History Lesson: Performers in the Pen- Part II

Barbara La Marr found herself on the wrong side of the law (see here) when she

was arrested at the age of fourteen. Deemed "too beautiful," she was set free.

Though Robert Mitchum seems to hold some kind of record when it comes to criminal records, there are other stars and starlets who have hip-hopped over the line that divides "good" and "bad" behavior. Of course, as we tend to find stainless people a bit boring, these naughty deviants seem far more interesting with their tangibly hardened edge after hard time.

Next on the list is John Gilbert. True, the gentlemanly Lothario with a poetic soul seems like the last guy who would be imprisoned-- although, he was onscreen from time to time, in Monte Cristo for example. John had a wicked sense of humor, but his boyish hell-raising was a far cry from anarchy. Police had no reason to go looking for this good guy; it was actually he who walked directly into a cell. The reason for his unusual arrest? The killer combo of love and alcohol. John Gilbert's long and temperamental affair with Greta Garbo, his unattainable ice minx, nearly drove him mad (in Love, right). Left at the altar multiple times, nothing seemed to dissuade John from his infatuation with Greta. Her need for independence and his need to possess were conflicting vices that would never mix well-- nor did the cocktail John helped himself to in 1927. He and Greta were nearing the end of their roller-coaster romance when they attended a dinner with Donald Ogden Stewart at his home. John, battling the anxieties Greta was causing him, had had a few too many to drink that night, but he was focused enough to enjoy a painting of the Crucifixion in Donald's possession by artist Peter Breughel. He was not, however, sober enough to stop Greta from fleeing his intoxicated arse. John eventually followed her to the Miramar Hotel, where she holed up with Mauritz Stiller, the director who had acted as her Pygmalion of sorts. "Feeling no pain" with his liquid courage, John gallantly began scaling the walls of the hotel to his beloved. As he approached Stiller's balcony, the irritated director warned him to stop, halt his climbing, and go away. John ignored him, and the next thing he knew, Mauritz had pushed him from the balcony! John landed on his rump, to the great surprise of the passing Carey Wilson and Carmelita Geraghty. He began rambling angrily: "He tried to kill me!" Eventually, Carey calmed him down and thoughtfully followed John home in his own car.

Yet, this was not the end. Apparently, John ventured back out after his brief return home. Yet, he did not make a second attempt to woo Garbo Romeo-style. Instead, he marched into the police office and declared that they arrest the man who had tried to murder him! Now, it was hard enough for the policemen to believe a drunken man-- who was probably slurring his words and swaying from one foot to the other-- but John made his story even more difficult to believe, due to the fact that he would not release his attacker's name. Therefore, the police had no one to arrest but a supposed, amorphous, mystery killer. They decided to arrest John instead for being drunk and disorderly. To add more comedy to the mix, it appears that John used his one phone call to summon Donald. He did not ask for bail money; he simpy asked that his friend bring the aforementioned Breugel painting to the station. Donald, used to John's ways by now, did as requested, only to arrive at the jail to find John giving the officers a lecture on Flemish art. One can imagine the assortment of faces: some cops rolling their eyes, others partly interested, and the rest trying to muffle their laughter. John was a movie star, after all, so at least the coppers were being entertained. The harmless John was given the ultimatum of enduring his 10-day stay for his crime in the pen or at the hospital-- where he was scheduled to undergo surgery on his appendix. He opted for jail. He only remained 1 1/2 days, mostly because the jail became overcrowded with press-hungry actresses, friends, attorneys, and John's personal physician. The policeman, it is said, were glad to be rid of him. (John, an artist to the end, left).

