THE REEL REALS: Allan Dwan

Allan Dwan

Allan Dwan was a director extraordinaire during the silent era. While the Canadian (born Joseph Aloysius Dwan) had mild plans to enter the world of film, it is more justified to say that the movies came looking for him. His expertise as a lighting technician got him unceremoniously poached by Essanay, and after he made the transition to story-editor/writer, another twist of fate would put him in the director's chair-- or so the story goes. (Allegedly, he had to take the reins on a shoot when the original director disappeared on a bender). Well, thank Heavens for booze, because without any of these serendipitous events, one of cinema's greatest innovators never would have been!

During his career, one of Allan's many accomplishments was leading the Flying A Film Corp, one of the earliest and most important California film studios. Throughout his career, he worked with everyone from soon-to-be wife/ex-wife Pauline Bush, Wallace Reid, John Wayne, Shirley Temple, and Gloria Swanson. He also made an impression on the powerhouse couple Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, the latter with whom he made the iconic Robin Hood and The Iron Mask. Through a career that spanned 50 years, Allan allegedly lost count of how many shorts and features he was responsible for, but we know his stamp is on at least 400. His ability to use the camera as an extension of himself, the storyteller-- capturing the greatest source of action, inspiration, and intrigue possible-- kept him at the top of his game for this unprecedented breadth of time. Indeed, he is even responsible for devising something that all directors and cinematographers take for granted today: the Dolly Shot. 

Allan passed away a few years shy of his own centennial, leaving a profound level of accomplishment behind him. While less remembered than names like Griffith, Chaplin, or DeMille, he is an essential part of filmdom's backbone, his contributions laying the ground work for upon which all future directors would more easily tread.

BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part XIII

"Two of these girl are not like the others": This picture depicts 6 starlets

labeled as Paramount's upcoming ingenues. Four of them got

to Hollywood with a publicity lift. (Clockwise from top left:

Grace Bradley, Ann Sheridan, Katherine DeMille,

Wendy Barrie, Gertrude Michael, & Gail Patrick).

Ann Sheridan (left) had a little unexpected help getting to Hollywood-- unexpected because it was totally indirect. You see, the genesis of the "Contest to Fame" ploy goes back much further than today's "So You Think You Can Dance" and "The Voice" competitions, (give me a high-five if you think my pal Jessica Childress was totally robbed on the latter. For example, long before Clara Lou Sheridan's "Search for Beauty" win, another Paramount leading lady used a similar contest to get her ticket West: Clara Bow. Movie lover Clara won the Movie Picture Classics "Fame and Fortune Contest" of 1921, and many others would follow in her "Well, it's worth a shot" wake (see here). More importantly, it was because of the later, highly publicized contest for the casting of the "Panther Woman" in Island of Lost Souls that Paramount almost immediately instigated the next year's "Search for Beauty" contest. The amount of lovely talent that the studio was able to pick up from the "Panther Woman of America" hopefuls turned out to be a real coup!

Though only one woman could win, of course, the Lost Souls gag introduced Paramount to Grace Bradley, Gertrude Michael, and perhaps the most familiar, Gail Patrick-- known for her cleverly bitchy love-to-hate-her roles in My Man Godfrey and My Favorite Wife. All of the gals earned contracts due to their entries. Yet, the woman now forever known as the Panther Woman was Kathleen Burke (right), who would enjoy a fairly brief but memorable career-- in addition to her initial prize of a free five-week stay at the Ambassador Hotel-- because of her fortunate feline fame. Her sleek figure and large eyes definitely fit the bill for her first film role in Lost Souls. Another of her memorable works was the bizarre and iconic early horror film Murders at the Zoo. As a direct result of this pulchritudinous recruitment, Paramount stable initiatied the "Search for Beauty" contest, Ann's sister-- Kitty-- entered her photo into the mix, and Ann was chosen as a finalist and eventually became the only member of her pack of winners to obtain not only moderately successful but full-blown, movie star career. But, the joke was on Paramount, because it was Warner Brothers that would give that to her. Of course, Gail, Kathleen, and the girls had actually helped a bit too.

