THE REEL REALS: Ann-Margret

Ann-Margret Olsson

Ann-Margret: the woman so nice (to look at), they named her twice! The shy Swede turned American redhead was one of the biggest stars in the '60s and remains one of the greatest sex symbols of all time. After transferring to the states, Ann-Margret Olsson started her artistic education by taking dance classes, and by the time she graduated from high school, she decided to drop out of college, leave Illinois behind, and pursue a career as a singer. With an onstage presence that contrasted her true demeanor, her sensuality and sense of fun, when combined with her out of this world beauty, made her stand out from the pack. George Burns was the first to give her a leg up in the showbiz community, adding her to his own holiday show after witnessing her in action.

Ann wanted to be a singer most of all, and her first professional coup was getting a contract with RCA. She would record many albums and even some popular singles, but it would be the camera that loved her best. Small parts in State Fair and Pocketful of Miracles did not prepare the world, nor herself, for the cataclysm of sexual power she would unearth in Bye Bye Birdie. Twenty-two upon the film's release-- a mockery of the effect of Elvis Presley on civilization, and their reaction to his entry into war-- Ann possessed an incredibly mature sexuality and feral aggression that separated her from the other cookie-cutter, apple pie girls on the silver screen. She was a friendly femme fatale. Mixed with her touches of vulnerability and still present innocence-- however valiantly her character "Kim McAfee" tried to ignore her youth-- Ann was immediately likable, desirable, and incomparable. Labeled the female Elvis, it only made sense that she be partnered in a film with him, Viva Las Vegas, which led to a classic, swingin' sixties film, a torrid romance, and a lifelong friendship.

Ann's career had its ups and downs, as she was obviously typecast for her bountiful physical features more than her depth, but any stalls in her career were combatted by her passion and willingness to take chances. Thus, the hottest ticket in Hollywood who turned heads in The Cincinnati Kid, later re-emerged as a complicated leading lady, using the strengths of her sexual allure to reveal the complicated nature underlying a pretty girl's facade, particularly as that beauty faded with age. Her work in the iconic Tommy as well as that in Carnal Knowledge had a shocking effect on a public who still held onto an image of her sex-kitten persona, one that she fearlessly broke down before them. One of her greatest triumphs was appearing opposite the two comic greats Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau in Grumpy Old Men and its sequel, playing the aged but still vibrant object of desire to two weathered oafs lives. 

Throughout her 7 decades on this earth, Ann has maintained her beauty, her vivacity, and her charm. The shade of her hair may be false, but the firecracker of her spirit is one-hundred percent authentic. It still illuminates our world and shakes things up. Viva la femme!

STAR OF THE MONTH: Ingrid Bergman - Part Two

Hitch discovers his new muse. He probably thought Ingrid's
face was made just for him, and his love of it is shown in
their three collaborations.

When Ingrid arrived in the United States, she very quickly learned the film industry motto: "Hurry up and wait." While languishing in New York to await her first project- a remake of the Swedish hit Intermezzo, Ingrid did her best to stay occupied with sight-seeing, reading, and falling in love with ice cream. However, she would consistently pester David O. Selznick to put her to work! Unlike the average person, who groans when peeling themselves from the covers each morning and longs for the lazy clock to reach 5pm, Ingrid wasn't happy unless she was on the move and either preparing a character or performing as one. Her regular calls and telegrams to David and Kay Brown were desperate pleas: "Put me to work!" Finally, she got her wish. Intermezzo: A Love Story would prove to be less poetic than its foreign counterpart, but in reprising her role (as the romantic and ambitious younger lover and protégé of a married master violinist aka Leslie Howard), Ingrid did not come up short. Indeed, in this musically driven tale of the complications of passion and duty, she fittingly struck a chord with American audiences.

Already off to a great start, Selznick began establishing his campaign to promote Ingrid. Confused by her lack of pretense and low-maintenance upkeep-- Ingrid tried to refuse apartment accommodations, thinking that her dressing room/trailer provided more than enough space for her-- as well as her clear-headed drive, David didn't know how to capitalize off her regular girl persona. This issue was further complicated by the fact that Ingrid  refused to play games. When Selznick suggested that Ingrid make certain changes to her appearance, accent, etc, she-- very Garbo-like-- basically said, "Either you want me for the role or you don't. I guess we can call the whole thing off." Ah, the lightning bolt: the singular thing that made Ingrid so irregular was her regularity. She was down to earth, modest, kind, unspoiled, sincere... Thus, she was touted in all the papers and magazines as the (obscenely beautiful) girl-next-door-from-another-continent. The ploy worked. The public was quickly in love.

