HOT SPOTS in CA: The American Cinematheque (and the "Dark Blood" of River Phoenix)

Exterior wall of The Egyptian Theatre, home #1 to the American Cinematheque.

The benefit of living in Los Angeles is the access to all things cinema. Hollywood, as the home of the Movies, honors the industry like nowhere else. It's the perfect landing place for movie hounds, as it has countless venues for junkies to choose from when selecting where and when they want to see what. Grauman's Chinese (now TLC-- the learning channel???), the Egyptian, the Silent Movie Theater, Old Town Music Hall, the Laemmle chain, LACMA, AMPAS, Fairfax Regency, Cinespia at the cemetery, etc, are some of the community's darlings. They screen the classics, the forgotten jewels, the restored, the cult favorites, whatever your flavor is. Each locale has its own personality and generally cheaper seats than the average movie chain, which only plays the latest block-bruiser. Depending on the monthly menu or retrospective that's happening, one can pretty much spread herself around like a celluloid slut (Oh, I get mine, trust me) and take advantage of experiencing films on the big screen-- the way they were meant to be seen and increasingly aren't.

The American Cinematheque has been in operation since 1981 and is a non-profit organization that presents films, historical or cinematically related lectures, and guest appearances at both the Egyptian and Aero Theatres. The Egyptian is much more notorious (and right in the center of Hollywood), as it was one of Sid Grauman's many over-embellished movie palaces. Renovated and technologically modernized, the interior has changed quite a bit. For example, the seats used to stretch from the screen all the way to the entry door, as there was no popcorn and thus no concession stands in the early days. However, remnants of the former glory remain, and much of the original artwork has been restored. The hieroglyphics outside and ornate pattern detail on the entry ceiling, as well as the still impressive ceiling décor in the theater itself, provide a bit of forgotten ambiance, though the result is nowhere near the original splendor. The Egyptian typically gives tours of the theater and screens a brief documentary called "Forever Hollywood" at least once a month on Saturday, if not every other Saturday, in addition to its many other screenings and programs.

The Egyptian Theatre ~ 6712 Hollywood Blvd. ~ Los Angeles, CA 90028

As its sister theater, the Aero directs its focus into honoring all the different filmmakers, performers, and genres by featuring varying retrospectives, whether these reference the cinema of various countries, time periods, movements, what-have-you. The look of the theater is less exciting and historically relevant than the Egyptian. Aside from the brightly lit marquee, the building is thoroughly contemporary. It's charm lies in the unlikely films it presents, as well as the plethora of celebrity guests it hosts for Q&A sessions regarding particular films. Anyone from Eva Marie Saint to Jane Campion and the Cast of Bright Star may show up, and the movie house plays everything from The Unknown (1927) to The Harder They Come (1972). Located between Brentwood and Santa Monica, it's a bit of a hidden treasure on the West side, and the intimate attendance at most screenings makes one (#me) feel like a member of a very select club-- the Cinemat 'Pack, huzzah!

The Aero Theatre ~ 1328 Montana Avenue ~ Santa Monica, CA 90403

Most recently, just prior to the 20th anniversary of River Phoenix's death, I was fortunate enough to attend a screening at the Aero of his last, uncompleted film with director George Sluizer: Dark Blood. The "lost film" is always a dagger in the heart to flicker aficionados, and-- similarly to James Dean-- River's premature death certainly makes every product of his work more precious. (He would pass away due to a drug overdose in the early morning hours of Halloween, collapsing on the street outside The Viper Room). As the film was left 10 filming days short, there are missing scenes from the finished project, as well as some that Sluizer had to remove due to their lack of coherence within the limited final product. Working with what he had, the director was able to save the film from destruction when the members of the Phoenix family tried to seize it and Ted Turner, the studio, et al refused to refinance further shooting/editing. It took the director some time to face this past demon, but he used the money from his own pocket to put the piece together, restoring the film himself, adding voiceover dialogue where needed to explain missing sequences, and editing the remaining images into a fluid and somehow fittingly detached but provocative story.

Poster handed out at the October 29th screening.

The plot follows a vacationing couple as they travel through the deserts of Arizona (actually Utah, I believe-- the cinematography alone is enough to make the film worth seeing). The brash and irreverent Buffy (Judy Davis) and her stoic but silently boiling actor-husband Harry (Jonathan Pryce) wind up stranded in the middle of nowhere after their vintage car breaks down. The playful tension between the couple quickly takes on a more sinister edge in this isolation, revealing the truth behind their disintegrating marriage. When Buffy spots and hikes toward a distant light in the hills, she finds the small cabin/tee-pee of a character known only as Boy (Phoenix), who takes the couple in and promises to fix their car and see them safely to their next destination. Unfortunately, their three lives become violently entangled as Boy's attraction to Buffy becomes not only threateningly potent but fearfully dominating, his obsession over her creating an oppressive atmosphere, which is only fueled by the sinister history of their surroundings...

The story takes place in the space formerly used as a nuclear testing site by the U.S. government. Many people, including Boy's young wife, died of cancer as a result of the contamination. Certain areas remain condemned-- sad, dusty ghost towns with the lingering stench of death upon them. This stain of history is echoed by the stain in Boy's blood. He is a quarter Native American-- his grandfather married a white woman. Additionally, said grandfather was allegedly an incredibly unbalanced and depressive personality. As such, Boy carries on this "dark blood." Proud of his heritage and unapologetically bitter against the yuppies who destroyed and forgot this wasted land, he frequently bursts out venomous torrents of his own invented wisdom. Crafting Kachina dolls to adorn his handmade bomb shelter-- complete with an extensive candelabra that doubles as a library (you have to see it to believe it)-- he knows that the great wave of man's error will come again. When it does, he wishes to go underground, taking Buffy with him to create a new age of man-- one totally pure and within his control.

Judy Davis and River in Boy's romanticized fall-out shelter of delusion. As she stares
at his altar of hand-made Kachina dolls, she is mesmerized by the deep focus and 
care he has put into this creation and turned on by his deepening fixation on her.
Allegedly, Davis was a nightmare to work with, and she and River were mutually
intimidated by each other, but there is a depth to their love
scenes that is quite compelling.

