MENTAL MONTAGE: 50 G's, or the Kid Gets it!

If Rita Hayworth were as handy with a gun as Elsa Bannister,

her private life may have been a little less frightening.

Fame is attractive. Perhaps too much so. The brilliant light of celebrity glows so brightly that it is bound to attract all kinds of insects. While being a movie star may, therefore, appear to be glamorous, all that swatting at intrusive pests can become quite irritating... even horrifying. Every cinema great has a story when it comes to seeing the dark side of fanaticism and fame. Some have been sent obscene letters, stalked, hounded, etc. But the worst of the worst is when the threat of death comes knocking at the mansion door; when the wealth and prestige one has worked to accumulate is suddenly used against him by the very public that originally built him up. Extortion, blackmail, ransom... You name it. When you have money, you are going to make a lot of "friends" fast and a lot of enemies even faster. The worst of it comes when a parent's own child is used as the bargaining chip. Most of the time, these vile threats are just that-- pathetic, get-rich-quick schemes connived by ill-adept con-artists. On rare occasions, the worst can happen, as in the tragic kidnapping and subsequent death of the Lindbergh baby. Here are a few examples of when the lifestyles of the rich and famous became nightmares of the sick and twisted. Greed knows no shame...

Rita Hayworth never went in for the whole celebrity lifestyle. While she had great pride in her hard work, she did not invite nor yearn for a place in the spotlight. If she was disenchanted with the pretentious, hoity-toityness of Hollywood initially, she became completely tormented after the hypothetical high-life threatened the peace of her home and the safety of her children. After she married Orson Welles and gave birth to their daughter, Rebecca(together left), the trouble began. She was already on emotional pins and needles as her marriage collapsed (after a brief reconciliation while filming The Lady from Shanghai together). Mostly on her own, with secretary Shifra Haran and Rebecca as her only company, she was completely blindsided and terrified when a fan letter was sent to her on Feb 2, 1947 from "The Scar Never Fails" of Cleveland, TN. The author demanded $2000 in a week's time, threatening to kidnap Rebecca if his demands were not met. In addition, he intimidated Rita by making violent threats against her own life, ignorantly asking her if she wanted to wind up looking like "the blue daliha[sic]," clearly referencing "Black Dahlia" Elizabeth Short, whose mutilated and bisected body had just been found the previous month. If Rita did not comply with the blackmailer, she was told that lye would be "thrown into those beautiful eyes of yours." Needless to say, she was panicked and frightened. Luckily, by the time she even became aware of the letter, blackmailer James Gibson was already in custody. Having dealt with the shock almost completely on her own, she decided it was time to give old Orson the heave ho', and she filed for divorce the next month. Unfortunately, this was not the last threat to Rebecca's life. When vacationing with her mother and Aly Khan, Rebecca was actually physically grabbed by a man on the beach at Deauville. Luckily, the nanny who was watching her was able to call for help and the culprit didn't get far.


The one positive during this latter episode was the attentiveness of Aly, who was a much more nurturing partner than Orson had been. However, it was Rita's relationship, or rather failed relationship, with Aly that would put her children in even further danger. Their daughter, Princess Yasmin (right, with mom), became a prime target for kidnappers after she was brought back to America. Due to her royal status and wealthy parentage, she looked like a pretty sack of cash to unsavory individuals looking to make some easy money. Just prior to her divorce from Aly, Rita received threatening letters that demanded a hefty ransom in return for Yasmin's life. Rita had tried to find a little serenity by taking both of her girls to Lake Tahoe for some respite. Imagine her surprise when the District Attorney showed up at her door with seven guards telling her that there had been a threat made against Yasmin's life! Apparently, D.A. Jack Streeter had serendipitously overheard two culprits bragging about how much Yasmin would be worth, then listened as they laid out their plan to approach by boat, snatch Yasmin, and escape across the lake. The morons had no idea that they were divulging their plans to the very man who would stop them. Thus, Rita and her children were surrounded by bodyguards as they waited nervously for danger to approach. Luckily, none did. Perhaps the two dimwitted gents had merely been describing a fantasy scenario; perhaps they approached, saw all the feds, and decided to back off. In any case, Yasmin was safe... For now. When Rita finally was able to escape with the girls to the Beverly Hills Hotel, she became irate when a reporter broke into her hotel room and started taking photos of her daughters. If it had been that easy for him to get in, imagine what would happen if a person with evil intent made a move!


The worst was to come while Rita was being squired by next beau, Dick Haymes, who had essentially set his sights on Rita to solve his own financial woes and too help him out of his latest debacle-- he was being threatened with deportation to Argentina. (When visiting Rita in Hawaii, which was then not a U.S. state, he had failed to notify the authorities). In the midst of this mess, Rita received the first of three threatening letters on Aug. 24, 1953. Rita was going through her divorce from the Muslim Prince when this poison pen author claimed that Yasmin would be killed if she did not return to Aly. Since Rita had been unfairly dubbed a "homewrecker" and a "whore" after she allegedly broke up Aly's first marriage, it was clear that a religious fanatic was invoking the wrath of God on her and her sinful ways. The second letter she received informed her that if Yasmin was not returned to Aly, someone would "beat you so that you will have to go to the hospilal and your career as movie star will be over [sic]." At this point, Rita became incredibly paranoid, fearing that perhaps it was father-in-law Aga Khan III himself who was orchestrating this whole thing as a scare tactic to get her to return to his son. Such was not the case, but the intimidation had reached such a level that even J. Edgar Hoover got involved. Everyone was on the lookout for more letters with the same postmark of Rochelle, NY. The third letter came mere days before Rita's wedding to Dick. It stated: "Yasmine [sic] will die unless her father is permitted to raise her as a Moslem." Then... silence. The money was never paid, and the villain stopped his correspondence. Luckily, the worst Rebecca and Yasmin were to suffer through the ordeal was the inconvenience of constant police surveillance. (Dick, Rita, and the kiddies left).


