THE REEL REALS: Donald O'Connor

Donald O'Connor

Donald O'Connor was a wiry, rubber-faced, exuberant motherfu... Fudge. Fudger... Motherfudger. You know what I mean. This guy wasn't human. He was like a super-jolt of positivity personified, a wholesome humdinger, a jitterbuggin' razzmatazz madman! Like his fellow cinematic, dancing legends-- Astaire, Kelly, Charisse, Rogers-- he had a talent that was hypnotic in its effect. However, while Astaire & Rogers led with romance and Kelly & Charisse led with sex, O'Connor led with humor. He did the most heavenly and obscene things with his body, stretching and projecting himself like both a slingshot and its missile across the screen-- a trick he'd learned on the vaudeville stage, where he'd gotten his start. What he created looked natural, and even painful, but it was always flawlessly executed. His work and craftsmanship, the dedication to his artistry as the physical buffoon, are often still underappreciated. No Gods are born; they are made. Respect.

Descended from a family of circus performers-- acrobats and bareback riders-- Donald grew up with the same daredevil masochism that made fellow clowns like Chaplin and Keaton greats. The game from day one was "entertainment." He'd go as far as you can to "Make 'Em Laugh," even if he needed several days of recuperation afterward-- which was indeed the case in the infamous Singin' in the Rain sequence. Equal to these comics, his hilarity was born of his tragedy. He survived the car crash that claimed his sister and also witnessed his father die from a heart attack while the elder man was dancing on stage. The ceaseless inner motor that churned was one of escapism, pushing the pain of circumstance outward to overcome it. However, the result of such constant, vigorous exorcism certainly took its toll, especially after Paramount and later Universal-- his main home-- began using him as one of its most trusted workhorses. Starting his career at the age of 12, he barely stopped to breathe for the next 40 years of his career. The constant stress led to alcoholism-- another trend among his peers, including good friend Judy Garland who shared a similar energizer-actor frustration. Eventually, Donald was fortunately able to overcome this disease and come out swinging, as he always did.

Needless to say, audiences never saw these demons on the screen, though they were witnessing their energy-- the buoyancy with which Donald tried to out-act, out-dance, out-sing, and out-maneuver them. His filmography is nothing to sniff at: Beau Geste, Mister Big, Francis (and its sequels), Anything Goes, There's No Business Like Show Business, and, of course, Singin' in the Rain. In addition, he performed on his own briefly lived television series, made quest appearances on everything from "The Love Boat" to "Tales from the Crypt," and had a brief cinematic re-emergence in the '90s in Toys among other films. He would pass away at the age of 78 in 2003 leaving those that loved him with a song in their hearts and an indescribable fondness for a one of a kind character. A fascinating figure with his own particular and admirable touch, he kept things interesting on the screen and took audiences to places they had never been before. But hey, ya' know... Anything for a laugh.

HISTORY LESSON: TV Movie [Stars] - Part 1

Olivia De Havilland contributed to Bette Davis's surprise when the latter lady

 was a special guest on the popular television program "This Is Your Life." 

Laurel and Hardy, Johnny Cash, and Jayne Mansfield were 

also participants, although not always gladly!

The transition of dull civilian life to devoted cinema spectatorship was not an overnight process. It started as a tingle and grew into an earthquake that left many a movie theater but nary a vaudeville circuit in its wake. In 40 years, we went from ogling the naughty motion photography of hopping, bathing, and leapfrogging male and female nudes (oh, Eadweard Muybridge, you rapscallion you!) to staring in thunderstruck admiration at the Oberammergau Passion Play of 1898, which was the first commercially produced motion picture, (thank you German Cinema professor of 2003), to being hysterically enraptured by the intricate comic wizardry of Charlie Chaplin in The Circus. The year 1928 would be another big one in film, for this year proved that our artistic and technological innovation was growing at just as rapid a speed as our increasing appetite for entertainment. Fittingly, sound brought the boom that turned the industry on its head. Talkies made Silents a thing of the past in less than two years. As in the first "box office" crash with the advent of film-- does Digby Bell ring any bells today?-- it was only the members of the entertainment community that suffered. Some evolved and some didn't, wouldn't, or couldn't. 

Eadweard Muybridge's studies in motion photography did much to further the process of
 turning still photographs to motion pictures. He later used his expertise to do popular
"motion studies" regarding the naked form. There doesn't seem to be any record
of male audiences reacting negatively to bounding breasts in motion. 

To be fair, Eadweard featured  men too, including himself-- 

naked as a jay bird.

