THE REEL REALS: Colleen Moore

Colleen Moore

Colleen Moore is not remembered as well as the other flapper girls of the 1920s, including Clara Bow and Louise Brooks, but she was actually the first "definitive" flapper. After Olive Thomas gave birth to this cinematic presence in 1920, Colleen kicked things up a notch and solidified what such terminology meant with her performance in Flaming Youth. While Clara gave the flapper sex and Louise later brought mystery, Colleen brought the initial ingredients of fun, life, and liberty. The younger generations, particularly women, were embracing the rolling times of a new era, and Colleen was one of the pioneers to light the way.

Her charismatic onscreen presence and natural gift for acting were on prophesied in her adolescence. She knew she wanted to be a movie star, looking up to the first Miss Independent pioneer Mary Pickford as a guide. With her intelligence and burning ambition, it didn't take long for her to catch fire in Hollywood, after an initial boost from D.W. Griffith. Thus, the awkward, skinny girl with one blue eye and one brown became a major power player influencing the nation through her exciting and touching performances.

More than a flapper, Colleen could easily morph from her generation's power child to the comedienne, to the tragedienne, to the romantic. Lilac Time remains a poetic depiction of young love, the sentimental kind all long for in their memories. Her transition to sound film in works like The Power and the Glory and her final project The Scarlet Letter also show the drama queen at her most intense with her uncanny ability to convey both pain and courage. This intelligent, business-savvy lady would prosper through her 18 year career, save and invest her money, and build her dream house ("The Enchanted Caste" doll house which is now on display in Chicago's Museum of Science and Industry).

She was a bit unlucky at love, marrying four times-- two of which ended in divorce, the other half ending in her spouse's death and finally her own-- but many believe that former lover King Vidor was the one who got away, (or was it she who escaped him)? Whatever the case, this role model of freedom, spirit, and grace continues to flicker on, burning the candle at both ends into eternity and bringing well needed life back into the universe when one is lucky enough to glimpse one of her few remaining films. What she gave will never deteriorate, will never be lost. It lives on in the 'flaming youth' of every generation.

THE REEL REALS: Blanche Sweet

Blanche Sweet

Blanche Sweet was a powerhouse female player in the silent era of cinema, whose onscreen nature seemed in perfect keeping with her name-- which was not an invention, apart from the fact that Blanche was her middle name. Her great beauty and graceful demeanor made the camera immediately fall in love with her, and the American public would follow suit. Her talent as an actress had been long cultivated by treading the boards from her very infancy as an actress and dancer. This in conjunction with her iron guts and angelic presence made her a shoe-in for Biograph and its leading director: D.W. Griffith.

While younger than some of Griffith's other leading ladies-- Mary Pickford and Lillian Gish among them-- Blanche's startling maturity often led to her being cast in more mature roles. While a fairly petite woman, Blanche always came across as large, filling the screen with her charisma and poignant emotional articulation. She was, therefore, not one of Griffith's standard little-girl women but a woman full stop. Perhaps this is why, after participating in many of his poetic shorts, she was selected to star in his first feature-length film, "Judith of Bethulia" (1914). Blanche would migrate to Paramount and continue her successful career working with other big time directors like Cecil B. DeMille ("The Warrens of Virginia") and Marshall Neilan ("Tess of the D'Urbervilles,")-- with whom she would enjoy a scandalous affair, which led to marriage, which led to divorce. (God love him, "Mickey" was never one for moderation, in drink or in women).

Blanche would make a triumphant transfer into the Talkies, particularly with her highly praised performance in "Show Girl in Hollywood," but she surprisingly retired from the screen to return to theatre, later doing some work on Radio and even Television. However, her post-silent career was not as successful, and she allegedly had to take a job at a department store at one point, her days in the idol sun forgotten by the world that had once adored her. Luckily, with the rediscovery of her films and the advent of TV and home video, Blanche's power once again holds sway over those blessed enough to witness her Sweet talent.

THE REEL REALS: Allan Dwan

Allan Dwan

Allan Dwan was a director extraordinaire during the silent era. While the Canadian (born Joseph Aloysius Dwan) had mild plans to enter the world of film, it is more justified to say that the movies came looking for him. His expertise as a lighting technician got him unceremoniously poached by Essanay, and after he made the transition to story-editor/writer, another twist of fate would put him in the director's chair-- or so the story goes. (Allegedly, he had to take the reins on a shoot when the original director disappeared on a bender). Well, thank Heavens for booze, because without any of these serendipitous events, one of cinema's greatest innovators never would have been!

During his career, one of Allan's many accomplishments was leading the Flying A Film Corp, one of the earliest and most important California film studios. Throughout his career, he worked with everyone from soon-to-be wife/ex-wife Pauline Bush, Wallace Reid, John Wayne, Shirley Temple, and Gloria Swanson. He also made an impression on the powerhouse couple Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, the latter with whom he made the iconic Robin Hood and The Iron Mask. Through a career that spanned 50 years, Allan allegedly lost count of how many shorts and features he was responsible for, but we know his stamp is on at least 400. His ability to use the camera as an extension of himself, the storyteller-- capturing the greatest source of action, inspiration, and intrigue possible-- kept him at the top of his game for this unprecedented breadth of time. Indeed, he is even responsible for devising something that all directors and cinematographers take for granted today: the Dolly Shot. 

Allan passed away a few years shy of his own centennial, leaving a profound level of accomplishment behind him. While less remembered than names like Griffith, Chaplin, or DeMille, he is an essential part of filmdom's backbone, his contributions laying the ground work for upon which all future directors would more easily tread.

CAST AWAYS: Part XIII

Jane Greer and Robert Mitchum: movie casting Heaven

in the Hellish masterpiece Out of the Past.

Time for another round of Would-a, Could-a, but Should-a???

Robert Mitchum is one of those heavyweight actors that the history of cinema would be unfathomable without. The very specific niche that he carved for himself-- half leading man/half mysterious outsider-- was an important step forward in the world of film acting. Actors with his earthy appeal and natural, unrehearsed acting style, combined with the guttural passions of John Garfield, for example, paved the way for the Method phenomenon that would soon take shape. It makes one wonder if we would have been ready for the impact of Brando without the Mitchum bridge to carry us over... For that reason alone, Out of the Past-- the film that further defined Bob's deviant, film noir persona-- carries great weight in moviedom. Had he missed this chance at what was to become a cult classic of fanatic proportions, Bob may have been pushed into an uncomfortable, more commercial corner of the business, which probably would have given him the urge to "adios" before he could make such a huge impact on the industry. This was very nearly the case, as the role of "Jeff" was first offered to the King of Noir, Humphrey Bogart (left). It made sense that writer Daniel Mainwaring would envision the lead of The Maltese Falcon, To Have and Have Not, and Dark Victory, in his tantalizing film about sexual manipulation-- with the usual, scintillating twists and turns. Fortunately for us, RKO was more interested in pushing their new rising actor and assigned Bob to the film. Bogie would have been good, no doubt, yet his aggressive toughness onscreen would not have made him easy prey to the luscious Jane Greer's diabolical machinations. Bogie's film persona always solved mysteries; he wasn't bamboozled by them. Bob, on the other hand, had the perfect blend of sinister elegance and man's man vulnerability to fit the role like a glove. Thus, Out of the Past is ad infinitum.