Marlene Dietrich was also a fiercely protective mother. Though her relationship with only child, daughter Maria Riva (together right), would grow complicated over the years, no one could deny her intense pleasure at being a mom nor her overpowering maternal instincts. This was never more evident than in Maria's earliest years, when Marlene took a brief respite from show-biz to play Mama. Yet, entertaining was in her blood, so it was only a matter of time before she returned to the spotlight. She was ecstatic about her sudden success with The Blue Angel and her American hit Morocco. However, when she crossed over to the United States, all was not all rosy. She would receive one Hell of a welcome when, almost immediately, Maria's safety was threatened. Just prior to filming Blonde Venus, Marlene received the first of several ransom letters. The extortionist demanded that $10,000 be placed in a box and left on the running board of a car, which was to be parked in front of her house. Marlene started shaking: "I have never known such fear in my life. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep." She immediately went to husband Rudi (Sieber), who wanted to call the police, but since the letter insisted that the police not be involved, Marlene resisted the intervention of law enforcement. Instead, Rudi did the next best thing, which was to enlist the aid of Josef von Sternberg and Maurice Chevalier, the latter of whom just happened to call when the hysteria was setting in.


And so it was that dapper Frenchman Maurice (left) arrived with both a pistol and a shotgun. He and Josef stood guard at Maria's door while Rudi patrolled the house and grounds, being clever enough to constantly change his clothes, so the kidnappers believed that there were more people around. More letters arrived, with the ransom price jumping to $20,000. As Marlene grew more nervous, Rudi maintained composure. Finally, the letters came to a stop. No thieves ever showed. Maurice tipped his hat, holstered his guns, and went home. It seemed the whole thing had either been a hoax or an ill-performed attempt that the instigators failed to follow through with. Things slowly returned to normal, but Marlene insisted that life always remained a bit bittersweet after that. When she started filming Blonde Venus, she insisted that Maria accompany her to set and be placed just out of camera range, so she could keep her eye on her. She later asked Rudi how he had remained so calm, to which he admitted that he had actually called the police unbeknown to her from the very beginning. The entire time that she had been biting her nails, the house and her daughter were under complete surveillance. Rudi said that he was afraid if she knew, she would be unable to go about her business normally, thus alerting the kidnappers to the police presence. He didn't think she was that good of an actress!


In February of 1934, Spencer Tracy also got an unfortunate introduction to an extortionist who went by the name of "Rattlesnake Pete." By this time, Spence was receiving oodles of fan mail, but one particular letter, written in pencil, definitely stood out from the pack. It too arrived straight to his Holmby Avenue address, which was even more alarming. Rattlesnake demanded $8,000 in return for the safety of Spence, his wife, mother, children Susie and John, as well as his recent paramour Loretta Young (together in Man's Castle, right). This was unnerving, mostly because the person seemed to have intimate knowledge of all the people surrounding Spence and too seemed to be taking some sort of cocky revenge on his infidelities. Rattlesnake made sure to illustrate the gravity of the situation by referencing recent ransom victim, Minnesota banker Edward G. Bremer, who had just paid the highest price to date for his safety-- $200,000-- to the Barker-Karpis gang. He warned that if Spence didn't pay up on the allotted March 10th drop date, the price would only go up. Spence took every precaution he could, moving his children to his mother's place in Westlake Park and calling the authorities, despite the warning not to do so. Wife Louise was blissfully ignorant of the whole charade, since she was out of town, unreachable, and snowed in. Detectives watched the family constantly, which was a thorn in the 10-year-old John's side, though Susie was too young to be aware of the situation. When Spence was forced to tell John that if he wandered off, a "bad man" may take him away, the little boy got the picture sure enough and remained terrified throughout the rest of the ordeal.


When Louise finally received word, she rushed home as quickly as she could and stuck to her children like white on rice. The family (left) was at the end of their tether as the dreaded drop date approached. The police authorized Spence to go ahead with the exchange in the hope that they would be able to swoop in and catch the culprit. So, on March 10th, Spence rode out to Wilshire and Western with chauffeur Walter... and Detective Joseph Filkas crouched in the back seat! They were told that a man would jump onto the side of the car and grab the dough. Though they followed instructions, the blackmailer never appeared. After that, Rattlesnake Pete became silent, never sending another letter. Spence had a theory that his last chauffeur may have been the guilty party, since he had been bitter when Spence fired him. Yet, when police investigated, the evidence was too inconclusive to make an arrest. The handwriting didn't check out. Rattlesnake Pete was never found.


The idea of losing one's child is perhaps the worst feeling a parent can endure, but there was one single lady who had her share of scares as well. In 1935, Thelma Todd (right) was doing more than well for herself. A successful, beautiful comedienne, the "Ice-cream Blonde" too had a roaring business going with her Sidewalk Cafe, co-owned by ex-lover Roland West. However, despite the fact that everyone in America seemed to love her, Thelma continuously got a slew of evil letters threatening her life. She once had to call a bomb squad to the restaurant because an offender claimed he had planted one inside! None was ever found. Some of these hate notes were certainly from obsessive fans, or anti-fans, but due to the company she had previously kept, Toddy also had an idea that ex-flame Lucky Luciano and perhaps even ex-husband Pat DiCicco had something to do with it. Since Lucky was miffed that Thelma wouldn't allow him to use the upper level of her restaurant for his gambling purposes, there had been a violent rift between them. She often felt herself being watched and followed. The hate mail grew to such a level that her maid, Mae Whitehead, took a batch of letters to the police station as a part of her regular duties. No shrinking violet, Thel' wasn't about to let the abuse go on. She kept the cops well informed, bought a white bull terrier named White King, and purchased herself a pretty little handgun, which she kept tucked in her purse.


