DIDJA KNOW: Part VIII

Didja Know these two artists came together on a very important project?
Ingrid Bergman and Salvador Dali enjoy a chat during Spellbound.

"Film as art" was not an easily accepted credo. Nevertheless, great innovators of the business, particularly those who combined social subtext with stimulating presentation, were able to take creativity and the social impact of cinema to a much more respectable level than ever expected. As "genius" is sometimes read as "madness," some of our greatest, historic auteurs were prevented from bringing their compelling concepts to fruition. It is not a simple thing to get the guy holding the money to believe in your out-of-the-ordinary premises. Hence, some of the greatest cinematic moments were those that never made it to the big screen, whether they were laid to rest on the cutting room floor or buried on the page before being given a chance to breathe. Orson Welles is a perfect example, as the majority of his countless film ideas were labeled DOA: Don Quixote, Cyrano de Bergerac, Heart of Darkness, etc.

One director that seemed to escape these frustrations, at least at the height of his career, was the "Master of Suspense," Alfred Hitchock. Before his films and his sanity took a nose-dive post-Marnie (what was Topaz about exactly???), Hitch seemed to artistically, subliminally, and criminally get away with pretty much everything. His box-office receipts and cunning with studio execs-- he would shut off the camera because it was 'acting up' whenever David O. Selznick appeared on his set-- gave him a pretty impressive exemption from most censorship rules or reconstituted, pre-packaged production standards when it came to making his final cut. He didn't always win his arguments, however. Case in point: Spellbound.

DIDJA KNOW ABOUT THE STATUE?

The Salvador Dali-designed dream sequence in Spellbound remains perhaps the most memorable thing about the film. If anything, the collision of motion pictures with Dali's immobile yet liquid artistry is a stunning and perfect example of aesthetic fusion. (Of course, the acting and chemistry of the amnesiac Gregory Peck and the psychologically and sexually ignited Ingrid Bergman didn't hurt matters either). The Hitch-Dali combo created a perfect blend of structured surrealism that was evocative of the mysteries of the human subconscious when in an unconscious state. (Whoof). It was also nice to look at. However, there is an impressive piece missing from the final film. Originally, Hitch planned on having Ingrid in the dream sequence, as she was a dominant sexual focus in the dreamer's-- Gregory Peck's-- psyche. The plan was to have her appear in her beautiful glory before being miraculously cemented as a statue-- with an arrow piercing her neck, no less (left). Ants were to swarm about the exterior of the frozen entity. Oh, the psychological implications... 

Naturally, Ingrid was game. She endured the make-up process, the staging, and the obvious discomfort of tiny, scattering insects all over her body, because of her pure fascination for the concept and her desire to be a part of such a groundbreaking moment: art in motion (right). First, Ingrid was given a straw through which to breath, and this was placed through the plaster literally being built around her. Then, the sequence was filmed in reverse, with Ingrid breaking from the impromptu statue. Thus, played backwards, the statue appeared to be materializing. The entire length clocked in at twenty minutes. Unfortunately, while the scene was successfully filmed, it was never shown. This was a result of yes-man contamination. Someone, whom Ingrid did not name, approached Selznick and convinced him that the breathtaking imagery was complete and utter nonsense. Selznick, of course, demanded that piece de resistance be cut from the film. Tactical interference too often murders the best of ideas. Perhaps even more than Hitch, Ingrid mourned the loss: "It was such a pity. It could have had that touch of real art." Damn the editing!

DIDJA KNOW ABOUT THE KEY?

Ingrid's complex but devoted relationship with Alfred Hitchcock was made all the richer when her co-star of Notorious, Cary Grant, came into the picture. Together, they all represented Hitchcockian cinema at one of its grandest moments. Their contradictory natures as people blended well in the realm of professional collaboration, and their alliance outlasted the shoot. Hitch, as the eternal observer was able to watch the friendship of Ingrid and Cary with a certain amount of envy, which he brought to life on the screen. Through Cary, he got to hold Ingrid, kiss her, and dismiss her with a strange coagulation of frigid, sexual taunting. Ingrid's "Alicia" became the woman in heat yearning for deliverance from the erotic torture of Cary's "Devlin." In life, the roles were opposite, with Hitch being the suffering and lovelorn gent fawning over Ingrid, and she being the less cold but still unresponsive lover out of reach. What resulted from the complicated and intricate threesome was the birth of a classic.

