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?

TAKE 1, 2, 3: Blessed Virgins

Oh, Sister... Debbie Reynolds makes the sound of holy music in 

The Singing Nun.

In answer to the Roman soldier of God post I did a few weeks ago, I thought it appropriate to offer the female equivalent. At first glance, the Nun may seem like the least likely candidate for a Hollywood heroine, but this character has been refashioned for the screen multiple times, from The Bells of St. Mary's to Sister Act. We've made a habit (ha, haha) of both extolling the virtues and questioning the agenda behind a life "of the cloth." As women in film generally fall into two categories, the virgin and the whore, exposing the complicated nature of a Nun is the most symbolic way that screenwriters and filmmakers have used to interpret the good and evil in mankind. Ironically, when holding the mirror up to womankind in her purest form, we have sometimes received provocative and intriguing answers regarding the nature, not only of womanhood, but of the very soul of humanity. It was hard to choose which films to discuss for this article, since there are so many of interest-- Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison or Doubt, etc-- but in selecting the following three, I think I will more ably be able to zero in on the "three faces of Eve": the Good, the Evil, and the Human.

The Good

Cynicism has put a great dent in the faith of mankind, as has Time. Certainly, there are still practicing Catholics, Jews, Mormons, Muslims, etc, but living in the modern era, it is often difficult to be allegiant to a religion devised so long ago, which consequently instigates wars and constantly reveals itself through varying levels of hypocrisy. We fall on our knees in times of great struggle, sometimes praying without even realizing we are doing so, but the average person no longer seems to keep the concept of God in the same untarnished and unquestionable position as our forefathers. Ironically, today it is almost a sin to utter the name of "God." Have we forgotten him or outgrown him? These are questions every man must answer for himself, and they are equally questions that make films like The Song of Bernadette (1943) seem a bit peculiar by today's standards. Yet, despite the highly devout nature of the script, the film somehow transcends modernity and skepticism.  The beautiful performance of Jennifer Jones as Bernadette (left) and the surprisingly complex portrayal of the various other supporting characters in the film illuminate faith as something very real and worth discussing, and finally worth embracing. It is how we react to miracles and how we approach conflict that determines our spirit. Whether the Holy Spirit is a man made creation or an intangible presence in human life, in this film, it wears the face of true innocence and piety, making believers out of even the most mistrusting of men and evoking emotion from the stoniest of hearts.

The plot of The Song of Bernadette follows the title character as she unexpectedly finds, introduces, and renews faith in her community-- the French village of Lourdes. A soft-headed, sickly girl, "Bernadette" is generally harmless. She has vague plans of getting married some day, perhaps to the nice Antoine (William Eythe) who lives nearby, and having a family of her own. Her own family is poor and-- more often than not-- Bernadette, for all of her sweetness, is still viewed as somewhat of a burden to them. Then, one day, when Bernadette is left alone by the river, she has a vision of a beautiful woman (in a strange cameo by Linda Darnell, right). She is moved by what she sees, is totally peaceful and adoring, but only she can see or hear what the great "Lady" says. When she shares this news, no one believes her, of course,  and her claims are made even more hysterical by the fact that she has had her vision in such close proximity to the city dumping ground. Yet, she continues her pilgrimage to see the Lady, who has asked her to come for fifteen straight days. Soon, her disapproving parents, the skeptical Priest, the town doctor-- a man of science-- are all won over to her side. Whether or not they believe in her vision, they believe in her-- her purity, her innocence, and her good will.

Bernadette defends her visions to Prosecutor Dutour, and her honesty and calm reason

trump his textbooks every time.

The only sect that does not believe are the lawmen, represented most fully and of course villainously with the always elegant and sinister Vincent Price as "Prosecutor Vital Dutour." Why is it only men of man-made laws that seem to fear her? Perhaps because they are not of the earth or nature. Even Lee J. Cobb's "Dr. Dozous," who is ever-rational, is still a man who uses the earthly elements to cure the sick. Law men only have their words and personal fabrications. They are threatened by the power that Bernadette peacefully and accidentally accrues, as throngs of followers begin to join her as she kneels before the Lady in her nightly prayers. The Priest, played by the crinkly-faced Charles Bickford, too combats his own doubts and is forced to confront his apparent lack of faith in man, which he rediscovers in Bernadette. But Price's prosecutor and his fellow cronies cannot fathom what has not been written down, and they too perhaps feel a sexual need to destroy Bernadette's purity and chastity: even a modest, unassuming, agenda-less girl like herself is harmful to them for the mere fact that she refuses to demurely sit in a corner and follow their rules. To add insult to injury, she serves, not even God, but the Lady, whom she describes as "The Immaculate Conception"-- a title that leaves the community bewildered.

