MENTAL MONTAGE: Movie Stars on the Radio

The body (minus the leg warmers) that inspired America to "do the
Jane Fonda..." and Mickey Avalon to write a hit song.

When it comes down to it, movie stars are nothing more than romanticized human beings: romanticized in their dramatic performances and romanticized in the public consciousness. They put themselves before the camera, and we place them on pedestals. And so, it is not really surprising that so many of our beloved celebrities become muses of song. In Byron's day, we would have read about some random, faceless damsel whom he was lusting over in one of his lyrical opuses. Today, instrumental inspiration often comes from a more obvious source, and so songwriters, rock-stars, and pop-idols reveal their own personal fanaticism by penning ballads and hit songs about the grand stars of cinema's bygone glory era. When these musical offerings are not straight-forward dedications to the Gods of Mt. Olympus, they are at least homages to the singular figures in our ever-growing pop culture.


Buggy Bette

The best celebs always have a trademark. For Harlow, it was her flaxen hair. For Flynn, it was his debonair mustache. For Bette-pop-eyed-Davis (left), it was her large, invasive peepers... (and perhaps a cigarette). Bette's luminous eyes did a great deal of her acting, taking her characters even in moments of stillness from anything from dewy wonder to murderous intent. As such, her baby blues inspired the lyrics to the 1974 Jackie DeShannon song, "Bette Davis Eyes," which described a dangerous coquette who knows how to use her sensuality to get what she wants: "She's precocious, and she knows just what it takes to make a crow blush." The song became more famous when it was re-recorded with minor lyrical changes-- crow became pro-- by Kim Carnes in 1981, where it became the #1 hit of the year. Bette was so flattered to be initiated into yet another generation of fans that she personally thanked Carnes for the "shout out." It meant a great deal to her that, years past her prime, she was still looked upon as the staple of female sexual power.


Jack White's Red-head

Alternative rock musician Jack White has enjoyed success in a number of realms: in various bands, in a solo career, as a music producer, and even as a film actor. His work is often interesting for its articulate yet untidy homages to different artists of the past. He makes no secret of his adoration for heroines like Loretta Lynn or Wanda Jackson, for both of whom he spearheaded new albums. His appreciation of the musicians of yesteryear is always apparent, and his respect blends mediums. Nursing a clear crush on the gorgeous Rita Hayworth (right), he made her the leading lady in the song "Take, Take, Take"-- his perspective on the draining and abusive side of celebrity. Released in 2005 on the White Stripes album Get Behind Me Satan, Rita Hayworth is described as being accosted repeatedly by an increasingly demanding fan whose obsession finally chases her away: "Well it's just not fair/ I want to get a piece of hair." The question both raised and answered is: "What price fame?"

Jack also pays a very direct homage to Rita's hubby Orson Welles in a Citizen Kane tribute. From the 2001 White Stripes album White Blood Cells, "The Union Forever" is totally comprised of pieces of dialogue from the Kane script. A seemingly impossible feat, White weaves the story of Charles Foster Kane (left) into a macabre translation of destructive capitalism and the ravages suffered by its most famous cinematic victim. "The union forever" is thus illustrated as a death sentence, and the painful life of isolation-- "It can't be love, for there is no true love"-- that Kane is left to suffer in his untouchable castle on a hill is sonically translated by White. In listening, movie fans can connect to the otherwise unrelatable character on a whole other level.

Hello, Norma Jeane...

Marilyn Monroe's (right) name pops up everywhere, so it barely joggles the mind anymore when she presents herself in song. However, the most famous and direct offering to Hollywood's sacrificed movie angel is Elton John's "Candle in the Wind." Released in 1973, Elton composed a cathartic release for a world still in mourning for the luminous star who died too soon. The song is particularly fascinating in the way Elton's empathy for the fallen idol and his poignant childhood memories reflect the powerful impact that she had and has maintained on the universal culture. Marilyn was as American as apple pie, but her beauty and vulnerability crossed over borders and oceans to reach people around the world. Few people can have such an amazing effect. Elton would alter the lyrics in 1997 to honor the death of another far-reaching woman, Lady Diana, after her equally shocking and affecting death, but the fact that Sir Elton's feelings of loss were as palpable for a starlet he never knew as they were for a close friend speaks volumes: "I would have liked to have known you,/ but I was just a kid."

