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!

MENTAL MONTAGE: Super Stars

Just as "Superman" could only pretend to be "Clark Kent," George Reeves could only

pretend to be Superman. Yet, many film stars seem more heroic for performing

 superhuman acts off camera.

Despite evidence to the contrary, including the glossy sheen of celebrity gossip mags, movie stars are just people-- hence their appearance on the cover of People. We sometimes forget this, as their alleged humanity is hidden like a shameful secret behind publicist bodyguards and airbrushed elegance. The fact that some of their bodies withstand the effects of unconscionable amounts of barbiturates is also puzzling. However, word on the street is, our heroes aren't any different or any more impenetrable than you or I. George Reeves made this point vividly when he proved that he was not faster than a speeding bullet. True, true-- being famous does not make one "big" nor important. You have money: congratulations. God gifted you with a perfect profile: hallelujah. What else have you got? What makes you so damn special? The stars that really turn the head are the ones who, in the words of the incomparable Anthony Kiedis, "Give It Away." Those who use their celebrity and fortune to help others always seem to transcend the narcissism attached to the film profession, particularly when their good deeds are not performed at a press junket or a well-publicized benefit. When these acts come off the cuff, in the heat of the moment, and out of the spotlight-- sometimes before the celeb is even a celeb-- one can be assured that the individual performing various acts of decency is in fact a decent human being. Only then, does one seem superhuman. FYI:

Audrey Hepburn (left) would garner a lot of respect throughout her life, particularly in her later years when she donated so much of her time and effort to UNICEF-- an organization once championed by Danny Kaye. However, Audrey's acts of courage actually began quite young. In 1944, Audrey was living just outside Arnhem in Velp-- a town in the Netherlands. Thus, she would be very close to the ensuing chaos brought on by WWII when Arnhem became the target of one of history's most notorious bombing raids. Her extended family, some of whom were staying on her grandfather's property in Oosterbeek, actually filmed home movies of German and British soldiers battling on the lawn and dropping from the sky in their parachutes. The Arnhem Bridge alone was a major focal point of Axis versus Ally gunfire. The most that the scattered citizens of this area could do was duck and cover, keep their heads down, and wait for the storm to pass. However, Audrey and her mother Ella did more, often providing lodging and food for Allied soldiers. It was a risky venture, and while Ella made certain not to put her own daughter's life in too much danger, they participated when they could.

One example of Audrey's fortitude occurred during the September raid. It was discovered that an English soldier had parachuted from the sky and landed lost and isolated in the woods near Audrey's temporary home. When patriots learned of his presence, and the fact that he was surrounded on all sides by German soldiers, Audrey-- with her impeccable English-- was sent to deliver a message of warning to him. Legend would have it that Audrey led the soldier to food and shelter, where he was at least able to rest and recuperate as much as possible before he was finally captured as a prisoner of war. He too was rumored to have given her a silver medal with the Lord's Prayer on it, which was his only possession at the time. However, this is a bit embellished. It seems that the extent of the action was thus: Audrey took a brisk walk through the forest, under the guise of a bored teenaged girl getting some air, and traded information with the soldier. She then picked some flowers and skipped home as if everything was hunky-dory-- a good move, since she passed a German soldier, at whom she smiled and handed her bouquet. The dumb cluck never suspected a thing. It may seem like a small thing in retrospect, but had her agenda been discovered, Audrey may have been captured... or worse. In any event, her efforts assuredly saved the English soldier's life. (Don't let the sweet face fool ya'-- she's deadly! Audrey right in Paris When It Sizzles).

During his reign as the ultimate Hollywood cowboy, William S. Hart (left) would be viewed as a hero to many. However, one of his most impressive and selfless deeds would be performed long before he ever got in the saddle at Triangle Film Corp. with filmmaker Thomas Ince. Back in 1895, when flickers were still just starting to flicker in the public imagination, Bill was traveling with Madame Rhea and her acting company performing in such plays as "Much Ado about Nothing." It was a rough life traveling from city to city, state to state, and during this particular run, Hart and the troupe trekked all over the Great Lakes region. While passing through Michigan, life went from uncomfortable to downright tragic. Due to some unknown glitch or mishap, the train carrying Bill and his actor comrades derailed and actually flipped over! Luckily, Bill made it out ok with the expected cuts and bruises. However, the engineer and the train fireman were both trapped! Bill could hear them screaming from their place in the cab. Although his vision was blocked by clouds of steam, he was able to follow their voices to their location where he had to actually bend steel to free them and pull them to safety. The engineer fortunately survived, taking home a broken arm as his trophy. Unfortunately, despite Bill's efforts, the fireman was not so lucky-- he passed away with Bill's coat wrapped around him. It was certainly a moment that Bill would never forget, and it prepped him for his future work, in which he did more than one scene on a moving train.