After 10 years in the business, Bob had staked his claim and earned some real elbow room. A dedicated but reluctant actor, Bob had always wanted to be a writer-- a family passion that was passed down to at least two of his children. One particular story that was constantly kicking around his head dealt with the moonshine business-- and its necessary use of fast cars. Soon enough, his pet project Thunder Road was going into production with him at the helm as lead star, producer, co-writer, and sometimes director. He did specific research for the film, studying all the different methods of making and transporting the homemade liquor, which he was, of course, happy to sample. The cast and crew would grow friendly with the locals of North Carolina during the shoot and even enjoyed borrowing "hot" cars for the film that were used by actual "criminal whiskey drivers." When it came to casting the role of his character's brother in the film, Bob thought immediately of Elvis Presley, whom he was been very impressed with in Love Me Tender (right). When Elvis was paid a visit by his hero-- the Robert Mitchum, (whose hairstyle he had copied from an early film to create his own signature look)-- he was absolutely ecstatic! Unfortunately, Elvis, as always, needed the permission of his overly controlling manager, Colonel Parker, before he could say "yes" to the deal. Bob, who never needed anyone's permission for anything, was understandably flustered by the younger man's codependence, and the chance passed Elvis by. Instead, Bob did the next smartest thing and cast his eldest son, Jim, in the role of "Robin Doolin." Heck, as father and son, they certainly looked like they shared the same DNA, so they made believable brothers. Though Jim, then 16, was never able to copy the success of his father's career, he did pursue acting after Thunder Road and, due to his golden name, was able to land some gigs in mostly B-features.

One of Bob's most memorable performances, and my personal favorite, was that of "Max Cady"-- the lecherous anti-hero of Cape Fear. The project began when the eternal American gent', Gregory Peck, read the novel The Executioners by John D. MacDonald. Being impressed with the subject matter, he passed the book to director J. Lee Thompson and suggested it as their next project. After screenwriter James R. Webb adapted the text into a taut, daring masterpiece about a lawyer vs. his recently released and vengeful former client-- a brutalizer and rapist-- the casting for Greg's counterpoint became a grave concern. Officially, the film was on a tight budget, so most of the moolah was going toward paying the star, Greg. Therefore, actors of less public and economic stature were initially suggested: Rod Steiger, Telly Savalas, etc. Still, it didn't  feel right. Then, Bob's name was thrown on the table, and a light went on over Greg's head! His walking opposite and another bankable name, Bob fit the bill perfectly! Greg made his pitch, but Bob wasn't interested. He had been overworked and was looking for respite. He knew a character like Max Cady would require a lot of energy and dedication, and he just wasn't up to it. So, tactically, the production team started asking his opinions on the character, and Bob started offering his advice and his own perceptions: "The whole thing with Cady, fellas, is that snakelike charm: "Me, officer? I never laid a hand on that girl..." While talking, he started to realize that this role was meant for him. Still, he demurred. Greg cleverly sent him flowers and bourbon, and later Bob gave him a call: "OK... I'm drunk. I'll do it." Praise the Lord, for never was there a Devil so Divine! (Greg and Bob wrestle in the Cape, left).

With all the recent hullabaloo about the Sam Raimi prequel Oz the Great and Powerful, it is interesting to look back on The Wizard of Oz. There are many good films, quite a few classics, but there are few that  are bigger than time itself. The tale of "Dorothy" and her motley, goofy cronies' trip down the yellow-brick road holds its own specific place in eternity, where it steadfastly continues to inspire the young and old, make new memories, and resurrect forgotten or too rarely indulged dreams of innocent fantasy. The strange behind-the-scenes disasters somehow managed to come across brilliantly on the silver screen: the birth of little girl Judy Garland as a true movie star, the mythic and vibrant coming of age story, the nostalgic "Over the Rainbow..." Everything fell into place as it should-- even Dorothy's tornado swept house, which was actually filmed dropping from the camera and then played in reverse so it appeared to be crashing to the ground-- right on the Wicked Witch of the East! The "Wicked Witch of the West," (Hell of an alliteration, that), is the one we really remember. Margaret Hamilton's green-faced performance of horror, hysteria, and camp is the very one that she seemed specifically born for. A character actress with a notoriously unusual profile, there was little chance that she would become a screen sensation, yet she remains a legend still. However, the role was originally given to the glamorous Gale Sondergaard (right). The first interpretation of the character was to have the Witch much more sensual: evil hiding in beauty. However, as production went along, it was realized that there firstly was no place for sex in Oz and secondly, Gale was not exactly a frightening threat. MGM decided they needed more edge, so they tested some "ugly" make-up on her, but Gale was so aghast at her mutilation that she resigned from the role. Margaret picked it up, and the film caught fire, burning infinitely! (This can be taken more literally, as Margaret actually did catch on fire at one point during filming)!

Ooh-la-ahhhhhh! Maggie works her [black] magic!

In case it has somehow escaped your notice, Sunset Boulevard is my favorite film. (I am actually pretty sure that I could run a blog specifically about Sunset and Lon Chaney and never run out of material). A movies about movies? The ultimate, silent celebrity playing the ultimate silent celebrity (and spider woman)? Billy Wider?! I mean... Come on! Holden's not bad to look at either, but that goes without saying. I've mentioned in a previous post that Mae West was actually offered the role of the fading movie icon, "Norma Desmond," but she wasn't the only one considered for the epic part. Before Gloria Swanson won the role-- which she thought was a mere supporting part, only to be surprised that she was yet again the leading lady after so many years-- there was another woman in the running. When one thinks of silent cinema, of top Hollywood figures, of heroes, legends, and the talents that built this industry, there is only one woman who could ever bear the name "Mother Hollywood," and that is Mary Pickford (left). Mary's life was slowly starting to resemble that of Norma Desmond by the time she was offered the role. As she spent a great deal of her latter days in hermitage in her fading temple, Pickfair, grappling with her own sanity-- I'm literally making a sad face as I write this, :(-- her casting in the film, in retrospect, would seem not only to be a product of synchronicity at its best, but her understanding of the role and her presence in the film would have certainly made it a phenomenon. Yet, there were some hiccups. Mary may have been a bit too perfect for the role, for she immediately started indulging in her too little exercised inner diva of old. She felt the film should center entirely around Norma, making Holden's "Gillis" a mere speck of dust in the periphery of her own magnificent mania! Wilder wasn't sold on Mary's ideas, as they eliminated the bulk of the story. So, he went back to the drawing board and cooked up some other fading screen madams, including Pola Negri. Yet, it was Gloria Swanson's destiny to breathe vivid and disturbing life into Ms. Desmond, which she did to perfection. For that, Gloria, I heart you forever!

