STAR OF THE MONTH: Audrey Hepburn

Audrey Kathleen Van Heemstra Ruston

The Audrey Hepburn effect became pretty clear to me over the past month. In preparation for all of my monthly muses, in addition to reading everything I can about the individual in so brief a time, I like to watch as many of their available films as possible. A strange phenomenon: not only did I find that I already had the majority of Audrey's major Hollywood films in my possession, but I was also privileged with enduring the most enjoyable movie marathon in my recollection. Every movie made me feel good. Every movie left me in a better mood. Most importantly, I was excited to revisit each film, whereas sometimes I have to drag my feet (due to the impending, heavy subject matter, etc). Not this time. Thus, I give you the Audrey Hepburn effect: Joy!

Audrey seems so... pristine in cinematic history-- so beautiful, so charismatic, and so notoriously generous. Her sense of style via her BFFs Givenchy and Ralph Lauren makes even Grace Kelly in retrospect look like an amateur. Her films are almost all classics, and they continue to be lauded as some of the top fan favorites in film history. Imagining movies-- nay, the world!-- without Audrey, today seems unfathomable. She is an icon: a frail, delicate, untouchable goddess. It is easy to slip her into the Heavenly attic of Hollywood's stars and forget that she came up the hard way. Today, Audrey and "Beauty" are synonymous; yet, there was no place in the ever-short-sighted L.A. for a skinny, gawky, too tall girl with no real acting experience. The fact that Audrey Hepburn triumphed and won hearts simply by being herself is a testament both to her and to us. When this diamond emerged from the rough, we saw in her a beauty that existed outside of the general standard and was superior to all preconceived notions. Audrey was both authentic and ethereal. Our trust in her was quickly earned, and in a comparatively short career in film, she never let us down.

Audrey takes the stage as "Gigi." Famed and infamous

authoress Collette handpicked Audrey when she

saw her randomly in a hotel lobby!

Yet, she had every reason to. Audrey's childhood was far from "lov-e-ly," despite the fact that she was born into nobility. Her mother, Ella van Heemstra, was a "baroness" with unfulilled dreams of the stage, and her father was the wayfaring "businessman" Joseph Hepburn-Ruston. The marriage was an affair of passion over propriety on the lady's part. Ella would pass on her daring nature to her third child. Audrey was the happy, youngest, and only daughter, born after two half-brothers, Alexander and Ian, from her mother's previous marriage to Hendrik Gustaaf Adolf Quarles van Ufford, (phew), which had ended in divorce.  War was brewing, and Audrey's father was surprisingly on the side of the Nazis, a fact that caused Audrey much later chagrin. Even her mother showed an early, ignorant support of the fascist movement, one that she later revised after her husband abandoned her and she witnessed first-hand the evil of the Axis powers. Growing up primarily in the Dutch town of Arnhem during its German occupation, Audrey was confronted with hunger, depravity, and fear. Her father's absence and her mother's detached sense of affection, which revealed itself in discipline, only exacerbated Audrey's shyness and insecurity. Yet, her answer to these threats, always, was to remain brave-- to literally keep dancing while the world tried to break her. 

Indeed, she dreamed of being a ballerina, and she would put on private shows for neighbors-- who out of fear of making noise, couldn't even applaud for her but merely smiled in reverence after she made her curtsy. Audrey also showed signs of the early rebel, daringly hiding soldiers with her mother and carrying messages for the resistance in her shoes-- a courageous act many of her young peers participated in. With her innocent face, she was the perfect secret agent, though she was almost accidentally rounded up once with a slew of other girls to work in the German military kitchen. She waited for the right moment and made a break for it. The other girls weren't as lucky, nor as bold. Finally, the end of the madness, and the liberation of Holland, came on her sixteenth birthday: May 4, 1945. Audrey celebrated by getting sick by gorging on chocolate, the first she'd tasted in some time. However, her bouts with illness during the war-- including anemia, severe edema, jaundice, and asthma-- would forever affect her metabolism, as well as her psyche. She would never forget the horrors and cruelties she saw. Her most brilliant act of defiance was in not letting the memories cripple her. Instead, she approached life with beauty, grace, and dignity, which served as her sword, helmet, and shield through all the trials she had yet to endure.

Audrey's sense of fun and youthful wonder mixed with

her emotional maturity won her an Academy Award
in Roman Holiday and a lifetime friend

in Gregory Peck.

How did this little, twirling violet find herself in Hollywood? The trek was unlikely and a bit unwanted when it came. As Audrey matured, it became unfortunately clearer and clearer to her that ballet was not her calling. She was a capable dancer, but what she possessed in poise and charisma-- two things she had in abundance-- she lacked in skill and control. Anyone who observed her dancing performances, her work in "High Button Shoes," or the cabaret show at Ciro's in London, was captivated by her-- particularly with her eyes. She had a "quality." She was "bound to be famous." Many over the years would take credit for discovering her, and perhaps it's true that many did. Audrey was the only one who seemed surprised by her public reception. Always a practical and hard-working woman, she eventually got work modeling and taking some minor roles in mostly British films. Word of mouth and just plain luck earned Audrey a chance at the leading role in Anita Loos's stage adaptation of "Gigi" and a screen test for William Wyler's Roman Holiday. She nabbed them both! Suddenly, Audrey was the toast of the entertainment world: an inexperienced actress with a practically non-existent resume was to star on Broadway and in a major motion picture!? With Gregory Peck?! It all made sense when the world caught a glimpse of her. In "Gigi," Audrey's acting was at best mildly praised and at worst dismissed, but her being was extolled. She was just... adorable! And lovable. And real. These qualities would carry over into her first screen performance, where Greg Peck even gentlemanly acquiesced to sharing top billing with her, because he was so impressed. Audrey's rule was simple: not to "act," but to "feel." She would repeatedly admit throughout her career that she had no technique; that she relied entirely on her directors and co-stars to guide her. Her humility only made her more enchanting, and the honesty with which she approached her work made her an immediate sensation.