Charles "Buddy" Rogers is recalled as being the adorable boy next door-- albeit maybe in better shape, (see right). A simple, down-to-earth guy, he was surprised to find himself making films in Hollywood when all he'd ever wanted to do was devote his life to jazz-- he played the trombone and various other instruments. At one time, he even led his own orchestra, which included the legendary drummer Gene Krupa. Yet, with his father's half-teasing suggestion, he did find himself before the camera and is today cemented in history as not only a star of the first Oscar winner for Best Picture--Wings-- but as the third and final husband of none other than Mary Pickford. Someone has to be pretty special to steal "America's Sweetheart" from Douglas Fairbanks, let alone keep her, but Buddy did that with his natural, sweet temperament and generous heart. However, an act worthy of true admiration occurred a mere month before his became the new Emperor of Pickfair. In May of 1937, he was in his hometown of Olathe, KS getting ready to perform with his swing band. It just so happened that the hot jazz singer Connie Boswell was playing at the same venue. This fact would prove very fortunate for her. See, Connie liked her ciggs: so much so that she accidentally fell asleep in her dressing room with one still ablaze in her hand. The couch caught fire! Buddy, who must have smelled the smoke, rushed in and was able to pull her from the burning furniture and beat out the flames before they literally snuffed her out! Good thing, or else her fans would be singing "Say It Isn't So" about her untimely death! (Ironically, Buddy's debut song on Broadway was "Hot-cha!").

Charlie Chaplin would play the accidental hero in many of his films. From saving the drunken millionaire from suicide in City Lights to rescuing Jackie Coogan in The Kid, he always found a way to save the day-- amidst much comedy, of course. However, he performed some actual life-saving daring-do in August of 1917. Following the release of his latest hit, The Immigrant, Charlie and his film company were shooting his next feature, The Adventurer, on the Sierra Madre coast. Of course, the presence of a major movie star caused quite a stir among the locals, who made their way to the seaside to watch him and his crew as they made magic on the beach. Unfortunately, one little girl became a little too absorbed in the action. Sitting on a large rock in the water, she was knocked from her seat when a huge wave came crashing over her. Though he was a very fastidious and focused man while working, Charlie couldn't help but notice that! In fact, he dived into the waves to save her. He pulled the shaken girl ashore, and she was soon warmed and back to normal-- though she certainly remained in a bit of shock, first from the near-death experience, then from her unexpected meeting with the Tramp (left). It was big news, of course, and made all of the local papers. Little Mildred Morrison had come to the beach that day to see her hero. Little did she know that she would actually be heroically saved by him!

Despite his occassional, diabolical on-screen performances, Lon Chaney represented to some a guardian angel. His countless acts of kindness and charity over the years did not go unnoticed by his peers, though he always maintained anonymity when giving himself to any cause or helping any person in need. It was the deed that mattered, not his personal reward. In 1926, he would perform in one of his favorite films-- with no make-up-- Tell It to the Marines (right). However, he'd had a brush with the military a few years prior when he met Sgt. Frank McClouskey. The Sergeant was a veteran of The Great War whose own heroic deeds in serving his country, and in effect the world, had ended tragically with severe injuries. The mental effects upon returning from the devastation of battle is one thing, however McClouskey too had to handle the physical results-- he had been rendered partially paralyzed. One need only watch Lon's performances in The Shock, West of Zanzibar, or The Black Bird to realize that he had a particularly soft spot for the crippled and "infirm." So, he made it his mission, out of respect for the Sergeant and his bravery, to pay for an operation that would correct the malady. The operation was a success-- a fact that was proven at Lon's own funeral in 1930: Sgt. McClouskey paid his respects and showed his eternal gratitude to his own hero by standing at attention and guarding Lon's casket for the entire three day wake. In a room filled with family friends, many of whom were deaf-mutes like Lon's parents, McClouskey's statement conveyed more than words possibly could.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Psychotic Fanatics

Clara Bow arms herself against a dangerous threat (in Call Her Savage)!

