MENTAL MONTAGE: Hands Off! The Part's Mine!

Barbara Stanwyck ponders artistic fusion as Stella Dallas.

Every actor has a dream role-- the one he or she is dying to play. When one is passionate about his craft, he will fight tooth and nail for this holy grail of career opportunities: to play the perfect part and prove his mettle as a performer. Sometimes, in reaching for this desired role, one is hoping to kick-start his career. Sometimes, a role comes along that is a departure from the actor's past track record, and he hopes in playing it to expand his horizons. Other times, there is just an inexplicable connection-- the feeling that only he could play this part; that he and the character belong together. Here are a few instances when a zesty actor or actress fought for the role of a lifetime and brought his or her cinematic soul mate to life-- making history in the process, of course.

Barbara Stanwyck never had a long term commitment with any particular studio, which gave her a lot of independence and control over her career. However, there is a downside to this renegade tactic of navigating the film business. Without studio control, she also lacked studio aid, and thus wasn't handed roles on a silver platter the way that many other actresses of the time were. She often joked that she got all the discards or rejected parts that her contemporary leading ladies didn't want. As such, she rarely had first dibs on a desired role, one exception being The Lady Eve, which Preston Sturges designed specifically with her in mind. There was another role that she desperately wanted, however, and the she-panther in her wasn't about to let anyone else get it! That role was "Stella Dallas." The provocative and controversial tale of a girl from the wrong side of the tracks who unsuccessfully tries to climb the social ladder spoke to Babs on many levels. She connected well with characters who were flawed, desperate, and even depraved. The fact that Stella becomes a mother-- at times ill-equipped but always loving-- also spoke to the little girl in her who had been robbed of her own mother when she was young. When word spread around Tinsel Town that Olive Higgins Prouty's blush-worthy novel was going to be adapted into a film, Babs's mouth began to water. She knew that she could give the part all she had, making Stella authentic and real. There was just one problem: Ruth Chatterton. (Babs goes dowdy for her interpretation of "Stella Dallas" left, with Anne Shirley).

Ruth (right) and Babs went waaaaaaay back-- way back to Barbara's days as a struggling chorus girl and thespian. One of her first major screen tests was done in the presence of Ruth, by then an already accomplished actress of the stage and screen, and her presence must have unarmed Babs a bit. Babs was auditioning for the lead in the silent film Broadway Nights when Ruth stopped by the set with her maid. The cameraman was trying to get Barbara to cry for the test, but she couldn't muster the tears-- an issue she would never have later in her career. When he brought out an onion to try to provoke the tears, Ruth started howling with laughter, which was incredibly humiliating. So brutal and unnecessary was the senior lady's assault, that Babs finally howled at her to "shut up!" Needless to say, Babs lost out on the lead, but she did land a supporting role. It was cold comfort. She would never forget this run-in, and used the humiliation as one more bit of inspiration to propel herself toward her own stardom. It worked, for Babs was soon enough living and working steadily in Hollywood. By the time Stella Dallas came up as an opportunity, she had more than proved herself as a woman with star power and talent. Yet, imagine the slap in the face when she learned that Stella had been offered to her old nemesis, Ruth!

Fortunately for Babs, Ruth wasn't interested and passed on the film. There was still a chance, and actually a pretty big one! Due to the nature of the text-- which in the wrong hands could have turned into an embarrassing B-Movie-- and the unglamorous and even matronly metamorphosis that Stella goes through during the course of the story, very few actresses wanted anything to do with it. It could be said that none of them would touch it with a ten foot pole, which again makes Babs such a charming and unconventional Hollywood actress. Others saw scraps; she saw prime rib. When famed director King Vidor signed on to direct, Babs had every hope that the film would be something great. Thus, she asked Joel McCrea (left), with whom she was working on Banjo On My Knee, to lobby for her at his home studio, Goldwyn, where the film was to be produced. This was a favor he was proud to do for his gifted co-star, though he had a rough time convincing Samuel G. of her suitability for the role. Sam thought her too young, un-sexy, and an un-motherly. Joel went to bat and coaxed Sam into a screen test. It paid off. Babs made the test for an already impressed Vidor, landed the part, and certainly gave all of those other reticent leading ladies a lesson when she churned out a painful, funny, multi-faceted performance-- playing aged, sexy, and motherly with ease. At the very least, she stuck it to Ruth.

Another determined lady was Olivia DeHavilland (right). While all the rest of Hollywood was competing for the role of "Scarlett O'Hara" in Gone with the Wind, OdeH was avariciously going after the docile and saintlike role of "Melanie Hamilton." For the passionate brunette to be vying for the role of a placid angel seems a bit contradictory, but that was precisely the allure. Olivia was drawn to Melanie because she could not understand her innate, impenetrable goodness. Being a warm but admittedly flawed person herself, fleshing out this atypical woman seemed like a noble challenge. Most actresses would have looked at the role as vacant and boring, delivering a one-note performance of superficiality with artificial sweetener. Olivia was determined to give Melanie both grace and guts, believing at the time: "there is something I want to say through her that I feel is very important to say to people." Despite her stellar reputation, she had a little trouble landing her dream role.