Ingrid's sexually provocative, humiliated, and defeated turn as Ivy in
Victor Fleming's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde turned more than
a few heads. There are rumors that she and Tracy had an
affair during filming, but it seems unlikely, as it was
Victor on whom Ingrid had a school girl crush.

The film that would tip the scales in Ingrid's direction to all out fanaticism was Victor Fleming's Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Eager for complicated work and displeased with the lackluster films she was given so far, Ingrid refused to play Jekyll's vanilla fiancé (later assumed by Lana Turner) and fought for the role of "Ivy" the prostitute. It was a wise decision, and her performance not only knocked Spencer Tracy's socks off but stole the entire film out from under him. Her mixture of provocative sensuality, later broken and disturbed by the diabolical Hyde, was both powerful and pitiful. This portrayal also started the character type that Ingrid consciously or unconsciously would be attracted to throughout her career, or likewise the persona that audiences would most identify her with. Her most popular performances remain that of a woman on the cusp of insanity. Her fragility, while shrouded in madness, is constantly tested, but her inner strength always seems to carry her back to lucidity and even triumph. While Ingrid projected an incredible amount of vulnerability in her roles, there too was a toughness. You may break my mind, but you'll never have my heart! This made her relatable as an actress, which made her the ultimate martyr and someone her audience would energetically root for.

For several years, Ingrid was untouchable. Casablanca was surprisingly a misery to make behind-the-scenes, especially for a perpetual craftsman like herself, as so much of it was created in the moment with little subtext to build upon. Her need to dig for the depth of "Ilsa Lund" was thus met with little help from director Michael Curtiz. To her amazement, the hackneyed approach to the film resulted in a classic that remains one of the most celebrated films of all time. Forbidden love, the temptation for both romantic and political escape, the tragic but brilliant ending when one impossible ending is sacrificed for another... From the casting, to the direction, to the frame composition, Casablanca remains perfect to film lovers. Gaslight was soon to follow, as was Ingrid's first Oscar, which she won for playing the mentally terrorized, paranoid, and desperate "Paula Alquist" opposite Charles Boyer's brutally sadistic (and magnificent) "Gregory Anton." With the help of George Cukor, Ingrid was easily able to project both the taut mania of her character and her cathartic retribution, resulting in one of her greatest performances.

Ingrid intensified the effect of "Paula's" paranoia and increasing madness
in Gaslight by showcasing her wholesomeness and rationality in the
film's beginning. This made the character's deterioration all the
more painful to watch. When she realizes that she has been
deceived, the tigress she unleashes on her tormentor
(Charles Boyer) is much more fearful because of
the brink to which she has been pushed.

In between various films such as The Bells of St. Mary's and Hollywood dinner parties, Ingrid was able to make the acquaintance of another director whom she truly admired: Alfred Hitchcock. His equal admiration and fascination for her would turn into complete and utter obsession while filming their first collaboration, Spellbound. An intricate mystery with complicated, psychological underpinnings, the finished product remains fascinating and thankfully manageable due to the sturdy execution of both Ingrid and her leading man, Gregory Peck. However, it is Notorious that remain not only 'notorious' but sanctified as perhaps the greatest Hitchcock film ever made. Of course, that label is hard to bestow, considering the many different pictures, techniques, and experiments that he made throughout his career. Still, with the Ingrid-Cary Grant combo and the tangled plotline of espionage and romance, it is a definite front-runner. Hitch's school-boy adoration for his leading lady also turned into an aesthetic achievement, exemplified by the caressing light, shadows, and fixating close-ups that allow us to capture every nuance, eye-shift, and tick of Ingrid's portrayal of the fallen, redeemed, destroyed, and resurrected "Alicia Huberman." Ingrid made two lifelong friends in both Cary and Hitch during filming, and their names remain eternally, artistically entwined as a result.

