NOW, THAT'S FUNNY: Part IX

As gorgeous as Rita Hayworth was, there was always a touch

of little girl innocence about her.

Reviewing the life of Rita Hayworth, one may be left with the feeling that this poor lady had no fun at all. That is simply not true. A little girl trapped in the body of a luscious woman, Rita had a childlike sense of humor that she did, on occasion, get the chance to exercise. She seemed to bond with every day people more than her glamorous peers of the silver screen. As such, she formed close relationships with people like her secretary, Shifra Haran, and her make-up man, Bob Schiffer.


Shifra would see Rita at her best and at her worst. She came into Rita's employment because she had started out as Orson Welles's secretary, only to be charmed by Rita, whom she looked after like a daughter. She quickly empathized with the silent beauty, whom she realized was more insecure than her looks would indicate. When Orson began wooing Rita, Shifra would often walk into a room to find Rita reading, trying to improve her mind so that Orson would think well of her. Embarrassed by her almost total lack of formal education, she would hastily hide the book so that no one would know what she was doing. Shifra knew, and these little moments of humanity were what won her over to Rita's side, even after witnessing her all out brawls with Orson. One of her most cherished memories, however, is a moment when Rita really let her hair down. The two ladies had just returned to the US from Europe on the Queen Elizabeth. Having just divorced herself from Welles and currently being sought by Prince Aly, Rita was a ball of nerves most of the time. Clearly, she needed to unleash the stress. Thus, before disembarking from the great ship, Rita challenged Shifra to a spit-ball contest. She and Shifra stuck their dainty heads through a couple of port holes and hocked loogies like nobody's business. "That's the kind of gal she was," Shifra would recall proudly. However, their immature hijinks were not appreciated by all. Suddenly, Rita pulled her head back aboard: "The man below us just stuck his head out and I think I hit him!" Indeed she had, for when Shifra peered below to investigate, she was met by an angry gaze. One can imagine the two full-grown women chuckling uncontrollably at the mishap. For all of the glitz of Rita's movie star existence, it was these small moments that made her feel truly alive.



Bob Schiffer perhaps knew this better than anyone. He would come to know the woman behind the make-up very well as her cosmetics guru (see right). They remained nothing more than friends, although Bob admitted that he had a deep and unwavering crush on her that was constantly irritated by her poor choice in men. For this reason, he perhaps took a little too much pleasure in playing elaborate jokes on her suitors. Rita was at one time being romanced by producer Charles Feldman. It just so happened that Bob was over at her place having drinks when Charles showed up at her door. Rita was panicked! She was worried that Charles would misunderstand her friendship with Bob and was uncertain of how to explain his presence. Bob offered a solution: he would pretend to be Thor Heyerdahl of Norway-- adventurer and author of the recent success, Kon-Tiki. As such, he would pretend to speak no English and utter the only Norwegian word he knew, which was, of course, an expletive. Rita agreed, and Charles entered. When he met "Thor," he became excited, for he had been wanting to meet and sign him at the studio! Bob kept a straight face and feigned incomprehension as Charles tried to communicate. As Charles made an ass of himself talking slowly to the foreigner-- who only responded with his one token swear word-- Rita had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Several times, she had to excuse herself so she could have a hilarious outburst in her room. Bob performed like a pro, occasionally deigning to converse with Rita in Spanish, which Charles too did not understand. The game tarried on as long as the two dared before Bob said his goodbyes, never breaking character. Charles must have been disappointed that he didn't land that contract.