River is amazing in the role. Wavering between a raging, crazy old man in a 22-year-old's body and an innocent and vulnerable child, he uses his spiritual conspiracy theories to protect him from the loneliness of his isolation and status as an existential cast-away. He believes that he has willed Buffy to him, and when he delivers this information to her, you believe it. Judy Davis, as his increasingly willing and then terrified prey, is equally remarkable, providing layers of sexual tension and surprising softness that escalate into moments of sheer panic. Pryce, for his part, is the frustrated "white man," lost in the maze of his country's past poisons, cleverly exemplified as he literally wanders in the canyons of the desert, desperate to be freed of this collective residual guilt, but unable to escape it until it has had its vengeance on him. The film truly is something 'dark.' Mysterious, poetic, jarring, unexpected... It takes the viewer to places he or she perhaps doesn't want to go, but the voyage of this macabre Odyssey somehow rings so true that one can't help but be on the side of its surprising anti-hero, even when he rattles your bones.

In addition to watching the film, the Q&A with the now 90-year-old Sluizer proved very informative and equally soul-fulfilling, as his recollections, struggles, and triumphs revealed a lot about the process of bringing the film to the screen and additionally honored his departed friend. Also in attendance was author Gavin Edwards, who was signing copies of his recently released biography Last Night at the Viper Room: River Phoenix and the Hollywood He Left Behind. This, as with most awesome Hollywood book related events-- including another past Kirk Douglas one I attended at the Egyptian-- was provided by the Larry Edmunds Bookshop. (Keep your eye on these guys. They host cool things all the time). 

Oh this? This is Kirk Douglas' autograph. On my book. That I own.
This is why AC and LEB are awesome.

So, for those living in the area or those hoping to visit, you can add this to your list of things to do in Hollywood. This city can be as annoying as the traffic jams are long, but as my depictions of the aforementioned theaters hopefully prove, there is this one great condolence: there is absolutely no reason one should ever, ever be bored in L.A. La Land.

NOW THAT'S FUNNY: Part XIII

Ann Sheridan, sporting her popular horned hair-do.

It was fitting, as Ann was a bit of a Devil!

The most lasting impression Ann Sheridan left on Hollywood was her congenial sense of humor. An unaffected girl-next-door with chutzpah, she enjoyed a laugh or clever quip, and she was always a good sport when she was teased or pranked. This turned out to be a good thing, for she was certainly the butt of the joke on more than one occasion. The most notorious example occurred very much in the public eye. Ann's career was beginning to gain real momentum by 1940. She had made some noteworthy appearances in major motion pictures, she had been dubbed the "Oomph Girl," and she was a bona fide movie star enjoying her moment in the sun. Proof of her public power was displayed when she attended the preview of her latest film, It All Came True, in April. Enduring the usual press junket and ballyhoo, Ann was suddenly surprised by the appearance of a 19-year-old UCLA student-- Dick Brunnenkamp-- at her side. Before she could blink, the kid had handcuffed himself to her! Not only that, but he had swallowed the key!!! Chaos and flashing cameras ensued. Dick's excuse was that he was fulfilling a bet he had made with his fraternity. Though the cuff on her wrist was probably a bit uncomfortable, Ann was pretty laid-back about the whole thing, aside from being confused and very inconvenienced by the scam. While the boy was probably really just looking to gain attention for himself and enjoy his own fifteen minutes of fame-- literally fifteen minutes, as that was how long it took to get a locksmith-- it was Ann who walked away the true winner, with even more frantic publicity and fan devotion.

The hijinks often did not involve Ann's fan base, however. Most of the time, the gags came from within studio walls, generally with her adoring pack of male friends. The major player on this list was Humphrey Bogart. Considering Bogie's unsavory and somewhat embarrassing history with women-- including the battered husband situation-- it is somewhat surprising that this ultimate guy's guy and future leader of the Rat Pack was best buds with a girl. But then, Ann wasn't just any girl. The two worked together many times-- San Quentin, They Drive by Night, etc-- but they never played love interests. This fit well with their private relationship, which was very brother-sister. Bogie loved to poke fun at Ann, whom he referred to as "Miss Pushface of 1893" after her "Oomph" title, which she hated, was bestowed. They played practical jokes on each other from pretty much the moment they met, and they enjoyed an ongoing competition of "who can get whose goat!" (Together in It All Came True, left).

For example: Ann bought Bogie a  very special gift: a genuine Gene Autry toy gun, which mocked his pistol-toting, tough guy roles. He got his revenge by telling Ann about a plum upcoming part that would really give her a chance to show her acting chops. So eager was Ann to prove her talents beyond her physical attributes that she was soon ignorantly campaigning all over Warner Brothers for the important period role of Fanny Hill-- the heroine of England's earliest pornographic novel. Whoops! Ann was back for round three when she, with John Huston's help, staged a cameo as a prostitute in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Expecting an unknown, featured actress to turn the corner in the brief street scene, Bogie spun to offer his character's scripted dismissal of the harlot only to find his gal pal lifting her skirt to reveal a tattoo that said, "Annie!" It is doubtful that Ann made it into the final cut of the film-- it's definitely not her in the close-up, but she may be  the black-wigged woman seen in a long shot. At the very least, Bogie got a good laugh out of it. As Ann herself said, "He was a dirty rat, but I loved that man" (see right).

Another stud in Ann's bro barn was the handsome Errol Flynn. It is occasionally rumored that the duo enjoyed a brief affair, though Ann always maintained that they were no more than chums. This seems to be the case, as they certainly remained pals for the extent of Errol's short life. They worked together for the first time in Dodge City, and while most of Errol's attentions were then devoted to his other female co-star, Olivia de Havilland, with whom he professed to be occasionally in love, Ann also charmed him with her usual, easy-going, down-to-earth personality. By the time they began filming Silver River (left), Errol had labeled Ann as his favorite comedy guinea piglet, perhaps because she had so kindly taught him the nifty trick of injecting oranges with liquor so they could enjoy a "healthy" snack while shooting. (Actually sounds pretty good...). Ann cracked one day that the uncomfortable wire bustle she wore as part of her wardrobe for the film looked like a bird cage. The next day, she entered her dressing room to find two finicky parrots, while Errol, director Raoul Walsh, and the rest of the crew, laughed hysterically outside! But Ann gave as good as she got. When she stumbled upon the boys sharing some celebratory cigars-- one of the crew members had just become a proud Papa-- Ann acted hurt that she hadn't been included. Errol naturally chided her and egged her on. Thus, while shooting their next scene, Errol was surprised to find Ann before him with his own cigar planted firmly in her pout. Walsh said she always kept things lively on the set.