In time, and due to much business that I won't go into, a spring erupts that brings with it mystical healing powers. Bernadette is now looked upon as a Saint. Her contact with this strange Goddess, whom she cautiously never refers to as the Blessed Virgin, has resulted in a much in-demand, natural elixir that heals the sick, cures the blind, and allows the crippled to walk. Bernadette carries no pride or honor for her deeds. She, simple-minded as she is, sees nothing strange about what she has done, nor does she feel the need to claim any sort of reward or glory for it. Jones, in her portrayal, is the epitome of innocence-- of goodness. She is selfless, kind, uncomplicated, but real. We never believe that Bernadette is immaculate herself, just that she, as a real girl, was chosen to be a vessel through which holy information comes. The accidental way that her natural knowledge always undoes the learned lawmakers and their own brand of reason is also continuously comical. Finally, when she is encouraged to continue her Godly work by becoming a Nun, she takes pause. She is not totally certain that she wants to leave behind a life of earthly love to continue seeking the divine. Yet, she is easily convinced that it is the proper path. She has been "called," and as a simple girl, she will follow where she is led. (Bernadette walks away from a life and love that could have been, left).

For many years, Bernadette does not see the Lady again, and her hours are spent in prayer, reflection, and staving off the icy attacks of fellow Sister "Marie Therese," (Gladys Cooper, right), who is insulted that all of her years of servitude have not been rewarded with the enriching visions that the novice Bernadette has attained. The work of a Nun is not a vacation. It is a hard life of isolation and obedience. Bernadette, of course, never complains, not even when it is discovered that she has a painful tumor growing on her leg. She is also continually tested about her prior claims by religious authorities, who still do not believe her tales and visions, but she steadfastly maintains her stories. As she finally dies, she sees the Lady once more. One wonders, as she shudders with her last breath, if all she gave in her life was worth it? What, in the end, did it all mean? The spring she once brought to life eventually became a gimmick for the local lawmen to draw in travelers, and the "holy" water is now sold as a product. The miracles that she worked-- except in the memories of those who knew her-- will seemingly die with her. Yet, it does seem worth it, and director Henry King's handling of the story convinces viewers that such simple things of beauty, such innocent creatures as Bernadette, such selfless actions, and above all, such messages of love, are all that count in life. The "song" of Bernadette may have only been understood by those nearest her in her own lifetime, but if we listen closely, we can still hear the music in our own. The trick is to avoid hypocrisy and abandon all rules but the golden one. If we live openly with the heart of a child, we can have a paradise on earth of our own making.

The Bad

Black Narcissus (1947) couldn't disagree more. If Bernadette was about how faith renews life, Narcissus is about how faith kills. The essential ingredient needed to make faith palatable-- and a shared experience between the earthly and the divine-- is people. Community. Brotherhood. This is why faith grew and thrived in Bernadette's small town of Lourdes. The plague of Black Narcissus is the plague of isolation. The Nuns are not sisters of Man, they are servants of God-- detached, cool, lifeless. Deborah Kerr leads the cast as "Sister Clodagh," and her usual stunning beauty is paled and starched to show the absence of flavor in her life. She is given the righteous task of being the youngest Sister Superior to manage her cohorts in Mopu, where they will form a hospital and school for children and young girls. It feels more like a punishment than a reward. The castle in the sky to which the Sisters arrive stands on a great precipice, (which gives one vertigo even from the comfort of the couch, see left). The sole sound of life that echoes from the Old General's donated Palace-- which used to house his ancestors' many mistresses-- is the large bell that tolls the hour and calls the sisters to prayer. Looking down as "Sister Ruth" (Kathleen Bryon) rings the bell as part of her daily task, it is strange to note that, though high above the village below, it seems that the Sisters are the ones in Hell. Peace and life are found with the local people, including the new, younger General (Sabu), whom the sisters take to calling "Black Narcissus." His presence is not welcomed at first, for he is a man, but as he cleverly points out that Jesus was too, Sister Clodagh agrees to take him in as a student.