Firstly, there was Jack Warner, top-dog at Olivia's home studio of Warner Brothers, who was not about to lend one of his leading ladies to the competing Selznick Studios. Secondly, there were other contenders, including her sister Joan Fontaine-- though her bid was an unintentional one. Joan had actually gone to see director George Cukor about playing Scarlett, and after George laughed off what a clear case of miscasting this would be, he suggested that Joan approach the Melanie role. Joan refused, burned by his insult of her non-Scarlett-ness, and haughtily recommended her sister Olivia for Melanie (the two did not get along). Ironically, she inadvertently did Olivia a favor, since the elder sister actually did want the part! George called Olivia in for an interview, and was surprised to learn that she had both David O. Selznick and Howard Hughes vouching for her. In fact, originally, Jack Warner had offered Olivia to Selznick as a package deal with Errol Flynn as "Rhett Butler" and Bette Davis as "Scarlett," but when Selznick refused the trio, he also lost Olivia. Still, she hoped that she could somehow put a bid in for herself alone. George was on board, but Jack Warner was still withholding the prize actress. This made the other prospects of Andrea Leeds, Anne Shirley, Frances Dee, and Elizabeth Allen, etc. very threatening, but Olivia was determined.

Eventually, Olivia got desperate. Being a business savvy woman, she decided to approach another shrewd lady for a hand: Mrs. Jack Warner-- Anne. Lili Damita had also used Anne's help when she was trying to get her new hubby Errol cast in Captain Blood. Clearly, this lovely woman held real sway. Thus, Olivia prevailed upon Anne-- at The Brown Derby no less-- to help her in her plight. Jack was so unrelenting in his ministrations and his relationship with the actress was such a contentious one (which would reach a fever pitch in the mid-1940s with the infamous "De Havilland Decision" court case), that Olivia felt only the intervention of a purring Anne to his delicate side would help her win the day. Anne took pity on Olivia and started setting the trap. It worked. From the outside, it looked like Jack had simply made a business move-- trading Olivia's services to Selznick to for Jimmy Stewart's in No Time for Comedy. But the truth was, Olivia had the inside track: his wife. Good riddance, for could there be another Melanie (right)???

Ernest Borgnine (left) was an unlikely candidate for a Hollywood movie star. In fact, even he couldn't see himself in that role. However, familial encouragement and the crazy and unexpected ways of life eventually put him front and center before the camera. He was excited about a great many of the parts that he would eventually play, but there was one in particular that he felt was destined to be his. He first responded to the villainous role of "Sergeant Judson" when he read the novel From Here to Eternity by James Jones. He later acknowledged the uncanny sensation he had that somehow he and Judson were connected. He started bragging to all of his pals that if the book were ever made into a film, he would play the part! He must have willed this phenomenon into existence, because in a very brief time, he was called in for an audition!! With his gruff exterior and natural penchant for playing heavies, he was quickly cast.

Once he landed the role, he was ecstatic! His dream was coming true! Yet, now finding himself in the uber-exclusive company of contemporary idols like Frank Sinatra and Montgomery Clift, Ernest suddenly felt a little unsure of himself. He had an inkling that with his short, stocky stature, he wouldn't be accepted as the intimidating tough guy that he was supposed to play. When not in character, he was a fun-loving, happy-go-lucky guy. He seemed very far from threatening, and thus his casting started raising eyebrows. Even Frank, set to play his nemesis and victim in the film, was uncertain if Ernest could pull off enough menace to make their hostile relationship believable. After all, Frank had a rep to protect. Since his character is supposed to die at Judson's hand, he wanted to make sure Ernest was tough enough to pull it off without making him look like a wimp. In other words, he needed a worthy opponent. Since Frank was still in a career slump and desperate for a hit, his hesitance could be understood. But, all reluctance disappeared once the cameras started rolling. Ernest wore the role of Judson like a loaded gun. Frank was impressed: "My God! He's ten feet tall!" he declared. Ernest proved himself quickly. He would recall the shooting experience as one of the most enriching of his life, as did Frank, who won an Oscar for his performance-- thanks to scary Ernie in his fated role (see fight, right).

Looking back, it seems like the success of The Wizard of Oz was a forgone conclusion. It is so iconic, so deeply rooted in our culture, so eternal that it feels as though it has always existed. This is not so. When building an epic, you have to start from somewhere, and putting all the missing pieces together is a challenge and a headache. One wrong move, and the whole project can collapse, but with the right combination of actors, director, editor, etc-- and just blind luck-- magic can happen. The casting of Wizard is a story in itself, with several possible players uncertain that they wanted anything to do with a silly movie for children. Ray Bolger (left) had no doubts. However, when he was signed on to the project, MGM wanted to cast him as the "Tin Man." Ray had other plans.