The Hepburn quality is a mixture of innocence and maturity; girlishness and strength. Skinny as a rail, she may have been. Still, no one got the impression, with her defiant, square-line jaw, that Audrey could be pushed around. But then, with her vulnerable features and ultimate kindness, no one wanted to. The same enchantment that she used to capture the loyalty of her directors and co-stars (she had Billy Wilder and William Wyler transfixed and notorious scalawags like Peter O'Toole and William Holden eating out of her hand) was the same that endeared a universal audience to her. In Roman Holiday, Sabrina, Funny Face, and Love in the Afternoon, we witness her in her ingenue supremacy. The little girl, a bit romantic but always intelligent, falls in love with an older male. Modern feminists could argue the issues all day, but in the end, it is never Audrey who is conquered. Her wit and depth, albeit in a younger, more seemingly impressionable package, always triumph over the uber-masculine, jaded, and philandering ways of Bogart, Astaire, and Cooper. As such, she is a girl who is allowed to fall in love, because she does so, not only genuinely, but with class. She may have given up the study of "empathicalism" to become a model in Funny Face, but the point is not that she looked beautiful doing it-- that she went through the Cinderella process at the cost of her brain-- but that she used both her beauty and brains to bring Fred Astaire through his own emotional Cinderella process, so that he would be man enough to meet her.

When Audrey looked in the mirror, she always saw a Funny Face; 

the world saw the epitome of gorgeousness.

Always, Audrey was proactive in her career, choosing roles that spoke to her and that held some level of decorum that preached her belief that beauty gives birth to beauty. She had seen enough violence in her life and had endured enough trauma. In her projects, there was always the resounding mantra of "let there be light," even if her characters had to sometimes face the harder aspects of humanity to find it. Yet, as the girl became a woman, so too did she seek out more mature roles. With the help of her first husband, Mel Ferrer--whose instincts for her career were as keen as his instincts toward his own were askew-- she more often than not was able to choose projects that ended as box-office hits, but then that was, again, probably just the Audrey Hepburn effect. The studios were enthusiastically shocked when The Nun's Story was a smash success, and indeed this film was a milestone in Audrey's acting career as well. Here, not only do we watch her acting reach new heights, but we watch the little girl we knew enter into a life of servitude (with conviction and courage), and exit it as a mature, worldly woman. It was the perfect beginning to a new chapter in her film work. I personally find her later movies more compelling, although admittedly her earlier, ingenue films are the height of Hollywood romanticism. Once she outgrew the role of "the new girl," or the "hot young thing," Audrey was able to use her clout to take on more daring projects that pushed the envelope of human understanding-- such as The Children's Hour-- or our very sense of cultural comfort...

Breakfast at Tiffany's: where glamour and bohemia meet.

Oh, Breakfast at Tiffany's... Is there anyone alive who does not get misty when they hear the opening, melancholy notes of "Moon River?" (Heck, I'm tearing up right now)! Notoriously, Truman Capote would be aghast at the fact that Audrey was cast as his free-wheeling, little-girl-lost prostitute, "Holly Golightly." (He had hoped for Marilyn Monroe, see here). Many were inclined to agree with him. Audrey a call-girl??? Errr...  As a result, Blake Edwards's take on the novella was not as gritty nor as realistic, though brimming with life and humor, as Capote's charmed tale, but in retrospect, the end may just have justified the means. In a nation undergoing an incredible cultural shift-- from old school, to new school; from boundaries and glamour to "swingers," desegregation, and Vietnam-- our transformation into a new world, a more open, yet for many, peculiar world, needed a trusting face to guide us there. So, the last link of Golden Era Hollywood would wear the slim black dress of a society girl, have premarital sex, throw drunken parties, and still find a way to make it appear palatable. And also: Tiffany's? There's only one woman that could carry that banner. Audrey and style are forever intertwined. Despite some critical disapproval, Audrey's ever-running, ever-searching Holly is authentic unto herself. There was so much of that Holly in Audrey, that the performance is actually quite breath-taking and far above commendation.

Alan Arkin terrorizes Audrey in Wait Until Dark.

From this point on, Audrey would play Women and continue her position as an unexpected feminist role model. Another surprisingly controversial piece of work, My Fair Lady, was a grueling and emotionally draining experience to make, mostly because of the constant insults hurled Audrey's way for her lip-syncing. (Not her fault, by the way. She tried to sing her own songs, but Audrey's singing, much like her dancing, was never on par with her thespian abilities). Still, her "Eliza Doolittle," while funny in her cockney period, was most astonishing in her post-transformation. When her heart breaks over the uncertainty of her future, a woman in-between and without a home, the audience is with her and too cheers for her when she puts Rex Harrison's "Henry Higgins" in his place. Two for the Road introduced audiences to a more realistic, less-sugary portrait of marriage, and ironically helped to end Audrey's own, as she and co-star Albert Finney engaged in a passionate affair during filming. The entire blame was not on Audrey, mind you. Mel had been enjoying numerous, alleged dalliances prior to this for some time, and it was argued just how serviceable or controlling his interest in her career had become. He would produce Wait Until Dark-- a still undated, suspenseful masterpiece, thanks to Audrey's performance as a helpless, blind woman who uses her wits to escape disaster-- then the couple would divorce.

