STAR OF THE MONTH: Robert Mitchum

Robert Mitchum: Don't be deceived just because it's April 1st.

He's nobody's fool.

True story: when Charles Laughton began preparing for his first and last onscreen directorial effort-- the dark, fairy tale nightmare Night of the Hunter-- he became convinced that no one else on earth would be better for the role of the murderous "Preacher Harry Powell" than the snake eyed Robert Mitchum. He feared Robert's rejection, because Powell was an outlandish, bombastic character unlike anything the underplaying actor had ever performed. Still, he made his pitch:

Laughton: Bob, we have a story here we are hoping to turn into a little film, and I would very much like to talk to you about the leading role. The character is a bit different. He's a terrible, evil... sh*t of a man.

Mitchum: Present.

There you have it: Bob in a nutshell. Robert Mitchum kept it real. Never catering to expectations nor indulging in diva tantrums, he eschewed all forms of pretension or formality and openly indulged in his inner bad-ass. But Robert, despite being the King of Cool, was a bit of a pretender himself. His act of the cynical drifter who didn't give a damn was an exaggeration of his true self. His mask of devious detachment and impassion was a front to deter those around him from his secret vulnerabilities, his artistic drive, and his surprising intelligence. Still, girls went ga-ga for him, because he was "a little bit evil" and they dug it, and his same disenchanted, searching soul was the one that gave him incredible depth as both an actor and human being. 

Bob and wife Dorothy.

Robert Charles Durman Mitchum was born on August 6, 1917 to a Scots-Irish and American Indian mutt, the charismatic and combative Jimmy Mitchum of South Carolina, and the more easy-going and artistic Norwegian, Ann Harriet Gunderson of Connecticut. He would be equally endowed with components of both parents, inheriting the willful, fighting, liquor-loving penchants of his father and the more poetic and intellectual sensibilities of his mother. The middle child was sandwiched between elder sister Annette (who later changed her name to Julie) and younger brother John. At a mere 1 1/2 years of age, Bob's father was killed while working in Charleston's navy yard, crushed between two box-cars-- a common occurrence in those days. A deeply mournful Ann moved her family back to New England for a time, then back to South Carolina, and later to Delaware, where Bob spent the majority of his formative, youthful years. Already, the spirit of the gypsy was in him. His family would only ever know the warm, sensitive, romantic side of Bob's nature, and would be surprised when they learned that he had gotten into fights with local boys or had yet again been kicked out of school. The irony was that Bob was the smartest kid in his class. Adept with what can only be called a photographic memory and a highly intuitive, comprehending mind, he was often the one to point out the teachers' mistakes. School friends never saw him take a book home to study, because he already had his entire lesson memorized and figured. Yet, Bob was also the student to get in trouble for playing pranks on teachers, cutting class, or causing a general ruckus. As a poor kid, he had a well-ingrained distaste, not only for spoiled, oblivious people, but also any kind of authority figure. He would always carry a chip on his shoulder, yet as he matured, he at least learned how to pick his battles, probably knowing that he was smarter than any of the supposedly learned elite who were barking orders at him or making fun of his impoverished family.

Checking out the gorgeous merchandise of lifelong pal Jane Russell in

the comic thriller His Kind of Woman.

After he was expelled from his high school at the age of fourteen, Bob hopped to a train to... anywhere. There was no plan. There was no ending point. He just wanted to move around, see the country, and let it ride. He would hop trains with the rest of the hobos, often jumping off for his dear life when the cops on board discovered them and starting shooting! He would end up stranded in various places, work for a little food and money, roam a bit, then hop back on. Various poems and letters to home kept him mentally busy on quiet nights passing through the country, in addition to alcohol and a little something called Marijuana, or as he called it, "the poor man's whiskey." Eventually, he was forced to return home to his mother's care, (she was now remarried to Major Hugh Morris), after he was bitten by a poisonous snake, and his leg became infected. The doctor wanted to amputate his leg, but Ann, with her bohemian wherewithal, concocted her own natural potion of herbs and roots to save her son's life and limb. It was upon his return to Delaware, where he was limping around on crutches, that he met his brother's latest love interest, Dorothy Spence. Only thirteen-years-old, Dorothy didn't move as fast as the other girls. She was modest, unassuming, and thoughtful. Bob took one look at her and said, "She was it... And that was that." John didn't take it too hard when Bob started working his way into Dorothy's heart, but Dorothy thought Bob was a bit of a pompous nut when she first met him. Then, he started laying on the Shakespeare. And the lyrical quotations. And those thin, penetrating eyes... Soon, they were in love. 

