HISTORY LESSON: TV Movie [Stars] - Part 2

The beautiful Ava Gardner shows her versatility as a special celebrity

guest on the quiz show "What's My Line?"

I Have to Be Home by 8:00, Because...!

There were definitely some major successes in the Movie to TV migration. Whether certain personalities were simply better suited for the small screen or were likewise more seemingly approachable and likable, there are a handful of Lords and Ladies who amplified their power simply by taking their comfy place in people's living rooms. One such person was comedian extraordinaire Groucho Marx (left), whose grease-painted mustache had long been replaced by the real thing. Always a popular guest and the hit of every party he attended, it only make sense that he be the favorite part of any piece of television he poked his ever-rolling eyes into. Not only was he regularly offered guest host spots on the likes of "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson" or "Tonight with Jack Paar," he also participated on "What's My Line?" and even an episode of "Hollywood Squares."

Clearly, America was still Coconuts for him. Thus, after an improvised radio broadcast with Bob Hope sparked the idea, he became the host of his own game show on NBC: "You Bet Your Life." If you've ever noticed that a duck is often associated with Groucho, look to this show for the reason-- in addition to Duck Soup, of course. The format was simple. Average, American guests would be invited on the show where Grouch' would improvise, make conversation with them, and poke fun (right). In essence, he used his wit to draw out many a laugh from the viewing audience as the embarrassed participants turned beet-faced at his shenanigans. Finally, the guest duo would be asked a series of questions from a category of their choosing. In addition to this, there was a "secret word" that Groucho would try to get the players to innocently say in the midst of conversation. If they accidentally uttered it, the infamous duck would descend from the ceiling with a $100 bill in his bill. The show was such a success that the metaphorical ball was later passed to Bill Cosby as host in 1992, but Groucho-- as usual-- was the instigator!

Women in particular seemed to have luck with television, as in the following two examples. Perhaps this is because actual housewives and stay-at-home moms were able to use TV as a daily gateway to the outside world, which their husbands so often took for granted. Having classy, strong, and relatable women telling their stories for them seemed to be a gift from heaven for den mothers, but the fellas enjoyed these shows too. The case of Donna Reed is particularly fascinating. In a little over a decade, Donna had worked her way up from supporting roles in Shadow of the Thin Man and The Courtship of Andy Hardy to an Oscar win for From Here to Eternity. A shrewd business woman, she experimented with television cautiously as it slowly gained its dominion, and in 1958 she signed on for her own series, appropriately titled "The Donna Reed Show" (left). 

Very similar to the recent hit "Leave It to Beaver, " the show was a tribute to the all American family-- or at least the all American family dream-- where misunderstandings and common family problems are humorously and touchingly dealt with. The moral of the show hit home for most viewers with its uplifting storylines, which boosted morale on the home front, and promised not so much that good will come if you do the right thing, but that doing the right thing is just the right thing to do. It was a huge hit that earned Donna a Golden Globe and ran successfully for 8 seasons. Finally, after preaching that a family that sticks together stays together, Donna was burnt out by the weekly demands of the show, and the series came to an end. Donna worked intermittently on other series-- "The Love Boat," "Dallas"-- but with the unprecedented success of the show behind her, she soon put TV behind her too.

Doris Day was always a fan favorite. With her cheery onscreen persona, bright and crystalline singing voice, and average American gal disposition, she became a huge movie star and an obvious candidate for television success. Yet, with a surprisingly complicated and sometimes devastating personal life contrasting her public identity, Doris's entertainment career was both an emotional saving grace and a hefty burden that added to the intensifying pressure cooker of her sanity. But, a girl's gotta eat. Thus, when her contribution to cinema came to a halt in 1968-- after television had more than injected its influence over the American way of life-- she made the jump to CBS to star in her own series: "The Doris Day Show." Despite the show's title, Doris's character was not named Doris Day on the show but Doris Martin-- just as Jean Arthur was Patricia Marshall on "The Jean Arthur Show" and Donna Reed played Donna Stone on "The Donna Reed Show." The lack of creativity in the show's title was simply a marketing ploy by the network to benefit from the celebrity's star power and get viewers to tune in. (Doris in the Season 2 Christmas Special, right).

With Doris, CBS knew they were getting plenty of bank for their buck. Doris's program ran for five seasons but progressed in a very peculiar fashion. The fish out of water plot line essentially followed Doris's widowed character and her two sons as they moved to the country from their posh city lives and bunked up at her family's farm. The usual chaos and hijinks ensued. Strangely, every season altered after the first, with Doris and her sons changing locales, she changing careers, and eventually the sons disappearing from the story completely. Still, the awkward nature of the storyline did not stop viewers from watching one of their favorite celebs every week. It did surprisingly well, and due to its lengthy run (in a world where most series were lucky to make it one season if any), it can be reasonably considered a bona fide success. 

