YOU SHOULD SEE: A Letter to Three Wives

Ann Sothern, Linda Darnell and Jeanne Crain

A Letter to Three Wives is yet another triumph on director Joseph L. Mankiewicz's resume. With his unparalleled gift at both literal and visual storytelling, "Mank" presents a snappy, intelligent, well-polished script with his uncanny brand of woman's intuition. (It's no secret that women loved working with him, and this film is a prime example of why). In three stellar performances, Ann Sothern, Jeanne Crain, and Linda "What I got don't need bells" Darnell, this film tells the story of a trio of pals and their worst frenemy: Addie Ross. Addie is the cat's meow... And she has fangs. Simply for the sport of it, she has cast a shadow over the unions of all three women, and when she sends a letter announcing that she will soon be running away with one of their husbands, the ladies' true natures erupt and the strengths of their marriages are tested. With Kirk Douglas and Paul Douglas turning out equally compelling and surprisingly humorous portrayals as two of the husbands, the story is dynamite, and little Miss Addie echoes the power of Orson Welles's Harry Lime in The Third Man, as she is one of the most impactful yet faceless villains of film. Will love triumph over lust?

HISTORY LESSON: The Way We Never Were

Greta Garbo "reflects" on possible acting projects and their outcomes.

It is often said with regard to our most beloved, classic films that life without them would not be the same. This makes one wonder about all of the possible projects in cinema history that "fell through," either prior to shooting or before completion. Some scripts or concepts never make it past the pitch table; others fall apart due to financing, conflicting egos, drop-outs, or even deaths. If we choose to believe in fate, then it is safe to say that all of the films in Tinsel Town "churned" out the way they should have. However, pondering some of our never-realized movies can weigh on the mind. Their unattainability makes their absence too hard to swallow, much like so many lost silent films of the past. Here are a few examples of what might have been. Might it have been grand???

Greta Garbo (left) was, on the one hand, a force to be reckoned with. She once told her great-nephew (is that accurate lineage terminology?) that she would have been a success no matter what she decided to do with her life. On the other hand, despite her serious dedication to both her career and her craft, her business sense was not always on par. She relied heavily on friends and advisers for help when deciding which projects to take on and which to refuse. John Gilbert, her first Hollywood lover, filled this role only too gladly, even encouraging her to hold out on old LB Mayer for more money-- a ploy that worked. After Greta lost, or rather, "passed" on John, she looked to writer, actress, and den-mother to all Hollywood foreigners, Salka Viertel, for guidance. Mostly, Greta just wanted to act and be passionate about what she was doing. Early on, she took whatever temptress roles were thrown at her; later she got pickier, holding out for pieces she considered more interesting, though she let others do most of her bargaining for her. In her later career, she found herself almost exclusively doing projects suggested by or even written by Salka, which makes one wonder if Greta was her friend, muse, or cash cow. Perhaps all. 

Nonetheless, throughout her career, Greta did have a mind of her own, and she often dreamed of roles that she would like to play. Ironically, a great deal of them were typically male roles. For example, Greta once mentioned that she would love to do an adaptation of Oscar Wilde's "The Picture of Dorian Gray," with herself as the title character. She also stated that her ideal leading lady would be Marilyn Monroe as "Sibyl Vane." This casting, of course, was not to be, because of its overt, homosexual connotations. However, Greta did not have a great same-sex agenda or national statement in mind by making this project. Mostly, she was just a woman who understood that the more interesting roles in history seemed to be written for men. She wanted the meaty stuff. Her own androgyny, of course, was a factor, for Greta was always up for any role that would allow her to explore her masculine side and, most importantly, afford her the chance to wear trousers. This begs the question: did she intend to play the role of Dorian as a man, or was she was indeed willing to embark on perhaps the first unabashed same-sex romance in film history? The truth is that the social implications probably never entered her mind. Since Greta often referred to herself in the masculine gender,-- "I've been smoking since I was a small boy"-- she probably wouldn't have seen the issue as an issue. Needless to say, this dream role never came to fruition, and it's too bad, because imagining what she could have done with it-- playing the notoriously vain and twisted character of Dorian with her own epically beautiful face-- is a tantalizing train of thought. Other male roles that Greta longed to play include Shakespeare's famous Dane, "Hamlet," as well as Homer's iconic "Odysseus" in a failed GW Pabst directed interpretation. She also longed to pull a Chaney and play a male clown. (Greta "man's-up", right, with C. Aubrey Smith and John Gilbert in Queen Christina).

Another reason Greta Garbo continues to live on as such a legend is this unity of gender. She seems to be almost the being into whom all human beings are trying to evolve-- the perfect blend of male and female. While women and men can both be boxed in by stereotypes-- ditzes or meat-heads, sluts or cads-- Garbo transcended any type of labeling by creating her own definition of existence. Unlike the effeminate male, the masculine female has always been a more accepted form of sexual fusion, which perhaps has some sort of sexist connotation in terms of embracing the masculine ideal. Yet, in her hands, it worked. When she hams it up like an overgrown boy in Queen Christina, it is like witnessing her come alive at her most perfect. This is Greta's male alter ego at its best. However, she did have a feminine side, and her femme alter ego came to its most brilliant fruition as the tragic, romantic heroine of Camille-- what some hail as her greatest performance. In Greta, womanhood was best defined not in terms of poise, manner, or dress, but in sincere affection and devotion, whether it be maternal or passionate. Some other famous ladies that she nearly played in epic biopics were Isadora Duncan, Joan of Arc, and Mother Teresa. The latter is particularly intriguing... There is much martyrdom in Garbo's later talkies, evoking images and ideas of sainthood, but could Garbo de-sensualize herself enough to embody a true life Saint? (Greta tries martyrdom on for size in The Painted Veil, left).