Discoveries are strange things. Some actors work for years or even decades before they attain a sliver of notoriety (or money) for their "cinespian" efforts. Then, there are those regular, every day people who are just minding their own business when show-business taps them on the shoulder-- see Lana Turner. Carole Lombard (left) was something in-between. She was "discovered" early, forgotten for some years, and finally able to force her way back into the industry. The almighty finger of fate that chose her future for her was attached to none other than director Allan Dwan, one of the biggest silent filmmakers in history. He just so happened to spot the 12-year-old Carole in her usual, tomboyish get-up playing pick-up baseball with her brother Stuart and some of the other neighborhood boys. It was serendipitous, because Allan was struggling to find a character just like Carole-- then called Jean Peters-- to play the role Monte Blue's kid sister in The Perfect Crime. As Allan watched Carole "knocking the Hell out of the other kids," he knew that he had found his girl. Carole was cast, much to her surprise and enjoyment, and though she only worked two days on the film, she considered the experience a blast. In fact, she decided then and there that an actress was just what she wanted to be! She had taken acting classes before, but it had only been in fun. Now, it was serious. After three years of nothin', Carole would re-enter the film biz-- first as Jane, then as Carol, then as Carole-- and after a lot of extra work and due paying, she got what she wanted: superstardom. Had Allan picked another girl that day, Carole might not have known that she was born to crack us up!

Joel McCrea (right) was one guy who got around. In addition to being William S. Hart's paper boy and good friend of fellow rodeo rider and future actor/governor Rex Bell (otherwise known as Mr. Bow), he also rubbed elbows with one of the most famous women in the history of film: Greta Garbo. It seems an unlikely pairing, if only because Garbo rarely rubbed anything with anyone, so much did she value her space and privacy. Joel's luck was catching an up-close glimpse of the Swedish Sphinx before she had become an American sensation and forever turned inward. In other words, he found her pre-jaded. At the age of fourteen, Joel was working as an extra and stunt double at MGM, and it just so happened that he was able to get a gig on the film that would be Greta's first American release-- Torrent. Interestingly enough, Joel was getting paid to be Greta's double on the film, which at the time,  he probably didn't see as too monumental, since no one really knew who Garbo was yet. If anything, it probably hurt his pride that he was playing a girl!

In any event, Jeol put his equal love of horses to work on the job, which was to "ride a horse onto the seen and pull him up so sharply that he would slide through the mud on his hind legs." This, Joel dutifully performed twice, but then, the surprisingly maternal and youthful Greta (left) insisted that she replace him. The stunt was too dangerous; he might be hurt! Joel was touched by her concern and dashing heroics, but he and the rest of the cast and crew were nonplussed with her resulting stunt work. It was Joel's performance in that sequence that made the final cut. Though Greta had tried to come to his aid, I guess you could say that it was actually Joel who helped her get her start in the American movie industry.

Myrna Loy also had some unexpected help from a Knight in Shining Armor-- or should I say, "Amour?" Myrna's dreams had not always been geared specifically toward film. In truth, she longed to be a dancer and had filled her childhood days by designing elaborate costumes and performing shows in her yard. Yet, by the time she was in her late teens, her dreams and her fate were starting to merge. She was working then as a dancer at the Egyptian Theatre when it hosted big premieres with live pre-shows and scenes. Then, in 1925, her grace and unusual features, which made the intelligent and well-bred girl from Montana look quite exotic (right), earned her a sitting with photographer Henry Waxmen, leading to her alluring figure and visage being on two-dimensional display on the Egyptian walls. 

Henry also kept these shots at his studio, of course, which is where heartthrob Rudolph Valentino (left) saw them. He knew in his heart that he had spotted a star! Myrna's misleading, vixen looks made Rudy think that she was perfect for the role of "Mary Drake" in his upcoming project, Cobra with Nita Naldi. He got her a screen test, which the untrained novice unfortunately bombed, and the role went to Gertrude Olmstead instead. Yet, Myrna had obviously made enough of an impression on both Rudy and his wife, Natacha Rambova, to earn herself a small role in the latter's pet project What Price Beauty?-- a satire on the cosmetics industry. Unfortunately, Rudy didn't turn out to be much of a Pygmalion, due to his shocking and early death the following year, but his small invitation to another world opened a door to the career Myrna was born for, and she did all right by herself-- from extra girl, to bit player, to supporting lead, to leading lady extraordinaire. (Interestingly, Myrna would remember Rudy as a happy-go-lucky, friendly guy while  she though Natacha seemed a bit of a slave-driver. Their marriage seemed more child-parent than husband-wife).

