HISTORY LESSON: Man Enough? Part 1 - The Silents

In order to save his love interest (Virginia Cherrill) in City Lights, Chaplin has
to put up his dukes and "be a man."

While a lot of focus is given to interpreting the repression and liberation of women in film, that of the male archetype seems to be less thoroughly examined, at least in terms the facets of masculinity as reflections of/on society. The reason for this could very well be the lazy perception that "a man, is a man, is a man," which is a theory many may humorously, and perhaps correctly (to a certain extent), agree with. It is not the "male mystique" that continues to plague and baffle the opposite sex, yet this does not mean that the more "predictable" sex is any less complicated and nuanced than his fairer opposite. As such, his presentation on the silver screen and its metamorphosis over the years creates quite a broad portrait of just what it means to be a man. What makes a good man? A bad man? An attractive man? And what on earth is masculinity? Are the depictions of the different shades of the complex male conundrum-- the lover, the fighter, the cave man, the villain, the hero-- influenced by or influential of contemporary society? Probably a little bit of both.

Eugene Sandow gives good bicep in an early silent clip. A famous
Austrian body builder, he was Schwarzenegger before anyone
knew what a Schwarzenegger was.

During the initial stages of silent cinema, men were, quite simply, just men. They weren't polished, they weren't pristine, they weren't products. They weren't, in fact, even acting. The more studied performers of the stage rebuffed the hackneyed gimmick of the "motion picture" as it groped its fledgling way into a fully grown, full-fledged business. Thus, the gratuitous appeal of the original flicker shows, which portrayed human beings naturally, as they really were, whether the image of the man projected was sneezing, boxing, flexing his muscles, or kissing May Irwin, was the documentary style of the medium. It was simple: point and shoot. Then, point and shoot with costumes on. The storytellers on the screen were regular guys looking for work. As movies became shorts, which became features, as 1 reel lengthened to 8, as plot lines became more complicated, so too did the requirements of the leading men become more intricate. Trained actors, who had performed on the stage and in vaudeville, soon began migrating toward the cinema, less to achieve fame-- as it didn't exist yet-- then to make ends meet and take the jobs that their contemporaries still poo-pooed. Many were innovators that saw the potential others overlooked, and some were merely wooed by the opportunity its opportunists. As a result, some of the great personalities of the 20th century would present themselves on the silver screen-- Chaplin, Keaton, Chaney, Fairbanks, Reid-- and the words "movie star" would be born. 

The interesting thing about these personalities is that, while they were better trained than the initial rookie actors of cinematic minor leagues, they were still fairly regular guys, the prettiest of them belonging to the Wallace Reid (left) variety, who with his boyish good looks and overgrown child charms was both the son and lover to his leading ladies. He and Douglas Fairbanks both presented a masculine archetype that was bristling with the energy of immaturity-- Wally with his speed racing, and Doug with his nonchalant embrace of danger. In these cases, the women and romantic interests were always secondary to the major action within the story, with both men more invested in being "wild and wooly" than responsible. Meanwhile, the leading ladies performing opposite them tried their best to domesticate them, all while accepting that they never really could. "Boys will be boys..." Wally was, admittedly, much more sexual, which is why he could easily vacillate between the daredevil driver of  The Roaring Road and the smitten love interest of The Golden Chance with ease.

Doug defends all of mankind's honor with the mightiest of phalluses,
his saber! (The Black Pirate)

Doug was never "in it" for love. Ever. His heroes, like D'Artagnan of The Three Musketeers and his Robin Hood were more enthralled with the opportunity for adventure than the sentimental pull of romance. Therefore, as an unspoken "hit 'em and quit 'em type"-- however optimistically he portrayed himself-- he wasn't about putting down roots but exploring man's liberty. The message both figures presented was that men weren't meant to be chained. They must be able to exercise their need for freedom. Women just had to be ready to catch them when they wore themselves out. Most of their stories possessed a wink at the female audience of, "Yeah, we don't need you, but we really do." The little lady in an apron was always the true brains behind the operation, running the man's life, all while he thought he was indeed running wild. This perpetuated the paternal society's definitions of gender roles within a marriage: women, keep the home fires burning, men... burn rubber!

Gilbert succumbs to the succubus, Garbo, in
Flesh and the Devil.

This isn't to say that there were no men with emotive eloquence. Two Romeos with such all consuming passion were John Gilbert and Rudolph Valentino, both of whom were inhumanly handsome and intensely virile. While inheriting in some ways the fairly adolescent charisma of the aforementioned brand of man-boy, the inciting incident in their lover storylines was not that which would attract them to adventure or the fight of good over evil. The inciting incident was the appearance of Eve in their Edens. Whatever extraneous business was happening otherwise was pure background noise. Each man followed only the beating of his heart, or perhaps better yet, the compulsion of his loins. These guys were victims to their passion. However selfishly they may have behaved in the past, meeting the girl was enough to instantly change them from selfish boys to helpless fools for love, and consequently drive them insane with desire. Gilbert was most memorably paired with Garbo in his romantic career. His intoxicated devotion to her, which nearly destroyed him every time (and sometimes did), portrayed for women the man of their dreams. He gave his undivided attention to his muse, for whom he would do anything, and he would not rest until he possessed her. This was enough to leave ladies fanning themselves in their seats, if not passing out in the aisles. 