In Thine Honor

The tragedy of Frances Farmer (right) has become one of the most famous cautionary tales about Hollywood: if you come here and try to maintain your independence, you will be lobotomized. I am hearing Marilyn Manson's "Beautiful People" in my head as I say this, as he has been known to make a commentary or two on celebrity (Hello, "Dope Show" and ass-less pants). But, a much less dramatic and equally tortured musician added his two cents to the Tinsel Town blood bank. Kurt Cobain continued the saga of fame's destruction with his own drug overdose in 1994. One of rock's most complicated and raw poets, his personal demons certainly found a soul mate in Frances, to whom he penned an ode in 1993's In Utero. The song "Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle" not only explored Cobain's empathy for the destroyed muse, but reflected his understanding of her inability to compromise. At the time, his internal battle to maintain artistic integrity with the growing popularity of his band caused him to draw a connection between himself and the actress, who fought the same losing battle so many decades before. He would too lose his fight by succumbing to his addictions, but through his words, they both come out victorious, leaving an indelible mark on our cultural history: "She'll come back as fire, And burn all the liars,/ leave a blanket of ash on the ground." We're still burning.


Not Too Fast to Leave a Mark

James Dean (right) remains the poster boy for his generation and a symbol to every generation of youth that follows. He carries the torch of existential confusion, youthful rebellion, and the sort of obstinate bravery that gets us all through puberty. As such, he has influenced many people. Many would try to copy his look to replicate that James Dean cool, but The Eagles tried instead to synthesize his sound. Their 1974 offering "James Dean," from their album On the Border, is an example of a direct star tribute. There is no metaphor; there is no mystery in the lines. Don Henley et al simply wanted to write a song about pretty much the coolest person in their personal recollection. The impenetrability of Dean's bravado on the screen gave him a great power that many an adolescent wished to possess, hence the remaining fascination with his persona: "James Dean, you said it all so clean/ And I know my life would look all right/ If I could see it on the silver screen." Herein too does the band solve the mystery behind Dean's immortality: tragically killed in an auto accident in life, on the screen he still survives. Behind the shield of cinema hides the eternal elixir of life. Too fast to live, too famous to die.


Music in Silence

Not all the glory went to our more contemporary idols. Even in the days of silent films, movie stars were making a lot of noise. One of the crazes of the day was to write songs in honor of popular, current figures. In keeping with this mindset, the world's first movie star, Florence Lawrence (left), got her melodious comeuppance while at the pinnacle of her career. In the days of vaudeville, barber shop quartets, and fox trots, music had a very different personality from the one it bears today-- which is very schizophrenic at times. But, imagine an era where you could actually identify the instrument you were hearing-- I know, it's a long shot. While visiting with friends, one might hear a musician tickling the ivories to "Sweet Rosie O'Grady." A drunken night with friends might end with a house band encore of "And the Band Played On." In 1916, Carl Laemmle hosted a company party for the employees of Universal-- a masked ball no less-- to which his ace star Flo was invited. Imagine her surprise and delight when the MacDonald and Steiner Company's most recent hit, "Florence Lawrence," started echoing through the air and extolling the virtues of her "eyes like the violent, lips like the cherry." Had she any question that she was famous, it was quickly answered, and one can imagine she waltzed it up-- in between blushes, of course.


The Great Profile

Montgomery Clift was pretty (see right). Pretty talented, but also just really damn pretty. Before his tragic car crash, which marred his otherwise perfect visage, it was fairly well agreed upon that he was born with the right profile. Hence, The Clash's 1979 London Calling offering, "The Right Profile." The entire song is written about the public's agony, confusion, and even cold-heartedness after witnessing the movie star's altered appearance in Raintree County: "Monty's face is broken on a wheel/ Is he alive? Can he still feel?"  Monty's downward slide and addiction to pain pills and alcohol are also melodized, as is the hypocrisy of a world that turned its back on one of their prettiest people when he wasn't so pretty anymore. As the idol of Red River and A Place in the Sun, Monty had overcome the crutch of his good looks to bring forth great performances of depth and feeling. After his car crash, Monty in one respect found himself unbound-- as an actor, he was now able to pursue more character roles that would have been denied him in his pristine condition. But too, he suffered the ego blow of his fall from grace when he lost his face. In his life, he became both beauty and the beast, a point that The Clash illustrated with their typical howling and hard-hitting rhythms. 


Quick Hits:

As Lon Chaney (right) is "The Man of a Thousand Faces," it is fitting that he too become "The Man of a Thousand Songs." Countless numbers have been written for the sad actor whose continuing pain and influence never seem to wane. He has been mentioned or directly written about in songs from multiple artists: from Vetiver, to Garland Jeffreys, to Rob Zombie-- not to mention the hit from The Hollywood Revue of 1929, "Lon Chaney's Gonna Get You If You Don't Watch Out!" From Lon's martyrdom to his grotesquerie, he continues to inspire like-minded sufferers, freaks, and idolaters. Over 80 years after his death, his growing legion of fans hold tightly to his memory, as if hoping that he will emerge from the grave and perhaps in turn wear their faces too when they become too heavy. At the very least, these different musical artists return the favor by taking turns wearing his.