Bob and Burgess Meredith in the groundbreaking Story of G.I. Joe.

Bob built his scrawny, slender frame into a muscular powerhouse when working with the Civilian Conservation Corp. at the age of sixteen. Then, he packed up with his family to try things out in California, where his entertainer sister was already making a go of it. He swore he would return for "Dottie," then headed for a new life as a beach bum. He had been earning a little dough here and there to support the family, including a brief stint as a boxer, when sister Annette literally pushed him on stage to audition at a local theater. Bob wasn't openly interested-- acting was for "sissies" after all-- but secretly he had a natural penchant for performance that had lain dormant for far too long. His family had also noticed his hamming, impressions, and general theatrics, and because of their influence, he accidentally earned himself a role in the play "Rebound." He would take on odd jobs and various roles after his debut, but he continued to avoid commitment to the craft. He was also making money on the side by penning songs, lyrics, and "patter" for local variety and musical acts. He was mostly focused on earning a solid living, so he could start building a life with Dottie. Yet, the signs were clear from the get go. Critics and cast members were blown away by his incredible stage presence and subtle acting style, not to mention his easy use of slang and incredibly verbose vocabulary. For now, he was getting by, so he and Dorothy got hitched, she relocated to California, and they moved into the former chicken shack in the family's back yard. (Dorothy probably had second thoughts).

It wouldn't be small potatoes for long. After his first son, James, was born, Bob nearly went blind working for Lockheed. His mother suggested he look into the picture business, and soon he had nonchalantly gotten himself an agent and a string of roles in B-Westerns, including the Hopalong Cassidy series. The laid-back, man's man world of this brand of cinema was a good place for the skeptical Bob to start. Had he been introduced to the more materialistic and inflated world of slick Hollywood filmmaking, he probably would have run for the hills. As it was, he easily grew comfortable in front of the camera. He would arrive on set, take a look at the script, memorize it in one reading, then hit his mark. Of course, more work went into it than he would ever admit, and many a director would confront him about his feigned indifference. Not only was his bold, distant, yet inviting onscreen persona getting notice and praise, but those he worked with knew that he was actually the hardest working man in show-business. He put great thought into his characterizations, making them somehow more authentic and real, whereas most studio actors gave essentially superficial, "get my good side" performances. After three years, Bob had his big break in Story of G.I. Joe, in which his human and heart-breaking portrayal of "Lt. Walker" earned him his first and only Best Actor nomination at the Academy Awards. He bounced from Westerns, to Noir, to Drama, and back again, proving his versatility and earning countless numbers of fans.

Bob and buddy Jane Greer in noir classic Out of the Past.

When he was signed with RKO, his "type" would be forever solidified. In complex thrillers and noirs, he would become the disenchanted outsider with questionable morals-- complete with cigarette and trench coat. His career would include a long list of impressive credits, including Out of the Past, His Kind of Woman, Angel Face, Night of the Hunter, and The Sundowners. These were his trophy pictures. Bob was always willing to "go there," to investigate a character with more cracks and fractures than the typical pretty boy role. He had no concern for his star power, his name above the title,  nor the size of his role. He was more interested in doing a job and doing it well. The surprisingly innocent blend of masculinity and slight ignorance he molded for Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison and the intensely sexual and sinister creature he created in Cape Fear are testaments to his profound capabilities as an actor. What enhanced his edge was his mystery. You can never quite figure Robert Mitchum out. Even his family would draw a blank when asked to sum him up or explain his behaviors. A traveling gypsy to the end, he was his own island, and this quality intensified his onscreen roles. That's not to say he didn't partake in his share of stinkers, he made quite a few of them with his career enduring its ups and downs, but in the end, he always improved whatever project he worked on just by being in it. He didn't care if a movie wasn't a hit; he didn't go to see them anyway. He was more concerned with the paycheck and putting food on the table to feed his brood of eventually 3 children: Jim, Chris, and Petrine.