Ingrid remained at the center of this awkward love triangle. Aside from her natural warmth and amiability, her acting left both of her male counterparts astonished. For the first time in history, Hitch would be so impressed with a female performance that he did not seek to cut the actress down to size. He was too in awe to be awful. His general commentary to Ingrid at the end of each day was a controlled yet intimidated "It was very good today, Ingrid." In addition, Cary Grant became the number one cheerleader on Team Ingrid. By monitoring her instinctual and raw performance, he learned a lot about the craft of acting, which inspired him to engage and cultivate his own talent with more bravery. Cary had worked with Hitch before on Suspicion, but it was Notorious that held the real place in his heart. So proud was he of the film and the time he had spent on it that, unbeknownst to everyone involved, he swiped the infamous Wine Cellar Key (left) from the prop department and kept it as a good luck charm. He felt it-- as a representation of the film-- was "the key that would open new doors in his career."

Cary held onto the Key for many years. He would work with Hitch as one of his preferred leading men-- he had in fact been the first choice for Spellbound-- and the duo would go on to make To Catch a Thief and North by Northwest together. Their bromance remained a mutually respectful and untainted one (right). Ingrid would happily work with Cary under lighter circumstances in Indiscreet, but her final film with Hitch was less than ideal. Still experimenting with his single-take sequences, which he had captured previously to better effect in the "real time" Rope, their collaboration in Under Capricorn was tedious to film and incredibly frustrating for the actress Some theorize that the grueling behind-the-scenes trauma Hitch inflicted on Ingrid was some version of sexual punishment. By this time, Hitch's school-boy crush had obtained a spiteful edge, and the working relationship between director and actress was not as smooth as it had once been. They would never work together again but were able to maintain their friendship.

The Key became the reminder, therefore, of better days. It represented the cohesion of all concerned at a moment of great triumph, both personally and professionally. The Key locked the three artists together and bound them in an alliance that may have dwindled due to time and distance but never disappeared. Cary had this token to hold onto and keep him grounded for many years. Then, when Ingrid and Cary re-teamed in 1958 to film Indiscreet--after Ingrid's affair, marriage, and separation from Robert Rossellini-- she got a little surprise from her old friend. Having witnesses his friend endure and persevere over the many ups and downs that had ensued during the years since Notorious, Cary felt that the time had come to pass his good fortune along. Thus, at the farewell dinner that he threw in Ingrid's honor, Cary bestowed the Key upon her, telling her that it had served him well over the years and that it was now her turn to take advantage of its magic. Needless to say, Ingrid was deeply touched. She held onto the Key for another twenty-one years, during which she regained her former incomparable status as a great and respected international actress of the stage and screen.

Hitch brings it home.

The trail finally came to an appropriate end in 1976. That March, Alfred Hitchcock was honored with the AFI's Lifetime Achievement Award. As such, the usual banquet and celebratory party was thrown, with many of Hitch's old colleagues and the actors and actresses of his films paying him tribute throughout the evening. Ingrid and Cary were obviously in attendance. When it became Ingrid's turn to speak, she went through the usual drill of gratuitous complimenting, but she cinched her speech with a more personal and heart-warming note. She began reminiscing about Notorious and, most importantly, the infamous crane shot of the Key. She went on to say:

"Cary Stole that key! Yes, and he kept it for about ten years-- and then one day he put it in my hand.... And now, I'm going to give it to you."

With that, Ingrid descended the stage and delivered the Key to the man who was directly responsible for its powers, whether real or imagined. In a very out-of-character moment, the normally stone-faced, wry, and poised director rose, embraced Ingrid and Cary, and all three of them found themselves crying. It was an beautifully sentimental moment for everyone in the audience. Now, the Key locks Notorious firmly into a place of cinematic genius that few other films in the Hollywood lexicon can boast. Hitchcock, of course, has maintained his reputation as the master of his craft.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Ingrid Bergman - Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Ingrid, Roberto, Robertino, Isotta, and Isabella.

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

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

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

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

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

Ingrid and Michael Redgrave in "Hedda Gabler."