The most fearful letters came from a man called "The Ace," who decorated his correspondence with a drawing of the ace of hearts in the lower, right-hand corner. His mail started Feb. 2 and continued five times more through November. His letters were different than the others, since they each named different men that Toddy had been romantically involved with, including Roland and bandleader Abe Lyman. She too received strange, mumbling  phone calls from Ace. The instructions she received-- money for her life-- were confusing. She was told to send $10,000 to Abe Lyman in New York, while Abe was told in a separate letter to send $20,000 to radio man Major Edward Bowes (?!?!). None of the three involved could make heads or tails of it. Soon, Thelma's number was up to $20,000. She decided to take action. She was to make the drop at Hollywood, but instead, the feisty lady left a letter at the allotted space, which stated that she wanted to meet the blackmailer face to face. Another meet was set, and Thelma drove to the Warner's Theater, where she saw a fidgety man in a hat, who made sure to obscure his face. He came up to the car and gave her directions to a secluded place where they could make the swap. After tossing out a "Not on your life, pal!" Thelma put the pedal to the metal and sped off. She went straight to the police, who first scolded her for setting up this dangerous operation without them, and then instructed her to try again with them in tow. She obliged. This time, when Ace stuck his head in the car and reached for the money in her purse, he caught a sight of her gun and made a dash for it. He got away again, but not for long. (Thelma with White King in her last photo, left).


The police made an arrest in Astoria, NY. Hotel superintendent Harry Schimanski was a 34-year-old obsessed fan who had photos of the lovely Thelma (right) taped all over his apartment. Though he pleaded "not guilty," Thelma was glad to at least have the guy in custody. To make things more confusing, however, more letters started to arrive, this time from "A Friend." This guy demanded $50,000, or Thelma would be killed and her restaurant burned to the ground. Luckily, the police located 28-year-old Edward Schieffert immediately, and he made no protest. In fact, he openly admitted that he had been the author. He was proud of it! He said that Thelma was his "dream girl." Obviously, he was a bit confused about proper wooing procedure. The strange thing was that he too admitted to the Ace letters. Since he was quickly committed to Bellevue after being deemed mentally unstable, it is still uncertain if these were just more mad claims or if he was in fact some kind of maniacal genius playing two games at once. Thelma was just glad that the harassment was over. Her peace would be short lived. She would be found dead that December.

Ironically, Spence portrayed a man wrongfully accused of

kidnapping in Fury.

Oh, the negative side of fame... Countless stories could be told. Linda Darnell's attempted $2000 extortion by a seventeen-year-old from Salt Lake City; Gloria Swanson's attempted blackmail by ex-husband Harry Samborn... It seems that there is no rest for the wealthy. Fame has a price, and it is staggering. The emotional toll is often more damaging than the financial one, which is perhaps why, for matters of pride, the aforementioned individuals refused to pay up, even if it meant that they could wind up six feet under. In the end, it wasn't about the money; it was about dignity and smarts. Where you find one cockroach, there are bound to be more. Sometimes you have no choice but to squash 'em, especially when a threat is made against your offspring. If the natural world has taught us anything, it is that you don't come between a mother and her cubs. Not even in Tinsel Town.

HISTORY LESSON: Royal Wives

Rita Hayworth weds Prince Aly Khan May 27, 1949-- and becomes a 

bona fide Princess!

America has always been its own land, influenced by the East but varied in its interpretations. We have no ruler, but we do have some guy we appoint every four years to help guide this ship. We have no palaces, but our richest society members can afford extravagant mansions at which we can marvel. We have no capitol Kingdom... but we do have Hollywood. As Tinsel Town grew into a burgeoning community of wealth and fame, our stars became the Kings and Queens of our universe-- the cream of the crop, the most beautiful we had to offer. As our economy boomed and we proved our mettle as builders, entrepreneurs, and even master businessmen, this little punch of public appeal lent us even more respect from the more aged countries across the sea-- who seemed antiques to our brave new, and finally thriving world. Hollywood would help put us on the map as a definite competitor in business, for as the world wars ensued and stalled filmmaking in the initially, equally prosperous German and French cinematic worlds, America's cameras kept rolling, and rolling, and rolling. As film continues to be one of the most far-reaching mediums in existence, so too do the faces that grace the silver screen remain the most famous and the most adored. These American idols, thus, became idols the world over, and soon, more historically rooted royal families started rubbing elbows with our own invented, ordained beings.

The first King and Queen of Hollywood, Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, bridged this gap when they began entertaining the Duke of Alba, the Duke of Sutherland, the Marquis of Vienna, the King of Spain, the Prussian Princess, and the Prince of Sweden at their own illustrious, colonial style castle: Pickfair. Different curious foreign figureheads too began visiting the stars on the film set to see how they created their magic pull. Lon Chaney once entertained the Princess of Sweden in between shots on the lot (see his hamming here), and Russian government leader Premier Nikita Khrushchev later came to visit Shirley MacLaine on the set of Can-Can (right)-- he would memorably say, after watching the high-kicks, "The face of humanity is prettier than it's backside." (Can-can you believe it)? Some may have poo-pooed celebrity appeal, declaring that these newly appointed social rulers were not given their position through generational inheritance, as true royalty was, but the grit and determination of self-made American men and women somehow made their new, elevated status seem even more deserved. After all, true Kings and Queens were simply famous for being famous, wealthy, and guiding the general course of their nations. How were Hollywood idols any different? At least they didn't pretend to be entitled. They had worked hard, and publicly, to earn their places in adulation. They too were not chosen by a metaphysical God, but were chosen by the people and for the people. They were not creatures of tradition, but creatures of change: modern, alive, now. At the very least, they made things interesting... and much more aesthetically pleasing.

In no time at all, as if Hollywood had just discovered a great new plot, true royalty began romantically courting this new American royalty. Not surprisingly, the male heir to the foreign throne was usually the one who came to woo a beautiful American Princess back to his Kingdom. The movie starlet, after all, was the ultimate, two-dimensional sex object. A Prince was just a regular man in the end, and he saw marriage to a film goddess as the culmination of all his fantasies, just like any other guy. The only hiccup, of course, was that the perfection on the screen was an illusion, and these gorgeous screen creatures were actually three-dimensional, full-blooded women. Life with them would prove to be much more complicated off camera. Of course, the ladies too would make the mistake of getting involved with a real Prince as a result of their own yearning Princess fantasies. As such, more often than not, the glass slipper would prove to be a little too tight, and an alliance between the various Kingdoms and the world of America seemed not to be, if only because America's modernity is naturally averse to old-fashioned values and traditions. American movie stars are working women, not housewives nor the placid trophies and ornaments that the magazine covers make them to be. Nonetheless, more than one couple would defy reality, try to bring a fairy tale to life, and marry in the name of Love (aka delusion). Almost always, they would divorce in the name of War. (Marilyn Monroe tries to win Laurence Olivier's heart (and crown) in The Prince and the Showgirl, right).