When John Ford's The Searchers hit theaters in 1956, he probably hoped at best to have made a great film. Little did he know that it would become an instant classic and the movie that future filmmakers like Steven Spielberg would look to as the prototype of perfect filmmaking. The success of the flick centered around the layered and complicated performance of John Wayne (left), whose hardened, prejudiced cowboy reflected the political unrest of a society undergoing change. His stubborn behavior was clearly indicated in his constant retort: "That'll be the day..." By the film's end, the day of reckoning did come... and so too did Buddy Holly's hit "That'll Be the Day," which was lyrically if not thematically inspired by the film and Wayne's performance in it.

This one remains nameless, but the song "The Second Time Around," which was penned by Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen in 1960, was dedicated to one very special lady. While the song made its debut via Bing Crosby, it was more heavily associated over the years with King Crooner Frank Sinatra. This is not just because Frank recorded and performed the song himself many times, but because it was through him that Van Heusen met Shirley MacLaine (right), an often forgotten female member of the infamous Rat Pack. Van Heusen fell in love with Shirley, who unfortunately was married to Steve Parker. While he pined, poor Jimmy wrote the ballad for his lady love, whom he prayed would leave her husband. She did, but not until the '80s. Jimmy didn't get Shirley, but at least Frank got a hit out of it.

And the bands play on...

MENTAL MONTAGE: Toupee of the Day to ya'!

Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis both donned fancy wigs

 in Some Like It Hot but to calculated, comic effect.

In Hollywood, youth is everything. This goes beyond the need of an artist to stay young and attractive. It has even more to do with maintaining one's image so as not to disappoint the public. Change is death-- at least that is what so many celebrities have been led to believe. For every movie star at his peak, there are hundreds, perhaps even thousands, waiting to take his place. To maintain their relationships with their fans, many celebs resort to plastic surgery, sadistic diets, and outrageous workout routines. The refusal to age becomes a bit of an obsession to some: such as Joan Crawford, who was so desperate to maintain her own illusion of youth that she created for herself a somewhat crazed looking mask of makeup, which included exaggerated eyebrows and ghastly lips. Women are most often pegged as paying overt attention to their appearance, but the guys are also suckered by Hollywood's ageism. While women pile on cosmetics and slip into their spanks, men tighten their girdles... and commission new hairpieces. Here are a few examples of male vanity rearing its ugly head and covering its baldness with a bald-faced lie: the toupee.

John Wayne (left) wasn't a self-absorbed or superficial man, but he knew how much his image meant. Therefore, he was willing to obey the rules by muting the true effects of his age as he matured before the screen. For one, he always went on a strict workout regime before each film so he could shave off a few pounds-- though known as the typical man's man, he was never too pressured to hide his paunch in the later years. One stipulation he could not avoid was camouflaging his thinning hair. After several years in the business, the thick head of curls that earned "oohs" and "ahhs" during The Big Trail started disappearing, but the studio saw to it that his handsome face remain bedecked with a full head of artificial hair. There was at least one instance on set when his hairpiece actually caught on fire during an action sequence! Duke always laughed it off, finding the whole thing absurd, and he didn't continue the facade at home, as his friends Walter Reed and Budd Boetticher would recall. One day, Water and Budd were visiting Duke at his house in Encino. When they left, the rain was pouring, and their car got stuck in the mud. A few police officers happened upon them and asked what they were doing. They replied, of course, that they had been visiting John and had gotten stuck on their way home. One particular cop didn't believe them, thinking that a star as big as the Duke would live in a much fancier part of town. So, to prove themselves, Budd and Walter took the officer up to the house. Duke answered the door, sans toupee, and the fellas explained the debate to him. He then drawled, "Well, I'm Duke." The cop replied, "You don't look like John Wayne." John followed up with the deadpan, "What the Hell do you want me to do? Go in and put my hairpiece on?" The group burst into laughter. Now starstruck, the cop and his fellow officers asked for autographs, which Duke whole-heartedly gave.

The string bean of swing, Fred Astaire (right), also had a toupee of his own, but he was much more insecure about it than Duke. Short and frail of build, Fred was never totally confident in his appearance, despite the fact that his fans found him adorable. He mostly hated his hands, which he considered too large, and he concocted special postures and ways of holding his fingers together to make them appear smaller. He too suffered from the curse of male age when he started losing his hair. Frequent partner Ginger Rogers would get to see first-hand the dark side of Fred's usually light mood when he was caught bare-headed. They were filming the last production day on Top Hat when director Mark Sandrich suddenly decided he wanted to add a final dance sequence-- ya' know, to put a fun period on the film. Since the dancing duo always liked to rehearse everything, this last minute decision cramped their style. Ginger was more inclined to just go with it, but Fred-- who was a professional and perfectionist-- was greatly put out and concerned about the improvisation. Nonetheless, Ginger coaxed him to just go ahead: she'd "follow his lead." So, the partners sauntered down the stairs of the set, adding dance steps as they descended. All seemed well until Fred's hat fell off. To Ginger's shock, Fred turned bright red and started howling, "No, no, no!" He then stormed over to a wall and kicked it with one of his famous feet, not once, but five times. Ginger and Mark later discovered the source of his ire: because he was wearing a hat in the scene and had not intended to show his head, he had not put on his toupee. The threat of his thinning head being on display was apparently more than he could handle. Eventually, Fred cooled down, and the scene came together with the audience none the wiser as to what was (or rather wasn't) hiding beneath that infamous Top Hat.

