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.

NOW, THAT'S FUNNY: Part IV

Lucy does her usual scene-stealing for laughs 

on "I Love Lucy."

To get ahead in Hollywood, one really has to stand out. This was a lesson Lucille Ball learned early on. An observant girl with an uncanny knack for funny, Lucy would take note when she found something hilarious and would later use it in her own work. When a teenager, she would once have the awestruck honor of witnessing a funny tidbit via silent screen gem Dorothy Gish. While modeling at a Carnegie fashion show, Lucy happened to see both Dorothy (left) and sister Lillian with their two dates. When Lillian and the two gents walked away for a pace, Lucy watched while Dorothy calmly ripped her red program apart and stuck the little pieces to her face. When the trio returned, and Dorothy's pimpled face greeted them, they all burst out laughing. Lucy did too, and she would remember the moment. Later, when trying to land a spot as a chorine in the Eddie Cantor flick Roman Scandals, Lucy would steal Dorothy's gimmick. Applying the pieces of red crepe paper to her own face, she waited as Eddie went down the line of lovely girls, scanning their ripe figures and eying their legs. When he came to Lucy, he stopped in his tracks and started cracking up. He asked her name, and as he walked away, she could hear him say, "That Ball dame-- she's a riot!" Needless to say, she made an impression and got the gig.

"I Love Lucy" co-star William Frawley was also a natural comedian. If anyone on the show knew how to deliver a line, it was Frawley. In fact, he added a lot of gags and one-liners to punch up the already hilarious scripts. Because of this, he was constantly winning the "funny race" backstage. All of the names of the cast and crew were listed on a poster, and when they contributed something side-splitting to the show, they received a gold star next to their name. Frawley's name always outshined the others. However, he sometimes didn't "get" the jokes assigned to him. This is obviously not because he lacked a good sense of humor, but because he only ever memorized his own lines. So, during rehearsal, he would come up to Desi Arnaz and say, "You know, this line isn't very funny." Desi (with Bill on the show, right) continually had to explain, "Well sure, not by itself, but after the build-up it makes a great punchline." He would then describe the scenario, and suddenly the comic button that William's Fred Mertz added made sense. "Oh," he'd say. "Yeah. I guess that is funny." 

Back in the days before personal stylists and make-up artists, an actor was pretty much left up to his or her own devices to contrive the perfect look for a character. In addition to providing your own wardrobe, so too must you possess the ability to "put your face on," because no one else was gonna do it for you. This was information that aspiring young ingenue Leatrice Joy (left) knew all too well. The silent film actress was a novice when she started performing before the camera, but then, in 1918, so was everyone else. However, her jitters got the better of her before the camera started cranking on One Dollar Bid. Panicked about looking her best, in addition to adding cosmetics to her face, she decided to add a white paste to her arms to give them a smooth, porcelain look. When it came time for her to give her co-star and latest crush, John Gilbert, a tender embrace, her hug left white blotches all over his brand new jacket. Since John was also a struggling actor-- as evidenced by his thin-from-starvation frame-- the fact that one of his few personal suits of clothes was ruined was enough to send him into a tizzy. Poor Leatrice was humiliated, but after John sent her into tears, he apologized. When daughter Leatrice Gilbert Fountain later asked her mother what had made her make such a strange cosmetic choice, the elder Leatrice simply said that she thought it would look "pretty." The result was pretty awful.

Leatrice would later make another make-up foul-up when, after making peace, John started courting her. Both actors, while not famous by any means, had by now established some level of stability in the acting world, and Leatrice was flattered that the handsome, growing star was paying her such steadfast attention. Once again nervous, she went to a trusted source of feminine wiles for help: neighbor Theda Bara. The Queen of Sexual Potency (see right) had plenty of advice for the delicate young Leatrice and allegedly gave her a makeover that completely altered her appearance. One might have likened her to... a "harlot." Since John was a couth gentleman, Leatrice doubted that he would take to her new appearance and wiped most of its evidence away before he arrived to pick her up. However, she had neglected to remove the rouge from her earlobes, which Theda had assured her was all the rage-- certain to indicate to her suitor her secret, sensual passion. While dancing, John couldn't help but notice Leatrice's ears, which appeared to be inflamed and infected. When he asked her about them, she fessed up. All John could do was laugh. He helped her to remove the last of Theda's influence, and the two enjoyed the rest of the evening. Leatrice made a pretty good impression on her own. John would marry her in 1922. Despite their divorce two years later, and John's tumultuous romance with Greta Garbo, he would always attest that the sweet, naive Leatrice was the one who got away.  

