freddie Bartholomew. While still a fascinating, well-performed picture, it failed to live up to either the passion or emotion of the original. It is hard to find the drama beneath the stale, screeching plot points, and while each individual part performs beautifully on its own, the chemistry between all of the main characters is lacking. Thus, while Love remains a tragic opus to love, Anna Karenina exists as more of a fraternal twin, which represents love as a villain that disturbs, dismantles, and clumsily destroys lives. One film is about blind bravery; the other about mere blindness. Because both are Garbo, both are classic.

In 1929, Jeanne Eagles was hot property. One of the most talked about female talents in the theater, she had been poached by Hollywood in an attempt to use her reverberating dramatic gifts to bring another dimension to their two-dimensional heroines-- one of whom was murderess Leslie Crosbie in The Letter. Unfortunately, this little spark plug was about to burn out. After her invigorating performance in but one more film, she was to succumb to her own demons and perish-- in part-- due to her heroin addiction. Her legacy is left behind almost entirely in this film, which is one of the few scraps that remain of her acting work, so legendary in her own time. When Jeanne passed away in 1929, many of her fans probably assumed that the world would stop turning. However, it did not-- the show must go on. That it did, and to bigger and better results. In 1940, William Wyler directed another interpretation of The Letter, but this time with Bette Davis. There was one member of the cast, however, who had performed in both the '29 and the '40 versions: Herbert Marshall. In the earlier film, he had played the role of the soon-murdered lover, Geoffrey Hammand (right with Jeanne). In the latter film, he played Leslie's devoted, oblivious husband, Robert. Certainly, the compare/contrast of the experience must have been entertaining for him. In one film, he got to stare into Jeanne's blazing eyes as she maliciously shot him. Repeatedly. In the other, he got his heart metaphorically staked by Bette's conniving philanderer. In one, he is young, arrogant, and invincible-- until it's too late. In the other, he is warm, enamored, and trusting-- until it's too late. So many of Wyler's stylistic choices make the more polished 1940 version a clear victor over Jean de Limur's take, but the trophy for bad Marshall vs. good Marshall is still up for grabs. How can one outdo oneself? The audience's decision will totally depend on whether you like your Herbert naughty or nice. It is safe to say that both of his performances contributed to the excellence of both films.

Irving Thalberg remains a visionary in the film business. This is doubly surprising, not just because of the "boy wonder's" young age at the beginning of his career, but because he was a studio big-wig. As one of the pillars of MGM, Thalberg was unlike the overly greedy LB Mayer who rarely saw beyond box-office receipts. Thalberg was both the entrepreneur and the artist. His sixth sense about story and talent led to some of the best made films and collaborations of the studio era. A forward-thinker, he saw his job as a responsibility to push forward films with meaning-- to make a point while making a buck. Many actors of the time considered him a friend and protector-- and buffer against LB-- because while LB had the muscle, Irving had the brains. The pen is always mightier than the sword. He almost single-handedly kept Jack Gilbert from Mayer's wrath, because Jack was a friend and too a major talent. He too pushed for the homo-erotic undertones in Queen Christina, because he knew that it would add layer and intrigue to the story. Another example of his fine brain came earlier when he caught wind about a little film called The Unholy Three, which he produced in late 1924 with Tod Browning as director and the uncanny Lon Chaney as the lead. The creepy, unlikely thriller was a bonanza at the box-office, despite the fact that some scenes were rendered so shocking and violent that they had to be cut-- including a murder sequence performed by Harry Earles as Tweedledee (above with Granny Lon and Victor McLaglen). The success of the film helped the newly formed MGM thrive. Of course, it was because of Irving that Tod and Lon had made the switch to MGM in the first place, and their combining talents continued to keep MGM running at full throttle for the rest of the decade. Lon Chaney always respected Irving and vice versa, and it was fairly poetic when Lon's first talkie and last film was chosen as a remake of their prior collaboration: The Unholy Three (1930). The cast, minus Lon and Harry Earles, had changed, the ending was altered, but all in all it was a direct re-hash. While the silent version remains a bit superior, this latter film became a sign-post of the beginning and ending of a tremendous era of film.