Despite his stern and overly dramatic demeanor, William S. Hart (right) was a Boy at Heart. While he wasn't usually the instigator of dramatic gags-- he wasn't enough of a conniving scoundrel-- he certainly enjoyed partaking when a prank seemed worthy. One of the fellas that could recruit Bill in a joke was the one and only theatre impresario Sid Grauman. Hence the following situation: Paramount big-wigs Adolph Zukor and Jesse Lasky were aboard a train en route to San Francisco, assumedly to enjoy the usual mix of travel and business associated with running such a huge studio. Yet, the peaceful ride from Pasadena Station turned out to be more than the suits had bargained for. After about an hour on the tracks, the train suddenly came to a screeching halt.  The confused passengers started craning their necks out the windows to figure just what had happened, then word starting spreading like wildfire that they were being held up! 

Now a bit nervous, Zukor and Lasky peeked outside to see a very imposing line of men in western garb surrounding their car with guns at the ready. Before their wide eyes had even adjusted to this imagery, two train robbers hopped aboard and stood before them: one was short with a large sombrero and mask, and the other was very tall, wearing a cowboy hat (culprit left) with a kerchief covering his lower face. While the held-up studio reps mentally started counting the golden doubloons in their pockets, the reality of the situation began to register. Zukor took a closer look. After squinting his eyes, he realized that the renegades looked familiar... When he knew that he had been fooled, Hart and Grauman revealed themselves. It took a bit of explaining to calm the rest of the passengers down, but eventually, the plot-- which the train's crew had helped conspire-- was revealed and the initial, fearful shivering turned into guffaws of laughter. It would take a showman (and money man) like Sid to orchestrate such a fiasco, but naturally, the acting talents of Hart helped.

Not everyone was so light-hearted when it came to tomfoolery. Clark Gable, for example, was actually a rather serious guy, and it took the feisty humor of his short-lived soul mate Carole Lombard to loosen him up a bit. Of course, when he lost her, Clark turned grave again and disappeared into a guilt-ridden spiral of self-loathing and alcoholism. Ironically, he would take a shine to Miss Congeniality, Ann Sheridan, and it is rumored that the two had a little liaison themselves. Perhaps this is true, and it would make sense, given that Ann's spirit of fun was very much in keeping with Carole's own delinquent deviance. Still, when he was on the set, unless surrounded by close and trusted friends, Clark always arrived on time, stuck to the script, hit his marks, and kept to business. He would struggle with this pattern throughout his final picture, The Misfits, when he was teamed with the temperamental and often inebriated duo of Marilyn Monroe and Montgomery Clift. Clark had a soft spot for both (see with MM, right), but was irritated by their occasional unstable behavior, which he deemed unprofessional. To boot, he was annoyed by the odd Method approach that both actors seemed to use, which he felt wasted far too much time and unnecessary discussion. Clark was a "just do it" kind of guy. 

So, the secretly self-conscious actor was not exactly on cloud nine when photographer Ernst Haas arrived on assignment to capture the cast, crew, and horses in action. It was one more annoyance that Clark couldn't bare, but he appreciated that Ernst at least kept out of the way and wasn't invasive. One day, Ernst was given the opportunity to watch some rushes. Not knowing that Mr. Gable was behind him, he was asked by a baiting grip what he thought of Clark's performance. Fortunately, Ernst had been very impressed with the touching and gutsy portrayal he had witnessed from the legend, who did some of his most compelling work in the film. Thus, his answer in reference to the previously viewed scene was: "It knocked me on my ass!" With that, a hefty bellow of laughter issued from behind him, and he felt the firm grip of a large hand on his shoulder. Initially embarrassed at his foul-mouthed response, Ernst quickly realized that his down and dirty, no-nonsense answer had won him the respect and friendship of the unknowable Clark Gable. Clark lightened up after that and even offered to help in getting some prize photo-ops for the young picture-taker. What a difference a laugh makes! (A hint of a smile, right).

Cary Grant was yet another co-star that Ann Sheridan had fun working with. While the two enjoyed each other's company tremendously, they would be considered more friendly acquaintances than "thick thieves." The reason was perhaps a matter of humor. Ann was much more bawdy, earthy, and sharp in her wisecracking. Cary, on the other hand, came from the old school of vaudeville slap-stick, punchline, and drummed buh-dum chink quips. He also, like Gable, was privately a much more serious man than many ever realized. Part of his protection from some of his personal pains was his projected image of perfection. Style certainly gave him a sense of control (left), which is why he gelled better with more polite and refined women like BFF Grace Kelly and, upon their teaming in Charade, Audrey Hepburn. Their female sensitivity also offered safe harbor to the little boy in him who was searching for the nurturing and comfort that was denied him as a child. 

"All man" but not what one would consider a "man's man," Cary opted for elegance and conversation over rough-housing and high-school hijinks, which made him contrast sharply with his other Charade co-star, Walter Matthau. Matthau (right) was the physical opposite of Cary, being a bit oafish and not exactly conventionally attractive. His uniquely unrefined voice has become as equally identifiable as the cockney Cary's, yet for very different reasons. Cary was aristocratic; Walter was a crotchety wisecracker from Nowhereville. Cary would get a very surprising introduction to Walter's "sufferin' succotash" repartee and unexpected, off-the-cuff sense of humor very early during production. James Coburn would bear witness to this while meeting Cary for the first time himself. Chatting with the eternal, cinematic leading man in his dressing room, the duo would be interrupted when Walter poked his infamous nose in: "Hey Jim, how are you?" he asked. "Did you ever see anybody do a better impression of Cary Grant than this guy?" With that, Walter shuffled away, leaving 'this guy' with an indescribable look on his face. It is perhaps the only time in history that anyone flustered Cary Grant. 

Cary in his most ridiculous and clowning role, Arsenic and Old Lace,

which (not surprisingly) he considered his worst performance.

I still love it!

Didja Know: Part III

Here are the latest facts that were "news to me." Didja know that...

