CAST AWAYS: Part XII

Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn during Charade.

If there were two stars who seemed destined to be co-stars-- celebrity soul mates-- it was Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn. No other actors or actresses were as synonymous with "style," nor was anyone a better representative of "class" for their sex. Quickly after Audrey's appearance in Hollywood, studios were already scrambling for a project that would contain the killer combo of Grant and Hepburn, yet it would take awhile before that cinematic dream would come true.

Cary was first offered the role of "Linus Larrabee" in Billy Wilder's Sabrina, but he turned the role down, perhaps because he didn't want to go toe to toe with William Holden, who would be playing the "better looking," younger brother, "David." Instead, the plum part went to Humphrey Bogart. The film probably wouldn't have been as unpredictable had Audrey wandered off into Cary's arms at the end. Everyone would have seen that one coming. Bogie's macho attitude and antipathy toward love actually created the proper amount of surprise and transformation needed to add a little depth to the role. Yet, audiences were still longing for the Cary-Audrey pairing, which is why Cary was next offered the role of "Frank Flannagan" in Love in the Afternoon, again to be directed by Billy Wilder. Nay! He turned it down again! He believed himself too old to play Audrey's romantic leading man. So, this time, Gary Cooper would fill the shoes of Audrey's befuddled, elder romancer, which of course, he did quite nicely. Still, Cary's uncanny business sense was correct. Gary, though still handsome and alluring, was a wee bit too old for the part, which resulted in Billy's strategic, shadowed lighting. Also, I don't know if Coop chose to play this role as chronically drunk, or if he really was, but to me it kind of works. He is a hoot in it, and it is unlike any other role he played. It is also nice to see the girl leading the guy in romantic circles for a change, which is why this is one of my favorite Hepburn roles. (The duo do their famous goodbye/hello at the film's end, left).

Finally, 6 years after the last offer, Cary and Audrey would come together at long last in Charade. Yet, even this gem was almost missed! Cary was still reticent about playing a creepy old man-- ironic, considering that he is the only man in the universe would could pull off that courtship and still seem so very Cary. So, while he kicked the idea around, the film was considered as a vehicle for Warren Beatty and Natalie Wood. Eek. I love both of the latter performers, but the film needed a classic vibe to work, and the fresh faces of Warren and Natalie would've been the wrong ingredients. Paul Newman was also considered for the lead, but his rate was too high. So, Cary came up with a compromise. He would take on the part, if the script were changed so that Audrey would be chasing him, and not the other way around. Agreed! Despite an unfortunate first meeting, in which a humiliated Audrey spilled wine all over Cary's perfectly tailored suit-- no worries, he sent her flowers the next day-- the two got on swimmingly. Thus, we are left with one of the funniest crime-spoof-capers in film history. (Audrey administers some TLC to Cary's Peter Joshua/Carson Dyle/Whatever his name is).

The chemistry between Audrey and Cary was just as wonderful as anyone could have dreamed. Clearly, Cary was kicking himself for not working with Audrey sooner, because as soon as production ended, and he was asked what his next goal was, he answered that he wanted to "make another movie with Audrey Hepburn!" He tried to get her for Father Goose, in fact, but Audrey was more interested in obtaining the lead in My Fair Lady. The role of "Catherine," therefore, went to Audrey's equally stunning pal, Leslie Caron (left). "Grantburn," as we'll call them, was sadly never to work together again, although there was one last chance: Cary was offered the role of "Henry Higgins" in My Fair Lady!!! However, Cary refused the role, saying that it belonged to Rex Harrison, who had brought it to life on stage. So certain was he that Rex deserved the part, that he told George Cukor that he would not even go to see the movie if he cast anyone else! Still, Rock Hudson, Peter O'Toole, and Laurence Olivier were all considered before Rex won that argument! Rock Hudson as Henry Higgins?!?!?! 

Back to Audrey: The Children's Hour remains a fascinating piece of filmmaking. Risque in its day, William Wyler explored themes of homosexuality in ways that few directors had yet been bold enough to attempt. Indeed, he had made the film before in 1936 with Merle Oberon in the role of "Karen," Miriam Hopkins in the role of "Martha," and Joel McCrea as "Joseph," (the role that would later belong to James Garner). Titled These Three, the film was unfortunately subjected to censorship restraints, meaning that all hints of lesbianism were erased from the plot, unceremoniously turning it into the typical, love triangle film. Nonetheless, perhaps hoping to give the former actresses a glorious piece of the later 1961 version, Wyler asked them to take on the roles of "Mrs. Lily Mortar" and "Mrs. Amelia Tilford." Only Miriam agreed  to sign on as Aunt Lily, performing at her usual, hysterical best. (It was perhaps fortuitous that Merle didn't sign on, since she and Audrey would, in time, share the love of their lives in Robert Wolders).

Shirley MacLaine rocks your world!

Audrey almost didn't get a chance to be in The Children's Hour, since one of the original pitches was to have Doris Day and Katharine Hepburn in the two leads. Now, I love me some Doris and Kate, but imagining the film without the deeply tortured and heartbreaking performance of Shirley MacLaine is unthinkable (see left)! Audrey too proved to be the perfect counterpoint to Shirley's highly nervous Martha, giving her own portrayal of Karen a believable blend of cool intelligence and wounded naivete. Both are lost souls in their own way whose lives are torn assunder by an outrageous lie that proves to be half true. A good movie makes you feel, a great one makes you think, a perfect one does both. As with most Audrey films, this one safely falls into the perfect category.

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part XI

Two big Hollywood stars would meet Bette Davis back 

when she was an innocent ingenue... But that 

Bette didn't last for long.