Frank Sinatra (right) was another fellow that had issues with his amours. Many are familiar with his mug shot, which-- typical to most musicians (Cobain, Bowie, Morrison)-- only seems to make him cooler. Sinatra definitely had a more melodic voice than most contemporary rock stars, but the sensual energy that threaded his lyrics together made him just as provocative in his own time. Even before his time, it seems... Frank hit the music scene with full force in the '40s, but in 1938, he was just another struggling 23-year-old with dreams. His mother, Dolly, who had had her own brushes with the law-- for running an abortion ring out of their family home-- was opposed to Frank's career choice and constantly pestered him for it. He was going to be a wash out, just like his father! His father, by the way, with whom Frank sympathized, had also been arrested for receiving stolen goods in the past. Frank, in keeping with the rest of his family, was about to take his own unlawful turn. It all began when he entered into a relationship with a woman named Della Pente Francke, who had met him at the Rusty Canyon, where he worked as a waiter and occasionally sang with Harold Arden's band. The elder gal (25) fell for his bright, blue eyes, and an affair began. And it was a true affair, for Della was married-- albeit separated-- from her husband and living with her parents at the time. Dolly Sinatra was not pleased with her son's romantic choice, thinking Della a low-class girl from Lodi. Apparently, the Sinatra-inhabited area of Hoboken, NJ was much more socially palatable. Tensions mounted, Dolly tried to break the duo up and eventually, Frank started caving. Then, Della got pregnant. Frank was going to marry her, but she lost the baby in the third month and thereafter became privy to another girlfriend in Frank's life: Nancy Barbato.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," as they say. Humiliated and beyond angry at Frank's dropped promises, sudden disappearance, and newly discovered infidelity-- never mind her own-- Della swore out a warrant for his arrest! Times have certainly changed, for back in the day-- November 26th to be exact-- a man could be charged with a little something called "Seduction." What this meant, in plain English, was that a scalawag had won his way into the bloomers of a "female of good repute under the promise of marriage" and consequently had ruined her reputation. Frank's arrest number was #42799 (left). He was released on a $1500 bond and the charge was dropped when it was learned that Della was married. Far from being home-free, Frank was back in jail  by December 22nd, now for "Adultery" (#42977). This time, he was forced to post a $500 bond, but this charge was also dismissed. Apparently, Frank as much more shaken and upset by the drama than many would assume, for he truly had feelings for Della. Did he still deserve to get off scot-free??? Who's to say? Yet, the complicated and controlling nature of his mother, which would lead to his own volatile temper and understandably turbulent relationships with future women, seems to have been punishment enough.

Frances, Frances, Frances... Today, so few people have seen any of her work, yet she remains a firm staple on the board of Hollywood warnings. There are many ways you can look at the case of Frances Farmer (right)-- independence vs. subjugation, feminism vs. misogyny, passion vs. standard expectations-- but no matter the interpretation, this woman paid the forfeit of her own irreverence. There is continued debate over this talented actress's mental state, which arguably earned her a lobotomy-- a claim that seems to be false and the result of mere speculation after she was falsely identified in a medical photograph-- but her iron will and stubborn defiance have earned her her historical hero status. During her life, this same thing got her into a lot of trouble. I mentioned in a past post that she was once was arrested in 1942 for driving with her headlights on in a wartime "dim-out" zone. Her response to the officer at the time was: "You bore me." Her 180-day jail sentence was suspended, but as she was out of town for a shoot in Mexico, she failed to pay half of her $250 fine. A bench warrant was posted for her arrest. Debilitated after her divorce from Leif Erickson, a damaging affair with Clifford Odets, and the pressures of working in an industry that tried to dictate her every move, Frances was nearing her wit's end when she began filming No Escape in 1943 back in the states. Alcohol wasn't helping matters either, which may explain why she lashed out at a pushy hairdresser on the set, slapping her with a brush. The beautician would claim that her jaw had been dislocated.

That night, Frances was dragged from her hotel room at the Knickerbocker and booked for assault and violation of probation. When filling out the paperwork, a policeman asked her what her occupation was. Showing her antipathy for the business and her disdain for herself, she smirkingly responded: "C*cksucker." Her ambivalence in the courtroom did not help her case, literally, as she was very vocal and aggressive in her assertion that her civil rights had been violated. She also threw an inkwell at the judge and was carried bodily from the courtroom (left), during which she allegedly screamed, "Have you ever had a broken heart?!" She spent that evening in jail before being moved to a mental institution for what was diagnosed as "manic-depressive psychosis." She received ECT treatments, but after she was briefly released, she was arrested yet again in Antioch, CA for vagrancy-- without money, (She had been trying to find work as a "fruit-picker." and-- much like Robert Mitchum claimed in his youth-- was essentially arrested for being poor). With her mother acting as her guardian, she was incarcerated in a mental institution yet again, which at the time, she may have considered better than being in her parents' custody. She lost the best years of her life to her stays in these sanitariums. In any event, she survived everything life threw at her, though she became incredibly hardened by it all. She eventually would take care of her parents, despite their tumultuous relationship and neglect over the years, and would later appear on television in her own series. At the age of 56, it was Cancer that claimed her. Hollywood may have robbed her of her sanity, but it didn't get her soul.