"We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!" Damn straight, Gloria!!!

STAR OF THE MONTH: Lupe Velez

Lupe Velez

"Fame" and "infamy" are practically the same thing in Hollywood. As such, "notoriety" has a very different meaning when viewed in a Tinsel Town context. Thousands upon thousands of hopefuls migrate to Hollywood every year in the hopes of becoming a movie star, in the hopes of obtaining celebrity status, or in the hopes of attaining eternal glory. Yet, to live forever, you have to die, and in most cases you have to die either tragically young or just plain horribly. It has often been argued whether or not names like Dean, Phoenix, or Monroe would contain the same power and mystique they do today if the bearers would have lived to healthy, ripe old ages. I'd like to think so. After all, the Brandos, Stewarts, and Crawfords certainly did. Yet, the golden era stars have a more powerful hold over pop culture than their silent forbears. So few people are familiar with the early pioneers, minus the obvious gems: Chaplin, Garbo, Gish... That is, unless their names are touched with debaucherous rumor. As such, one wonders, would we still recall Fatty Arbuckle if it weren't for that tragic and unfortunate scandal? Would Mary Miles Minter mean anything to anyone if not for her implication in the death of William Desmond Taylor? And, the biggest question for this month: would anyone remember Lupe Velez if she hadn't taken her own young life far too soon? Do you even know of whom I'm speaking, brave new world? If not, let me tell you: Lupe was AWESOME. That is capitalized. All caps. On purpose. Yes, Lupe is another Hollywood tragedy. Yes, she is another butterfly crushed on the wheel of fate. Yes, her death took her fame and made her infamous. But her life makes her splendid and fascinating still. Behold the brazen vixen:

Lupe Velez: the Mexican Spitfire. Indeed. Lupe's nicknames would always play off her exuberant personality and its tendency toward natural disaster: The Tropical Hurricane, The Mexican Hurricane, The Mexican Wildcat, The Mexican Madcap, Whoopee Lupe, and The Hot Tamale! Still, she started simply enough, albeit with more spunk than most. Maria de Guadalupe Villalobos-Velez aka "Lupe" was born on July 18th, 1908 in San Luis Potosi. She certainly had a greater amount of pep than her siblings, and this she apparently inherited from her equally vibrant and troublesome father. Both were frenetic bundles of energy who enjoyed practical jokes and raising occasional Hell, but fortunately Lupe inherited the loving maternal instinct that her father lacked. He would eventually disappear in the midst of war, remarry, and also turn his back on his daughter after she revealed her thespian inclinations. This is why, in her career, she is billed by her mother's last name and not her father's. In fact, in many ways Lupe would become the father and breadwinner of her family. After causing a ruckus in convent school, wherein she enjoyed taunting the nuns with her projected tongue while their backs were turned, Lupe would be the only member of her family to put up her dukes when times got tough. While the Mexican Revolution continued and her soldier father consequently went missing (and presumed dead!), the family's original fortune dwindled, and Lupe devised a plan. She would put her love of mugging, singing, dancing, and her stellar impersonations to use and earn money on the stage! All the better for her. She dreamed of being an actress and loved soaking in the films at the local theater where she learned to bat her eyes seductively or alternately march into the fray, sword in hand. As a result, she got a lot of acting practice as a little girl giving performances on her rooftop.

The ingenue gives good face... and bod. Her "exotic" beauty

was always played up in her career.

Any talk of marriage-- and she had many suitors with her gorgeous features and natural charisma-- was overruled and put out of mind as she began her career. As she herself said, "When anyone have say to Lupe 'You cannot do!' it is like when they wave a red flag before the eyes of a bull to get the bull started!'" This is how she forced her way into a solo performance when the manager of the local theater tried to offer her a chorus girl's spot. Her reception was wild, perhaps because she took the stage with no stockings. She sang, she strummed the ukulele, but mostly she moved-- and fast! Her shimmying about got the men in the audience in an uproar, and she became an overnight sensation. Soon enough, she was being lauded as one of the favorite entertainers in Mexico! She was learning the ropes of performance fast. She was also learning how to handle catty females, who seemed to sabotage her at every turn-- jealous of her beauty and threatened by her popularity. She was once so angered by the constant badgering she suffered that she punched her fist through a window and performed onstage with a bloody hand! Lupe got back at the "mean girls" my impersonating them onstage and making a mockery of their affectations and exaggerated talents. This only endeared the public to her more. Along with her great beauty, Lupe had a raging sense of humor. Her lack of pretense and utter sincerity allowed her to form a bond with her audience, which tore the fourth wall away. Her attitude, which continued later in her career, was always, "I may be up here on stage, but you know I am really down there with you." She did not inherit any vanity after her success and went through life as she always had: grocery shopping, eating at cheap cafes, and putting on no airs. She was an approachable femme fatale: a rare find. Even after her film success, she could be found cracking up with crew members or spectators between takes.

Lupe tangoes her way to stardom with Douglas Fairbanks in The Gaucho.

When Lupe saw a chance to advance her career by going rogue in Hollywood, she took it. After being hand-picked by Richard Bennett to audition for  the stage play "The Dove," she earned a free ride to the land of eternal sunshine. Unfortunately, Mexico was not ready to let her go. She and her chihuahua were halted at customs when she was discovered to be both underage at seventeen and lacking her mother's signature on her pass. Lupe went home, corrected the mistakes, and tried again. After this second attempt, she arrived in L.A, using what little English she knew ("Hell!" being one of the words) only to find that her opportunity with Bennett was lost. She was determined to stay and make something of herself nonetheless, and she obtained bit parts in Hal Roach comedies opposite luminaries like Laurel & Hardy and Charley Chase. Then came the big lift! She was offered the chance of a lifetime when Douglas Fairbanks asked her to audition as his hot-blooded, comedic love interest in The Gaucho. Ironically, when Lupe arrived, Doug found her to be too "innocent." That was a laugh. He quickly altered his opinion when she refused to take off her shoes for the audition. Then, as instructed, she punched Eve Southern in a scene, but a bit too hard-- she gave her a black eye. Doug cast her, and the nineteen-year-old Lupe tangoed her way to glory. From this moment on, her career in Hollywood grew and grew. Her personality on film was alive and infectious-- she practically jumped off the screen. Not only did she gives actors like the ever electric Fairbanks a run for his money with her scene-stealing, but she also won the respect of her peers. Lon Chaney paid her the highest of compliments while working with her on Where East is East, even after her surprising talent nearly mopped the floor with the entire cast. In addition, each director and crew member she came across was inspired and touched by the way she approached her work with both great focus and professionalism. When she made a mistake, she would literally kick herself in the rump-- she was so hard on herself that no one else had to be. When the talkie revolution came, she easily transferred to sound, despite her accent, which was a true testament to her star power.