Quick Little Two-Steps:

Lon also made a re-appearance in the film Kongo, which was a remake of his earlier triumph West of Zanzibar. Since Kongo was made in 1932, two years after his death, one may find this a bit... odd. But hey, when an actor's good, he's good! Actually, only a brief clip of Lon from Zanzibar made it into the later Walter Huston and Lupe Velez film (both right). Chaney's multi-facial arts are unfortunately covered with a tribal mask. In the footage, he is seen briefly crawling to a burial ceremony.

There are no two ways about it: Sophie Loren was and is gorgeous. She once said that she owed everything she had to spaghetti, but I think the mythic Gods of Rome may have had something to do with it as well. In addition to her great beauty, she had the acting chops to back it up, a fact she made well known when she won the first Academy Award for Best Actress by performing in a foreign language film-- the gut-wrenching Two Women. (Pause for applause). However, her sexuality often came into play for both her and our benefit. For example, she performed a very memorable strip tease for Marcello Mastroianni in Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow in 1963 (left). She performed the same memorable striptease for Marcello Mastroianni 31 years later in Ready to Wear. She had lost none of her allure.

Spencer Tracy dreaded shooting Stanley and Livingstone. Why? Because he was in agony over delivering the infamous line/punchline, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" How to do it seriously? How to say it and not get the expected guffaws? It. Was. Torture! However, as only Spence could do, he did it perfectly... after a few takes, of course-- he couldn't help giggling a little himself. He clearly must have gotten over his anxiety about the experience by the time he made Woman of the Year in 1942. Perhaps to have a little fun at his expense, George Stevens had him use the line at an uncomfortable, international party in the film, where his character, Sam Craig, knows no one... and rarely speaks their language. To show him bashfully trying to edge his way into one particular conversation, Spence boyishly rolls out, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" His cocky smile is met with stony glances and foreign gibberish. Guess they didn't get it...

The 1990 film Pretty Woman was a surprising success. A romcom about a hooker? Mmmmkay... Somehow, with the arrogant charisma of Richard Gere and the girl-next-door charm of Julia Roberts, the audience bought it, and then some. One of the best remembered moments comes at a business dinner when Julia's Vivian tries to act the lady while eating snails. They turn out to be "slippery little suckers." After one morsel shoots across the room from her utensil, she is comforted by the kindly James Morse, who few recognize as Goldern Era studio actor and Irish Mafia alum Ralph Bellamy (left). One wonders if Garry Marshall put this episode in the film specifically because of Ralph. See, Ralph had had his own experience with snails in a prior film: Fools for Scandal. He too had had problems eating the slimy slugs, one of which he dropped under the table. His dining partner that time was equal, cooky beauty Carole Lombard. He admits to her, as he desperately tries to propose marriage, that snails give him an "inferiority complex."

King Kong was the brain child of renegade writer, producer, director Merian C. Cooper. The unbelievable story of a tropical romance between girl and gigantic ape became positive proof of the possibilities of the movies. Not only were the innovative special effects noteworthy, but the landscape of what creative minds could do with cinema significantly broadened with this film. It too became a piece of work that actress Fay Wray (right) would be forever thankful for. Her name, her face, and her scream, made the perfect combination and foil to moviedom's most surprising leading man, or rather, primate. When acclaimed and equally imaginative director Peter Jackson approached the classic with modern technology and a new actress, Naomi Watts, in 2005, he decided to keep a couple of things from the original: 1) compassion for the beast, and 2) Fay Wray. At the end of the original film, Carl Denham (Robert Armstrong) utters the iconic words: "It was beauty killed the beast." Jackson got the idea that it would be great for Fay to say that immortal line herself in his version. Sadly, right before filming, Fay passed away, and the pressure was put on Jack Black to fulfill the duty again as character Carl Denham. Thus, this double take was not to be. Perhaps Fay, as a lady, was simply bowing out and graciously making way for the next generation.