After "The Doris Day Show" came to an end in 1973, Doris basically retired from acting, though she did have another series as a talk show hostess on a program entitled "Doris Day's Best Friends." On the show, she would reminisce with old showbiz pals about the good ol' days on the silver screen and, once again, allow the production company to capitalize off aging nostalgia for Hollywood gone bye-bye. Her first guest on the show was none other than Rock Hudson, her three time collaborator and good friend (left in Lover Come Back). This was, of course, a remarkable moment for viewers and Doris herself, who hadn't seen her former co-star in years. Unbeknownst to her, Rock was already deep in the throes of his battle with AIDs. He had been aware of his illness for a year, having been diagnosed in 1984. When he made his appearance on the show in 1985, his shocking weight loss and sickly disposition had a shattering effect on Doris. Rock would announce his disease mere days after the broadcast and would pass away in less than three months. Thus, what was meant to be a beautiful reunion was practically the bittersweet final note to her pitch-perfect career. "Doris Day's Best Friends" would continue for one season and 26 episodes. Aside from occasional personal appearances, Doris would bid Hollywood farewell, and much like her earlier Doris Martin character, return to a simpler and more private life away from chaos in Carmel, CA.

It's Show Time!

The business of Television is hard. No matter the talent behind the show's writing, nor the creativity of the storyline, nor the appeal of the performers, the comprised efforts don't always result in a hit. Nothing is surefire. All sorts of factors can effect a show's reception-- a competitive time slot, varying audience tastes, a poor chemistry amongst the cast, etc. What seems a possible runaway hit on paper can often tank on the air. Famous or not, TV is a gamble for anyone. A bunch of unknown, struggling actors shot to fame on "Friends" in 1994, and the show ran for 10 seasons; acclaimed actor Dustin Hoffman took at stab at "Luck" in 2011 on HBO only to receive poor ratings, and now the show's tenuous second season hangs by a thread. To even produce a pilot is a success. To be picked up by a network is a glory rarely received. To make it through an entire first season is astounding. Those few programs that run for years and really grip the public are pure miracles. There aren't many, and there are even fewer that will be remembered as classics after the series finale, but some of our superstar wonders were actually able to dine on an exclusive slice of TV heaven instead of sulking over a plate of humble pie.

Loretta Young was a lovely and vulnerable looking young girl when she landed her first major role in the Lon Chaney film Laugh, Clown, Laugh in 1928. Over the next 25 years, she would develop into a powerhouse female lead in numerous major motion pictures. Known as the "Iron Butterfly" for her killer combo of delicate, pre-Raphaelite beauty (left) and a tough and ambitious business savvy, Loretta boasts one of the most impressive resumes in cinematic history. Realizing quickly that television was the wave of the future, she wasted no time in jumping head first into the new medium. Her series, "The Loretta Young Show," was another anthology series that produced a fresh drama every week. She was the first woman to host her own show, and her grand entrance at the beginning of every episode in a new, drop-dead-gorgeous gown was the perhaps the most eagerly anticipated moment of the program.

Like Errol Flynn, Loretta would do an introduction at the episode's opening, and the story would commence with a different plot each week-- akin to the TV movie-- with varying actors. She sometimes would appear in an episode herself. The glamour plus the salivating drama made Loretta's show a huge success that ran for 8 seasons on NBC from 1953-1961. In 1963, she switched networks to CBS to appear in another series, "The New Loretta Young Show," this time strictly acting as a widow who supported herself as a freelance writer. Yet again, though the title bore her name, Loretta played character Christine Massey. The tone of the show bore touches of both drama and comedy, but it only lasted one season. Audiences apparently wanted Loretta to appear only as her glamorous self. Fifty-years-old by the time filming ended, Loretta enjoyed working on a few TV movies and settled into retirement a very wealthy woman-- not to mention a big and small screen legend.

The award for consistency and duration goes to one of the great funnymen of history-- and good pal of Groucho Marx-- Jack Benny (right). From vaudeville, to radio, to film, Benny seamlessly translated his humor to any given outlet. With his always immaculate comedic timing, hilariously underplayed facial expressions, and somehow likable buffoon characterizations-- imagine an uptight Steve Carell in "The Office"-- there was no one immune to his jocular abilities. Unafraid of being the butt of his own jokes, Benny's most infamous persona was that of the irritable miser who both refused to admit he was older than 39 and played the violin abominably (although he was a great proficient in reality). His great gag was the hold-up sketch. The mugger would point his gun and yell, "Your money or your life!" to which, after a breadth of silence and more prodding, Benny would reply, "I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" His great success, specifically on the radio on "The Jack Benny Program," was quickly transferred to television in 1950 on CBS where it ran for fifteen straight years.

Previous to this and during the show's run, he would make appearances on other programs, including the "GE True Theatre" and "The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show," but with  his own primetime spot, he blew all other competition out of the water. His was the show everyone wanted to watch and no one wanted to miss, including everyone from the town butcher, baker, and candlestick-maker to JFK himself. As was the general standard of the time, at each show's beginning, Benny would come out to greet the viewers with an opening monologue and likewise finish the show with a closer. In between, anything was possible in the life of Jack Benny. So closely was he identified with his TV character, that a cab driver, for example, was shocked to receive such a large tip from him in real life! In the end, counting its radio days, "The Jack Benny Program" ran for three decades, finally coming to a conclusion in 1965, the last year of which was filmed at NBC. Benny would bow out while still on top and his presence in the homes of many was deeply missed. Luckily, he would still pop up from time to time on "The Bob Hope Show"or "Kraft Music Hall" before his death in 1974.