The success of Notorious, aside from Hitchcock's artistry at one of its peaks,
was due in large part to the astounding chemistry between Ingrid and Cary.
Quickly becoming good chums in real life, their onscreen characters,
while often spiteful in their actions, had an attraction of mutual
fascination, with one character watching the other with
laughter in the eyes. It  is still refreshing to watch
 Ingrid poke fun at the super serious
"Devlin" and cut him down to size.

Sadly, Ingrid's personal life was not faring too well, and things were about to become worse. Her marriage to husband Petter had been disintegrating for some time. Ingrid relied on Petter's judgment greatly, particularly at the beginning of their marriage, thus he held the reins in terms of all major decision making. This patriarchal structure soon made her feel like more of a servant than a wife. Petter, perhaps to combat his own insecurities over the fact that his wife was such a success, made himself her de facto manager, consultant, and accountant. Ingrid was essentially given an allowance for the work she so willingly did to support her family, while Petter handled the cash-- including payments for his continuing medical education-- while consistently meddling in and complicating her professional relationships. He insisted on overseeing Ingrid's contracts, instructing her on which projects to take, bartering for better deals, and he equally saw to it that he was given a financial cut directly from the studio. Selznick himself became irate at Petter's intrusion into Ingrid's affairs, as the latter had no education whatsoever in the film business. As such, while Ingrid started twisting beneath her lover's thumb, acting became her only escape. She asked for a divorce, but Petter refused. Eventually, as the two remained passionlessly separated but together, Ingrid sought emotional comfort elsewhere, finding lovers in Victor Fleming, Robert Capa, and Larry Adler. Then, Petter asked for a divorce. The couple decided, for the good of their marital "corporation," that they should keep up appearances. They had no plans to marry others anyway.


At least, the didn't until Ingrid saw the great neo-realist accomplishment of Italian cinema, Rome, Open City. Blown away by the filmmaking, authentic acting, and brutal storytelling, Ingrid became determined to work with the film's director, Roberto Rossellini. As he was looking for American money to finance his foreign films, he jumped at the chance to work with Ingrid when he received her fan letter. Despite the fact that Roberto was married, having an affair with Anna Magnani, and simultaneously sleeping with a plethora of other women, he fell in love with Ingrid, and she was as smitten with him. Finding a man who supported her creativity instead of condescending to it, as Petter had, the two quickly started a quiet affair that turned into the Mt. Vesuvius of scandals. Ingrid filed for divorce, Petter sued for custody of daughter Pia and won, and the public turned against the angelic actress whom they had once adored. She had betrayed them by making the crystalline image of perfection that they had projected upon her counterfeit. Ingrid found herself unceremoniously blacklisted. As she refused to play ugly, as Petter did-- ignoring his own faults in the marriage and shamelessly slandering her in all the papers-- Ingrid was fingered as the guilty party. Strangely, it was her own sense of decency and loyalty that was the nail in her coffin. She actually felt an incredible amount of guilt, and in recompense ,never spoke out in her own defense to combat Petter's accusations. After filming Stromboli in Italy with Roberto, the duo wed, and Ingrid soon announced that she was pregnant. To America, she was just a fallen woman in exile.

Ingrid, Roberto, Robertino, Isotta, and Isabella.

Strangely, Ingrid was not loathed at all by her new Italian compatriots. They found her glamorous and fascinating, and they celebrated her presence in their country. Despite Ingrid's hopes, her professional alliance with Roberto did not prove to be felicitous. None of his films ever measured up to the groundbreaking Rome, Open City, and despite Ingrid's performances, Roberto's "naturalistic" style proved to be little more than a symptom of his lack of organization and creative incoherence. While he spent money like water, she had to work twice as hard to earn her growing family's keep. The growing Pia now had three step-siblings: brother Robertino (Robin) and twin sisters Isabella and Isotta!

Ingrid's children became her only blessing. As a mother, Ingrid was always emotionally present and protective of her children, yet her number one devotion remained her work. She would often grow stir-crazy after being inactive for too long, and her need to work made her a loving but inconsistent mother. Her latter three children, growing up in a household with two artistic parents, took no offense to Ingrid's comings and goings nor their father's. It was the norm for them. However, things were different with Pia, who rarely got to see her mother due to her social exclusion from American shores and Petter's resistence to their meetings. With Petter filling poison in her daughter's ear, Ingrid's relationship with her eldest child would remain tense and guilt-ridden. It would take time for her two separate families to coalesce into one.