The last three culprits are notorious speedsters, but then driving scrapes and fines are the easiest ones to fall prey to-- and don't get me started on parking tickets. Lupe Velez (right) was a hot tamale with a fiery temper. Add to this her lead foot, and you have a problem. On one particular occasion in April of 1929, Lupe was cruising rather rapidly around Beverly Hills in her convertible. A policeman pulled her over on Wilshire Boulevard for going 40 mph in the 25 mph zone. "Loop" must have been irked by this unfortunate imposition, for she wasn't exactly cooperative. Either her attempt at batting her big, brown eyes failed or she was already in a bad mood, for when the copper handed her the citation, she promptly threw it back in his face! She also ignored her summons to appear in court the following May,  after which a warrant was issued for her arrest. Whether Lupe was merely distracted by other business or purposely continuing her haughty attitude is unknown, but she at least came to her senses. She surrendered and was released at $30 bail, which would be about $275 or so today. It is doubtful that this curbed her appetite for automotive acceleration. (Interestingly, Lupe was almost arrested in Mexico before she made her fateful trip to Hollywood. Her family was deeply in debt, and when it was announced in the papers that she had been offered a "big Hollywood contract"-- a falsehood-- the entire community came calling with their financial demands. Obviously, the family still could not pay them all. The authorities were involved, and the Velez clan was pretty much kept under house arrest, which led to Lupe being smuggled to the train station for her Los Angeles escape twice-- the first failed attempt involved her being transported in a baby carriage)!

Zsa Zsa Gabor: the name remains fairly well known today, if only for its unique sound and attractiveness to the tongue. Like most people, I am more familiar with Zsa Zsa as a personality rather than an actress. My first introduction to her, I believe, was in watching The Naked Gun 2 1/2: The Smell of Fear when she had a cameo in the film's opening credits. For those who haven't seen the film, I won't spoil it, but know that her brief performance is directly related to the following: The Hungarian actress had completed the bulk of her work in film and television by 1989 when Officer Paul Kramer pulled her over on La Cienega Boulevard, again in Beverly Hills. When she handed him her license, Kramer quickly noticed that it had expired. Ms. Gabor must have already been acting a bit uncooperative, for he asked her to get out of her car. The following search of the vehicle revealed a silver flask of bourbon in the glove compartment, which Zsa Zsa claimed belonged to her husband, Prince Frederick von Anhalt of West Germany, (who allegedly used this liquor to "sweeten" his Pepsi). At some point during her street-side interrogation, Zsa Zsa slapped the officer, knocking his glasses right off his face! She would claim that he was being verbally and physically abusive, citing two broken finger nails and her bruised wrists as proof. The altercation ended with her asking Kramer what was taking so long, to which he told her to "f*ck off." Zsa Zsa did just that, hopping into her car and racing away. Kramer would remember it differently, saying that she swore at him then announced proudly that she was leaving. The final charges were as follows: battery upon an officer, disobeying an officer, driving without registration, driving without a license, and having an open container of alcohol in the car. She eventually spent three days in the slammer in the El Segundo City Jail (left).

Last, but certainly not least, is the King of Speed, Steve McQueen (right). The success of his starring vehicle, Bullitt, was certainly in keeping with his personal penchants. The film boasts the iconic and groundbreaking car chase that paved the way for future action films. Steve loved to speed himself, perhaps trying to prove to himself that he was faster than the speeding Bullitt. Belonging to the same fraternity of racing superstars like Wallace Reid and James Dean, Steve considered leaving the acting profession behind to be a professional auto and motorcycle racer. When pressed by friends as to why he took such risks with his life, his reply was, more or less, that it made him feel "like a man." In essence, the closer one feels to death and danger, the more one feels alive. But then, Steve always had a need to test the waters (or in this case, the pavement) of his wild side. Growing up in a broken home, the isolated youth learned to take care of himself and toughened up early. His impenetrable exterior was enhanced in his adolescent years when he was involved in local gang life. Rebellion and non-conformism were the name of the game. Nothing changed when he hit Hollywood, his defiant leading man persona enchanting audiences and making him one of the most desirable male stars of all time. 