A skilled and flexible dancer with an elastic ability of movement, Ray found the Tin Man far too constrictive. Clomping around heavily and statically was something he could achieve, sure, but his natural talent was much more fitted for the gangly, free-moving, and constantly falling character of the "Scarecrow." Ray knew in his heart that he belonged in the role of the Scarecrow, and he lobbied for it resiliently to Louis B. Mayer himself, who finally conceded. The problem was that Buddy Ebsen, an equally likable and talented dancer, had already been cast as the Scarecrow.  An easy-going guy, he had no qualms with Ray's casting coup and generously stepped out of his straw britches and into his tin boots (see right). It was a moment he would come to regret. During the make-up test, aluminum powder was applied to his skin to give him a metallic sheen. Fine. But then, the powder, after much application, got into the air and thus into his lungs. At home one night, Buddy tried to take a breath and couldn't do it! He was rushed to the hospital and was informed that he had to undergo a lengthy recuperation. MGM did not wait for him and cast Jack Haley in his place. He would recall this as the most hurtful and bitterly disappointing moment of his career. A good deed never goes unpunished...

Jack had no knowledge of Buddy's mishap when he began his performance as the Tin Man, and his cosmetics were modified into a pre-mixed solution of the hazardous dust within an aluminum paste, which dispelled the inhalation issue. He suffered no issues with his breathing, though he did get an eye infection. His dreamlike, whimsical version of the Tin Man would thus go down in popular history by happenstance. Ray's success as the Scarecrow (left), on the other hand, was absolutely purposeful, and he was always proud of his work on the film. Certainly, he must have felt guilty that his insistence on playing the Scarecrow had inadvertently sent Buddy to the hospital... but then again, maybe he was glad that fortune had been on his side. His persistence had saved him from that dangerous, silver powder! In the end, despite the disastrous outcome for Buddy, Ray's assessment had been right. He was the perfect person to play the awkward man of straw, and in choosing this role he too proved that he-- like the Scarecrow-- had brains.

HISTORY LESSON: Royal Wives

Rita Hayworth weds Prince Aly Khan May 27, 1949-- and becomes a 

bona fide Princess!

America has always been its own land, influenced by the East but varied in its interpretations. We have no ruler, but we do have some guy we appoint every four years to help guide this ship. We have no palaces, but our richest society members can afford extravagant mansions at which we can marvel. We have no capitol Kingdom... but we do have Hollywood. As Tinsel Town grew into a burgeoning community of wealth and fame, our stars became the Kings and Queens of our universe-- the cream of the crop, the most beautiful we had to offer. As our economy boomed and we proved our mettle as builders, entrepreneurs, and even master businessmen, this little punch of public appeal lent us even more respect from the more aged countries across the sea-- who seemed antiques to our brave new, and finally thriving world. Hollywood would help put us on the map as a definite competitor in business, for as the world wars ensued and stalled filmmaking in the initially, equally prosperous German and French cinematic worlds, America's cameras kept rolling, and rolling, and rolling. As film continues to be one of the most far-reaching mediums in existence, so too do the faces that grace the silver screen remain the most famous and the most adored. These American idols, thus, became idols the world over, and soon, more historically rooted royal families started rubbing elbows with our own invented, ordained beings.

The first King and Queen of Hollywood, Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, bridged this gap when they began entertaining the Duke of Alba, the Duke of Sutherland, the Marquis of Vienna, the King of Spain, the Prussian Princess, and the Prince of Sweden at their own illustrious, colonial style castle: Pickfair. Different curious foreign figureheads too began visiting the stars on the film set to see how they created their magic pull. Lon Chaney once entertained the Princess of Sweden in between shots on the lot (see his hamming here), and Russian government leader Premier Nikita Khrushchev later came to visit Shirley MacLaine on the set of Can-Can (right)-- he would memorably say, after watching the high-kicks, "The face of humanity is prettier than it's backside." (Can-can you believe it)? Some may have poo-pooed celebrity appeal, declaring that these newly appointed social rulers were not given their position through generational inheritance, as true royalty was, but the grit and determination of self-made American men and women somehow made their new, elevated status seem even more deserved. After all, true Kings and Queens were simply famous for being famous, wealthy, and guiding the general course of their nations. How were Hollywood idols any different? At least they didn't pretend to be entitled. They had worked hard, and publicly, to earn their places in adulation. They too were not chosen by a metaphysical God, but were chosen by the people and for the people. They were not creatures of tradition, but creatures of change: modern, alive, now. At the very least, they made things interesting... and much more aesthetically pleasing.

In no time at all, as if Hollywood had just discovered a great new plot, true royalty began romantically courting this new American royalty. Not surprisingly, the male heir to the foreign throne was usually the one who came to woo a beautiful American Princess back to his Kingdom. The movie starlet, after all, was the ultimate, two-dimensional sex object. A Prince was just a regular man in the end, and he saw marriage to a film goddess as the culmination of all his fantasies, just like any other guy. The only hiccup, of course, was that the perfection on the screen was an illusion, and these gorgeous screen creatures were actually three-dimensional, full-blooded women. Life with them would prove to be much more complicated off camera. Of course, the ladies too would make the mistake of getting involved with a real Prince as a result of their own yearning Princess fantasies. As such, more often than not, the glass slipper would prove to be a little too tight, and an alliance between the various Kingdoms and the world of America seemed not to be, if only because America's modernity is naturally averse to old-fashioned values and traditions. American movie stars are working women, not housewives nor the placid trophies and ornaments that the magazine covers make them to be. Nonetheless, more than one couple would defy reality, try to bring a fairy tale to life, and marry in the name of Love (aka delusion). Almost always, they would divorce in the name of War. (Marilyn Monroe tries to win Laurence Olivier's heart (and crown) in The Prince and the Showgirl, right).