Another snake in the grass is "Mr. Dean" (David Farrar), who at all time tests the faith of the sisters and flirts with them as well, making fun of their faith and counting the days until their lifeless isolation forces them to abandon their pie in the sky ideals. The sexual tension between him and Sister Clodagh is very poignant, but initially, his charms and chauvinism have no effect-- except on Sister Ruth. All the sisters are effected by Mopu in different ways, it seems. The Palace stands not as a place of healing nor peace, as they had intended, but in time it comes to serve as a test for their own faith and stamina. This far away from people-- in this heightened experience of isolation, the constant wind, and the constant cold-- each nun is left alone with only her own thoughts for company. No matter where they turn, each woman is forced to come face to face with herself. 

The results manifest themselves in different ways. The good in some is brought to the surface; the evil in others. Sister Ruth is suddenly ruled by an incurable lust and an obsession with Dean. "Sister Philippa" (Flora Robson) is filled with guilt over her own memories, which make her lose track of time and botch her gardening duties. The past brings her pain, and she lacks the courage to face it. She begs Sister Clodagh to send her away to no avail, for Kerr's hard-lining and hard-nosed Sister Superior won't allow any of them to bow to weakness. However, her Sister Clodagh is also forced to face her past, but when she does, color begins to return to her face (right). In her flashbacks, we see Sister Clodagh as a young woman in love, with her childhood family, with dreams... She slowly rediscovers her own humanity and her passions, and as a result, she eventually comes out from hiding behind her orders, dictates, and structures. The parts within that all sisters attempted to bury, thus, come to the surface. They tried to use faith as a shield from themselves, and now they are to be punished.

The tension that all of these revelations cause is harsh to the senses. In fact, the film is at times difficult to even watch, because the horror and dementia each Nun undergoes is so perfectly communicated by the at times taut, at times languid, at times beautiful direction. The entire story unfolds as a tease, as if one were falling asleep bored only to find oneself suddenly in the midst of a bad dream! The only moment of true vibrancy comes from the sinful and vain "Kanchi," played without a word by the always stunning Jean Simmons (left,with Sabu). She eventually steals the equally pompous but charming young General away for a sexual escape, and when these tokens of colorful life disappear, all Hell breaks loose. Indeed, when a young child dies in the Sisters' care, the entire village abandons them, thinking them cursed, or hexed, etc. Now, they have only each other to face, all with their spirits breaking and their convictions shattering. 

Sister Ruth brazenly decides to leave the convent and goes through the wilderness to reclaim her forgotten womanhood with Dean. Unfortunately for her, he wants no part of her maniacal seduction. He has clearly fallen in love with Sister Clodagh, whose stubborn defiance and forgotten self has touched him. (Even nuns, it seems, can get involved in the occasional cat fight). And so, Sister Ruth-- in full lipstick and civilian regalia-- climbs the long way back up the mountain to paint the Palace red-- with blood. Sister Clodagh waits, sweating, as if knowing her fate is approaching. Sister Ruth could even be read as the most evil, highly sexualized, gluttonous half of Sister Clodagh's character. Sister Clodagh fears her, because she sees a self that has remained a dormant threat to the vows that she took before God so long ago. The nearly psychologically broken Clodagh goes to ring the mighty bell for the last time, as the desperately creepy and menacing Ruth (right) lunges for her, trying to push her into the abyss! Sister Clodagh triumphs; Sister Ruth plummets to her death. The evil parasite has been exorcised.

The stunning photography of the notorious Jack Cardiff blends the beauty and 

horror of the infamous palace of mirrors.

Despite Sister Clodagh's triumph, the time has still come to abandon the Palace on a hill. The message seems to be that one should not attempt to grow closer to God as the cost of losing your humanity. God created life so that people could live it, not hide from it, as the sisters learned during their sojourn in Mopu. As the Nuns descend the mountain, the castle gets swallowed up by the clouds, as if it never existed-- as if they were in an intangible place and have been spit back into the real world. Despite everything that Clodagh has faced, she has been reconfirmed in her commitment to the cloth. Yet, we see shades of her young self as she extends her hand to Dean during their final goodbye. Demoted from her position, she has a long way to go in repairing the damage and shame that she has brought to the Sisterhood during the tragedy of Mopu, but she is willing to start over. Then, she and the sisters disappear into the fog from Dean's view, again, as if they had never existed. He has learned something of his visceral cynicism too-- that there is a state of being more intense and pure than the one that he chooses to recognize. The idea is that salvation is found in combining the two mindsets to find the perfect formation of life on earth.