Believe it or not, when Bette Davis first arrived in Hollywood, she was a much more demure figure than history recalls. An insecure, uncomplaining worker, she gave her all for long hours in ridiculous projects in order to make a good impression and hopefully carve out a niche for herself. With her self-esteem at a low, she would need time, experience, and box-office clout before she transformed into the demanding diva we all know and love. Also not popularly known is the fact that Bette remained a virgin until her wedding day-- a fact she proudly proclaimed in later life... before listing the names of her following lovers. Thus, young, unmarried, innocent Bette stood out like a sore thumb in her early days of Hollywood. Unaccustomed to men and unaccustomed to the business, she had a thing or two to learn. One evening, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. thought he would help her out.

On New Years Eve of 1931, Bette was attending a posh Hollywood party being thrown by Lois Wilson. She had hoped to meet some important people, schmooze, etc, but as shy as she was, she spent most of the night in a corner by herself. Doug (left), clearly drunk at this point, noticed the delicate, doe-eyed, cream-puff and swaggered over to her. In her eye-catching gown, with decolletage on display, Doug must have noticed the strange inconsistency between her shut-off demeanor and her come-hither gown. Clearly, this was a girl hoping for attention yet unable to play the Hollywood game-- i.e. use her sexuality to gain control. Thus, reaching into her dress and groping one of her breasts, he offered the following advice: "You should use ice on your breasts the way my wife does." His wife of the time, incidentally, was Joan Crawford. He then stumbled away. Bette was mortified! She rushed home in tears, terrified of this new place called Hollywood and its questionable inhabitants. She quickly wed her first husband, Ham Nelson-- a much more bashful fellow-- in an attempt at normalcy, but Doug's slurred words must have had some effect. Though she never had a penchant for ice, she got the underlying message, and slowly came out of her cocoon and became one Hell of a bulldozing butterfly. One wonders if she ever thanked Doug for the tip? One wonders if (sober) he even remembered giving it???

There are a lot of stories regarding the competitive relationship that Bette shared with Joan Crawford, which came to life fully in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? While Bette always craved Joan's star appeal, Joan always envied Bette's talent. Their conflicting egos would make the shooting of this particular film a tense affair. Coincidentally, it was their only collaboration. But, Bette actually had a more profound rivalry and deep-rooted hate-fest going with Miriam Hopkins (right). Interestingly, these two ladies crossed paths long before Bette's Hollywood days when both were members of George Cukor's theater company in New York in 1928. At the time, Miriam was the leading lady and Bette a mere featured ingenue. The tables turned and the mini-degrees of separation continued when Bette starred in Jezebel, a role that Miriam had brought to life on the stage. Bette then had an affair with Anatole Litvak, Miriam's husband, who directed her in The Sisters. By 1939, when the two ladies starred together in The Old Maid, there was definitely some animosity. Bette wanted to play both of the lead roles herself, as a dual force phenomenon, but failed to convince production. Miriam was cast opposite her instead. Afterward, Bette would recall Miriam as being a great actress but a "total bitch." Of course, Bette conveniently forgot her tryst with Anatole, which was a major factor in Miriam's hatred. On the set, the ladies continuously tried to out-do each other, as they later would in Old Acquaintance. Bette would conspire with the director and keep Miriam out of the loop; Miriam would over-act and position herself so that Bette couldn't steal the frame. When it came time for Bette's character in Old Acquaintance to shake the daylights out of Miriam's character, there was little acting involved. Yet, because the two had such history together, it made their performances opposite each other much more intricate and believable. Some frenemies go waaaaaaaay back.

Two other Hollywood ladies were 'old acquaintances,' but in their case, there was genuine friendship. Back in 1922, Mae Clarke (left) was dancing with a slew of other hopeful young women on the stages of The New Amsterdam Theatre in New York as a part of the illustrious "Ziegfeld's Follies." Her roommate and fellow high-kicker during this time? Barbara Stanwyck. The two were close friends with mutual aspirations toward fame, fortune, and getting the Hell out of a compromising lifestyle. At the time, they were living above a laundry with a third roomie, Walda, trying to eek by. Later they all moved to the Knickerbocker. In Barbara's memory: "I just wanted to survive and eat and have a nice coat." Happily, both Mae and Babs would shimmy their way out of NYC and come to mutual acclaim in Hollywood. Barbara's personal ambition was a little stronger than Mae's, so she would enjoy a lengthier and more memorable career, though Mae's roles as gangsters' molls also give her a safe place in cinematic history. Certainly, when the two pals crossed paths in Hollywood, years after their youthful, scantily-clad beginnings, they must have shared a laugh about the old days and how far they had come. Despite the pain of those years, Barbara always remembered them with fondness, most probably because of the bonds and alliances she shared with so many young women experiencing and trying to survive the same circumstances.

When Veronica Lake came to Hollywood at sixteen, she had mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was in a place where dreams allegedly came true and where some of her screen-heroes came to life. On the other hand, she wasn't sure about all this acting jazz and wasn't too happy about her mother's plans to push her into the spotlight. Her experience in Tinsel Town would go down in history as one of the most tragic examples of the monster celebrity machine, but there were too some good days. One of these days occurred when Ronni and the family-- including her mother, stepfather, and cousin-- first pulled into Los Angeles in 1938. Famished after a long trip, they stopped to eat at a drive-in burger joint. Suddenly, another car pulled beside them. Casually glancing at the driver next-door, Ronni's jaw hit the floor when she saw that it was one of her idols: Anne Shirley (right)!!! She tried to play it cool, but she was overcome with excitement. Ronni watched Anne scarf down a burger with as much attention as she gave to any of her films, then sighed as the starlet drove away. Funnily enough, Ronni would later work with Anne in Sorority House, although Ronni played a measly extra in the film. Ronni never had the courage to tell Anne about their shared lunch, but she did muster the strength to introduce herself and express her gratitude at being able to work with, or at least near, her. Anne was a doll, and wished Ronni much luck in her career. The wish came true when Ronni became the peek-a-boo girl of the movies.