The Love Goddess Becomes a Live Princess

Rita Hayworth met Persian Prince Aly Khan in Cannes through Elsa Maxwell. Much like her second husband, Orson Welles, Aly was on a mission for Rita, in his case after seeing The Loves of Carmen (left). Rita wasn't a fool. She knew why men were interested in her: her stardom, her sex appeal, her screen persona. She knew too that it was all bull-hockey. Just as she had Orson, Rita initially rebuffed Aly's advances-- after all, she was already dining with the Shah of Iran and King Farouk-- but she finally agreed to meet him for an afternoon visit. Yet, to show that she was no easy sell, she showed up late from another date and dressed in a casual pair of shorts as if to say, "Look bud, I'm just a regular girl-- but not a daft one." Of course, her moderate attempts at self-preservation started to crack due to her natural, maternal nature and sensitive heart. Aly was persistent and charming. Most importantly, he was attentive. During the early days of their courtship, it was as if there weren't any other people in the world. Aly even proved to be a devoted father figure to Rita's daughter Rebecca, giving her much more affection than her own father (Welles). After Rita's recent divorce, heartbreak, and her growing, increased antipathy toward Hollywood, an escape with an exotic Prince seemed to be just what the doctor ordered. After a fortune teller encouraged Rita to dive into the relationship, that's just what she did-- although certain people believe that Aly paid the "psychic" in advance for every premonition she would foretell.

Despite their love for each other, matrimony wasn't going to be as simple as a swapping of vows. First, Rita had to win over Aly's father-- Aga Khan III, the head of Ismaili Muslims. A very shy person, Rita was afraid she wouldn't be able to impress him, but Aga was immediately enchanted with the American beauty, whom he deemed incomparably lady-like. Step-one completed, Aly had to clear up one final snafu- a divorce from his wife Joan Yarde-Buller, with whom he had already had two sons. The divorce was obtained after much effort and protest, and Rita was unceremoniously dubbed a homewrecker-- this despite the fact that the wedded couple had been separated for some time, and Aly had been unfaithful with a slew of women before Rita. Needless to say, Joan should have been grateful for the release and sumptuous alimony, and Rita should have been more skeptical of her suitor. But, as they say, love is blind. The wedding of Rita Hayworth to Aly Khan was held in May of 1949 to much ballyhoo, despite their attempts to keep it quiet and private. The paparazzi party-crashers and the chaos of the day was nearly enough to send super-shy Rita into a nervous breakdown, but she made it through the ceremony. Little did anyone know that she was already a couple of months pregnant with her daughter with Aly, Princess Yasmin, who would be born in December of the same year.

Almost immediately, the beauty of their love affair became one beast of a burden. Rita was not cut out for politics nor the party life, which is what Aly's somewhat immature existence was all about. Instead of a quiet life away from the cameras, she seemed to be even more scrutinized and imprisoned than ever. Aly would throw or attend lavish get-togethers, often leaving Rita surrounded by strangers or else completely alone at home. He too did not give up his wandering eye. After Rita had had enough, she smuggled her daughters out of Cannes and back into America, fearing that Aga Khan would try to stop her from taking his heiress granddaughter. Such was not the case, but once the divorce proceedings commenced, a great debate was waged regarding custody, as well as what religion Yasmin (with mom and sis Rebecca, left) would be raised to practice. The Aga wanted her to receive Muslim instruction; Rita wanted her to be raised a "normal, Christian, American child," although she probably used the religion issue as a bargaining chip to maintain U.S. public sympathy. Aly, for his part, tried unsuccessfully to win his wife back, but despite her vulnerabilities, Rita was not the shrinking violet that she was sometimes believed to be. She wanted her freedom back and hopefully a chance at happiness with a man who could give her the life she'd always dreamed of. Aly, nice guy though he was, was not it. He would return to his wayfaring ways, seducing Joan Fontaine, Yvonne De Carlo and Gene Tierney, all while still legally wed to Rita. Rita would endure two more failed marriages, never finding her Prince Charming. You go to bed with a Prince, and you wake up with a frog...

Gloria Swanson and the Guy with a Long Name (Henri le Bailly, the Marquis de La Coudraye de La Falaise)... and Constance Bennett

She was the ultimate silent screen siren. He was a French nobleman who had inherited his title (Marquis de La Coudraye) from his grandfather. There was much appealing about Gloria Swanson-- diminutive but almost dangerously beautiful, glamorous, and noted for her embrace of a decadent lifestyle (see right). It seemed that she was only waiting for a like-minded man to make her healthy brand of business-savvy narcissism an official Queenship. Henri was equally intriguing. Born into privilege-- but not money-- he had to work for a living, which made him a rare, down-to-earth regal. The legendarily handsome man, who preferred to be called "Hank,"  became a war hero then set his sights on Hollywood. He served as a translator on the set of  Madame Sans-Gêne (1925), where he met his leading lady, Gloria. Though he took on jobs as her assistant, he lacked the business smarts of his wife, and Gloria remained the family breadwinner. Clearly, she hadn't married him for money, so it must have been his title alone that she found so hypnotic. The marriage only lasted until 1931, by which time both were already thoroughly involved with their replacement spouses: Irish sportsman Michael Farmer for her and Constance Bennett, another actress, for him. But some believe that it was the appearance of business partner Joseph Kennedy in Gloria's life that put the final nail in the relationship's coffin. Joe sent Henri to France to work at Pathe simply to get him out of the way. Joe wasn't the gentleman Henri was, and he wouldn't stick around too long after Gloria's career took a dive after Queen Kelly, particularly since her financial woes were partly his fault. By this time, Henri had already written Gloria a letter suggesting that they amicably call it "kaput." Thus, Gloria turned to Farmer, whom she accidentally wed while still technically married to Henri-- thus instigating a bigamy charge. Oy. Vey. Henri and Gloria remained friendly, though, unlike her former two spouses Wallace Beery and Harry Samborn. Henri was a great guy, just not husband material.

