NOW, THAT'S FUNNY: Part V

Carole Landis, poised for laughs.

Carole Landis's fun-loving attitude made her an eager participant in many a good-natured joke or game. A warm person, her mere presence seemed to flip the happy switch and put people in a better mood. This came in handy most particularly when she started entertaining the troops during WWII. Her heart went out to the battling soldiers, and she would do anything to give them a little peace and joy in the midst of the chaos that they daily faced. And I mean anything... During the war, radio became a useful outlet for the boys fighting abroad, and a steady stream of broadcasts gave them comforting reminders of home. One particular show, Command Performance, was based upon this concept. It took random requests from the boys and put them into action, making the oddest desires come true. Hopefuls called in with strange petitions, asking for various sound mementos from home or-- more daringly-- celebrity performances. On one interesting occassion, a huge Carole fan asked for very small favor. All he wanted was to listen to her "sigh." Carole must have gotten a good chuckle out of such an odd inquiry, but she gamely agreed to do it. So, on June 14, 1942, Carole stood in front of the microphone and softly proclaimed to soldiers all over the world, "Ahhhhhhhh...." It was a sensation and one of the best remembered moments of the show, as well as one which earned the most requests for replay.

The next jest is too tied to Carole, but there is debate over whether it was she who indeed committed the whimsy or her contemporary Lana Turner (left). In either case, one of these two ladies was again entertaining the soldiers in wartime and dancing with one fellow in particular-- who found his gaze continually traveling downward to the damsel's low-cut neckline. The soldier then humorously asked if the plunging cut was supposed to symbolize "V for Victory?" Not to be outdone, the lady in question quipped back, "Yes, but the bundles aren't for Britain!" Carole would later attribute the punchline to Lana, but some argued that she had in fact said it herself. I guess we'll never know. Both ladies were certainly capable of that kind of brazenly, silly stunt.

Beyond the Forest is most memorable for being the line in which Bette Davis uttered the eternal quote: "What a dump." However, there is actually a rather funny story involving another quote from the film. See, Bette didn't want to do the film in the first place. She thought both the story and the character were beneath her. Having constantly battled with studio head Jack Warner in the past, her fierce, stubborn streak was old news at this point. It was clear that both Bette and Warner Brothers were growing tired of each other. She fought, begged, and pleaded to get out of the role, even offering up casting suggestions-- she thought Virginia Mayo was better suited to play Rosa Moline, which was probably a back-handed compliment at the actress, who was more notorious for playing sexy, gangsters' molls. In the end, Bette's tenacity did not get her out of the movie, but it did end her contract. She threatened to walk off the picture, which was only half finished, thus inducing an ultimatum from Warners: if she finished the picture, she would be free from her home studio. She agreed. Finally, liberated after eighteen years, Bette was ecstatic... Until she learned that she had to return to do some voice over on a badly recorded scene. Glumly, she trudged back to say her last line at WB: "If I don't get out of here, I'll die." (See iconic moment, right).

Gary Cooper (left) was a quiet sort of guy, but that was part of his charm. Where most celebrity males of the time, and in fact today, walked with a confident swagger, he more gracefully strolled. Where many were loud and boastful, throwing their masculine weight around, Gary was quiet and soft spoken. Many a person, particularly women, spent a great deal of time trying to figure out what was going on inside that pretty, silent head of his, and certain gals like Carole Lombard threw up their hands in defeat after trying to figure him out. In the end, Carole preferred the brashness of Gable, thinking Gary was, well, boring. However, this was not so. Coop too had a great sense of fun and naughtiness, as Rita Hayworth and Veronica Lake would witness first hand... when they went on a bender together. This unlikely trio of shy outsiders banded together one fateful night while in Chicago on a War Bond tour. Determined to forget their stresses and throw caution to the wind, they soon found themselves at a strip joint watching the current female attraction on stage.