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

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

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

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

STAR OF THE MONTH: Ingrid Bergman - Part One

Ingrid Bergman

Over the years, after multiple movie viewings and adventures in cinematic history, it has become difficult for me to decide who should top the list of the "Best." How could I? This industry, though often malicious, has also birthed and introduced countless amazing artists, craftsmen, and masterpieces to the world. Clearly, based on my Label list alone, Lon Chaney can be singled out as my favorite actor, but the cluster of men that keep company with him as my top favorites is always expanding and changing-- sometimes Clift is there, sometimes Holden... Strangely, the women on said list have never changed, and with this blog (and my former home at MySpace), I have tried to give my top five divas-- including Katharine Hepburn, Jean Harlow, Barbara Stanwyck, and Carole Lombard-- what I consider to be the proper attention they deserve The last Lady (in no particular order) on that list, is a woman for whom I have sincere respect and who grows more impressive every time I watch her work. It seems appropriate that I make her June's "Star of the Month" and, coincidentally, the last official member of the L.A. La Land club to bear that title. Dear Readers, I give you Ingrid Bergman:

*     *     *

Ingrid followed in the footsteps of another very important Swede: Greta Garbo. Indeed, Sweden was home to many cinema greats who physically or artistically crossed the Atlantic to make an impact on Hollywood. Victor Seastrom (Sjostrom), Ingmar Bergman (no relation), and even the ultimate 60s pin-up Ann-Margret (Olsson), have done more than their share to contribute to the world of film. Like her predecessor Garbo and other fellow countrymen, Ingrid was passionate yet realistic. She loved America, but she was not taken in by its garish extremities nor the world of luxury and glamour it offered her as a film star. She was a gracious and grateful swan among cockeyed cockatoos who made few friends in the entertainment industry aside from Alfred Hitchcock, Cary Grant, and Katharine Brown. Thus, similar to Garbo, she was a private and practical person who possessed a fiery inner life bursting with creativity and the desire for artistic release. Yet, unlike Garbo, her public persona was not that of ice and mystery but of wholesome warmth, fragile beauty, and a light and welcoming demeanor. 

Ingrid's bright, genuine presence was like a breath of
fresh air to worldwide audiences. She was real from
her head to her toes, both in life and on the screen.

Ingrid did not play hide and seek with the public. She would participate in the publicity needs that naturally coincided with the acting business while masterfully keeping her own head. To her, the film was the thing. The film was what mattered. Due to her dedication to her work and the all-driving energy she put into it, she is not remembered as a distant Goddess like Garbo, nor is she referred to as a typical "star" at all. She remains outside that category of celebrities. She was an "actress" who was famous. The integrity of her work and the public's response to her beauty and depth made her something beyond the general perception of a Movie Star. She was idolized not for her extravagant lifestyle, or wealth, or the mythological existence most celebrities are given. She was genuinely worshipped for her talent. You hear Ingrid Bergman, and you don't think "Oh, she was a HUGE star!" You think, "Oh my God, was she good..." 'Good' and decent was also her projection. As a person, people saw her as good. Until they didn't... And then they decided that she was good again. Yet, over the years while the public's perception of Ingrid changed, came, went, and returned, Ingrid never changed. Ingrid was always honest. This is why she is still revered: an artist you can trust.

The dual impact of Ingrid's work is composed of both her intensity and her vulnerability. A versatile actress who didn't even know the definition of "vanity," Ingrid gave her soul to her work, resulting in her complicated and nuanced performances of both sexual hunger and vulnerable innocence. She was both a woman and a little girl. In truth, there was a part of her that never did grow up; a part of her that escaped the uncertainties of life by hiding in characters that she could absorb, meld with, and release. To Ingrid, her characters are akin to her children. She would approach them with utter sincerity and lack of judgment, and when she found a role she adored, she had a compulsion to rip the amorphous being from the page and exorcize it from oblivion with her own voice and body. Acting was her religion. Her devotion was inherited from her Swedish father, Justis Bergman, who was an artist and aspiring Opera singer. His dreams were put on hold when he fell in love and consequently adjusted his bohemian ways to support his straight-as-an-arrow, level-headed, German wife Frieda Adler. As a young girl, Ingrid remembered her father running a camera shop and bringing home the latest invention, which she loved mugging for.

As a Swedish ingenue, Ingrid captivated with her soft, doe-
like beauty and uninhibited, instinctual performances.