Constance Bennett would disagree. Henri's marriage to Constance (left) would last a few years longer than his partnership with Gloria, and at first they seemed a good team. Constance was herself true "Hollywood royalty," having come from a family of esteemed thespians, including father Richard and sister Joan. Her beauty was as famed as Gloria's, as was her impeccable sense of fashion. A shrewd business-woman, she too had a love of controversy, which is perhaps why she jumped at the chance to wed a nobleman, and most importantly, a nobleman who was still married to Gloria Swanson! Always ambivalent toward the press, this royal wedding probably seemed like more of a game to her than anything else, and the fun-loving Henri simply enjoyed being along for the ride-- with beautiful company, of course. The duo had some successes as a couple, such as establishing a production company, Bennett Productions, through which they produced two films together, but by 1940, both their business and personal institutions hit the skids: too much flash, too little substance. Connie quickly moved on to actor Gilbert Roland (for awhile) before settling on army Gen. John Theron Coulter. Henri would marry again to a Colombian divorcee, but would die with no heir to pass on his notorious title. Just as well, for the moniker hadn't served him too well in the end. Heavy is the head the wears the crown... 

Mae, Pola, and Those Damn Mdvanis

The noble Mdvani family hailed from Georgia-- not the American State, but the Eurasian country nestled between Eastern Europe and Western Russia (ironically, a Georgian Prince, Gregory Eristoff, would tutor Rita Hayworth in royal etiquette during her marriage to Aly). While the Mdvani name and their country are little familiar to the ears today, they caused quite a scandal in the 1920s that would make them, briefly, both famous and infamous. The family was understandably unnerved during the Russian revolution of 1917, which encouraged the five offspring of parents Zakhari and Elizabeth Mdvani to flee to Paris. Of course, woeful times of war were not going to knock this highbrow family off their pedestal, and the killer instinct-- or rather lady-killer instinct-- led to them all finding safe harbor through fortunate marriages-- emphasis on the "fortune." They were thus referred to as the "marrying Mdvanis." The three sisters Alexis, Isabelle, and Nina did well for themselves, the latter of whom married Denis Conan Doyle, son of author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but it was the two brothers, Serge and David who would make the greatest claims to fame by wedding Hollywood starlets. David found a paramour and partner in Mae Murray (right). The "girl with the bee-stung lips" was hit by Cupid's arrow, and the duo wed in 1926. Unfortunately, after David had bled the movie queen dry and bankrupted her, he abandoned her for better prospects.

For his part, Serge attached himself to drama queen extraordinaire and exotic film siren Pola Negri (left) in 1927, but after she too lost her fortune in the stock market crash, he quickly ditched her to find a more profitable union. This proved to be more than enough impetus for Mae and Pola to spend the rest of their lives single. Mae had already endured three prior marriages, including one to director Robert Z. Leonard, and her heart was officially finito. Her acting career would too become non-existent, and she ended her days in near poverty at the Motion Picture Country Home. Pola, memorably devastated (and overstated) at the funeral of lover Rudolph Valentino, had too suffered through a previous marriage to Polish Count Eugene Dambski-- oh yeah, she was married to a Count too, and thus was temporarily a Countess, which she happily publicized. Anyway, after the debacle with ol' Serge, she opted to forevermore avoid the sacrament of marriage... and allegedly men. She was rumored to favor only the fairer sex throughout the rest of her life (though indiscriminately). Temporarily, Mae and Pola were regal sister-in-laws; afterward, they were separately, equally, and thoroughly disenchanted.

The Near Miss (Flynn)

Errol Flynn had no shortage of women to choose from. While in his early Hollywood days, this was a welcome bonus to his celebrity, which only enhanced his already irrefutable charm, as he aged, he seemed to favor a quieter, less pretentious lifestyle. Of course, two failed marriages (to actresses Lili Damita and Nora Eddington) had certainly weathered him, particularly the first. After the notorious statutory rape trial that dragged his name through the mud and left his reputation forever sullied by the popular phrase "In Like Flynn," he felt that he had been through the ringer. Despite public perception, he was not proud of his reputation as, what he found akin to being, a gigolo. This was particularly embarrassing for him as a father, a job that for once he was totally devoted to. The skills he lacked as a faithful husband, he made up for as a loving dad. As he tried to leave boyish hijinks behind in pursuit of more mature aspirations-- a career in writing, an acting reputation of repute-- he too thought it time to man-up in the ways of matrimony. Perhaps in a further need to class-ify himself, he drew his attention to Romanian Princess Irene Ghika. The two became engaged (right), with Errol perhaps hoping that some of her royal blood would rub off on him. He, in turn, made suggestions about getting a career started for her in film. However, the nuptials never came to pass. It took one mere look at newcomer Patrice Wymore on the set of Rocky Mountain for Errol to forget all about that royal bird, Ghika. He would settle for being a mere Hollywood Prince by marrying Patrice in 1950. They remained married until his death, though at the end they had become estranged. All of the hard living in Errol's earliest years had fractured his chances at love and happiness, perhaps because he had never truly learned to love himself. But, as he would say, he had still had "one Hell of a time."

The Happy Ending

The one royal wedding that has gone down in history as a true fairy tale is that between Grace Kelly and Prince Albert Rainier III of Monaco (left). Having met on May 6, 1955 while Grace visited Cannes (strangely where Rita and Aly had met), Grace had not been interested at all in meeting the Prince, and was a bit miffed that she was expected to take time out of her vacation for, essentially, a publicity ploy to meet some guy who happened to be royal. She was still engaging in a fling with Jean-Pierre Aumont anyway, so romance was not on the agenda. Begrudgingly, she agreed to the meet n' greet, so imagine her annoyance when Rainier showed up late for his personal tour of the palace. Despite this, Grace made nice, and Albert was cordial, but no one would exactly say that sparks flew at this meeting. Still, something had been ignited. Unlike the fiery, passionate affairs that both had engaged in previously, this romance began slowly. The two found themselves still thinking of each other after they had politely parted, and a correspondence began. What could a little love letter or two hurt? After all, Albert had, from Grace's own lips, been "charming." While Grace began performing her role as the conflicted Princess Alexandra in The Swan, few people knew of her secret affair with a man who would in time make her a real life Princess!