The Human

This brings us to The Nun's Story, and it is indeed a Nun's story. The film's tremendous success can be attributed to both the intelligent and complex performance of Audrey Hepburn (left) and the depth and realism of the plot. Unlike Bernadette and Narcissus, who merely grazed the surface of what it means to leave one's life and one's self behind to enter into a life of religious servitude, The Nun's Story is all about that decision: the sacrifice, the obedience, and the harsh reality. Throughout history, the reasons of entering the nunnery have been that of necessity (a landing place for an unmarried girl who is a burden to her parents or is being punished for deviant behavior) or naive piety. From the outside, it seems easy. The church is a safe haven away from man's temptations and issues. Money is not a concern, sex is not a concern, and while one must get by with very little luxury or comfort, the reward for devoting one's life to God is believed to be enough. We have imagined these women quietly pacing behind the convent walls-- some of them angelic, some old and crotchety-- but never before this film has the harsh duty, discipline, and psychological torment that they endure been brought to life. The cliches are broken. Nuns are neither flawless super-humans nor dried-up spinsters with no other haven. They are your run-of-the-mill, fallible mortals, and the human battle that they endure on a daily basis is not some meek challenge to be sniffed at. Leaving one's life behind may be easy; but leaving one's soul is not.

Gabrielle sheds her vanity with her hair.

The film opens with Audrey's "Gabrielle" (soon to be "Sister Luke") entering the convent. Everyone tries to stop her: her father, her siblings, etc. They don't understand why someone such as herself-- so rebellious, it seems-- would give up her life to be, as they see it, tucked away from the world. Her father (Dean Jagger) tries to talk her out of it, but Gabrielle has made her decision. Her rebellion, her strength, is surprisingly what draws her to the sisterhood. She is a young woman with something to prove. Her determination to accomplish, perhaps in her family's eyes, the impossible is what appeals to her. She seems almost to be a masochist, and while her father warns her that the call to obedience will be a hefty chore for someone such as herself to follow, she quietly considers this a salivating challenge. She wants to conquer all doubt and conquer her self. We know little of her life outside the convent, other than the fact that she is leaving some pining man behind. Her decision to give him and her freedom up is the result, apparently, of nothing more than her iron will. 

Gabrielle undergoes all the usual processes and steps in becoming Sister Luke. She must learn to empty her head of selfish thoughts, she must employ only modesty-- which includes hiding her hands in her robes-- and most difficult for her, she must conquer her own pride. The Nunnery seeks to dilute all traces of vanity, thus all traces of individuality, personality, and color. There is no Sister Luke; there is only the body that operates as God's servant. Sister Luke finds these tests hard to take (see, right). She has countless sins to record in her prayer book every day. Her pride becomes a major factor, particularly when she is training in medicine, so that she may attend patients in hopefully a foreign terrain-- her dream. Like her father, she wishes to be a doctor, but better than him, she wants to serve both God and man in doing so. Yet, when she excels in class, it evokes the envy of another Sister. She goes to her Superior to ask for advice and is told that, to aid her Sisters better, she must show humility and fail her next exam. To Sister Luke, this is a sin greater than even she can accomplish. To deny this last vestige of herself-- her intelligence and her ability to help others-- is a submission she will not undergo. She passes her exam with flying colors, but is punished for this vanity when she is not immediately sent abroad to the Congo as she wishes. Still, she digs in her heels and keeps going. Not everyone is so patient nor so brave. Sisters-to-be drop like flies. Sister Luke makes it to the end of her training, and as is her wish, she is finally sent to the Congo.