Charlie Chaplin (right) was an enormous Garbo fan, and she in turn had a mutual respect for his equal genius. Getting these two icons on the silver screen together would have been quite the experience, which could only be made more outlandishly divine by a third egomaniacal interloper: Orson Welles. In fact, Orson did concoct an entire screenplay that he hoped the two divine idols would star in: The Loves of D'Annuzio and Duse. Since Charlie was a fan of Orson's work, and Greta was not un-interested in working with either man, the film seemed for awhile to be a major possibility. However, with all things Orson, the story was very high-concept, abstract, and in the end, unsettling. In his words, the plot revolved around "two crazy monsters" and explored themes of "degenerate hyper-romanticism." Ummm... okay. Obviously, the description did not reflect the general images of the King of Comedy and the Goddess of Love. As such, both famed actors turned the project down. They probably adhered to the age-old rule that if you can't understand it, no one else will.

Speaking of Orson, his first foray into the movies was very nearly not the pivotal film that changed cinema forever, Citizen Kane. In truth, he was kidnapped by Hollywood with no clear idea in his mind for his great filmic introduction. Several ideas flitted around in his head, including the play "Cyrano de Bergerac," but the story that he temporarily decided on was an adaptation of Joseph Conrad's intense classic Heart of Darkness. It very nearly happened! Orson had storyboards, a hefty plot outline, and visual tricks all lined up after he came to RKO in 1939. He set about learning the art of film craft-- watching Stagecoach in particular repeatedly. In addition, with his typical, intellectual fervor, he set about studying anthropology to better familiarize himself with certain, untapped levels of the story, and he too decided to make some changes. First, he would move the locale from turn of the century Africa to contemporary South America. Then, he would turn the book's anti-hero "Kurtz"-- his role in the film-- into a fascist, which was a subtextual reading he uncovered in the original novel. He declared proudly that the film would be an attack on the violent Nazi system. He then combined the artist and the magician in himself to develop one heck of an opening sequence, which was totally un-related to the plot. His famous voice would boom out at the audience from a black screen declaring, as he had on his radio show, "This is Orson Welles..." A montage of images would thus flash across the screen: his mouth, a firing gun, an electric chair, a caged bird, etc. Finally, the succession of shots would land on an eye (left). All of this was meant to communicate his new technique of the "subjective camera," which throughout the film would act as its own character. He would then declare: "You're not going to see this picture-- this picture is going to see you." Unfortunately, the idea became a bit too avant garde... and expensive. The idea for Kane entered his mind, and that became the path he followed. (Later, his overly ambitious nature also nearly led to his adaptation of War and Peace with English producer Alexander Korda, but this too was not to be).

Errol Flynn also had to let go of one of his cinematic babies. By the mid '50s, Errol was past his prime as a leading man. Recently wed to Patrice Wymore and outrunning his own scandalous past, he hoped to approach the business from a new angle, and perhaps at last pursue more interesting roles that allowed him to "act." Of course, the glory of Errol's lengthy filmography proves that this guy more than knew what he was doing in front of the camera, but still, he hoped to take matters into his own hands and create his own personal epic. Thus, he set about producing an adaptation of the story of "William Tell." While hoping for something different, he clearly was also trapped in the mindset of his swashbuckling days and fearful that his audience would not whole-heartedly follow him into character dramas. Things started out positively with a sound crew, including camera guru Jack Cardiff (see right). However, financial issues clouded the horizon, and despite some impressive scenes caught on film and a devoted crew that was willing to hold on for months without pay, Errol was forced to throw in the towel, leaving the film forever uncompleted. It was one of the greatest disappointments of his life, particularly after his "friend" Bruce Cabot, a performer in the film, sued him for $17,000, even though Errol only owed him $5000 for his work on the project. Coming on the heels of the news that his business manager, Al Blum, had stolen over a million dollars from him as well, Errol hit rock bottom. Errol had hoped to make his best film ever and dedicate it to his latest daughter, Arnella. It tragically was not to be. All that remains of William Tell are a few feet of film, and these without sound. Yet, Errol would accomplish his goal in other ways, turning out impressive and nuanced performances in both The Sun Also Rises and Too Much, Too Soon. His pet project was sadly, too little, too late.

Barbara Stanwyck (left) was at the tail-end of her cinematic hey-day when she filmed the cult-classic Forty Guns with director Sam Fuller. Sam was completely hypnotized by her abilities and her jaw-dropping performance as the intimidating, salivating, yet desirous "Jessica Drummond. " He always hoped to work with her again, realizing that her potential as a character actress could easily be utilized in more mature and gritty roles that suited her age. Unfortunately, this film became Babs's cinematic swan song. She turned the majority of her attention to television thereafter, sensing that the new medium would offer her more opportunities than the youth-centric movie world. It had become a running theme: an acclaimed film star was essentially booted from the studio when he or she became too old, but was then more readily embraced by the TV studios, who were always looking for big names and former idols to pull in viewers. Talk about your back-handed compliment... Filmdom should have been sad to lose Babs, and Sam Fuller certainly was. He had planned to film a biopic of Evita Peron with Babs in the lead. Watching this hard-knock Brooklyn girl sink her teeth into the First Lady of Argentina was more than an opportunity missed, it was a tragedy. At least Sam knew talent when he saw it!