Showing his true colors as the murderous "Preacher Powell" in 

Night of the Hunter.

In his personal life, Bob was also a conundrum. He could drink like a fish, and he occasionally turned violent or unexpectedly and confusedly enraged when under the influence, yet he would walk on the sound stage the next day, no worse for the wear, as if he had gotten 12 hours of beauty sleep. He was a brilliant conversationalist and orator, but he had few friends and even fewer in the entertainment business. He was able to strike up camaraderies with guys like John Wayne or Frank Sinatra, but his most enduring friendships were with women of class, substance, and smarts like Jane Russell and Deborah Kerr. He was very protective of women who were fragile, such as Marilyn Monroe or Rita Hayworth, whom he never approached in a romantic fashion but watched over like a brother. Some of his co-stars simply bored him, because they were self-absorbed "bimbos," but he worked well with and respected hard-working, down-to-earth girls who enjoyed his naughty, uncouth sense of humor-- like Janet Leigh and Jane Greer, who both adored working with him. That's not to say Bob always kept things platonic. Inheriting his father's demons and probably suffering from the lack of a real father figure, Bob would engage in many an irresponsible affair, including one with Ava Gardner and a more infamous relationship with Shirley MacLaine, with whom he fell deeply in love during Two for the Seesaw. Dorothy overlooked the indiscretions time and again, because she knew he would always come back to her with the same old excuse. Bob didn't seek out these infidelities necessarily; mostly, he just found himself unable to resist when a temptation was so energetically placed before him. Shirley was the only woman who ever accidentally threatened Dorothy's place as the only real woman in his life. Yet, as always, Bob came back. He and Dorothy remained married until his death in 1997. (He was just shy of 80-years-old).

A haunted, rare look at the cinematic tough guy in Where Danger Lives.

Bob's essential problem was his pair of itchy feet. He was a born adventurer with a fear of monotony, traps, or snares, (and he'd had his share of them with multiple arrests in his life, including the Marijuana scandal, which was coincidentally later expunged from his record after a set-up was uncovered). He would never stay anywhere for long. He was a loving father but an unemotional one. He was there when someone needed him, but he was mostly distant and lost in his own thoughts. One of the reasons he liked acting was the ability it gave him to travel-- to get going before things went stale. Back and forth, here and back, home and far and away, the native blood in him couldn't stand still. The philosopher in him couldn't sit idly nor ignorantly. His cross to bear was his need for more and his own secret fear of rejection-- his unfortunate theology that opening up fully or being truly emotional was wrong. What he felt, what he carried within him, he carried alone, wandering, seeking, and solving all of life's mysteries before his own life was over. The little snippets of his personal discoveries can be gleaned from the identities he created in Dan Milner, Max Cody, Preacher Harry Powell, Jeff McCloud, Lucas Doolin, and Charles Shaugnessey. Moviedom's master poker player, Robert Mitchum never showed his hand. But then, when you're holding aces, you don't need to.

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part IX

Linda Darnell felt like a star-struck fawn when she began working
with her acting heroes. Little did she know that she would
 in due time become one of the inspirational elite.