It was Ingrid's father with whom she would most identify and emulate in her later life, not because she did not love her mother, but because Frieda died far too young to pass on her own orderly and constructive influence. Frieda had fought and lost a grueling battle with a violent fever when Ingrid was but three-years-old. Due to her painful loss, Ingrid would grow up sharing only the dream world of her father, whom she adored, which was both beneficial to her creativity but stifling in terms of personal growth. She missed the impact in her early years of learning what a mother was, as well as the general facts of life. For a time, she worked through her depression with her father, performing her skits and impressions for him, while he taught her to sing. When Justus too suddenly passed away, Ingrid was abruptly robbed of the two pillars that were meant to establish the foundation of her very being. For a time, she became very introverted, disappearing in her mind perhaps to a place of fantasy that she had dreamed up with her father-- a place where she could see a mother she barely knew. She would live a large portion of her life in this safe place, cloistered from the world, where she knew she could depend on nothing and no one but herself for salvation. Eventually, she would find a way to bring this imaginary realm to life by becoming an actress.

Ingrid lived with extended family through her adolescence, being sent to whatever Aunt or Uncle was available to take her in, while attending the Lyceum School for Girls. Ingrid was an awkward girl by the age of thirteen, having already reached her maximum height-- 5'9",  which was tall for any woman, let alone a young girl. Yet, she won her classmates over with her friendly, helpful nature and surprising sense of humor, often asking the other girls to join her in an impromptu performance. Still, she generally spoke very little in class, considering school to be boring if not an altogether horrible experience. When the time came to settle down and look for a simple job to hold until she could find a supportive husband, Ingrid opted for a different path. She had always known what she wanted on the inside, but it wasn't until she found herself performing as an extra in the film Landskamp that she knew that she had received her calling. She was accepted at the Royal Dramatic Theatre School (alma mater to Garbo, Lars Hanson, and later Max von Sydow) wherein she went to work impressing her teachers and classmates. 

Ingrid's performance in Intermezzo with her childhood idol, Gosta Ekman,
was the first major turning point in her career. Overnight, she became
a lauded actress and local celebrity.

Insecure about her body, tall stature, and long arms and legs, she was aware that she didn't look like the typical leading lady, and certainly, people agreed with that idea when they first saw her. Her golden hair and bright blue eyes won her some points back, of course, as did her amiable personality. The review of her audition piece had been the following: "While she has too much the appearance of a country girl, she is very natural and is the type that does not need makeup on her face or on her mind."  As indicated, Ingrid's full charm and beauty was easily made clear to those who saw her as little more than a lovely young woman only when she acted. Any second-guessing would fade away once she exposed those around her to her unexpected and affecting presence on the stage. Her talent carried her quickly from the school's curriculum, to roles in the legitimate theater-- a fact over which the other students were not so happy. Allegedly, after one of her castings, a jealous schoolmate tossed a book at her head! Ingrid did not let this sway her, for she possessed, as another more appreciative classmate would recall, an "iron willpower." Ingrid decided to leave school after she had adventured into the world of motion pictures. Her first role was a bit part in Monkbrogreven, during which she eagerly observed the entire process of filmmaking-- even if she weren't on call for the day. She went on to peform opposite her idol Gosta Ekman in both Swiedenhelms and her later coup Intermezzo. Her charisma and hypnotizing performances quickly made her a a sensation! 

Petter Lindstrom and Ingrid Bergman on their
wedding day in 1937.

In the midst of this, Ingrid had fallen in love, ironically with a man whose pragmatism mirrored her mother's. Petter Lindstrom was a handsome and intelligent dentist who would eventually work his way up to being a neurosurgeon. Naturally, Ingrid was attracted to his intelligence and stability. He was a man who took action, made decisions, and was the imaginative but unromantic yin to her rational but whimsical yang. Thus, she found in him both the father figure she had been searching for as well as the ostensible opposite that would make her complete. Attracted to men older and more experienced than she and equally reliant on their worldly knowledge, Ingrid had taken her (alleged) first lover at the age of eighteen: Edvin Adolphson, with whom she had worked in various plays and films. Yet, as adoring as she initially was of the gifted (and philandering) actor, she also knew that her only true love would ever be acting. A famous and temperamental performer, therefore, was not someone she wanted to bind herself to. She needed someone as focused and devoted to his own life as she, who needed little mothering or coddling, and would thus allow her the independence of her own career. She believed that Petter fit the bill. After all, he was as ambitious about science and medicine as she was about acting. They were married in 1937.