Carroll Baker's career-changing trek to Los Angeles was equally illuminating. When in flight for her first meeting with George Stevens regarding a possible role in Giant-- one she inevitably got-- Carroll was killing time with a little reading. She had just wed Jack Garfein, and in order to become more accustomed to and appreciative of her husband's religious life, she had brought The History of the Jews along for the ride. As her eyes flicked from page to page, she heard a voice: "What's a shiksa like you doing reading The History of the Jews?" Carroll looked up and her eyes bulged. It was Danny Kaye (left)!!! Not only that, but he was flying with famed director Mervyn LeRoy! The two men shared chuckles over her choice in literature and then got to talking. When she mentioned the Giant offer, Mervyn wished her luck, but Danny offered a warning: "Go back!" Concerned for the young girl, after having endured his share of sleaziness and back-stabbing in Hollywood, Danny continued with the fatherly advice, urging Carroll that Tinsel Town wasn't "for everyone." Carroll took the information to heart, but at a young age, she had already encountered more than a few harsh life lessons and felt ready to take the plunge regardless. After some personal hurdles, she certainly may have wondered whether she should have taken Danny's advice, but in the end she conquered both her demons and Hollywood, becoming one of the most memorable performers of the "Method" generation.

Some celebrity meetings are less exciting, if only because at the time, the mutual stars don't know that they're stars: they're children. When Louise Brooks (right) was growing up in Cherryvale, KS, she was already sporting her notorious Buster Brown haircut and exploring the world of dance, but she lacked all other indications of her later splendor-- save maybe her "devilish" personality and an early fascination with films. At the age of four, she was just a young-un, enjoying her youth, playing with neighborhood kids, and getting into the usual bits of trouble. Of course, her childhood was not an easy one, including familial tensions and a tragic experience of sexual abuse that would definitely shape her protective, defiant demeanor. While part of the neighborhood band of kids, she somehow still seemed on her own, separate, and a bit puzzling to her contemporaries-- one of whom was Vivian Vance, the lady later known as Ethel Mertz on "I Love Lucy." At the time, Vivian's last name was still "Jones." She and her sister Venus lived across the street from "Lulu" and they were all close chums, though the sisters often had trouble keeping up with Louise's never-ending energy. They also knew not to come between Louise and her fudge. No one, but NO ONE, ate Louise's fudge. In later years, few would even think to put Vivian and Louise in the same category, but in their youths, Venus would recall that Louise's passion for dancing mixed well with Viv's already well-honed comedy skills. Who knew that the Queen of the Silent Screen was once BFFs with the Princess of the TV set?

Vivian Vance... reminiscing about her Cherryvale and 

"Brooksie" days?

HISTORY LESSON: Let's Get Down to Cases

Miriam Hopkins takes the stand in The Story of Temple Drake.
See the movie to hear one Hell of a testimony.

The public reaction when one of our beloved stars is hauled into court is varied. The collision of our perception-- or rather projection-- with reality often results in plain shock. The screen image is just an image? What??? Some feel betrayed, not only by the discovery that an idol is fallible, but by the fact that the icon is making such heinous and grievous mistakes after a life of such blessings as fame and fortune. Some fans become hysterically depressed, clinging to the vision of their hero, as if their love alone can keep him unsullied and innocent, despite the sometimes damning evidence against him-- a la Michael Jackson and the molestation claims. Others lash out in anger, feeling that the ungrateful star has arrogantly and ungratefully wielded his power. We thusly turn our backs on him as punishment for succumbing to human temptations and flaws-- a la Lindsy Lohan, or is she just "Lindsay" now? The natural human instinct is to jump to the defensive when celebs are offensive. There is no room for sympathy within our own disappointment. Our jealousy mixed with our worship dilutes our compassion: remember before Robert Downey Jr. cleaned himself up? America hates a loser, but we love a survivor. Thus it is that the Hollywood elite sometimes get a little taste of the soggy side of celebrity. Here are a few court scandals that temporarily tarnished or nearly ruined some of our screen stars' lives, particularly during the early Silent Hollywood Witch Hunts, when a more puritanical society lashed out vengefully at the film colony and their suddenly apparent, sinful ways.

William S. Hart (left) would be the last person to whom anyone would attribute controversy. Yet, even the stone-faced cowboy had his share of scrapes. Hart's brief marriage to Winifred Westover came to a violent end, as Winifred claimed, when Hart allegedly dragged her out of the house! Hart would swear on a stack of Bibles that this was a dramatic falsehood, but whatever the case, the divorce would end in 1927 with a hefty $200,000 settlement. Some claimed that this was the final nail in Hart's popularity coffin. Ironically, while Winifred had sued Hart in Reno for divorce over the claims of physical and emotional abandonment, Hart had found himself in court several years earlier when another woman claimed that he had gotten a little too familiar with her. In November of 1919, a paternity suit was filed against Bill by Elizabeth MacCauley of Brookline, MA. Elizabeth claimed that she and Bill had become acquainted three years prior in Syracuse, NY and had indulged in a sexual relationship. The result was a child, whom she had been forced to support on her own. Indeed, she claimed that she had hidden the child's existence for the past three years, because she feared that Bill would kidnap it! She alleged that she had only come forward for monetary reasons: her meager salary as a nurse in conjunction with a recent illness made it hard for her to support the youngster. Bill, who was in the middle of filming, arrived to court in complete cowboy array and asserted that, not only had he never engaged in an affair with Elizabeth, but he had never even seen her before. 