Gary, despite his bashful demeanor, was one of the notorious Hollywood "ladykillers," so it came as no surprise to Ronni and Rita when a girl plopped down next to him and started a conversation. Gary listened sympathetically, despite being schnockered, as this young woman explained that it was her sister who was dancing on stage and, "Oh dear, isn't it a horrible thing?" Veronica and Rita marvelled at the way Coop was able to draw the unsuspecting girl to him like a moth to a flame; how a complete stranger found herself babbling her innermost sorrows as he at least pretended to listen. He had such a wooing, calming effect. Eventually, having unburdened her conflicted heart, the girl made a drunken exit, leaving her stripping sister and famous cohorts behind, though she was probably not even aware to whom she had just been speaking. Feeling a bit guilty after this revelatory conversation, the three friends quieted their consciences by becoming equally inebriated and ambling down to another strip joint. And just who do you think should be dancing center stage? The very same girl who had just been mourning her sister's sad profession!  As eyes bulged and mouths opened, one can almost imagine Rita and Veronica looking at a surprised Gary and cackling at the twist of fate. The joke, it seemed, was on them! The girl recognized the coterie and humorously gave Gary a great deal of attention, for which he provided a generous tip. As they departed from their night of debauchery, the man of few words had, as usual, little to say. Smirking and shaking his head, he let it go with a: "Well, I'll be damned." (Gary and Rita reunite more soberly during They Came to Cordura).

Vicente Minelli, Judy Garland, and Kate Hepburn chit chat
on the set of Undercurrent.

After the disastrous shoot on Summer Stock, Judy Garland found herself permanently severed from her home studio MGM, which was bittersweet. Happy to be free, yet anxious without a home, her depression was only intensified by her deteriorating marriage to the homosexual Vicente Minelli. At the end of her tether, Judy disappeared into the bathroom and used some broken glass to slash her own throat. This suicide attempt was no laughing matter, of course, but it was typical of Judy, whose injuries were far from fatal. Mostly, she was crying for help, attention, and sympathy-- publicly proclaiming herself the victim of MGM's ruthless brutality. The message was received, and Louis B. Mayer, in a panic about what the negative publicity could do to his studio, sent for Hollywood's immovable pillar of strength, Katharine Hepburn, for help. She agreed to go talk to Judy and hopefully coax her out of the black hole into which she'd fallen. Kate arrived at Judy's home and was barraged by photographers, whom she told in no uncertain terms that if they took her picture, they would be punched in the face. Needless to say, the shutters stopped. In her typical, New England drawl, she then burst into Judy's room with a series of reprimands and supportive anecdotes. "Oh deah, you rally are in a bad way, ahn't you?" Kate offered Judy room and board at her place, where the patient could regain her strength and recuperate. Judy, grateful for the offer, was too terrified to accept. "Relaxing" with Kate surely would include swimming, jogging, and various other tough love rejuvenation tactics. Judy preferred to mope and enjoy the pitiful windfall of sympathy. Yet, Judy loved and respected Kate and felt truly victorious that one of Hollywood's biggest angels had been sent to help her. However, she was soon offered another consoling shoulder, which she did not find as appealing. During prayer at church, Jane Russell believed that she had been sent a divine message to reach out to Judy in her plight. So, she made a telephone call. Judy answered, at which point Jane went into Psalm 23: "The Lord is my shepherd..." Judy, who-- despite evidence to the contrary-- was in no mood to face her maker, quickly and embarrassingly interrupted with a "Thank you" and abruptly hung up. Perhaps at her next prayer session Jane offered up an "Our Father, return to sender."

Talk about "V for Victory..." Jane in her Sunday best.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Judy Garland

America's Eternal Sweetheart: Judy Garland.