Cagney gets a little rough with Bogie in Angels with Dirty Faces.

... James Cagney almost slept with the fishes???

In 1939, James Cagney and George Raft went to work on the intense prison film Each Dawn I Die (left). The two leading men knew each other and got along well. Both had grown up "in the hood" as it were, and had rubbed elbows with some of the nastiest ne'er do wells-- some of whom would go on to become leading gangsters and Mafiosos. However, both managed to keep themselves from becoming too deeply involved in the mobster lifestyle. For his part, Jim stayed completely away from the men he considered morally reprehensible. George, on the other hand, forged certain alliances when acting as a chauffeur for certain goons in his Hell's Kitchen days, yet he never got into the deep stuff. A suave guy, he knew how to play the game, kept things social, and stayed out of the business, while giving the bad guys just enough allegiance to maintain their respect and his own separate life. These connections would come in handy. James and George met again in Hollywood, and Jim got George one of his first big breaks dancing the "Peabody" in Taxi. Later, George would return the favor.

During the big Hollywood shakedown, when gang warfare had resulted in physical and financial intimidation of the studios-- who were forced to use mob managed union workers-- the notoriously stubborn Jack Warner must have been causing the big guns a little bit of irritation. While on the set of Each Dawn I Die, George happened to see his old pal Willie Bioff wandering around the set. Bioff's eyes landed menacingly on Cagney, no friend to the mob, then moved up to a large klieg light hanging above. George then witnessed Bioff give a signal to a worker standing in the rafters. What George didn't know, was that Bioff was planning a celebrity assassination: he wanted to take Cagney out by dropping a light on his head! Offing one of Warner's biggest stars was a definite way of sending the big-wig a message. It has been popularly recalled that George stepped in to save Jim's life, but this is only partially true. George clearly knew that something was afoot, but he didn't know what, and he also knew better than to get in the middle of it. Later, after the film wrapped, Bioff told George that he was indeed going to bump Cagney off, but had been halted because they didn't want to screw up filming for George. So, in effect, George did save Jim's life, even if indirectly. One wonders if Jim ever knew how close he came to curtains???

Of course, Jim always knew that life on a film set was dangerous. Not only is a film celebrity's career constantly in jeopardy due to changing public tastes, competitive talent, or demanding moguls, but before the advent of the Screen Actors Guild-- of which Jim was a proud member and instigator-- performers were often put through the mill emotionally and physically. Overworked, underpaid, and unprotected, the company brass had little concern for the pawns in their money game. After all, if you lose one actor, you can just hire another. This mentality led to the lackadaisical way actors were put in danger. Ever notice how in those old Cagney pictures and likewise gangster films, the shooters are always pointing their guns at a downward angle? This was because they were often shooting with live rounds. For those big productions, when Jim had to outrun or dodge an array of bullets, he wasn't acting. When working on The Public Enemy, for example, a man named "Bailey" was hired as a professional sharpshooter. Having served in the Great War, Bailey was an ace shot. The director would set up the scene and direct the movement, then Jim's character would be instructed to run this way or that away from the spray of bullets, which Bailey, from his gunner platform, calculatingly fired behind him, leaving authentic bullet holes along the walls of the set. Filming these scenes took a lot of guts-- or stupidity. As good a shot as Bailey was, it took a lot of trust for Jim to perform knowing that if he moved a hair out of place, he might lose his whole head! Luckily, the miracle of special effects has made this method of gun play obsolete on the sound stage.


... John Barrymore had one up on Al Jolson?

Everyone recalls The Jazz Singer as being the miracle film that moved cinema from a land of silence to a world of sound. However, this transition did not occur overnight. Even The Jazz Singer itself was not an in toto sound film from start to finish. Instead, it is a silent piece with synced music in various places, into which Al Jolson stealthily added a line of dialogue or two. Before continuous music and dialogue became the norm, there were films produced with random sound effects, profiting off the gimmick of the new innovation. Inserted into the fray were a whistle here, a car horn there, and occasionally entire songs. But, before The Jazz Singer was released in 1927, John Barrymore's romantic epic Don Juan was produced in 1926 (left). It represented another step toward sound film in that it was actually the first film Warner Brothers released with the use of the novel "Vitaphone." Warners really spearheaded the sound film movement by investing in and acquiring this new apparatus, while the rest of the industry remained hesitant both about the change and the huge costs it would incur-- not only in production but in restructuring theaters to suit the new technology. The first Vitaphone feature film, Don Juan was synced from start to finish with sound effects and music, though dialogue was still noticeably absent. When played to packed houses, it was often accompanied by more talkie shorts and even an intro by the fearful censor boss, Will Hays.The film was a huge success as a result, but despite big box office, it failed to recoup its financial losses. This put Harry Warner off a bit, but Sam Warner-- the most forward thinking of the brothers-- really pushed for continued use of the device. His pegged the next Vitaphone feature as The Jazz Singer. Though not the first film produced with the Vitaphone, it would in time prove to be the most vital. Ironically, Sam would pass away one day before the premiere of his greatest success.


... the Egyptian was the first Hollywood movie theater?

Back in the early Hollywood days, the awkward transition from live performance to recorded film was evidenced in the film premiere. These days, one merely sits back as the opening credits start to roll, but in the 1920s especially, the film premiere was made to be almost as big a production as the film itself. Sid Grauman personified the extremities of cinematic extravagance with his plush movie palaces, complete with vast stages for elaborate pre-show performances, skits, dance numbers, and songs. The theater-going experience was just that-- an "experience," and one ripe for the senses. In addition to transporting his paying customers and clientele to various different places as they watched the screen, Sid too constructed his theaters to resemble far off, exotic locales. Grandeur, splendor, pleasure-- there was no holding back, and customers paid to be awed. While his Chinese Theatre is best remembered, he too had great success with a previous venture, The Egyptian Theatre, which opened 5 years earlier in 1922, mere blocks away on Hollywood Boulevard (right). This was the first official Hollywood movie theater because it was built specifically for cinema and was not a transformed storefront or vaudeville theater like the others, including The Iris.