Until next next time...

MENTAL MONTAGE: Who's Your Daddy?

Adoption seems to be a popular sport among today's celebrity elite. Sometimes a famous lady or gent has simply gotten impatient while waiting for Mr. or Ms. Right and decides to start a family on his or her own. Other times, a svelte actress may opt to visit the orphanage to protect her figure instead of having babes the ol' fashioned way. Then, of course, there is option three, wherein certain celebs become invested in a strange, maternal gluttony-- a la Mia Farrow or Angelina Jolie-- and keep adding to their litter like bitches in heat without the heat. (I suppose all the extra nannies help). Adoption in Hollywood is not a new phenomenon, however. Joan Crawford accrued a tally of four lucky (if you ask the younger two) or unlucky (if you ask the elder two) tots, and Cecil B. DeMille had only one legitimate daughter (Cecilia) before adding on another three, due to his wife's charitable love of children and alleged distaste of the marital bed. This brings me to the point of today's segment: those mysterious, adopted children who suspiciously resemble their new parents. Coincidence? Perhaps. But Scandal is much easier (and  more fun) to believe and, in Hollywood, almost always true.

Cecil ponders: how am I gonna pull this one over???

Returning to Cecil, he had an older brother, William (left), who was also a director. The two were very close and mutually respected each other. While Cecil went on to be a much more famous and powerful man in the business, he still looked up to and admired his big bro. Perhaps this is why, when Bill ran into a little trouble, Cecil was all too ready to offer his help. See, William had married Anna George in 1903. This, however, didn't stop him from having a few extramarital dalliances, including one with writer Lorna Moon. This affair led to the birth of a son, Richard, in 1922. In order to save his marriage and to save the child from an unknown fate, William asked Cecil to adopt the child as his own, so at least William could watch him grow up. Cecil agreed to the request, since he had already adopted two other children, John and Katherine DeMille. Cecil was known for having trysts of his own, most particularly with writer Jeanie Macpherson, actress Julia Faye, and secretary Gladys Rosson, though aside from Julia he never dabbled with his actresses, sensing the danger it would cause on the set. For this reason, Cecil held no judgement against his brother, and took on the task of raising Richard and supporting Lorna until her death of tuberculosis in 1930. It was publicly stated that the child was abandoned and left inside Cecil's car and that he took it in. This and Cecil's own checkered romantic life raised many eyebrows, and it was often incorrectly speculated that Richard was his own child. The only two people who supposedly knew the truth were the two brothers. Cecil kept the secret until after Bill's death, when, as agreed, he told Richard about his true parentage. This brought forth a rush of understanding on Richard's part, who, though always treated with the same love and tenderness as the other kids, suddenly understood both his uncanny feelings of somehow being "apart" from the rest of his family and his strange attachment to his mysterious Uncle Bill. However, it never changed his relationship with CB, who continued to treat him as his own son.

A sudden and questionable bundle of joy also arrived in (William) Wallace Reid's life in 1922. Wally (right) was the All American Boy whom no woman could resist, as many women of his time could attest. After successfully wooing and wedding actress Dorothy Davenport, the two became the delighted parents of Bill, Jr, Wally's pride and joy. However, as time wore on and the marriage cooled, Wally's hijinks and shenanigans did not. Living a fast-paced and debaucherous life as one of the most desired men in American-- and even the world-- this superstar found it hard to resist the temptations that came with fame and fortune. Of course, his outward bravado also hid a sensitive and somewhat sad overgrown boy who was constantly searching for comfort, whether it be in inebriation or the arms of an all too inviting woman. As such, it is rumored that Wally fathered a child out of wedlock with an extra girl, who appeared on his doorstep and begged his wife Dorothy to take the baby girl in as her own. Whether or not these are the exact circumstances is unknown, but Wally and Dorothy did adopt daughter Betty Anna Mummert in 1922. It is said that Wally, who loved being a father, adored her just as dearly as his "legitimate son," so much so that if anyone insinuated or mentioned the fact that she was adopted, Wally's eyes would turn red with anger. He could be seen playing with his two tots in his backyard on DeLongpre, where they enjoyed splashing around in the family's fashionable swimming pool. Many would recall the strange resemblance Betty had with her adopted father and sibling Bill, and it is also recorded that she inherited some of Wally's more tortured mental traits. After Wally died as a result of his morphine addiction in 1923, Betty would live for another fifty years, having become estranged from her remaining family. If she was in fact his true daughter, all concerned took that information to their graves.