Mysterious and hypnotic photo of Ingrid which explores
the dark inner turmoil of the classic beauty.
Photographer: Sam Shaw in Rome, 1963.

Finding herself soon in the same place that she had been with husband #1, husband #2 slowly became just as judgmental and controlling, not to mention philandering. Ingrid considered it a deserved punishment. Yet, as her marriage to Roberto started to die, Ingrid's artistic life was coming back to life. After performing almost solely for Roberto, due to his possessiveness, she finally made a creative partnership with Jean Renoir and performed in his Elena and Her Men. This peaked interest from other filmmakers. Was she finally going to come out from hiding?

Almost immediately, Ingrid would get an offer from old pal Kay Brown and 20th Century Fox to appear in Anastasia. Ecstatic about the opportunity and nervous about the public's reception, Ingrid took on the project and churned out her first smash hit in 6 years. Suddenly, the tides were starting to turn and public favor tipped in her direction once more. As time heals all wounds, people began to forgive and forget. Likewise, public governmental figures who had once lambasted Ingrid for her "indecency" were soon muttering apologies and supplicating themselves at her feet due to their reawakened respect for and awe of her work. Fittingly, at the Academy Awards in 1957, it was the loyal Cary Grant who bestowed the Best Actress Oscar on Ingrid in her absentia. It was the perfect way for Hollywood to welcome her back. But would she come???

Ingrid and Michael Redgrave in "Hedda Gabler."

Sadly, Anastasia would be the straw that broke her marriage's back. Roberto was threatened by Ingrid's career, which would continue in its excellence without him over the next quarter century. Mixing her projects between the stage and screen, she would complete compelling work abroad in "Tea and Sympathy" and "Hedda Gabler" and return to the America stage for the first time in 20 years in "More Stately Mansions." She had also returned to business on the silver screen, reuniting with Cary for the delightful comedy Indiscreet and teaming with Walter Matthau and Goldie Hawn in Cactus Flower. Ingrid proved that age was not something to hide from, but something to embrace. She had already shown herself to the world anyway, warts and all, so all that was left to re-introduce was her incandescent beauty. Ingrid Bergman was back, and she continued to brighten movie theaters and earn critical kudos, including her acclaimed work in The Visit and her third and final Oscar-winning performance in Murder on the Orient Express. Autumn Sonata proved to be a poignant and personal piece of film, showing Ingrid's craft at its finest. The tale of an emotionally bitter and tension fraught relationship between mother and daughter, it too became her love song to her daughter Pia, with whom she had slowly reconciled. She also married for the third time to producer Lars Schmidt, who understood and embraced her eccentricities and personal needs like no other before. While her work ethic, as always, drove a wedge between them-- leading to another divorce, done secretly--Lars remained a consistent friend and ally for the remainder of her days. Indeed, her friendships with Roberto and the majority of her ex-lovers was quite remarkable. Ingrid had no malice for anyone. She always made her piece with the past and moved forward.

Unfortunately, there was one thing that Ingrid could not escape-- death-- and she would become ill with the same disease that had claimed her father's life: cancer. Her many years of chain-smoking certainly hadn't help matters, but it was the growths in her breasts that would torment her. After enduring two mastectomies and feeling her body weakening, Ingrid was in constant pain during her final performance in the television movie, "A Woman Called Golda." As ever, she refused to complain, arrived on time, and gave a performance that both honored the real-life character she portrayed and her own lifetime of deep and conscientious work. As usual, she put aside any medical issues during her sickness to make things easier for the crew. For example, when close-ups of her hands had to be shot for one particular scene, Ingrid insisted on performing the snippets herself, and she willingly drained the fluid from her swelled arm for several days to do so-- a pro til the end. Ingrid would sadly pass away on her 67th birthday (Aug. 29th, 1982), after spending the evening having a final champagne toast with jovial friends and loved ones. Thus, having completed a perfect circle, she faded out of this life as bravely and gently as she had lived it.

"Be yourself. The world worships the original." Ingrid
had no qualms with "roughing it" during For Whom
the Bell Tolls. In fact, she enjoyed fishing
between takes.