Of course, despite Jack Benny's long term hold on the public, there is but one person who is forever identified as the all-time favorite TV personality: Lucille Ball. After struggling vainly for years in her attempts to become a film actress, Lucy could never seem to achieve success at the B-level of filmmaking. Despite her great beauty, there was an earthy, unfinished quality that kept her from being a glamour queen of the silver screen like Carole Lombard. Despite her talent in acting, audiences had trouble relating to her intensity or emotion the same way they could with Katharine Hepburn. It was her union with the ambitious Cuban bandleader Desi Arnaz and her coincidental gig on the radio program "My Favorite Husband" in 1948 that brought her the opportunity of a lifetime. When a deal was struck to take the show from the airwaves to the TV set, Lucy brought her husband and collaborator with her, and the rest is history for eternity. The over-the-top comedy of the Ricardos was hilarious, decent, and relatable. Through "I Love Lucy" (left), the lady herself proved that a woman could be both attractive and a total ham-- and even a basket case. Despite her frustrating antics and the unbelievable amount of trouble she caused each week, she also made a bold feminist statement that a woman need not be perfect to be loved. It was all the varying shades of both devotion and insanity that drew Ricky Ricardo to his red-headed, adorably vexatious bride. Through Ricky's performing career, the trials of parenthood, and from New York to Hollywood to Europe and back, the Ricardo family endured both despite and because of their mix of irritation and passion.

Unfortunately, the real life marriage of Lucy and Desi would not fare so well. Their turbulent and stormy union, which had made such beautiful music publicly, was a private Hell. The "I Love Lucy" show enjoyed six seasons of phenomenal success despite the increasingly venomous relationship the couple shared behind the scenes. Agreeing that the show was worth saving even if the marriage wasn't, "I Love Lucy" changed in format for its 7-9th seasons, becoming hour long episodes that roughly added up to four per year. The guest stars continued, with everyone from John Wayne to Milton Berle making an appearance at some point during the 9 years of "I Love Lucy" and  "The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour." Yet, it finally became clear that the temperaments of the two stars could not bear much more. The program came to a close in 1960 and Lucy left Desi and co-star William Frawley behind to start her own series with Vivan Vance, otherwise known as Ethel, who reluctantly agreed to continue the next chapter of the characters' friendship on "The Lucy Show" (right). This storyline involved the new lives of the widowed Lucy and the divorced Viv, which was clearly a popular plot instigator for a lot of aging female actresses on TV at the time. While Jack Benny-- who shot his own program at the Desilu Studios-- made a few appearances on this series, and several other guest stars popped in, the show's success would not match the brilliance of the original. Still, it lasted six more seasons and was later followed by "Here's Lucy!" which followed a new Lucy Carter as a widowed mother of teenagers again making it on her own. This made it for 6 more surprising seasons, mostly due to Lucy's power than to the show's material. Her final stab at TV came in the brief, single season series "Life with Lucy," now portraying Lucy Barker and her adventures as a grandmother. 

From 1950 10 1986, Lucille Ball made a huge impact on the world of Television, giving it an integrity born of her humanity, drive, and humor that made it more welcoming to those still-questioning film celebrities who feared this mysterious new vehicle for their talents. Clearly, not everyone would enjoy Lucy's success, and in truth, with her personal anxiety, she never really did either, but "I Love Lucy" in particular remains the show that took the little engine that could and made it an uncompromising force of overwhelming power. Today, because of the foundation that people like Ball, Benny, Young, and numerous other personalities of boob tube fame made, the world of television continues to grow exponentially. From "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson" (1962-1992), to "Bewitched" with Elizabeth Montgomery (1964-1972), to "The Cosby Show" with Bill Cosby (1984-1992), to "30 Rock" with Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin (2006-2013), the medium continues to expand. NBC, HBO, FX, sitcoms, soaps, dramas, live, recorded on DVRs, and available post-season on DVD, we continue to expand the possibilities of entertainment, which may not be as focused nor as controlled as it once was but is certainly more varied. Though the presence of thousands of channels can be overwhelming, there is literally something for everyone. Thus, single-theater towns temporarily inhabited by rotating cast of players merely passing through on their vaudeville circuit has become a chosen program on demand starring your favorite actors at the touch of your fingertips. 

Don Adams would portray the incompetent secret agent Maxwell Smart on "Get Smart" 

in the late 1960s on television and, in a role reversal, Steve Carell would bring
the same character to life in the movies in 2008.

While one may often question the integrity of "What Would Ryan Lochte Do?" one can be reminded of the great creativity and bold behind-the-scenes choices of programmers, producers, writers, and actors by seeing glimpses of past brilliance in today's more intriguing, provocative, and evocative series. Lucy can be found in Amy Poehler, the dramatic Loretta Young style may be glimpsed through series like "The Good Wife," and Jack Benny's unconventional family humor has been updated and modernized via "Louie." The couch has provided a more comfortable place for us to participate in and observe our ever-changing society as it grows, changes, and stays the same. And so, as Sonny and Cher said, "The beat goes on..."

CAST AWAYS: Part XII

Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn during Charade.

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

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

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

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

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

Shirley MacLaine rocks your world!