Modeled after the infamous African country, and cashing in on the invigorated interest in the recent King Tut phenomenon, Sid covered the Egyptian's walls with ancient artwork and hieroglyphics, convincing audiences that they were sitting in the midst of a desert mirage. Lining the red carpet entrance, where fans stood to watch their favorite stars attend premieres, there too were rows of vendors offering souvenir items and showcasing costumes and props from the latest flick. Needless to say, the largess made it a huge success. To Sid, it was all in the details. He even had a sentinel fully costumed, standing on the roof of the theater to announce when showtime was about to commence. After the pre-show hooplah, the fan mayhem, and the dancing girls, it's a wonder anyone had any energy left to even watch the scheduled movie. Because Sid created this first massive theater, he literally brought film to Hollywood, which until then wasn't considered the hub of the industry it is today. With studios scattered all around Los Angeles, Hollywood and cinema had little connection until Sid came along, which is why he was given the name "Mr. Hollywood." After nearly 90 years of operation, the Egyptian is still going, though it's interior has changed a great deal. Nonetheless, it remains the oldest running 100%-movie-theater in Hollywood.

 ... "virgin" is a dirty word?

In 1953, Otto Preminger decided to tackle Hugh Herbert's smash play and turn it into a film. The Moon is Blue, a comedy of wit and manners, may have read like a modern Oscar Wilde play, but it translated like a bombshell. Opposing forces took offense to the very open and lighthearted dialogue with regard to sex. The film's heroine is a young, outspoken, and charming girl played by newcomer Maggie McNamara, who just happens to be a virgin and makes no apology about it. After she meets architect William Holden on the Empire State Building observation deck (where else?), he becomes completely smitten, but is mostly consumed with the idea of-- politely-- ridding her of the tedious "virgin" label. What results is a inept seduction with fellow suitor David Niven thrown into the mix and both boys realizing that they're no match for Maggie's smarts. Despite the fact that all ends well, in matrimony, MPPDA head Joseph Breen was hot under the collar due to the casual way with which sex was discussed, not to mention the open way in which the characters of Holden and Niven went about hatching plans to seduce their innocent prey. Breen refused to give the film the censorship's seal of approval, but Preminger released the film anyway with the help of United Artists. Such a thing was unprecedented. Due to the film's themes and the use of words like "seduction," "mistress," "pregnant," and "virgin"-- the latter of which had never been used in such context in a film before-- several theaters refused to show it. It started at small venues, slowly drumming up a fan following, and eventually earned a hefty $3.5m dollar profit. "Virgin" thus became the word that started the toppling of the production code administration. The film was additionally successful in earning McNamara an Academy Award nomination and winning Niven a Golden Globe, (which was doubly eventful for him, since originally the studio didn't want to cast him, thinking he was old news). 


... porn is nearly as old as film itself?

That's right. We've all been dirty perverts a long, long time. It's nothing new. While some pinpoint early German sexual education/health films as the earliest source of pornography, the movie labeled as the first official stag film is 1915's A Free Ride (right). There is some debate as to the year of its release, which may actually have been later, around 1923, but thus far it is the oldest surviving product of our cinematic debauchery. The plot is about as intricate as those today: some random guy picks up some random girls on the side of the road. After he pulls to the side to relieve himself in the desert, one of the two females follows him to do the same. The sight of her panties dropping apparently is more than he can handle, and before you know it... Yadda yadda yowza! Because such levels of sexuality and outright raunchiness were illegal, the film was not released publicly but was instead shown in all-male clubs, so as not to offend delicate, female sensibilities-- excluding of course the two female leads. What can be said about this now hilarious attempt at celluloid erotica, is that the filmmakers apparently embraced its comedy. The director is credited as A. Wise Guy, the DP as Will B. Hard, and the title writer as Will She.

NOW, THAT'S FUNNY: Part VI

Ginger Rogers: the face that launched a thousand woos. 

Just ask Burgess Meredith...

During the Hollywood hey-day, Ginger Rogers was one of the silver screen gals whom the men of America considered a dream come true. One thing that set her apart from her contemporaries was her approachability. As flirty and sassy as she was, her sexiness had a cuteness to it that made her both desirable and obtainable. She was the gorgeous girl-next-door who danced her way onto the silver screen and sang her way into men's hearts. The proof of her effect on the opposite sex could be seen early in her career. In addition to garnering a great amount of fan attention, her co-stars and co-workers often found themselves mooning over her. While working on the Broadway hit musical "Girl Crazy" in 1930, her scene partner Allen Kearns revealed his smitten condition before a live audience. During a scene together, Allen was to say to Ginger's character (Molly Gray), "Molly, I love you," (as seen left). Instead, he blurted out, "Ginger, I love you!"The audience started cracking up, and after a blush, the duo had no choice but to keep the scene going as if nothing had happened. However, the slip-up was so charming that they decided to do it again on purpose for the remaining shows. As a result, when the film version was made at MGM starring Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland, Garland's character became "Ginger," both in honor of the preceding leading lady and the embarrassing romantic blunder that helped endear the show to audiences.

Burgess Meredith can be identified as another one of those pinched by Cupid's arrow in Ginger's presence. He made no secret of his affinity for the beautiful actress during the filming of their mutual project Tom, Dick and Harry (both in the film right) and flirted openly with her. He wanted to "woo" her, as would become blatantly obvious. Their attachment would never become truly romantic and was more of a friendship in which Burgess would poke fun at both Ginger's star persona and her enchanting effect on the opposite sex. As a prank, he started to send her lavish gifts every day on the set. The first was a box of chocolates, or rather a "candy woo," as he called it. The only problem was that the yummies were actually made of paper. He then sent her phony flowers as a "flower woo," fake jewelry ("pearl woo") and a ratty fur coat ("fur woo").  The rest of the cast and crew got very caught up in the hilarity, even going so far as to give Burgess suggestions and pointers on how to attack next. They came up with a "diamond woo" and a "car woo"-- the former involved an enormous fake gem and the latter a broken down Model-T Ford. Eventually, the gag got old and Burgess wore himself out. The two laughingly established an armistice and enjoyed the rest of the shoot. Ginger would always look back on this film fondly because of Burgess, whose shenanigans earned him a special place in her heart. In that respect at least, the wooing worked.