Bob had some definite scrapes with Orson Welles after Rita married him (together, left). When filming The Lady from Shanghai, Bob was serving once again as Rita's make-up man. This was all well and good, but Orson proved to be a bit of an overbearing dictator. Tyrannical and demanding, he sometimes seemed to invent reasons to belittle or snap at Bob. Granted, he was probably under severe stress, serving as both an actor and as the director, but he too was perhaps jealous of Rita's friendship with Bob and used his position to enact a little revenge. Things would come to a head one day, with Orson blowing his top and ordering Bob to hurry up with re-touches. The more he yelled, the slower the angered Bob would move. Finally, Orson screamed, "You're fired!" Rita was not pleased, but to keep the peace, Bob continued doing her make-up in secret and sent one of his assistants to "pretend" to do his work on the set. This ploy worked well, until the entire production had to switch to location shooting in Mexico. Rita had to smuggle Bob onto the departing plane without Orson noticing. Bob, understandably upset over the whole thing, got a little schnockered at the bar before take off, where-- in a stupor-- he divulged the time and location of the flight to several lurking reporters. He got to the plane early and took a spot in the cock-pit with the pilot, an old war buddy, and passed out. Rita and Orson arrived to much fanfare, uncertain how the press had discovered their rendezvous point. To make matters worse, there was much turbulence on the flight, which frightened Rita and angered Orson. At his wit's end, Orson stormed the cock pit to talk to the pilot, who coincidentally had just stepped out, leaving the plane on auto-pilot. Thus, Orson was greeted only by the sight of a slovenly Bob Schiffer at the helm. His eyes bulged, and he raced back to Rita. "That jealous friend of yours is trying to kill us," he screamed in terror! Not so, but at least Bob won a few points back by frightening the unstirrable Orson Welles, even if accidentally. He may never have won Rita's heart, but he could always make her smile

When Carroll Baker (right, as Luz Benedict II) began taking acting classes with Lee Strasberg, she found herself in very handsome company. Struggling actors like Paul Newman and Steve McQueen were friends, and Eva Marie Saint was a constant companion. At many a get-together, Carroll would see another boy, whom she felt strangely drawn to and mystified by. He was an odd duck, with a small frame, tousled blonde hair, and a tiny face. Always separate from the group and lost in his own thoughts, he spent most of his time playing his bongos before disappearing to God knows where. Every now and then, he would see Carroll looking at him, trying to read his thoughts, and he would smile. But they exchanged few words. Yet, for some reason, James Dean always held a place in her heart. When Carroll was called West for a screen test for George Stevens's Giant in the spring of 1955, she was escorted to Warner Brothers by one of Jack Warner's lackeys. When they arrived at the gate, they were greeted by the security guard, who was hunched over, his face hidden by his hat. Suddenly, issuing beneath the brim, Carroll heard a muffled, "Carroll. Car-roll. CAR-ROLL!" She jumped out the car and swiped the hat off the head of Jimmy Dean, who burst into laughter. Carroll never did figure out how he knew when she was going to arrive-- she was too surprised to ask. He grabbed her, set her atop his motorcycle, and drove her (rapidly) out to his favorite place on the lot: a white house with a picket fence. Since they had never really been friends before, Carroll was shocked by Jimmy's sudden attentiveness. He seemed to have grown taller and more confident. They still talked little, but had an instant sort of rapport and camaraderie. He then drove her to the commissary where she ate lunch while staring at the likes of Elizabeth Taylor.

Carroll landed the role of Luz in Giant without a real audition. George met her and was sold. Carroll returned to New York and her husband, Jack Garfein, but before she knew it, she was back at Warner's for the big shoot... And back at that security gate! The same thing happened. The guard started in with "Carroll. Car-roll. CAR-ROLL!" This time, Carrol hopped out of the car and tore the cap from the guard's head only to be met with shock. She stood staring at a small boy with dark, sad eyes. He grinned at her shyly. Undeterred she called, "Come out, Jimmy! I know you're here!" Jimmy hopped out of the booth, cracking up yet again. "Oh boy, did I fool you!" He introduced her to Sal Mineo, his accomplice, with whom he had just wrapped on Rebel Without a Cause, then drove her back to the same white house as before. However, this time, they were met by an intruder, and one that Jimmy was not too happy to see: Dennis Hopper. Seeing that their privacy had been compromised, Jimmy grew irritated. Carroll never did figure out why he grew so cold at the sight of Dennis at "his house," but she assumed it was out of annoyance-- it was pretty clear to her that Dennis was trying to mimic all of Jimmy's mannerisms and attitudes. In any case, this little white house remained special to her, because it held such pleasant memories between James and herself. This had been the first place in Hollywood where she had felt at home. After Jimmy died, it was here that she went to grieve and say good bye. (Jimmy lassos Liz Taylor in Giant, left).