After the great success of All About Eve, Bette Davis (right) and Joseph L. Mankiewicz used to talk on and off about making a sequel. The actress-director duo had gotten on so well during filming and had collaborated so flawlessly that a reunion seemed to be more than in order. Thus, before What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, there may have been a "What Ever Happened to Margot Channing (and That Bitch Eve Harrington?)." Bette was always in earnest about pursuing the project, but just how serious Joe was remains debatable. He probably merely kicked the idea around with her as a means of personal entertainment, while Bette hung on his every word and started crafting out her character in her mind. As the years passed, it became pretty clear that the project was not going to happen, and all for the better-- a classic of All About Eve's stature should remain untainted by a string of re-evaluations and re-imaginings. In the end, there were no hard feelings. Later, after Bette had survived a disastrous and abusive marriage to Gary Merrill-- her co-star and love interest in the previous film-- Joe mentioned the sequel project to her in passing. Bette looked him in the eye, and with a twinkle in her own, told him to scrap the whole idea. With regard to the continuing saga of Margot she spouted: "I lived it. It doesn't end well!" Thus, the tale of life after Eve will never be told in celluloid. At least this way, Bette gets to metaphorically ride off into the sunset with her soul mate on the screen, whereas she had to endure the harsh loss of Gary and all hopes of love in reality.

This one hurts. After the usually stellar collaboration of Tracy and Hepburn failed to pull in astronomical numbers at the box office in Desk Set, the studio began looking for Spence's next project. Producer Buddy Adler thought he had discovered just the right one. In order to break out of the familiar pattern of "Spence and Kate," Adler wanted to try a new angle... or rather an old one. Thus, it was announced that Spencer Tracy would portray "Professor Unrat" in a colorized revamp of The Blue Angel-- the German film that had made Marlene Dietrich a phenomenon. His leading lady would be none other than Marilyn Monroe. It sounded like gold! Money in the bank! An acting match made in movie heaven!!! For Spence to play the aging, love-struck, then clowned and castrated Unrat would have been a challenge worthy of such a complicated and dedicated actor. To see Marilyn step into Marlene's stilettos as "Lola Lola" too makes the mind reel at the sensual possibilities. As Marilyn had already started to regain respect as an actress after her turns in Bus Stop and The Prince and the Showgirl, it seemed that she may have been able to bring something new and deeper to the table, perhaps even giving Marlene a run for her money, as only Marilyn could. Unfortunately, this dream engine too went kaput. Spence was skeptical about working with Marilyn, who was known to be... unpredictable. Certainly, he had his own issues as a man who battled alcoholism, so Marilyn had his sympathy on that count. However, at the first scent of trouble and "Marilyn" antics, he backed out. Even with the agreement that he would receive first billing, he was unmoved. He just wanted to make movies; he didn't need the extra complication of MM's neuroses (and lateness). He went on the make The Old Man and the Sea and Marilyn went on to terrorize the set of Some Like it Hot. Her film was still a bigger hit. (Marilyn poses as Lola Lola in the famous Richard Avedon photo session, left).

And then there was Lon. Lon Chaney was very involved in the story selection process when it came to his career. Once he had enough power in the industry to pursue and choose his dream projects, he did just that. History has shown that he was directly responsible for seeking out his two most famous roles as the Hunchback and the Phantom in addition to many others. While Lon did his role fishing, the studios did too, and as a top commodity, films were crafted completely around and for him and what he could do with his special talents. In his book The Films of Lon Chaney, Michael F. Blake not only goes into detail about the many completed films of his hero, but also of the handful that didn't make it before the camera. The sad lot includes the following:

• An untitled Gouverneur Morris film, in which Lon was to portray four or five different characters, fell through in the early twenties. Since Lon had made such a splash in another Morris adaptation, The Penalty, there is no telling what a continued combination of Morris's macabre genius and Lon's contortion could have produced.
• A young David O. Selznick himself penned a script for Lon entitled "The Man Who Lived Twice." The title alone makes this one intriguing, but the reasons as to its dissolution remain a mystery. This was a fate also belonging to an English production entitled "The Lancashier Witches," to which Lon was also assigned but did not complete. Too bad... it may have gotten the Colorado boy out of the country for once!
• Lon also had a missed collaboration with his favorite partner, Tod Browning, titled "Hate." I am still angry about this one, and I am sure Tod is equally still fidgeting in his grave about it. In it, Lon was set to play the leader of an Apache band of thugs in war torn Paris. (Yes, you read that correctly). In any case, the bigger demands of national combat bring foes together in battle, and war with within war ensues. It was slated to be quite bloody. But, the duo skipped it and made The Big City instead.

Lon gets violent in The Big City.

• Perhaps the most interesting lost relic of Lon's career would be "The Wandering Jew," a film purchased by Louis B. Mayer in the early twenties that was shelved until 1927, when it was finally announced for Lon. The plot involved the burdened and cursed life of a man who struck Christ on the day of the Crucifixion. As Lon was always a man of faith, a fact that Clarence Sinclair Bull would relate in a story about a secret photo session that he did with the actor (see great article here), the martyred role of a man paying his penance before God must have been very interesting to him, not to mention incredibly fitting with his always suffering on-screen persona. Yet, no dice. Que sera sera...