The proceedings that day were fairly comical to say the least, especially when the plaintiff was asked to identify the father of her child and did so by saying, "Everyone knows him. He is William S. Hart!" This caused the present audience to erupt in laughter. When the judge asked her to respond to Bill's denial of her claims, she professed that her testimony was the truth. Now this was something. All these years, Bill had been a self-proclaimed, nearly asexual bachelor, and all of a sudden this woman's assertions made him a secret, seductive predator! The game of He Said vs. She Said continued, but finally, the cards fell in Bill's favor. The skeptical judge asked Elizabeth once more if her claims of sexual intimacy with Bill had indeed taken place, to which she replied, "Well, not in the flesh, your Honor... He and I live in the spirit world." Uh oh, Lizzy. It turned out that the disturbed lady had borrowed the child from someone else and was posing it as her own. And so, poor Bill was dragged into court by a complete loon. As such, the case was quickly dismissed, and Bill was back in the saddle with this silly scandal quickly behind him. His status as America's favorite Western star would continue for six years more without faltering. Though there were occasional whispers that Bill did indeed have sexual flings, his recorded relationships with women like Jane Novak-- which were so puritanical they were almost platonic-- and his clear inability for emotional connection with his wife, Winifred, make it appear that he was far from the zesty Lothario Elizabeth had tried to paint him as. At least he knew, despite his personal issues, that some women around the world found his boyish onscreen charm irresistible... and even convictable. (You'll never take 'im alive! Hart in older years, right).


Speaking of paternity suits... Oh, Charlie Chaplin (left). Charlie, Charlie Charlie... With genius, there is always madness, and this genius was unfortunately bitten by the love bug. His addiction to and obsession with young, beautiful women got him into his share of trouble and plenty of regrettable, shot-gun weddings. But he didn't reach the worst of the worst until he met an unacceptable woman of acceptable age: Joan Barry. Charlie and Joan were introduced by Tom Durant, allegedly at the enthralled 22-year-old woman's request. Charlie initially enjoyed the lively, attractive girl's company, and a day of entertaining turned into the expected night of passion. Charlie took advantage of his movie stardom to go to bed with a lovely girl, and a lovely girl used her wiles to sleep with a movie star. Even Steven, as they say. The next day, Charlie expected the one night stand to disappear, as all his other trysts had, but surprisingly, Joan kept popping up in his life and essentially wooing him. This wasn't totally unexpected, as Charlies had become accustomed to hangers-on and "friends" with their hands out. Joan seemed innocent enough, so the liaison continued a bit longer. In time, Charlie's enchantment with the girl seemed to fade. She just wouldn't go away, and he couldn't decide if he was being conned or guilted into accepting her presence, but soon he was bewildered to find himself paying for her acting classes and later even signed her to a contract at his studio. But, he was a wealthy man after all, and he figured it was the least he could do. As an astute man-- at least after the initial call of desire had been quelled-- Charlie couldn't ignore the odd feeling in his gut that something in this girl wasn't right. He slowly tried to distance himself, but this only exacerbated her obsession with him and led to her repeatedly and drunkenly driving to his front door, breaking windows, and one night even threatening his and her own lives with a gun.


What Charlie didn't know was that he had chosen to have one of his brief flings with an as yet undiagnosed schizophrenic. The product of a broken home-- her father had committed suicide before she was born-- Joan (right) had used her sexuality to get ahead in life. After coming to Hollywood to become an actress, she had been taken in, or rather "kept," by another man with whom she lived out of wedlock, which was quite scandalous in those days. Her most recent affiliation had been with another rich "keeper,"  John Paul Getty, who incidentally had also sensed something off about her and passed her onto A.C. Blumenthal, who passed her to Durant, who passed her onto Charlie. She had been arrested for shoplifting prior to this latest tryst and, in the midst of her affair with the comedian, would be picked up for being under the influence of barbiturates. She was clearly an unstable woman, who sadly and obviously had been misused by the men in her life and perhaps even moreso by herself. Charlie eventually became so put off by her erratic behavior that he bought her contract back from her and essentially paid her to go away. He wasn't in the clear, however. He became the straw that broke the camel's back in Joan's train wreck life, and after he met and fell in love with his final wife, Oona O'Neill-- over 35 years his junior-- Joan would flip her lid, and Charlie would find himself slapped with a paternity suit.


Joan claimed that Charlie had seduced her from the beginning and that their relationship had dragged on for a couple of years by the time she had become pregnant with baby Carol. Charlie would admit to the affair, but claimed that he hadn't been intimate with her for two years prior to the suit. Joan also claimed that Charlie had paid for at least two previous abortions for her during their affair, but she refused to get rid of baby number three when she became pregnant again in May of 1943. She had been used and discarded, at least that is what she told Hedda Hopper, who was engaging in an anti-Charlie war when it was suspected (falsely) that he was a communist. Hence, the media storm. Despite Joan's attempt to essentially blackmail Charlie and enact a little vengeance, he clearly was confident that he wasn't the father. He and his lawyer made an offer: he would take a paternity test, paying for the medical costs and Joan's living expenses while they awaited the baby's birth, but if the results came back negative, then Joan would drop the charges. Charlie turned out to be blood type-O. Joan was type-A. When Carol was birthed, she was tested as type-B. Charlie was in the clear... at least until Joan decided to ignore their agreement and take him to court anyway. Paternity tests were not yet admissible in court, so despite the obvious invalidity of her case, the trial commenced in Dec. of 1944. Two deadlocked juries later-- the first case ending in a 7-5 split in Charlie's favor and the second in a 9-3 split in his favor-- and the judge made the final call: Charlie would pay Joan $5000 in damages and pay Carol $75/mo. until her 21st birthday.