Following Hollywood's golden age, history would repeat itself yet again with the next great innovation, the birth of the television set, which-- like film itself-- started slowly in the late forties and found itself in half of all households by the mid-fifties. The celebrity reaction was the same as ever. Some denied; some jumped on the gravy train. Some bowed out of the biz gracefully; others fell on their faces. Some disappeared; others found a new generation of viewers and a second run at fame. We are arguably going through another cycle of media reconstruction as the computer increasingly takes the place of both film and television by offering a new medium for both options-- often for free. As per usual, the stars are suffering, in that there aren't really any left-- at least none who rule with as much magnitude as their predecessors (see old article here). When a God becomes too accessible, He transforms from a golden idol into last year's fad-- what once was as exciting as the invention of the light bulb thus becomes as ridiculous in retrospect as the slap bracelet.

In any case, the following Movie Gods and Goddesses were able to make the transition from big-screen to small-screen-- some with dignity, others with... humdingery, but fortunately for all, their great cinematic reputations were big enough to maintain their lost luster, and history has mostly forgotten their fruitless televised efforts. Gable perhaps remains untouched, if only because he never sold in his "King" stature to become a Prince of Pabst Blue Ribbon or the Baron of Brylcreem, but as you will see, the following pack of experimental pals did all right for themselves too, even if the big gamble of the small screen wasn't always worth it.

Son, switch the dial!

Sadly, of the many who made the jump to Television, the majority were duds. Character actors often had a better shot of maintaining their careers as their sinister, comical, or otherwise malleable characterizations could easily be plugged into various series, occasional episodes, or even a permanent supporting role on TV. In some cases, smaller names were able to transcend their former B-status to become huge stars of the boob tube, some playing the lead in their own series, as in Clayton Moore aka "The Lone Ranger" (left) and George Reeves aka "Superman." Conversely, some film stars who had enjoyed a glorious hey day in the cinematic stratosphere found themselves floating into oblivion after their attempts at broadcast success. Some dipped in a toe only to gracefully retire from show-business; others made a bold attempt to board the gravy train only to be left behind. There too was a stigma attached to some stars who wandered over to TV town, for just as Television became both a welcoming place of refuge for aging movie icons-- where studios would gladly profit off their notoriety-- TV debuts could also be seen as their fall from grace: "This guy, he used to be big! Now look at him..."

One of the biggest celebs to give television a go was Judy Garland. Judy, whom Fred Astaire once dubbed "the greatest entertainer who ever lived," endured a very public series of ups and downs in her career. Overworked and doped at MGM, everyone's favorite little girl matured into a very nervous and high-strung woman. Her addictions to drugs and alcohol would remain a constant throughout her life, and it was only her love of singing that could at times propel her through her personal haze of confusion, lethargy, and man-handling, to the place where she truly shined brightest--the stage! While her (occasionally canceled) live performances kept her busy for the majority of her adulthood, she also was an always welcome surprise as a guest on various television programs. With her witty humor and hammy storytelling, Judy's reminiscences on her many interviews with TV personalities like Jack Paar (right) were consistently and thoroughly entertaining, especially to nostalgic viewers who still remembered her trip down the yellow brick road. Judy was also a notorious bull-sh*tter, and one could never be certain whether she was being honest, embellishing, or completely fabricating a grand story on the spot, but that was part of her charm-- as was her sharp but slightly naughty repartee.

Soon enough, CBS offered Judy her own show, during which she would, of course, perform songs and chat it up, as only she could, with random guests. This could have been a huge turning point in Judy's life. Looking for a chance to rebuild herself, she was ecstatic at the opportunity and, after getting healthy, was looking better than ever by the time shooting began. Fueled by optimism, she was also more cooperative than she had been in years and collaborated well with the entire production team. Fittingly, her first guest was Mickey Rooney (left)! Unfortunately, the show bit the dust when the network changed management, and suddenly Judy's natural style was not considered "suitable." To her dismay, her team was dissembled, the format was altered, and instead of being devious, genius, glamorous Judy, she was supposed to play the fallen idol who was the butt of America's joke. Her stalled career, her weight fluctuation, and her failed marriages, were regularly used to mock her on the air, to which she always brilliantly played along, but the ploy didn't work. Judy was expected to be Judy, and audiences didn't like her being brought down to earth with the mortals. As such, they stopped tuning in. As for Judy, she became severely depressed and fell back on her old patterns. It was a huge opportunity lost purely from bad business.