Interestingly, it was Garbo who usually suffered in the end (at least in the silent era), being punished for her erotic witchcraft in Flesh and Love, for example. After escaping the soul-sucking power of the vamp, who sought only to bleed a man dry of his potent juices, the man was supposed to reclaim his soul, embrace his manhood, curse the bitch, and settle into a relationship that would place him back in a position of power. Gilbert's characters, therefore, would find solace in more dependable women who would be faithful, loyal, and submissive, and also allow him to peaceably engage in the boyish hijink's he'd temporarily forgotten while under the spell of forbidden sex. Though, it should be noted, that when Gilbert fell for a "good girl," such as Eleanor Boardman's heroine in Bardelys the Magnificent, the romance was indeed consummated. His more worldly character having already certainly experienced the ego and heart bruising of a Garbo-like woman in the past, this guy was out for an innocent wife to protect with his well-situated manliness. He had come of age before the storyline started.

Valentino's gents were very similar in their romantic addictions. Rudy had no problem becoming the putty in the hands of Alla Nazimova's Camille or Nita Naldi's vamp in Blood and Sand. The same action ensued, with the woman generally paying the price for her forbidden, unbridled sexual nature, and the man reasserting his final dominance, either shaming her in Camille's case or foolishly allowing himself to be destroyed in the vamp case, the latter being a lesson to all men. However, Valentino's heroes possessed more danger than Gilbert's. The is partially due to the scintillating allure of the foreigner-- xenophoberotica?-- and his animalistic assertion over his prey. In both Sheik films, Rudy shamelessly kidnaps Agnes Ayres and Vilma Banky until they accept their stations as his sex slaves, with him resorting to what can only be described as rape in the second film, Son of the Sheik (see right). Naturally, he feels bad for his carnal crimes afterward and learns his lesson, thereby clinging the soiled woman to his muscled chest-- again, the "good girl"-- and reforming himself into a more civilized man (undoing his foreignness) in the process. With his dark(er), Italian appeal, he also offered more fantasy, as Rudy wasn't a real American but a strange figure from a strange land. His heroes could be tamed but not domesticated, and after his capture of chosen female, it is assumed that he would take her to a fantasy world of happily monogamous "ever afters" and over-sexed oblivion. In whichever case, the macho man had to conquer to become the King of his own identity. He must be a slave to no one and the ultimate one in charge. This begets the plague of the necessarily more submissive female. 

Keaton battles the elements in Steamboat Bill, Jr.

In truth, the only true lovers of the silent era came from the fools and clowns-- sometimes literally. When looking at the selfless devotion of Chaplin or the innocent but maladministered and attracted pursuit of Keaton, one witnesses some of the greatest examples of romance in all of cinema, period. The Tramp would send himself into further despair, isolation, or poverty to rescue the woman he loved from even minor devastation (The Circus, City Lights), while Keaton's many lovable but bumbling wooers would do anything to impress a potential bride only to fail-- as in his refused enlistment in the army in The General. Neither was reaching for the moon. They just wanted nice girls to settle down with and have an ordinary life. They also always had competition: bigger men, stronger men, better looking men, and richer men. The Tramp was undeserving, because he was poor; Keaton, because he wasn't macho. The latter would only accidentally become a worthy hero when presented with the challenges of extreme circumstances, be they wartime, weather affected, or even hallucinatory. The notion was that these men were, indeed, good guys. But good guys rarely get the girl, which is why the majority of the time, these two did nothing but suffer. The image of the man as the strong provider and savior still continues to be the divisive factor in what makes a man a man. 

Chaplin continues his voyage as the loner, lovelorn loser in
The Circus-- a telling title.

Unlike Fatty Arbuckle, who was able to win the day almost totally due to his imposing size and the clever swiftness of his actions and schemes, he was a bit of the selfish prankster that Fairbank and Reid represented but in the comic genre. Contrastingly, Chaplin and Keaton were diminutive, sensitive, emotionally aware, but mostly uncomfortable with themselves. Confidence is key, and they guys didn't have it. Thus, Chaplin's victory was primarily only ever the reward of selfless love-- sending the girl of his dreams off to live with the man of hers-- while Keaton was more often allowed to end in wedded bliss because, despite his size and social ignorance, he was able to prove his masculinity through his unbelievable, life-saving acts of prowess. He had thus earned his place in man-dom. Chaplin's silent hero never received applause for the secret aid he gave to his lovers in need. These comic gems were the underdogs of society, who thus gave such equally aching, hidden Lotharios a voice. However, they were still the butt of their own jokes; not real men, but men in training. They weren't what any woman was looking for, and furthermore, they were holding the steam engine of the growing American powerhouse back by begging on street corners instead of getting "real jobs." In a capitalist society, one who isn't chasing coin or engaging in the game of business is looked upon as a chump, just another sad cog in the wheel of the money machine. Invisible heroes aren't heroes.