Lupe and fellow Mexican actress Dolores del Rio. Despite publicity

gags, the two got along well.

Of course, Lupe's "exotic" looks and origin always played into both her onscreen and off screen life. Though admittedly she knew very little English when she arrived in the United States, by the time the talkies had emerged, she had already learned to speak it elegantly. Nonetheless, in all of her film work and in every interview, the Spanish-speaking lady's language barrier was always exaggerated for comic effect. Her Mexican heritage was both her schtick and a stigma. Because Lupe was hot-tempered in reality and a very fun-loving, high-living kind of gal, her antics were always blamed or laughed off as a symptom of her Mexican-ness. Instead of this serving as a celebration of her ethnicity, it often felt like a slap in the face. As Michelle Vogel pointed out in her biography of Lupe, the actress's only real rival in Hollywood was the equally Mexican-born Dolores del Rio. As such, the gossip mills set tongues wagging with talks of a vengeful rivalry between the two ladies-- and ladies they were. They had no issues with each other and were never really in competition for roles, because they were such different people. However, Dolores carried herself with more grace and diplomacy than Lupe, who was essentially the Mexican Lucille Ball. Consequently, Lupe had much more trouble crossing over into the world of the truly-- "sniff, sniff"-- elite. Thus, her heritage was used to tie her to cliched acting roles and, quite often, to make fun of her in her private life. Lupe would play it up in the press to maintain her persona, but the pretense came to hurt her deeply.

No acting necessary: Loop and Coop fell in love quickly 

on the set of Wolf Song.

And her private life was a blazin'! Aside from her childhood sweetheart, whom she left for the stage, and the millionaire who tried to marry her in Mexico, whom she refused, Lupe didn't seem to have too much time for love. Men, yes. Love, no. That is, until she met her exact opposite: Gary Cooper. Tall, quiet, bashful, and ever-patient, Coop was easily taken in by Lupe when they began work on Wolf Song. Much as he had been attracted to Clara Bow, Coop seemed to be entranced by all of the fiery qualities in Lupe that he did not possess. She, in turn, was enamored of his calmness in the face of her constant storms. The tales of their lovers brawls are legendary, and usually involve Coop sitting silently as Lupe howled at him like a banshee. He would later proudly show off the war wounds that she had left him-- literally. I'm talking scars, people. Obviously, with their polar temperaments, the union couldn't last. They grew increasingly jealous and suspicious of each other, though Lupe always protested to be a one-man woman. (Sadly, monogmony was not one of Coop's major qualities). The straw that broke the camel's back was said to be Coop's mother, Alice, who never approved of Lupe, nor had she approved of Clara. Coop thus settled down with the more acceptable socialite Veronica "Rocky" Balfe, and Lupe lived with an eternal broken heart. Friends believe she never fully recovered, and she would openly admit to those closest to her that Coop was the love of her life: the one that got away, the only man she ever loved...

She thought she had found a better partner when she wed Johnny Weissmuller. He was Tarzan, for Pete's sake! Certainly he could handle a little heat in the so-called kitchen. Well, he could... For a time. But Johnny also quickly realized that the great passion and love that drew him to Lupe could not withstand their obvious differences. After her divorce from Johnny, Lupe would enjoy a brief engagement to Guinn "Big Boy" Williams, but that too eventually went kaput. Through it all, Lupe's career had enjoyed its ups and downs. For a time, her career seemed to be taking quite the nosedive, and she was often shoved into silly B-films in supporting roles. The public seemed to be losing interest, and her studio was losing faith in her. She did a handful of projects abroad, but she was quickly back in the limelight with the success of The Girl From Mexico. This launched the series with which she is most often associated: The Mexican Spitfire. Again, the films lampooned her accent and caricatured "Lupe" persona, but her timing and often improvised sense of comedy made the films (eight in all) huge hits. The plots centered around misunderstandings, mistaken identities, and the always hilarious strains of marital discord. Partnered with funny man Leon Errol, the two fools volleyed off each other while the cast of supporting players merely rotated around them and held on for dear life! It seemed that Lupe had managed to salvage her career, and it was only getting better. Little did the public know that the funniest woman on the silver screen was privately hurting.

A great shot depicting both the tigress and the scared kitten inside.

It has been speculated by many that Lupe suffered from the mental strains of bi-polar disorder. This would explain the mood-swings, the failures of her romantic relationships, and possibly her death. As much as we may try to probe into someone's psychology to try to understand why she took her own life, a spectator can never fully grasp the complexities and pains that drive a person to take such drastic measures. What we know in retrospect is that Lupe was four months pregnant when she committed suicide with the aid of 75 Seconal pills. The reason, which she herself stipulated in one of her suicide notes, (she addressed one to her lover and the other to her faithful housekeeper), was that the father of her child refused to marry her. Alone, this reason doesn't seem like reason enough, not with the publicly known Lupe being so brimming with life. However, if you add onto this her possible mental disorder, years of misfortune in love, and her actually very real religious life, we may be getting closer to the truth. She thought to bear a child out of wedlock was an unforgiveable sin. There too is well-founded speculation that the child she took with her to the other side was not that of her current amour--Harald Ramond aka Harald Maresch-- but that of long lost love and sometimes lover Gary Cooper. 

When Lupe's plan to have her sister Josefina raise her child temporarily until she could "adopt" it fell through-- due to Josefina's noncommittal attitude-- it is quite possible that in a weak moment, Lupe felt hopeless, alone, and betrayed. Some think she merely meant to make a statement, using an attempted suicide as a stunt to garner sympathy from Harald and force a proposal, but the amount of Seconal in her body-- even more than killed Carole Landis later in 1948-- doesn't suggest that this was an accidental overdose. Lupe, as always, went full throttle. In addition, Harald had in fact proposed to her, but was unable to commit to a quick marriage, due to what one assumes was his marital status to another woman. He too wanted to prove that he could earn enough to support her. It is believed that when he suggested that he and Lupe have a "fake marriage" until they could make it official,  she misunderstood his reasoning. But, perhaps she just tired of the charade, and the hiding, and the white-washed BS. Lupe had always played it straight with the public, never hiding behind edited words or false idol appearances. With the loss of another Prince Charming, life had become too desperate. Thus, on the night of Dec. 13, 1944, Lupe succumbed to her own insecurities and despite what certain slanderous, false historians say, she died in her bed-- not with her head in the toilet. She was but 36-years-old. She once said, "I've never met a man with whom I didn't have to fight to exist." She had finally pulled the gloves off. Fittingly, the night after her death, the Hollywood Legion Stadium-- where she had attended so many boxing matches, revving both the fighters and the crowd up-- paid her tribute by placing a spotlight on the seat that she would normally have occupied. The bell was lightly tapped in her honor as well.

And this is what gorgeous looks like: Lupe was equally capable

of dramatic roles, and her directors were amazed at the

way she could turn on the waterworks at will.