Forever Amber was being touted as a Twentieth-Century Fox sensation! Adapted from the scintillating novel by Kathleen Winsor about a young woman who sleeps her way up the English social totem, Linda Darnell was cast in the star-making role of Amber St. Clair (right) and Cornel Wilde was cast as one of her many suitors, Bruce Carlton. Unfortunately, all the hype and expense did not end as profitably as the studio had hoped. Though far from a failure, the film did not reap a success of Gone with the Wind-like proportions. Of course, there were signs all along that the movie was doomed. Linda herself, at a mere 23 years of age, was forced to carry the entire picture on her young shoulders. With a grueling shooting schedule, forty costume changes, and a strict diet weakening her system, it came as no surprise when the formerly brunette and now blonde actress collapsed on the set. She was sent home with Mastoiditis, though many would believe her true illness bore another name: Otto Preminger. Linda didn't take too well to the director. Few did. He was tyrannical, abrasive, and almost sadistic in his methods. While he produced mesmerizing films, few of the actors that suffered under his demands believed that the pain was worth the pleasure.


Cornel (left) had worked with Otto previously on Leave Her to Heaven and Centennial Summer, and was in no way, shape, or form looking forward to a reunion. He almost envied Linda for being home recuperating while he was left to suffer on the set. Linda did turn out to be lucky. One day, a dueling scene was to be shot, and Otto insisted on a special effect to simulate an early morning fog. They tried dry ice, but it dissipated too quickly. Then, some genius suggested using Nujol. The oil mixture was sprayed into the lights and created a beautiful illusion of mist. It was just what Otto wanted. There was, however, an unfortunate side effect. See, Nujol also acts as a laxative. After inhaling the chemical for hours on end, as Cornel recalled, the entire company got diarrhea. Linda was grateful to miss this episode. The worst she was to suffer was her initial illness and a minor burn from the great burning of London sequence-- during which many local residents called the fire dept. upon seeing the sky engulfed in smoke and flames. Yet, the worst scar Linda carried with her was that of Otto. She detested him, and this in effect had broken her trust with many future directors. When she started filming on A Letter to Three Wives, Joseph L. Mankiewicz decided to use this to his advantage. During the scene in which Linda's Lora May is to look with antipathy at a photo of character Addie Ross, he supplied a picture of Otto. The effect was perfect.


On the silver screen, Fatty Arbuckle and Buster Keaton got into all kinds of madcap shenanigans. Off screen... Fatty Arbuckle and Buster Keaton got into all kinds of madcap shenanigans. The anatomical opposites were a perfect match in the world of silent comedy and the best of friends in reality. Their physical dexterity mixed with their mental proclivities for mischief is perhaps what helped them gel so well. Their pranks became infamous and were so well planned and thoroughly calculated that mayhem seemed to be their religion. Soon enough, the duo were referring to their naughty gags as "Special Operations." They would find a mark, formulate their ploy, and execute with no mercy. One member of their countless prey was actress Pauline Frederick. As wealth was accumulated in Hollywood, some of the hoity-toity movie stars began taking on their new roles as rich aristocracy a little too seriously. For her part, Pauline had decided to spend her seemingly endless dough on authentic English grass, which she had specially imported and placed in the lawn of her new Beverly Hills mansion. Fatty and Buster couldn't resist. Enlisting the help of Al St. John, the threesome disguised themselves as Water Company Workers, complete with a rented truck. They told Pauline's staff that they were looking for a leak. In order to locate it, they would have to disturb her lawn. Thus, they rolled up her entire yard and carted it off. When Pauline woke in the morning and stuck her head out the window, she was greeted with nothing but dirt. Those dirty scoundrels! (Right in The Bell Boy).


Another favorite prank of Fatty and Buster occurred when they took one of their many trips to San Francisco-- ironically a place that would hold little laughter for Fatty later. They rented a room in a hotel and decided to have a some fun at the staff's expense. Buster took off his shoes and scraped them along the edge of the windowsill, getting them good and dirty. Then, Fatty balanced him with his hands, and Buster-- acrobat that he was-- proceeded to walk up the wall, then did a handstand off Fatty in order to walk across the ceiling and back down again. Thus, it appeared that a man had literally walked all over the room. When the cleaning crew came in the next day, there is no telling what they made of the strange trail of footprints. It must have driven them crazy trying to clean it, but overall, I would say that they were just confused... (Fatty, Luke the Dog, and Buster left in The Cook).