Lon Chaney also belongs in this category, which is further complicated by identifying these ardent, bleeding heart lovers as a fools simply for loving at all. Chaney's twisted, heartbroken soldiers were literal mutations of the male sex. The fact that he wore love on his sleeve made him a monster. "This is not what a man is supposed to be," his movies unconsciously seemed to say. This too is why he is constantly left loveless by the final reels. The Phantom of the Opera is, forgive me, "cock-blocked" by Norman Kerry's more virile Raoul when vying for Christine (Mary Philbin). The Hunchback of Notre Dame is, again, intercepted by Kerry's Phoebus when vying for the heart of Esmerelda (Patsy Ruth Miller). Even when not physically misshapen, Chaney's desire and pure-hearted emotion for the women he desired sealed his fate as one who would forever do without such love's return. His obsession with Joan Crawford in The Unknown leads him to mutilate himself. His devious fixation in The Unholy Three, his love for Mae Busch/Lila Leed, is why he fails in his caper and is punished for his crimes. He is crippled by and in love in The Shock, West of Zanzibar (left), and The Penalty. He is a dunce in love in The Trap and Mockery. And, just as Chaplin, his selflessness goes unrewarded with loneliness in Tell It to the Marines and While the City Sleeps.

Chaney's depiction of the ultimate man's man in Tell It to the Marines is
pretty much the definitive portrait of masculinity. Hard-broiled, weather-
worn, and built of discipline and duty, he is the man all new enlistees
are meant to emulate. His one error is the depth and honesty of his feelings,
which is why he loses the girl to the less emotionally and more erotically
focused William Haines (boy-man). His heart is read as a flaw, yet his 
surrendering of it in the end makes him a hero. Real men don't fall for 
that love stuff. They get the job done.

The absolute torment of bearing such a full, martyred heart, one so desperate to love, made Lon's heroes immediate victims. When playing a purely sexual avenger in Victory or The Wicked Darling, he still didn't get the girl, but he represented more fully the man's man that could at least get a tramp and could make it in society, even if by the skin of his corrupt teeth. His predators with their ulterior motives and potent sex drives spoke to the beast in male viewers. He was their dark side, something immediately relatable, just as in his opposing roles he represented their good side-- strangely an even darker, dirtier secret. In either case, as the extreme in both contrasting levels of the internal, male, emotional world, he rarely walked away the winner-- literally and figuratively. His sinister villains had to be destroyed for the sake of order in society as well as in the protection of virginal women, and his hideous poets had to be eliminated in some fashion so that the virgins could be defiled by more righteous men-- less emotive, good looking, and not from the dregs of society. 

Thomas Meighan as the bored husband in Why Change Your Wife?

Perhaps the best representative of the silent movie, "regular" man would be Thomas Meighan. Handsome but not pretty, masculine but not action oriented, his characters were generally average guys, which is to say that they held down jobs, were crossed and sometimes victorious in love, and were composites of flaws and virtues. He was sexual and desirous of love but not overly emotive about it. He had feelings, but he played them close to his chest. He may have started out a con man in The Miracle Man, but he cleaned up his act and went straight by the end. When watching his performance in Male and Female, we see that he is indeed a man of character with both primal and romantic desires-- directed at Gloria Swanson-- but these qualities are only exhibited after the characters are stranded on a desert isle, and he is allowed to indulge his instincts without fear of social scrutiny. When he returns to life, so too do these instincts become buttoned up and forgotten. A real man knows how to walk a straight line, keep his romance a secret, keep sex in the bedroom, and pay his taxes. The sturdy and reliable Meighan, in all the varieties of his characterizations, provided such a portrait, still while allowing light to be cast on different aspects of man's character that the actual average man would never have allowed to be seen.

Love's a gag, something that Fatty Arbuckle showcased best-- here
alongside constant co-star Marbel Normand in Fatty's Married Life.
Fatty cared for his women, but womanhood was something he
generally had to put up with while out getting into more interesting 
trouble or making it. Marriage is a drag, but the ball and chain was
never going to stop Fatty from being Fatty!

These actors were favorites during the silent era for all that they represented, whether their stories made them winners or losers. The interesting thing to note is how intrinsically different they were from one another. No two were the same. Each had his own fashion, his own style, his own art, and each depicted his own version of masculinity, even while all portrayals may have eventually led society down the same path of acceptable male behavior-- the best version of his gender. Perhaps because screen identities were not yet firmly established, ergo there were no cliches or gender staples to adhere to, men were allowed to step before the camera in all shapes and sizes, modes and behaviors. The early days were an incredibly diverse and liberating era for the actor/performer, and viewers were consequently introduced to a wide array of talents and depictions of what it then meant to be a man in contemporary America. While the thread of necessary male dominance always held sway, never again would the characters in the male tapestry be as mixed nor as interesting as in the silent period. At the time, it would have been more fitting to say, a man is a man in any way he can...

To Be Continued in The Studio era and Method to Modern Times...

THE REEL REALS: Anita Page

Anita Page

Anita Page was one of the great beauties of the silent film era and one of few who was able to transition smoothly through the talkie transition. With her soft, ethereal features and natural acting chops, she was able to hold her own opposite some of the top leading men of both eras, boasting co-starring roles in While the City Sleeps with Lon Chaney and Navy Blues with Williams Haines-- a lifelong friend. This high roller was often cast as the luscious girl-next-door, but her devious turn in the gem Our Dancing Daughters also stole the screen from the ever ambitious Joan Crawford. The saucy lady of integrity left acting and MGM behind purportedly because she refused to submit to the misogynistic, sexual advances of ol' LB Mayer. She remains notorious for her participation in The Broadway Melody, the first talkie to win Best Picture at the Oscars, and she was additionally the last living attendee of the first Academy Awards (1929) before her death in 2008.

MENTAL MONTAGE: And the Winner Is...

Olive Thomas and her perfect profile.