It is always those who laugh loudest that seem to be the most in pain. Comedy and tragedy, which seem so far apart, are closer than one assumes. Thus, Lupe Velez, the always hamming firecracker from Mexico, was covering up an ocean of secrets with her brave, bold facade. She certainly would not wish to be remembered the way she currently is-- as yet another Hollywood tragedy, mocked in such publications as Hollywood Babylon. The real Lupe was something different. The real Lupe, who triumphed again and again over her own madness, was good friends with and the comic envy of Carole Lombard. The real Lupe had a love and passion for life that drew men and fans to her like moths to a flame. The real Lupe was incredibly generous, providing for her family, doling out her fortune, and using her limited Hollywood power to help anyone in need. Lupe was an eternal dreamer, a woman of great humor, who-- despite her extensive jewelry collection, which single-handedly saved her from the crash of '29-- had no vanity. She was just as comfortable laughing it up with the guys-- Errol Flynn was known to wander over to her house for a late night game of cards when he, like she, was unable to sleep-- as she was endearing women to her, most of whom-- like Estelle Taylor and Mary Pickford-- always offered her a protective, maternal gaze. Lupe was such an unpretentious woman of the earth, that her escape to Heaven seems almost absurd. But there was more, much more, to this dynamo than met the eye. Now, her secrets are buried with her, as is a flame in Hollywood history that should have burned on much, much longer.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Super Stars

Just as "Superman" could only pretend to be "Clark Kent," George Reeves could only

pretend to be Superman. Yet, many film stars seem more heroic for performing

 superhuman acts off camera.

Despite evidence to the contrary, including the glossy sheen of celebrity gossip mags, movie stars are just people-- hence their appearance on the cover of People. We sometimes forget this, as their alleged humanity is hidden like a shameful secret behind publicist bodyguards and airbrushed elegance. The fact that some of their bodies withstand the effects of unconscionable amounts of barbiturates is also puzzling. However, word on the street is, our heroes aren't any different or any more impenetrable than you or I. George Reeves made this point vividly when he proved that he was not faster than a speeding bullet. True, true-- being famous does not make one "big" nor important. You have money: congratulations. God gifted you with a perfect profile: hallelujah. What else have you got? What makes you so damn special? The stars that really turn the head are the ones who, in the words of the incomparable Anthony Kiedis, "Give It Away." Those who use their celebrity and fortune to help others always seem to transcend the narcissism attached to the film profession, particularly when their good deeds are not performed at a press junket or a well-publicized benefit. When these acts come off the cuff, in the heat of the moment, and out of the spotlight-- sometimes before the celeb is even a celeb-- one can be assured that the individual performing various acts of decency is in fact a decent human being. Only then, does one seem superhuman. FYI:

Audrey Hepburn (left) would garner a lot of respect throughout her life, particularly in her later years when she donated so much of her time and effort to UNICEF-- an organization once championed by Danny Kaye. However, Audrey's acts of courage actually began quite young. In 1944, Audrey was living just outside Arnhem in Velp-- a town in the Netherlands. Thus, she would be very close to the ensuing chaos brought on by WWII when Arnhem became the target of one of history's most notorious bombing raids. Her extended family, some of whom were staying on her grandfather's property in Oosterbeek, actually filmed home movies of German and British soldiers battling on the lawn and dropping from the sky in their parachutes. The Arnhem Bridge alone was a major focal point of Axis versus Ally gunfire. The most that the scattered citizens of this area could do was duck and cover, keep their heads down, and wait for the storm to pass. However, Audrey and her mother Ella did more, often providing lodging and food for Allied soldiers. It was a risky venture, and while Ella made certain not to put her own daughter's life in too much danger, they participated when they could.

One example of Audrey's fortitude occurred during the September raid. It was discovered that an English soldier had parachuted from the sky and landed lost and isolated in the woods near Audrey's temporary home. When patriots learned of his presence, and the fact that he was surrounded on all sides by German soldiers, Audrey-- with her impeccable English-- was sent to deliver a message of warning to him. Legend would have it that Audrey led the soldier to food and shelter, where he was at least able to rest and recuperate as much as possible before he was finally captured as a prisoner of war. He too was rumored to have given her a silver medal with the Lord's Prayer on it, which was his only possession at the time. However, this is a bit embellished. It seems that the extent of the action was thus: Audrey took a brisk walk through the forest, under the guise of a bored teenaged girl getting some air, and traded information with the soldier. She then picked some flowers and skipped home as if everything was hunky-dory-- a good move, since she passed a German soldier, at whom she smiled and handed her bouquet. The dumb cluck never suspected a thing. It may seem like a small thing in retrospect, but had her agenda been discovered, Audrey may have been captured... or worse. In any event, her efforts assuredly saved the English soldier's life. (Don't let the sweet face fool ya'-- she's deadly! Audrey right in Paris When It Sizzles).

During his reign as the ultimate Hollywood cowboy, William S. Hart (left) would be viewed as a hero to many. However, one of his most impressive and selfless deeds would be performed long before he ever got in the saddle at Triangle Film Corp. with filmmaker Thomas Ince. Back in 1895, when flickers were still just starting to flicker in the public imagination, Bill was traveling with Madame Rhea and her acting company performing in such plays as "Much Ado about Nothing." It was a rough life traveling from city to city, state to state, and during this particular run, Hart and the troupe trekked all over the Great Lakes region. While passing through Michigan, life went from uncomfortable to downright tragic. Due to some unknown glitch or mishap, the train carrying Bill and his actor comrades derailed and actually flipped over! Luckily, Bill made it out ok with the expected cuts and bruises. However, the engineer and the train fireman were both trapped! Bill could hear them screaming from their place in the cab. Although his vision was blocked by clouds of steam, he was able to follow their voices to their location where he had to actually bend steel to free them and pull them to safety. The engineer fortunately survived, taking home a broken arm as his trophy. Unfortunately, despite Bill's efforts, the fireman was not so lucky-- he passed away with Bill's coat wrapped around him. It was certainly a moment that Bill would never forget, and it prepped him for his future work, in which he did more than one scene on a moving train.

Charles "Buddy" Rogers is recalled as being the adorable boy next door-- albeit maybe in better shape, (see right). A simple, down-to-earth guy, he was surprised to find himself making films in Hollywood when all he'd ever wanted to do was devote his life to jazz-- he played the trombone and various other instruments. At one time, he even led his own orchestra, which included the legendary drummer Gene Krupa. Yet, with his father's half-teasing suggestion, he did find himself before the camera and is today cemented in history as not only a star of the first Oscar winner for Best Picture--Wings-- but as the third and final husband of none other than Mary Pickford. Someone has to be pretty special to steal "America's Sweetheart" from Douglas Fairbanks, let alone keep her, but Buddy did that with his natural, sweet temperament and generous heart. However, an act worthy of true admiration occurred a mere month before his became the new Emperor of Pickfair. In May of 1937, he was in his hometown of Olathe, KS getting ready to perform with his swing band. It just so happened that the hot jazz singer Connie Boswell was playing at the same venue. This fact would prove very fortunate for her. See, Connie liked her ciggs: so much so that she accidentally fell asleep in her dressing room with one still ablaze in her hand. The couch caught fire! Buddy, who must have smelled the smoke, rushed in and was able to pull her from the burning furniture and beat out the flames before they literally snuffed her out! Good thing, or else her fans would be singing "Say It Isn't So" about her untimely death! (Ironically, Buddy's debut song on Broadway was "Hot-cha!").