I have noticeably devoted a lengthy retrospective of Ms. Bergman, her life, and her art, and hopefully my words have been able to indicate why. Ingrid was stunning. Her art was sublime, pure in its motivations, and uncontaminated by the pollutants of public scrutiny, industrial disingenuousness, and personal pain. Instead, just as when she was a little girl, she carried her worries, shames, fears, and passions with her deep inside, only opening them up as her own Pandora's box when they would be most useful-- and even helpful. Every time she approached the camera, "[her] old friend," she purposely disappeared into the same dream world that she had once created with her father and willingly left her guts on the floor every take, every time. As such, we continue to worship the characters that she birthed, die beside her in each martyrdom, and come back to life with each redemption. Her humanity, her scrupulousness, and her virtue were as true in her personal life as in her work. Ingrid was not a movie star. Ingrid was-- and is-- everything.

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!

CAST AWAYS: Part IX

Is it true that "the song remains the same" if played to a different tune? You decide whether The Way We Were can still outdo What Might Have Been:

Marlene and John Gilbert take on the town.

Marlene Dietrich is remembered in cinematic history as being a stone cold... fox. Yet, off screen, her character was much softer and more maternal than any of her performances could have relayed. She would only play a mother once, in Blonde Venus, despite the fact that "mom" was her favorite role in her personal life. Her natural inclination to nurture soon enough drew her to none other than fallen angel John Gilbert. When Lewis Milestone alerted her over dinner that his neighbor, the handsome Jack, was out of work, melancholy, and just doors away, Marlene-- who strongly adhered to the "no man left behind" mentality-- marched up to his house and announced, "John Gilbert, I have come to save you." The stunned heartthrob made no dispute. In addition to enjoying a romantic affair, Marlene also vowed to kick-start Jack's stalled career by insisting that he be cast opposite her in Knight without Armour. It would have been something to see these two lovers together on screen. Sadly, Jack passed away on Jan. 9, 1936 before production was started, so Greta Garbo maintains the reputation of his greatest screen lover (both on and off). Marlene was devastated at Jack's passing and lit votive candles beneath his picture in memory for several months afterward. Yet, she did not hold it against the debonair Robert Donat when he later took on the role of A.J. Fothergill in Knight. In fact, Marlene turned her mother instincts on him as well. When he became ill, production threatened to have him replaced. Again, Marlene stepped in and insisted that the film be postponed until its leading man was better, or else she too would walk. The brass took the bait, and after the grateful Robert recuperated, Marlene toasted his return.

Robert Donat plays Marlene's Knight without Armour,

 though in life she was the hero.

Despite her brazen, business savvy ways, Marlene too hit some rough patches. In these times, she was resilient enough to take care of herself, but it was always nice when a helping hand was extended in her direction. Such was the case when it came time to cast Destry Rides Again (left). At this time, Marlene was suffering a dip in popularity, having just been labeled as box-office poison alongside soul sisters Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis, and Joan Crawford. While she still remained adored by fans, love wasn't money, and she needed a great role to re-establish her box-office clout and fill her always dwindling bank account. Luckily, Joe Pasternak had had his eye on her since her silent film and stage days in Germany. He lobbied for her in Destry, despite the fact that the studio wanted Paulette Goddard. Fortune was on Marlene's side, because Paulette turned out to be "unavailable." Marlene got the role, and her "come back" resulted in a box-office sensation-- one of the many films to make 1939 the eternal year of movies. Befittingly, Marlene and Paulette never really got along, especially after Paulette married Marlene's good friend, writer Erich Maria Remarque. Marlene saw him little after the nuptials, but while Paulette may have gotten her pal, Marlene got her career back.

Paulette Goddard could definitely pull off the femme fatale,

but she was no match for Marlene.

George Burns had been acting in movies for over 45 years by the time he was cast in The Sunshine Boys. Co-starring Walter Matthau (together right), this film was a precursor to the aging frenemy films that Walter and Jack Lemmon would make later, such as Grumpy Old Men. In Sunshine, the two heroes are old-- and I do mean old-- show business partners, whose days in vaudeville made them stars in their own time but leave them forgotten in present day. However, an opportunity to earn some bookoo bucks and regain former glory comes when they are offered a performance on a television special. The reunion is an unwelcome one, as the two curmudgeons can't stand each other. Chaos ensues.  The brilliant comic sparring of George and Walter made the film a surprising hit for a world continually described as youth-centric. George with his dry, crotchety delivery, even won an Academy Award for his performance-- a first for a man of 80. This was a very moving moment in his life, particularly since he was not even slated to star in the film originally. In the beginning, his good friend, the much beloved Jack Benny, was to play Al Lewis, but sadly Benny was in poor health and could not accept the project. After making some initial screen tests with Walter, Benny backed out to rest and hopefully recuperate. Always a gentleman, he recommended his friend George for his abandoned role, which George of course accepted. Not long after, Benny passed away. Thus, when George accepted his long-awaited Oscar, he accepted it not only for himself, but on behalf of his dear, departed friend, without whom he never would have embraced the long-awaited statuette.