We can only guess what exactly it was that Steve was racing away from when behind the wheel, but his need for speed probably had a lot more to do with escape than hasty arrival. His unfortunate taste for alcohol (and drugs) would also indicate the inner demons that he consistently battled. The combination of these two flaws in his character led to his infamous reputation in Anchorage. While in Alaska in 1972, Steve was up to his usual hijinks on 4th Avenue, which was then home to block after block of bars and brothels. After some serious imbibing, Steve hopped into his rented Oldsmobile Toronado, and started racing up and down the street doing "brodies," otherwise known as "donuts." Needless to say, his reckless driving drew lawful attention, and he was soon pulled over and asked to walk the usual straight line to prove his sobriety. In keeping with his performer status, Steve did somersaults instead. Clearly, he was drunk as a skunk, but to his credit, he seemed to be in a very good mood, and the policeman seemed to thoroughly enjoy this particular arrest. Instead of being disobedient, Steve joked around with the lawmen and even gifted them several autographs. Proof of his congenial mood can be seen in his happy-go-lucky mugshot, which remains a popular point of interest at the Alaska State Trooper Museum.  He must have come to his senses in the morning, and in his certainly hung-over state, posted bail and fled the "Land of the Midnight Sun." Consequently, he was "convicted in absentia" for his reckless driving, and a warrant was out for his arrest in Alaska until the day of his death.

One mellow criminal: Steve McQueen breaks the law and offers peace.

All the celebrities mentioned in this post were fortunate that no one was seriously injured by their illegal shenanigans-- other than a few cuts and bruises here and there. As movie stars are bigger than life, it only makes sense that their devious behavior seem magnified as well. In the end, they are only human, and whether they are eternally playing to imaginary cameras when they indulge in overly dramatic and even dangerous behavior or we simply see them as deglamorized monsters in their moments of mental obscurity is a continuous debate that has no answer. Judging from reality shows, there is plenty of crazy to go around-- famous or not. In the cold light of day, most of these scoundrels had soulful or fearful awakenings that left them guilt-ridden or at the very least consciously crystallized. Though, it should also be mentioned that none of the described celebs enjoyed lives of undiluted happiness. Troubles and hardships seemed to follow them wherever they went, whether they survived these hurdles for great lengths of time or succumbed to them in early death. Robert Mitchum was one of the few who had real staying power, despite his many ups and downs and downs... and downs. Yet, even he was realistic about his, at times, disenchanting mistakes. Upon is arrest for the Marijuana charge, like Frances Farmer, he was asked to declare his occupation. His downtrodden response: "Former actor." Luckily for us, that turned out to be a perjury. Despite our sometimes moral selves, we seem to like the dark sides of our stellar heroes even more than their sparkle. Justice can be harsh, but it serves the public appetite well.

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...

CAST AWAYS: From Stage to Screen

Barbara Stanwyck and Robert Ryan Clash by Night and use a stage play

to take Hollywood by storm.

Some of our most iconic films were adapted from theater plays. This is but one of many pieces of evidence that it is a good story above anything else that makes a good film (are you listening Hollywood?). A lot of film actors, of course, get their start as stage thespians, and many have been discovered treading the boards of Broadway, off Broadway, or even off off Broadway. Cinema constantly goes fishing and poaching in these highly respected and esteemed waters, using the talents of the theatre mixed with the punch of Tinsel Town power to create smash screen hits. In some cases, the original theatrical cast is duplicated on the screen, with the play itself edited to fit into a two hour bracket of entertainment. In most cases, however, the cast and the script itself are heavily altered to fit into the world of movieland conditions, with a leading man and lady with more star power usurping the primary roles and the story acclimating itself to time constraints, current audience tastes, and-- of course-- censorship. Thus, theatre is looked upon more often as performance art while Hollywood is viewed as its more bastardized (albeit profitable) cousin: product-- art in a can, or should I say in the can.