After coming to know each other through their letters more than most people ever do, and meeting clandestinely when appropriate, they fell in love, and Albert proposed. He was under the wire and in need of bringing an heir to the throne. He saw his meeting with Grace, therefore, as fortuitous. Her natural aristocratic air, intelligence, and poise made her a prime candidate for a royal wife, which is why she said "Yes" and then "I do." Grace finished filming on High Society, then boarded the S.S. Constitution for her new home across the sea in April of 1956. The wedding was extravagant and the event of the season, not to mention one of the most memorable movie star moments of all time. As a woman of discipline and duty, Grace would fulfill her obligations as a political wife, including mothering three children (right) and enduring the snooze-fest schmooze-sessions she had to attend as Rainier's arm candy. There would be a tinge of regret in her choice to leave her career behind, and unfulfilled roles and opportunities must have hung heavy on her heart. Nonetheless, she remained Princess Grace of Monaco until her dying day and proved to little girls everywhere that impossible dreams do come true.

Paramount was ecstatic about the publicity Gloria Swanson's

marriage to Henri de la Falaise generated.

When it comes down to it, all of these marriages or attempted marriages were about dreams. Everyone is looking for his or her perfect soul mate-- a fellow traveler who will walk this crazy, winding road with them and give them peace. Too often, the illusion of what one wants is far from reality, which is why most of these regal pairings wound up royally screwed. Yet, you can't hold it against them for trying. When offered the chance of a lifetime, one is bound to seize it, even at the cost of not thinking it through. You can't blame the stars for trying to solidify their own powerful but somehow unsteady existence by "marrying up;" nor can you blame movie-loving royalty for literally reaching for the Stars. In either case, the film performers who failed at the altar still reign supreme on the silver screen. Since many of them will be remembered long after names like Mdvani and Ghika are forgotten, I think we know who really rules the world.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Rita Hayworth

Margarita Cansino ~ Rita Hayworth

In encountering or examining the true life of a hero, one is confronted with mixed emotions, depending on the subject. At times, one crumples in laughter; at times, one jumps to the defensive. One is occasionally met with disappointment; one is sometimes filled with almost welcomed envy. After "The End," one wants to move mountains, right wrongs, or reverentially pay tribute. In reliving the life of Margarita Cansino, one wants to do nothing but weep. The problem with adoring Rita Hayworth, who is so easy to adore, is that there never was a Rita Hayworth. Never, in all cinematic history perhaps, has there been a performer who so resolutely was able to draw a thick, impenetrable line between her screen persona and herself. The duality of Rita/Margarita is something that continues to beckon fascination and curiosity. As thoroughly and intelligently analyzed by Adrienne L. McLean in her book Being Rita Hayworth, the construction of Rita Hayworth the movie star was something that was not hidden, but sensationalized and avidly participated in by all concerned-- except for Rita herself. Rita was a sex kitten and the girl-next-door. She was dangerous; she was harmless. She was dominant; she was passive. The one thing that she was consistently was malleable: she was whatever everyone wanted her to be. This is why she remains one of Hollywood's greatest movie stars and actresses of all time.

~     ~     ~

Rita Hayworth's childhood was stolen from her in every conceivable way. A naturally shy girl, she was already at a disadvantage in jumping into the social whirlpool. Whatever chances she had of shedding her protective exterior were annihilated by her unfortunate, inherited circumstances. Her father, Eduardo Cansino, had achieved a measure of acclaim on the vaudeville dance circuit, where he and his sister Elisa-- both non-English speaking imports from their native Spain--  enchanted audiences with their exotic and graceful movements. After he and showgirl Volga Hayworth married, they quickly birthed their first child, Margarita Cansino, in Brooklyn, NY on October 17, 1918. Two sons would follow-- Eduardo, Jr. ("Sonny") and Vernon-- but neither showed the natural penchant toward the family trade like Margarita. Thus, after the original "Dancing Cansinos" went their separate ways, the silent and obedient eldest girl became Eduardo's newest dancing partner. As a sad and embittered Volga increasingly disappeared into alcoholism, Eduardo took on the role of the violent patriarch, coaching Margarita in grueling dance instructions and taking her on tour after her originally chubby, adolescent body started to form into that of a well-crafted athlete. She had no childhood friends, mostly because she received little formal education. She was pulled out of school to work. Neighborhood kids would pass her on their own way home from school and see her silently staring from her porch. If one was so bold to talk to the bashful statue, she would perhaps offer a few sparse words, before she was inevitably called indoors by her controlling father.

The distant Hayworth gaze: one can imagine that this is the same look

she held as a little girl on that front porch.

By now, the family was living in California. Eduardo had intentions toward a career renaissance in the new medium of film. If he worked Margarita hard enough, she could perhaps be his way in and his struggling family's salvation. She put up no argument against his tyrannical and abusive practice sessions, and more and more she became a mere dancing puppet-- seemingly hollow and lacking in identity. She did as she was told and hid her inner sadness behind a stoic, obedient face. The worst was to come in Tijuana, known as "Sin City," because it provided a pleasing outlet for those escaping prohibition. Eduardo claimed to be protective of Rita when they toured here, dancing their routines as "husband and wife"-- because it provided a better front-- but he had no qualms about parading her before the drunken, drooling men who looked at her gorgeous figure and face like starving men looking at a meal. While the thirteen-year-old danced nightly and exhaustively on stage-- usually forced to go out afterward and catch fish for dinner, because Eduardo had, of course, gambled all of their money away-- her brothers went to school and enjoyed comparatively normal childhoods under their caring but distant mother's watch. Volga was not there looking out for Margarita when Eduardo, at this point in the young innocent's life, started repeatedly raping her. As always, Margarita internalized, compartmentalized, and went on with the show. The thick, impenetrable veil she was building up would later become the most intriguing part of her characterizations. In later years, no one would know that the scintillating heat brimming beneath the beauty's cool surface was the burden of pain and shame.