Ginger Rogers (right) was also the kind of person to help someone out, particularly family. This explains the brief cinematic career of her maternal cousin Helen Brown Nichols of Kansas City. Almost as soon as Ginger starting working steadily in feature films, she called on Helen and suggested that she try her hat at the acting biz too. Ginger offered more than entre, for she was the one who also suggested Helen's stage name, which was to be Phyllis Fraser. Phyllis didn't tarry in the biz too long, but the experience was certainly a stepping stone to other things, including her literary aspirations. However, there is another pseudo-relative of Ginger's in the famous Hollywood pool. 

You see, Ginger's aunt Jean Owens  was married to actor Vinton Hayworth. Vinton began working in films in the mid '30s and his impressive career extended to the end of his life in 1970. His most memorable work was on television, which included appearances on "Alfred Hitchcock Presents," "Green Acres," and "I Dream of Jeannie." Coincidentally, his natural niece was Rita Hayworth, his sister Volga's daughter! When Margarita Cansino made it big (see left), she took her mother's last name as part of her stage name, and Vinton, who up to this point had been performing as "Jack Arnold," made a lucrative decision and followed suit. While this doesn't make Rita and Ginger blood relatives, the matrimony of Vinton and Jean did unite these two ladies as cousins-in-law. Makes you wonder if they ever chit-chatted at family reunions...

Speaking of relations, Anne Baxter (right) sort of had art in her blood. The maternal granddaughter of Frank Lloyd Wright, the legendary architect, little Anne grew up with expectations for greatness and the notion that utilizing and sharing one's talents was a necessity. Anne saw her way to contribute to the family glory when she attended a play starring the always remarkable Helen Hayes. That was that. Acting was the thing. Of course, those acting classes with Maria Ouspenskaya also helped her along past the point of sheer willpower.  By the age of thirteen, the ambitious youth had appeared on Broadway! By the age of fifteen, she was auditioning for the role of "Becky Thatcher" in a cinematic adaptation of Tom Sawyer. Making this moment even more exciting to the wannabe ingenue was her scene partner in the screen test-- the eighteen-year-old Montgomery Clift! 

While Anne would recall that his perfect beauty was marked with a few pimples, she would admit that the blemishes did not detract from his already breath-taking handsomeness. Of course, Monty (left) was not to be outdone by Anne's resume. He had performed very successfully onstage, including his recent praised-- albeit brief-- performance in "Yr. Obedient Husband" as 'Lord Finch.' Coincidentally, the leading man in this play was Fredric March, who reflected years later that he knew right away that the hypnotic Monty was "going places." But, back to Anne... The duo got along swimmingly during the audition process, but unfortunately were not cast as Tom and Becky. Who was??? Exactly. Big mistake, casting directors. BIG. Anywho, Monty-- whom Anne recalled as being both "hyperactive" and "hypersincere"-- very courteously invited her to a show at Carnegie Hall to take the burn off the harsh slap in the face that they had both received. No matter, they would team up later with none other than Alfred Hitchcock in I Confess! Some years had passed, but both got where they were going, separately but together.

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...

NOW, THAT'S FUNNY: Part VII

Marlene Dietrich was well aware of the effect her sexual wiles had
 on men, and she fully took advantage... especially
when the world was in danger.