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

MENTAL MONTAGE: Screen Star Life Savers

One of cinema's favorite heroes, John Wayne, saves the day and rides off 

into the sunset with Natalie Wood and Jeffrey Hunter in The Searchers.

We often come to worship our film heroes with very little impetus. Our great admiration is born of a strange combination of respect and envy. Whatever it is that draws us to our favorite movie star-- her glamour and class, his strength and swagger-- one has to admit that the resulting awe is comparatively ridiculous in the wider scheme of things. Especially coming on the heels of the recent ten year anniversary of the Twin Towers devastation, where innocent citizens lost their lives and even more brave men and women in the police force and fire department risked their lives to try to save them, the vanity of screen hero adoration seems a bit shameful. Movie stars are just people after all... But our need to both hold them up and tear them down remains perhaps the most fascinating thing about the great facade that is Hollywood. Our love for them is always there, for whatever reason, and in the end it is our gratitude for the personal sacrificing of their souls on the silver screen that demands our steadfast devotion. Their work, therefore, is to be commended. Yet, there are some stars who have proved above and beyond their contemporaries that they deserve the title of "Hero" not for their outstanding cinematic efforts, but for the actions they performed behind the scenes. In these moments, when appearing at their most human and most brave, certain men and women have done more than enrich the public heart through entertainment; they have even saved lives.

Ginger Roger's (left) adherence to the controversial religion of Christian Science may have raised a few cynical eyebrows in her lifetime, and still in ours, but whatever the outside opinion, her faith served her well throughout her many years. Perhaps beyond anything else, it was Ginger's own core strength that made her so sturdy and reliable when those around her needed someone to lean on. Heaven knows, she certainly nursed more than one husband through a peculiar ailment and made a believer out of him. One can only imagine that mantras like "Every problem has a solution," and "This too shall pass," continually played in Ginger's head. She never seemed to lose her composure under pressure or give in to feelings of defeat or depression. If something had to be done, in her hands, one could trust that it would be done. This incomprehensible resilience would come in handy to many but to one woman in particular. When traveling in Rio (of course) with husband of the time Jacques Bergerac, Ginger would come into the acquaintance of upcoming actress Elaine Stewart. The two hit it off right away, so Ginger was deeply upset when she learned from the morning paper that Elaine had been taken seriously ill with acute appendicitis and was being hospitalized. It was even more shocking to her when a strange Brazilian gentleman informed her that Elaine had been asking for her in particular. After all, Ginger had only just met the girl and was far from being a close friend or family member. Nonetheless, despite being perplexed, Ginger went to Elaine, who in her frail condition seemed to be hanging on by a thread. Undeterred, Ginger leaned in and whispered to Elaine to stay positive and maintain a grateful heart. She encouraged her to stare at the ceiling and fill it with thoughts of all that Elaine was thankful for in her life, hoping to encourage her to have the will to live. After offering more words of faith, Ginger departed from the slightly alleviated patient. The next day, Ginger returned, and the very shocked doctor explained that Elaine had almost completely recuperated. It turns out that Ginger had made her previous visit during a very critical hour. Had Elaine not made it past that very hour, she would have died. It was Ginger's words that had carried her through. Elaine thenceforward considered Ginger to be her guardian angel.

Veronica Lake (right), despite her now well known feisty demeanor, was also a bashful and easily intimidated ingenue when she was just starting out in the business. Never fully certain that she wanted to be an actress, she already felt like an outsider when making the rounds as an extra with the other more obviously ambitious girls. Yet, Ronni was no shrinking violet, and she held her own and stayed true to who she was when thrown into the melting pot of hopeful young starlets. She certainly never thought she would make it big, but she was grateful when she was given opportunities in the business, and her discerning myopic eye easily zeroed in on people that she found to be truly helpful to her or genuinely hardworking and talented on their own. One such man who impressed her and won her respect was director John Farrow who worked with Ronni on Sorority House. Though "worked with" is probably too strong a phrase, since the two had little contact. Nonetheless, when she wrapped, Veronica decided to give John a token of her esteem- a Catholic medal. John was stunned, probably not having noticed the small girl amongst the other lovelies, but he accepted the gift willingly. Years later, the two would reunite, at which point Veronica was one of Hollywood's favorite sexpots. She didn't remember her small act of kindness to John, but he certainly did. He told her that the medal she had gifted him had actually saved his life. While fighting in WWII, he had been shot, but the medal had stopped the bullet! It turned out that a small act of kindness had gone a long way, and the pipsqueak beauty had become a savior to the war-weathered filmmaker.