The contradiction between the real and the reel life has always been stark. Still, despite the fact that we know that our stars and the drama and extravagance of the cinematic world are glamorized, we somehow come to identify a screen persona as the person herself. Judy Garland, therefore, remains a bashful, awkward, yet enchanting innocent. She represents the eternal, hopeful child within us, and her voice echoes the power and passion dwelling inside even the most silent or insecure of vessels. She was the Hollywood ugly duckling who blossomed into a beautiful swan, emerging as the personification of our own transformation of self-conscious youths to (hopefully) secure adults. Her humility in her roles and the profound grace of her musicality have made her eternal-- the girl unanimously loved and forever remembered. She is the only performer with the ability to gain our trust and carry us far and away, even over the rainbow. In front of the camera, Judy was at her best, but oh how different the tale of her personal life. As delicate and lovable as her Betsy Booth was, just as dark and tormented was her true nature. Judy Garland was ever-lovable. Frances Gumm, however, was plain shocking.

With good pal and constant collaborator, Mickey Rooney,

as Betsy Booth in Love Finds Andy Hardy.

A career in performance was almost inevitable for little Frances. Her father, Frank, who was said to have had an angelic, entrancing voice of his own, was notorious as an entertainer, singer, and theater manager. Her mother, Ethel, was an ambidextrous and driven, if not equal, talent who often played the piano while her husband sang. All three of the Gumm sisters would be pushed onto the stage, but it was the captivating presence and awe-inspiring voice of the youngest girl that would cause the most ruckus. After Ethel recognized the pint-sized girl's larger-than-life talent, all hopes for a normal childhood or a normal life were gone. Though Frances was a mug from the start, adoring life in the spotlight and the love of an audience, she was too young to be positioned as the family breadwinner. After her beloved father passed away, leaving her completely at her mother's mercy, things only grew worse. Smothered, ordered, and condescended to, she would grow up as many child stars do-- with brittle bones, never knowing the strength of independence or the liberty born of personal choice. Thus, the Judy Garland born at MGM in 1935 was destined for stardom and cursed with insecurity.

In her most famous role, as Dorothy Gale in The Wizard of Oz.

The more Judy's onscreen persona was solidified as the good-natured, shy girl-next-door in films like Love Finds Andy Hardy or Babes in Arms, the more she tried to create a vastly different identity in her personal life. In her early roles, she is the hopeless romantic who is always passed over, which was indeed reflective of reality. However, Judy did not sit waiting for Prince Charming to wake up and notice her; she made him notice. While contending with beauties such as Lana Turner, Judy-- who was referred to by LB Mayer as his "little Hunchback"-- hurled herself into romance after romance in the hopes of finding absolution-- to prove her screen self as false and find herself as a woman. Thanks to Mayer and her casting in dowdy roles, Judy didn't think she was beautiful, and she never would. She wanted to be Lana, Hedy, anybody. Becoming sexually active early, she tried to disappear into the arms of men who at least in their actions would insinuate that she was someone worthy, someone better. She never understood her appeal, but as she matured, her natural beauty was unearthed from her teenage awkwardness; a dark and intense young woman and a sexual dynamo in lamb's clothing can be seen in Girl Crazy, Meet Me in St. Louis and The Clock. Garland was gorgeous, and this coupled with her charm and humor endeared many men to her, as friends and/or lovers: Artie Shaw, Frank Sinatra, Tyrone Power, Mickey Rooney, Joseph L. Mankiewicz, etc.

Dark Side of a Bright Star.

But Judy's sexual confusion translated to a great many of these romances. In her quest for a loving man to replace her father and establish her feminine identity, she indeed replicated her father-- a homosexual-- by becoming involved with many men who too were homosexual. She married Vincente Minnelli, with whom she birthed Liza. Another lost love of her life was Ty Power, who was bisexual. She also had, or tried to have, an affair with the closeted homosexual Tom Drake in Meet Me in St. Louis, and in later life, she became involved with Mark Herron, who too was gay. In between she had legitimate relationships with first husband, the good-natured but fairly bland David Rose, mostly as a means of escape from her tyrannical mother, and the imposing bruiser Sidney Luft, who was the antithesis of the sensitive, creative, and artistic men whose sexual natures had been deteriorating to her sense of self. (Ironically, Liza would continue the strange trend of impossible love started by her grandmother Ethel by marrying homosexual actor Peter Allen in 1967, at Judy's suggestion). Judy became far too dependent on the opposite sex for gratification, validation, and love. Bled dry emotionally and financially, Judy was never short of men who wanted to give her attention and affection, but she was lacking a strong and supportive man who could give her the freedom of herself.