One of Marlene Dietrich's more public romances was the one she had with the handsome Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. (left). The two would have a lengthy affair following the death of Marlene's previous lover, John Gilbert. If Doug wasn't intimidated enough by Marlene's continuing devotion to this lost love, he would too have to combat the existence of her still living husband, Rudi Sieber, whom she nonchalantly introduced to him at dinner one night. His attraction and affection for Marlene made him stick around, despite her antics, which were not in keeping with typical feminine standards nor accepted gender roles. In truth, he loved her "modern" ways as much as her warmth. Anyway, he had to get used to her methods fast since she took the reigns at their first meeting. Doug recalled being completely spellbound by Marlene's beauty and lack of vanity, becoming determined to possess her. After escorting her home and trying to figure a suave way to make his move, he came to realize that he was the one being seduced: he thanked her for the nightcap, and she escorted him to her bedroom. Their affair was not always so simple. In order to keep the press hounds at bay, Doug often had to find creative ways to escape from his lover's room without raising suspicion. While both were in London, Marlene was staying at Claridge's. After one particular night of passion, Doug decided-- in order to avoid detection and to protect his lover's honor-- that he should shimmy down the fire escape instead of using the door. In doing so, he tied his coat tails behind his back and slid down... landing right in front of a young "bobby" officer. Luckily, being famous has its advantages. The officer gave Doug a knowing smile and asked, "Rehearsing for your next film, Mr. Fairbanks?" Doug replied with a befuddled affirmative and hailed a cab. Luckily, he was able to get Marlene a room below his own bungalow soon after to avoid such intricate escapes... and embarrassments.

While Doug was intoxicated by Marlene as a lover, he was also smitten with her strength and gumption. She left him astounded on separate occasions when she announced her plans to, in one way or another, prevent world disaster by using her abilities of sexual seduction. When she learned that Edward VIII of England was about to abdicate his throne for Wallis Simpson, she became deeply grieved. She was determined to stop her royal friend from making such an error. She told Doug that she was going straight to the Palace to seduce Edward in order to show him that there were better women to be had than the "homely" girl he had set his sights on. She felt sure that this act of diplomacy would be better for everyone-- England needed him! Not knowing what to do, Doug watched as his lover prepared herself for a night of sexual warfare. Unfortunately, her primping took too long, and by the time she arrived at the palace, Edward was not at home. He married Wallis, and the rest is history. Marlene was not deterred in her international shenanigans (see determined pose, right). With the Nazis rising in power, and war creeping closer, she became increasingly agitated at the United States' refusal to act. So, she let Doug in on another plan. Before Marlene gained American citizenship and publicly declared her disdain for the current German political tide, Hitler wanted her back in her native land making movies for their agenda. Marlene wanted to play the secret agent and agree to come home-- with the stipulation that she be able to meet with Hitler "in private." The context of the meeting was understood. She then planned to assassinate the maniacal leader herself! Fearful for his beloved when he realized her seriousness, Doug pointed out the danger of such an attempt, but Marlene said she wasn't afraid to die. He then pointed out that she would be searched, and any weapons she had on her person would be removed before she could see the dictator. She then declared that she would enter naked if she had to. He finally pointed out that even if she succeeded, it would put the lives of her mother Josefine and sister Liesel in jeopardy, as they still lived in Nazi occupied Germany. This finally changed her mind. But, imagine how different history could have been if she had followed through...

Rudolph Valentino was equally renowned for his effect upon the opposite sex. His mere presence instigated women of all ages to go into a frenzy. He had longed in his youth for fame and prosperity, but as he aged, he came to realize that such privileges also came with a price: like privacy... or the ability to exit a building without being mobbed. Fan attention seemed to reach a fever pitch when he and wife Natacha Rambova started taking their dancing tour across the country (left). On a hiatus of sorts from film while he battled the studios for better roles, better pay, and creative freedom, he and Natacha decided to tango their way through the United States. Needless to say, there was mayhem. Tickets were in high demand for their shows, and in addition, throngs of fans methodically cased whatever ballroom or hotel Rudy was performing or staying in. While coming or going to events, Rudy and Natacha were often stampeded and occasionally had to find special exit routes on rooftops to avoid annihilation. From Arizona to Kentucky, they were woman-handled, and their ears were defiled with the cries of screaming females. He underwent one surprising event after another, including the time one ravenous fan tore her way through his dressing tent to catch a glimpse of his perfect form. Rudy may have been frightened at certain times, but he was always as gracious as possible to his fans. Mostly, he was concerned for every one's safety. While performing in Vancouver, BC, one particular female fan become so overcome by the sight of Rudy, that she fainted. The building manager moved her out of the way so she wasn't trampled and deposited her in Rudy's dressing room where Natacha tried to revive her. After finishing a routine, Rudy entered in all his dashing, costumed glory to check the status of the patient. At that moment, the stunned girl opened her eyes, finding herself face to face with her idol, the Rudolph Valentino. Her eyes bulged, she sighed, and with that she fainted dead away. Again. No news on whether she ever recovered.