The Love Goddess Becomes a Live Princess

Rita Hayworth met Persian Prince Aly Khan in Cannes through Elsa Maxwell. Much like her second husband, Orson Welles, Aly was on a mission for Rita, in his case after seeing The Loves of Carmen (left). Rita wasn't a fool. She knew why men were interested in her: her stardom, her sex appeal, her screen persona. She knew too that it was all bull-hockey. Just as she had Orson, Rita initially rebuffed Aly's advances-- after all, she was already dining with the Shah of Iran and King Farouk-- but she finally agreed to meet him for an afternoon visit. Yet, to show that she was no easy sell, she showed up late from another date and dressed in a casual pair of shorts as if to say, "Look bud, I'm just a regular girl-- but not a daft one." Of course, her moderate attempts at self-preservation started to crack due to her natural, maternal nature and sensitive heart. Aly was persistent and charming. Most importantly, he was attentive. During the early days of their courtship, it was as if there weren't any other people in the world. Aly even proved to be a devoted father figure to Rita's daughter Rebecca, giving her much more affection than her own father (Welles). After Rita's recent divorce, heartbreak, and her growing, increased antipathy toward Hollywood, an escape with an exotic Prince seemed to be just what the doctor ordered. After a fortune teller encouraged Rita to dive into the relationship, that's just what she did-- although certain people believe that Aly paid the "psychic" in advance for every premonition she would foretell.

Despite their love for each other, matrimony wasn't going to be as simple as a swapping of vows. First, Rita had to win over Aly's father-- Aga Khan III, the head of Ismaili Muslims. A very shy person, Rita was afraid she wouldn't be able to impress him, but Aga was immediately enchanted with the American beauty, whom he deemed incomparably lady-like. Step-one completed, Aly had to clear up one final snafu- a divorce from his wife Joan Yarde-Buller, with whom he had already had two sons. The divorce was obtained after much effort and protest, and Rita was unceremoniously dubbed a homewrecker-- this despite the fact that the wedded couple had been separated for some time, and Aly had been unfaithful with a slew of women before Rita. Needless to say, Joan should have been grateful for the release and sumptuous alimony, and Rita should have been more skeptical of her suitor. But, as they say, love is blind. The wedding of Rita Hayworth to Aly Khan was held in May of 1949 to much ballyhoo, despite their attempts to keep it quiet and private. The paparazzi party-crashers and the chaos of the day was nearly enough to send super-shy Rita into a nervous breakdown, but she made it through the ceremony. Little did anyone know that she was already a couple of months pregnant with her daughter with Aly, Princess Yasmin, who would be born in December of the same year.

Almost immediately, the beauty of their love affair became one beast of a burden. Rita was not cut out for politics nor the party life, which is what Aly's somewhat immature existence was all about. Instead of a quiet life away from the cameras, she seemed to be even more scrutinized and imprisoned than ever. Aly would throw or attend lavish get-togethers, often leaving Rita surrounded by strangers or else completely alone at home. He too did not give up his wandering eye. After Rita had had enough, she smuggled her daughters out of Cannes and back into America, fearing that Aga Khan would try to stop her from taking his heiress granddaughter. Such was not the case, but once the divorce proceedings commenced, a great debate was waged regarding custody, as well as what religion Yasmin (with mom and sis Rebecca, left) would be raised to practice. The Aga wanted her to receive Muslim instruction; Rita wanted her to be raised a "normal, Christian, American child," although she probably used the religion issue as a bargaining chip to maintain U.S. public sympathy. Aly, for his part, tried unsuccessfully to win his wife back, but despite her vulnerabilities, Rita was not the shrinking violet that she was sometimes believed to be. She wanted her freedom back and hopefully a chance at happiness with a man who could give her the life she'd always dreamed of. Aly, nice guy though he was, was not it. He would return to his wayfaring ways, seducing Joan Fontaine, Yvonne De Carlo and Gene Tierney, all while still legally wed to Rita. Rita would endure two more failed marriages, never finding her Prince Charming. You go to bed with a Prince, and you wake up with a frog...