Much like Mr. Dean in Narcissus, "Doctor Fortunati," played superbly by Peter Finch (left), fills the role of the masculine, sexual advancer in the film. He is Sister Luke's counterpoint. He challenges her beliefs with his science, he evokes her forbidden sexuality, but mostly he tries to wheedle out the passions of her former self. The sexual tension between them is never overt nor sensual. It is all subtlety. The misunderstanding and irritation that they have for each other quickly turns to mutual respect, as Fortunati realizes that Sister Luke is no ordinary Nun. If nothing else, she is a great nurse and medical aid. What's more, he can see the woman inside, as well as her constantly battling conscience, which leaves her tired, weak, and eventually bedridden. There are no come-ons. There is not even any touching. But, you see in their mutual body language and attentions to each other that, in another life, in another dimension, they would have been soul mates. Then again, perhaps Sister Luke's protective habit, which separates them, is the only thing keeping them together. When she pulls away from the Congo in the train, sent back to Belgium, and you see the disappearing figure of Fortunati watching her go, it breaks the heart.

War comes, and it tears everything to shreds. Sister Luke's hopes of serving God by serving man go unfulfilled as battles ensue. Consistently during her career as a Sister, Luke's obedience has been tested. She does not always stop to pray when the bell tolls, particularly if she is in the middle of helping a patient in need. She becomes too personal and emotionally involved with the men and women she cares for in Africa (right). Now, the world outside is raging, and she is locked away as if the sisters are in hiding when they should be out fighting, helping their fellow man, and trying to piece the broken world back together again. She makes a final act of defiance in allowing a new, young Sister to get out of the convent in order to help some soldiers. It is what she would have done at her age. It is what she wishes that she could do now. Then, word reaches her that her father is dead-- her father, whom despite herself she loves more than the Holy Father. It is the final straw that breaks her world-weary back. 

She makes the fatal decision to leave the convent. Just as when she first entered, many try to stop her and beg her to rethink herself. But her self is just what she is returning to. Her dismissal is a shameful display. She is treated like a woman with the plague, sent to a little room to remove her robes-- revealing the streaks of gray hair around her once young face. She is given her dowry back and her old belongings, and then... she exits. A door almost magically opens, and she walks out, growing smaller and smaller in the camera's view. The moment comes like a wave of relief to the viewer, who has endured her nerves and agony and has longed for this catharsis. Gabrielle, as she is named again, turns and walks away. Where she goes, no one knows, but for the first time in a long time, her path is her choice.

The isolation of the Nuns in Black Narcissus makes them seem hard

and "unholy." They only truly serve God when they come

in contact with the people of the village.

If the three discussed films have any commonality, it is the lesson they preach that there must be a unity of both God and Man. Anything in extreme is dangerous. If indeed there is a God, He created life so that we could live it. He created joy and love so that we could enjoy it, (and overcome all of those dangerous hurdles Satan unlocked when he tempted Eve with that damn apple). When the people of Babel built their tower in the sky, they got too close to God and were sent crashing down. So, the women of these films, while they have ethereal aspirations, cannot totally outgrow their human surroundings, nor should they. The point is not to be divine, but to be alive-- to do service to your fellow man in whatever mode one finds appropriate, whether as a Priest or a civilian. Abandoning your brethren for high ideals is, thus, the greatest sin of all. Celestial faith has a price, but goodness can be found and evil defied on earth. That is the challenge we have inherited and the one we must live with and endure together. All films are wonderful in their own way, but if you only see one, see The Nun's Story. I was shocked by how much I loved and responded to it, and I'm sure you will be too. Peace out.

HALLOWEEN SPOOKTACULAR III

Mary prepares for the Holidays...

This year's batch of devilish dollops to whet your seasonal appetite fall into the category of "Psychic Stress." More than one illustrious celebrity has rubbed elbows with a preternatural force, tangled with a daunting premonition, or had a profound supernatural revelation that left him or her a little worse for the wear. These moments of human and spiritual meeting do not consistently end in profound terror, but a brush with the dark side of existence is never easy to shake off. Curiosity may not always kill the cat, but it definitely leaves a scratch or two. Here are a few members of the Hollywood Haunted:

Mary Pickford left a lasting impression on Hollywood. In fact, so strong was her presence, that more than one witness claims that she continued to hang around her former abode-- Pickfair-- after her death. The fact that she had lengthy conversations with her deceased ex-husband, Douglas Fairbanks, while she was bedridden late in her own life makes one wonder whether she was simply losing her mind or talking to the actual ghost of her beloved. She was definitely a woman who had trouble letting go. Interested in the supernatural realm during her own life, Mary would have more than one spooky encounter with the other side. One would give her the chills. Another... had a different effect.