STAR OF THE MONTH: James Dean

Hollywood's Favorite Rebel: James Dean

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy... Why'd ya' do it? Over fifty years later, your absence still aches. The whole trouble with legends is that their reputation often eclipses their talent. Just as Marilyn and Elvis tend to disappear behind all of the hullabaloo said about them, so too has Dean become more of a symbol than a human being. I've often been asked, "What's the big deal? Was he really that good?" I reply with a resounding slap and a "You bet your sweet life!" Yes, he was good. My God, was he good. The legacy he left behind is the result of an astounding and almost electric talent, one that set him completely apart from his contemporaries, and history has maintained his power. When he died, many would draw comparisons between his death and that of Rudolph Valentino. The effect was equally profound. As my grandmother Mary Lou put it, "I cried my eyes out." So, to prove my point, ask yourself: What celebrity today would I mourn with a like passion were his life to be suddenly snuffed out? Go ahead, I'm waiting...

Dean woos Julie Harris and the rest of America in his first 

breakthrough role in East of Eden.

You see? James was special. While the eruption of the method actor was spearheaded by the dual force of Marlon Brando and Montgomery Clift, Dean's effect was perhaps even more poignant simply due to his age. It was his youth more than anything else that set him apart. He wasn't that foreign adversary called the "adult"-- someone that kids merely dressed up and pretended to be-- he was the angst ridden young man that they were. He represented their transition: the awkward stage when adolescence strives to become maturity. He was the being we all once were, and whom we had to survive, to reach adulthood. His embodiment of the confusion, rage, and rebellion that was suddenly being awakened in the dormant nuclear family society was one that every teen in American could relate to. He gave adolescence a face and a voice. His performances were both loud and silent, carefully cultivated, yet intensified by sudden bursts of improvisation. While Brando is attributed with creating a physical energy that enveloped the atmosphere, and Clift is the man who more fully brought to the surface the complications of inner emotion, Jimmy was the most adept at using his environment-- becoming a part of it, tangling with it, and moving through it as his own organism. There is not one piece of film where he does not look completely at home, completely attached to his surroundings, even if he is pounding his fists against it. He rests his chin on a wall, rolls on the ground, casually plucks leaves from a tree, or soaks in a burst of oil from the very earth he is rooted to all with equal ease.

Dean and Corey Allen prepare to play a game of chicken, 

because "You gotta do somethin'."

Oddly, in his personal life, Dean seemed to be rooted to nothing and no one except his own mania. His eccentricities were merely a part of what made him so alluring. Just how calculated his manner was remains a topic of controversy. His psyche suffered an early fracture with the premature passing of his mother, whom he adored, when he was but 9-years-old. Just as Gable would endure the ongoing saga of the little boy lost after his own mother's death, so too would James seem to be on a perpetual quest for the severed maternal love for which there is no replacement. Despite the fact that he would mature under the care of his loving aunt and uncle on their Indiana farm, he too would feel the eternal burn of abandonment on the part of his father, who sent him away initially because he was unable to care for him alone and more finitely when he was drafted into the war. Born of this dual loss was the classic Dean penchant for chronic searching. He became a frenetic and curious boy who was fascinated by everything, constantly on the move, competing and excelling at various sports, and raising Hell by speeding around town on his first motorbike. An early and innate gift for mimicry, which kept his peers rolling with laughter, would naturally translate to acting. He never really found within all of these things what he was looking for, but still he continued the hunt.

The classic image of Dean's cool: a car and a cigarette.

His ambidextrous nature would continue into his young adulthood, and while acting became the one thing that he remained solidly faithful to, his insatiable need for information made him thoroughly knowledgeable on a great many subjects: athletics, art, music, foreign languages, etc. He became an unpredictable creature. He would appear at a friend's doorstep with his drums, perform an interlude for a few hours, then abruptly disappear-- usually through the window. He would be full of smiles one moment, joking and laughing, and then become sullen and distant the next. There were two Deans: you either loved him and his idiosyncrasies, or you loathed him and his outlandish tomfoolery. Actually, there were more than two of him... Dean wore so many faces and represented so many different things to his friends that each knew him in a different way. This contributed to the continuing confusion as to just who he really was, including sexually. Friend Martin Landau knew one Dean and swore up and down that "This guy was not gay." College roommate and lifelong friend William Bast knew another Dean and claims that the two had an intermittent sexual relationship over the years. The nature of Dean's relationship with the Rev. James DeWeerd as a child also raises questions, as does the recently released revelation he made to the late Elizabeth Taylor, who claimed he confided to her his molestation by a minister as a youth. On the one hand, you have his deeply romantic love affair with Pier Angeli-- who is popularly recalled as the "one who got away" and whose wedding Dean sat outside, fuming on his motorcycle. On the other, there are the claims of Rogers Brackett-- who acted as a sort of patron for Dean when he was starting out and too claims that the two had a damaging and complicated affair. It is hard to find the clear and definitive line of truth. The theories are as various as the theorizers: he was a homosexual in denial or he was a bisexual that preferred women. People tend to imagine the Dean that they would have preferred. 