Revelling in her inner clown in Easter Parade
with Fred Astaire.

Drugs too were a contributing factor. Pumped full of uppers and downers by her own mother by the age of ten, Judy didn't know how to function without the aid of chemical substances. Her emotions were erratic, undependable, and incredibly fragile. When not coddled-- like the child she was raised to be-- on the set, she was stubborn, uncooperative, and chronically late and/or ill. When shown support, favoritism, and friendship, she could forget her insecurities long enough to come to work energized, fresh, and willing. The triggers that set her off were as unpredictable as her nature. A harsh word from Busby Berkeley could send her on a crying jag; a kind word from Fred Astaire inspired one of her best performances in Easter Parade. To be near her was to live in constant fear, as her children could attest, and the need to walk on egg-shells for fear of upsetting her fragile psyche spawned tension wherever she went, which only added to her own nervous energy. In every still photo of Judy where she is not in the midst of singing, there is a barely discernible look of terror in her eyes-- something dangerous-- as if at any moment she may scream out and tear her own flesh off. Haunted, plagued, unglued, she could never seem to pull herself together. But then, she wasn't treated as a person. As writer J. Randy Taraborrelli so eloquently put it, she was MGM's favorite ATM: "deposit drugs-- uppers, downers, whatever-- and out comes money, and lots of it." Her welfare was not a prime concern.

In one of her elegant yet somehow fearful poses.

Raised in a dramatic world, Judy knew how to feed on the drama. She had several failed suicide attempts, which garnered public sympathy or antipathy depending on who was asked, but in each case her self-mutilations were barely injurious. She would cut at her throat with glass, just enough to draw blood, but not enough to do harm. These were not quests for death, but loud and resounding cries for help. Cries that went unanswered. Judy had to be her own defender, her own champion, but the only place she felt truly strong and secure was on the stage. After liberating herself from MGM in a bittersweet moment in 1950, she returned to public singing and underwent another transformation as the travelling, musical orator of all human love and pain. Judy wanted to be a dramatic beauty queen, of which she had the capability, but her gift was entertaining. When she hams it up onstage in "A Couple of Swells" in Easter Parade, she is magical in her absurdity. This is what audiences loved about her. This is what she brought to the stage, along with her supreme voice. Every time she sang "Over the Rainbow," no matter how old she got, it brought tears to her own eyes and the watching eyes of her fans. Up and down and up and down, with movie performances sporadically thrown into her older years, Judy journeyed, singing to whomever would have her and hoping that there would at last be an applause to embrace her and make her feel safe at each show's end.

In a brilliant shot depicting the dual nature of one of

Hollywood's most complicated ladies and the
mirror that haunted her.

Judy's show was over on June 22, 1969 when she died of an accidental drug overdose at the age of 47. She was found hunched over on her own toilet. The little girl whose brightness and innocence had wooed us all the way to "Oz" had disintegrated under the pressures and clawing of a life gone haywire. How do you consolidate two such individuals? How can both exist from and within the same being? Such a thing seems impossible. There is one who lives on in wide-eyed wonder in an imaginary world of vibrant color and willful triumph, forever skipping on the yellow brick road, and there is another whose life was turned upside down by the ravages of the tornado and forced to deal with the wreckage left behind. One is a dream; another is a truth. Judy's final victory is that her fans have embraced the dream, and it is into this dreamworld that she continues to draw us like a nonthreatening siren quelling us with the lullabies and beauties a harsher world would otherwise not allow. Bless her for that.