Gloria Swanson and the Guy with a Long Name (Henri le Bailly, the Marquis de La Coudraye de La Falaise)... and Constance Bennett

She was the ultimate silent screen siren. He was a French nobleman who had inherited his title (Marquis de La Coudraye) from his grandfather. There was much appealing about Gloria Swanson-- diminutive but almost dangerously beautiful, glamorous, and noted for her embrace of a decadent lifestyle (see right). It seemed that she was only waiting for a like-minded man to make her healthy brand of business-savvy narcissism an official Queenship. Henri was equally intriguing. Born into privilege-- but not money-- he had to work for a living, which made him a rare, down-to-earth regal. The legendarily handsome man, who preferred to be called "Hank,"  became a war hero then set his sights on Hollywood. He served as a translator on the set of  Madame Sans-Gêne (1925), where he met his leading lady, Gloria. Though he took on jobs as her assistant, he lacked the business smarts of his wife, and Gloria remained the family breadwinner. Clearly, she hadn't married him for money, so it must have been his title alone that she found so hypnotic. The marriage only lasted until 1931, by which time both were already thoroughly involved with their replacement spouses: Irish sportsman Michael Farmer for her and Constance Bennett, another actress, for him. But some believe that it was the appearance of business partner Joseph Kennedy in Gloria's life that put the final nail in the relationship's coffin. Joe sent Henri to France to work at Pathe simply to get him out of the way. Joe wasn't the gentleman Henri was, and he wouldn't stick around too long after Gloria's career took a dive after Queen Kelly, particularly since her financial woes were partly his fault. By this time, Henri had already written Gloria a letter suggesting that they amicably call it "kaput." Thus, Gloria turned to Farmer, whom she accidentally wed while still technically married to Henri-- thus instigating a bigamy charge. Oy. Vey. Henri and Gloria remained friendly, though, unlike her former two spouses Wallace Beery and Harry Samborn. Henri was a great guy, just not husband material.

Constance Bennett would disagree. Henri's marriage to Constance (left) would last a few years longer than his partnership with Gloria, and at first they seemed a good team. Constance was herself true "Hollywood royalty," having come from a family of esteemed thespians, including father Richard and sister Joan. Her beauty was as famed as Gloria's, as was her impeccable sense of fashion. A shrewd business-woman, she too had a love of controversy, which is perhaps why she jumped at the chance to wed a nobleman, and most importantly, a nobleman who was still married to Gloria Swanson! Always ambivalent toward the press, this royal wedding probably seemed like more of a game to her than anything else, and the fun-loving Henri simply enjoyed being along for the ride-- with beautiful company, of course. The duo had some successes as a couple, such as establishing a production company, Bennett Productions, through which they produced two films together, but by 1940, both their business and personal institutions hit the skids: too much flash, too little substance. Connie quickly moved on to actor Gilbert Roland (for awhile) before settling on army Gen. John Theron Coulter. Henri would marry again to a Colombian divorcee, but would die with no heir to pass on his notorious title. Just as well, for the moniker hadn't served him too well in the end. Heavy is the head the wears the crown... 

Mae, Pola, and Those Damn Mdvanis

The noble Mdvani family hailed from Georgia-- not the American State, but the Eurasian country nestled between Eastern Europe and Western Russia (ironically, a Georgian Prince, Gregory Eristoff, would tutor Rita Hayworth in royal etiquette during her marriage to Aly). While the Mdvani name and their country are little familiar to the ears today, they caused quite a scandal in the 1920s that would make them, briefly, both famous and infamous. The family was understandably unnerved during the Russian revolution of 1917, which encouraged the five offspring of parents Zakhari and Elizabeth Mdvani to flee to Paris. Of course, woeful times of war were not going to knock this highbrow family off their pedestal, and the killer instinct-- or rather lady-killer instinct-- led to them all finding safe harbor through fortunate marriages-- emphasis on the "fortune." They were thus referred to as the "marrying Mdvanis." The three sisters Alexis, Isabelle, and Nina did well for themselves, the latter of whom married Denis Conan Doyle, son of author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but it was the two brothers, Serge and David who would make the greatest claims to fame by wedding Hollywood starlets. David found a paramour and partner in Mae Murray (right). The "girl with the bee-stung lips" was hit by Cupid's arrow, and the duo wed in 1926. Unfortunately, after David had bled the movie queen dry and bankrupted her, he abandoned her for better prospects.

For his part, Serge attached himself to drama queen extraordinaire and exotic film siren Pola Negri (left) in 1927, but after she too lost her fortune in the stock market crash, he quickly ditched her to find a more profitable union. This proved to be more than enough impetus for Mae and Pola to spend the rest of their lives single. Mae had already endured three prior marriages, including one to director Robert Z. Leonard, and her heart was officially finito. Her acting career would too become non-existent, and she ended her days in near poverty at the Motion Picture Country Home. Pola, memorably devastated (and overstated) at the funeral of lover Rudolph Valentino, had too suffered through a previous marriage to Polish Count Eugene Dambski-- oh yeah, she was married to a Count too, and thus was temporarily a Countess, which she happily publicized. Anyway, after the debacle with ol' Serge, she opted to forevermore avoid the sacrament of marriage... and allegedly men. She was rumored to favor only the fairer sex throughout the rest of her life (though indiscriminately). Temporarily, Mae and Pola were regal sister-in-laws; afterward, they were separately, equally, and thoroughly disenchanted.