After Bing Crosby (left) passed through a half century of life, he began to panic. Fifty-years-old is too old for Tinsel Town, and as younger men arrived in Hollywood every day, the aging crooner felt his time in the spotlight coming to an end. His personal life was in shambles too. By 1954, he had lost his long-suffering wife Dixie, and his long-term love affair with alcohol was going full throttle. Feeling himself seep into a crack from which he may never be able to crawl, he knew he needed a big hit to get him back on track. While his voice remained in top form, he could not deny that he was getting older and that maybe his film characters should start aging with him. He had relied on his charm and voice to carry him through his other films, but if he was going to stay on top, he needed to act like a real actor. Enter George Seaton and his film adaptation of The Country Girl. Teaming up with William Holden-- another aging but still handsome leading man-- and Grace Kelly-- whom Bing originally opposed in favor of Jennifer Jones-- Bing got ready to tackle one of the most difficult and memorable performances of his career. The role hit close to home. For a former playboy to play a washed up, alcoholic, faithless has-been was... uncomfortable.  And though Bing trusted that the role could showcase his range, he feared that audiences would associate him with his character and that he would lose his prestige in the industry as a swoon-inducing Lothario. When filming began, it was clear to all that he had lost his swagger. He arrived two hours late the first day and was later found fretting and sulking in his dressing room. Most shockingly, he was wearing his favorite 20-year-old hairpiece, which made Seaton cringe. Bing refused to give up his ratty, old toupee, believing that it shaved decades off his appearance. As the director pressured him to get to set, Bing nearly broke into tears: he couldn't perform without his lucky hair! Finally, Seaton saw that the wig was more to Bing than a head of hair-- it was a physical symbol of his insecurity. Finally, Seaton got to his actor, saying that he understood how frightening this whole experience must be. He finished with, "Let's be frightened together." Bing perked up, left his dead hair behind, and churned out an Academy Award nominated performance.

Sextette is a best forgotten film. It remains notorious simply for its leading lady, Mae West, who was just as lustful and vibrant at 85 as she had been at 25. Mae was still her usual, sensual, optimistic self, and she felt as healthy as ever, but she could not deny that her film career seemed to be coming to an end. She was long past her hey-days of the '30s when She Done Him Wrong made her a superstar. She remained a very public figure, continuously discussed and lampooned, and age never cramped her style as she continued to be one of the hardest working women in showbiz-- though Vegas shows had become the order of the day over feature films. She always preferred the stage anyway, so it was a welcome change. It seemed time to bid farewell to the silver screen and to do so in grand fashion. This extended not just to her extravagant wardrobe, but to the film's casting. Boasting a plethora of attractive and unexpected supporting characters-- including Timothy Dalton, Tony Curtis, Ringo Starr, Alice Cooper, George Hamilton, and Keith Moon-- the greatest casting coup of all was winning old flame George Raft's participation. It was actually a "thank you," for George had given Mae her first screen credit in his film Night After Night. However, George was not too inclined to accept Mae's heartfelt favor. He was old, and unlike Mae, tired and ill. But, she coaxed him into it. Eager for the reunion, Mae was aghast when she spied George's toupee in his dressing room before filming began. "What's this?" she asked Marvin Paige, the casting director. When he revealed that it was George's hairpiece, Mae became distraught. "No, no, no," she insisted. She preferred him in the slicked-back style of their youths. "I like him greasy," she insisted. One problem: George had little hair left to grease. This left the production in a dilemma. George hated wearing a hairpiece in the first place, so losing it was no problem, but slicking back non-existent hair was also out. Finally, a solution was found-- he would wear a hat for his scenes. No hair, no worry. The film, sadly, was far from a hit, but it did form a perfect circle in the film careers of George and Mae. It turned out to be the last film either of them ever made. Both passed away in November of 1980 with Mae surprisingly beating George to the punch by two days. Always with gentlemen, "ladies first." (The two in younger days, right).

MENTAL MONTAGE: Use Your Clout

The ultimate film about the entertainment "cat" race, Stage Door:

Kate Hepburn, Lucille Ball, and Ginger Rogers.