Ingrid had no inhibitions about playing the mutated leading lady in
A Woman's Face, a dark film which showcased her as the female
Lon Chaney (and you ask why I love her). The film was
re-made in America with Joan Crawford, but it possessed
 the usual Hollywood-ized errors and flaws.

Ingrid's career would continue to thrive, as would her reputation as a powerhouse actress as she collaborated with director Gustav Molander in Dollar, Only One Night, and A Woman's Face, playing every type of woman throughout-- bitter, broken, reborn, martyred, comedic, frigid, erotic, vengeful, and outcast. With Petter increasingly navigating the course of her career, Ingrid soon was looking for better contractual opportunities. She signed with Germany's UFA Studios while simultaneously discovering that she was pregnant. Additionally, the increasingly threatening nature of Nazi politics was starting to take over Europe. Fortunately for Ingrid, Kay Brown, David O. Selznick's talent scout extraordinaire, had just seen the American debut of Intermezzo, and she subsequently badgered her boss to sign the amazing ingenue to his roster of talents. What better time to move West?

To Be Continued...

MENTAL MONTAGE: Hands Off! The Part's Mine!

Barbara Stanwyck ponders artistic fusion as Stella Dallas.

Every actor has a dream role-- the one he or she is dying to play. When one is passionate about his craft, he will fight tooth and nail for this holy grail of career opportunities: to play the perfect part and prove his mettle as a performer. Sometimes, in reaching for this desired role, one is hoping to kick-start his career. Sometimes, a role comes along that is a departure from the actor's past track record, and he hopes in playing it to expand his horizons. Other times, there is just an inexplicable connection-- the feeling that only he could play this part; that he and the character belong together. Here are a few instances when a zesty actor or actress fought for the role of a lifetime and brought his or her cinematic soul mate to life-- making history in the process, of course.

Barbara Stanwyck never had a long term commitment with any particular studio, which gave her a lot of independence and control over her career. However, there is a downside to this renegade tactic of navigating the film business. Without studio control, she also lacked studio aid, and thus wasn't handed roles on a silver platter the way that many other actresses of the time were. She often joked that she got all the discards or rejected parts that her contemporary leading ladies didn't want. As such, she rarely had first dibs on a desired role, one exception being The Lady Eve, which Preston Sturges designed specifically with her in mind. There was another role that she desperately wanted, however, and the she-panther in her wasn't about to let anyone else get it! That role was "Stella Dallas." The provocative and controversial tale of a girl from the wrong side of the tracks who unsuccessfully tries to climb the social ladder spoke to Babs on many levels. She connected well with characters who were flawed, desperate, and even depraved. The fact that Stella becomes a mother-- at times ill-equipped but always loving-- also spoke to the little girl in her who had been robbed of her own mother when she was young. When word spread around Tinsel Town that Olive Higgins Prouty's blush-worthy novel was going to be adapted into a film, Babs's mouth began to water. She knew that she could give the part all she had, making Stella authentic and real. There was just one problem: Ruth Chatterton. (Babs goes dowdy for her interpretation of "Stella Dallas" left, with Anne Shirley).

Ruth (right) and Babs went waaaaaaay back-- way back to Barbara's days as a struggling chorus girl and thespian. One of her first major screen tests was done in the presence of Ruth, by then an already accomplished actress of the stage and screen, and her presence must have unarmed Babs a bit. Babs was auditioning for the lead in the silent film Broadway Nights when Ruth stopped by the set with her maid. The cameraman was trying to get Barbara to cry for the test, but she couldn't muster the tears-- an issue she would never have later in her career. When he brought out an onion to try to provoke the tears, Ruth started howling with laughter, which was incredibly humiliating. So brutal and unnecessary was the senior lady's assault, that Babs finally howled at her to "shut up!" Needless to say, Babs lost out on the lead, but she did land a supporting role. It was cold comfort. She would never forget this run-in, and used the humiliation as one more bit of inspiration to propel herself toward her own stardom. It worked, for Babs was soon enough living and working steadily in Hollywood. By the time Stella Dallas came up as an opportunity, she had more than proved herself as a woman with star power and talent. Yet, imagine the slap in the face when she learned that Stella had been offered to her old nemesis, Ruth!