As a woman who always liked being "in the know," Mary (left) liked to have a plan. She always had her bases covered. Unfortunately, not all in life is spelled out for the living. You have to make it up as you go. A type-A kind of gal like Mary had problems with this. Patience was one thing; being ignorant of the unknown was far too daunting and left her vulnerable. As such, she decided to confer with fortune tellers from time to time, just to keep her abreast of what was to come, not to mention quell her loneliness. She often had her tea-leaves read. This way, she knew when something "wicked" was coming along, and she was also able to take peace in the fact that something joyous was approaching. One particular day-- June 11, 1939 to be exact-- Mary's Irish maid was asked by her miniature employer to  scrutinize the remnants of her tea cup. The maid complied and made the following revelation from the dilapidated leaves: "I see someone stretched out lifeless... He is close to you, and he is not close to you. He is either dying or dead, but I don't see you crying." The next day, the body of Owen Moore, Mary's first and ex-husband, was found lying dead as a doornail on his kitchen floor. He had been there undiscovered for two days. (Pause for Mary's gulp).

Mary may not have been too upset over Owen's demise, as the two had long since parted-- and not on glowing terms-- but she was deeply grieved by the death of her good friend Marshall Neilan (right) when he passed away in 1958 due to throat cancer. (Coincidentally, he had been staying at the Motion Picture Country House, an establishment for former stars that Mary had helped establish-- one of her many charities). Losing her long-time friends in droves, Mary seemed to be outlasting everyone. The world she had once known was quickly disappearing, and the life she currently had seemed empty without her once trusted companions to reminisce with. That's why it meant so much to her when Mickey popped up from beyond the grave to give her a reassuring "wink" of sorts. She was part of a very small pack who had been invited to attend Mickey's wake at the Knickerbocker Hotel, where an open beer waited at the end of the bar bearing the tag: "Reserved for Mickey Neilan." He was a humorist to the end... and after. See, Mary was deeply grieved and found this last wise-crack in poor taste, so she opted not to attend the wake. But, when she tried to leave the funeral and head for the cemetery instead, her car died. Mary had the sneaking suspicion that Mickey was playing one last prank and begging her to have one last drink with him. She smiled to herself, caught a cab, and hit the Knickerbocker at his request.

Bebe Daniels (left) was another silent film beauty who was directly responsible for the advancement of cinema as a reliable art form. Co-starring with such luminaries as Rudolph Valentino and Gloria Swanson, Bebe's reputation as a professional actress and generous woman made her universally adored. To fans, she was like a gift from the heavens: a star. Bebe too would receive a "gift," and it would leave her simultaneously shaken and grateful. See, Bebe had a bit of what is known as a "lead foot." In fact, she once had to serve a jail term when she was caught speeding (yet again) in Orange County. A spirited girl, somewhat reckless, it was clear that despite her jovial, good-natured demeanor, she was headed for trouble if she didn't start paying attention. Aside from her automobile inclinations, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the girl, who was able to make everyone from Harold Lloyd to Jack Dempsey fall for her. She didn't stress; she didn't fret. Until... she had a dream. Adela Rogers St. Johns would recall the story: Bebe confided that one night, she had a strange but peaceful dream about a deceased couple that she had known. She came upon them at an unfamiliar white house, and they invited her inside. It was a good dream-- like seeing old friends. An eternal optimist, Bebe probably felt her good pals were just popping in to say "hello" from the other side. They had a different agenda. A few days later, she was racing around in her roadster, yet again, when her scarf blew into her face before a nasty curve and blocked her vision. She nearly crashed! Thankfully, she was as sharp as she was speedy, and she was able to avoid the collision. However, when she looked up, she saw the same white house that had been in her dream. Her mouth most probably hit the floor. She got the message. As she told Adela, that was the last day she sped. She spent the rest of her life focusing on more important, less dangerous things (save for her involvement in WWII, in which she became one of the most decorated women in history for her heroic efforts overseas).