Charlie Chaplin would play the accidental hero in many of his films. From saving the drunken millionaire from suicide in City Lights to rescuing Jackie Coogan in The Kid, he always found a way to save the day-- amidst much comedy, of course. However, he performed some actual life-saving daring-do in August of 1917. Following the release of his latest hit, The Immigrant, Charlie and his film company were shooting his next feature, The Adventurer, on the Sierra Madre coast. Of course, the presence of a major movie star caused quite a stir among the locals, who made their way to the seaside to watch him and his crew as they made magic on the beach. Unfortunately, one little girl became a little too absorbed in the action. Sitting on a large rock in the water, she was knocked from her seat when a huge wave came crashing over her. Though he was a very fastidious and focused man while working, Charlie couldn't help but notice that! In fact, he dived into the waves to save her. He pulled the shaken girl ashore, and she was soon warmed and back to normal-- though she certainly remained in a bit of shock, first from the near-death experience, then from her unexpected meeting with the Tramp (left). It was big news, of course, and made all of the local papers. Little Mildred Morrison had come to the beach that day to see her hero. Little did she know that she would actually be heroically saved by him!

Despite his occassional, diabolical on-screen performances, Lon Chaney represented to some a guardian angel. His countless acts of kindness and charity over the years did not go unnoticed by his peers, though he always maintained anonymity when giving himself to any cause or helping any person in need. It was the deed that mattered, not his personal reward. In 1926, he would perform in one of his favorite films-- with no make-up-- Tell It to the Marines (right). However, he'd had a brush with the military a few years prior when he met Sgt. Frank McClouskey. The Sergeant was a veteran of The Great War whose own heroic deeds in serving his country, and in effect the world, had ended tragically with severe injuries. The mental effects upon returning from the devastation of battle is one thing, however McClouskey too had to handle the physical results-- he had been rendered partially paralyzed. One need only watch Lon's performances in The Shock, West of Zanzibar, or The Black Bird to realize that he had a particularly soft spot for the crippled and "infirm." So, he made it his mission, out of respect for the Sergeant and his bravery, to pay for an operation that would correct the malady. The operation was a success-- a fact that was proven at Lon's own funeral in 1930: Sgt. McClouskey paid his respects and showed his eternal gratitude to his own hero by standing at attention and guarding Lon's casket for the entire three day wake. In a room filled with family friends, many of whom were deaf-mutes like Lon's parents, McClouskey's statement conveyed more than words possibly could.

If You Love Charlie...

... You Will Buy This Calendar!

Support the preservation of silent cinema. The 2013 edition is dedicated to Flying Machines!

Go HERE to place your order, "Please" and "Thank You." (On behalf of Chaplin. And Keaton. And Swanson. Oh, and Pickford... And Valentino... And Gish... And Chaney, etc, etc, etc...).

MENTAL MONTAGE: Psychotic Fanatics

Clara Bow arms herself against a dangerous threat (in Call Her Savage)!

A commonality most performers share is the need for love and attention. This desire, when misdirected, leads them to a life in front of the camera, wherein they are certain that they'll achieve the devotion and ardent admiration they so crave, thus making up for whatever vacancy they have in their lonely hearts. All too often, they get what they wish for and then some. Barraged by photographers, accosted en masse by crowds of people, and occasionally clawed and scratched by desperate, groping fans, more than one movie star had stopped to wonder what the Hell she has gotten herself into. Most people tend to simply admire and respect from afar when they find a screen persona that they somehow identify with. Others get a bit tearful and worshipful, hanging photos on their walls and perhaps even participating in a harmless bout of stalking in order to gain an in-the-flesh peep at their hero or perhaps his autograph. Still, others... Others go batty! The line between fact and fiction is completely blurred and fanaticism quickly turns to all out obsession. Here are a few hot stars that turned ice cold with fear when the love they sought on the big screen transitioned to something more sinister, or at least wildly unexpected:

At one point in time, Clara Bow (left) was the most popular movie star in the world. She and her male counterpart, Lon Chaney, were voted the two names most likely to sell tickets by theater owners across the nation. For the little, loveless girl from Brooklyn who had always wanted to "make it," life was now like a dream come true. But Clara soon saw the sour side of celebrity life, which manifested itself in multiple ways. One of the most peculiar things to grow accustomed to was the fan attention. Film celebrities were still a moderately new sensation by the 1920s. The public was familiar with the life-altering, screen presence phenomenon, but they were far from jaded, and their attention to their stars was vastly different from the more scathing and bitter focus we give our celebrities today. Thus, saying Clara was merely "famous" is an understatement. To the general public in her own time, Clara might as well have been God. 

A few people coincidentally deemed her as such, becoming so obsessed with her that life became a bit fearful. Before the days of the bodyguard, before the days when celebrity stalking was understood and more protected against, there were far more up close and personal threats that the average film celeb had to endure. For her part, Clara was once alarmed by a large, beefy blonde man from Iowa pounding on her door in the middle of the night. He had traveled a long way to tell Clara that he loved her and was not leaving until they were married. Another day, her secretary and friend Tui Lorraine was run off the road by two pursuant fans, who had been following Clara's car. They gents blazed off quickly when they realized that they had been stalking the wrong person, leaving Tui shaking in the driver's seat. Clara also received a mysterious note from "Mr. Rand" of the Secret Service, who claimed that a mental patient had escaped from Illinois State Hospital and was coming for her. The escapee believed that Clara had "the soul of a flying horse" and would soon "give birth to Jesus Christ." Ummm... The agent offered his protection. Only problem was that there was no Mr. Rand in the secret service. Paramount supplied Clara with hired guards instead.