Audrey's career in film was all but over at this point, but then Hollywood was never truly her home. She admired the art but defied the pretension, finding solace in her home in Switzerland where she could enjoy more peace and privacy. After suffering numerous miscarriages, she would eventually have two sons, the first by Mel-- Sean Ferrer-- and the second by second husband, psychiatrist Andrea Dotti-- Luca Dotti. As she had been a career woman since her late teens, Audrey decided to devote the remainder of her life to being a wife and mother, making films only sporadically. Many hail Robin and Marian as her last, great classic, and I'm inclined to agree. (The chemistry between herself and the Scots' answer to masculinity, Sean Connery, is still mesmerizing). Sadly, while Audrey, guilty over the dissolution of her first union, was determined to make her second marriage work, she and Andrea Dotti were divorced after his very public liaisons became too much for her to endure. (You cheated on Audrey Hepburn? HONESTLY)!? Yet, she would find her soulmate after long last in the widower of Merle Oberon, the 7 years younger Robert Wolders. They would remain together for 12 years, most of which were encompassed by Audrey's dedicated work for UNICEF. Because of her own desperate struggles as a child, children in pain were always her weak-spot, and she charitably and exhaustingly gave herself to this cause, despite the emotional toll it took on her. Watching the deaths of innocents by the hundreds in places like Ethiopia, Turkey, and Somalia, was no easy feat.

Gorge on the gorgeousness.

Audrey Hepburn died at the age of 63, mere weeks after her rare and painful bout with cancer was even diagnosed-- the malignant tumor that had started in her appendix had already spread by the time Audrey had registered the discomfort, resulting in a hysterectomy and the partial removal of her colon. She opted not to undergo chemotherapy and left this earth as peaceably as she had lived within it. She was surrounded by loved ones as she took her last breath and was subsequently missed by all whose lives she had touched, many of whom knew her only from her presence on the silver screen. She would be held up over time as an angel-- an inhumanly beautiful woman inside and out. But Audrey was not an angel. She was, despite her slender figure, of hearty stock and a complicated, deeply emotional, acutely intelligent woman, whose generous contribution to society was her lightness of spirit. Have you ever laughed harder than at the dialogue she shares with Cary Grant in Charade? Have you ever watched Sabrina and not audibly sighed? War and Peace is one of her least known films-- and lesser praised as well (for good reason, I must say)-- but it eloquently ends with the words of Tolstoy: "The most difficult thing-- but an essential one-- is to love Life, even while one suffers, because Life is all." It may as well have been her epitaph. Few have come closer than she, perhaps, to living that very example.

NOW THAT'S FUNNY: Part X

Unlike most starlets, Jean Harlow liked to pal around with the

 crew in between takes. Indeed, she did them many favors...

Barbara Stanwyck (left) had a reputation around Hollywood. A good one. She was the consummate professional on the set and consistently impressed her director and co-stars. Members of the film crew were too fans and always gave her a big, warm greeting when she appeared on the sound stage every day. But, Babs went through a rough patch after her separation from Robert Taylor in 1952. She still put on a brave front, but the entire episode had been taxing to her mentally and emotionally. Her sense of self was at a low and her sexual confidence too was not what it used to be. As a result, while she was still hard-working on the set, she was also not herself. She didn't seem to trust herself as she used to. Fritz Lang, who directed her in Clash by Night, was one of many who recognized this. Her angst came to the fore when Babs uncharacteristically took umbrage with a particular scene, insisting that it was badly written and that she didn't want to do it. The plot of the film revolved around a sexually undernourished woman who cuckolds her husband. Fritz drew a connection between the plot and Babs's personal life-- in which she had been cuckolded-- and decided to use it to his advantage, and hers. While discussing the scene, Fritz asked if he could speak honestly. "Naturally," Babs replied. Fritz then stated that he felt nothing was wrong with the scene nor the writing, but that Babs-- via the material-- was being reminded of recent events in her own life. It was thus she that was "off," not the script. This information seemed to take her by surprise and knock her off balance. Babs took a long look at Fritz, drew in a  breath, and seemed to come to a realization. She finally replied: "You son of a bitch." With that, she took but a moment to get in character, hit her mark, and filmed the 2 1/2 page scene perfectly in one take. Babs was back. Good thing Fritz was a smart son of a bitch!

Clearly, Barbara's down to earth, straight-shooter demeanor was what ingratiated her to the people she worked with, and to her fans as well. However, this non-diva persona would ironically also get her into trouble. Babs was far from a glamour goddess. This may have had a lot to do with her harsh upbringing, where she simply valued the integral over the superficial. She also, like all women, was secretly self-conscious and did not have a great deal of confidence in her beauty. As a result, it would take her awhile to find her footing in terms of Hollywood fashion, though with the help of designers like Edith Head, she would eventually prove to not only wear gorgeous clothes but wear then well. Of course, this was only on the screen. In reality, she was still the same old Babs. This is what landed her in trouble. She would be riding on a high when she wrapped on Stella Dallas in 1937. Proud of her performance, she was ecstatic about seeing the finished product at its premiere. When she approached the theater, however, she was man-handled and kept at bay by one of the policeman, who was acting as a security guard. He wouldn't let her pass! In her casual garb, he mistook her for one of the screaming fans, not believing that someone so simply dressed could be a movie star, let alone the star of the film! Luckily, Babs finally got past the brute, who certainly felt like a horse's ass after he realized that he had been detaining the Barbara Stanwyck. Babs learned a valuable lesson that day: fame is the key, but fashion is the ticket. (She shows her lighter side, right).

The Kennedy family nearly established the long abiding relationship between film and politics. The tradition Joseph Kennedy started with his  formation of RKO Pictures and his affairs with Gloria Swanson and Marlene Dietrich was continued by his son John, who made no qualms about his determination to go to Hollywood and... "introduce himself" to Sonja Henie. His list of conquests would come to include a fairly public affair with Marilyn Monroe and a bromance with Frank Sinatra. Both pairings would end badly. Another lady who had temporarily fallen into his trap was Gene Tierney (left), remembered today as one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the silver screen. While separated from husband Oleg Cassini, Gene began filming on Dragonwyck and met JFK, who made an impromptu visit to the set. Now, Gene was a smart lady, but in her vulnerable state, it wasn't difficult for the charming future president to seduce her. All of his compliments and attentions worked like a tonic on her, and soon enough they were enjoying an affair. At the very least, she was able to enact a little revenge on her philandering husband, Oleg. However, the tryst only lasted a year. Gene was head over heels in love, but-- as with most politicians-- Jack's intentions weren't honorable. He had aspirations toward the White House and considered a marriage to a film star to be in conflict with these ambitions. Like his father, he considered Hollywood to be his own private brothel and little more. Gene was broken hearted and betrayed. She managed to temporarily patch things up with Oleg, though the marriage was not to last. Just as she was getting her divorce, Jack was marrying his ideal mate, Jacqueline Lee Bouvier. By 1960, he was running for President. The entire country seemed to be falling under his spell... except Gene. She knew the man on intimate terms, and thus knew that what he promised and what he did were two different things. She voted for Nixon.