Yes, movie acting can be treacherous. But just as hazardous as the public trappings of fame is the danger of human absence... at least in one case. In 1913, Lon Chaney was just carving out a career for himself in the movies. After several months in Los Angeles in extra roles, prop jobs, and bit parts, he struck up enough of a reputation with Allan Dwan to start getting regular gigs in the director's films. He was far from famous, but his face was becoming more familiar, and he was definitely bulking up his resume. So it was that Lon joined the rest of Allan's usual troupe (including Pauline Bush and Murdock MacQuarrie) when they traipsed off to Mt. Lowe to begin filming Bloodhounds of the North. Things were rocky from the beginning, with bad weather and torrential rains that kept the cast and crew isolated and indoors. Allan solved the problem by having the cast and crew rehearse not only for Bloodhounds but for his other upcoming features. Once the mud finally dried, Lon-- who had always loved the mountains-- ventured out with fellow actor Arthur Rosson to breathe a deep sigh of relief in the fresh air. Unfortunately, as familiar as he was with the Colorado peaks, Lon was unfamiliar with Californian terrain, and he and Arthur got good and lost. As day turned to night, and the air grew chilly, the two men must have wondered if they would ever find their way out of the canyons. Thankfully, a search party had been sent to find the adventurous twosome. The sight of approaching friends and rescuers must have been a sight for sore eyes after hours of desolation. After all they mayhem, and with his cast in tact, Allan managed to churn out not only Bloodhounds but also Richelieu and Honor of the Mounted in five days. Lon had a part in all of them and kept much closer company with his comrades for the remainder of filming. (Lon plays the aggressor in another wild landscape with William S. Hart in Riddle Gawne, right. This film in 1919, after years of struggle, would help tip Lon over the edge in popularity before The Miracle Man solidified his fame).

James Cagney: actor, dancer... poet??? Yes, indeed. A tough guy on screen, James had a much more artistic bent in his private life. In addition to enjoying the relaxation that painting brought him, he too was a veritable wordsmith. Years spent with his nose buried in books had equipped him with quite the vocabulary and an ability for melodic recitations. He carried a notebook with him that he often scribbled in, doing the random couplet, limerick, or verse. His areas of lyrical expertise ranged from agricultural appreciation, social preponderance, and aesthetic enjoyment-- Joan Blondell was flattered to hear an original Cagney penned in honor of what he described as her perfect caboose. Occasionally, the poems were comical. Jim had a sudden burst of inspiration when riding in the car one day with his wife, Willie. The two came to a red light, and Jim noticed friend and constant co-star Humphrey Bogart sitting in his own car coming from the opposite direction... picking his nose. Bogie picking a boogey? It was too much for Jim to resist. The next day when Bogie came to work, he found the following verse on his dressing table: "In this silly town of ours,/ one sees odd primps and poses,/ but movie stars in fancy cars/ shouldn't pick their famous noses." Jim received no reply. Not every artist is appreciated in his time. (The duo stand left in The Roaring Twenties).

PERSONAL NOTE: If loving movies is wrong...

I struggled with a topic for this week's post. Though I have a whole list of ideas jotted down, none of them seemed to fit my current mood... Which has been quite pensive of late. I have often wondered just how valid my interest in cinema is, if valid is the right word. How useful is it to know how many Oscars Kate Hepburn won? Or how painful Rita Hayworth's hairline electrolysis was? Does owning somewhere in the ballpark of 1000 movies, (no, that is not a typo) and having seen even more, really have any value? This questioning has left me in a sort of existential dilemma.