Charlie would spend his career portraying the underdog in the hopes

 of inspiring a better, more understanding world. He would not

find this role as rewarding in reality.

During this mayhem, Charlie had wed Oona and, after the case, the remainder of his life would mostly be spent quietly abroad in Switzerland, as he was ousted from his own country, due to his supposed commie affiliations. The case severely hurt his reputation, and he was heartbroken that the welcoming land of opportunity had so harshly slapped him in the face. Joan would surprisingly marry and move to Pennsylvania, but she was soon institutionalized when her mental illness was diagnosed. While Charlie wasn't Carol's father, it is still uncertain which witness's version of the sexual relationship between Charlie and Joan was true, but it was probably a blending of both. In this court case, both the plaintiff and the defendant were guilty in many different respects, yet Charlie wound up paying the price for the one accusation of which he was innocent. Oh, justice...


The ladies got into their share of trouble too. Mary Astor was a Hollywood beauty (left) of great repute and talent. Landing roles opposite the likes of Douglas Fairbanks in Don Q. Son of Zorro, she too would act opposite lover John Barrymore in Beau Brummel and Don Juan. The two initiated a romance, despite her parents' objections, due to her tender age of 17. After John spurned her for his third wife, Dolores Costello-- incidentally before Don Juan was filmed-- Mary was deeply grieved. Her tempestuous relationship with her controlling, greedy, and sometimes abusive parents made her only want to rebel more, and she finally found consolation in the arms of first husband Kenneth Hawks. When he shockingly died in a plane crash, Mary was further plummeted into despair. Her nervous breakdown required medical attention, which brought Dr. Franklyn Thorpe, husband #2, into her life. Her life seemed to be repairing itself, and her career was sailing along smoothly with an easy transition to the talkies. Yet, as a woman of passion and pain, Mary found herself unsatisfied in her union, the only blessing from which was her beloved daughter, Marilyn. When friend Miriam Hopkins introduced her to playwright George F. Kauffman, Mary was smitten by his intelligence and surprising charm. An energetic affair ensued, which Mary mistakenly recorded in her diary. Unfortunately, the good doctor accidentally found her blue journal and its explicit, purple pages and filed for divorce. Mary, unhappy in the marriage, did not contest the dissolution. However Franklyn got petty and, having taken the diary, blackmailed her for custody of their daughter, lest its titillating contents be unleashed!


Mary may have been a sorry wife, but a bad mother she was not, and she refused to take the bait. She counter-sued Franklyn, who was engaging in his own vengeful parade of sexual encounters after, and perhaps even before, his April 1935 suit. As expected, Franklyn tried to introduce the diary as evidence in his case, but the judge was so scandalized by the few pages he'd perused that he refused to admit it in court. Despite this, and probably at Franklyn's hand, excerpts were still leaked to the press, further humiliating Mary and damaging her reputation. Yet, she did not back down. While Franklyn had his claims against her, she also had her witnesses against his reputation. Marilyn's nurse even testified to the plethora of women who had been gracing Frank's bed, all before the eyes of their innocent daughter. In the end, the court ruled against Frank, and Mary received custody of Marilyn. Her career surprisingly did not falter, especially after her smash hit as the diabolical femme fatale of The Maltese Falcon-- the audience perhaps enjoyed watching her play, what they assumed, was her sinister self. Ironically, she would be best remembered in her later years for her mature, maternal roles in films like Meet Me in St. Louis and Little Women. She would suffer several more heartbreaks in a life that was far from easy. The rough road that she tread makes it somewhat understandable why she had come to confide her worries, joys, and tragedies in her faithful diary. It also makes one sad at the idea that she felt she had no living soul to truly confide in or whom she could trust with the truth. In the end, the diary betrayed her too, and she never got it back. Deemed too pornographic, the judge had it incinerated. (With daughter, Marilyn, right).

Clara Bow had star quality: energy, playfulness, sexuality, and a bit of naughtiness (see left). Unfortunately, these were also the things that threatened her stardom. A woman with a sad past of familial insanity and sexual abuse, Clara's warmth and need to be loved resulted in a string of sexual relationships that gained her quite the reputation. Richard Toomey would say with a twinge of pity that rumors were always circulating about her, and how "she laid everything but the linoleum." At first, audiences liked her spark and vivacity. She was a flapper! She was expected to live rebelliously and unapologetically! But, with every trend comes a backlash, and soon the popular press turned on her and her sinful ways, particularly after they got her into legal trouble. In all of her flings, Clara had one simple rule: no married men. She wasn't going to mess around with a man who had a wife and children. However, after an appendectomy, she found herself being attended to by a handsome, Texan intern: Earl Pearson. Clara was smitten. Earl, unfortunately, was married, but he had separated from his wife, hence his presence in Los Angeles. As he conveniently claimed that his wife was just one of those awful, nagging, cold-hearted broads, (pause for eye-roll), and as he had no children, Clara reneged on her personal oath and indulged in an affair with him. What followed was a divorce suit from Elizabeth Pearson with Clara listed as the correspondent who had alienated her husband's affections. Mrs. Pearson was seeking $150,000 in damages. With Paramount's help, Clara was able to crawl out from under the financial burden, and wound up paying a total of $56,000 to keep her name out of the suit, which Elizabeth changed to divorce by reason of "Failure to Provide" on the philandering Earl's part. Though word eventually got out about the scandal, Clara had avoided court this time, but another vengeful female would soon take her before the judge.