One of JD's goals as an actor was to make a Western, a 

hope fulfilled in George Stevens's Giant.

But perhaps this was all part of his plan. In any event, it had no impact on the public's worship. Whatever his sexual nature, he was masculine enough to maintain male respect and adulation, and sensitive and beautiful enough to continue making young girls swoon. His image, the James Dean he created in life and left behind in death, was part truth and part illusion. He tested his audiences in his private life as much as he did on the screen. His crazy shenanigans-- pulling his shirt over his head while he was eating to detract/attract attention, or his casually strolling into a stranger's home to help himself to a sandwich-- were things that he did consciously and unconsciously. He added to his own mystique, later becoming ensnared by the very enigma he had created. He once turned to a friend after being rude to a studio-head and asked, "If you ever figure out why I just did that, tell me will ya'?" Being his friend was, in fact, a challenge. He pulled stunts to push those closest away, trying to see who would remain faithful no matter what he pulled. To this day, no one can say with any certainty who the Hell James Dean was. He remains as the proverbial tree in the woods-- making even those who knew him best sometimes wonder if he even existed at all.

Dean and mechanic Rolf Weutherich prepare for Dean's last drive 

in "Little Bastard."

In the end, it became too complicated for James Dean to be James Dean. His insatiable love for acting, which took him from Los Angeles to New York and back again, had but one foe for the number one place in his heart: racing. Dean loved to drive. Not only did the speed fulfill his craving for pulsating adrenaline and invigorating stimuli, but it gave him escape. Behind the wheel, he was focused, in control, and away from both the madness of the world and his own uncertainties, insecurities, and emotions. It gave him strength, to defy and conquer danger at once. As in all things he tried, he excelled at driving. Many seasoned racers remarked on his "steel hands" and imperturbable focus, but most importantly his total lack of fear. Ironically, he was safer on the fiery and foreboding dirt paths of the racetrack than he was on the open road. A freak accident in 1955 on route 46 claimed the life of a man that fate alone had the power to kill. Herein do we find the popular slogans: "Live fast, die young" and "Too fast to live, too young to die." Dean would have been irked by this legacy. The youths who look up to him, who seek to emulate him by being "complicated," "dark," and "tortured," those who worship his offspring-- Morrison, Cobain, Phoenix-- by mirroring his tragedy, do not understand his passions. Dean hungered for life not death. While he openly admitted an uncanny premonition that he would not make it to thirty, he also was quoted as saying, (when questioned about his daredevil ways), that he would never purposely endanger his life, because he had too much to live for, too much he had yet to do, too much he wanted to learn. Dean was far from "done," and we were not yet finished with him when he was abruptly taken. Sadly, legends can only be born in death. 

Dean became good friends with photographer Dennis Stock, who took this "silly" photo, 

which would become morbidly popular after Jimmy's death.

The legend lives on in the many faces he left behind: the lost puppy you want to nurture, the fidgety rebel who makes you want to defy, and the beam of irrepressible sex appeal that makes you want to do many, many things.

~ ~ ~

In college, one of my professors told me that the scene in which Sal Mineo looks into his locker mirror in Rebel Without A Cause, and sees James Dean's face reflected back at him, is the most written about moment in cinematic history. I believe it. I believe it, because it is perhaps one of the most honest moments ever captured on film. All of us look onto the movie screen waiting to see little pieces of ourselves reflected back, and we look for them in the most beautiful of Hollywood's faces. Since Dean remains one of our most cherished idols, we to this day still look at him and see ourselves. He exteriorized our true demons and yet delivered his performances with a grace, a swagger, and a charm that we too hoped to possess. He was the man of our dreams and the self of our dreams. In trying to become all human beings, he succeeded only in making us want to be like him. He was just cool. Really, damn cool. Had he survived, there's no telling how much further his talent could have taken himself and us. His career, his human interpretation, his voyage had just begun. Oh Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy... Why'd ya do it?

James reveals himself as yet another Christ figure, here with 

Elizabeth Taylor in Giant.

Happy May.