A commonality most performers share is the need for love and attention. This desire, when misdirected, leads them to a life in front of the camera, wherein they are certain that they'll achieve the devotion and ardent admiration they so crave, thus making up for whatever vacancy they have in their lonely hearts. All too often, they get what they wish for and then some. Barraged by photographers, accosted en masse by crowds of people, and occasionally clawed and scratched by desperate, groping fans, more than one movie star had stopped to wonder what the Hell she has gotten herself into. Most people tend to simply admire and respect from afar when they find a screen persona that they somehow identify with. Others get a bit tearful and worshipful, hanging photos on their walls and perhaps even participating in a harmless bout of stalking in order to gain an in-the-flesh peep at their hero or perhaps his autograph. Still, others... Others go batty! The line between fact and fiction is completely blurred and fanaticism quickly turns to all out obsession. Here are a few hot stars that turned ice cold with fear when the love they sought on the big screen transitioned to something more sinister, or at least wildly unexpected:

At one point in time, Clara Bow (left) was the most popular movie star in the world. She and her male counterpart, Lon Chaney, were voted the two names most likely to sell tickets by theater owners across the nation. For the little, loveless girl from Brooklyn who had always wanted to "make it," life was now like a dream come true. But Clara soon saw the sour side of celebrity life, which manifested itself in multiple ways. One of the most peculiar things to grow accustomed to was the fan attention. Film celebrities were still a moderately new sensation by the 1920s. The public was familiar with the life-altering, screen presence phenomenon, but they were far from jaded, and their attention to their stars was vastly different from the more scathing and bitter focus we give our celebrities today. Thus, saying Clara was merely "famous" is an understatement. To the general public in her own time, Clara might as well have been God. 

A few people coincidentally deemed her as such, becoming so obsessed with her that life became a bit fearful. Before the days of the bodyguard, before the days when celebrity stalking was understood and more protected against, there were far more up close and personal threats that the average film celeb had to endure. For her part, Clara was once alarmed by a large, beefy blonde man from Iowa pounding on her door in the middle of the night. He had traveled a long way to tell Clara that he loved her and was not leaving until they were married. Another day, her secretary and friend Tui Lorraine was run off the road by two pursuant fans, who had been following Clara's car. They gents blazed off quickly when they realized that they had been stalking the wrong person, leaving Tui shaking in the driver's seat. Clara also received a mysterious note from "Mr. Rand" of the Secret Service, who claimed that a mental patient had escaped from Illinois State Hospital and was coming for her. The escapee believed that Clara had "the soul of a flying horse" and would soon "give birth to Jesus Christ." Ummm... The agent offered his protection. Only problem was that there was no Mr. Rand in the secret service. Paramount supplied Clara with hired guards instead.

The most notorious example of Clara's brush with celebrity obsession came via the dashing Robert Savage. Robert was a charming playboy from a prominent family in Connecticut. He was certainly the black sheep of the upper crust bunch, which he proved when he left behind the expected ivy league education to marry Ziegfeld girl Geneva Mitchell. Of course, even this coup wasn't enough for someone with his skewed ambition. He lacked the work ethic of a successful businessman but possessed the unstoppable desire for fame, money, glory, etc. As such, he wouldn't be satisfied until he had obtained the "It" girl. Through his conniving, he was able to gain an introduction through a mutual friend, and met up with Clara at her personal cabin for one of her parties. Clara was friendly, flirty, but her interest ended there. She though Robert was nice enough, but apparently she was turned off by the fact that he seemed to do nothing but talk about himself. She said "good bye," but it was far from the end. Robert publicly bragged that he and Clara had enjoyed much more than conversation, and that she had bit his lip so hard that it had bled. This only served to irritate the starlet, but things got worse. Robert started calling repeatedly, hounding Clara, and soon enough threatening that if she didn't see him, he would kill himself. Finally, after she'd had enough, Clara agreed to meet Robert for lunch, hoping she could at least calm him down. Instead, he picked her up and drove her to the marriage licence bureau. Clara's eyes bulged! Luckily, they arrived too late and were not joined in holy matrimony that day. When she begged him to leave her alone again, he staged an elaborate "prank." He wrote her a lovely poem, surrounded himself with Clara's photos, and then slit his wrists, allowing the blood to drizzle on Clara's picture. Of course, he had alerted his friends to what he was doing, so the cops showed up to find him smugly smoking a cigarette, "bleeding to death" on the couch. He was sentenced to a psych ward, but when brought before the jury, he admitted that he hadn't really wanted to kill himself, but had simply been trying to get Clara's attention. He vowed that he'd get it still! The case was thrown out of court. Luckily, Robert seemed to have sucked up enough of his fifteen minutes of fame, and after his family yanked him back in tow, he thankfully seemed to disappear from Clara's life.