George Burns and Jack Benny make beautiful music together.

The Thin Man is a perfect example of the little movie that could. Based upon the mystery novel by Dashiell Hammett, it was given a modest budget by MGM and was ranked during production as a simple B-feature. Always up to the challenge, director W.S. Van Dyke was able to churn out the comedy classic in the allotted two weeks, but even more impressive than his economy was his casting palette. The dynamite combo of William Powell and Myrna Loy as the playfully bickering Nick and Nora Charles (left) remains one for the ages. Though the two had performed together before, in Manhattan Melodrama, their chemistry reached true perfection once they started pulling punches amidst the hilarity of murder and marital discord. Their onscreen relationship was amplified by their offscreen friendship, and a mutual trust and affection would bring theaters-goers their first glimpse of a modern marriage: oozing sarcasm, often drunken, and forever in love. The pairing too became a triple threat when dog Skippy was added to the mix as Asta, who would become yet another beloved dog performer in the ranks of Rin Tin Tin and Lassie. But this hysterical family was almost broken up when William became ill with cancer, which took him off the screen for a year and put a wrench in Thin Man sequels. Because MGM didn't want to lose money on wasted time, they considered replacing William in the continuing series with another actor. Both Melvyn Douglas and Reginald Gardner were considered. Luckily, the studio didn't follow through. The magic of Nick and Nora couldn't be duplicated by anyone other than Bill and Myrn'. After William recuperated, he returned to his favorite cinematic wife with their reign through six Thin Man films never interrupted.

Keep your paws off: this trio's built to last.

Some Like It Hot has been hailed by many as the greatest comedy of all time, which is ironic considering that behind the scenes there was nothing but drama. Most of this centered around the forever conflicted and perpetually late Marilyn Monroe (right), but even Billy Wilder admitted that all the pain was worth it when he saw the rushes. The great comic teaming of handsome cad Tony Curtis and the devilishly absurd Jack Lemmon perfected the onscreen chemistry, and smaller character roles were filled out synchronously by George Raft and Joe E. Brown. It turned out to be a motley match made in Heaven. Who could imagine a better outcome? It is fortunate for continuing audience members that Billy Wilder did not go with his original casting idea for Joe/Josephine and Jerry/Daphne: Danny Kaye and Bob Hope. Some like it not. While definitely superb in the funny department, this duo would not have delivered the same edge nor the necessary sexuality that made the film such a hit. The more youthful albeit worldly interpretations of Tony and Jack definitely turned up the heat in the script. Billy soon latched onto Jack Lemmon after seeing some of the upcoming actor's work, and after Tony campaigned for the role of Joe and proved his acting ability in Sweet Smell of Success, he too was put in heels. Yet, even then, the pairing was in jeopardy. Billy knew he needed a star to bring in an audience, so when Frank Sinatra considered edging in on the role of Jerry/Daphne, the production was put on hold. Thankfully, the macho Sinatra decided that his image wouldn't survive a picture in which he dressed in drag, and the role was gladly handed back to Jack. As for the role of Sugar Kane, originally Mitzi Gaynor was slated to be the one "runnin' wild" with her ukulele, but having "Marilyn Monroe" on the marquee was a better guarantee for revenue. Marilyn had her reservations about playing another dumb blonde, but despite their experience together on The Seven Year Itch, Billy talked her into it. One of Hollywood's finest directors, he was able to maintain control of his haywire film, even with the infamous Black Bart (Paula Strasberg) lurking around set, though handling Marilyn the woman was a chore no one could accomplish. Nonetheless, the film was a sensation, and Marilyn won the Golden Globe for her endearing performance. Thank movie Heaven!

As fate would have it: apparently Sinatra had the pipes,

but lacked the stems. Tony and Jack rocked stilettos

 and made it work.