While researching this month's muse, I couldn't help but make connections between Ms. Olive Thomas and a plethora of other notable stars whose shot a fame was predicated on a random contest win. Just as Olive was given a leg up in the industry by winning Harold Chandler Christy's search for the "Most Beautiful Girl in New York" in 1914, so too would other fame-hungry hopefuls enter themselves into a hatful of names and faces for the chance of a lifetime. Winning these press gags would at the very least get them publicity, as well as assorted other prizes, but sometimes the victory too would buy them a straight ticket to Hollywood. Olive's path was less direct-- winning Christy's contest led to modeling for Harrison Fisher, which led to performing for Florenz Ziegfeld, which led to acting for Thomas Ince. For others, before the days of reality television and YouTube-- when any and everyone can become a star-- these press contests gave unknowns their time in the spotlight and also allowed already established stars the opportunity to keep their names shining. The following are those who had the gumption to take such opportunities to further their careers and eventually wind up as some of the biggest people in the biz. 

Ironically, another Hollywood beauty would have some help from HC Christy in obtaining stardom. Little, sixteen-year-old Clara Bow considered herself the least likely to succeed in anything. Growing up in Brooklyn, she somehow survived the shaky ground of an impoverished childhood, a mentally unstable mother, and an abusive father. Her release from this trauma was the movies. Her idol was Mary Pickford, and she constantly mimicked America's Sweetheart's every expression in the mirror when she came home from the latest flick. Imagine her excitement when her favorite movie magazine, Motion Picture Classic, announced Brewster Publications' "Fame and Fortune Contest" of 1921. On the hunt for the next great screen beauty, young female contestants were asked to send in two photographs of themselves, which would be judged by the artists Christy, Fisher, and Neysa McMein, along with Mary Pickford herself! Clara didn't have the money to get the photos taken, and her alcoholic father, Robert, performed perhaps the only kind act of his life in giving her the dough to get some taken. Clara wasn't happy with the results, but dropped them off at the contest manager's office anyway. He was immediately impressed, and left a note on her photos to the higher-ups that she had stopped by in person and was quite a looker. (The left publicity photo of Clara would appear in Motion Picture Classic to replace her cheaper entry pics).

Before Clara knew it, she was in the top dozen finalists and was called to Eugene Brewster's home for a screen test. Among the other girls, Clara was out of place. With her dismal wardrobe and third class upbringing, she immediately felt  like an outsider. The other gals confidently strutted before the camera and played out a scene in which they had to pretend to talk on the telephone; the shy Clara silently stood back and watched. Finally, her turn came. Instead of putting on airs, she decided to play the scene as herself-- not as an act, but as she would really do it. Her natural energy transferred, and she made it into the top two slots! She finally got up the nerve to tell her mother, Sarah-- who promptly fainted and then told her that she was going straight to Hell. Yet, in three days time, Clara received the call that she had won! Her picture appeared in Motion Picture Classic in Jan. 1922, and she was promptly summoned to Hollywood for her first film: Beyond the Rainbow. Her career should have ended there, but her innate charisma and gift at relaying honest emotion eventually made her Hollywood's "It" girl. (Clara rolls in "it," right).

1921 was clearly a busy year for talent scouts. At the same time Clara was answering the "Fame and Fortune" ad, Samuel Goldwyn was hosting his own "New Faces" hunt. (Ironically, almost as soon as the contest ended, Goldwyn was booted from his own company, but that's another story...). In the meantime, scout and former vaudeville star Bijou Fernandez was put in command of finding the newest male and female stars. The usual process followed, and a motley assortment of youths sent their photos for consideration. If attractive enough, they were called for a screen test, and eventually were signed to contracts at Goldwyn. It was a prime opportunity for any kid, especially someone like the wiseacre William Haines-- who had a zest for life but no specific ambitions. Legend has it that he was walking down Broadway when Bijou serendipitously spotted him and said, "I like your face" (see why, left). Billy responded in kind: "So do I, but it ain't mine." At her insistence, he entered the contest, having photos taken in probably the only nice suit he owned, and eventually wound up winning! His female counterpart was, unlike Billy, already an actress and a very driven one at that. Eleanor Boardman was a lovely, hard-working model when she saw this chance at a career boost. Naturally ambitious and talented, there are legends about her too, (such as the one involving her performing in the show The National Anthem, only to lose her voice half way through, and still pull off her performance completely in pantomime). After she and Billy made their screen tests, they were awarded contracts at the studio, and they rode out to Hollywood on a train together in March of 1922. They became fast friends and remained so for the rest of their lives. As two young hopefuls, they would both surpass and expand upon their own dreams. How could Eleanor have known that she would soon be Mrs. King Vidor, nor Billy that he would be soon be named Hollywood's Number One star?

Eleanor Boardman: gifted, glamorous, gorgeous.