Clawing your way to the top of the entertainment ladder is no easy feat. After completing the seemingly insurmountable task, which not all are able to do, one can either be left with a deluded feeling of euphoria, which erases all memory of the aforementioned climb, or one can continue to bear the cuts, bruises, and war wounds of his battle, which serve as daily reminders of his lengthy diligence and hard work. The former group can at times get lost in the twisted web of fame and fortune, drifting into the annoying abyss of entitlement and egotism. This outcome is rarely good. The latter group, however, usually maintains a devout gratitude for their good fortune and thus a dignified sort of humility. This creates a better path, one possessing clear-headedness, good business sense, and a compassion for the underdog. In the history of Hollywood, there are several tales of various stars sticking their necks out for other struggling artists-- using their "clout" as it were-- to help someone in a position from which they themselves have fortunately evolved. These instances of professional aid are at times minute, but the effect is always profound to the object in need, who will forever remember a small moment of kindness that-- if he or she was really lucky-- changed everything.

When Lucille Ball was still making the rounds at various studios, she landed a contract at RKO, where she primarily wound up in featured roles and bit parts. Despite the fact that, as far as the studio was concerned, she was just another one of the dime a dozen hopefuls, she was able to ingratiate herself to different people on the lot by being forever professional, completely willing, and incredibly funny. Hard work was not something that she ever had a problem with. Perhaps fellow nose-to-the-grindstone actress Katharine Hepburn took note of this. The two didn't have much a friendship, for Kate was higher on the acting echelon and being primed for stardom (in constant competition with another RKO leading lady, Ginger Rogers), but the duo would come into direct contact one fateful day-- which, coincidentally, could have been catastrophic for Lucy. Lucy was in the makeup chair, being prepped for yet another publicity photo to help test/boost her appeal, when all of a sudden, she was unceremoniously ushered away to make room for Hepburn, who was being readied for her daily shoot on Mary of Scotland (in wardrobe, left). Hepburn, through no fault of her own, took precedence over Lucy's cosmetic needs: Mary was a huge project for the studio. Lucy, pursing her lips, made her way into the next room, only to realize that she had left her tooth caps behind. Trying not to make a fuss or disturb "the Queen," Lucy tried to flag down the beautician who was working on Kate. She waved her arms at him through a dividing window, but to no avail. Though he saw her, he directly snubbed her flailing and continued with his work. Insulted, her temper grew red-hot, until she threw a steaming coffee pot at him! Unfortunately, the pot hit the table only to splatter all over Kate and her regalia. Lucy's eyes surely bulged as she began to panic! With Kate's dress dirtied with brown coffee spots, the shooting for the day couldn't be done and the studio was out thousands of dollars. Yet, when the top dogs came for blood, Kate stood by Lucy and refused to blame her for the incident. She used what little power she had to diffuse the situation instead of engaging in the expected diva-temper-tantrum. Lucy was also aided by Lela Rogers, Ginger's mother, who had been giving her acting lessons at the studio's behest. Lela believed that Lucy was one of the more promising young hopefuls and made this known to the enraged higher ups. Because of these two ladies, Lucy's job was saved-- temporarily. Interestingly, though her time at RKO would not last, she was there long enough to appear in Stage Door with both Hepburn and Rogers.

After RKO, Lucy would have help from another lady of the screen. Struggling to find work, and being told over and over again that her time was past-- that there was nowhere for a woman in her thirties to go in her career but down-- Lucy was having trouble holding onto her dream. Her self-confidence was at a bottom low, which was effecting her mentally and physically. She had even developed a stutter. Out of nowhere, she couldn't get through the most normal of sentences without breaking into stunted syllables. Just as suddenly, Olivia de Havilland (right) entered the picture. The two were not pals, barely having exchanged more than the usual "Hello, how are yous" at various parties and social affairs, but for some reason Olivia had taken a liking to Lucy. Perhaps she saw in the woman a another version of herself-- a fellow female fighter. As such, when word reached her that the funny, bubbly red head was on a downward spiral, she stepped in. She told her agent, Kurt Frings, to take Lucy on as a client and help to turn her career around. She just knew that the girl had "it" and only needed the right project to reach the stardom she deserved. Since no one said "No" to O de H-- a lesson Jack Warner learned all too well-- Frings agreed and added the stunned Lucy to his roster of clients. In a whirl, Lucy was still a nervous wreck when she began shooting on her first Frings induced project, Lover Come Back, opposite George Brent. Yet, she pulled it together, and once the cameras started rolling, she lost the stutter and regained her swagger. She remained eternally grateful to Olivia for her helping hand. It didn't turn out to be Lucy's big break, but it did help her get one step closer to success and kept her afloat during a confusing and back-breaking time.