Charlie Chaplin also endured a none-too-savory suicidal fan. In 1922, while in the midst of his affair with the ever dramatic Pola Negri (together right), he was confronted by Marina Varga, a Mexican spitfire of a woman, who had left her husband in Vera Cruz and crossed the border into the United States dressed as a boy in order to meet her true-true love, Chaplin. She went directly to the Chaplin Studios, where she was of course turned away, but then she showed up at his house. Somehow, she managed to sneak in, and while Charlie, Pola, and friends dined downstairs, she was found by his Japanese servant, Kono, lying comfortably in Charlie's bed dressed in his pajamas. Kono was clearly disturbed to find the strange, mentally uneven woman in his employer's room, but managed to calmly coax her back into her own clothes. He summoned Charlie from upstairs, and the comedian took on a serious tone, talking to Marina, calming her down, and eventually getting her to leave the house. As a naturally sympathetic soul, Charlie-- who was always in awe of his incomprehensible celebrity and effect on fans-- felt only pity toward the poor woman. His girlfriend, Pola, was much less entertained by the episode, which only made matters worse when Marina showed up again. This time, she staged a great death scene, decorating Charlie's porch with a smattering of roses, then sipping poison, and lying down to die on his lawn. Luckily, the poison wasn't really poison, and she had merely passed out from-- it appears-- her own hysteria. When she came to, she and Pola got into a nasty yelling match, which turned into a fight. At some point, Chaplin's concern for the whole thing seemed to turn to farce, for he later turned the water on the two women when they wouldn't cease their cat fight. The good news for Marina is that, while she didn't get Charlie, she did become front page news, and she gladly posed for a photographs for the press. She left Charlie alone afterward, which proves it was probably more the fame than ol' Chuck that she wanted in the first place.

Silent film cowboy William S. Hart (left) had another interesting altercation with a stalking female. An unlikely mark for a desirous woman, the lanky, eagle-faced actor was hardly what one would describe as a heart-throb. He still managed to make an effect, it seems. When in Chicago, Hart was in talks to contribute to what would later become known as United Artists with Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin, and D.W. Griffith. (He later declined the offer). Joining him on his journey through the Windy City was, as always, his sister Mary and also tag-along pal Norma Talmadge. One day, the trio were sitting around the hotel suite, probably planning what to do with the rest of their day, when a strange woman unceremoniously swept in and interrupted their conversation. One can imagine the moment of silence and confusion as Bill, Mary, and Norma sat staring at the equally silent stranger, who gawked at Bill with eyes wide as saucers. Finally, after Bill addressed her, she stated: "I've come to take you home." Bill didn't know exactly where this lady thought 'home' was, but he didn't get too good of a feeling when he saw her menacingly reaching into her purse. Within a split second, Norma was ducking under a chair, Mary was reaching for a weapon-- a bottle-- and Bill quickly grabbed the woman gently on the arm and led her docile body out the door, which he promptly slammed behind her. And bolted. The scared group never learned what became of their strange visitor, nor did they discover what it was that she had had in that hand bag. 

Mary Pickford (right), as the first big movie star, knew better than anyone else the power that celebrity could hold. At its best, it was a tremendous benefit; at its worst, it was terrifying. Trying to learn why it was that so many people were interested in her and her life, why complete strangers adored her, was a difficult thing for her to wrap her mind around. She took on her role in the public eye with surprising responsibility and a bit of sadness: "I have learned that I do not belong to myself." Yet, this didn't mean that she was just going to roll over and let people do with her as they wanted. Most of her fans were harmless, including one homeless man who built a shrine to her in New York Park. His name was William Bartels, and he informed police officers that "America's Sweetheart" was truly his sweetheart. Of course, he too admitted that he and Mary were not yet on speaking terms. Then, alleged fan Edward Hemmer tried to extort money from Mary after he claimed that he had acted as a surrogate father to her during her youth. Mary didn't remember the guy, and had a court order filed to shut him up. 