The contests continued in 1922, but this time for different reasons. By now, Cecil B. DeMille (right) was one of the biggest directors in Hollywood-- big in professional stature, big in story, big in budget. Yet, after the success of The Squaw Man, Why Change Your Wife?, and Manslaughter, he was ready to top himself. In addition, he wanted to find out what the public was really in the mood for. So, on October 8, he ran an ad in the Los Angeles Times asking movie fans to write in ideas for his next film. The winner of the most creative story would receive $1000. In addition to keeping his name in the papers, Cecil used this cash reward press trick to both endear his audiences to him and keep his finger on the pulse of the nation. While reading through the multiple entries, he came across a letter from Mr. F.C. Nelson of Lansing, MI who wrote: "You cannot break the Ten Commandments-- they will break you." Finally, a worthy challenge! A religious man, Cecil was naturally drawn to the idea of exploring this Biblical moment, not just for the moral message, but because he already had dazzling images, set designs, and multiple taudry scenes dancing through his head. Mr. Nelson had hit the nail on the head; Cecil had his winner. However, he felt bad for the seven other people who, it turned out, had also sent in the Ten Commandments as a suggestion. To be fair, he sent all seven of them $1000 checks as well-- as always, a spendthrift. The Ten Commandments would be released the following year, and it remains just as startling and brilliant. For its time, and even today, the parting of the Red Sea is nothing to sniff at (thanks to the special effects of Roy Pomeroy, some gelatin, and gas jets).In effect, the contest spawned another contest-- one between Cecil and Cecil-- for he would decide to top even himself when he remade his own classic with Charlton Heston in 1956.

Jumping forward to the 1930s-- movie contests remained in full swing. This time, Clara Bow's home studio Paramount was about to feature another star-maker competition. Ironically, another Clara would win. Clara Lou Sheridan had absolutely no interest in acting. In fact, she was something of a tom boy who preferred working on cars to shopping. Nonetheless, her beautiful visage and curvaceous body made her a reluctant candidate for modeling-- despite the gap in her two front teeth, which she refused to fix. Her sister noticed that Paramount was featuring a "Search for Beauty Contest," the winner of which would receive a contract and a role in a major motion picture. Clara's picture was forthwith placed in the mail with the other contestants. Rumor has it that the deciding judge, flooded with so many photos, was having some trouble making up his mind on the winner, so he started throwing the pictures up into the air. Clara Lou's continued to appear face up when it hit the floor, and because she was a looker, she won the big prize. Signed to a one year contract, much to her chagrin, Clara Lou started making the rounds in B-pictures that showcased her beauty. After the year was up, she transferred over to Warner Bros, who made much better use of her earthiness by making her one of their many sexy-dames-with-an-edge. Cynical and direct, the newly named "Ann" Sheridan fit the Warner roster like a hand in a glove. Soon, she had gained enough popularity to earn the nickname she too would loathe: The "Oomph" Girl (see left). Maintaining her down-to-earth demeanor, the Texan girl always had a sense of humor about her random career change and the whole Hollywood biz. When asked later about the photo toss that won her her contract, Ann quipped, "Yeah, and I've been on my back ever since!"  

Lucille LeSueur would not achieve fame through a contest win; she got where she was going with a pinch of luck and a whole lot of grit and determination. However, a magazine contest too affected her life. Lucille had always had an inner drive and wanted nothing more than to distance herself from her turbulent relationship with her mother and her depressing childhood. Getting notice at a young age for her good looks, she got early work on the stage as a dancer, and she traveled around quite a bit in various shows. In time, she was discovered by a scout and subsequently landed a contract at the illustrious movie factory, MGM. It was here that she became pals with William Haines, who by now had taken to his new career path and was a huge screen star. Having mastered the art of film acting, Billy took Lucille under his wing and taught her how to play the part of the star on and off camera. After some minor roles and extra work, it was time for Lucille to renew her contract, but LB Mayer had a stipulation: he wanted her to change her name. He thought LeSueur sounded too much like Le-Sewer. At first, Lucille wanted to go by Billie Cassan, the name of the step-father who had shown her her only childhood warmth and whose vaudeville career had also introduced her to acting. In fact, all of Lucille's close friends already called her "Billie." However, Mayer didn't like it. Instead, to boost her public appeal and find an answer to the name question, he had the publicity department start a competition to find her a new one. On August 18, 1925, she received her new moniker: Joan Crawford (right). She was not happy. "It sounds just like Crawfish!" she complained to Billy. "Oh well," he quipped back. "They might have called you cranberry and served you every Thanksgiving with the turkey." (In the end, the contest got the new Joan Crawford two new names: thereafter, Billy always called her "cranberry"). Her first role as JC was with another JC, Jackie Coogan, in Old Clothes. Her new name soon became old hat, and twenty years later Joan Crawford would make the ultimate win, becoming an Academy Award winner for Mildred Pierce in 1946.

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part Six

Rita Hayworth helps her boyfriend-- and future husband-- Orson Welles

with one of his Magic Shows.

One of many descriptive words applied to Orson Welles is "magician." As he played the role of a sort of intellectual trickster figure in Hollywood, creating hypnotic illusions and entrancing audiences, the title seems to fit. However, Orson had a fascination for magic that was literal as well as figurative. Captivating a live audience, keeping them enthralled, and shocking them to resulting ecstatic applause was a way of marrying both the ambitious man and his idealistic and playful youth. It was one of few ways that the overgrown boy allowed himself to indulge in his more childish nature, so often hidden. This is because the curiosity he held for the art started in his boyhood, and was one of few things that he and his father shared-- that and alcohol. Richard Welles enjoyed a good magic show, and while his son perfected his own tricks, he decided to give him a special treat: he took him to see the great Harry Houdini! When going back stage, Orson was probably as close as he would ever be to starstruck. Of course, his already scintillating ambition won the day, and he performed a handkerchief trick for Houdini, who watched appreciatively. Afterward, Harry praised the young chap but told him to keep practising and practising until the gag was perfect, even if it took a thousand times. Orson did. When he returned at a later date to show Houdini his improvement, he was surprised to see another magician teaching the master a new trick. This disappointed the peeping boy, who realised that maybe Houdini was, after all, just a man applying a craft like everyone else and not as Godlike as he had assumed. While this crushed Orson's little, innocent heart, it also taught him a great lesson-- never let them see what's up your sleeve; maintaining the illusion is the real power. This tactic was heartily applied. Later, Orson prepared a very elaborate magic show, which he performed for the servicemen during WWII. He used his current girlfriend, Rita Hayworth, as his assistant during the show, through the length of which he made several costume changes. After Columbia Pictures'  Harry Cohn objected to Rita's involvement in the show, much to her chagrin, she had to bow out, and Marlene Dietrich stepped in on her behalf. (Previously, Orson had also done a performance where he sawed ex-girlfriend Dolores Del Rio in half).