Just as the integration of sound in film created an uncomfortable tension between the silent generation and the studio era, so too would the invention of Television topple Golden Era Hollywood's ivory tower. Changing fads, younger audiences, and this new feat of technological competition would-- along with age-- humble many of cinema's greats. The more business savvy Gods and Goddesses immediately hopped on the gravy train, such as Loretta Young who starred in her own TV show. Other, older curmudgeons found it difficult to acclimate, like Clark Gable, who let his MGM contract run out and then sought semi-retirement. Linda Darnell became one of the many who was left to walk a crooked line between sudden, grateful independence from studio control and complete and utter bafflement at what to do next. Like many of her generation, too young to retire and too old to appeal to the new method-acting trend, Linda did a little of everything: the occasional, poorly made film, some television, and most importantly the stage. It was on the stage that Linda believed she truly learned to act and to carve out characterizations that went beyond simply hitting marks and giving good face to the camera. The various plays she did-- A Roomful of Roses, The Children's Hour, Critic's Choice, etc-- were sometimes successful and sometimes flops, but the experience was still an enriching one for her. With mostly positive reviews, her confidence was bolstered, and with younger cast members looking up to her, she gained a self-respect that had been absent from her film work. Many upcoming thespians and later film actors would get a chance to perform opposite the fading but still radiant icon, whom they came to respect and admire for her kindness, generosity, and under-appreciated talent. And so, it was on the stage performing Tea and Sympathy in 1956 that one of the gentle guiding hands of Old Hollywood would help usher in New Hollywood when Linda performed opposite a future leading man... Burt Reynolds.

After years doing stage and television work, Burt Reynolds takes his place

 in film history in Deliverance.

Another, earlier transition in the entertainment world came with cinema's first appearance. Suddenly, the world of the stage was broadened and audiences were introduced to another form of passion plays in flickering lights. Of course, as with all new "fads," many stuck their noses up at film and film actors, thinking it a cheap imitation of true performance. While half the population held tightly to the boards of the stage, another half embraced the possibilities of stories in pictures, resulting in an exciting and contentious era in our nation's past. While film actors endured the shame of ostracization and prejudice from a society that deemed them not only artistically by morally inferior, the actors of the stage dealt with an impending paranoia that the burgeoning new medium of movies was going to shake them out of the business. In time, movies did come to override the theatre as the mass favorite, but the prestige of the stage remained. Yet, with film's new success, attributed in part to the actors and actresses who helped elevate it above the mundane and superficial, respect between the two groups followed. One such example of this can be seen in the tribute one of the stage's greatest actors paid to one of cinema's. Turns out John Barrymore (left) had a bit of a crush on Lillian Gish. Not only did the notorious lecher certainly find her beautiful, but he was apparently in awe of her emotive talents, which he deemed "superlatively exquisite." He was moved to such a degree that he was uncharacteristically too embarrassed to approach her with his compliments. Instead, he used notorious director D.W. Griffith as a go-between. He wrote Griffith a letter full of plaudits, and asked him to pass on his ardent respect to Lillian after seeing her performance in Way Down East: "I wonder if you will thank Miss Gish from all of us who are trying to do our best in the theater." Of course, Jack would later arrive in Hollywood himself and start making his own impression on the cinematic world, but had it not been for his respect for actors like Lillian and their work in the medium, he may well have simply continued treading the boards on Broadway.

D.W. Griffith's "soul," Lillian Gish, apparently reached
John Barrymore's as well.

Another olive branch was extended by none other than Olive Thomas (right). She was at the height of her career when she started filming The Flapper. Life was good, work was steady, and she was quickly solidifying her place as a qualified leading lady. This certainly only served to heighten Olive's perpetually high spirits. Always a generous, free-spirited person, her charm was infectious and endeared many of her colleagues and collaborators to her. One such person was Norma Shearer, an up and coming ingenue who was breaking her way into the tough world of Hollywood through bit parts and extra roles. A fiercely determined girl herself,  Norma-- who landed her first, uncredited role in The Flapper alongside sister Athole-- most assuredly watched every move Olive made with great acuity. Here was a woman she wanted to emulate: charismatic, sensual, talented, and powerful. Never the haughty type, Olive and Norma must have struck up some sort of casual, working relationship while filming, for when Olive learned that the struggling actress had fallen ill, she was deeply concerned. As was her nature, she offered assistance without giving it a thought and wound up forking the dough for Norma's medical bills. It was a debt for which Norma remained eternally grateful and sadly never got to repay, due to Olive's untimely death. But, having indeed learned from a pro, she put this bit of kindness in her pocket and "paid it forward" in her later career, where-- after she became one of MGM's top attractions-- she often lent a hand to other up-in-comers in need, (such as Janet Leigh and Tyrone Power).