Another event was much more bone-rattling. While Mary was traveling through Boston, she received letters for two weeks from a persistent man who claimed that he had information about a will. Clearly, this was fishy business, and Mary wasn't exactly hurting for money, so she chose to ignore the scam. Later, the author of the letters and his female companion were found camping outside Mary's hotel room door listening in. They were kicked out, of course, but only returned later. Mary's maid, God knows why, let the duo into her room, while Mary entertained guests in the sitting area. Perturbed, Mary left her friends and confronted the eerie duo, demanding that they leave at once! The man cowered, but the woman claimed that she had a "message" for Mary, and was there to offer "spiritual guidance." Mary clearly wasn't interested. She had them arrested. She believed that this was all part of a kidnapping scheme, and when she had to appear in court regarding their case, she had no qualms about letting them have it. The judge was surprised that he had to ask the red-faced pipsqueak to calm herself! Mary may have been small, but she was no shrinking violet. The religious duo never bothered her again.

Not all fan and star meetings were quite so threatening nor fearful. Some were just... surprising. Labeled as "The Screen's Most Perfect Lover," Wallace Reid (left) was constantly at the mercy of salivating women. To an outsider, this probably doesn't sound like an burdensome position for a person to be in, but it could be inconvenient. First of all, Wally was married to actress Dorothy Davenport, so the constant attention from the opposite sex was a bit stressful on the marriage. Thankfully, neither husband nor wife seemed to take it all too seriously. A charming, good-natured guy, Wally probably laughed off the majority of the adoring compliments sent his way. Yet, some of the "proposals" he received were more difficult to ignore than others. For example, he was ardently and persistently pursued by a high society matron who had fallen madly in love with him after seeing the handsome speedster in films like The Roaring Road. So infatuated was she that she wound up bribing his valet with $25,000 worth of jewelry for a mere peek at Wally's dressing room. She hoped to win at least one night of passion with Wally, and thus proceeded to woo him with love letters, expensive gifts, and photos of herself in the nude. She also sent him a mysterious key, which opened her boudoir. It was, needless to say, an open invitation. Wally RSVP'd, "No thanks." Other girls didn't have the same resources to get to Wally, although his employees were making a fortune off bribes that the desperate throngs offered to catch a glimpse of the star or see where he lived. He and Dorothy soon became accustomed to strange women popping out of hiding places in their home. They snuck in and hid under beds, in closets, cabinets, in the attic, the basement, and the garage. Wally and Dorothy were particularly shocked when a young girl popped out of the back seat of their car where she had been hiding under a blanket! Things were getting ridiculous, but since most of these lustful dames seemed harmless, Wally never took any major action to deter their infiltrations. It became a sort of running joke.

Carroll Baker (right) was also surprised by an unexpected guest. After giving birth to her first child, daughter Blanche Joy Garfein, (with no anesthesia, thank you very much), she was greeted by several fans within the hospital offering their congratulations. Mostly, everyone just wanted a peep at the "Baby Doll" with her new baby. Her entire delivery had been a bit of a production, being witnessed by several members of the staff including current medical students, who observed the event under the excuse of education. Afterward, while convalescing, Carroll's beautiful, personal moments was constantly interrupted with fellow patients and nurses stopping by to wish her well, despite the "Do Not Disturb" sign on her door. Since all a tired, new mother wants is peace and quiet, it was a bit irritating to say the least, but Carroll handled it well and appreciated the sentiment. Then, things took a more menacing turn. Late one night, around 10pm, Carroll was having trouble sleeping. She managed to waddle to the restroom in her open-backed gown, then re-entered her pitch black bedroom, where she was startled by a figure standing in her doorway. Leaning against the frame was a large man, grinning at her and eying her very bare legs. He also seemed to be holding something behind his back. Carroll panicked!  She dove for the intercom and screamed as loudly as she could. The man bolted, and the hospital staff and security came running to her defense! They never tracked down the intruder, who was clearly there long after visiting hours were over. Where he came from or how he got in was never discovered. BUT, they did find the stairwell where he made his escape. Also present was the bouquet of flowers he had been hiding behind his back. The card read: "To the Beautiful Baby Doll, from Your Fan." Carroll didn't mind the gift, but the giving had been a bit too much.

Monty Clift (left) was accosted by a somewhat unsettling fan, but as was his way, he found the episode much more entertaining than frightening. The predator in his story was a chubby, middle-aged German woman known only as "the Baroness." What she was the 'baroness' of remains a mystery. Apparently, she became totally fixated on Monty after witnessing his performance (and handsomeness) in films like The Search and A Place in the Sun. She had decided that she and Monty were meant to be married, and naturally she considered it her duty to find him and let him know that she was his soul mate. Thus, she traveled all the way from Europe to get to him, and wherever she stayed on her hunt, she covered her hotel room walls with his photos. She wrote the studios repeatedly asking for his address, but was strangely never answered. She finally made it to Beverly Hills, but was still unable to track Monty down, which is why she attended a press conference at the Beverly Hills Hotel where his former co-star Burt Lancaster was conversing with the press. When she brashly cried out and asked him where Monty lived, Burt raised and eyebrow and assured her that he hadn't the slightest idea. 