Jean Harlow was a sweetie-pie. If there was one thing the world at large could agree on, it was this. An inhumanly beautiful woman with an honest disposition and warm temperament, she didn't seem to have a cruel bone in her body. And what a body! Jean wasn't modest or ashamed when it came to her sexuality, as could be seen in her nude pictorial taken at the popular Griffith Park by photographer friend Edwin Bower Hesser. It was just the human body, what was the big deal? (You've seen one ass, you've seen 'em all). Of course, her controlling mother often coaxed her into displaying her more sensual side, because that was what drew attention and-- in Hollywood-- acting roles. Still, at the very least, Jean was able to maintain a sense of humor about it. If destiny decided to make her sexual joke, then by damn she was going to be the one laughing the loudest! Because she was able to make such fun of herself, she endeared herself to many of the men around her, who quickly saw the little girl beneath the erotic facade. As such, she was able to become chums with men like Spencer Tracy and Clark Gable, who otherwise would have been more inclined to seduce her. Instead, she won her way into their hearts and became like a sister to them. Clark in particular was protective of her, especially while filming Red Dust, portions of which had to be done after the "suicide" of Jean's husband, Paul Bern. Clark and director Victor Fleming, along with the rest of the male-heavy crew, were very supportive of her during her grief. This was their way of saying "thank you" to the girl that had brought so much sunshine into their lives-- an example of which occurred before the Bern tragedy. Jean was filming her infamous bathing sequence in a barrel with Clark (right). As the cameras rolled, before Victor called "action," Jean stood up from the barrel, topless, and shouted out: "This is for the boys in the editing room!" She then plunged back into the barrel, laughing hysterically with the rest of the very appreciative male crew. Unfortunately, the 'boys in the editing room' never got to see Jean's present. Victor immediately removed the film from the camera and destroyed it, knowing that if it ever got out it would be a publicity nightmare for her. Well, at least she tried!

Carrol Baker's (left) relationship with producer Joe Levine was not a happy one. They had a lengthy work relationship that spanned several films and, as she was under contract to him, he acted more finitely as her agent. Levine and her husband of the time, Jack Garfein, often behaved as an offensive team in pressuring her to take jobs she wasn't interested in. As such, over time, her antipathy for Levine grew, and she came to resent his boorish manners and at times underhanded business tactics. At one point, she suffered a nervous breakdown as a result of the brutal work regimen and constant mental and emotional stresses the men in her life were putting her through. A tough cookie, she eventually pulled herself together, crawled out from under her husband-- whom she had been supporting nearly their entire marriage-- and exorcised herself from Levine's control. In time, she let bygones be bygones and-- having reached a much better place in her life-- decided to not look back on her relationship with Levine with bitterness. After all, she had not been the only person to suffer under his tyranny. Later, she found herself in Rome on St. Patrick's Day, celebrating at the Irish Embassy. Suddenly, she felt herself being grabbed from behind. Before she knew it, she was spun around and was being bent backward in a passionate kiss from none other than Peter O'Toole! She had never met Peter, so she was obviously flabbergasted. "I love you!" he exclaimed. "Isn't this rather sudden?" she laughed. Peter explained that he had loved her ever since he had learned that she too had "suffered under the producer of a thousand broken promises, Joseph Levine!" Peter had worked with the obviously unmannerly Levine on The Lion in Winter. While the picture was a phenomenon, Levine's less than stellar reputation had sullied at least Peter's opinion of him. For her part, Carroll was finally grateful that Levine had come into her life, if only because he had earned her a smacker from the tall Englishman with piercing blue eyes!

John Gilbert was the Lothario of the silver screen. Handsome, gentlemanly, passionate, intelligent... and humorous. He definitely hit all the marks on a lady's checklist, including that of his good friend and neighbor Colleen Moore (right). Colleen had watched John indulge in and survive several romantic relationships, including that with second wife Leatrice Joy and his lengthy, tumultuous affair with Greta Garbo. Yet, while Colleen found him charming, she had never succumbed to his charms, if only because she didn't think their friendship worth the sacrifice. It's not like she wasn't tempted, though. Colleen would recall throwing a party for some of her more elite, straight-laced Hollywood friends. It was a classy affair, and as a gracious and down-to-earth lady herself, quiet nights like this-- enjoying conversation with articulate friends-- was much more enjoyable than the rag-tag benders that some of the other stars decided to indulge in. Yet, the peaceful harmony of her modest soiree was surreptitiously interrupted. Colleen happened to notice out of the corner of her eye that her maid was making exaggerated hand motions to get her attention. Colleen politely excused herself and asked her housekeeper, "What's the haps?" Her maid then explained that there was an unexpected visitor waiting for her. Upstairs. In her bed. "What?!" Colleen quickly made her way to her bedroom only to find John Gilbert lying in wait. He sat on her bed, under the covers, with a big grin on his face: "Well, here I am, you lucky woman!" Colleen couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing! This seemed an offer too good to refuse... But what to do about her uptight guests? Colleen stumbled back downstairs, her face probably still red from cackling, and quickly ushered her friends out the door. All this time, she wasn't quite certain whether she was going to accept John's seductive offer, or merely laugh off the incident as another one of his intoxicated blunders. However, he made the decision for her. When she returned to her bedroom, he had already gone. Oh, missed opportunities... In any case, this remained one of her favorite, hysterical memories of her troubled, boyish, and always adorable friend.