Norma Shearer grew to wield her hard-won fame
 energetically and gratefully.

Another type of world that consistently seemed to collide with Hollywood was that of the gangster. The stories of underworld debauchery made their way into cinematic stories as soon as prohibition put a bitter thorn in America's side. While we did not enjoy the truth behind the myth of the booze-pushing mobster-- the man-handling, threatening, and murdering-- we could not help but idolize him in some respect, because at least he was giving us something good to drink! Gangsters too were drawn to the glamorous allure of Hollywood for business and pleasure, and thus our nastiest ne're-do-wells started rubbing elbows with our creme-de la-creme, (see more in a past article here). Linda Darnell's mother, Pearl, would in time come into close, friendly contact with none other than Mickey Cohen (left). After Linda had moved her entire family to Los Angeles and bought them a home, Cohen happened to move in right around the corner. Due to his menacing reputation, many of the neighbors were understandably unhappy. Pearl, a tough cookie, hardly paid his presence any mind. After all, she had been causing a ruckus of her own. More than one neighbor raised an eyebrow at the unconventional Darnell home, where chickens ran amok, snakes were treated like fuzzy bunny rabbits, and Pearl fed her horse through the kitchen window. For classy Los Angelenos, this was the epitome of redneck malfeasance. For a time, Mickey distracted the neighborhood's attention from Pearl-- particularly after a bomb was thrown into his home! Now reasonably frightened, the block started a petition to have the hood ousted, but Pearl refused to sign. She believed him to be the "perfect" resident: he was quiet, had no parties, and kept up his home. When Mickey learned that Pearl had stood up for him, he called personally to thank her. I guess the only person more terrifying than Mickey Cohen was Pearl Darnell. 

Desi Arnaz (right) had his own relationship with the mob, and not just through his television production "The Untouchables." Desi's family escaped the violence and upheaval of Cuba during the revolution of 1933 and settled in Florida. His father, an ex-politician who had been incarcerated for his loyalties, wanted to start fresh in American and went about establishing himself as a businessman. Living in Miami as a teen, the charming and mentally ambidextrous Desi was also interested in business and thus had no penchant for education. Yet, at his parents' insistence, he attended St. Patrick's Catholic High School part time. The one spot of good luck was meeting the boy who was to become his closest friend at the time: Sonny Capone. Desi was aware of who Sonny's father was, but out of courtesy never brought up the fact that ol' Al was doing time in Alcatraz. He would never meet the notorious thug in the flesh, but he did have a bit of a shock one day. As per usual, Desi called the Capone household to chat with Sonny and make plans to meet up and get into the usual boyish hijinks. However, a strange, male voice answered the phone. Desi was thrown at first... and then became even more thrown as he put two and two together: Al was out on parole at the time, and must have traveled to meet with his family. Holy Moly! He was talking to Al Capone! Desi would play it cool at the time, but years later he would have a good chuckle over it. However, after he had found success in Hollywood with wife Lucille Ball, he was surprised to hear from his old friend Sonny, who was deeply insulted by "The Untouchables" due to its subject matter-- an insult to his father. "How could you do it?" Sonny asked. "Why not?" Desi retorted. "Somebody else would have anyway." Sonny's ego was not soothed-- he served Desi with a million dollar law suit. Sometimes, old friendships die hard.

Al Capone: one character not even Hollywood could make up.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Tony Curtis

Tony Curtis was told by a number of people, including the legendary Billy Wilder, that he was the "best looking kid in show business." A good 60 years or so after his hey-day, the title may still apply. Tony's beauty and charisma made him stick out like a sore thumb in Hollywood. While he isn't normally revered as one of the top actors in cinematic history, his career, the people he has worked with, and the classic movies that he has made, keep him forever cemented in our memory. You can't look anywhere in the final days of the studio era without bumping into him! This kid loved to work, and he took every opportunity he could to chase his dreams and expand on them. Starting out in silly B-movies, he crawled his way up the ladder to more established and respected roles, rubbing elbows with some of the most famous and lauded talents of his generation, thus making himself one of them. Despite the prejudice he sometimes felt due to his Jewish background, (and the jealousy over his good looks), Tony lived the high life, partied with the best of them, and starred in film after film, determined to prove himself as a good actor. He is a true testament to what a little grit and determination will do! And he did it with style.