Dorothy, Wally, Betty, and Bill, Jr.

Barbara La Marr (left) also allegedly adopted her own child in 1923. This task was much more daunting for a female, since she could not simply take on the child after its birth as the father could, but had to carry it to term without raising attention. Since producer Paul Bern had been pining away for Barbara for some time, and the newborn seemed to bear a slight resemblance to him, many opined that it was indeed his child. However, this throws a wrench in all of the rumors built up around Paul, which include the theory that he had infantile sex organs and was unable to pleasure future wife Jean Harlow, (coincidentally leading to his mysterious "suicide"). If in fact this whole story about Paul's anatomy was a fabrication concocted by Mayer to cover up Bern's mysterious death, his possible paternity of Barbara's child also begs the question why he wouldn't marry her when she became pregnant, since one hears nothing but how infatuated he was with her? It is possible that she simply turned him down, as she was not in love with him. (There were additional stories that Bern tried to drown himself in his own toilet when Barbara broke things off. Clearly, this was either an incredibly unstable man or one whose memory people loved to desecrate). In any case, the child is popularly believed to be Barbara's own, one that she placed in an orphanage temporarily to complete the ruse. Though the child's true father is unknown, there are other papa possibilities- William Haines-- who was a constant "friend with benefits" to Barbara at this time-- and her one time fiance Wallace Beery. Another bit of trivia is that, after Barbara's death, her son (Marvin) was adopted by none other than pal Zasu Pitts!

But, the most famous case of celebrity "adoption" is the story of Judy Lewis (Mary Judith Clark), who was adopted by her own mother Loretta Young in 1937 (both pictured right). This one gets even juicier because not only was this lovely girl the offspring of one of the most gorgeous and powerful women in Hollywood, but her true father was none other than the King himself, Clark Gable. When Clark and Loretta met and began work on Call of the Wild, it wasn't long before the sparks started to fly, and Loretta's high Christian morals were soon overcome by Clark's charms. The two entered into an affair, he still being wed to Ria Langham at this point. Loretta, to her own shock and shame, became pregnant. Of course, there was no way to solve this disgraceful problem except to have the child aborted, which is what the studio wanted in order to protect both of their stars' images. However, Loretta's faith would not allow her to do so, so she concocted a plan: she would "take ill" in Venice Beach until the baby was born (on November 6, 1935) and place it in an orphanage (St. Elizabeth's Infant Hospital for unwed mothers) with the understanding that she would return within a matter of  months to adopt it. With the help of Irving Thalberg, this is exactly what she did. 

Clark and Loretta adhere to the Call of the Wild... 

and pay for it 9 months later.

Of course, everyone in Hollywood knew the real story, but for the press, Loretta went on the with act-- perhaps the best of her career. Clark made a few visits to mother and daughter after the birth, and by Nov. 30, Loretta gave her first interview, sans child, about how she had completely recuperated from her illness. Judy remained well taken care of, basically sitting in wait for her mother to return to her, which she did after a year and a half. The world bought the whole story, however, the secret became more difficult to hide as Judy aged. Not only did she resemble her mother greatly, but she had also inherited her father's trademark ears, which Loretta kept firmly hidden underneath a bonnet until she was forced to have them surgically pinned back. Later, after being prodded by a friend at school with the curiosity, Judith asked her mother why, if she were adopted, the two should look so alike? Loretta fumbled for an answer, stating that it was simply that they had spent so much time together and used the same mannerisms and way of speaking, etc. When the truth came out in Judy's early twenties, and Loretta was finally forced to confess to her daughter, she became so overwrought that she rushed to the restroom and threw up. Loretta had been tortured by both her love of Judith and her knowledge that she was the result of outright "sin." For Judith's part, once she knew and accepted the truth, she said that it made her feel whole for the first time in her life. And while her sketchy history and upbringing has become the stuff of Hollywood legend, she remains secure in herself and proud of both parents, despite their naughty, naughty ways. (Judy shows her resemblance to both parents, with mother Loretta, left).