Ernest Borgnine is not the typical leading man. Yet, after serving some time in the military, the perplexed young fella' was nudged into acting by his mother, who saw a talent that he had never realized. Slowly but surely, the character actor honed his craft and became a dependable and capable commodity to the stage. The next logical step was Hollywood, which was very far from Ernie's roots, but he was willing to give it a go. A fun-loving but old-fashioned guy, he would always recall one of his early screen tests with humor. Richard Siodmak saw some real potential in him, and asked him to come in to audition for The Whistle at Eaton Falls. "Audition" was a very strong word, for Ernie's performance was relegated to basically sitting in a chair and smiling. Awkward and still in a whirl about it all, he was confused when the director gave him his one simple direction: "Say 'Sh*t,' then smile." "What?!" Ernie replied. "Just do it. Trust me." So, Ernest lit up a big grin, looked directly into the camera and said with great joy, "Sh*t!" Cut. (See similar effect, left). Afterward, Richard took the screen test to producer Louis de Rochemont. When he saw Ernest's footage he asked, "What is he saying?" Richard lied: "I don't know, but he's got a great smile!" Louis must have agreed, for Ernest Borgnine was cast in the movie, which was his film debut.

Charlton Heston (right) also made a great impression on director Cecil B. DeMille. But not a great first impression. Cecil wasn't interested when he first saw the actor, considering him too "sinister," but then Cecil was an eccentric guy. After writing Chuck off as just another run-of-the-mill actor, one day, Heston happened to drive past him on the back lot and flash a wave. Suddenly, Cecil had a change of heart. Turning to his assistant, Gladys Rosson, he said, "I like the way he waved just now." Maybe there was something to this kid after all... He seemed to have the confidence and charisma that Cecil needed in a leading man. Chuck was soon put to the test when he was cast in The Greatest Show on Earth as Brad Braden. But, his first role with DeMille might have initially had Cecil rethinking his choice. For his first scene, Chuck had to drive up and jump out of a jeep. Instead, he drove up, hopped out, and fell flat on his face. One can almost imagine Cecil closing his eyes and shaking his head in annoyance. Luckily, Chuck was able to shake off the initial embarrassment and churn out a strong performance. Cecil too was impressed, and he would recast Heston in the pinnacle success of his career The Ten Commandments. It was because of this movie that Chuck's unique place in cinema was solidified. Thanks to that simple wave, Charlton Heston became a star. A little friendliness goes a long way.

Norma Talmadge was one of the divas of the silent film era (as seen left). Sadly, she is too often forgotten amongst her contemporaries, along with her sisters Constance and Natalie. In her hey-day, while married to none other than production chief Joseph Schenck, Norma ruled all. In a powerful position, she had her choice of roles and was able to rake in the dough. She could be seen around town looking very regal in her fine furs and elegant gowns. During the brief time that these untouchable celebs were seen as royalty, she more than played the part-- on and off screen. Yet, it was all a game, and while her more smart-ass sister Connie aka "Dutch" seemed to latch onto this, Norma sometimes seemed to be completely lost in the oblivion of her own narcissistic delusions. It was an "I think, therefore I am" kind of attitude. However, there were times when the aloof veneer would come down and the Brooklyn girl would come out with full force. If there was one man who loved to identify and skewer hypocrisy, it was Groucho Marx, which is why he loved having his pal George Jessel reminisce about the Grande Dame... who apparently had a bit of a drinking problem. To Groucho's amusement, George would recount how he and Norma had been chummy in the old days and had run in the same circles. While George would say that Norma was, indeed, a fine lady, he would stipulate that this was only until she had had her third drink. As he put it: "She was wonderful. Until the third drink, she had the manners of a princess. Courted, she was like a Queen. Third drink, she'd pee on the floor." Groucho loved that part.