Lon Chaney (left) was considered a silent saint to many. While he remained a mysterious man in the press, those who knew and worked with him were often touched by his far-reaching generosity and selflessness. A man of integrity, he could easily sniff out the like quality in others, and such people could always count on him for a hand in desperate times. His equal empathy for the underdog also created in him a sort of unexpected avenger. He always stuck up for his leading ladies when he felt they were being mistreated or manhandled, as Loretta Young and Joan Crawford could attest. But, he expected no gratitude for these acts. He simply stepped in, performed a selfless act, and then seemed to slip out again like a ghost. This was a characteristic always present in him, it seems, for examples of it can be found long before he ever reached stardom and started concocting his public persona. Sometime around 1915, when Lon was still struggling to get any work he could get his hands on, he like many had to take the the Pacific Electric cars up to the studios. On one particular day, there was a serious accident when a truck ran right into two of the rail cars. As a result, the truck passenger's left leg was severed. Without any hesitation, Lon, who was riding on one of the cars, ripped the shirt from his very body to help bandage and stop the bleeding of the injured man, who certainly would have died had it not been for the timely help. During a period of history when actors were frowned upon and ostracized in the early Hollywood community, this small act of heroism helped to change more than a few minds. For now, a nameless actor was a hero to one man, but in time he would be a great hero to many.

One of Moviedom's favorite onscreen couples was too one of Hollywood's best pair of friends. Montgomery Clift and Elizabeth Taylor became thick as thieves during the filming of A Place in the Sun (right), and while Liz may have preferred an offscreen romance as well, Monty's sexual preferences relegated their relationship to a platonic one. (Though rumor has it they did have a game or two of tonsil hockey). The pairing made sense. As two of the most beautiful people to ever grace the silver screen, they simply looked good together, and the deep and abiding love and respect that they had for each other endured until the end of Monty's life. Even Richard Burton was jealous of it. While the pals' union was prematurely severed with Monty's death, things were almost brought to an even more abrupt end much sooner. After attending a late night party at Liz's, with the likes of Rock Hudson and Liz's (at the time) husband Michael Wilding, a very tired Monty jumped into his car to make the trek home. Another of Monty's lifelong friends, Kevin McCarthy, was ahead of him in his own car, leading the way down the hill to make sure that Monty got home ok. In his rear view mirror, Kevin witnessed Monty lose control of his vehicle and run straight into a telephone pole. 

Monty filming Raintree County with Liz post-crash.

As quickly as he could, Kevin raced back up to Liz's house for help, and immediately Elizabeth rushed down the hill to her friend, who lay beneath the dashboard, semi-conscious, his face half torn off, and covered in blood. Realizing that he was choking, she jammed her hand down his throat to remove his obstructing knocked out teeth, clearing his air passage and saving his life. Rock joined in, helping to pull Monty from the car as they awaited the ambulance. Liz insisted on riding to the hospital with her battered friend. Thanks to her, Monty did not die that night crumpled up in his car. He even gave her his two front teeth as souvenirs! However, he would suffer the consequences of the wreck for his remaining days. His handsome visage was irreparably marred, and the physical pain he experienced led to an even further dependence on chemical substitutes for alleviation. So, while this wreck didn't directly kill him, it helped to end his life further down the line. At this point in time, Liz was not willing to let him go. Had she always had him under her wing, perhaps she could have saved him in the long run. After Liz's own passing this past March, one hopes that the two are finally together again.

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part Five

Has Anybody Seen... James Dean???

It is commonly accepted that James Dean appeared in only three films. Accepted, but untrue. One of James's first big breaks came when he was featured in the film Has Anybody Seen My Gal (left)? A bit part, his big screen moment amounted to him ordering a sundae from Charles Coburn. Hardly groundbreaking... In fact, after Dean's death, the film's star, Piper Laurie, had no idea that she had even been in a film with the late, great James Dean until it was pointed out to her. However, the film's other star, Rock Hudson, would remember Dean when they were cast together once more in Giant. Rock was not amused at the reunion, and (despite gossip to the contrary), he and James did not get along. Mutually threatened by the other's presence, Rock and James rarely conversed and constantly competed for the attention of Elizabeth Taylor, a friend to both. Perhaps it was a simple clash of egos; perhaps the more congenial Rock simply couldn't get around James's idiosyncratic behavior. But, perhaps Rock was a little jealous of the fact that the runt, bit player he once towered over had grown exponentially in popularity since Has Anybody Seen My Gal, and was now stealing scenes from him to boot!

James also did a lot of television work, which isn't popularly recalled. His television debut came via an Easter special-- "The Family Theater: Hill Number One" (right). In it, he played John the Apostle. His first professional part on film and he was cast opposite both struggling actors and seasoned thespians alike, including Raymond Burr, Ruth Hussey, Roddy McDowall, Gene Lockhart, and Leif Erickson. A struggling nobody at the time, his fame would surpass them all within 4 years when he made Elia Kazan's classic East of Eden. But, he did get some notice at the time. His first foray into film acting also spawned his first small fan club, whose meetings he gladly attended! After all, the boy loved attention...

After her days in the Hollywood limelight had faded, which was just fine with her, Jean Arthur (left) had some intermittent bouts teaching dramatics. One gig found her at Vassar in the spring of 1968 as co-instructor with Clint Atkinson. The odd-ball lady's teaching skills were often reported as sub-par, but her students normally fell under her spell nonetheless-- that is, after they realized who she was. In the days before Cable, DVDs, and Netflix, becoming familiar with celebrities of the glory days was not as easy as it is in present society. In fact, it seemed at times that Jean herself had forgotten her stature. The once famous screwball queen of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town no longer saw herself as anyone of import, and she  always remained humbled by other performers. Never recognizing her own talents, it wasn't uncommon for her to become tongue tied around someone she found truly gifted. For example, she once went to one of the plays Atkinson directed, "Miss Julie," and was so blown away by the lead female's performance that she forgot her own status and gushed: "It was just like watching a movie star!" It was a prophetic moment, for the young drama major Meryl Streep went onto a very healthy and groundbreaking cinematic career.