The Near Miss (Flynn)

Errol Flynn had no shortage of women to choose from. While in his early Hollywood days, this was a welcome bonus to his celebrity, which only enhanced his already irrefutable charm, as he aged, he seemed to favor a quieter, less pretentious lifestyle. Of course, two failed marriages (to actresses Lili Damita and Nora Eddington) had certainly weathered him, particularly the first. After the notorious statutory rape trial that dragged his name through the mud and left his reputation forever sullied by the popular phrase "In Like Flynn," he felt that he had been through the ringer. Despite public perception, he was not proud of his reputation as, what he found akin to being, a gigolo. This was particularly embarrassing for him as a father, a job that for once he was totally devoted to. The skills he lacked as a faithful husband, he made up for as a loving dad. As he tried to leave boyish hijinks behind in pursuit of more mature aspirations-- a career in writing, an acting reputation of repute-- he too thought it time to man-up in the ways of matrimony. Perhaps in a further need to class-ify himself, he drew his attention to Romanian Princess Irene Ghika. The two became engaged (right), with Errol perhaps hoping that some of her royal blood would rub off on him. He, in turn, made suggestions about getting a career started for her in film. However, the nuptials never came to pass. It took one mere look at newcomer Patrice Wymore on the set of Rocky Mountain for Errol to forget all about that royal bird, Ghika. He would settle for being a mere Hollywood Prince by marrying Patrice in 1950. They remained married until his death, though at the end they had become estranged. All of the hard living in Errol's earliest years had fractured his chances at love and happiness, perhaps because he had never truly learned to love himself. But, as he would say, he had still had "one Hell of a time."

The Happy Ending

The one royal wedding that has gone down in history as a true fairy tale is that between Grace Kelly and Prince Albert Rainier III of Monaco (left). Having met on May 6, 1955 while Grace visited Cannes (strangely where Rita and Aly had met), Grace had not been interested at all in meeting the Prince, and was a bit miffed that she was expected to take time out of her vacation for, essentially, a publicity ploy to meet some guy who happened to be royal. She was still engaging in a fling with Jean-Pierre Aumont anyway, so romance was not on the agenda. Begrudgingly, she agreed to the meet n' greet, so imagine her annoyance when Rainier showed up late for his personal tour of the palace. Despite this, Grace made nice, and Albert was cordial, but no one would exactly say that sparks flew at this meeting. Still, something had been ignited. Unlike the fiery, passionate affairs that both had engaged in previously, this romance began slowly. The two found themselves still thinking of each other after they had politely parted, and a correspondence began. What could a little love letter or two hurt? After all, Albert had, from Grace's own lips, been "charming." While Grace began performing her role as the conflicted Princess Alexandra in The Swan, few people knew of her secret affair with a man who would in time make her a real life Princess!

After coming to know each other through their letters more than most people ever do, and meeting clandestinely when appropriate, they fell in love, and Albert proposed. He was under the wire and in need of bringing an heir to the throne. He saw his meeting with Grace, therefore, as fortuitous. Her natural aristocratic air, intelligence, and poise made her a prime candidate for a royal wife, which is why she said "Yes" and then "I do." Grace finished filming on High Society, then boarded the S.S. Constitution for her new home across the sea in April of 1956. The wedding was extravagant and the event of the season, not to mention one of the most memorable movie star moments of all time. As a woman of discipline and duty, Grace would fulfill her obligations as a political wife, including mothering three children (right) and enduring the snooze-fest schmooze-sessions she had to attend as Rainier's arm candy. There would be a tinge of regret in her choice to leave her career behind, and unfulfilled roles and opportunities must have hung heavy on her heart. Nonetheless, she remained Princess Grace of Monaco until her dying day and proved to little girls everywhere that impossible dreams do come true.

Paramount was ecstatic about the publicity Gloria Swanson's

marriage to Henri de la Falaise generated.

When it comes down to it, all of these marriages or attempted marriages were about dreams. Everyone is looking for his or her perfect soul mate-- a fellow traveler who will walk this crazy, winding road with them and give them peace. Too often, the illusion of what one wants is far from reality, which is why most of these regal pairings wound up royally screwed. Yet, you can't hold it against them for trying. When offered the chance of a lifetime, one is bound to seize it, even at the cost of not thinking it through. You can't blame the stars for trying to solidify their own powerful but somehow unsteady existence by "marrying up;" nor can you blame movie-loving royalty for literally reaching for the Stars. In either case, the film performers who failed at the altar still reign supreme on the silver screen. Since many of them will be remembered long after names like Mdvani and Ghika are forgotten, I think we know who really rules the world.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Hollywood Rivalries

Everyone loves a good cat fight! We even buy t-shirts in support of them: Team Aniston vs. Team Jolie, Team Simpson vs. Team Lachey... The new reality stars give us an especially hefty bag of trash to tote, with Lauren Conrad pitted against the forever mutating Heidi Montag, or Paris Hilton and Best Frenemy Nicole Richie sometimes at each other's throats and sometimes hugging it out. In the real world and in the reel world, we actually can't all just get along. Celebrity feuds run rampant in Hollywood, whether the tiffs are behind-the-scenes or out in the open, slight distates or out-and-out hate-fests. It's nothing new. Here are a few of the classic rivalries in La La Land history:

What's Eating Gilbert?