If there is anything positive we can derive from these missed opportunities that could have been either home runs or total nightmares, it is the knowledge that we still have many stories left to tell. You look at some of these creative gems just sitting there waiting to be picked up and wonder why Hollywood keeps making movies about... well... nothing. And so, we are left to sit here and wonder how the history of film could have been different, better, worse, and thusly how even our lives would have been effected had we had these different films to relate to or to make us question ourselves. But, we only have what we have, don't we? There is no "if." It kind of reminds me Milan Kundera's classic, The Unbearable Lightness of Being:

“There is no means of testing which decision is better, because there is no basis for comparison. We live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? That is why life is always like a sketch. No, "sketch" is not quite a word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture.”

That comparison may have resulted from a bit of over-analysis, but... fitting, no? 

NOW, THAT'S FUNNY: Part IX

As gorgeous as Rita Hayworth was, there was always a touch

of little girl innocence about her.

Reviewing the life of Rita Hayworth, one may be left with the feeling that this poor lady had no fun at all. That is simply not true. A little girl trapped in the body of a luscious woman, Rita had a childlike sense of humor that she did, on occasion, get the chance to exercise. She seemed to bond with every day people more than her glamorous peers of the silver screen. As such, she formed close relationships with people like her secretary, Shifra Haran, and her make-up man, Bob Schiffer.


Shifra would see Rita at her best and at her worst. She came into Rita's employment because she had started out as Orson Welles's secretary, only to be charmed by Rita, whom she looked after like a daughter. She quickly empathized with the silent beauty, whom she realized was more insecure than her looks would indicate. When Orson began wooing Rita, Shifra would often walk into a room to find Rita reading, trying to improve her mind so that Orson would think well of her. Embarrassed by her almost total lack of formal education, she would hastily hide the book so that no one would know what she was doing. Shifra knew, and these little moments of humanity were what won her over to Rita's side, even after witnessing her all out brawls with Orson. One of her most cherished memories, however, is a moment when Rita really let her hair down. The two ladies had just returned to the US from Europe on the Queen Elizabeth. Having just divorced herself from Welles and currently being sought by Prince Aly, Rita was a ball of nerves most of the time. Clearly, she needed to unleash the stress. Thus, before disembarking from the great ship, Rita challenged Shifra to a spit-ball contest. She and Shifra stuck their dainty heads through a couple of port holes and hocked loogies like nobody's business. "That's the kind of gal she was," Shifra would recall proudly. However, their immature hijinks were not appreciated by all. Suddenly, Rita pulled her head back aboard: "The man below us just stuck his head out and I think I hit him!" Indeed she had, for when Shifra peered below to investigate, she was met by an angry gaze. One can imagine the two full-grown women chuckling uncontrollably at the mishap. For all of the glitz of Rita's movie star existence, it was these small moments that made her feel truly alive.



Bob Schiffer perhaps knew this better than anyone. He would come to know the woman behind the make-up very well as her cosmetics guru (see right). They remained nothing more than friends, although Bob admitted that he had a deep and unwavering crush on her that was constantly irritated by her poor choice in men. For this reason, he perhaps took a little too much pleasure in playing elaborate jokes on her suitors. Rita was at one time being romanced by producer Charles Feldman. It just so happened that Bob was over at her place having drinks when Charles showed up at her door. Rita was panicked! She was worried that Charles would misunderstand her friendship with Bob and was uncertain of how to explain his presence. Bob offered a solution: he would pretend to be Thor Heyerdahl of Norway-- adventurer and author of the recent success, Kon-Tiki. As such, he would pretend to speak no English and utter the only Norwegian word he knew, which was, of course, an expletive. Rita agreed, and Charles entered. When he met "Thor," he became excited, for he had been wanting to meet and sign him at the studio! Bob kept a straight face and feigned incomprehension as Charles tried to communicate. As Charles made an ass of himself talking slowly to the foreigner-- who only responded with his one token swear word-- Rita had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Several times, she had to excuse herself so she could have a hilarious outburst in her room. Bob performed like a pro, occasionally deigning to converse with Rita in Spanish, which Charles too did not understand. The game tarried on as long as the two dared before Bob said his goodbyes, never breaking character. Charles must have been disappointed that he didn't land that contract.



Bob had some definite scrapes with Orson Welles after Rita married him (together, left). When filming The Lady from Shanghai, Bob was serving once again as Rita's make-up man. This was all well and good, but Orson proved to be a bit of an overbearing dictator. Tyrannical and demanding, he sometimes seemed to invent reasons to belittle or snap at Bob. Granted, he was probably under severe stress, serving as both an actor and as the director, but he too was perhaps jealous of Rita's friendship with Bob and used his position to enact a little revenge. Things would come to a head one day, with Orson blowing his top and ordering Bob to hurry up with re-touches. The more he yelled, the slower the angered Bob would move. Finally, Orson screamed, "You're fired!" Rita was not pleased, but to keep the peace, Bob continued doing her make-up in secret and sent one of his assistants to "pretend" to do his work on the set. This ploy worked well, until the entire production had to switch to location shooting in Mexico. Rita had to smuggle Bob onto the departing plane without Orson noticing. Bob, understandably upset over the whole thing, got a little schnockered at the bar before take off, where-- in a stupor-- he divulged the time and location of the flight to several lurking reporters. He got to the plane early and took a spot in the cock-pit with the pilot, an old war buddy, and passed out. Rita and Orson arrived to much fanfare, uncertain how the press had discovered their rendezvous point. To make matters worse, there was much turbulence on the flight, which frightened Rita and angered Orson. At his wit's end, Orson stormed the cock pit to talk to the pilot, who coincidentally had just stepped out, leaving the plane on auto-pilot. Thus, Orson was greeted only by the sight of a slovenly Bob Schiffer at the helm. His eyes bulged, and he raced back to Rita. "That jealous friend of yours is trying to kill us," he screamed in terror! Not so, but at least Bob won a few points back by frightening the unstirrable Orson Welles, even if accidentally. He may never have won Rita's heart, but he could always make her smile