The good news, at least in Judy's case, though she certainly had trouble seeing it at the time, was that it wasn't her that was rejected by viewers but the show's style. A few other sufferers fell into this category, including Robert Mitchum. Bob had performed on television in various miniseries, such as "North and South," as well as in a fairly successful 1990 TV movie called "A Family for Joe" (right). The latter plot involved the coalition of four orphans who, in fear of being separated, elected a crotchety homeless man to pose as their "grandfather." Chaos, as expected, ensued. The network decided to adapt the film into a show, but as it turned out, people weren't interested in seeing Bob every week, particularly when playing an old buffoon with a heart of gold. Audiences liked his edgy versatility and reacted negatively and confusedly to his turn as a diluted, family-friendly archetype. As such, "Joe" was again rendered homeless after nine episodes. However, the show did spark the career of one Juliette Lewis. Bob and Juliette would re-team in a mere year for the Cape Fear re-make.

Errol Flynn (right) enjoyed a little more success in 1956 when he started "The Errol Flynn Theatre" anthology series-- a popular format of the time that produced weekly, unrelated stories and rotating performers. Filmed in London but aired in the United States, Errol hosted the series casually with the same, utter lack of pretension that made his small screen personality as charming as his big screen characters. He would perform in several of the episodes himself, which he also produced, and various other stars made appearances, including Christopher Lee, Paulette Goddard, Mrs. Flynn- Patrice Wymore- and even Errol's son, Sean. Always uncertain of his talents but eager to explore his range, the diverse plotlines and character roles allowed Errol to do some of his most interesting acting, which was more fitting to his years. However, Flynn was getting older, and it was perhaps for this reason that audiences didn't respond to the series. They preferred him in tights, forever young, and swashbuckling to victory. The show only lasted one season.

Jean Arthur, the Class Frown, also took a stab at the tube. After retiring from film and spending the majority of her later life on the stage-- that is, when she could muster up the courage and keep it together enough to perform-- Jean had only performed on one episode of "Gunsmoke" when she decided to go for it with her own series in 1966: "The Jean Arthur Show" (left). Always an intensely anxious and temperamental woman, Jean's inferiority complex caused problems from the very beginning. However, working against her even more was the show itself. The plot revolved around a female lawyer and her battle with a weekly case. She would always win the verdict, of course, but the style was that of heavy-handed comedy, and a little too much so. Jean's true brand of humor never derived from slap-stick nor from her being the butt of the joke. In her classic films, the laughs were much more situational wherein her wide-eyed reactions, dry humor, and iconic voice filled in the charm. As such, the context of the show and its jokes, which were far too on the nose and ridiculous, didn't work. (I said class frown, not clown, remember)? After the apparently always dependable Mickey Rooney made an appearance and upstaged Jean, she totally lost confidence, and a slew of other guest stars couldn't save her nor her show. She abandoned ship and left TV for good!

Hey, look who it is!

Changing stations, the next crew of TV trespassers were actually able to find mild success. More career-conscious entertainers and business-minded actors/actresses saw television as an opportunity as opposed to a death knell. As such, a lot of former and current stars broadened their fan base and bulked up their resumes by making the lucrative decision to join the realm of the telly. The reasons for this were both tactical and professional, examples of which can be seen in the cases of divas Barbara Stanwyck and Ann Sheridan. Neither woman opted to insult the "idiot box" with diversion, as clearly said 'box' was smart enough to get people across the nation to stare at it transfixed for hours on end. Babs was drawn to the TV-experiment more for her passionate need to work-- the all consuming drive in her life-- while Ann was just a practical and easy-going lady who was up for anything. Both of their gambles were relatively successful. Ann participated quite a bit in various shows, like "Wagon Train," or "The Lux (as in Soap) Theatre," which showcased abbreviated movies with guest stars and introduced such up and comers as Grace Kelly and James Dean to the world. An open fan of television, Ann also proudly proclaimed her love of soap operas, which she found absolutely addictive. This eventually led to her one season participation on "Another World." Her greatest success was appearing on her own series, "Pistols 'n' Petticoats" (right), though cancer would sadly claim her before the first season finished. Reviews weren't particularly friendly, unfortunately, so it is questionable whether it would have continued had she survived.