After eight months of stalking, the Baroness found herself in New York at Monty's brownstone. She knocked on the door, and when his assistant opened it, she caught a glimpse of her hero walking down the stairs. She was in awe and went into complete hysterics, throwing herself at his feet and weeping. Monty was floored... and confused. As he was personally undergoing his own mental and physical illnesses, he must have taken pity on the poor woman. As he had already wrapped on The Misfits, his acting career was pretty much over and, unbeknownst to him, time was winding down. He let the warped woman inside, and the two had a nice long talk, which turned into a friendship of sorts. She even let Monty read the journal that she had totally devoted to him, which he, of course, found fascinating. Monty was probably more intrigued by the woman's psychotic fixation than anything else, but she was allowed to come over for brunch from time to time, and Monty even gave her one of his silk shirts, which she religiously slept in until it was thread bare. To show her gratitude, Monty's "soul mate" even offered him the use of her brother, which implied that despite her feelings, she was aware of Monty's sexual proclivities. His reaction to this proposition must have been priceless, but he doesn't seem to have taken her up on it. In time, Monty introduced the Baroness to his mother, Sunny, whom he always enjoyed provoking. The Baroness introduced herself as her daughter-in-law. Sunny, suffice it to say, was not nearly as amused by the crazy woman as her son.

Sometimes crazy fans can come in handy, which is something both Bebe Daniels and Harry Richman discovered when they found themselves the recipients of Al Capone's steadfast loyalty. The allure of the mafia in the prohibition era is somewhat confusing today. Movie stars rubbing up against thieves and murderers??? In an "ignorance is bliss" kind of way, people abstractly admired these men of power, who were supplying them booze, while keeping themselves detached from the methods by which the Meyer Lanskys and Lucky Lucianos of the world did business. In addition, those who weren't so attracted to the power were fearful of winding up on the villain's bad side and played nice for their own safety, while maintaining a comfortable distance. Harry Richman fell into the former category, enjoying the attention and publicity that a relationship with Capone could offer. A "media whore" himself, who had for a time been engaged to Clara Bow (see right) for the fame it would offer him, this crooner was all about the angle and using any means necessary to stay in the press to become bigger and richer. For a time, he needed little help, with his own Club Richman doing hopping business for the well-to-do and his top hits like "I Can't Give You Anything But Love" and "Puttin' on the Ritz" maintaining his fan base. Capone was a fan, and he used to show up at the club at 17 West Fifty-Sixth Street often, always in his bullet-proof Rolls Royce with 32 bodyguards in toe. Capone was so appreciative of Richman's music that he offered him the greatest gift he could give: protection for life. Harry graciously accepted.

Bebe Daniels (left) on the other hand, was not too eager to hob-knob with known criminals, yet she too would reluctantly have Capone as an ally. When she was once traveling through the Midwest, she was shocked and upset to find that some of her expensive jewelry had been stolen. She, of course, reported the theft to the authorities, but the chances of ever seeing her priceless gems again were slim and she knew it. She resigned herself to their disappearance and hunkered down for the night. The next day, she received a surprise delivery. Her jewelry had been returned in toto on orders from Al Capone! How he knew they had been stolen in the first place, or how he knew where to go to obtain them, is left to history. But, for love of Bebe, an actress he clearly admired, he went the extra mile to see that justice was done. One wonders what form of intimidation he used on the original thief? It probably wasn't pretty... Then again, maybe he staged the whole thing simply to ingratiate himself to the starlet. Bebe certainly was glad to get her belongings back, but she couldn't help but feel a little uneasy with the knowledge that it was the most dastardly of fans that she had to thank for it. Not all that glitters is gold, particularly in Hollywood.

DIDJA KNOW: Part V

Ummm, Lon? Watcha doin?

Whodah-thunkit? Didja know that...


... Bill Hart was the first ambidextrous cowboy?