In any case, it is the stories more popularly seen on the silver screen that touch the most hearts and introduce superbly written and acted productions to people the world over. It is films that we will honor and pass down to our children as a shared experience, whereas theatre is a once in a lifetime shot: never duplicated and never performed the same way twice. It makes one wonder and yearn for the chance to see some of the alternate performances that, instead of being left on the cutting room floor as in film, were left merely to history, echoing against the walls of so many great theaters. While screen actors never age and never die, theatre actors and their performances become ghosts as soon as the curtain comes down after the final act. Here are a few of the lost souls whose spirits were brought to life through other vessels on the silver screen:

Tallulah Bankhead (left) was... a character. James Cagney once said that acting was a "shy man's profession," because it allowed a more introverted or bashful person to become someone more intense, emotional, and outspoken. Tallulah must be the exception that proves this rule, for no character she played was as outrageous and gutsy as she. She bragged that she only came to Hollywood to sleep with Gary Cooper, which she proudly accomplished. She too drew gasps and chuckles from the set of Lifeboat when her soggy undergarments became too daunting and she decided to continue filming sans panties: a moment Hitch must have remembered with fondness. While she made quite a few contributions to the big screen, even being an early contender for Scarlett O'Hara, this earthy lady with southern sass remains most renowned for her contributions to the stage. She brought many characters to life for the first time that would later be embodied by different actresses when adapted for the screen. One such character was Mae Wilenski of Clash by Night, written by Clifford Odets and performed for the first time in 1941. Lee Strasberg directed the vehicle through its meager 49  performances, but despite its short run, it was still made into a film a decade later.

This time, Barbara Stanwyck (right) took on the role of Mae, with her name changed to D'Amato and the play's locale moved from Staten Island to Monterey. Fritz Lang used his genius as director to add as much gravitas as he could to what turned out to be another soapy B-film, which remains most notorious now for an appearance by a young, pre-superstar Marilyn Monroe. Since Babs and Tallulah had much in common-- both assertive, sexual women with notorious, husky drawls-- it is easy to see Tallulah standing in Babs's place at the helm. The film retains more cult than classic status, but Babs brings her usual guts to the part, invigorating the tale of a sexually undernourished wife in a cataclysmic love triangle with the dignity of truth as only she could. Tallulah wasn't an option for the screen version, most likely because her career had stalled a bit. She remained fairly busy on the stage and small screen in the '50s, but a life of hard living and hard drinking mixed with her hell-raising reputation made her a much bigger gamble than the diligent and consummately professional Stanwyck. In any case, Babs was a few years younger, so that also tipped the scales in her favor.(Interestingly, there may be more to the connection between Babs and Tallulah. When Louis B. Mayer once confronted Tallulah about her over-erotic nature, she shot back with a list of stars, including some from his own stables, that she had... made friends with. Allegedly, "Barbara Stanwyck" was one of the names. It shut the red-faced Mayer up quickly).

The same year that Tallulah was first breathing life into Mae Wilenski on stage, another one of her past roles was being brought to life on the screen, which may explain was she was unavailable to take the film role. Directed by Herman Shumlin, Tallulah had portrayed the infamous Regina Giddens of The Little Foxes at the National Theater in February of 1939 and then enjoyed an extensive run and tour. The play was so successful that Lillian Hellman adapted her own script into a screenplay in '41 with William Wyler directing. But Tallulah's busy stage schedule was not the whole reason she was overlooked for the film version. Wyler had insisted on casting Bette Davis for the role of Regina (left), as he had been impressed with her vitality in their previous collaborations of Jezebel and The Letter. Jack Warner wasn't about to loan his top star to Samuel Goldwyn for the production, but Wyler stuck to his guns and eventually got his way. However, he did admit that Tallulah was an amazing talent, and prior to production, he pressured Bette to see Tallulah's interpretation on the stage-- which was still running-- if only to ensure that Bette bring something different to the table. Bette herself would admit that Tallulah was fantastic and had performed the role the only way it could be performed, which made crafting her own, unique characterization a real headache. Still, it remains one of her most iconic roles, and ironically not the only one she stole from Tallulah-- she had performed in the role of Judith Traherne in Dark Victory in 1939, which too Tallulah had immortalized on the stage. Essentially, Tallulah kept settin' 'em up, and Bette kept knockin' 'em down.