There is a marked difference between the quarrels between men and the battles between women. The girls seem to snarl and bare their fangs whereas the dudes usually just shake their heads and say, "I don't like that guy." So it was with Lon Chaney and John Gilbert, two of the biggest stars in the early MGM stable. The two men starred together in While Paris Sleeps and the first MGM production, He Who Gets Slapped, and didn't like each other at all. There were no punches thrown, no on-set arguments, just a mutual dislike that kept the men on opposite sides of the fence in their personal lives and professional careers. Lon was a serious man, who was a consummate professional on the set, constantly thinking of his character and his work. John was a play-boy who, though he took his work seriously, was more interested in the game of things and having a laugh than getting the job done. Lon thought John was immature and irresponsible; John thought Lon was uptight and no fun. For this reason, they had little to say to each other and kept their distance. Truthfully, the fun-loving Gilbert was probably intimidated by the legendary character actor. He once said of Lon, "I have nothing to say to that man. He always looks right through me."

This situation included no fireworks, just underbelly grumblings, which stands in stark contrast to the feud Gilbert had with the MGM "Man" himself, Louis B. Mayer (right). LB loved his mother, and he had an almost religious admiration for motherhood in general, despite the fact that he could be described as a misogynistic womanizer. In fact, he hired boy wonder Irving Thalberg as his right hand man partly because Irving had spoken reverently about his own mother in his "interview." If one was insulting about one's mother or motherhood in LB's presence, it pissed him off. Thus, Gilbert, who had a less than flattering opinion of his own mama, did not stand much of a chance in winning the studio head's good graces. He once told a story that ended with, "and that was the last time I saw my mother's ass!" Upon hearing this, Mayer became enraged, and hated the "disrespectful" actor ever after. It was rumored that LB was henceforward out to get Gilbert. When Gilbert was left at the altar for the fourth time by Greta Garbo, he was sobbing in the men's room when LB walked in and said, "What's the matter with you, Gilbert? Don't marry her. Just f*ck her and forget about her." With than, John threw a punch and knocked LB on his rump! LB swore revenge, and in the end many think he got it by maliciously destroying Gilbert's career. It was said he ordered the treble to be turned up on John's first sound film, His Glorious Night, which resulted in John's squeaky and pathetic exclamations of "I love you, I love you, I love you!" His career was over, and he dead, by the age of thirty-six.

Switchblade Sisters

A little healthy sibling rivalry is present in all families, but there was nothing healthy about the blatant animosity Olivia DeHavilland and Joan Fontaine had for each other. As children, their mother and father, and later step-father, pitted them against each other in a competition for love and attention. The mother sided with Olivia, the father figure with Joan, if at all. They learned at an early age to consider themselves enemies and not friends, and sadly never caught on to the trick or learned to rely on each other. Both grew up willful and brainwashed, and their rivalry only increased when both entered the entertainment business. Olivia had enjoyed success with A Midsummer Night's Dream when Joan came on the scene at RKO, which she probably did only because her new career path would surely annoy her sister. To estrange herself from her sister, Olivia and her mother insisted that Joan change her last name, which she did. The fight reached a climax at the Academy Awards of 1942 when both sisters were nominated: Olivia for Hold Back the Dawn and Joan for Suspicion. Joan would win, but Olivia would get even, winning in 1947 for To Each His Own and coldly turning her back on her sister's offered hand of congratulations. 

Feigning Friendly

The sparring continued in their private lives, where they tried to beat each other to the altar, wealth, and motherhood, (usually Joan emerged victorious-- even if it meant she had to adopt to do it)! Throughout the years, the two would never make peace, the wedge between them firmly solidified when their instigating mother, Lilian, passed away, and to this day they do not speak to or of each other. Apparently, they are waging a final war of "who will live the longest," so until one of the legendary ladies takes her final bow, it looks like the rift will continue. (For more on the battle between Joan and Olivia visit my old blog here.)

The Trouble with Joan

It seems that the name Joan is cursed. Along with Ms. Fontaine, Joan Crawford is infamous for her battles and rivalries with other starlets. The most predominant war was with the incomparable Bette Davis, of course. Just how the rift started is up for debate, but many assume that it occured when Joan made the move to Warner Brothers, Bette's turf, to make Mildred Pierce. Bette was the reigning female star on the lot, so to have the equally notorious Ms. Crawford suddenly appear made the two a prime target for gossip, which created a false problem between the two before a real one even existed. They had no real relationship, and Bette tried to avoid her supposed nemesis in an attempt to dodge the possibility of fiction turning into fact. Joan did the opposite, supposedly wooing Bette like an ardent lover, sending her flowers and letters of flattery in the hope that the two could become friends. As Joan was a circumspect and puzzling person, it is unknown whether she did this to truly endear herself to a woman she considered a professional equal, or to overcompensate for the abundant rumors that they did indeed hate each other, or to play a cunning game of killing with kindness. 