Fortunately for Babs, Ruth wasn't interested and passed on the film. There was still a chance, and actually a pretty big one! Due to the nature of the text-- which in the wrong hands could have turned into an embarrassing B-Movie-- and the unglamorous and even matronly metamorphosis that Stella goes through during the course of the story, very few actresses wanted anything to do with it. It could be said that none of them would touch it with a ten foot pole, which again makes Babs such a charming and unconventional Hollywood actress. Others saw scraps; she saw prime rib. When famed director King Vidor signed on to direct, Babs had every hope that the film would be something great. Thus, she asked Joel McCrea (left), with whom she was working on Banjo On My Knee, to lobby for her at his home studio, Goldwyn, where the film was to be produced. This was a favor he was proud to do for his gifted co-star, though he had a rough time convincing Samuel G. of her suitability for the role. Sam thought her too young, un-sexy, and an un-motherly. Joel went to bat and coaxed Sam into a screen test. It paid off. Babs made the test for an already impressed Vidor, landed the part, and certainly gave all of those other reticent leading ladies a lesson when she churned out a painful, funny, multi-faceted performance-- playing aged, sexy, and motherly with ease. At the very least, she stuck it to Ruth.

Another determined lady was Olivia DeHavilland (right). While all the rest of Hollywood was competing for the role of "Scarlett O'Hara" in Gone with the Wind, OdeH was avariciously going after the docile and saintlike role of "Melanie Hamilton." For the passionate brunette to be vying for the role of a placid angel seems a bit contradictory, but that was precisely the allure. Olivia was drawn to Melanie because she could not understand her innate, impenetrable goodness. Being a warm but admittedly flawed person herself, fleshing out this atypical woman seemed like a noble challenge. Most actresses would have looked at the role as vacant and boring, delivering a one-note performance of superficiality with artificial sweetener. Olivia was determined to give Melanie both grace and guts, believing at the time: "there is something I want to say through her that I feel is very important to say to people." Despite her stellar reputation, she had a little trouble landing her dream role.

Firstly, there was Jack Warner, top-dog at Olivia's home studio of Warner Brothers, who was not about to lend one of his leading ladies to the competing Selznick Studios. Secondly, there were other contenders, including her sister Joan Fontaine-- though her bid was an unintentional one. Joan had actually gone to see director George Cukor about playing Scarlett, and after George laughed off what a clear case of miscasting this would be, he suggested that Joan approach the Melanie role. Joan refused, burned by his insult of her non-Scarlett-ness, and haughtily recommended her sister Olivia for Melanie (the two did not get along). Ironically, she inadvertently did Olivia a favor, since the elder sister actually did want the part! George called Olivia in for an interview, and was surprised to learn that she had both David O. Selznick and Howard Hughes vouching for her. In fact, originally, Jack Warner had offered Olivia to Selznick as a package deal with Errol Flynn as "Rhett Butler" and Bette Davis as "Scarlett," but when Selznick refused the trio, he also lost Olivia. Still, she hoped that she could somehow put a bid in for herself alone. George was on board, but Jack Warner was still withholding the prize actress. This made the other prospects of Andrea Leeds, Anne Shirley, Frances Dee, and Elizabeth Allen, etc. very threatening, but Olivia was determined.

Eventually, Olivia got desperate. Being a business savvy woman, she decided to approach another shrewd lady for a hand: Mrs. Jack Warner-- Anne. Lili Damita had also used Anne's help when she was trying to get her new hubby Errol cast in Captain Blood. Clearly, this lovely woman held real sway. Thus, Olivia prevailed upon Anne-- at The Brown Derby no less-- to help her in her plight. Jack was so unrelenting in his ministrations and his relationship with the actress was such a contentious one (which would reach a fever pitch in the mid-1940s with the infamous "De Havilland Decision" court case), that Olivia felt only the intervention of a purring Anne to his delicate side would help her win the day. Anne took pity on Olivia and started setting the trap. It worked. From the outside, it looked like Jack had simply made a business move-- trading Olivia's services to Selznick to for Jimmy Stewart's in No Time for Comedy. But the truth was, Olivia had the inside track: his wife. Good riddance, for could there be another Melanie (right)???