There are certainly more stories from whence these dollops came, but uncovering them all would take a large chunk of time. The sad truth is that in these studio days, when celebrities were looked up to as Gods, it was intolerable for them to commit human errors. Many adhered to studio regulations when being punished for their immoral crimes, hence the number of "appendectomies" that female stars had to undergo. (Marlene Dietrich once quipped that abortion was the only studio supported method of birth control). For some, like the aforementioned, who chose to bravely go against the grain and have their children against studio objection, they still had to sacrifice honesty for a continued life of fame and fortune. Since most people in the community knew the truth, it makes one wonder why people chose to wear the facade of morality when all concerned knew that it was a facade. Between the shame of studio condemnation and the knowledge that a pious audience may too turn their backs on them, these players were forced to keep up the ruse and maintain their pristine reputations. As always, The Greatest Show on Earth takes place behind the cameras.

HOT SPOTS in CA: TCM's Moguls and Movie Stars Exhibit

Moguls and Movie Stars: Nov. 18, 2010

As many of you certainly know, Turner Classic Movies has been playing a very informative docu-miniseries detailing the world of Hollywood cinema from its birth thru the end of the studio system. (The show airs Mondays at 8pm EST). In addition to these seven episodes, TCM also featured a traveling exhibit, which displayed the many different details and artifacts more thoroughly described on the show. This exhibit recently made a pit-stop in Los Angeles as part of its pilgrimage at "The Grove" shopping center in Beverly Hills.  I was able to attend the presentation last Thursday and saw the different pieces, which I share with you now.

Timeline of Innovation

Fairly small, the exhibit still was able to boast some impressive pieces of movie history, most specifically in their large standing timelines, complete with important historical dates, film clips, and varied physical elements from Hollywood's heyday. One very interesting portion revealed the initial visual illusion of the "running horse," which was a primary form of entertainment before actual moving film took hold of the nation.

Casablanca Oscar

One such piece, that I found the most impressive, was an actual check signed by Irving G. Thalberg himself and made out to John Gilbert, one of the most tragically forgotten male stars of silent cinema. To have a piece of paper that passed through the hands of two of the greatest representative pillars of moviedom was quite a sight to see.

Famous Check!

Additionally, there were several movie magazines on display, showing some of the biggest box office draws throughout the years. Watching how the magazine covers changed over time from illustrations to photographs was a very interesting metamorphosis, and altering social attitudes were clearly delineated from cover to cover.

Ga-Ga for Greta

However, the most jaw-dropping portion of the exhibit was the display of different costumes worn by some of the biggest stars in some of the most famous movies of all time: Christopher Plummer's suit from The Sound of Music, Vivien Leigh's dress from Gone with the Wind, Rudolph Valentino's costume from The Sheik, and Marilyn Monroe's sweater suit from Niagara. Seeing these pieces of fashion-- once worn by various legends-- up close and personal evoked two things: 1) The surprise that stars on the silver screen are much smaller than they appear and 2) Pure awe and wonder-- "My God... Marilyn Monroe wore this?" (sigh)

Marilyn's Suit from Niagara

The tour has sadly come to an end, having made stops in New York, Atlanta, Denver, San Francisco, and finally L.A. La Land. It was a real treat to witness it, and I hope that TCM will continue to do such interesting exhibitions in the future. It is always nice to witness first hand the curiously beautiful ghosts of the past in the fast-paced and grueling nature of the present. 

(To view the rest of my pics from the show, go to my Myspace Album, here).

Happy Thanksgiving!!! [From Groucho and all the Stars of LALaLand ;)]