The most notorious example of Clara's brush with celebrity obsession came via the dashing Robert Savage. Robert was a charming playboy from a prominent family in Connecticut. He was certainly the black sheep of the upper crust bunch, which he proved when he left behind the expected ivy league education to marry Ziegfeld girl Geneva Mitchell. Of course, even this coup wasn't enough for someone with his skewed ambition. He lacked the work ethic of a successful businessman but possessed the unstoppable desire for fame, money, glory, etc. As such, he wouldn't be satisfied until he had obtained the "It" girl. Through his conniving, he was able to gain an introduction through a mutual friend, and met up with Clara at her personal cabin for one of her parties. Clara was friendly, flirty, but her interest ended there. She though Robert was nice enough, but apparently she was turned off by the fact that he seemed to do nothing but talk about himself. She said "good bye," but it was far from the end. Robert publicly bragged that he and Clara had enjoyed much more than conversation, and that she had bit his lip so hard that it had bled. This only served to irritate the starlet, but things got worse. Robert started calling repeatedly, hounding Clara, and soon enough threatening that if she didn't see him, he would kill himself. Finally, after she'd had enough, Clara agreed to meet Robert for lunch, hoping she could at least calm him down. Instead, he picked her up and drove her to the marriage licence bureau. Clara's eyes bulged! Luckily, they arrived too late and were not joined in holy matrimony that day. When she begged him to leave her alone again, he staged an elaborate "prank." He wrote her a lovely poem, surrounded himself with Clara's photos, and then slit his wrists, allowing the blood to drizzle on Clara's picture. Of course, he had alerted his friends to what he was doing, so the cops showed up to find him smugly smoking a cigarette, "bleeding to death" on the couch. He was sentenced to a psych ward, but when brought before the jury, he admitted that he hadn't really wanted to kill himself, but had simply been trying to get Clara's attention. He vowed that he'd get it still! The case was thrown out of court. Luckily, Robert seemed to have sucked up enough of his fifteen minutes of fame, and after his family yanked him back in tow, he thankfully seemed to disappear from Clara's life.

Charlie Chaplin also endured a none-too-savory suicidal fan. In 1922, while in the midst of his affair with the ever dramatic Pola Negri (together right), he was confronted by Marina Varga, a Mexican spitfire of a woman, who had left her husband in Vera Cruz and crossed the border into the United States dressed as a boy in order to meet her true-true love, Chaplin. She went directly to the Chaplin Studios, where she was of course turned away, but then she showed up at his house. Somehow, she managed to sneak in, and while Charlie, Pola, and friends dined downstairs, she was found by his Japanese servant, Kono, lying comfortably in Charlie's bed dressed in his pajamas. Kono was clearly disturbed to find the strange, mentally uneven woman in his employer's room, but managed to calmly coax her back into her own clothes. He summoned Charlie from upstairs, and the comedian took on a serious tone, talking to Marina, calming her down, and eventually getting her to leave the house. As a naturally sympathetic soul, Charlie-- who was always in awe of his incomprehensible celebrity and effect on fans-- felt only pity toward the poor woman. His girlfriend, Pola, was much less entertained by the episode, which only made matters worse when Marina showed up again. This time, she staged a great death scene, decorating Charlie's porch with a smattering of roses, then sipping poison, and lying down to die on his lawn. Luckily, the poison wasn't really poison, and she had merely passed out from-- it appears-- her own hysteria. When she came to, she and Pola got into a nasty yelling match, which turned into a fight. At some point, Chaplin's concern for the whole thing seemed to turn to farce, for he later turned the water on the two women when they wouldn't cease their cat fight. The good news for Marina is that, while she didn't get Charlie, she did become front page news, and she gladly posed for a photographs for the press. She left Charlie alone afterward, which proves it was probably more the fame than ol' Chuck that she wanted in the first place.

Silent film cowboy William S. Hart (left) had another interesting altercation with a stalking female. An unlikely mark for a desirous woman, the lanky, eagle-faced actor was hardly what one would describe as a heart-throb. He still managed to make an effect, it seems. When in Chicago, Hart was in talks to contribute to what would later become known as United Artists with Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin, and D.W. Griffith. (He later declined the offer). Joining him on his journey through the Windy City was, as always, his sister Mary and also tag-along pal Norma Talmadge. One day, the trio were sitting around the hotel suite, probably planning what to do with the rest of their day, when a strange woman unceremoniously swept in and interrupted their conversation. One can imagine the moment of silence and confusion as Bill, Mary, and Norma sat staring at the equally silent stranger, who gawked at Bill with eyes wide as saucers. Finally, after Bill addressed her, she stated: "I've come to take you home." Bill didn't know exactly where this lady thought 'home' was, but he didn't get too good of a feeling when he saw her menacingly reaching into her purse. Within a split second, Norma was ducking under a chair, Mary was reaching for a weapon-- a bottle-- and Bill quickly grabbed the woman gently on the arm and led her docile body out the door, which he promptly slammed behind her. And bolted. The scared group never learned what became of their strange visitor, nor did they discover what it was that she had had in that hand bag. 

Mary Pickford (right), as the first big movie star, knew better than anyone else the power that celebrity could hold. At its best, it was a tremendous benefit; at its worst, it was terrifying. Trying to learn why it was that so many people were interested in her and her life, why complete strangers adored her, was a difficult thing for her to wrap her mind around. She took on her role in the public eye with surprising responsibility and a bit of sadness: "I have learned that I do not belong to myself." Yet, this didn't mean that she was just going to roll over and let people do with her as they wanted. Most of her fans were harmless, including one homeless man who built a shrine to her in New York Park. His name was William Bartels, and he informed police officers that "America's Sweetheart" was truly his sweetheart. Of course, he too admitted that he and Mary were not yet on speaking terms. Then, alleged fan Edward Hemmer tried to extort money from Mary after he claimed that he had acted as a surrogate father to her during her youth. Mary didn't remember the guy, and had a court order filed to shut him up. 

Another event was much more bone-rattling. While Mary was traveling through Boston, she received letters for two weeks from a persistent man who claimed that he had information about a will. Clearly, this was fishy business, and Mary wasn't exactly hurting for money, so she chose to ignore the scam. Later, the author of the letters and his female companion were found camping outside Mary's hotel room door listening in. They were kicked out, of course, but only returned later. Mary's maid, God knows why, let the duo into her room, while Mary entertained guests in the sitting area. Perturbed, Mary left her friends and confronted the eerie duo, demanding that they leave at once! The man cowered, but the woman claimed that she had a "message" for Mary, and was there to offer "spiritual guidance." Mary clearly wasn't interested. She had them arrested. She believed that this was all part of a kidnapping scheme, and when she had to appear in court regarding their case, she had no qualms about letting them have it. The judge was surprised that he had to ask the red-faced pipsqueak to calm herself! Mary may have been small, but she was no shrinking violet. The religious duo never bothered her again.

Not all fan and star meetings were quite so threatening nor fearful. Some were just... surprising. Labeled as "The Screen's Most Perfect Lover," Wallace Reid (left) was constantly at the mercy of salivating women. To an outsider, this probably doesn't sound like an burdensome position for a person to be in, but it could be inconvenient. First of all, Wally was married to actress Dorothy Davenport, so the constant attention from the opposite sex was a bit stressful on the marriage. Thankfully, neither husband nor wife seemed to take it all too seriously. A charming, good-natured guy, Wally probably laughed off the majority of the adoring compliments sent his way. Yet, some of the "proposals" he received were more difficult to ignore than others. For example, he was ardently and persistently pursued by a high society matron who had fallen madly in love with him after seeing the handsome speedster in films like The Roaring Road. So infatuated was she that she wound up bribing his valet with $25,000 worth of jewelry for a mere peek at Wally's dressing room. She hoped to win at least one night of passion with Wally, and thus proceeded to woo him with love letters, expensive gifts, and photos of herself in the nude. She also sent him a mysterious key, which opened her boudoir. It was, needless to say, an open invitation. Wally RSVP'd, "No thanks." Other girls didn't have the same resources to get to Wally, although his employees were making a fortune off bribes that the desperate throngs offered to catch a glimpse of the star or see where he lived. He and Dorothy soon became accustomed to strange women popping out of hiding places in their home. They snuck in and hid under beds, in closets, cabinets, in the attic, the basement, and the garage. Wally and Dorothy were particularly shocked when a young girl popped out of the back seat of their car where she had been hiding under a blanket! Things were getting ridiculous, but since most of these lustful dames seemed harmless, Wally never took any major action to deter their infiltrations. It became a sort of running joke.