 

 Tony with first wife, Janet Leigh

As per usual, it wasn't always wine and roses. The man that Tony would become grew from the insecure and isolated boy he was in his youth. After witnessing the constant fights of his parents and suffering the physical beatings of his schizophrenic mother, Tony would learn to take care of himself. Victimized in his home life, he swore that he would never play the patsy again. When picked on by neighborhood kids, Tony learned to throw a punch; in love, he would search for the perfect nurturer, while refusing to be pinned down himself or forced to play the subservient male he saw in his own father. He spent his youth swinging his fists, hellbent on finding his freedom and getting the heck out of the Bronx-- but he always carried its mettle with him. An early means of escape and detachment came from the movies. Despite whatever pains he was dealing with, including the shocking death of his younger brother Julie, Tony could always disappear in cinema. After joining the Navy at the age of 16, Tony served his time, grew into a man, and pursued his dreams as a Hollywood superstar. Despite all the cards stacked against him, he succeeded far beyond his expectations.

With Sidney Poitier in The Defiant Ones

Tony became the symbol of the American dream: a boy from humble upbringings living a fairy tale life at the top. Married to beautiful actress, Janet Leigh, his career grew and grew, and he lavished in the fame. His boyish quality, the little scalawag he could never quite outrun, followed him to Hollywood, and his audiences loved him for it. The guys copied his duck-tail haircut, and the girls swooned at his cocky pout. But one can only outrun his demons for so long. Tony wanted too much out of life. He overcompensated for the privileges and love he had been denied in his youth until he found himself sinking under the weight of his own desires. One minute he was hanging with Frank Sinatra, starring in films like Some Like It Hot, and living the high life; the next, he was divorced (several times), struggling to find work, addicted to cocaine, and drowning in the sea of depression he had tried for so long to avoid.

Luckily, the fighter came out swinging again. At the ripe old age of 85, Tony has triumphed. Embracing and overcoming all of the obstacles and faults within himself, he has beaten his addictions, found solace in his love of painting, and lives to tell the tales of his crazy life in the movies. He regrets none of it. Filling people in on his romances with Marilyn Monroe and Natalie Wood, he has become our touchstone to the past; a living link to the glamour of the studio days, which have long since passed. The guy simply won't quit, and we don't really want him to! A lifetime of struggles and an unstoppable passion have given him a life full of accomplishments and us a list of classic, American films: The Defiant Ones, The Sweet Smell of Success, Operation Petticoat, Spartacus, and of course, Some Like It Hot. In the long list of roles he's played, the only character more fascinating is the man himself. This month, let's tip our hats to the Manhattan boy with the deep, blue eyes. Sit back, salivate, enjoy!


* We lost Tony a mere two months after this article was written. He died of cardiac arrest on Sept. 30, 2010. Rest in Peace, sweet Prince. We'll miss you.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Star Search

After one has been working in the industry for awhile, it only makes sense that he or she develop a knack for spotting other hopefuls who may have what it takes to find fame and fortune. Many actors and actresses are noteworthy for the selfless and helpful natures that from time to time compelled them to lend a hand to struggling hopefuls trying to make it in La La Land. I guess if you have that special X-factor, it gives you the ability to see it in others. Here are some examples of Stars finding Stars, or at least Stars predicting bright futures for some unsuspecting diamonds in the rough...

 May's lady, Ms. West, knew a thing or two about quality. She also knew a thing or two about men. There would be many times in her career when she would give a leg-up to a performer if she thought he or she had talent, but she is most notorious for finding the gentlemen gems that she cast in her films. For example, she boosted an already seasoned Randolph Scott's career when she cast him in Go West Young Man. She nicknamed the handsome actor "Randy," because she "could tell he was." (Haha). 