When Carroll Baker (right, as Luz Benedict II) began taking acting classes with Lee Strasberg, she found herself in very handsome company. Struggling actors like Paul Newman and Steve McQueen were friends, and Eva Marie Saint was a constant companion. At many a get-together, Carroll would see another boy, whom she felt strangely drawn to and mystified by. He was an odd duck, with a small frame, tousled blonde hair, and a tiny face. Always separate from the group and lost in his own thoughts, he spent most of his time playing his bongos before disappearing to God knows where. Every now and then, he would see Carroll looking at him, trying to read his thoughts, and he would smile. But they exchanged few words. Yet, for some reason, James Dean always held a place in her heart. When Carroll was called West for a screen test for George Stevens's Giant in the spring of 1955, she was escorted to Warner Brothers by one of Jack Warner's lackeys. When they arrived at the gate, they were greeted by the security guard, who was hunched over, his face hidden by his hat. Suddenly, issuing beneath the brim, Carroll heard a muffled, "Carroll. Car-roll. CAR-ROLL!" She jumped out the car and swiped the hat off the head of Jimmy Dean, who burst into laughter. Carroll never did figure out how he knew when she was going to arrive-- she was too surprised to ask. He grabbed her, set her atop his motorcycle, and drove her (rapidly) out to his favorite place on the lot: a white house with a picket fence. Since they had never really been friends before, Carroll was shocked by Jimmy's sudden attentiveness. He seemed to have grown taller and more confident. They still talked little, but had an instant sort of rapport and camaraderie. He then drove her to the commissary where she ate lunch while staring at the likes of Elizabeth Taylor.

Carroll landed the role of Luz in Giant without a real audition. George met her and was sold. Carroll returned to New York and her husband, Jack Garfein, but before she knew it, she was back at Warner's for the big shoot... And back at that security gate! The same thing happened. The guard started in with "Carroll. Car-roll. CAR-ROLL!" This time, Carrol hopped out of the car and tore the cap from the guard's head only to be met with shock. She stood staring at a small boy with dark, sad eyes. He grinned at her shyly. Undeterred she called, "Come out, Jimmy! I know you're here!" Jimmy hopped out of the booth, cracking up yet again. "Oh boy, did I fool you!" He introduced her to Sal Mineo, his accomplice, with whom he had just wrapped on Rebel Without a Cause, then drove her back to the same white house as before. However, this time, they were met by an intruder, and one that Jimmy was not too happy to see: Dennis Hopper. Seeing that their privacy had been compromised, Jimmy grew irritated. Carroll never did figure out why he grew so cold at the sight of Dennis at "his house," but she assumed it was out of annoyance-- it was pretty clear to her that Dennis was trying to mimic all of Jimmy's mannerisms and attitudes. In any case, this little white house remained special to her, because it held such pleasant memories between James and herself. This had been the first place in Hollywood where she had felt at home. After Jimmy died, it was here that she went to grieve and say good bye. (Jimmy lassos Liz Taylor in Giant, left).

Forever Amber was being touted as a Twentieth-Century Fox sensation! Adapted from the scintillating novel by Kathleen Winsor about a young woman who sleeps her way up the English social totem, Linda Darnell was cast in the star-making role of Amber St. Clair (right) and Cornel Wilde was cast as one of her many suitors, Bruce Carlton. Unfortunately, all the hype and expense did not end as profitably as the studio had hoped. Though far from a failure, the film did not reap a success of Gone with the Wind-like proportions. Of course, there were signs all along that the movie was doomed. Linda herself, at a mere 23 years of age, was forced to carry the entire picture on her young shoulders. With a grueling shooting schedule, forty costume changes, and a strict diet weakening her system, it came as no surprise when the formerly brunette and now blonde actress collapsed on the set. She was sent home with Mastoiditis, though many would believe her true illness bore another name: Otto Preminger. Linda didn't take too well to the director. Few did. He was tyrannical, abrasive, and almost sadistic in his methods. While he produced mesmerizing films, few of the actors that suffered under his demands believed that the pain was worth the pleasure.