Ernest Borgnine (left) was an unlikely candidate for a Hollywood movie star. In fact, even he couldn't see himself in that role. However, familial encouragement and the crazy and unexpected ways of life eventually put him front and center before the camera. He was excited about a great many of the parts that he would eventually play, but there was one in particular that he felt was destined to be his. He first responded to the villainous role of "Sergeant Judson" when he read the novel From Here to Eternity by James Jones. He later acknowledged the uncanny sensation he had that somehow he and Judson were connected. He started bragging to all of his pals that if the book were ever made into a film, he would play the part! He must have willed this phenomenon into existence, because in a very brief time, he was called in for an audition!! With his gruff exterior and natural penchant for playing heavies, he was quickly cast.

Once he landed the role, he was ecstatic! His dream was coming true! Yet, now finding himself in the uber-exclusive company of contemporary idols like Frank Sinatra and Montgomery Clift, Ernest suddenly felt a little unsure of himself. He had an inkling that with his short, stocky stature, he wouldn't be accepted as the intimidating tough guy that he was supposed to play. When not in character, he was a fun-loving, happy-go-lucky guy. He seemed very far from threatening, and thus his casting started raising eyebrows. Even Frank, set to play his nemesis and victim in the film, was uncertain if Ernest could pull off enough menace to make their hostile relationship believable. After all, Frank had a rep to protect. Since his character is supposed to die at Judson's hand, he wanted to make sure Ernest was tough enough to pull it off without making him look like a wimp. In other words, he needed a worthy opponent. Since Frank was still in a career slump and desperate for a hit, his hesitance could be understood. But, all reluctance disappeared once the cameras started rolling. Ernest wore the role of Judson like a loaded gun. Frank was impressed: "My God! He's ten feet tall!" he declared. Ernest proved himself quickly. He would recall the shooting experience as one of the most enriching of his life, as did Frank, who won an Oscar for his performance-- thanks to scary Ernie in his fated role (see fight, right).

Looking back, it seems like the success of The Wizard of Oz was a forgone conclusion. It is so iconic, so deeply rooted in our culture, so eternal that it feels as though it has always existed. This is not so. When building an epic, you have to start from somewhere, and putting all the missing pieces together is a challenge and a headache. One wrong move, and the whole project can collapse, but with the right combination of actors, director, editor, etc-- and just blind luck-- magic can happen. The casting of Wizard is a story in itself, with several possible players uncertain that they wanted anything to do with a silly movie for children. Ray Bolger (left) had no doubts. However, when he was signed on to the project, MGM wanted to cast him as the "Tin Man." Ray had other plans.

A skilled and flexible dancer with an elastic ability of movement, Ray found the Tin Man far too constrictive. Clomping around heavily and statically was something he could achieve, sure, but his natural talent was much more fitted for the gangly, free-moving, and constantly falling character of the "Scarecrow." Ray knew in his heart that he belonged in the role of the Scarecrow, and he lobbied for it resiliently to Louis B. Mayer himself, who finally conceded. The problem was that Buddy Ebsen, an equally likable and talented dancer, had already been cast as the Scarecrow.  An easy-going guy, he had no qualms with Ray's casting coup and generously stepped out of his straw britches and into his tin boots (see right). It was a moment he would come to regret. During the make-up test, aluminum powder was applied to his skin to give him a metallic sheen. Fine. But then, the powder, after much application, got into the air and thus into his lungs. At home one night, Buddy tried to take a breath and couldn't do it! He was rushed to the hospital and was informed that he had to undergo a lengthy recuperation. MGM did not wait for him and cast Jack Haley in his place. He would recall this as the most hurtful and bitterly disappointing moment of his career. A good deed never goes unpunished...

Jack had no knowledge of Buddy's mishap when he began his performance as the Tin Man, and his cosmetics were modified into a pre-mixed solution of the hazardous dust within an aluminum paste, which dispelled the inhalation issue. He suffered no issues with his breathing, though he did get an eye infection. His dreamlike, whimsical version of the Tin Man would thus go down in popular history by happenstance. Ray's success as the Scarecrow (left), on the other hand, was absolutely purposeful, and he was always proud of his work on the film. Certainly, he must have felt guilty that his insistence on playing the Scarecrow had inadvertently sent Buddy to the hospital... but then again, maybe he was glad that fortune had been on his side. His persistence had saved him from that dangerous, silver powder! In the end, despite the disastrous outcome for Buddy, Ray's assessment had been right. He was the perfect person to play the awkward man of straw, and in choosing this role he too proved that he-- like the Scarecrow-- had brains.