To make matters more interesting, there was a rumor that Joan was a bisexual and that she at one point made a pass at the flabbergasted Bette, who refused in disgust! Whether it's true or not, we'll never know. In retrospect, it seems that the two did have a bit of a professional feud going on for the Hollywood Queen's crown, but never actually had any real conflict. Though they may not have particularly like each other, their bitterness was more of a distaste than a founded hatred. In later years, when Joan's eldest adopted children would defame her memory in the scandalous book, Mommie Dearest, Bette even jumped to her defense, saying that no mother deserved such treatment from her children. But, the tension between the two did help make their collaboration, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (above), a classic. Whether the animosity between the two was real or imagined, on-screen it was electrifying.

In truth, Joan's real foe was Norma Shearer. Before Joan was supposedly trying to be Queen Bee at Warner's, she was trying to do so at MGM. Of course, the big Mama at that studio was Shearer, who was married to LB's Boy Wonder, Irving Thalberg. Joan would complain that with Norma married to the big-wig, she didn't have a chance at the better material. All the real meat went to the woman with an "in," and she didn't agree with the special treatment. When filming began on The Women, these two women delayed production, making George Cukor wait as they both circled the lot in their cars, determined to make the other actress enter the sound stage first. Surprisingly, Joan buckled, allowing Norma to make her diva's entrance. Norma is remembered today for her goody-two-shoes roles, but she was actually quite the controversial leading lady in films like The Divorcee and A Free Soul. Many agreed that she married Thalberg only to secure her position at the studio and #1 leading lady status, and that he in return had only married her because Constance Talmadge wouldn't have him. This, of course, was something Joan agreed on, and she probably smirked to herself at the knowledge that the both of them (as rumor has it), in one way or another, had slept their way to the top.

The Sultry Norma Shearer

Coop the Pacifist

Good-Guy Gary

If there was one actor who came close to being universally liked, it was Gary Cooper, the easy-going ladies' man from Montana. Coop had a bottomless pit of friends and admirers, despite his tight-lipped, "aw, shucks," demeanor, which he fully took advantage of to charm the ladies. His list of conquests was lengthy, including Clara Bow, Lupe Velez, and Patricia Neal. Tallulah Bankhead bragged that she came to Hollywood solely to sleep with Gary Cooper and that she got her wish. Another starlet he supposedly "got to know" was Carole Lombard, who in her typical Carole way, expressed annoyance that, despite his incredible sexual prowess, she couldn't get him to say a word to her in conversation. Perhaps that's why she took up with a more talkative chap, Clark Gable.

Coop and Gable were rumored to be friends (left with Van Heflin and Jimmy Stewart), albeit not very close ones, perhaps because there was definitely an unspoken rivalry going on between the two of them. Though they would go hunting together, the knowledge that Gary had bedded his wife was certainly irritating to Clark. In addition, the two men were in a constant public battle in the press as to who was the bigger star. As Gable was a naturally more insecure individual, he probably liked to have Gary around so he could keep an eye on his competition-- keep your friends close and your enemies closer-- and Coop, who needed the validation less, simply enjoyed the undercurrent of masculine competition. He didn't take the whole thing too seriously, as he didn't seem to take anything too seriously. Gable took everything seriously. Though both were likable men, Coop carried less of a chip on his shoulder in general, and had few problems with anyone. Another example: both Gable and Cooper worked with Charles Laughton, on Mutiny on the Bounty (below) and The Devil and the Deep respectively. Charles despised Gable and vice versa, but adored Coop and would extol his understated acting for years.

Another man's man with a bone to pick with Cooper was fellow cowboy John Wayne. Both men were acknowledged republicans, but Coop, as in all things, seemed to tow a middle line when it came to politics. Generally speaking, he kept mum. During the great witch hunt HUAC hearings, Cooper was called in as a "friendly witness," but though he answered the panel's questions, he failed to give away any information that would incriminate his friends. (Fellow celebs Robert Taylor and Elia Kazan would not be so diplomatic). Gary didn't hold grudges or pass judgments, and when he went to work on High Noon, written by the blacklisted Carl Foreman, he would fight for the project and Foreman's credit in it. John Wayne was a staunch anti-communist, and spoke out against the film for its "red" ties, as well as what he believed was its underlying liberal political allegory. He felt that the portrayal of a cowardly town and the final image of the Sheriff stepping on his badge was un-American. Coop stuck to his guns, literally, and churned out a classic that some hail as the greatest western every filmed. The clincher?? When Coop was absent at the  1952 Academy Awards, he asked Wayne to accept his award on his behalf. During his speech, Wayne even said that he wished he had been offered the part himself. Looks like Coop won that round! 

Gary Cooper was just an all-around nice guy. Flawed, certainly... but unhampered by whatever issues he may have carried beneath his silence. For this reason, no real rivalry could spring up between him and anyone else, because he wouldn't allow such things to affect him. The others I have mentioned, were not so inclined. Insecurity is the basis for every human flaw, and this weakness reveals itself in jealousy, lashing out, and even downright cruelty. If you cast the eye of scorn upon someone else, perhaps it won't come back to you. Some people just never grow up and never fully leave the playground back in grade school where it belongs. Stars are no different. In the end, it is funny and entertaining to watch them be as childish and catty as the rest of us. All the backhanded compliments and behind-the-scenes cat fights allow us to ease up on our own personal quarrels. We're too busy laughing.