Meryl, as she appeared in her Vassar days.

Jean wasn't the only one responsible for accidentally spotting one of Hollywood's predestined diamonds in the rough. In 1944, actor Ronald Reagan (right in Knute Rockne All American) was already dabbling in politics and matters of state when he was made a Lieutenant of the army's First Motion Picture Unit. Coincidentally, he had the idea to boost the war effort by sending photographers out to take pictures of women doing their part for battle. As such, photographer Corporal David Conover was sent to Radioplane at the Glendale Metropolitan Airport to photograph pretty girls hard at work a la Rosie the Riveter. Conover was particularly taken with one beauty, whom his camera truly seemed to favor. After the pictures were printed, it was clear that the rest of America favored her too. Before she knew it, she was working steadily as a model for Emmeline Snively. Soon after changing her name from Norma Jeane Dougherty to Marilyn Monroe, and getting a divorce, she would work her tail off in the film biz and become a famous movie star. I wonder if she ever thanked ol' Ron for the boost?

This Norma Jeane had a long way to go before
she became Marilyn Monroe.

Harpo Marx adored children. The product of a large family himself, it was only natural that the Marx boy with the biggest heart would want a huge brood of his own. He and wife Susan Fleming would eventually adopt four children, all of whom worshipped their Pops, who was more of a child than they were most of the time. George Burns, a good friend, was so moved by Harpo's paternal penchants that he asked why he felt the need to have so many kids? Harpo responded-- with actual speech-- that his dream was to leave the house in the morning and have a smiling face waving to him from every window. I guess he was one kid short, because when shooting Horse Feathers in 1932, he became completely enchanted with a young actress who was ambling about the set with her mother. Though a very pretty little girl, Harpo mostly admired her spunk and unique talent, particularly because it was presented in such a small package. He offered to adopt the sweet pipsqueak for $50,000-- probably in jest, but with Harpo you never know. Shirley Temple decline the offer and stayed with her biological parents. Whoda thunkit? She could have been Shirley Marx-- part of the act!  But then, she was probably too mature for the rest of that gang.

Shirley feeds her belly, while Harpo feeds her ego.

There's no business like show business and no business so tough. It certainly helps to have a few people on your side, especially when it's family. However, the delightful singing trio of The Andrews Sisters-- Maxine, Patty, and Laverne (right)-- still had to overcome the same hurdles, despite having each other to lean on. Their one-two-three punch wasn't as original a gimmick as they'd hoped either. When staying in Chicago, it just so happened that another triplet of singing sisters were staying at the same hotel. At first, despite the age difference between the two sets, there was a little rivalry. Maxine used to rush to the building's rehearsal space in the morning to secure it for her sisters and lock the other intruders out. However, the ice was broken when the youngest member of the other group, nicknamed "Babe," asked to listen to the Andrews rehearse. Unable to say "No" to the adorable little girl, the sisters agreed. After singing awhile, they in turn asked Babe to offer up a song. When Frances Gumm opened her mouth and belted out "Bill" like nobody's business, the Andrews girls were left with their mouths hanging open. Maxine was so moved, she cried! Immediately, the  rivalry between the Andrews Sisters and The Gumm Drops disappeared and they became fast friends and allies. The Gumms would soon disband, but Judy Garland's voice had no problem going solo.

The Gumm Drops: Mary Jane, "Jimmie," and Judy.

And finally, in recognition of a recent royal wedding: Powerhouse actresses Olivia De Havilland and Grace Kelly were not formally acquainted in 1955. Divided by a generation gap, Grace was but one of the younger actresses in Hollywood who was taking on roles that would have once gone to diva extraordinaire Olivia. There were no hard feelings. Olivia was happily married to husband number two, Pierre Galante, and excited about her new life in France (happy coupled pictured left). However, she hadn't completely waved goodbye to Hollywood and was still active in the biz. Pierre used this to his advantage when, as movie editor of Paris-Match Magazine, he was looking for a good scoop in the featured Cannes Film Festival article. Knowing that Grace had been wooed to the event, he decided to use the aid of his wife, luckily a fellow actress, to arrange a fantastic story: "Hollywood Princess Grace Kelly meets Prince Rainier III of Monaco!" With Olivia as his co-conspirator, the duo offered to show Grace around Monaco, and "oh, by the way," introduce her to the Prince. Grace, who was actually quite bashful, begrudgingly agreed, and Pierre set up the meeting. However, there were scheduling conflicts, and after both parties finally settled on a decent time, Rainier still kept them waiting while running late from another engagement. Luckily, Olivia was there to keep Grace occupied with conversation. Had she not held her, Grace probably would have shrugged her shoulders and returned to the festival. Luckily, just as Grace was rising to leave, Rainier appeared, and offered her a tour of the palace, which she had already seen but out of kindness perused again. Afterward, Grace mildly reported to Olivia: "Well, he's very charming." Mission accomplished. The captured pictures were a sensation and the article was a hit. Little did Olivia and Pierre know that they had not only scored a scoop but had too shot the arrow of love.