Husband Desi Arnaz had also received a little help in his early career from none other than fellow crooner Bing Crosby. With Bing (left), judging from various accounts, you either loved him or hated him. Desi was one of the lucky ones who caught him on a good night. A very good night. Desi was a struggling musician touring with Xavier Cugat and his band, for which he played the guitar. Their itinerary eventually took the troupe to Saratoga, where Bing happened to be in attendance. Bing must have been impressed with Desi's playing, because he gleefully introduced himself-- in Spanish no less-- to the starstruck young man. Very friendly, and perhaps aided by a little too much liquor, "Bing-o" got congenial quickly and started asking the tongue-tied Cuban what he was earning for his talents. Desi responded with the sad truth: a measly $30/week. Bing, who knew Xavier, suddenly became Desi's champion. "That cheap bastard!" he roared. "Come on! Let's get you a raise!" He took Desi by the arm and the two marched right up to Cugat. Bing demanded that Cugat up the ante on Desi's paycheck. After being placed on the spot by such a huge superstar, Cugat was forced to agree... With one stipulation: that Bing perform a song with the band that night. Bing agreed, and Desi got his raise. Soon enough, ol' Dizzy had the money and confidence to tour with his own band, which inched him closer to Hollywood and his soul mate, Lucy.

In 1943, Van Johnson was just another struggling actor. Minor roles and extra work were the daily grind, until through a stroke of luck, he found himself cast in a supporting role in a major motion picture: A Guy Named Joe. Van was ecstatic! This could be his big break-- the opportunity of a lifetime. Enjoying his good fortune, he was out driving with friends Keenan and Eve Wynn (Van's future wife, but that's another story) when he was broadsided by another car. It was a serious accident, which left him badly injured. Very badly: a metal plate had to be put in his head! (In his future film work, you can see the noticeable scar). This tragedy couldn't have come at a worse time. His role as Ted Randall in the upcoming film was in jeopardy, for he needed extensive time to recuperate. Victor Fleming was put in the unfortunate position of looking for a replacement, until two angels came out of the wings. Both Irene Dunne and Spencer Tracy were impressed with Van and believed he was perfect for the role, and they went to bat for him (all three in the finished film, right). Through much persuasion, they convinced Victor and the studio to postpone until Van was completely healed, promising that his performance would help to make the picture a hit. The big wigs surprisingly listened. It turns out that Van, despite the conflicting evidence, was a lucky man, and the film helped to skyrocket him to Stardom. His accident turned out to be a pain and a pleasure, for due to his injury, he was unable to serve in the military during WWII. As one of the few fellas left at home while other stars went off to battle, his capable leading man potential made him a top box-office star. Thanks to Irene and Spence, he had had his breakthrough and would never look back.

Sometimes, the scuffle for a fellow comrade becomes more than a professional courtesy. It's personal. This is something that Betsy Blair knew all too well. Married to the triple threat actor/dancer/singer Gene Kelly, her own career took a back-seat to his, especially after he found success in Hollywood with his breakout role in For Me and My Gal. Betsy didn't mind. She was fine with playing the role of the supportive spouse and loving mother and putting her own career on hold (see happy family, left). A talented actress and dancer herself, she did make the intermittent film but never achieved the same success or notoriety as her husband. At least, not the same kind of notoriety. During the "red scare," Betsy found herself the focus of the HUAC witch hunts. Though not a communist, her leftist politics, outspoken position on African American rights, and her part in the SAG anti-discrimination committee landed her on the blacklist. Her husband, Gene, who was equally liberally minded if not as outspoken, was safe from the same attack because of his growing box-office appeal. Seeing his wife so mistreated and outcast was difficult, to say the least. Her sadness enraged him, particularly when the role of Clara in Marty-- which he thought she would be perfect for-- was kept out of reach due to the current political tide. Tired of seeing his wife held down, Gene marched into studio head Dore Schary's office and gave him an ultimatum: let Betsy off the hook and give her the role, or Gene would simply stop coming to work! This was a bold move and could have quite easily gotten him into legal trouble for breach of contract, or worse, fired and blacklisted himself. However, Gene Kelly's name on the marquee meant guaranteed money, so Dore took the bait. Betsy landed the role of a lifetime in Marty, which would be the most memorable of her career, and received an Oscar nomination for her heart-wrenching performance. Sadly, this would prove to be one of the last happy moments in the Gene-Betsy marriage, which finally collapsed under the tension two years later. Yet, however the relationship may have ended, Betsy would always speak admiringly of her first husband, his courage, and the bold move that deepened her love and respect for him.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Blondes Have More Fun

Ultimate Blonde Comedienne Carol Lombard takes 

a mischievous peek in Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Grace Kelly (left) is most often remembered as being refined, classy, and chic. But so too did this lady have a naughty sense of humor. When Alfred Hitchcock initially tried to get her goat with his dirty jokes, Grace quipped back something to the effect of: "I heard worse things than that when I was in convent school." When she got close to people, she really let her guard down and showed her sweet and fun-loving side. Truth be told, she loved a good prank, and she played with the best of them!