John tries his moves on Lillian Gish instead, in La Boheme.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Play It Again, Sam

The players of cinema's past occasionally indulge in a little game of repetition. I'm not referring to the phenomenon of an actor reprising a role in a series of films, as Johnny Depp has done most recently with his Captain Jack Sparrow character from the Pirates of the Caribbean anthology. Instead, I more particularly draw attention to a complete duplication of a role or film throughout a performer's career. Just as Michael Sheen has been called upon to reprise his role as Tony Blair in numerous, unrelated films (The Queen, The Special Relationship), so too have past stars sunk their teeth into a part or a story that they find themselves unable to let go of-- or perhaps conversely the role will not let go of them. Here are a few examples of Flicker-Show Double-Takes. Sometimes, Deja Vu is more than a feeling; it is a fact.

Rooster Cogburn shows Mattie Ross how to fire a pistol. John Wayne's
 interpretation of the weathered but fiery Rooster Cogburn in True Grit 

would ignite more than audience appreciation-- it would

demand a sequel.

The most obvious example is John Wayne's reprisal of the role of Rooster Cogburn from the Academy Award winning True Grit in the following feature Rooster Cogburn 6 years later. After the huge success of the first film, the Duke was asked to get back in the saddle, literally, to cash in on a plum character to whom his audiences had so energetically responded. The plot of the first film involved Marshal Cogburn aiding a young girl, Mattie Ross (Kim Darby), in her quest to avenge the death of her father by the hand of Tom Chaney. Chaos ensues amidst comic relief, justice is won, and unexpected affection is born. Duke's convincing and multi-layered performance was reason enough for the studio to come up with a belated sequel of sorts. This time, Rooster would go toe-to-toe not with a precocious girl but with an equally iron-willed woman, Eula Goodnight (Katharine Hepburn). Instead of generational miscomprehension, flirtation and unfulfilled romance permeate the story, with Rooster again tracking down a band of outlaws who have this time killed Eula's father. Both films possess a certain charm and daring, and both remain classics, though True Grit is the most honored. Interestingly, Rooster Cogburn in a way was a duplication for Kate Hepburn as well, since she had portrayed a very similar character to Eula when she starred opposite Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen. In both, she plays a strong, older, religious female who is unceremoniously usurped of her home and family-- in Queen,the loss is her brother-- and joins an older curmudgeon on an unexpected journey. In both, victory is, of course, won, and her obstinacy and devotion inevitably whittle down her male counterparts' hearts to nothing. The African Queen remains more noteworthy for Kate, but it is in Rooster Cogburn that you get to witness the 68-year-old actress operate a machine gun. Not too shabby.

Don't mess with the classics: John and Kate continue to kick

tail even in their sixties.

Clark Gable too came back for another round, but this time he appeared in his own remake. In 1932, Clark had starred opposite Jean Harlow (together, left) and Mary Astor in Red Dust. In 1953, proving that at age 52 he was still indeed The King, he again ventured into the wild, but this time with Ava Gardner and Grace Kelly. The plots remain almost identical, with the love triangle of the un-tameable Dennis Carson/Victor Marswell (Gable) caught between the virgin and the whore, and the complex nature of both women making it difficult to decide who deserves which title. In the end, he lets the dutiful-- albeit tempted-- married woman go and embraces his true soul mate-- the tainted but lovable shipwrecked floozy with a heart of gold. The main difference in story is Clark's profession, which in Red Dust involves running a rubber plantation and in Mogambo is the trapping of animals. Yet, in both films, his happy isolation is invaded: first by a sensuous woman of the world and later by a prudish couple who are either surveying or studying anthropology as the story dictates. Artistically, both versions are triumphs, with Gable not failing to establish believable chemistry with all four women. There is a definite charm in watching him volley off true life pal Jean Harlow in the former version, but Ava Gardner brings such comedy and heart to her own interpretation of "Honey Bear" that Mogambo cannot be ignored. Mary Astor, already a seasoned performer by the time of filming, seems much more at home than Grace Kelly, for whom Mogambo was only her third film, but the smoldering lust beneath both women's placid demeanors is evident and thoroughly intriguing. Pitting director Victor Fleming against John Ford is too a hard debate to wage, with perhaps Ford coming a little closer to victory. In all honesty, the competition results in a draw. The Red Dust vs. Mogambo phenomenon is most profound for the fact that it is a direct remake that re-stars its male lead, cementing the fact that no one, but no one, can replace Clark Gable.

Choices, choices... Poor Clark must choose between the

luscious Ava and the tempting Grace in Mogambo.

Peter O'Toole is too no stranger to double-takes, and his performance as Henry II in Becket made certain that no other actor could possibly usurp his throne. He put the crown on again 4 years later when he starred in The Lion in Winter. Nominated for his portrayal both times, he would miss out on Academy Award night first to Rex Harrison for My Fair Lady and later to Cliff Robertson for Charly. The first film witnesses a young Henry-- about 15 years after inheriting the throne-- and his constant battles with friend, moral compass, and foe Thomas Beckett. In the end, Henry's immaturity and selfishness, along with his inherent need to protect his throne and his England, forces him to take arms against Becket (played with equal magnificence by Richard Burton) and have him killed (he eyes his work, right). Fast forward to 13 or so years later in the story of Lion. Henry has wizened and is facing his mortality. Recasting Peter in the role was more than a logical move; it was a brilliant one. The audience literally sees how he has aged; how the years of battle and politics have taken their toll, and too how he has successfully grown into his role as his country's leader. His errors of the past with Becket remain buried in his bones, a penance he still pays, and this past conflict is referred to whenever Henry's wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine (Kate Hepburn), wants to stick a needle in. The plot this time revolves around Henry's need to secure a heir to his throne. Sons Richard (Anthony Hopkins), Geoffrey (John Castle), and John (Nigel Terry) all plot, back stab, and battle for the place of honor. Eleanor stirs the pot, not just as a mother, but as a long since spurned lover whose husband has literally kept her locked up in jail to keep her out of his hair and give him free reign to indulge in numerous dalliances, including one with Alais (Jane Merrow), whom he means to marry after divorcing Eleanor. The bitter but unbreakable love between Henry and Eleanor comes to vengeful heights in this Christmas film that engenders anything but familial affection, and the performances of the entire cast are perfection. The dual Henry II films are both superb-- with the writing of Lion pushing it ever so slightly into the realm of cinematic genius-- but watching the progression of Peter O'Toole's Henry is the real reward.