Though clearly an actress of great reputation, Tallulah was a die-hard fan herself when it came actors. One performance that left her in awe was that of Frank Fay (the ex-Mr. Stanwyck) when he starred in the lead role of Elwood P. Dowd in "Harvey" (right). Tallulah considered his interpretation of a kind-hearted man who sees and interacts with an imaginary rabbit to be "one of the greatest performances [she'd] seen." It ran for over 1700 performances from 1945-1949 on Broadway, being a smash hit and a triumph for Fay, who was still nursing a bruised ego after his divorce from Babs and his failed film career. Despite this boost in his career, he still wasn't hailed to reclaim his role in the 1950 film version, though his co-star, Josephine Hull, thankfully was, and it earned her an Academy Award. Instead, the most lovable and likable of all film actors was cast as Elwood: only Jimmy Stewart could play a complete loon and still hold the audience's favor. Still, with Tallulah as Fay's cheerleader, it makes one wonder what exactly he brought to the table that was so astounding, and so different from Jimmy...

James Stewart goes nuts (or should I say "carrots?") in Harvey.

Barbara Stanwyck snagged another role from a hard-luck diva: Frances Farmer. Farmer (right), while in the midst of her scandalous affair with Clifford Odets (wed to Luise Rainer), was cast in the lead female role of his production of "Golden Boy" when it hit the stage in 1937. Both members of The Group Theatre-- a precursor to the Strasberg method school that churned out modern, provocative work-- their combining forces in the story of a violinist turned boxer was sure to pack a wallop. At heart, the film was personal to Odets, who wrote it about the struggle between integrity/artistry and the temptation of commercial success. Many friends would say that he lost this battle when he "went Hollywood," taking his Golden baby with him. Frances, who was much more about the craft than the dough, was not invited along for the ride, as she had walked out on the play and Cliff when the affair hit the skids. She felt her star power had been used to sell tickets to the play and was tired of being used as, what she considered to be, Cliff's whore and cash cow. Thus, in 1939, Babs stepped on board for the screen version and coached newbie William Holden in his breakthrough performance. Bill had, coincidentally, nabbed the role of Joe Bonaparte from Luther Adler but also from John Garfield, who was a member of "the Group" and had been promised the part by Odets himself. Cliffy didn't come through, and the part went to Holden-- a test of faith that made a star. (This one was a bit of review from past blogs, but with Babs as star of the month, I thought it was worth repeating).

Another star moment was made when Marlon Brando brought his interpretation of Stanley Kowalski in Tennessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire to the big screen in 1951. One cry of "Stella!" and a few broken dishes later, and Hollywood had its newest bad boy. Marlon was not the only gem poached from the original 1947 case-- both Karl Malden and Kim Hunter would reprise their stage roles as Mitch and Stella respectively, and Elia Kazan would too transfer his directorial efforts from the stage to screen. The only member not invited along for the ride was Jessica Tandy, who invented the now iconic role of Blanche DuBois. Initially, her ostracizing seems ignorant if not plain rude. After all, she won a Tony for her efforts, which had-- along with the rest of the original cast-- created a half-hour applause after the play's debut. So, why wasn't she brought on board? (Marlon and Jessica rehearse, left).

The decision was, as always, a calculated one. The play had received such buzz that it was essential to the studio to re-create the magic for the screen and capitalize. Yet, studio heads were insecure-- they craved star power. Thus, players were essentially traded, with Marlon being a necessity to bring his violence and danger to the big screen, and Kim and Karl allowed to reprise their roles because they were secondary characters. Jessica was deemed the expendable one. Since Vivien Leigh (right) had later portrayed the role of Blanche in London under hubby Laurence Olivier's direction, she seemed a safer bet for screen viewers. In effect, the gamble worked, for this contradiction between old-Hollywood (Scarlett O'Hara herself) and new-Hollywood (holy, shirtless Marlon!) created just the juxtaposition needed for Blanche's otherworldly quality within the gritty realism of the Kowalski household. One wishes there were a piece of evidence to give all Williams devotees a glimpse into Jessica's interpretation, but-- despite this unsavory casting coup-- Vivien still managed to earn the respect of her co-stars and her second Academy Award for Best Actress.