Cornel (left) had worked with Otto previously on Leave Her to Heaven and Centennial Summer, and was in no way, shape, or form looking forward to a reunion. He almost envied Linda for being home recuperating while he was left to suffer on the set. Linda did turn out to be lucky. One day, a dueling scene was to be shot, and Otto insisted on a special effect to simulate an early morning fog. They tried dry ice, but it dissipated too quickly. Then, some genius suggested using Nujol. The oil mixture was sprayed into the lights and created a beautiful illusion of mist. It was just what Otto wanted. There was, however, an unfortunate side effect. See, Nujol also acts as a laxative. After inhaling the chemical for hours on end, as Cornel recalled, the entire company got diarrhea. Linda was grateful to miss this episode. The worst she was to suffer was her initial illness and a minor burn from the great burning of London sequence-- during which many local residents called the fire dept. upon seeing the sky engulfed in smoke and flames. Yet, the worst scar Linda carried with her was that of Otto. She detested him, and this in effect had broken her trust with many future directors. When she started filming on A Letter to Three Wives, Joseph L. Mankiewicz decided to use this to his advantage. During the scene in which Linda's Lora May is to look with antipathy at a photo of character Addie Ross, he supplied a picture of Otto. The effect was perfect.


On the silver screen, Fatty Arbuckle and Buster Keaton got into all kinds of madcap shenanigans. Off screen... Fatty Arbuckle and Buster Keaton got into all kinds of madcap shenanigans. The anatomical opposites were a perfect match in the world of silent comedy and the best of friends in reality. Their physical dexterity mixed with their mental proclivities for mischief is perhaps what helped them gel so well. Their pranks became infamous and were so well planned and thoroughly calculated that mayhem seemed to be their religion. Soon enough, the duo were referring to their naughty gags as "Special Operations." They would find a mark, formulate their ploy, and execute with no mercy. One member of their countless prey was actress Pauline Frederick. As wealth was accumulated in Hollywood, some of the hoity-toity movie stars began taking on their new roles as rich aristocracy a little too seriously. For her part, Pauline had decided to spend her seemingly endless dough on authentic English grass, which she had specially imported and placed in the lawn of her new Beverly Hills mansion. Fatty and Buster couldn't resist. Enlisting the help of Al St. John, the threesome disguised themselves as Water Company Workers, complete with a rented truck. They told Pauline's staff that they were looking for a leak. In order to locate it, they would have to disturb her lawn. Thus, they rolled up her entire yard and carted it off. When Pauline woke in the morning and stuck her head out the window, she was greeted with nothing but dirt. Those dirty scoundrels! (Right in The Bell Boy).


Another favorite prank of Fatty and Buster occurred when they took one of their many trips to San Francisco-- ironically a place that would hold little laughter for Fatty later. They rented a room in a hotel and decided to have a some fun at the staff's expense. Buster took off his shoes and scraped them along the edge of the windowsill, getting them good and dirty. Then, Fatty balanced him with his hands, and Buster-- acrobat that he was-- proceeded to walk up the wall, then did a handstand off Fatty in order to walk across the ceiling and back down again. Thus, it appeared that a man had literally walked all over the room. When the cleaning crew came in the next day, there is no telling what they made of the strange trail of footprints. It must have driven them crazy trying to clean it, but overall, I would say that they were just confused... (Fatty, Luke the Dog, and Buster left in The Cook).

STAR OF THE MONTH: Linda Darnell

Linda Darnell: the "Glory Girl."

Linda Darnell was just a regular girl from Texas, but most importantly, she was just a girl. Scooped up by Twentieth-Century Fox when she was just 15-years-old, her adolescent, romanticizing mind would become both awestruck at her good fortune and dumbfounded at the illusion it turned out to be. Her dream-come-true turned out to be a malfunctioning nightmare that clipped her young life short after robbing her of her youthful innocence. Linda Darnell was a beautiful, fresh creature forced into an environment that didn't suit her naivete nor cater to her vulnerabilities. Like a tortoise without a shell, she would come to seek refuge where she could find it: in her work, in her dreams, in alcohol, in denial... But nothing could protect her from her own violent fate-- when the living Hell of her life and torment came to claim her, suffocating forever the little girl hopes that had promised a castle in the sky and brought her instead face to face with the Big Bad Wolf. But shed no tears for this casualty: she was a tougher cookie than you think...


How is it that we all start out on the same end of this yellow brick road, but wind up in different places? A great many on their travels decide to turn around, for "there's no place like home." Others get lost in the seductive poppy fields; others' routes are cut short by their own personal wicked witch. Very few make it to the Emerald City. Linda was one of those who thought she had arrived only to realize that she had landed somewhere else. The "witch" of her life, as is too often the case, was her mother. Oh, mother... What a complicated relationship. The love and support of good parenting seems to be at the backbone of nearly every success story, while every Hollywood victim seems to be plagued by the lack of it. For every Ginger Rogers there are a dozen like Harlow, Lake, Flynn, Bow, and Gilbert. So it was that Linda by bad fortune was born to Maggie Pearl Brown. This is not to say that Pearl was a wholly bad parent, bereft of maternal instinct, nor that she did not truly love her children. Certainly, the woman had her good qualities. Her flaw, however, was a fatal one in that she projected all of her own dreams and desires onto her daughter Linda's back. What she failed to accomplish for herself, she vowed to vicariously triumph through her second born-- the most beautiful of her children, the most talented, and also the one most like herself. To understand the life of Linda, you have to understand Pearl.

Linda with her mother, Pearl.