Linda Darnell (right) and Natalie Wood probably never met. Their careers in Hollywood did overlap, but Linda's 15 year seniority meant that they would never have run in the same social circles. Linda too worked primarily at Fox; Natalie was less exclusive, but did a large majority of her early and most successful work at Warner Brothers. The two women had a lot in common, however. Both were incredibly young when they began their acting careers: Linda 15, Natalie 5. Both were dark-featured beauties with angelic faces, yet they were equally capable of giving meaty and gutsy performances. Both were family breadwinners even in their tender years, and both had tempestuous relationships with their mothers. More eerily, both had an astonishing sixth sense about their own deaths. Linda had held a deep fear of fire since her early youth, and had a nervous presentiment about burning to death. This did not make her scene in Anna and the King of Siam, in which she was burned at the stake, all that pleasant. She too had a close call during the big fire sequence of Forever Amber, in which she actually was physically burned, albeit not badly. Cinematographer Leon Shamroy stated that she barely escaped death when the set's roof caved in, all aflame. The fear never left her. In 1965, she would be severely burned all over her body at the home of her friend Jeanne Curtis when it caught fire and she failed to get out in time. She passed away less than 2 days later.

For her part, Natalie (left) had a pathological fear of drowning. In fact, her sister Lana once stated that Natalie's mother, Maria, had foretold her daughter that she would die in dark water. The root of Natalie's supposed phobia is often traced back to the experience she had while filming The Green Promise. During one particular sequence, she was to rush across a bridge to rescue her pet lambs. Unfortunately, she was knocked off the bridge by the raging water and nearly swept under, had she not been able to grab a hold of the collapsing bridge. To make matters worse, the director William D. Russell, urged the crew to keep filming, while Natalie clung for dear life and her mother tried to quell her own desperate hysterics. Aside from being nearly drowned, Natalie also suffered a broken wrist. The terrified look on the 10-year-old's face in the final cut is no act. Her fear continued into her adult life where she would avoid her own swimming pool for fear of being eternally submerged. Her on-again-off again husband, Robert Wagner, managed to coax her into a trip aboard his boat with pal Christopher Walken in 1981, despite her fears. Natalie would never return to shore. It is claimed that she drunkenly fell overboard while trying to reach the yacht's dinghy (after a lover's spat). To this day, mystery clouds her death, for many assert that she was far too terrified of water to ever make such a brazen attempt as rowing herself ashore alone. Foul play or cruel fate? It appears death by fire and water were in the cards for these two tragic ladies.

Montgomery Clift (right) has been known to do a little creeping around. His trumpet continues to put on a concert at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel where his restless spirit eternally continues to pace the hallway in preparation for his role as "Pvt. Prewitt" in From Here to Eternity. Craig Chester, a modern actor and writer who authored Why the Long Face?: The Adventures of a Truly Independent Actor about his battle with a congenital disorder, had a lengthy and otherworldly connection to Monty, whose ghost seemed to maintain close contact with him in order to foster his own acting career and acceptance of his homosexuality. Craig's painful ordeal and metamorphosis from a child suffering from Long Face Syndrome to a surgically salvaged, handsome man, when contrasted with Monty's converse demise from a man of beauty to facial mutilation, also seems to strengthen the bond between them. Monty was always a fascinated and fascinating man in his life, but if he had any interest in the supernatural he kept it to himself. However, the "forces that be" seemed to have a deep need to communicate with him while he walked this earthly plane. In fact, he received an early warning that his years would be abruptly cut short. When stopping at a bar at the Camden Airport with his one time secretary Arlene Cunningham and friend Ned Smith, the trio encountered a handwriting expert, who must have recognized the movie star and offered his services. Monty scrawled out a little something or other, perhaps his autograph, and the graphologist diagnosed it: "You're the most disturbed man I've ever met-- you'll die young." True to form, Monty passed away at 45 years of age.

Mae West (left) is perhaps the last person that anyone would connect to the occult. However, Mae was a much more curious and open-minded person than many realize. By 1941, she had already made her major Hollywood films, including My Little Chickadee and She Done Him Wrong, which had made her a sexual icon, early feminist, and all-around business dynamo. After all the hustle and bustle of Tinsel Town, Mae was tired and looking forward to more time spent on the stage. First and foremost, she wanted a vacation. Always close with her mother, Mae was devastated when "Tillie" passed away over a decade earlier. Sitting on top of the world, Mae couldn't help but wonder if there were more "out there" to be reckoned with and more for her to learn. Always an eager student, Mae decided to dip her toe into the tepid pool of the afterlife. Wanting to be as legit as possible (she was as skeptical as she was curious), Mae sought the guidance of Rev. Thomas Jack Kelly, a psychic who was so well-trusted that he was often used as a consultant by the police during investigations. He became a spiritual coach to Mae, teaching her how to meditate, to block out the noise and light, make her mind a blank canvas, and commune with the other side. For days, weeks, Mae tried and tried, but a busy dame like herself had trouble sitting still and opening her mind. She finally decided to give up.