The argument this time resulted from yet another love triangle... but an unexpected one. After dating no-good Harry Richman, Clara had had the good fortune of meeting and falling in love with the nurturing and loving Rex Bell. As her relationship with him grew, she grew too, and her reliance on the other people in her life began to diminish, especially after Rex started weeding out the bad seeds. Clara had been supporting her repulsive, alcoholic father, Robert, paying for the care and maintenance of her mentally-ill aunts, and had too been bled dry by her business manager, Bogart Rogers. For this reason, the wealthy movie starlet rarely had any dough, despite the fact that she never really spent any on herself. Before Rex came along, her number one trusted advisor was former hairstylist and later personal secretary Daisy DeVoe. Daisy had been a friend and confidante to Clara, had taken the reins of her finances, and had finally improved her meager savings. However, when Rex entered the picture, Daisy felt herself being overshadowed and edged out-- she had, after all, secured a very comfy position for herself with Clara. Rex, for his part, didn't trust her. Daisy was very possessive and secretive about Clara's expenses, and Rex couldn't help but wonder if she was skimming some off the top. When he tested her loyalty, Daisy disappeared with Clara's checkbook, her personal correspondence to past lovers-- including Pearlman-- and her business records. Rex saw this as proof enough-- Daisy was fleecing Clara!


Feeling that Rex had wrongly turned Clara against her, Daisy was irate. In a heated moment, she opted for revenge and blackmailed Clara for $125,000 or else her love letters and private business would be released for all the world to see. Clara was devastated at the betrayal, and when Daisy tried to undo her impetuous move and asked for her job back, Clara unceremoniously slammed the door in her face. With a police escort, Rex was able to obtain Clara's possessions from Daisy, and her former friend was hauled to jail-- although, strangely, she had not yet been charged. (D.A.Buron Fitts didn't trifle with silly things like legal rights). Soon enough, 37 counts of grand theft were handed down upon her, as there were curious check stubs by Daisy's hand that had all been made out to Daisy herself. Daisy would claim that this was all business, that Clara trusted her with all of her finances and also encouraged Daisy to buy gifts for herself and others. "There was nothing underhanded about it," she pleaded. Because Daisy had managed to put almost a quarter of a million dollars into a private trust for Clara, it appears that the damsel in distress clearly had been doing her job. Certainly, she may have taken a little for herself, but the consensus over the years has been that she was indeed innocent and the whole issue had resulted from an unfortunate misunderstanding between herself and Rex and the power struggle they were indulging in over Clara's life.

Clara tries to put on a happy face during the trial with the help of true love, Rex Bell.

At the time, the jury disagreed, and it was alleged that Daisy had knowingly embezzled at least $35,000 from her supposedly beloved employer. The People vs. DeVoe was another low moment for Crisis-a-day-Clara, and proof that in this world, she couldn't trust anyone. Despite this, she still felt bad for her friend. Though she believed Daisy had indeed betrayed her-- penning some 100 curious and presumably fraudulent checks-- her loyalty urged her to ask the judge for some leniency in the punishment, which at worst could be up to 350 years in prison. The verdict was not easy to assert, as Clara's business methods were clearly unorthodox, and as such Daisy had nothing to protect her but her own testimony. The furs and jewels Daisy had bought herself also worked against her as evidence of her unethical financial tactics. Daisy was hysterical in court and had a great many of the jury men and women sobbing along with her. Nonetheless, she was found guilty and sentenced to 18 months in prison. Clara had lost her friend but, more importantly, her faith in humanity. Her reputation further ruined by Daisy's public besmirching of her sexual character, Clara and Rex abandoned Hollywood for Nevada, but the broken-hearted Clara would end her days in solitude under the care of a nurse and estranged from her family and her once loving public.

Tyrone Power defends his innocence in Witness for the Prosecution.

Spoiler alert: like most celebs, he did it.

Naughty, naughty, naughty Hollywood. It is hard to sometimes pity the comeuppance our saucy stars get when they seem to go about brazenly asking for trouble. Perhaps, in a way, they deserve to sometimes have their impenetrability threatened, if only to cut them back down to human size. The succession of ill luck, to poor choices, to bad choices, to  the"are you crazy" actions some of them indulge in, makes their final landing place in the courtroom seem obvious in retrospect. Certainly, many of them took those moments sitting in the witness box to ask themselves, "Man, how did I get here?" or "If only I hadn't..." In any case, while the instant human reaction is to retaliate, time heals all wounds, and in the end, we have embraced our stars again, despite-- and perhaps even because of-- their immoral behavior, which makes them that much more appealing. It is amazing what a few decades can do. Perhaps it merely takes awhile for us to see the hypocrisy of our own judgment, as founded as it may be at the time.  We all have dirty laundry, skeletons in the closet, and little black books we should have burned long ago. The only difference is that our secrets aren't displayed as entertainment on such a large scale. The aforementioned sad lot didn't expect so much of their "entertaining" to be performed off camera and in the press. Luckily for them, the integrity of their work outweighed the integrity of their actions. In any case, Chaplin is still our comedic Jesus, and Clara remains our ball-busting Eve. We don't buy tickets to see vanilla innocence, now do we?

TAKE ONE, TWO, THREE...: The Three Faces of Ev-il...

When Tony Curtis was released from the US Navy at the end of WWII, the 20-year-old was determined to pursue his dreams of acting. After learning that there were some openings at the Dramatic Workshop, where he would be acting alongside soon-to-be-legends like Walter Matthau, Harry Belafonte, and Bea Arthur, Tony was ready and raring to go. The only problem? He would have to audition to be accepted. Because he was too nervous to perform a scene with dialogue, Tony opted to re-enact the great metamorphosis scene of Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. This, in addition to the compelling light and dark sides of Mr. Curtis's own nature, served as my inspiration for this week's post.