Speaking of pranks, it wasn't always the gents having fun at the ladies' expense. Sometimes, the girls got to have a little revenge as well. Hollywood's earliest Comedienne Fatale was Mabel Normand, whose carefree and boisterous humor made her a popular girl with friends and fans alike (see beauty, left). Part of her charm lied in her ability to lighten the mood when others were taking life too seriously. Sam Goldwyn would learn this when the gorgeous pip, unbeknown to him, was following him around  making faces while he lectured a film crew. Upon discovery, the perturbed Sam couldn't stay mad at her long. This was not just because he was in love with her like every other guy on the lot, but because no one could seem to stay mad at Mabel. Not even Ben Turpin, who had good reason. While filming one particular scene, Ben was to do a bit with a live bear, which terrified him. In the days before computer generated effects, actors had to duel with live animals all the time, and this kind of authenticity scared the bejeezus out of the cross-eyed clown. As such, he insisted that a stuffed bear be used instead. This was a logical request, but Mabel-- who had done her share of animal stunt work-- decided to have a little fun at Ben's expense. Ben crawled into bed beside the fake bear and, just to be sure it was phony, stuck one of Louis Fazenda's hat pins in it. It laid still, so Ben relaxed. Little did he know that Mabel too was in that bed with him, buried beneath the stuffed mammal. No sooner had the camera started rolling , then Mabel moved the bear's arms around Ben, who jumped up in fear and shot out of frame! The moment was so hilarious that it was used in the final print. Mabel thought it was a gas. After all, if a little lady like her could go mono e mono with a lion (in The Extra Girl), then a grown man like Ben could be teased a little about his lack of carnivore courage.

Ben Turpin, armed and ready for Mabel. (I wonder if she's the

 reason he went cross-eyed in the first place)?

Sid Grauman was known for two things in Hollywood: being the greatest showman in the motion-picture business and being the grandest prankster. As lush and extravagant as his movie palaces were-- like the Egyptian and the Chinese theaters in Hollywood-- so too were his gags. One of his favorite marks, and every one else's apparently, was again Sam Goldwyn. The uptight, no-nonsense businessman clearly needed to be taken down a peg or two. Since Sam was an early movie mogul, it was easy for him to find young women willing to go out and enjoy the town with him, and he certainly could have his pick of the prettiest, eagerest ingenues around. Thus, Sid decided to enlist the help of his pal and fellow funny man, Charles Chaplin (both pals right), to teach the egomaniac a bit of a lesson. Charlie offered to set Sam up on a date with a gorgeous girl: "And I mean gorgeous, Sam. You won't find another like her!" Sam, to no surprise, agreed to the blind date, and nearly went blind himself when he found himself sitting across from Sid... In drag. (Pause for spastic laughter as Chaplin grabs his side and hits the floor howling). Another kindly cruel joke was played on friend Ernst Lubitsch, whom Sid knew for a fact had a fear of flying. One day, when Sid caught wind that Ernst was about to (reluctantly) take to the air, he concocted another scheme. After the plane had taken off, he paid two actors dressed as pilots to run from the cockpit and exclaim, "I don't know about you, but I'm getting outta here!" They then jumped from the plane (with parachutes one hopes) leaving a shaking Ernst in their wake. Luckily, there were still authentic pilots flying the plane, and Ernst made it home safe, where he most certainly gave Sid a swift kick in the behind.

Gloria Swanson's hands are immortalized at Grauman's Chinese 

Theater with the help of pal Sid.

Not all of these guffaw-inducing moments were purposeful, however. Sometimes, in fact, certain people were not even aware that they were the butt of the joke. Take Gary Cooper, for example. Coop certainly had his charms and could throw out a dirty limerick or two, but he wasn't really known for his side-splitters. Nonetheless, he could be accidentally entertaining from time to time. Just ask neighbor Veronica Lake. Ronni (right in Ramrod) had taken to Coop, since he was a salt of the earth kind of guy and not one of those stuck-up, pretentious types who so annoyed her. Thus, when she would see him passing by atop his horse in the hills near her home, it would always bring a friendly smile to her face... and a bit of a chuckle. See, Coop had a habit of going for midnight rides when he couldn't fall asleep, especially on Friday evenings. So, he'd climb on his horse and ride a pace, only to  finally conk out in the saddle. The first time Ronni saw his snoring, slumped form ambling by, she probably cocked that iconic eyebrow with a "What the...?" But she got used to it. She was more worried when she didn't see Coop's horse-aided somnambulism than when she did. "No need to wave. Coop's just sleep-riding again. Saturday morning, and all's well!"

Coop on his horse and much more alert.

HOT SPOTS in CA: The Brown Derby

The easiest go-to for young lovers on date night has for some time now been the tried and true "dinner and a movie." However, if one happened to live in Hollywood in the glory days, occasionally this age-old ritual transferred to "dinner and a movie star." La La Land was, during the prime studio era, jam-packed with restaurants and eateries frequented by the glitziest faces in the biz. Chasen's, Googie's, Miceli's, The Cafe Trocadero... The list goes on and on. However, the most infamous of all these places, and the one that seems to come up as a reference in almost any Hollywood bio you read, is the The Brown Derby.

The original Derby at 3427 Wilshire.

Shaped like a hat and situated at 3427 Wilshire Blvd, the first branch of this illustrious food chain would open up in 1926 across the street from The Ambassador Hotel. It is said that the hat motif was the brain-child of co-owner Richard J. Cobb, who was once told by partner Harry Samborn (ex-hubby of Gloria Swanson) that if a restaurant was run well, the food could be "served out of a hat and you'd still make money." Cobb took this literally, and now that the duo had a hook for their diner, they set up shop-- or hat rather. Soon enough, business was bumping. While celebs like Mary Pickford and Bebe Daniels had more than a few meals at this branch, The Brown Derby didn't become synonymous with Hollywood until another restaurant was opened at Hollywood & Vine at 1628 N Vine Street in 1929. This eatery was not shaped like the famous hat, but it bore the same moniker, and since it was located in the midst of movie central, it became the go-to place for celebs and fans alike to grab a bite . Sometimes, actors would appear at the restaurant in wardrobe, because there was too little time on their lunch break to change. This restaurant is also credited with establishing the phenomenon of telephones at every booth, so that business could be conducted more efficiently by dining execs-- a tactic picked up by future eateries and clubs such as 21.