Then, one morning, she was awakened by a little girl's voice. "Good morning, dear," it said. Mae was a little surprised of course, but she was not easily rattled. The voice was pleasant, and Mae wondered if perhaps it came from some sort of guardian angel. She and the Reverend referred to it from then on as Juliet. Soon, more voices came... and presences. Apparently, Mae had "the gift," and her boudoir was often crowded with noisy visitors: spirits who seemed to just want a place to come together and gab. Not to Mae, mind you. In fact, she found it quite rude that these presences were only speaking to each other and not noticing her at all. Then, things turned dark. She woke one morning to find herself surrounded by dark, cloaked figures chanting in a foreign tongue. She tried to speak to them, but they ignored her. This was too much. Mae sat up and told them "Scram!!!" She would recall a look of sadness on the faces of some of the ghosts who were told to finally leave, as if they were hurt that they could no longer share in her earthly aura, but enough was enough. It wasn't that she was scared, mind you. She was irritated! It was one thing to ignore her; it was another to make a lot of gosh-darned noise and wake her up at the break of dawn! That's just bad manners. She never saw any of the entities again, though she had often though that she would revisit the spiritual realm eventually. At the end of the day, the experience made her feel better. She knew her Mama was out there somewhere... She just wasn't going to lose her mind trying to find her! (Mae defies intimidation, right).

When recollecting the masculine idols of the Golden Studio Era, it is easy to forget the short-stacked Mickey Rooney (left). However, when you weigh the evidence, Mickey is one of the most successful actors who ever lived, boasting a career that has spanned nearly 90 years. Over 90-years-old himself, the man is still working, most lately having a cameo in The Muppets. He won America over at a young age, using his unstoppable energy to propel himself up the cinematic ladder: from "Puck" in A Midsummer Night's Dream, to Love Finds Andy Hardy, to National Velvet. He was a bona fide box-office sensation who wed and bed some of the most beautiful women of the silver screen. There's no telling what a little fortitude and charisma can do for you, and Mickey never let his short stature short-change him out of any of life's blessings. However, when his career hit the skids after his notoriety as the energetic boy-next-door wore off, Mickey found himself lost in a sea of self-doubt. He would recall this harrowing time on an episode of "Celebrity Ghost Stories": He had always been close with his mother, Nellie, particularly after his actor father, Joseph, abandoned them. Mickey had, in essence, become the family breadwinner when he and Nellie hit Hollywood. Growing up without a father is rough, and during his later bout with depression, one can only imagine the conflicted thoughts going through Mickey's head. Never having a good man stand in as a father figure, Mickey had no idea what a good man was, or if he was even close to being one. He felt like a failure-- as if the best years of his life were over...

And then, lying in bed one night, Mickey woke to the feeling of someone tugging on his toes. Half asleep, he ignored the sensation at first, but as the peskiness continued, and his consciousness became more alert, Mickey suddenly realised that something weird was going on. He opened his eyes, and there, standing at the foot of his bed, was his father. "Keep going," Joe said. "Don't stop." A series of similar phrases followed, Joe smiled, and then his image disappeared into thin air. Mickey couldn't totally wrap mind around what had happened, and he tried in vain to rationalize what had occurred. Perhaps it had all been an illusion, "an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese..." A dream!?!? Mickey pinched himself. He new that what he had just witnessed had been real. His father had come to him, finally, from beyond the grave, to do the best thing that he ever could for his son: offer the encouragement he had not given in life. MIckey did indeed pull himself together and 'go on.' He's still going. He hasn't seen his Pops again, but then, one visit was enough! (Mickey is back up to snuff, right).

Shirley ain't scared 'a no ghost.

That being said, don't let the boogey-man get you down this All Hallow's Eve. Enjoy the merriment and mirth, stick to the road, and try your best not to go down a dark hall alone! Happy Halloween!!!

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).