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The story of and legend of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde has been retold in many different ways and many different mediums. In cinema alone, the list of films that have been directly adapted from Stevenson's original novel are countless-- from Abbott and Costello Meet Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde to Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde. Though the tale being repeated ad nauseum should have expectedly grow cold by now, just as the evolving mythology of the vampire continues to peak our interest, this horror story keeps going strong. The themes of good and evil, human versus animal, and cerebral versus sexual, remain relatable topics. Sex sells, now more than ever. However, it was in the past that it presented itself more seductively, more interestingly, and more violently. In time periods of more strict moral behavior, and more stringent cinematic codes,  filmmakers had to be very crafty to divulge all of the facets and dangers of suppressed human sexuality with honesty and without suffering from the censors' scissors.


Watching the following three adaptations, it is interesting to witness what the audiences of the times must have: the slow unfolding of hidden yearnings, the unleashing of one's inner beast, the acknowledgment of those thoughts, feelings, and compulsions a proper, puritanical society teaches us to suppress. Witnessing the metamorphosis onscreen must have come like a rush; a welcome release and catharsis on a society ready for change, indulgence, and ecstasy. However, the horror too remains. The horror of what it is to look at the baser nature of ourselves and recognize only a monster-- one that lives within all of us, and one that we must constantly seek to control. Heavy duty stuff, but sometimes it is only through the most extravagant means that we see the clearest truths.


Below I briefly discuss the J and H films of 1920, 1931, and 1941. Instead of recapping the varying plot-lines, which are essentially exactly the same, I shall point out the ways each film manages to distinguish itself and the essential factor within each film that makes it unique. All of them are superb, and all should be seen, if only to compare the different interpretations of presentation and performance, but in the three following categories, each movie takes a turn standing above the others and holding its own: The Doc, The Women, and The Film.


THE DOC:

It probably comes as no surprise that one of the most lauded thespians in American history should hold the title for one of the greatest performances of all time. Despite the fact that Fredric March took home the Academy Award in 1941 for his performance of the good/bad doctor, it is John Barrymore's interpretation of the scientist-gone-mad that maintains a well-deserved notoriety. Barrymore (left in "Hamlet" in 1922) was the perfect man to cast in the role of the intelligent and innocent doctor who is slowly manipulated onto the path of darkness. For one, his reputation as a great male beauty, aka The Great Profile, made his transformation into a gruesome, egg-headed monster even more horrific. To see John in his prime-- young and fresh, before alcohol and ravaged his mind and body-- gives you a better idea of why the ladies had such great affection for the man who was Beau Brummel. More importantly, the Barrymore legend of acting talent is no overstatement. This guy is good. There is a reason that he, his brother Lionel, and his sister Ethel, were so revered in their time. "Pretty," Johnny may have been, but he wasn't afraid to get ugly, and the self-same torments and demons he possessed within his soul, which plagued him his whole life and drove him to self destruction, he equally wore proudly on any stage. He never failed to rip himself open and martyr himself before movie cameras at his most demented, pathetic, and destroyed. Inside all genius, there is madness, and it is precisely John's gifted madness that made his work on the 1920 film so breathtaking.

To this day, John's initial transformation scene of Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde is a moment that every actor remains enthralled by. The main reason is that no makeup is used. The cameras role without stopping, there are no special effects, it is simply John, clutching his throat, crumpling in agony, disappearing below his counter, and arising a totally different animal. He pulls a Lon Chaney, but without a makeup bag. The effect is astounding, mesmerizing, and terrifying. This one, uninterrupted moment more fully communicates how simple it is for all of us to give in to our own private monster-- how closely he lives beneath our skin. John does not disappoint for the rest of the film in his characterization, though he does have a little help from the makeup department as the story progresses. His Mr. Hyde (right) is diabolically sinister and physically repulsive. Whereas in Rouben Mamoulian's '31 version, Fredric March's Hyde is interpreted as primitive and ape-like-- a throw-back to our inner-caveman-- and the Victor Fleming '41 version gives us a Spencer Tracy with mad, emphasized eyes and teeth, John's Hyde is somewhat of a conundrum. His elongated, egg-domed head protrudes under a greasy mat of gnarled hair, and his hunched walk resembles a slinking, twitching insect. Indeed, when the transition begins to overtake him in a later scene, a tarantula is seen, super-imposed, closing in on his bewitched and transfixed body. The fact that his appearance is so inexplicable makes the terrorizing of his chosen victim Gina, the always superb vixen Nita Naldi, all the more repellent and despicable. 


While Fredric and Spencer both deserve kudos for what they brought to their characterizations, they can't touch Barrymore on this one. So, if it is the performance of the Doc you are most looking for, reach for 1920. You won't be sorry. Just scared!


THE WOMEN:

The casting of the women was a very important part of all three films. In casting the dancing girl/prostitute Ivy (or Gina as she was in the 1920 version), a girl had to be chosen whose overt sexuality could penetrate and disturb even the most self-controlled and moral of men. She had to be the epitome of desire, provoking and drawing forth a lust for which the doctor would purposely concoct a potion to release. But too, the actress needed to evoke sympathy from the audience, for the burden of being an object of insane desire becomes a punishment that eventually kills her. It's the old "hooker with a heart of gold" scenario-- no lady of the night was born on the street. The choice to use the sexy and scintillating Nita Naldi as John's counterpart, Gina, (I'm wondering if the writer cleverly left the va- off the beginning of that one) is no shocker. Nita was the epitome of feminine sexual danger at the time. Miriam Hopkins (left) as Ivy in the '31 version is also something to behold. In fact, her initial meeting with the as yet untainted Dr. Jekyll, when she tries to seduce him in her bedroom, is still quite jaw-dropping. When she raises her skirt and places his hand on her leg, it makes one hot under the collar even decades later. Miriam was a fascinating and truly gifted actress, too often forgotten among her contemporaries. It was just this type of envelope-pushing role, which deviated from the normal expectations of chastity and womanhood, that made her all the rage in the pre-code era. (If you get the chance to see her in The Story of Temple Drake or Design for Living, take it).