When father and daughter returned, Volga was perhaps the only one who noticed a change in her daughter, and though she never stood up to her husband, she did begin sleeping in Margarita's room, joining the duo on tours, and leaving them alone together as little as possible. Unfortunately, the damage had been done. Despite Margarita's natural sweetness and passivity, inside she was a silent tiger pacing in its cage, waiting for the chance to get out. Ironically, Eduardo's solution of a cinematic career would allow her to escape through one trap door into another prison. But at this point, what choice did she have? A screen test, thanks to Fox production chief Winfield Sheehan, won her a contract with Fox, and soon she was dancing onscreen with Gary Leon in Dante's Inferno- choreographed by Eduardo, of course. Due to her dark features, she was typically cast in Latin roles or as other "exotic" types, such as her turn as Nayda in Charlie Chan in Egypt. Despite potential, she failed to break through to a place of real recognition. Enter the second manipulative man in her life-- Eddie Judson, who was a thirty-nine year old con-artist keen on turning the vulnerable sixteen-year-old into his meal ticket. After Fox dropped her, Eddie was able to land her a new seven-year contract at Columbia, headed by "White Fang" Harry Cohn. Columbia was the "hack lot," always borrowing other stars, because they had none of their own. Little did Cohn know when signing "Rita Cansino" that he had just grabbed a hold of his first, true movie star. Eddie Judson already knew, but he had to build her up before anyone else would see. 

Rita Cansino as she appeared in Dante's Inferno.

Thus began the transformation of Margarita Cansino to Rita Hayworth-- a much more American sounding name. Rita eloped with the man she hoped would be her release from Eduardo in May of 1937, but Eddie Judson proved to be as much of a taskmaster and, in effect, pimp as her father. He submitted her to ruthless diets and workout regimens, dyed her hair red, and forced her to endure months of painful electrolysis to heighten her hairline and create a widow's peak. Papa Eduardo thankfully no longer had a hold over his daughter, but this was sadly because she no longer existed. She belonged to another Ed, and he had total control. Judson initiated press releases about his young bride, keeping her in the public eye and pushing her into meetings with well-to-do executives and filmmakers out at the clubs where, dressed glamorously, the still shy woman ineffectually tried to hob-nob and schmooze. Due to her soft-spoken demeanor and lack of pretense, it was not an easy thing for her to do, and her nightly failures sent Eddie into rages. He even went so far as to tell her not to shy away from opportunities to use sex as a tool-- aka sleep her way to the top. Consider it a business investment. Just how much she listened to these suggestions remains debatable, but with such a soft backbone, one has to admit that in Rita's case, the worst is not only possible but likely. Slowly, Eddie's plans started to work. Rita started catching on in Only Angels Have Wings-- a big coup-- and gained a reputations as a hard-working, diligent actress who was equally welcoming of the press. She was labeled "The Most Co-operative Girl in Hollywood." Unfortunately, this did not make her the happiest. On set, she was silent. She would sit and wait for her scenes, perform, then retreat back inside herself. It was the only way she could hold herself together.

Rita performs with James Cagney and Olivia DeHavilland in

The Strawberry Blonde.

Success and notice grew in The Strawberry Blonde and Blood and Sand, during the latter of which she met close friend and choreographer Hermes Pan. The sensuous, confident, even malevolent women that she was able to craft onscreen were so vastly different from her true self that when people met her after seeing her films, they were shocked. She was a shy violet, a wallflower, and definitely not the man-eating glamour vixen Hollywood had painted her to be. She did possess enough fight to extricate herself from her sadistic husband, a decision that resulted after he tried to push her into a sexual relationship with Cohn. Rita refused. The results were one step forward and two back. While she gained her independence, Eddie walked off with nearly everything, and Cohn would develop an unsatisfied obsession with her that would lead to a complete invasion of her privacy and a possessive stranglehold over her life. Cohn even had wire-taps placed in her dressing room-- a fact that Rita's inner child enjoyed, for all she would talk about in this sacred area was how much she hated Cohn. Still, Cohn was right to want to hold onto Rita. Her popularity was growing every day. Her great talent as a dancer was put to use opposite Fred Astaire in both You'll Never Get Rich and You Were Never Lovelier, and a prime photo in Life Magazine became the pin-up item during wartime, rivalled only by Betty Grable's derriere extraordinaire shot. Though Rita fell into the arms of Victor Mature during My Gal Sal, a kind, down-to-earth guy who did much to support her during her divorce, she would soon fall into the maelstrom of another suitor, who had become enamored after seeing the infamous Bob Landry photo. Orson Welles was determined to make Rita Hayworth his (second) wife. As was his way, he got what he wanted.

Rebecca, Rita, and Orson.

Rita would forever recall Orson Welles as the love of her life. Dubbed "Beauty and the Brains"-- flattering to his ego, but bruising to hers-- the publicity surrounding the strange pairing was dynamite. Orson became the only man to whom Rita would confess her childhood abuse or the horror of her first marriage. But trust took time. Orson was intimidating. Embarrassed by her inferior education, Rita was put off by his interest at first, certain of what he was truly after, but  she later was surprised at his genuine interest and the way he could draw her out of herself. On their first date, he used an old mind-reading trick to actually get her talking. Suddenly, and surprisingly, she felt safe. But there was already danger. Was Rita really a full-blooded woman that Orson loved? Or was she a mere sexual experiment? Was he infatuated, fascinated, curious, or did he uncharacteristically hold deeper feelings? Rita adored Orson; the trouble was that Orson had the same problem. Orson Welles was in love with Orson Welles. If anyone ever came close to claiming his heart, it was indeed Rita, whom he remained protective over even after their marriage hit the skids. His affection remains evident as well in the fact that he was the only man Rita ever tried to win back after she had filed divorce papers. But she had her problems as well. Incredibly jealous and untrusting, Rita's insecurity acted as an isolator. She too had an inferiority complex that could only be quelled with sexual attention, a result of the abuse that she had suffered from her father. After having one child together, daughter Rebecca, Orson's philandering and Rita's mistrust finally got the better of them, and they called it quits. Of course, after seeing Rita's performance in the earth-shattering Gilda, Orson certainly must have had his regrets.