My Fair Lady (1964) was a film adaptation of the musical adaptation (1956) of the earlier George Bernard Shaw play "Pygmalion" (1913). Clearly, the metamorphosis of the cockney Eliza Doolitle to a refined lady was reflected in the story's own journey. The musical "My Fair Lady" premiered in '56 on Broadway with one of history's favorite songstresses, Julie Andrews, in the lead role of Eliza (left) and Rex Harrison in the role of her Svengali-- the crotchety, uppity Henry Higgins. Despite the fact that Rex couldn't sing a note-- a fact that he obviously knew full well when he panicked and locked himself in his dressing room prior to curtain-- his rhythmic talking and pitch-perfect performance coupled with Julie Andrews's consistent magnificence was enough to make the show a hit. The mockery of gender roles and classes and the superb score, with such hits as "I Could Have Danced All Night" and " On the Street Where You Live" resonated with audiences, and eight years later it was time to broaden the fan base. Hollywood intervened with its usual accuracy, and cameras started rolling.

There was but one problem, Julie was nowhere to be found! Her mettle as a film actress had not yet been tested, thus Audrey Hepburn was given the role of Eliza (right). Rex, who was a much more experienced film actor, was allowed to maintain his role of Higgins. Despite the casting snafu, the film remains a classic and a delight, with Audrey bringing her own lovable, romantic nature to the role of Eliza while simultaneously pulling off a stellar, cockney ignoramus-- "Come on Dovah! Move your bloomin' ahss!" Yet, the fact that her singing was dubbed (by Marni Nixon) worked against her, and many believe this is why her performance was not recognized by the Academy. Clearly, everyone was "Team Julie" that year at the awards, for it was she who won for her breakthrough performance in Mary Poppins. Rex, however, walked home with the trophy for Best Actor. As for Audrey, she took the snub like a pro, though she was deeply hurt. She had indeed recorded all of her own vocals and was shocked when another voice came out of her mouth upon the final screening. She was deeply hurt, as she had worked diligently on all her past singing roles, including Funny Face and the iconic "Moon River" of Breakfast at Tiffany's. Yet, it couldn't be argued that Julie indeed had a stronger voice. Neither gal harbored any hard feelings about the whole debacle, and both became good friends. In the end, they had Eliza to thank for bringing them together.

The Barrymore name still holds great meaning in Hollywood. John's granddaughter Drew has been left alone to carry the torch of this illustrious family of thespians, but their reputation remains in tact. However, as Ethel was almost totally devoted to the stage and John was-- at best-- inconsistent in his dedication, it is Lionel (left) who has the most impressive cinematic track record. He got his start in film in the late 1900s, but he too maintained his dedication to the theatre. As such, in 1923 he appeared alongside his wife Irene Fenwick in "Laugh, Clown, Laugh." It premiered at the Belasco and ran for 133 performances through March of 1924. It wasn't exactly a runaway success, but its modest audience recognition and its intriguing storyline was enough to gain Hollywood's attention... albeit not immediately.

A few years later, MGM was sifting through storylines when Laugh, Clown, Laugh was brought to its attention as a vehicle for Lon Chaney. "The Man of a Thousand Faces" had portrayed a clown before in He Who Gets Slapped. The role seemed a perfect fit for America's favorite character actor, who was known for his tragic tales of unrequited love. Since Lon did a lot of his own story scavenging, it is possible that he came across the script himself, or at the very least that he was consulted on it. Sensing another suffering heart, he jumped at the chance to portray the romantically tortured Tito and handpicked Loretta Young to star as his adopted daughter/love interest (cringe), Simonetta (together, right). As Lionel was a competent film actor but not a star of Lon's latitude, he probably was not even considered for the part. The film was a runaway success and also-- reportedly-- Lon's favorite role. Since Lionel was working steadily on his own, he probably didn't hold any grudges... but if he did, he got a little revenge when he starred opposite Lon in West of Zanzibar in 1928. His character in the film steals Lon's wife!