Carroll Baker (right) was also surprised by an unexpected guest. After giving birth to her first child, daughter Blanche Joy Garfein, (with no anesthesia, thank you very much), she was greeted by several fans within the hospital offering their congratulations. Mostly, everyone just wanted a peep at the "Baby Doll" with her new baby. Her entire delivery had been a bit of a production, being witnessed by several members of the staff including current medical students, who observed the event under the excuse of education. Afterward, while convalescing, Carroll's beautiful, personal moments was constantly interrupted with fellow patients and nurses stopping by to wish her well, despite the "Do Not Disturb" sign on her door. Since all a tired, new mother wants is peace and quiet, it was a bit irritating to say the least, but Carroll handled it well and appreciated the sentiment. Then, things took a more menacing turn. Late one night, around 10pm, Carroll was having trouble sleeping. She managed to waddle to the restroom in her open-backed gown, then re-entered her pitch black bedroom, where she was startled by a figure standing in her doorway. Leaning against the frame was a large man, grinning at her and eying her very bare legs. He also seemed to be holding something behind his back. Carroll panicked!  She dove for the intercom and screamed as loudly as she could. The man bolted, and the hospital staff and security came running to her defense! They never tracked down the intruder, who was clearly there long after visiting hours were over. Where he came from or how he got in was never discovered. BUT, they did find the stairwell where he made his escape. Also present was the bouquet of flowers he had been hiding behind his back. The card read: "To the Beautiful Baby Doll, from Your Fan." Carroll didn't mind the gift, but the giving had been a bit too much.

Monty Clift (left) was accosted by a somewhat unsettling fan, but as was his way, he found the episode much more entertaining than frightening. The predator in his story was a chubby, middle-aged German woman known only as "the Baroness." What she was the 'baroness' of remains a mystery. Apparently, she became totally fixated on Monty after witnessing his performance (and handsomeness) in films like The Search and A Place in the Sun. She had decided that she and Monty were meant to be married, and naturally she considered it her duty to find him and let him know that she was his soul mate. Thus, she traveled all the way from Europe to get to him, and wherever she stayed on her hunt, she covered her hotel room walls with his photos. She wrote the studios repeatedly asking for his address, but was strangely never answered. She finally made it to Beverly Hills, but was still unable to track Monty down, which is why she attended a press conference at the Beverly Hills Hotel where his former co-star Burt Lancaster was conversing with the press. When she brashly cried out and asked him where Monty lived, Burt raised and eyebrow and assured her that he hadn't the slightest idea. 

After eight months of stalking, the Baroness found herself in New York at Monty's brownstone. She knocked on the door, and when his assistant opened it, she caught a glimpse of her hero walking down the stairs. She was in awe and went into complete hysterics, throwing herself at his feet and weeping. Monty was floored... and confused. As he was personally undergoing his own mental and physical illnesses, he must have taken pity on the poor woman. As he had already wrapped on The Misfits, his acting career was pretty much over and, unbeknownst to him, time was winding down. He let the warped woman inside, and the two had a nice long talk, which turned into a friendship of sorts. She even let Monty read the journal that she had totally devoted to him, which he, of course, found fascinating. Monty was probably more intrigued by the woman's psychotic fixation than anything else, but she was allowed to come over for brunch from time to time, and Monty even gave her one of his silk shirts, which she religiously slept in until it was thread bare. To show her gratitude, Monty's "soul mate" even offered him the use of her brother, which implied that despite her feelings, she was aware of Monty's sexual proclivities. His reaction to this proposition must have been priceless, but he doesn't seem to have taken her up on it. In time, Monty introduced the Baroness to his mother, Sunny, whom he always enjoyed provoking. The Baroness introduced herself as her daughter-in-law. Sunny, suffice it to say, was not nearly as amused by the crazy woman as her son.

Sometimes crazy fans can come in handy, which is something both Bebe Daniels and Harry Richman discovered when they found themselves the recipients of Al Capone's steadfast loyalty. The allure of the mafia in the prohibition era is somewhat confusing today. Movie stars rubbing up against thieves and murderers??? In an "ignorance is bliss" kind of way, people abstractly admired these men of power, who were supplying them booze, while keeping themselves detached from the methods by which the Meyer Lanskys and Lucky Lucianos of the world did business. In addition, those who weren't so attracted to the power were fearful of winding up on the villain's bad side and played nice for their own safety, while maintaining a comfortable distance. Harry Richman fell into the former category, enjoying the attention and publicity that a relationship with Capone could offer. A "media whore" himself, who had for a time been engaged to Clara Bow (see right) for the fame it would offer him, this crooner was all about the angle and using any means necessary to stay in the press to become bigger and richer. For a time, he needed little help, with his own Club Richman doing hopping business for the well-to-do and his top hits like "I Can't Give You Anything But Love" and "Puttin' on the Ritz" maintaining his fan base. Capone was a fan, and he used to show up at the club at 17 West Fifty-Sixth Street often, always in his bullet-proof Rolls Royce with 32 bodyguards in toe. Capone was so appreciative of Richman's music that he offered him the greatest gift he could give: protection for life. Harry graciously accepted.

Bebe Daniels (left) on the other hand, was not too eager to hob-knob with known criminals, yet she too would reluctantly have Capone as an ally. When she was once traveling through the Midwest, she was shocked and upset to find that some of her expensive jewelry had been stolen. She, of course, reported the theft to the authorities, but the chances of ever seeing her priceless gems again were slim and she knew it. She resigned herself to their disappearance and hunkered down for the night. The next day, she received a surprise delivery. Her jewelry had been returned in toto on orders from Al Capone! How he knew they had been stolen in the first place, or how he knew where to go to obtain them, is left to history. But, for love of Bebe, an actress he clearly admired, he went the extra mile to see that justice was done. One wonders what form of intimidation he used on the original thief? It probably wasn't pretty... Then again, maybe he staged the whole thing simply to ingratiate himself to the starlet. Bebe certainly was glad to get her belongings back, but she couldn't help but feel a little uneasy with the knowledge that it was the most dastardly of fans that she had to thank for it. Not all that glitters is gold, particularly in Hollywood.