 

Marlene fills in for Rita Hayworth as Orson's assistant. Marlene was also

an avid wartime entertainer and was always happy to do her part.

When Lon Chaney was a young theatrical performer trying to eek out a living in vaudeville (left circa 1905), he traveled around a great deal. As was typical in those days, actors would join up with a troupe only to find themselves abandoned in a strange city when the financing went kaput and left them penniless. Dusting yourself off and starting over became second nature to him early on, and for an ambitious youth with unquenchable passion and itchy feet, the trials were worth it. At the very least, he got to travel around the country-- sometimes on trains that were moving so slowly that one could hop off and take a brief stroll before hopping back aboard. He too got to meet some interesting and talented people. In 1910, he and his first wife, Frances "Cleva" Creighton were living in Los Angeles, and Lon got a gig working with the Ferris Hartman Company at the Grand Opera House on Main Street. He was in gifted company, including a chubby young singer and comedian with light feet and a kind heart. Then, people called him Roscoe Arbuckle, but later he would be known as "Fatty." Lon also rubbed shoulders with Robert Z. Leonard, who would later become a film director and re-team with Lon in Hollywood for Danger-- Go Slow. Most importantly, Lon met the woman who would become his second wife, Hazel Hastings, though at the time, the married man took little notice of her. She and the other chorus girls helped out in babysitting his young son: Creighton Chaney, later known as Lon Chaney, Jr. Cleva had little time, since she was performing herself as a singer and equally was descending into alcoholism. Hazel would recall Lon's early ambitions toward comedy and his natural penchant for making people laugh, as well as his talents as a song and dance man. However, his later career in Hollywood would become the exact opposite. Odd how time (and a damaging divorce) can change things...

Former vaudeville star Fatty Arbuckle teams up as a movie star 

with Charlie Chaplin in The Rounders.

Greenwich Village in the the roaring twenties was the place to be. A spiritually and intellectually liberated city, it became a quite the den for artists, youth, creativity, and expression in the 1920s... with a little debauchery, of course. One thing that made it so enticing was its openness to sexuality, and it was one of few places where homosexual couples could walk around openly and without fear of persecution. It was here that future film star William Haines (right) would find himself at home and also meet two lifelong friends: Mitchell Foster and Larry Sullivan. At the time, the couple did much to polish Billy into a more stylish and cultured young man. Later, after Billy made it big, they would help him in his antique business and interior design company as well. While enjoying the nightlife, including seeing female impersonator Jean Malin at Paul and Joe's or Charles Spangles put on his "Josephine and Joseph" routine, Bill would make some other acquaintances. All types of artists migrated to the bustling Village, and it was here that he would meet comedians George Burns and Jack Benny for the first time, both of whom he would call friends for the remainder of his life. He too would meet a young painter, Jack Kelly, who would later become the famous designer Orry Kelly, and a young vaudevillian, Archibald Leach, who would later become Cary Grant. It is also believed that it was here in the village that Billy first met director George Cukor. George was already working in showbiz-- as a doorman at the Criterion Theater. They too would re-team in Hollywood, where Billy would help George inch his way into cinema and too decorate his lush pleasure palace. 

 

Archie Leach aka Cary Grant. The young cockney is already looking

polished here, but he had a way to go before he reached "suave."

Groucho Marx had a great love for the ladies (left with his favorite mark, Margaret Dumont). An intelligent man, he enjoyed the company of equally interesting and funny women, whom he admired. He would remark in later life that he always made the grievous mistake of marrying for beauty over intelligence. At least in his friendships, he was rich in sharp and sassy female companionship. One such gem he enjoyed was Gracie Allen. Their attraction was never physical, but Groucho respected the "Irish tap dancer" and her great humor. One night, he and his gal pal were dining in Schenectady when he spotted another friend across the room. With that, George Burns came over and said "Hello," and Groucho introduced him to Gracie. Groucho would later say that, then and there, George fell in love. George had seen Gracie before, of course, for in the small entertainment world everyone gets to know each other professionally if not personally, but the two had never officially met. Groucho took pride in the fact that it was he who finally brought the two together. Maybe they would have met without him, maybe not, but certainly Groucho held the debt over George's head for the rest of his life. For his part, George was eternally grateful. He would later say that the real talent in the George and Gracie act was all in the latter part. He was nothing without her. Together, they were comic dynamite.

 

The recipe for a successful marriage: love and laughter-

George Burns and Gracie Allen. Take note, Groucho.