Pearl was the daughter of Mary York and Thomas Gaugh Brown. Her father passed on his half-Cherokee blood to his tempestuous daughter, whose restless unruly spirit yearned for an exciting life outside Clifton, TN. A beautiful young woman, she enjoyed and craved attention, but was loathe to settle down in the conventional way and start a home and family like the other girls. Inside her beat the heart of a wild thing, and her "otherness" shirked convention and jumped into the arms of Lawrence Ketroe after her father's untimely passing. At 14, she was married, and soon she had birthed two children: Richard and Evelyn. Larry's ambitions were ill defined, and after the family ran out of cash, Larry ran out on them. Her dreams dashed, Pearl now found herself a lone mother of two living in Texas. But the grief that resulted from her youthful impetuosity was coupled with an iron will. For all her faults, she wanted to provide for her children-- she may be temporarily beaten, but broken she was not. Forced to put Richard and Evelyn in temporary care at an orphanage, Pearl went into a rage when she learned that they had been adopted by new parents and were forever out of her reach. Here, the last tether of tenderness in her heart seemed to snap. Completely alone, Pearl obsessively embraced religion to keep her sanity. Her luck changed when she made the acquaintance of a bashful and soft-spoken postman, Calvin Roy Darnell. Intoxicated by her energy, he married her. The two moved into a modest house in Oak Cliff and had four children together: Undeen, Monetta, Monte, and son Calvin, Jr. (In an ironic twist, Pearl also discovered her two eldest children, Richard and Evelyn, living mere blocks away). At first, Pearl put more focus into pretty, eldest daughter Undeen, hoping that through dancing and elocution classes the younger party could finish what her mother had started. Undeen was not an entertainer, however, and proved both un-gifted and unwilling in the realm of performance. But Monetta, who was born with her mother's same dark, intense features, too seemed to inherit her eager gift for the stage.

Linda at about 14, dressed to the gills for one of her talent shows.

The question remains, did Monetta truly want to become a star, or was she brainwashed from her earliest memories to think that was what she wanted? A natural talent, Monetta's soft beauty and amiable nature made her easy prey for Pearl's ambitions. While Linda would inherit a temper to match her mother's, it was not as intense nor as frequent in its eruption. Monetta was "sweet" and well-liked whereas her mother was erratic, or as son Calvin put it, a "fire-breathing dragon." Monetta did not argue Pearl's wishes, wanting to please her and hoping that in doing so she could earn the love and affection that she had always craved. Monetta was thus crafted into a sensitive soldier: obedient, focused, and constantly stressed. So adamant was she that she had to become a movie star that she never stopped to ask if that was what she truly wanted. She found little time to play with the kids at her school, where she was well-liked but a bit ostracized for her impeccable appearance, far too mature for her years. Most of her time was spent at home, studying, learning piano, performing skits, or cavorting with the multiple animals that were housed with her family: chickens, turtles, rabbits, etc. It was a wild life, indeed. Monetta proved a model student who balanced her good grades with daydreams of stardom. She began performing in talent shows, usually singing "Alice Blue Gown," modeling, dancing, and even performing in some minor theaterical productions. As she was only a young-un when she really started making the rounds, she was coached by Pearl to tell judges that she was older. Despite her self-effacing nature, Monetta could be determined, which is what caught the attention of scout Ivan Kahn. Charmed by Monetta, he was shocked to learn that she was only 14! A screen test was scheduled, and though Fox was interested, Monetta's age posed a problem: too young for an ingenue, too old for child roles.

Linda stars opposite her childhood crush Tyrone Power in The Mark of Zorro.

Undeterred, Monetta diligently kept in touch with Fox while concurrently landing a short-term contract at RKO for their "Gateway to Hollywood Contest." The competition intrigued Darryl F. Zanuck, who decided that he wanted Monetta at Fox after all, with a couple of stipulations-- she change her name to Linda, and she leave the finagling Pearl behind. By now convinced that this was her own dream and determined to escape Pearl's clutches, the new "Linda Darnell" made no objections and made her big debut in Hotel for Women. Life was good. Living with Undeen in her early Hollywood days, Linda quickly became accustomed to the long hours, publicity gamuts, and the art of film acting. Suddenly, the little Texan girl was being cast in films opposite her crush Tyrone Power: Daytime Wife, Brigham Young, The Mark of Zorro, and Blood and Sand. In most of her early roles, she portrayed the young, virginal figure-- American as apple pie and sweet as candy. Yet, the flash was not enough to alter her sensibilities. Linda did not become a party girl, but preferred to stay at home and read or prep for the next day's work. Still a teen, Linda may have been intoxicated by the freedom-- something that she had never experienced under Pearl's control-- but she was still impressionable and uncertain on her own. Since her parents' marriage was long since one in name only, and Calvin had preferred life outside the home, Linda too was longing for the paternal figure she'd never really had. For this reason, she quickly fell under the spell of the attentive cinematographer, Pev Marley. With a 22 year age difference, few in the community saw it coming when they eloped on April 18, 1943.

 

Linda shocked fans and critics with her sultry, stunning turn in Summer Storm.