However, it is 1941 that wins the award for the superb exploration of the temptations of female sexuality. Not only did he cast the gloriously tragic and inhumanly beautiful Ingrid Bergman as Jekyll's temptation, Ivy, but Fleming also cast hot to trot Ms. Lana Turner as his luscious fiance, Beatrix (both right with Spence). At first, you may think that Fleming got these roles reversed-- that Ingrid would have served the film better in the prim and lovely fiance-next-door role, and the effortlessly sexy Turner should have been the target of Hyde's passion. This too is what I believed at first, but somehow the unexpected decision works. It is precisely Jekyll's repressed desire for his beautiful fiance Lana that fuels his need to make the sensual and vulnerable Ingrid his prey. In fact, the two women resemble each other greatly in the film. Neither of them have ever looked so gorgeous. With long, curly hair, soft lips, and ripe figures, they are practically interchangeable. The naive and youthful innocence of Lana, whom Spencer's Jekyll must be chomping at the bit to wed and bed, bears little difference from Ingrid's interpretation of Ivy-- except the price of sharing Ivy's bed is much cheaper than a wedding ring. In this version, Jekyll gets the girl of his dreams the right way, and Hyde gets the girl of his dreams the wrong way. The fantasy sequence in which Jekyll envisions himself as Hyde, driving a chariot pulled by these two women-- naked nonetheless-- speaks volumes. He sadistically lashes at them with his whip, urging them to go faster and faster in a physical representation of man's ultimate orgasm- the final unity of the Madonna and the Whore.

The Sadistic Dream Sequence

So, if it's the ladies you want to look at, turn your peepers to Victor Fleming's 1941 version. Ingrid Bergman is her usual magnificent, multi-layered self, giving great depth and pathos to her role of the broken woman, and Lana, whom I think is often underrated for her talents, is equally intriguing and sensitive in her portrayal of the suffering fiance.


THE FILM:

As you have probably guessed, the final trophy goes to Rouben Mamoulian for his adaptation of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in 1931. Despite the triumphs of both the silent and '41 versions, Mamoulian's direction of the middle film is both technically and narratively the most intriguing. A very smart move on his part, in order to better meld his audience with the protagonist/antagonist he created a series of point-of-view shots. When Jekyll (Fredric March) sits with his fiance Muriel (Rose Hobart) on a bench (left), we get direct to camera close-ups of both faces, which are smoldering with desire. As Muriel looks out at the audience enticingly, we more fully understand the lust churning in Jekyll's loins, which he is obviously struggling to keep suppressed. But she too is a mammalian creature, who yearns for her chaste lover as much as he yearns for her. The countdown to the wedding day thus becomes painfully long and unbearable, and the viewer is totally on Jekyll's side when he decides to indulge in his hidden animal, unleash the beast, and make Miriam Hopkins's sultry Ivy his unwitting prey. These POV shots become equally compelling once Jekyll becomes Hyde, seeing himself for the first time and living as him for the first time. Again, the audience moves with the camera, walking heavily in the shoes of their own dark and devious natures. It makes the film both thrilling and horrifying in that we are forced to personalize the experience.


The makeup used for Fredric is also unique. While at first he seems just plain ridiculous, looking like a goofy monkey and in no way passable as human, his appearance serves a purpose. It seems hard to buy that any woman, prostitute or not, would sleep with a being so obviously ape-like, and we have to use suspension of disbelief when Miriam is raped by the monster much more than we have to with the equally hideous portrayals of Barrymore and Tracy. I mean, this is just plain bestiality! But, that is Mamoulian's point. By tapping into suppressed desires and caged violent tendencies, Jekyll is getting in touch with his most animal, ungoverned, and unevolved self. His primate features recall that of the caveman, or perhaps even the missing link, who did not woo with wine and roses but simply clubbed a female over the head and had his way with her guilt-free. While modern man is sophisticated in ways of the heart, while he can love, feel pity, relate to other creatures, Mamoulian suggests that the baser nature remaining deep at our core can not, or rather will not, do the same. The absence of responsibility and emotion, existence based purely on the instant satisfaction of the "id," is the closest man can get to freedom. But, as the film points out, he must sacrifice his humanity to get it.


What finally makes this version a bit superior to the others is the fact that it was made at the right time. The years 1930-1934 were a very rich and enticing, albeit brief, period of film-making before the production code was enforced and the censors (via Will Hays and Joe Breen) went haywire. Stories were bolder, dialogue was more risque, and it was the last dance of the freewheeling twenties before the depression set in with full force. Thus, the themes of sex and violence are more freely explored, expressed, and enlarged upon than in the other two versions. With a little more wiggle room, Mamoulian was allowed the ability to go further than Fleming and silent director John S. Robertson had. The effects remain impressive as well, with Fredric March's transformation realistically being implied through a compilation of shadowing and the brilliant, twisted elasticity of his face.

Jekyll, regretting his decision!

In the end, it is hard to go wrong with the tried and true story lines of our horror history. Despite their macabre and frightening nature, we still look forward to witnessing new visualizations of old nightmares in every generation... possibly even every other week. It's like meeting an old friend. The beauty of J and H, in addition to other horror flicks, seems to be that it allows us to live vicariously through the malevolence of others, exorcising our own less savory compulsions and even letting go of pent up fears. Any of the previously mentioned versions deserve a gander and will allow you for a while to indulge in your inner Hyde while safely returning to your (I hope) more peaceable Jekyll side afterward. It's nice to know, after all, that when you just can't hide your Hyde anymore, you can always pop in an old video and let him out again.