The most infamous joker she went mono e mono with was surprisingly Alec Guinness, an English actor who was also known for his regal aura. The two chummed up on the set of The Swan (right) and became good friends. When Grace learned that Alec was receiving very "forward" fan letters from a girl named Alice, she saw to it that he was continuously paged by an "Alice" at his hotel. Alec's face probably filled with fear until he saw the look on Grace's. The two also engaged in a a decades long battle of "Where's the Tomahawk?" The duel started thus: Alec was given a little tomahawk by a friend, and as a gag, he tipped the hotel concierge to slip it into Grace's bed. Grace's initial surprise led to a continuous game. The two soon began swapping the weapon back and forth. Grace would hear that Alec was in town, and she would pay the bellboy at his hotel to place the tomahawk in his bed; Alec would learn that Grace was passing through his neck of the woods, and he would have a mutual friend hide it somewhere in hers. Sometimes, years would pass before the tomahawk would strike again, but it always did. Every once in awhile one of them was greeted with the surprisingly humorous prop, and had a good laugh over it. Where it ended up, or who was the last to receive it is unknown, but it was a good way for two friends to to send a little token of remembrance, despite the years that passed between them.

Grace also tried to help out ol' friend Jackie-O back when she was Jacqueline Kennedy, (see two classy ladies left). It seems that John was a big fan of Grace's, which is no surprise knowing his penchant for blondes. When he underwent a dangerous lumbar fusion surgery in 1954, Grace wrote Jackie and asked if she might pay a visit at the hospital. Jackie thought it was just the thing to brighten the recuperating politician's spirits, but she added a twist. The scheme was to have Grace enter John's hospital room dressed as a nurse! Grace arrived completely in character and performed to a T. Perhaps a little too well, actually. In addition to the fact that John was heavily sedated, Grace was a bit too convincing in her costume. He didn't know that the kind nurse helping him was a famed movie star! Grace left. When John became a little more clearheaded, Jackie told him of the shenanigan, and he kicked himself for missing the experience of a lifetime!

Speaking of John and his blondes... Marilyn Monroe also had a funny bone, and she too wanted to pull a fast one on her husband, Joe DiMaggio  (newlywedded, right). Unfortunately, like the above gag, it didn't pan out. This time, she asked for Maureen O'Hara's help. It turns out that Joe had a school-boy crush on the flame haired vixen, so to tease him, Marilyn asked Maureen if she would take part in his birthday party. The idea was that Maureen would hide in a large box, which Marilyn would then give to Joe as a present with the following stipulation: "Now Joe, after I give this, I don't ever want to hear about Maureen O'Hara again." Maureen would then pop out of the gift, leaving Joe quite stunned. Maureen resisted the idea, but eventually the persuasive Marilyn coaxed her into it. For some reason-- scheduling perhaps-- they never went through with it. Too bad for Joe.

Maureen O'Hara: proving red-heads 

could also get a laugh.

Another blonde who liked to have a little fun was Hot Toddy, Thelma Todd (left). When she was first signed at Paramount at the young age of 19, she was put in the studio acting class with other young hopefuls, such as Buddy Rogers. Now, between lessons on speech and performance, these youngsters got a little stir crazy. Here they were, hoping to become famous movie stars, and instead it was like being in boarding school. In the midst of the talkie revolution, studio execs really wanted to make sure that their new gents and ingenues could move cinema into the next generation, and classes on diction and pronunciation were becoming tiring. Thus, to break out of the old, starched routines, the kids decided to have some laughs. Rumor has it that Toddy was always the leader when it came to their pranks.

One example involved the illustrious legend of the silent screen, Gloria Swanson, then one of the biggest movie stars in the world, and the reigning Queen of Paramount's Astoria studios. One night, Thel' and the gang decided to toy with the famed vixen. They went to the set of her latest film, Stage Struck, (in which she was playing a waitress), and tampered with the props, which they moved around and glued down-- plates, trays, chairs, doors, everything! The next day, when Gloria arrived to the set, she started going through the scene only to realize that she couldn't move anything. Doors refused to open, silverware was stuck on the counter... From the rafters, she thought she could hear the faint sound of chuckling. Instead of getting riled, the Grande Dame calmly pulled director Allan Dwan aside into a private convo, then left the set. No more work could be done until the situation was corrected anyway.

Gloria S: Don't mess with this!

Thelma was right proud of this silly victory... until Gloria got her revenge. The next day, Thelma and her class of jokesters were called to the very same set and asked to perform scenes from the script... while Gloria critiqued! Suddenly, the laughs turned to gulps. Thelma herself was given Gloria's role. Gloria simply sat smirking-- pen and paper at the ready to give her review. Revenge was sweet. In the end, no one held any grudges. It was all in fun. In fact, Gloria probably saw in Thelma a younger version of herself. Earlier, when the gushing young actress first met her idol and told her she hoped to work with her one day, Gloria cautiously advised, "Just don't let them get to you dear. Keep them at a distance and let them think you've got steal claws and sharp fangs." If only Thel' had taken the advice...