Pev provided the shoulder Linda needed to cry on, the support system that bulked up her confidence, and the sounding board that advised her in her career. Despite this, the marriage was a rocky one. With Linda's insecurity and tender age, arguments and misunderstandings were imminent, and Linda's personal pain was only deepened when she discovered that she could not bear children. The result, adopting daughter Lola, brought some light into her life, but constant threats of divorce and reconciliations made her private life a hazard, especially after she moved her entire family out to California and had to contend with Pearl's jealousy and constant implications of ingratitude. Ironically, Linda's career was soaring. Growing sick of her sweet girl roles, she turned the tables by showing up as grown woman with an edge in films like Summer Storm and her greatest triumph A Letter to Three Wives-- which incidentally ignited a passionate affair between herself and director Joseph L. Manckiewicz. She hoped the hot and heavy film adaptation Forever Amber would be her true star-making turn, but it failed to draw in the expected business. A success it was; a legend of filmmaking it was not. The experience nearly killed her, as she was on a strenuous diet that induced multiple collapses on the set. Her unfortunate crutch during times of woe was the bottle, a habit taught her by her husband. Under the influence, the normally kind and sweet-natured Linda became angry, unmanageable, and filthy of tongue. As her marriage finally crumbled, Linda found herself on her own once again, especially after her contract with Fox was cancelled-- a result of the new-fangled invention known as television that was picking off stars one by one. Suddenly, the phone stopped ringing, parts were few and far between, and Linda was left to face herself for the first time.

Linda's role in A Letter to Three Wives was her favorite and her most 

remembered. Who can forget the line: "What I got don't need beads." 

(With Ann Sothern and Jeanne Crain).

Having grown up on dreams of film and then later on film sets, life outside the movies was unfathomable. Suffering too much too soon, Linda had developed into a lost child of sorts. She was raised as an adult and had matured into a disconcerted infant. Once a star, she was already out of work at 28. Linda took jobs in television and found herself to be a natural actress on the stage-- an experience she found more gratifying than any of her film work-- and she too sought comfort in love, marrying twice more to Phillip Liebmann and Merle Roy Robertson-- both unsuccessful. To cleanse her soul, she devoted herself to charity, opening up "The Girls Town of Italy" and working with "The Kidney Foundation," but it did not salve the pain of her own disintegrating relationship with her daughter Lola nor the pain of discovery that her long time lover's latest film-- The Barefoot Contessa, which Mankiewicz had penned for her-- had gone to Ava Gardner and not herself. Unsuccessfully freelancing, Linda landed roles here and there, but after Zero Hour! in 1957, she would be off the big screen for seven years. Stage roles and nightclub acts became the main sources of her income. After her third marriage collapsed, she tried to commit suicide multiple times via overdose, but was fortunately saved. Her home and belongings were auctioned off, and Linda was right back where she started: nowhere. Linda suffered through a bout of alopecia areata, the death of first husband Pev-- with whom she had remained friendly-- and unemployment, but still she would accept help from no one. She was determined to build herself back up on her own terms, as she had never done before. The process strangely brought her closer to Lola, and friends started seeing the sweet girl that they had always known re-emerging from a cocoon of bitterness and cynicism, which for years had become her only protection.

Fox had hoped the Forever Amber would be the equivalent of Gone with the Wind 

for their studio. While a financial success, it was not a windfall, and it was a 

bitter disappointment for Linda. (With Cornel Wilde).

Life seemed to be turning in the right direction again when Linda was cast in a cameo role in Black Spurs, and she was a hit with the cast and crew-- all who delighted in working with a legend who was as kind and down to earth as they had always imagined. Staying with longtime friend Jeanne Curtis in April of '65, Linda was determined to fix her finances and get back on track. Late on the night of the 8th, she saw that Star Dust, one of her earliest films, was playing on Television. As a lark, the group, including Jeanne's daughter Patty, sat watching the film, then everyone went off to bed-- except for Linda, who as always was suffering from insomnia. Some time in the night, the house caught fire. The three women were able to reach each other, and through the smoke and flames Jeanne managed to get Patty out an upstairs window, but when she turned behind her for Linda, her friend had disappeared. Jeanne made it outside and waited for the appearance of her friend, but Linda's charred body would not emerge until the fire department arrived and barely saved her life. With ninety percent of her body covered in burns, Linda held on for thirty-three hours as friends and well-wishers flooded her room with flowers. At 2:20pm on April 10, 1965, Linda Darnell made her final exit at the age of forty-one. The news was kept from Pearl, who passed on less than a year later.

Linda's beauty was always mixed with a wholesomeness that 

made her castable as the girl-next-door or

 man's most dangerous threat.

A shooting star is here and gone, seen only by a lucky few before it disappears into the dark recesses of space. So too was Linda's short life a "blink and you'll miss it" affair; her stardom a phenomenon so brief that attempting to catch it out of the corner of one's eye is certain to result in a sort of existential whiplash. Too much of Linda's life was built upon a fable-- a dream that stardom would bring her happiness and fulfilment. Hollywood became a religion to her, one she practiced devoutly, until her faith was pulled out from under her by time, circumstance, and perhaps simply the cruel hands of fate. In her later years, though still young years, Linda would for the first time discover herself as a human being, question her desires, and attempt to clean up the mess that a lifetime of delusions had made. Just as she started to embark on her second chance adventure, all hope was snuffed out. Luckily, Linda did not fade away with her last breaths. Her memory is still cherished by those who knew her-- friends like Ann Miller who recall the friendly, old-fashioned girl with a love of animals and a generous spirit. The innocent girl who was tread upon and manipulated by a corrupt business too remains gorgeous and unaltered in the films that gave her the only peace she ever knew. Whether one prefers the doe-eyed Linda or the femme fatale, her films are there to satisfy. With the best of her left on the silver screen, even the savage ending of her life cannot tarnish what we hold dear. As Keats said, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever./ Its loveliness increases; it will never/ Pass into nothingness." And so it is that Linda's "Star Dust" lingers, and we remain mesmerized.