Kate and William who??? Grace and Prince Rainier are wed just shy

of a year after their first meeting, thanks to O de H.

PERSONAL NOTE: Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

James Dean represents the salt of the earth and the bitter pill 

of the American struggle in Giant.

I didn't always understand the Western. It seemed too select, too geared toward a certain demographic, too cliched... In the modern day of Political Correctness, watching the token battles of Cowboys vs. Indians seemed a bit silly to say the least. I was never exposed to these films, thus my curiosity and appreciation for the genre remained dormant for several years, while I studied Noir, Musicals, Horror, etc. With a little prodding from Armando Jose Prats, (a man under whom I had the privilege of studying at the good ol' University of KY and author of Invisible Natives: Myth and Identity in the American Western), my eyes were finally opened to the beauties of the Western and its many versions of the American epic. Perhaps more than any other type of cinema, the Western epitomizes, glorifies, and translates the core of Americana, while other branches of the artistic medium are left to merely dissect its mutations. At long last, I "get" the Western, and having been awarded this second sight, I have too suffered a painful repercussion, for I witness in current society a compete dearth of like films. The recent remake of True Grit by the Coen Brothers, which was widely hailed and popularly ignored, and my recent reevaluation of James Dean's last film, Giant, made me start asking questions about this filmic fiasco. As such, pardon the following tangent:

The Western is no longer comprehensible to modern audiences. Why? Because the Western by default investigates and poeticizes the American Frontier. Today, it seems like such a thing doesn't even exist, nor is it fathomable that it ever did. For those of us who came of age in the silver spoon era of the Internet, technology has become our frontier. We adventure and explore realms of megabytes, gigabytes, iPhones, iPads, faster connections, more RAM, etc, etc, etc. Our experience of human evolution is inseparable from the Computer's metamorphosis. I remember my family's first Apple computer. The thing was slow as Hell and black & white. Today, I can watch a living color movie on the Blackberry I hold in my hand. In this era, which is not about land, roads, or even outer space, our final realm of conquest is unseen to the naked eye. We travel on highways of signals and waves. We cannot make a physical pilgrimage across the microchips we depend upon; we travel only mentally. It is because of this that our appreciation of the Western has suffered. (Gary Cooper and Mary Brian in The Virginian, left)

In the filmic terrain of the wild west, land is everything (as in The Massacre, right). Americana, the masculine identity, the establishment of country, and family roots are always dissected. This represents the very establishment of our country: people making a great and daring move to the unknown, staking their claim, and creating a foundation upon which to build a life. Land, the earth, and the eternal struggle of claiming it and building upon it: that was what the West was all about. Sadly, the treatment of the American Indian was rarely portrayed with accuracy-- somehow, when history was brought to life in technicolor, the Native who had been kicked off his land was the bully, and the white man with the steel toe boots was the innocent victim. (This philosophy was later brilliantly mocked in Little Big Man). However, the ideals, if not the facts, remain in tact. Today's civilization does not face the same challenges as the frontiersman. In the beginning, we built up and out, and now that we've hit the roof on physical structure, we're downsizing. 

Strange as it sounds, Tron Legacy (left) is one of the only films that has accurately portrayed this alteration. Tron is a Cyber-Western. Because man can no longer build out literally, so he must build inwardly in the landscapes of cyberspace. An alternate universe and dimension is created in Tron-- a new America produced by Jeff Bridges's very God-like figurehead. A pure people-- natives-- is being wiped out by an invading new breed of computer-generated beings-- foreign invaders-- when a renegade outsider/cowboy saunters into town. He journeys in the name of his father to inherit the burden of the land that he made. He arrives, in the quest of his roots, to better know himself. While there is no dual at dawn with pistols, there is an electronic Circus Maximus battle with Frisbee... thingies. There are no horses, but there are magic wands that turn into motorbikes. This film was, thus, our first adventure into our new mythical, technological frontier. In a surprising sort of way, it represents our generation's Star Wars in that it has opened up a new universe for us to play in. After all, with nowhere else to go on planet earth, the only realm left for expansion seems to be that of imagination.

But does this new mutation possess the same heart and depth of its predecessor, the true American Western? The films that made heroes of John Wayne (right in Stagecoach), Gary Cooper, and Alan Ladd, were not sleek, streamlined, and pumping with adrenaline. They were dirty, gritty, violent, and brimming with an integrity that both survived and was born of these factors. Man and God, God and Country... These were things worth fighting for, which too seems like an insane proposition considering the pagan society we live in presently, where our golden idols of pop stars and green tea smoothies have eclipsed any prospect of a "higher power." If God does exist at all, he cannot exist in this America. The heavy fabric of smog, cell phone signals, and radio waves make it impossible for him to penetrate our world. And besides, we're not looking to the heavens above for guidance when we have Google. In the previously expansive continent of the unknown, America demanded His participation far more. Modern faith interprets the old faith of the Western, thus, with cynicism.