There's a reason they called him "Two-gun Bill." Prior to William S. Hart's use of dual six-shooters (left), cinematic cowboys had preferred the simple, one-handed draw. To exhibit more danger, Bill opted to fill both his mitts with ammunition, making him doubly dangerous on the silver screen, thus making his usually menacing characters all the harder to tame into the good-hearted heroes he typically became by the films' ends. So inspirational were Bill's morally salvaged heroes that a later lawman even took his name, becoming "Two Gun Hart" during the big prohibition battles. Of course, this other "Hart" had more than fanaticism to thank for his name change; it was also a strategic move. His birth name was James Vincenzo Capone. He had a brother named Al. Just like in the movies, they were on opposite sides of the law. Interestingly, during the roaring twenties of flappers, mobsters, and booze, James had identified with an antiquated cowboy to get his message across. With dual arms, he meant business, and his use of Hart's name was meant to strike the fear of God into his less law-abiding contemporaries. No news on Al's reaction, but Bill must have been proud.


... Bill Hart was almost a United Artist?

When Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin, and D.W. Griffith (right) set out to build their own movie distribution company, their aim was to give themselves more control (and profit) over their artistic projects and to open the door for more independent producers. It was a daring move to step away from the already well-established companies of Metro and Famous Players, and many of the studio heads viewed this moment with trepidation: "The lunatics have taken charge of the asylum," cried Richard A. Rowland! What did movie stars know about business anyway? In any case, the foursome started the venture with high hopes and, knowing that they would need a lot of clout to survive the uphill battle, they invited a fifth power player, Bill, along for the ride. As a huge star of equal caliber-- one who had joined them on those morale boosting war bond tours, a fact too often forgotten-- Bill seemed like the perfect fifth wheel on this movie trolley. He was all for the new business, having long become disenchanted with the business tactics of old friend Thomas Ince and later Jesse Lasky. While he always looked upon Adolph Zukor with respect, Bill was an independent man who wanted to make his own films his own way. All those money guys kept mucking up his vision. However, the plan for a partnership fell through over monetary disagreements. The original four wanted to use their own money to finance pictures and thus maintain complete control, but this notion made Bill nervous. Thus, he backed out. In the end, it looks like Bill may have been right. While the formation of United Artists was a big moment that started the wheel rolling on star-owned, independent production companies, the fab four couldn't withstand the competition of the larger studios, particularly as films got longer and sound came into play. The expense became too much, Joseph Schenck was brought in to hold the reins, and the original players slowly drifted away.


... Doug was literally a big kid?

It's not a surprise that Doug Fairbanks was involved in the landmark UA formation. While he was more the energetic, charismatic front man, leaving the business quarreling to wife Mary and BFF Charlie, Doug's fingers were always in a lot of cinematic pies. After leaving the stage for the screen, he leapt to success in a series of outrageous boy-to-man comedies before becoming the ultimate, silent, action hero. He also later helped to establish the first film curriculum at the University of Southern California, finally alerting the world that film was indeed an art. He loved movies, and he loved to "wow" audiences. His stunts are legendary, and-- as a daredevil-- he insisted on performing them himself. A lot of stress was put on the directors and technicians of his films, who spent a lot of time in fear that he would kill himself. Even when they tried to bring a stuntman in for him, they would often catch Doug sneakily doubling his own double. While leaping from horses and jumping from trampolines over abysses in Robin Hood were a bit nerve-wracking for the crew to witness, some stunts were more enjoyable to watch, such as the infamous curtain slide sequence. Director Allan Dwan was excited to be working with such an enthusiastic collaborator as Doug on Robin Hood (left). When he shared his visions of action sequences on the set, Doug's eyes lit up just like Christmas! During the big castle battle scene, he explained how Doug was to ascend the stairs, being chased by fighting knights. To escape, he would eventually hop the balustrade and slide down a drape. Literally slide. Dwan revealed the mechanics of the trick, pulling back the lengthy fabric and showing the large children's slide hidden beneath it. He demonstrated the stunt himself, and turned to see Doug chomping at the bit to follow. Doug jumped on the slide and proceeded to slide down dozens of times just like a child! He would have gone on all day, but eventually, the crew got down to business and captured the notorious sequence. The film was a huge success, cementing Doug's place as the #1 Hollywood Hero. 

Doug plays with Mary aka Hams it up.

And another "didja know": the area of Los Angeles (Thousand Oaks) where Doug filmed a lot of the Sherwood Forest sequences for Robin Hood was named for the production. After the film wrapped, the legend continued: Potrero Lake became Sherwood Lake and the nearby park became Maid Marian Park. Golfers still enjoy swinging their clubs at Sherwood Country Club to this day, which would make an athlete like Doug pretty happy. 


... The Monster had bridge-work?