Most memorably, however, Mae made a movie star of Cary Grant. Some rumors remember Mae as discovering Cary when he was kicking up stones outside the Paramount gate, hoping to be chosen as an extra for a current shoot. This isn't completely accurate. Cary had already made several films with substantial-- albeit not breakthrough-- roles in films opposite the likes of Marlene Dietrich (in Blonde Venus). Thus, by the time Mae found him, he wasn't exactly on the extra market anymore. In truth, to Mae's own recollection, she heard Cary before she saw him. The uncanny accent reached her ears as she was sitting in her dressing room. Quite curious about the source of such a booming and almost regal sounding voice, Mae looked down from her window and saw Mr. Grant, finding his looks even more charming than his playful pipes. She decided then and there that she MUST have him in her new picture, and first starring vehicle, She Done Him Wrong. She did him right, because it was this film that shot Cary to super-stardom.

Both of Mae's finds became chums later.

When the saucy Norma Shearer retired from MGM, she lost none of her leading lady luster.Widowed after the death of Irving Thalberg, she took up with a ski instructor, and younger man, Martin Arrouge, solidifying her wildcat reputation long before "Cougars" were the rage. It was actually while staying at a ski lodge that she happened to notice a photograph of a lovely, young girl sitting at the reception desk. Norma recognized the unknown beauty as a star-in-the-making, and suggested that the girl's parents-- both employees of the hotel-- send their daughter to MGM. A kind recommendation to studio heads from Norma scored the young Janet Leigh a screen test and coincidentally a booming career. Had it not been for Norma's eye for talent, Psycho's shower scene would not have been quite so infamous, and Toni Curtis would have been short a wife-- (only one out of 6, but still)! 

Norma also helped out the lads from time to time. Since she clearly had an eye for a good-looking fella, it comes as no surprise that she scored another hit when skimming young men at the pool. Robert Evans happened to be sitting poolside when approached by Norma. At her suggestion, he tried his hand at acting, ironically portraying her first husband, Irving Thalberg, in the Lon Chaney biopic Man of a Thousand Faces, though he would have much better luck as a producer.

It makes more sense for directors to have a good eye for actresses, since they are always scouting out potential leads for future roles, but the way Alfred Hitchcock found Tippi Hedren is quite interesting. Hitch was sitting at home watching "The Today Show" (of all things), and during a commercial break, he caught a glimpse of the delicate and ravishing blonde in a Sego commercial. Hitch was immediately taken with the young model and had Universal call her in to sign a contract. Tippi, who was single and supporting her young daughter (Melanie Griffith), was all too thrilled at the chance to be a steadily working actress. In fact, so shocked was she at the amazing opportunity, that she didn't get around to asking who her mysterious director/benefactor was until after she had signed her new contract! Not only did she find that she was to be working with the famed "Master of Suspense," but for her first major role she would be playing the lead in his next picture, The Birds! One commercial for a diet drink and her life was forever changed. (However, had she known the repercussions of working with the obsessive Hitch, she might have dropped the Sego and run for the hills. For more on that story, as well as Hitch's strange relationships with his woman, read on here).

And finally... One day, a young mother was taking a walk with her baby girl. After covering some ground, she took a rest on a park bench and parked the stroller beside her. (If memory serves, she was at some sort of pier, but I could be way off. It's been awhile since I heard this one). Anywhoodle, an elderly woman happened to be walking by, and she stopped to peer into the baby carriage. She remarked on the child's beauty and predicted that the infant would be a big star some day. Since the baby grew up to be Brooke Shields-- the 6-foot-tall model, memorable for her Calvin Klein Jeans, full eyebrows, Princeton education, and performances in films like The Blue Lagoon and Pretty Baby-- it seems that the mysterious lady had a keen eye for star power. However, Teri Shields had no idea of what lay before her daughter at this point and was both proud and baffled when the woman walked away without another word. Even more perplexing than the glamorous prediction itself was the person it had come from, for despite the woman's age, Teri recognized Greta Garbo right away. If there was one woman who knew beauty, it was Greta, and the other beauty, Brooke, would grow up to fulfill all of the famous and enigmatic screen siren's expectations.