 "You are the Star" mural @ Hollywood & Wilcox

The trouble with studying film is, there is still a heavy bias against it. If I told people I studied art-- Picasso, Van Gogh, Rembrandt-- the reaction would be "Ooh, ahh... that's interesting." Granted, I may be considered somewhat impractical for choosing an unstable passion with little lucrative benefit, but my knowledge and education would bear more weight because "art" is valued. Films are not. They are so accessible that they are taken for granted. While many of us may see a movie and say, "That was good," we don't consider it a gift from the muses. This dates all the way back to the advent of cinema, when film was considered a flash-in-the-pan publicity gag, certain to lose its luster once the next thing came along. Film actors weren't even "actors," they were regular Joe's, usually fresh off the street and looking for a job-- any job. In early Hollywood, and around the studios in New York, landlords wouldn't even rent to these pioneers, posting signs outside their buildings that flatly stated: "No Actors," (along with the equally biased "No Jews" or "No Chinese," etc).

Yup, movies have had it rough. No one wanted to love them. No one wanted to believe in them. They were just pictures in motion-- one step up from the lantern slideshows. Yet, people became riveted, mostly the lower classes, who could afford to see the ramshackle Nickelodeons available to everyone. Since it was such a subordinate amusement, this gave the higher classes further reason to avoid the cinema parlors, but the fascination still grew. It turns out that people just love watching people. Just as gazing into the eyes of an oil portrait gave prior generations the ability to relate to another individual, to live vicariously through them, and to indulge in their own imaginations, movies took it a step further. Here was an actual carbon-copied, photographic representation of a living and breathing individual... and you could legitimately see them living and breathing! Society quickly became absorbed by it: by its technology and by its humanity. *(Still from Annabelle Butterfly Dance 1894)

And so, something happened. People started to believe and to consequently create. Stories were built, directors started innovating new techniques to take plays from the stage to the screen, and then original stories were given life through a medium whose presence opened a door to a whole new level of fantasy and communication. The great unifier was born. In black and white, the angels of silent cinema glowed brightly, bringing laughter and tears, taking us on emotional rides-- whether for 3 minutes or an hour-- and then delivered us safely back home. With directors like D.W. Griffith, Allan Dwan, and Clarence Brown, cinema became "art." With performances by Florence Lawrence, Mary Pickford, and Greta Garbo (right in The Saga of Gosta Berling 1924), movies became real.

And here we are, over a century after landing on the moon (via Georges Melies that is), and we have such a significant bulk of history at our very fingertips!!!. At times I am deeply affected by the fact that I am watching a movie that was made far before I was born; one that stars an actor who has long been gone. I am intimately acquainted with Tom Mix, Douglas Fairbanks, Norma Talmadge... I have never met them; yet, I know them. They continue to reach out to me and affect me after so many years. How is that possible? How lucky are we to have this privilege? To have the option of lavishing in the glorious ghosts of the past so freely?

Tom Mix and his horse, Tony

This is why, despite the occasional, minor setback, I am proud of my personal absorption in cinema. The study of film is the study of human beings: the study and appreciation of life and the education of empathy. What better lesson can one receive? By watching a movie, one learns about herself, about society, and about history. When you watch a period piece, you are given a glimpse of life at another time... But you also learn something, not just about the time period about which the film was made, but in which the film was made. The depiction of a different era reveals the contemporary society's opinions, morals, ideals, and standards about that era, and thus about itself. Wartime movies about war are significantly different than peacetime war films, for example. What will future societies say about our time? What will our ad nauseum, apocalyptic zombie films say about us? Fear, paranoia, vulnerability? What will our raunchy, buddy films communicate? Escapism, rebellion, boldness?

Obviously, not every film is a masterpiece. For every Citizen Kane there are thousands of White Chicks, New in Towns, and Anacondas. But every film is a contribution to the most moving and penetrating of artistic mediums. And, whether a film is considered good or bad, or so bad its good, we thrive on and enjoy the spectacle of it. Visual connoisseurs, we love gazing at a thing of beauty, whether that thing be Gene Tierney (below) or the fantastical universe of James Cameron's Avatar. As internally complex human beings, we love the intricate weavings of an engrossing story, because it explains us to ourselves in a way that no paid therapist can. Suffering from the pressures and stresses of every day life, we indulge for a moment in witnessing the lives of others, foreign and safe, yet strangely familiar.

So, do I hold a grudge against myself for at times thinking that I have watched and studied and collected so many movies that I may in fact have become one? No. We are all movies, and movies are all us. Besides, I would rather burn on a pyre of love for Grant and Bergman than for no one at all.