The process of turning Boris Karloff into the undead muse of Dr. Frankenstein was not easy. Many make-up tests had to be performed, undone, recreated, reapplied, etc. Finally, the magic of cinema's best-remembered villain came to life,  thanks to make-up artist Jack Pierce. A flattened head, heavily-lidded and deadened eyes, metal clamps, elongated limbs, and the staggering, baby-like movements of Boris's physicality birthed a killer to be both feared and pitied (right). There was one last touch that Boris added to give his horrific anti-hero a bit more ghoulishness. See, Boris had a dental bridge on the right side of his mouth. He offered to remove it during filming to give his creature a sunken cheek. This enhanced his already emaciated and cadaverous appearance. It was a small decision that completed the sickly pallor and fearsomeness now so famous in movie history. Another note on Boris's experience as the monster: during the length of filming the epic, Boris worked incredibly long hours, often between 15-16 a day. Having to arrive early for the make-up application, then to sit, work, and sweat in the cosmetics all day, was a tough feat for even the strongest guy, particularly with the sadistic James Whale as director. Whale at one point had Boris carry co-star Colin Clive up a hill to the soon-burning windmill, which resulted in the chronic back-pain Boris was to suffer the rest of his life. All of the torture turned out to be worth it... but it also instigated Boris's interest in forming the Screen Actors Guild! 

Boris arrives at 4am to get "pretty" ugly. Jack Pierce enhances

his sunken cheek to the left.

And another "didja know": Boris was made up in room #5 of Universal Studios for his work on Frankenstein and many future films. It was known as "The Bugaboudoir" because of its eerie cinematic connotations-- Lon Chaney had applied his make-up for The Phantom of the Opera here, and Conrad Veidt had used the room during The Man Who Laughs, as did Bela Lugosi during Dracula.


... Movie Stars were sticky?

People have often wondered how it was that photographers like Cecil Beaton, Clarence SInclair Bull, and George Hurrell were able to create such glowing, erotic, and ethereal portraits of the studio era's favorite celebrities. Skin that glowed, eyes that shined... Never an error, not a flaw. No wonder celebs were so envied! These stars were unreal! However, these images were just as re-touched as today's air-brushed, photo-shopped creations. While George Hurrell, for example, used his own specific type of panchromatic film and a particular style of lighting technique (including the new "bounce" light scheme) to create the heavenly and alluring atmospheres he's so known for, he also had to go back over his prints with a fine-tooth-comb to root out any lines or imperfections. James Sharp, for example, spent six hours retouching George's portrait of Joan Crawford for Laughing Sinners (left). Another theory has been postulated that George actually used another trick to give his stars a little extra sheen: vaseline. Allegedly, he had them rub it on their skin to give them that extra special effect of being lit-from within. So, either these folks were radio-active, or indeed there was a store-bought, gooey substance reflecting the camera's lights off them. Ironically, George favored very little make-up on his stars and shot them as bare as he could get them. Some say that George did indeed use vaseline, to enhance Jean Harlow's eyes for example; others say that this is just a silly rumor and that all of George's genius lied in his lighting and visual-editing. Hell, I believe the former. No one's skin does that on its own!


... Tod Browning liked ducks?

Well, he did. At least that's how it looks. Remember that classic final scene in Freaks when villainess Olga Baclanova, is given her due? After taunting and manipulating "midget" Harry Earles and the other members of the circus troupe-- including siamese twins and pin-heads-- Olga is rewarded for her treason by being attacked and mutilated into... a duck. Lying in a pit of dirt, squawking and flapping her arms, one is left uncertain whether to laugh, cry, or scream (right). As with most Browning epics, the question "What the Hell am I watching?" flits through the brain. Where Browning got his ideas and how he chose to implement them has always been a point of curiosity and fascination for his fans. This instance could be hailed as creative and macabre genius or taken as awkward absurdity. Of course, the uneasy feeling that the audience leaves with is always the point. There was only one actor who could pull off such a feathered performance and still hold the audience's sympathy... and in fact, Lon Chaney did wear the same duck suit featured in Freaks in a scene that was cut from his earlier collaboration with Tod, West of Zanzibar. That's right: Phantom, Cripple, Hunchback, Duck. Lon was Tod's dream actor, and though they were known to butt heads every now and then,  Tod enjoyed crafting particularly outrageous characters around Lon, simply because he knew that the 1000-faced man could pull it off. Hence, Tod would build the character first and the script later. After Lon passed away in 1930, Tod was left without his muse... but he still had the duck suit. Well, he found a use for it. It is interesting that one of Tod's only major, classic masterpieces without his favorite actor still had a touch of Lon in it. Birds of a feather...