But back to the funny business. Errol Flynn (right) was a legendary prankster. (Granted his hair was light brown, but for the sake of this article we'll say that it was dirty blonde). The number of gags he pulled on his pals is endless. One unwitting recipient of his boyish hi-jinks was Anthony Quinn. The two were scheduled to do a radio show for the Red Cross. Before Tony arrived, Errol spoke to the fellas in charge of the broadcast and asked them to play along with his scheme: pretending to be on the air when in fact the show hadn't begun. When the fake show commenced, the boys began reading through the script when Errol suddenly let out a string of obscenities that would make a sailor duck and cover. Anthony's mouth dropped open in shock! He was used to Errol's foul mouth, but he was surprised that he cut loose on "live" radio. He was even more surprised when Errol accused him of the foul language, saying, "Why Tony! Why did you say that?" Anthony of course protested, "No, no! It wasn't me!" Errol then repeated the game, each time becoming more filthily verbose and condemning Anthony for his language. "Shame on you, Anthony" he'd say, at which poor Tony would simply shake his head vigorously in protest and look around at the tech boys for help. He prayed that they'd cut the power, but he was stuck! When the show was over, Anthony returned home, sure that his reputation was ruined. The phone started ringing off the hook: Hedda Hopper, Louella Parsons, and his father-in-law Cecil B. DeMille condemned him for his behavior, (all coaxed into the gag by Errol). Finally, Anthony got a final call from his mischievous friend, who simply said, "Gotca, Tony!" He could do nothing but laugh.

Anthony Quinn, laughing it up.

Olivia De Havilland constantly fell prey to Errol's pranks, (they sit together, left).  One day, while on the set of The Charge of the Light Brigade, she went into her dressing room to change. She opened a drawer in her bureau and pulled out a piece of clothing, but was startled when a long, dead snake rolled out. She let out a terrified shriek, dropped the clothes, and ran from the room! Off in the distance, watching with glee, Errol nearly fell over laughing. Olivia never did find out if the snake he'd planted was real. Errol would again pull a fast one on her when she, on a separate occasion, went to her dressing room to change. This time, when she put her feet into her shoes, she found that she was unable to walk away. Errol had nailed them to the floor. Olivia, impassioned and fiery as she was, would become livid at these unprofessional actions, but Errol's boyish good humor and charms would always win her back over. She just couldn't stay mad at the boy.

Carole Lombard: Beauty that's Bananas!

The mother of all blonde pranksters is, of course, the Queen of Screwball comedies, Carole Lombard. It seems that there was no one in Tinsel-Town untouched by her ploys. Her gags were always light-hearted and full of fun, bearing no malicious bent at all. She just loved to make people laugh, and she was enough of a ham to pull off many elaborate tricks with great pomp. Carole is responsible for getting Hitchcock to make his only official, full-fledged comedy, Mr. and Mrs. Smith. He enjoyed her bawdy, racy humor and she his, so having the chance to work together seemed perfect. However, Carole had heard the infamous quote Hitch had uttered that "All actors should be treated like cattle." Thus, when filming began, she had three cows brought to the set, one labeled for each actor: herself, Robert Montgomery, and Gene Raymond. 

Carole and Bob Montgomery on Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

There were no lengths Carole wouldn't go to. When she was invited to a ball that requested all invitees to show up in white, she came in an ambulance; when she hosted a dinner party, she gave it a medical theme and had the meal served in bed pans. When eating breakfast out with married co-star Bing Crosby during We're Not Dressing, she got up to leave and said, "Oh by the way, Bing, I left my nightie in your room last night. Could you please get it back to me. Thanks." She winked and walked away, leaving Bing completely stunned and embarrassed in front of the other diners, who now thought that he and Carole had had a roll in the hay! They had not, but Carole loved to set tongues wagging.

Clark and Carole: Two hams have some fruit.

She loved most to toy with husband, Clark Gable. When they first started dating, Carole learned that Clark loved collecting cars, so she sent him a present: a broken-down and deteriorating model-T covered with hearts. But this time she had met her match. Gable showed up at her front door with the car and tempted her into a joy ride in the comic vehicle. After they were married, Carole toned the jokes down a bit, but her cooky side always remained. The duo hosted occassional, absurd parties, including one in which everyone invited had to pick up an instrument and play while Carole conducted. Because few had any musical ability, the noise was atrocious, but the hilarity ensued. When Carole tragically died in her 1942 plane crash, it was her incredible joy, generosity, and sense of fun that was left behind. Thanks to her films and the tremendous and uproarious stories about her, the comedy continues.