The King and Queen prepare to feast... on each other.

Keeping things regal: before Cate Blanchett became the go-to girl for Queen Elizabeth, Flora Robson enjoyed the same privilege. Getting her start on the stage, Flora turned heads when she appeared as another Liz, Empress Elisabeth in Alexander Korda's The Rise of Catherine the Great. This in turn led to her casting as the notorious English ruler, Elizabeth I, in the 1937 production of Fire Over England. The film, while historically interesting, is more noteworthy today due to its casting of lovers Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh, who were hot and heavy and both married to other spouses at the time of the filming. To see them before they had reached mutual and independent glory in Wuthering Heights (for him) and Gone with the Wind (for her) is quite interesting. But, while the acclaimed thespians fumble their way through the new medium, albeit eloquently, Flora holds her own and portrays her Queen with a combination of ferocity and humanity (all three, left). Her superb characterization was lauded as the best representation of the enigmatic Queen yet, which led to her casting a few years later in The Sea Hawk. This time, the plot, while equally full of intrigue and corruption, was lighter fare. Enjoying the company of Errol Flynn in his role as yet another charming swashbuckler, Flora's Queen this time around is more light-hearted and emotionally vulnerable, yet her power still comes into play when necessary. Her subtle and denied attractions to her leading men in both roles are pivotal in giving her character sympathy, yet her stoicism and sense of duty ring true in her portrayals of a matriarch. The Sea Hawk is a much more enjoyable film, involving piracy and romance, and Flora truly shines. Rumor has it that even the eternal cad Errol was smitten with her and loved every minute of working with a woman whom he considered to be a true pro.

Flora dominates Flynn in The Sea Hawk, a film into which both actors

injected a lightness and humor that reflected their

off-screen friendship.

Cecil B. DeMille was one man who loved to outdo himself. Proud of his cinematic accomplishments but never satisfied, growing technological advancements only made him more frustrated that his classic efforts became dated and outmoded over time. While he would too duplicate his work when he made the sequel to his cinematic debut, The Squaw Man- The Squaw Man's Son, starring Wallace Reid-- it wasn't until 1956 that he decided to give a piece of his work a complete and utter face lift. The Ten Commandments of 1923 was astounding in its day, and yet another reason that Cecil was being hailed as the filmmaker of his generation. The controversial religious themes, the risque subject matter, and the over the top special-effects splendor, left audiences enthralled and overwhelmed. Yet, as the years passed, and as Cecil always kept the conflicting urges of Godliness and Naughtiness close to his heart, he saw more and more opportunities to improve upon his past majesty-- if only to prove that just because his work was aging, it didn't mean that he couldn't keep up with the times. So, after 3 decades, he gave Moses another go, this time with Charlton Heston replacing Theodore Roberts as the chosen vessel to lead his people out of Egypt. Now in color, the scenes became even more vivid than in their silent predecessor. Special Effects too made the great parting of the Red Sea something to behold, the likes of which had never been seen before. Hailed by many as his best work, the film oddly would not be the one for which he won the ever desired Academy Award-- that honor was bestowed upon his The Greatest Show on Earth-- yet, as his last film, and an epic one at that, it remains his own personal testament-- not of the messages of right and wrong, but of what the great medium of Movies was capable.

            

Chuck Heston lays down the law in The Ten Commandments and

changes the rules of sin and cinema forever.

As we movie viewers are the recipients of contagious filmmaking-- which infects and spreads the same stories over and over with remakes upon remakes upon regurgitated remakes-- it is no surprise when we find ourselves getting that old, familiar feeling while watching the latest take on, say, the age old boy-meets-girl storyline. But, to witness one of our pioneers blatantly plagiarizing himself is a rare and somewhat baffling occurrence. Somehow, the above exceptions prove that sometimes it is indeed okay to be two-timed. While one artist ripping off or trying to out-do another can be somewhat abrasive to our sensibilities, witnessing the results of an auteur going mono e mono with himself can be quite revelatory, curious, and provocative. It is more common to see an actor take on similar roles to those he has in the past, or for a director to bring to life similar story lines that suit his tastes, but while Michael Haneke re-making his own 10-year-old Funny Games shot for shot may at first appear absurd, it is too entertaining for the audience to level the artist against himself and see what different ingredients against a different time can induce. This anomaly is actually the perfect measuring stick for change. Comparing one draft to another, we more fully witness how history "happens" by watching the way one particular performer has aged with time.

MENTAL MONTAGE: "Wait... Was that who I think it was?"

Hitchcock makes one of his famous cameos alongside a 

befuddled Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief.