Howard Hughes (right) had many relationships with and engagements to beautiful starlets over the years. An awkwardly handsome and eccentric man, he was as alluring as he was confusing. But then, maybe it was all the dough... He once gave the same sapphire ring he had given to Ginger Rogers to Ava Gardner after an exasperated Ginge' gave him the heave-ho. He too was deeply involved with Kathryn Grayson, Katharine Hepburn, etc etc etc. As always, the great innovator saw potential in many things- cinema, air travel, and women. He too saw a goldmine in Norma Jeane Baker, though whether this was of the purely professional or sexual nature we'll never know, (though based on his track record it is easy to guess). While Howard was recuperating from his infamous Beverly Hills plane crash, he saw a picture of Norma Jeane in a bathing suit on the cover of Laff Magazine (below, summer of 1946). Apparently, the picture helped his recovery. He sent his associates on a manhunt to find out who she was and put her under contract at his studio. Her agent at the time, Bunny Ainsworth, caught word of his interest and used the information to advantage-- not to forge a love connection but to help Norma's career. Bunny planted a story with Hedda Hopper that Howard was seeking Norma out and used this as leverage to score her a contract with 20th-Century Fox. "Howard Hughes wants her, so you'd better act fast!" The ploy worked. Soon enough, the beautiful girl was making the screen test that gave cinematographer Leon Shamroy the chills-- both in excitement and in a fearful premonition. Thanks to Howard, Darryl F. Zanuck scooped the ingenue up and put her on her way to becoming Marilyn Monroe.

Marilyn Monroe was still going by her married name, Norma Jean Dougherty

when she did this shoot. It, and her hair color, would soon change.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Who's Your Daddy?

Adoption seems to be a popular sport among today's celebrity elite. Sometimes a famous lady or gent has simply gotten impatient while waiting for Mr. or Ms. Right and decides to start a family on his or her own. Other times, a svelte actress may opt to visit the orphanage to protect her figure instead of having babes the ol' fashioned way. Then, of course, there is option three, wherein certain celebs become invested in a strange, maternal gluttony-- a la Mia Farrow or Angelina Jolie-- and keep adding to their litter like bitches in heat without the heat. (I suppose all the extra nannies help). Adoption in Hollywood is not a new phenomenon, however. Joan Crawford accrued a tally of four lucky (if you ask the younger two) or unlucky (if you ask the elder two) tots, and Cecil B. DeMille had only one legitimate daughter (Cecilia) before adding on another three, due to his wife's charitable love of children and alleged distaste of the marital bed. This brings me to the point of today's segment: those mysterious, adopted children who suspiciously resemble their new parents. Coincidence? Perhaps. But Scandal is much easier (and  more fun) to believe and, in Hollywood, almost always true.

Cecil ponders: how am I gonna pull this one over???

Returning to Cecil, he had an older brother, William (left), who was also a director. The two were very close and mutually respected each other. While Cecil went on to be a much more famous and powerful man in the business, he still looked up to and admired his big bro. Perhaps this is why, when Bill ran into a little trouble, Cecil was all too ready to offer his help. See, William had married Anna George in 1903. This, however, didn't stop him from having a few extramarital dalliances, including one with writer Lorna Moon. This affair led to the birth of a son, Richard, in 1922. In order to save his marriage and to save the child from an unknown fate, William asked Cecil to adopt the child as his own, so at least William could watch him grow up. Cecil agreed to the request, since he had already adopted two other children, John and Katherine DeMille. Cecil was known for having trysts of his own, most particularly with writer Jeanie Macpherson, actress Julia Faye, and secretary Gladys Rosson, though aside from Julia he never dabbled with his actresses, sensing the danger it would cause on the set. For this reason, Cecil held no judgement against his brother, and took on the task of raising Richard and supporting Lorna until her death of tuberculosis in 1930. It was publicly stated that the child was abandoned and left inside Cecil's car and that he took it in. This and Cecil's own checkered romantic life raised many eyebrows, and it was often incorrectly speculated that Richard was his own child. The only two people who supposedly knew the truth were the two brothers. Cecil kept the secret until after Bill's death, when, as agreed, he told Richard about his true parentage. This brought forth a rush of understanding on Richard's part, who, though always treated with the same love and tenderness as the other kids, suddenly understood both his uncanny feelings of somehow being "apart" from the rest of his family and his strange attachment to his mysterious Uncle Bill. However, it never changed his relationship with CB, who continued to treat him as his own son.

A sudden and questionable bundle of joy also arrived in (William) Wallace Reid's life in 1922. Wally (right) was the All American Boy whom no woman could resist, as many women of his time could attest. After successfully wooing and wedding actress Dorothy Davenport, the two became the delighted parents of Bill, Jr, Wally's pride and joy. However, as time wore on and the marriage cooled, Wally's hijinks and shenanigans did not. Living a fast-paced and debaucherous life as one of the most desired men in American-- and even the world-- this superstar found it hard to resist the temptations that came with fame and fortune. Of course, his outward bravado also hid a sensitive and somewhat sad overgrown boy who was constantly searching for comfort, whether it be in inebriation or the arms of an all too inviting woman. As such, it is rumored that Wally fathered a child out of wedlock with an extra girl, who appeared on his doorstep and begged his wife Dorothy to take the baby girl in as her own. Whether or not these are the exact circumstances is unknown, but Wally and Dorothy did adopt daughter Betty Anna Mummert in 1922. It is said that Wally, who loved being a father, adored her just as dearly as his "legitimate son," so much so that if anyone insinuated or mentioned the fact that she was adopted, Wally's eyes would turn red with anger. He could be seen playing with his two tots in his backyard on DeLongpre, where they enjoyed splashing around in the family's fashionable swimming pool. Many would recall the strange resemblance Betty had with her adopted father and sibling Bill, and it is also recorded that she inherited some of Wally's more tortured mental traits. After Wally died as a result of his morphine addiction in 1923, Betty would live for another fifty years, having become estranged from her remaining family. If she was in fact his true daughter, all concerned took that information to their graves.