Hollywood Brown Derby at Hollywood & Vine

It was also at the Hollywood branch that the infamous "Wall of Fame" would be begun by a Polish artist, whose name was allegedly so hard to pronounce that he was referred to only as "Vitch," (first name Edward).  He started what was to become a restaurant trademark by offering to draw people's caricatures for a bowl of soup. His keen eye for accentuated facial features and his ability to capture the essence of a famous face in but a few broad strokes made him a celebrity of his own, and soon cartoonish, exaggerated pictures of Clark Gable, Marlene Dietrich, and Humphrey Bogart adorned and covered the surrounding walls (William Powell is seen left). (Other artists, most particularly Jack Lane, would continue the caricature tradition up into the eighties). Jimmy Durante would be the only star whose picture took up two pieces of paper, due to his notorious schnoz. Jimmy had a favorite corner booth, and if the table was taken when he came in for a bite, he would simply turn around and leave. Wallace Beery could also be counted on to sit in his favorite booth and order the specialty corned beef hash.

The menu at The Brown Derby was fancier than one may imagine. Offering much more than burgers and fries, the restaurant served a various assortment of ethnic masterpieces, salads, soups, and desserts. This is because various guests started adding their own favorites to the menu. Dorothy Lamour contributed her recipe for Shrimp Creole-- taste tested by her own mother-- and the different varieties of international foods can be attributed to the other universal clientele. The most famous meal perhaps is the Cobb salad, which Cobb himself is said to have haphazardly concocted on a whim. The story of its creation varies, and is the stuff of legend, but the accepted tale is thus: when he and Sid Grauman-- theater owner and showman-- were hanging around late one night, they both got hungry. Cobb took various leftover scraps of chicken, lettuce, avocado, etc, and added the famous House French Dressing. History was made, and the salad became a hit when Sid came in requesting it again the next day. The Cobb was even featured in an episode of "I Love Lucy" (right) when the gang finally goes to Hollywood and has a meal at the Derby. Seated between Eve Arden and William Holden, Lucy is, of course, star struck as she overhears the tasty Holden order the delectable Cobb. Needless to say, all Hell breaks loose and food winds up in Holden's lap and not his plate. (Watch hilarious clip here). Jack Warner was allegedly a huge fan of the salad and used to order it by the quart.


But the Derby represented more than a place to grab a bite. It was a kitchen away from home for many celebrities, many of whom have significant memories that occurred there. Here are a few worth mentioning:

The First Date
Prior to her big career breakthrough in I Wanted Wings, Veronica Lake was being wooed by esteemed art director John Detlie (both left).  After receiving bouquets of flowers from the anonymous admirer, John finally called Veronica up and asked her out on an official date. Wanting to impress the seemingly un-impressible Ronni, where did he take her? The Brown Derby- the meal locale of the who's-who of Hollywood. While Ronni was not easily flattered by superficial tomfoolery, she did enjoy her meal and was smitten enough to begin a romantic relationship with the man who was to become her first husband. Her mother, Constance, was also impressed, as she had tagged along to monitor her daughter's courtship. Love with a side of "Good-grief, Ma!"

The Proposal
Clark Gable and Carole Lombard (right at the Derby) had been romantically involved since 1936 when they bumped into each other at the Mayfair Ball. The two had appeared in No Man of Her Own together in 1932, but it wasn't until John Hay Whitney threw this little shindig that the two would click romantically. Carole was recently divorced from William Powell, with whom she remained friendly, but Clark was still very married to "Ria" Langham. Nonetheless, a love affair proceeded, during which legendary shenanigans involving doves, broken down cars, and Carole's usual pranks ensued. Soon, Carole was in over her head and head-over-heels in love. She pursued the man of her dreams with a vengeance, despite his shuffling and procrastination in obtaining a divorce: it was solely a monetary issue, for his marriage to the 17-year senior Ria had been in name only for some time. Even the studios tried to keep them apart, fearing that scandal would destroy both of their careers. Needless to say, many MGM faces turned bright red when the infamous "Hollywood's Unmarried Husbands and Wives" Photoplay article was published, insinuating Clark and Carole as two of the culprits, in the company of such others as Barbara Stanwyck and Robert Taylor. Perhaps with so many obstacles between them, the relationship would have gone up in smoke,but Clark realized that he indeed loved his dizzy, blonde Tom-boy too. After three years of waiting, on March 7, 1939 Clark obtained his divorce. Now a free man, he placed a call to Carole direct from his current location-- The Brown Derby-- and asked her to marry him. After thinking about it for a millisecond, she said "Hell, yes!" They were married a couple of weeks later on March 29.

The Wedding
No actual wedding took place at the Derby, that I know of... But Judy Garland's first act of matrimony came pretty close. David Rose was a songwriter who had won Judy's heart through his sincerity and kindness (both left). Since Dave was over ten years her senior, Judy also thought that he was a man who could protect her from her overbearing mother, Ethel. The two had first met when Judy was to do a radio show for Bob Hope, for which Rose was also scheduled. However, love seemed like a long shot for the two. Judy was still smarting over the recent marriage of Lana Turner to Artie Shaw, a good friend of Judy's with whom she was very much in love. Crying hysterically and banging her head against the wall, it appeared that Judy would be unable to perform. Rose helped to calm her down, even bringing her a piece of his mother's chocolate cake, once she had stopped with the waterworks. Since Judy had been on a very regimented diet nearly her entire life-- again, thanks to Mama Monster-- she broke out in a big smile and said, "How did you know that this was exactly what I needed?!" Soon enough, the two were dating and became engaged, though the studios were trying to stall the nuptials for as long as possible. Judy was still playing teeny-boppers in movies like Babes in Arms, and having her publicly proclaim herself as a grown-up could severely affect box office. One night, while dining out at the Derby (June 27, 1941 to be exact), Judy and David decided that they could stall no longer. Perhaps it was the romantic lighting, perhaps it was the fact that, as David discovered, the way to Judy's heart was through her stomach, but after dinner, they grabbed the check, hopped a plane to Vegas, and said "I do!" MGM was not happy, and sadly Judy was to have no Honeymoon. Furious, the studio demanded that she return the next afternoon to finish shooting on Babes on Broadway. Luckily, Judy's box-office appeal went unharmed.