Gilda. There are no words, except "perfection."

Gilda remains the eternal Rita Hayworth film. A film noir, Rita is the perfect femme fatale, yet the life and humanity she gives her character makes her an imperfect villain who is still able to walk away with the hero's heart and the audience's approval. Richard Dyer pinpointed this phenomenon thus: "No other femme fatale dances." It was in her dancing that Rita truly came alive, and her "strip tease" sequence, the most famous moment of her career, is both a self-lacerating and a self-empowering act that proves yet again her amazing duality and complexity as a human being. This is no cardboard cut-out villainess. This is a she-wolf out for blood, but, most importantly, out for love. She would have future moments of genius, but no performance she would give would be so perfect. And there were to follow many brilliant moments, including an even more erotic and jaw-dropping strip tease in Salome. Rita's confidence and dominance presented itself always in her dancing: Cover Girl, Down to Earth, Tonight and Every Night, Affair in Trinidad, The Loves of Carmen, etc. These roles and her execution of them both maintain her status as a genuine talent and confuse the mind as to her unhappy personal life. 

One wonders how she was so able to completely draw the shade, to metamorphose from a child of deep sadness to a heroine of power, sensuality, and confidence. While watching her work, I have often caught myself thinking, "Rita, how are you doing this?!" On the screen she is vibrant, alive, and impassioned. In life, she was broken-hearted, used, misled, and constantly disappointed. Her flaws and sorrows would more ably be applied in her later, more mature roles. When Salome is asked to sell her body and dance for King Herod, Rita had a living well of reference to pull from. When Sgt. O'Hara  learns that Sadie Thompson is a prostitute who has given her body to countless men, he screams at her that she is "dirty!" The pain on her face is evident and echoes back into her very soul. And yet even more impressive is the profound joy and humor she injects into her more light-hearted roles. Rita is kind of a lovable ham! She is always beautiful and poised, but too she makes fun of herself. When she chews the scenery in numbers like "Poor John," she is clearly having a riot. The girl was extraordinary in this respect. While she never wanted stardom, she has the ability like few others to completely enthrall the camera and the viewer, and she had the talent to do it. Scene stealing from Gene Kelly is no easy feat, yet it is one she accomplishes simply by standing there and being Rita. 

The erotically charged and bare-footed dance that Valerie Bettis choreographed for Rita 

in Affair in Trinidad caused quite the scandal... and made more money than Gilda!

If only life had been as kind to her as the movies. Her true self continued to be clouded and her innermost desires ignored. A failed marriage to Persian Prince Aly Khan further proved to her the famous quotation-- always worded differently-- "Men go to bed with Gilda and wake up with me." She was never loved for herself. While Rita was adored, Margarita was unknown. Another con-artist, Dick Haymes, too swindled her into the marriage bed in order to escape his own legal problems, and this ended only in another physically abusive relationship and a subsequently shocking claim of child neglect. While battling out Dick's problems, Rita's children were left in the care of Dorothy Chambers in White Plains, NY. Living conditions were exaggerated by a Confidential press hound who took posed photos of the children playing with trash. Both Orson and Aly Khan (whose daughter with Rita, Princess Yasmin,  was too caught in the chaos) testified on her behalf. Rita finally extricated herself from Haymes and would endure only one more brief marriage to and divorce from producer James Hill before she succumbed to a darker master-- Alzheimer's. Despite all of her trials and tribulations, Rita had always been  a professional on the set. Then, suddenly, dialogue became difficult for her to remember, she became paranoid and frightened, and occasionally she would exhibit strange moments of confusion, memory loss, or erratic acts of anger. For many years, she remained undiagnosed, with no one understanding the source of her outbursts nor how to stop them. Her increased drinking only exacerbated the problem. It was as though, for far too long, Margarita Cansino had tried to be too many different people-- the dutiful daughter, the punching bag, the mother, the love goddess, the little girl lost, and the movie star, Rita Hayworth. Not once had she ever been who she truly wanted to be-- a simple wife and mother in a safe and secure home. The life she had had thrust upon her, the multiple demands made of her, and the countless characters she had played, had fractured her psyche to the breaking point. Maybe she finally wanted to escape, even to a place of not knowing herself. She had never really existed anyway. 

Orson Welles used The Lady from Shanghai as a way to diagnose and dissect his 

multi-faceted wife, a point made clear in the great mirror showdown.

Rita gave the world whatever it wanted. She divulged whatever side was necessary: the sex kitten, the hot-dog eating American gal, the exotic siren, the girl-next-door, etc. Her acting and natural gifts were always underrated due to her natural beauty and allegedly her lack of range. Because she came to set and did what she was told and nothing else, it has been recalled that she was merely another talking prop, a claim that many use when diagnosing Orson's nightmarish masterpiece The Lady from Shaghai. These critics do not take into account that the entire movie is supposed to read like a bad dream-- intricate, but unfeeling; authentic, yet hollow. Rita may have acted as a willing puppet to her husband Orson Welles (whom she was divorcing at the time), but if the effect of her performance is lost, the fault lies with him not her. He asked for a vacant villainess, and she delivered. If anyone can observe her dying character, bleeding out like a crocodile, crying with a savage and multi-layered howl-- "I don't want to die!"--  and not see some stroke of brilliance... well, God help you. This woman had no range? This woman was every range. From the ambitious, conflicted show-girl who breaks Gene Kelly's heart in Cover Girl, to the faded beauty and desperately grasping lost soul who comes calling for salvation in Separate Tables, Rita Hayworth was a force to be reckoned with. Had little Margarita Cansino had a chance, perhaps she could have ruled the world. Imagining the possibilities breaks the heart. Fortunately for us, it takes one mere viewing of Down to Earth to mend it again. But Rita Hayworth, Rita Cansino, Margarita Cansino, whoever, does not belong here with us mortals. A Goddess like that belongs in the Heavens with the rest of the stars.