This snobbery is a shame, for Westerns are a reflection of our very nature. The society in which we currently live is unarguably the ancestor of the pioneer society. Before racism was explored in Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing, John Wayne portrayed early American prejudice in The Searchers. Before gang warfare became synonymous with inner-city life, it was graphically detailed in the violent, survivalistic camaraderie of The Wild Bunch (left). While people continue to bicker back and forth about politics-- left wing, right wing, who's right, who's wrong-- they sometimes forget that at one point there were no "wings" at all; that our entire political system, government, and right to a free life was not born in a day. This subject too is showcased in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, where structure, order, and bravery overcome lawlessness and subjugation; where man's ability to govern himself and escape oppression reveals itself in the establishment of government.

Giant is a film that reflects all of these qualities. While it is not remembered as the pinnacle Dean film, an honor that belongs to Rebel Without a Cause, it is just as important to our cinematic history and just as indicative of our cultural history. The small town of Marfa, and indeed the whole state of Texas, was not initially keen on the idea of this famous novel being turned into a movie. They felt that Edna Ferber's account of their lifestyle was negative and accusatory. However, director George Stevens used his charm to convey to the locals that he was dedicated to telling their own story, a faithful and true depiction of country life and morality, and not a glamorized Hollywood concoction. His diligent striving for this authenticity is one of the many contributing factors that has allowed Giant to maintain its classic stature. Stevens asked locals to teach his actors how to speak with the proper Texan twang, he used them as advisers on farm life, and many of these small town people served as Extras in the big Hollywood film. Most particularly, the Marfa community embraced James Dean, who probably spent more time with the cowboys, who taught him to ride and lasso, than he did with the rest of his cast. He studied their accents until his original Indiana drawl was drawn out into the bashful and broken Southern dialect of the tragic hero Jett Rink.

The film's themes were universal: racism, interracial romance, honor, wealth, roots, gender roles, family, and above all land. Cowboy and rodeo man Bob Hinkle was proud to refer to his new friend Jimmy (left) as a "good ol' boy," and it was because of his instruction that James so adeptly stole one famous scene from powerhouse actor Rock Hudson: while Jordan Benedict (Rock) tries to outwit Jett (Jimmy) from a piece of land, offering him money instead, Jett barely listens, playing all the while with a piece of rope. He then stands, performs a little trick in which he ties a knot in mid-air, politely refuses the dough, keeps his land, and exits with his now notorious Jett Rink wave. This, to the locals, was Texas: a simple man, building himself up from nothing, who knew that there was more value and dignity in the soil beneath his feet than in all of the money in the world. Of course, the opposing forces of Jett and Jordan are later inverted. After Jett strikes oil, his greed and need for power, his desire to one-up Jordan (the man who had it all: the land, the money, and the woman of his dreams), destroys him, while the older Jordan unlearns his old prejudices, adapts to the changing times, and finds true honor inside himself after he witnesses the fruits of his labor maturing into a different generation of life-- one that he still loves, because it is of his blood.

Another important moment comes from Elizabeth Taylor, who takes one of the first feminist stances in Western cinema history when she defies her own stereotype (right with Rock). From the beginning, her culture and forward-thinking politics combat her new husband Jordan's old-fashioned ways. It is she who enters the ghettos of the Mexican laborers; it is she who talks to her servants as equals. It is she who too stands up against a crowd of smoking men, whose conversation she would like to share. After she is insulted by them, told not to worry her "pretty, little head" about politics, she snaps back. "You mean my pretty, empty head, don't you!?" (Only Bette Davis can match Liz in her bitchy retorts). Liz as Leslie Benedict too represents the eternal mother, one who not only nurtures her children's wishes, even when they digress from old traditions, but embraces Jett and his need to better himself, and indeed envelopes the whole community as it struggles to thrive. Giant, in cinematic history, thus remains a giant, for not only does it explore old American themes, but it expands upon them, breaks them, and translates them to future generations. We recognize the battles of our forefathers while honoring them with change. We evolve, yet maintain our roots.

This is what is lacking today. There are no roots. There is no history. Every day is brand new. Thus, there is no room for the Cowboy. His struggles are forgotten, and his battles of saddle and spur are, in turn, received as visual gibberish. He is as mythic as Zeus on Mt. Olympus. In the old West, the cowboy was God, even when sitting and smoking in his little shack, watching the sun rise and fall, or riding off into the sunset. He had what we do not, which is an America of the earth, not an America at the push of a button. Though the cowboy is the figure that will forever represent the heart of America, he exists today as the mysterious foreigner who does not fit into modern movies. Today, we are concerned with action; yesterday, man was defined by his actions.

Shane (Alan Ladd) has trouble leaving behind little Joey.

 Shane perhaps best epitomizes the last hurrah of the cowboy, with Alan Ladd's Shane riding into town, bringing with him a history of violence, yet an honor and a dignity that shakes up and alters local life. His brief presence forever changes the land he has set foot upon. But, at the end, he must leave. He must bow his head and ride away, for he has nothing more to teach. What is done with the knowledge he has left behind is up to those who remain. He rides off into the distance to new territory, but perhaps more symbolically to Heaven. His disappearance leaves behind a vacancy, a curiosity. Was he a man, or was he a ghost? Whatever the case, he stands as the spirit of America, a land that, like the Lost City of Atlantis, can only be visited in the movies.