It has been said that there are two types of movie stars: the film actor and the film personality. It could be argued which category is more vital to cinema. The "actor" star is more commonly commended for his performance skills, but monetarily speaking the "personality" star is the one drawing in the big bucks. This is not to say that the latter persona lacks talent, but he essentially-- at least according to public perception-- plays himself in every role rather than becoming various characters. Cary Grant was a personality star, so were Gable and Harlow. Marlon Brando was a film actor whose adamant refusal to become a personality star made him one anyway (at least in the tabloids). The pure film actor is more difficult to label. Lon Chaney, who notoriously underwent great metamorphoses from role to role, could be added to this category, but his publicly contrived persona as the "man of mystery" too made him famous. Modern actors are easier to peg: Daniel Day Lewis, Anthony Hopkins, and Meryl Streep-- though famous-- are more easily labeled as actors and not personalities. And what of our monthly star, Orson Welles? If ever there were a personality, this guy was it. He played incredibly varied roles over his career, but through it all, he remained Orson. His presence always dominated a film more than his actual performance. One never forgets while enraptured by Charles Foster Kane's personal disintegration that he or she is watching Orson Welles.


I bring this up to illustrate the impact of the Hollywood Cameo Role, which only truly works with a personality star. Over the years, celebrities in small cameo roles have become a linchpin in American cinema, particularly in comedies. Why? The mere presence of a well known face produces all sorts of mental and emotional connotations to viewers. A brief cameo moment on film makes things more exciting; it is a private joke between the filmmaker and the audience-- and between the star and his or her fans. Actor stars can still make a non-starring appearance in a motion picture to effect, but normally this only works when the more decorated thespian appears as one of his or her more famous characters. The aforementioned Mr. Hopkins, for example, would typically make less of an impression on fans than would his Hannibal Lecter. On the other hand, Clint Eastwood-- everyone's favorite squinting bad ass-- could deliver a line as Clint Eastwood and the audience would eat it up. The appearance of George Clooney or Ricky Gervais would equally be more effective than an appearance by Frances McDormand or Joseph Gordon Levitt. The use of star power is profound, and the use of it in a cameo role is always entertaining, simply because there is no agenda or product to sell. Whether meant to add an extra laugh or lend extra weight to a scene, a short cameo can go a long way.

Charlie Chaplin tries to collect autographs from William Haines 

and Marion Davies in Show People.

One of the earliest examples of this phenomenon that I have witnessed occurred in the silent comedy Show People, starring Marion Davies and William Haines. The very nature of the plot opened up a myriad of possibilities to use Tinsel Town to its best effect. Marion's character, Peggy Pepper, is an aspiring actress who finds herself working in Hollywood alongside the biggest stars of the day. MGM, thus, took viewers behind the scenes, making a movie about making movies. A great cameo moment occurs at a banquet when a table of stars are shown eating together: Douglas Fairbanks, John Gilbert, Renee Adoree, William S. Hart, etc. While audiences got to see these faces all the time on the silver screen, seeing them out of character and as themselves-- before the days of tabloid TV and instant internet access-- was a thrilling moment. It brought them a little closer to their idols. An even funnier moment occurs when Charlie Chaplin makes an appearance, only to go unrecognized by Marion. He asks for her autograph for his "collection," and she stands in annoyance while William Haines stands agog at the Hollywood giant before him. Charlie leaves Marion behind, who faints in Billy's arms upon her final realization. In effect, while Charlie greets these two fellow actors, he has said hello to his fans as well.

Speaking of silent films... The aforementioned situations were all very comical, but sometimes the use of different actors is applied for a more serious effect. Gloria Swanson's role in Sunset Boulevard was by no means a cameo, but the casting was a strategic move by Billy Wilder, for Gloria's natural embodiment of all the grandeur and history of old, silent Hollywood conveyed more than mere acting could. Her performance as the aging, faded movie queen thus elevated the film to another level, bringing the audience in on a continued discussion, whereas a random actress, capable as she may have been, would have had to invent all of the things that Gloria innately was. Wilder used this same casting tactic when he pulled in some other big names into cameo roles. As Norma Desmond's butler, ex-husband, and former director, he cast Erich von Stroheim (left with Gloria and Bill Holden) which perfectly indicated the continuing theme "Oh, how the mighty have fallen." Gossip columnist (and former actress) Hedda Hopper too makes an appearance as Norma makes her infamous final cascade down the staircase, amidst much camera-flashing, lending further gravity and realism to the event.

As Gloria's group of comrades playing bridge, aka the "waxworks," Wilder cast former actress Anna Q. Nilsson, silent, stone-faced comedian Buster Keaton, and the original Jesus Christ himself, H.B. Warner. (Initially, Gloria had asked William Haines to be part of this group as well, but he declined). The appearance of these individuals, especially in such a simple, dark, and strangely macabre scene, added to the pity and discomfort of film fans, who recognized the sharp contrast of the former Gods once sitting high on their Hollywood thrones and now sitting glumly around a table playing cards. To add more gravity to the game, the ever stoic and silent Keaton mutters only one word: "Pass," just as time had passed him over. Finally, Cecil B. DeMille's cameo as Norma's favorite, former director (right) too added an extra layer to their scene together, for educated audiences knew that Gloria and Cecil had worked together; that he had once called her his "little fella" and had made her a star. His empathy for her is thus more easily felt, but the audience too recognizes that the career the duo had together has long since passed, and Norma's continued delusion makes this encounter incredibly painful to watch. Cecil took these scenes very seriously, even rewriting some of his own dialogue to get it right. Wilder was so excited to have him working on the project that he completely deferred to him in the scene and let the old director take control. It was a gamble that worked brilliantly.


Most often, celebrity cameos aren't this in depth and exist purely as quick bits of humor that wink at the audience. Thus, the line between fact and fiction is gamely overstepped. Here are a few such moments worth mentioning:

One wonders what it was about The Muppet Movie that appealed to Orson Welles, but then one wonders about a great many things that went on in that Boy Wonder's head. Whatever the attraction, be it financial or comical, Orson did make a brief appearance in the film as top dog mogul Lew Lord (left). While at first, this may make one shudder at the fall of such a great idol, we too have to remember how big the Muppets were, and in addition, how many other big names made appearances in their films, from Steve Martin to Bob Hope. So, Orson wasn't really sullying his reputation by taking the project on; he was hopping on the gravy train! His bombastic, domineering personality was put to good use as the threatening producer Lord, who has Kermit shaking in his webbed feet. As an imaginative, overgrown child at heart, one can only imagine that Orson enjoyed himself.