The Brawl
It wasn't always hearts and clovers, however. John Gilbert (right) had a very embarrassing incident happen to him at the Derby. In the late Twenties, as the glory days of the silent film were hanging on by a thread, so too was one of its leading men. John's destruction lay not in the nature of his voice, which history has incorrectly remembered as being too squeaky for Talkies. His true enemy was Louis B. Mayer, who-- little did John know-- was already laying the trap for his downfall. Many theorize that the publicity surrounding John's inability to transfer to sound films was initiated by Mayer, with whom he had a long-running animosity. Mayer planted the seed of doubt, and soon enough it was accepted as truth that John was a hack and a far cry from his macho, leading man persona. One piece of evidence to support this is the article that Mayer (supposedly) had Jim Tully write for Vanity Fair, in which he labeled John as a lecherous mama's boy. This poison pen article was specifically used to tarnish John's ladies' man image and serve as the first nudge to propel his career on its downward spiral. John, a self-made man who had a very tumultuous relationship with his mother, was disgusted when he read the article. So sickened was he, that he actually threw-up. Thus, when he came face to face with Tully years later at The Brown Derby, he started a fight with the author. However, because Tully had a background in boxing, it was John who was left lying on the floor, his ego bruised more than his eye. It was a humiliating experience, and the drunk and disorderly John had to be removed from the premises, while Tully returned to his meal. Years later, Tully would admit that he had nothing against John, and had in fact never met him when he wrote the article, therefore having to basis upon which to make his lewd statements. It was simply a job and a job too well done. John and his career would soon disappear under the heap of lies, but not until after the insult of all insults: he was forced to act opposite Tully in Way for a Sailor of 1930.

The Beginning and The End
The Brown Derby would finally serve as a macabre bookend for the remaining days of Thelma Todd (left).  Her introduction to and her last public meeting with the man who is most often labeled as the mastermind of her bizarre, untimely death would occur at none other than The Brown Derby. Thelma's marriage to Pat DiCicco, a Hollywood agent with mob connections, was well on its way to divorce court from almost the moment they said "I do." Pat was secretive and abusive, and it was becoming abundantly clear that his charms had been covering up a selfish and sadistic personality. Thelma was fed up with the lies and his emotional distance from her: Where did he disappear to all the time? Who was he with? And why? She got her answer one night when dining with friend and ex-lover Roland West at the Derby. Ironically, the two were discussing the creation of a restaurant of their own: Thelma Todd's Sidewalk Cafe, which would soon take root on the Pacific Coast Highway. In the midst of conversation, Thelma caught sight of her hubby across the way, talking to a man she couldn't see. She boldly walked over to give him a piece of her mind, or at the very least elbow her way into his life. She was shocked by what she saw: Lucky Luciano. Though far from handsome, Lucky and his power were intoxicating, hypnotizing, and Thelma found herself stuttering under his piercing gaze. He held out his hand, introduced himself, complimented her beauty, and then offered her a drink. Since Thelma was overcoming issues with alcoholism and a drug addiction, she refrained, but when Lucky insisted, one didn't refuse. This meeting would being the rapid countdown to her final days.

Thelma's own Sidewalk Cafe.

Apparently, all of Pat's secrecy had been for Thelma's protection. He knew Lucky (right) had an eye for his movie star wife, that he loved blondes, and that he was also a dangerous and far more abusive man than Pat himself would ever be. Yet, before he knew it, Pat and Thelma were divorced, and it was Luciano who had crawled into her bed like a serpent. The affair was not a joyous one. More physical abuse began, as did more sneaking, lying, and cheating. Thelma finally had her fill when Luciano tried to get his hands on her Cafe in order to use the upstairs room as a headquarters for his gambling racket. Thelma wasn't having it, and she tried to break off the affair. Again, Lucky never took "no" for an answer. He had already succeeded in sending Thelma back into her debilitating addiction to prescription pills, uppers, and booze, now he was trying to tamper with her business. One night, the duo met publicly, as Thelma had stipulated, at The Brown Derby. Again, Lucky tried to force his way into her business, but this time Thelma let it be known once and for all that she was through with him for good, even threatening to use the knowledge she had about Lucky's illegal business deals as blackmail. Legend has it that Thelma stood up to leave, shouting out, "You'll take over my restaurant over my dead body!" She made her exit, briskly and proudly. Under his breath, Lucky allegedly muttered, "That can be arranged." Soon after, on Dec. 16, 1935, Thelma Todd was found dead, bloody and bruised, in the front seat of her car in the garage above The Sidewalk Cafe. Cause of death: Accidental Suicide. Yeah, right...

Needless to say, the Derby was a busy place. And, for the most part, despite a couple of the aforementioned tales, it produced an attractive and positive atmosphere. Thus, two more branches would open, one in Beverly Hills farther West on Wilshire and a Drive-in version in Los Feliz (left). But, nothing good lasts forever. As times changed, the very first Derby was moved from 3427 to 3377 Wilshire, but a change of venue couldn't save it. All of these eateries were vacant by the eighties and half of them were demolished. The Hollywood branch, the most kickin' of them all, is completely vanished from Vine Street, perhaps the greatest loss. The space originally known as The Brown Derby in Los Feliz still stands as a Louise's Trattoria. Originally scheduled for demolition, this locale was saved by history buffs who made it a cultural landmark. The original was too destroyed, but the curious dome that was once the top of the giant hat still sits at the top of The Brown Derby shopping center at 3377 Wilshire. It is currently a Korean restaurant, so one can technically still eat in the Derbies of Los Feliz and Los Angeles, even if one is not technically at the Derby.

3377 Wilshire and the remnants of the giant ol' Derby hat.

As silly as it might be to want to hold onto something that represents but cannot bring forth the past, there is still a nostalgia felt for the most famous of Hollywood hats. The thrill of sitting at a table once enjoyed by Jean Harlow and William Powell would certainly be something any film buff would enjoy. As it is, we have to take refuge in the faded memories alone. For those hungry for more, you can still wander to that corner of Hollywood and Vine and imagine life as it was. You can even order your own Brown Derby cookbook, (I just made the "Cobb" and it was to die for) or a replicated caricature of your favorite star. Sadly, that's the most one can hope for, but perhaps it's enough. Even in Hollywood, you can't go home again. Too bad. I could really use a dish of Grable with a side of Grant...