Jean Arthur (left) stands alone in history. Not for her acting talent, off-putting behavior, or cinematic resume, but for that voice! It is hard to purr and squeak at the same time, yet that seems to be just what she did merely by talking. As such, when Garson Kanin's "Born Yesterday" hit the stage in 1946, he had no other actress in mind than his friend Jean for the role of the abrasive yet adorable Billie Dawn. A rough around the edges gal trying to play it classy, Jean's duck-out-of-water persona certainly would have fit the bill. There was but one minor problem when it came to Jean-- her crippling inferiority complex, which consistently manifested itself in stage fright. She started numerous plays only to drop out or cause problems once they debuted. Such was the case with "Born." No sooner was she cast in the role of Billie than her usual neurotic antics began to surface. During rehearsals, she would take issue with the script, get nervous, panic, and withdraw into her dressing room, driving Garson nearly mad. Despite this, the play opened to positive reviews in New Haven and continued to fare well in Boston. Then, Jean's internal stresses asserted themselves in physical illness, and she claimed to have a sore throat. One night, in the second act, she completely blacked out and couldn't remember her lines. She finally alerted the production that she would not be continuing on-- doctor's orders-- and an unsuspecting Mary Laslo stepped in to temporarily take her place. However, Mary had been playing the small role of the manicurist and was unprepared to be a sudden lead! 

Enter Judy Holliday (right). With the Philadelphia opening postponed, the equally gifted and much less emotionally troubled actress jumped into grueling, boot camp rehearsal sessions. Had it not been for coffee, as she admitted herself, she may not have made it. By the time the show hit New York, with a new leading lady and a new third act, it was a sensation. Judy ran away with the role, making it her own. In effect, thanks to Jean's erratic behavior, Judy became a star! Hence, when a film adaptation was made in 1950, Judy was cast in the lead role-- not the original Billie prototype, Jean. Judy had worked in film before, her most noteworthy part being  in Adam's Rib opposite Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, who had both championed her, but it would be this film that would skyrocket her film career, however briefly. In this case, it was Judy alone of the main cast who duplicated her performance, for Paul Douglas lost his role of Harry Brock to Broderick Crawford and Gary Merrill passed the torch of Paul Verrall to William Holden (yet another stage nab for the Bill). In the end, no matter who it was performing beside her, Judy stole the show. It was her moment, and her take on the reinvented showgirl who finds absolution through intelligence-- and thus self-respect-- remains one of cinema's favorite comedic female characters.

Ken Kesey's book One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was so unique and powerful in its human appeal that it was immediately turned into a play. In 1963, the adaptation hit Broadway with none other than multi-faceted tough guy Kirk Douglas (left) taking on the role of feigned nutcase Randle McMurphy. Gene Wilder too was cast as the sensitive but disturbed Billy Bibbit. Joan Tetzel took on the role of the unlikely villainess, Nurse Ratched. It ran for 82 performances and definitely turned some heads! Over ten years later, the film was in the can, but the cast was different. As Kirk had no longer been considered young enough to portray the devious and rebellious Murphy, Jack Nicholson swooped in and immortalized the role. Since Jack always comes off a bit "cuckoo" himself (in the best possible way), the casting decision seemed to be kismet. Gene too did not reprise his role, instead handing it to off-kilter character man Brad Dourif. Danny Devito too contributed his uncanny screen presence in a small role. Nurse Ratched would be memorably played by Louise Fletcher, who garnered an Academy Award for her muted take on evil. Jack would too win the Oscar, as would director Milos Forman. However, best of all was the fact that the "Douglas" name would still be honored when Michael Douglas, son of Kirk, would win the award for Best Picture after serving as Producer on the film. Since his father helped bring the play to life, it was perhaps in honor of him that Michael even approached the project in the first place. Innovation seems to run in that family.

Jack makes friends (with "Chief" Will Sampson) and history in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

While one can't argue the finished products of cinema nor their hold on us, the re-workings of the casts in all of these instances is something to note. A few different ingredients, and you wind up with a vastly different product, be it masterpiece or dud. Since we shall never be able to compare results-- play versus film-- we are left only with the offerings our movie stars have left us. In the end, there probably is no better or worse, merely different takes. A film adaptation of a play is akin to the effect produced in re-making a movie: you're going to get a different experience with different players-- some will like it, others not. I suppose the good news is that we are so flooded with talent that we have all these different pools to pull from. Since it could be argued that Hollywood keeps making the same old stories anyway, there is some beauty in seeing the same old plays performed again and again by different actors. It would be nice to have all of life recorded so that there was no mystery about our creative past at all, but for now, we shall have to suffice our curiosity with our own wonder. And, of course, with the movies.