Marlene Dietrich also added a little flavor to Paris When It Sizzles. As William Holden's character struggles to invent his latest screenplay plot, which Audrey Hepburn painstakingly tries to transcribe, he comes up with many failed vinettes. One of his imagined scenes begins with a fancy, ever-changing car pulling up to a curb. The door opens, two perfect legs emerge, and it is quickly revealed that they are attached to the glamorous Ms. Dietrich. End scene. Many women could have been used for this brief moment, but since Marlene was known to have the best pair of gams in Hollywood (see right), her casting gave it a little extra "oomph." In addition, using a big name like herself also indicated Holden's character's intention to write a big star vehicle. The film includes several other cameos, including a couple by Tony Curtis, and is, like Show People and Sunset Boulevard, a great look at Hollywood behind the scenes. Interestingly, as in Sunset, Bill is again playing a screenwriter! Clearly the cameo ploy works best in movie-themed movies!

The friendship of British thespians Peter O'Toole and Richard Burton is legendary. Two handsome men, both vastly talented, physically dissimilar, but equally caddish, they appeared in Becket together in 1964 to great acclaim (left). It appears that they remained pals when they separated and took on other various projects, for they were quickly reunited-- albeit briefly--  in What's New, Pussycat? a year later. Woody Allen's wild and outlandish script needed little help in the laugh department, but, somehow or other, another guffaw was concocted. During a scene in a bar, Peter is wandering around when he bumps into an old pal-- Burton. If you aren't paying attention, you can miss the moment completely due to the haze of smoke and the dark lighting, but the duo greet each other and quickly part, at which point Peter shouts out, "Say 'hello' to what's her name!" He is indicating, of course, Elizabeth Taylor, Dick's wife, which in essence makes it a double cameo.

In It's a Great Feeling, Doris Day's character, a waitress, goes through the gamut while Jack Carson and Dennis Morgan try to make her a star (all three right). In the end, she leaves it all behind to become a wife. The duo track her down to her wedding, where they watch the procession. Smirking and snarling through a window at how their prodigy has betrayed them, they volley back and forth about the mistake she's making, and how she'll regret being tied to some old "cornball." Then, her groom is revealed: Errol Flynn-- lecher, ladies' man, and Lothario. Errol was brought in tactically to indicate to the audience that Doris was in good hands-- at least sexually speaking. Clearly, her character is not going to be living a boring life. All this is communicated simply by showing the audience Errol's handsome face and crooked smile, which carries a plethora of connotations. (Gary Cooper also has a cameo doing his token "yup" routine).

Another type of cameo that the audience sometimes doesn't even pick up on is that of a celebrity's child in a minor role. Orson, who always had a distant and complicated relationship with his children, was at least proud enough of a Papa to cast his eldest daughter, Christopher, in his 1948 adaptation of MacBeth as Macduff's child. Liza Minnelli made her film debut in the final scene of In the Good Old Summertime opposite her mother, Judy Garland, and Van Johnson (left). And Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward cast their own daughter, Nell Potts, in a brief role in Rachel, Rachel as the heroine in her youth. The physical resemblance between mother and daughter probably made that decision a no-brainer. Cecil DeMille too cast his daughter Cecilia from time to time in various film roles when he needed to throw a kid into the mix. She appeared in both The Squaw Man and The Virginian, among others.

The King of Cameos is, of course, Alfred Hitchcock, who probably needs no mention here. Fans started to look forward to Hitch's blink-and-you'll-miss-them appearances in his films, which added a fun puzzle on top of a puzzle to his mysterious capers. It began in The Lodger-- when he is seen in the crowd, with his back to the camera as an editor, and allegedly also as a corpse-- and continued through all of his following films. Some were more obvious than others, such as the scene in To Catch a Thief when Cary Grant looks beside him on the bus and sees his director sitting stoicly. The moment is meant to be recognized, for rather than just passing it over, Cary takes an obvious look then does one of his classic bemused expressions. He, Hitch, and the audience therefore have a good "ha ha" before returning to the business at hand. Hitch had to get more creative sometimes, including the curious way he had to integrate himself into Lifeboat. Clearly, this was going to be no easy task. It would completely take his audience out of the moment if he were to randomly float by in the middle of the ocean, so instead, he placed himself in the weight-loss newspaper ad William Bendix is reading (right). He more accurately appears twice: in the before and after pictures. This provided a double laugh since Hitch was always struggling with his weight in real life. Hitch had no qualms about advertising himself, even emblazoning his name on his inter-titles in his early silents, and rumor has it that his penmanship found its way into many of his films as well. These moments became ways for Hitch to ingratiate himself to his audiences, who became just as familiar with his face as those of his stars-- no easy feat for a behind-the-scenes filmmaker.


The list of these quirky little moments could go on ad nauseum, but I will let it rest here... for now! The most fascinating thing about Hollywood, beyond the film-making of course, is the star-making. The concept of, evolution of, and implementation of celebrity into our culture, in the end, says much more about the viewers than it does the players. Those we choose to latch onto, the perceptions we place upon them, and the roles we give them in our own minds, lock them steadfastly into an identity that very often is not their own nor of their own creation. However, there are some that did contribute wholeheartedly to their screen selves, purposely encouraging their false image's mutation into societal fact. Orson Welles and Marlene Dietrich, for example, both adhered to their own mythology. It is these larger than life personae that make cameo moments that much sweeter. To see a big star, acknowledging and playing with his or her own largess, poking fun at and equally embracing the facade of this stardom, is a way of agreeing to continue to disagree with the audience: "Yes, this is all a ruse, but we both enjoy it, so let's keep playing." After all, it's all in fun. Game on!