Dorothy, Wally, Betty, and Bill, Jr.

Barbara La Marr (left) also allegedly adopted her own child in 1923. This task was much more daunting for a female, since she could not simply take on the child after its birth as the father could, but had to carry it to term without raising attention. Since producer Paul Bern had been pining away for Barbara for some time, and the newborn seemed to bear a slight resemblance to him, many opined that it was indeed his child. However, this throws a wrench in all of the rumors built up around Paul, which include the theory that he had infantile sex organs and was unable to pleasure future wife Jean Harlow, (coincidentally leading to his mysterious "suicide"). If in fact this whole story about Paul's anatomy was a fabrication concocted by Mayer to cover up Bern's mysterious death, his possible paternity of Barbara's child also begs the question why he wouldn't marry her when she became pregnant, since one hears nothing but how infatuated he was with her? It is possible that she simply turned him down, as she was not in love with him. (There were additional stories that Bern tried to drown himself in his own toilet when Barbara broke things off. Clearly, this was either an incredibly unstable man or one whose memory people loved to desecrate). In any case, the child is popularly believed to be Barbara's own, one that she placed in an orphanage temporarily to complete the ruse. Though the child's true father is unknown, there are other papa possibilities- William Haines-- who was a constant "friend with benefits" to Barbara at this time-- and her one time fiance Wallace Beery. Another bit of trivia is that, after Barbara's death, her son (Marvin) was adopted by none other than pal Zasu Pitts!

But, the most famous case of celebrity "adoption" is the story of Judy Lewis (Mary Judith Clark), who was adopted by her own mother Loretta Young in 1937 (both pictured right). This one gets even juicier because not only was this lovely girl the offspring of one of the most gorgeous and powerful women in Hollywood, but her true father was none other than the King himself, Clark Gable. When Clark and Loretta met and began work on Call of the Wild, it wasn't long before the sparks started to fly, and Loretta's high Christian morals were soon overcome by Clark's charms. The two entered into an affair, he still being wed to Ria Langham at this point. Loretta, to her own shock and shame, became pregnant. Of course, there was no way to solve this disgraceful problem except to have the child aborted, which is what the studio wanted in order to protect both of their stars' images. However, Loretta's faith would not allow her to do so, so she concocted a plan: she would "take ill" in Venice Beach until the baby was born (on November 6, 1935) and place it in an orphanage (St. Elizabeth's Infant Hospital for unwed mothers) with the understanding that she would return within a matter of  months to adopt it. With the help of Irving Thalberg, this is exactly what she did. 

Clark and Loretta adhere to the Call of the Wild... 

and pay for it 9 months later.

Of course, everyone in Hollywood knew the real story, but for the press, Loretta went on the with act-- perhaps the best of her career. Clark made a few visits to mother and daughter after the birth, and by Nov. 30, Loretta gave her first interview, sans child, about how she had completely recuperated from her illness. Judy remained well taken care of, basically sitting in wait for her mother to return to her, which she did after a year and a half. The world bought the whole story, however, the secret became more difficult to hide as Judy aged. Not only did she resemble her mother greatly, but she had also inherited her father's trademark ears, which Loretta kept firmly hidden underneath a bonnet until she was forced to have them surgically pinned back. Later, after being prodded by a friend at school with the curiosity, Judith asked her mother why, if she were adopted, the two should look so alike? Loretta fumbled for an answer, stating that it was simply that they had spent so much time together and used the same mannerisms and way of speaking, etc. When the truth came out in Judy's early twenties, and Loretta was finally forced to confess to her daughter, she became so overwrought that she rushed to the restroom and threw up. Loretta had been tortured by both her love of Judith and her knowledge that she was the result of outright "sin." For Judith's part, once she knew and accepted the truth, she said that it made her feel whole for the first time in her life. And while her sketchy history and upbringing has become the stuff of Hollywood legend, she remains secure in herself and proud of both parents, despite their naughty, naughty ways. (Judy shows her resemblance to both parents, with mother Loretta, left).

There are certainly more stories from whence these dollops came, but uncovering them all would take a large chunk of time. The sad truth is that in these studio days, when celebrities were looked up to as Gods, it was intolerable for them to commit human errors. Many adhered to studio regulations when being punished for their immoral crimes, hence the number of "appendectomies" that female stars had to undergo. (Marlene Dietrich once quipped that abortion was the only studio supported method of birth control). For some, like the aforementioned, who chose to bravely go against the grain and have their children against studio objection, they still had to sacrifice honesty for a continued life of fame and fortune. Since most people in the community knew the truth, it makes one wonder why people chose to wear the facade of morality when all concerned knew that it was a facade. Between the shame of studio condemnation and the knowledge that a pious audience may too turn their backs on them, these players were forced to keep up the ruse and maintain their pristine reputations. As always, The Greatest Show on Earth takes place behind the cameras.