For her part, Babs-- as per usual-- hit one out of the park when she appeared on the hit television show "The Big Valley" (left) in the latter part of the sixties. Lasting four years, this show gave her a comfortable income, provided her with her favorite brand of storytelling-- the Western-- and earned her a place in broadcast history. While the show wasn't a huge sensation, it had a good run, and generations not familiar with her film work got to know her through this program. Babs continued seeking out opportunities, taking jobs here and there in the rare TV movie, but she hit her stride again with some coups in the '80s, including a guest spot on "Charlie's Angels." There was even talk of doing a male version of "Angels" with Barbara taking the role of their female Bosley! No dice (fortunately), but Babs had success with her powerful performance in the controversial mini-series "The Thorn Birds" and her participation in everyone's favorite guilty pleasure: "Dynasty." In fact, Aaron Spelling gave her her own spin-off, "The Colbys," but pro though she was, Babs found the material so ridiculous that she bailed out early. As she was aging and in poor health, she sadly would not make any more contributions. This was a painful thing for the always feisty Barbara, who became quite despondent in her last years. Her need to build and craft was denied her by her frail condition. She would confide to a friend that she had always hoped to "go out" in some wild or heroic fashion. Thus, ending her days helpless in bed was, to her, the ultimate of life's cruelties.

STAY TUNED FOR NEXT WEEK'S EXCITING CONCLUSION!!!

STAR OF THE MONTH: Audrey Hepburn

Audrey Kathleen Van Heemstra Ruston

The Audrey Hepburn effect became pretty clear to me over the past month. In preparation for all of my monthly muses, in addition to reading everything I can about the individual in so brief a time, I like to watch as many of their available films as possible. A strange phenomenon: not only did I find that I already had the majority of Audrey's major Hollywood films in my possession, but I was also privileged with enduring the most enjoyable movie marathon in my recollection. Every movie made me feel good. Every movie left me in a better mood. Most importantly, I was excited to revisit each film, whereas sometimes I have to drag my feet (due to the impending, heavy subject matter, etc). Not this time. Thus, I give you the Audrey Hepburn effect: Joy!

Audrey seems so... pristine in cinematic history-- so beautiful, so charismatic, and so notoriously generous. Her sense of style via her BFFs Givenchy and Ralph Lauren makes even Grace Kelly in retrospect look like an amateur. Her films are almost all classics, and they continue to be lauded as some of the top fan favorites in film history. Imagining movies-- nay, the world!-- without Audrey, today seems unfathomable. She is an icon: a frail, delicate, untouchable goddess. It is easy to slip her into the Heavenly attic of Hollywood's stars and forget that she came up the hard way. Today, Audrey and "Beauty" are synonymous; yet, there was no place in the ever-short-sighted L.A. for a skinny, gawky, too tall girl with no real acting experience. The fact that Audrey Hepburn triumphed and won hearts simply by being herself is a testament both to her and to us. When this diamond emerged from the rough, we saw in her a beauty that existed outside of the general standard and was superior to all preconceived notions. Audrey was both authentic and ethereal. Our trust in her was quickly earned, and in a comparatively short career in film, she never let us down.

Audrey takes the stage as "Gigi." Famed and infamous

authoress Collette handpicked Audrey when she

saw her randomly in a hotel lobby!

Yet, she had every reason to. Audrey's childhood was far from "lov-e-ly," despite the fact that she was born into nobility. Her mother, Ella van Heemstra, was a "baroness" with unfulilled dreams of the stage, and her father was the wayfaring "businessman" Joseph Hepburn-Ruston. The marriage was an affair of passion over propriety on the lady's part. Ella would pass on her daring nature to her third child. Audrey was the happy, youngest, and only daughter, born after two half-brothers, Alexander and Ian, from her mother's previous marriage to Hendrik Gustaaf Adolf Quarles van Ufford, (phew), which had ended in divorce.  War was brewing, and Audrey's father was surprisingly on the side of the Nazis, a fact that caused Audrey much later chagrin. Even her mother showed an early, ignorant support of the fascist movement, one that she later revised after her husband abandoned her and she witnessed first-hand the evil of the Axis powers. Growing up primarily in the Dutch town of Arnhem during its German occupation, Audrey was confronted with hunger, depravity, and fear. Her father's absence and her mother's detached sense of affection, which revealed itself in discipline, only exacerbated Audrey's shyness and insecurity. Yet, her answer to these threats, always, was to remain brave-- to literally keep dancing while the world tried to break her. 

Indeed, she dreamed of being a ballerina, and she would put on private shows for neighbors-- who out of fear of making noise, couldn't even applaud for her but merely smiled in reverence after she made her curtsy. Audrey also showed signs of the early rebel, daringly hiding soldiers with her mother and carrying messages for the resistance in her shoes-- a courageous act many of her young peers participated in. With her innocent face, she was the perfect secret agent, though she was almost accidentally rounded up once with a slew of other girls to work in the German military kitchen. She waited for the right moment and made a break for it. The other girls weren't as lucky, nor as bold. Finally, the end of the madness, and the liberation of Holland, came on her sixteenth birthday: May 4, 1945. Audrey celebrated by getting sick by gorging on chocolate, the first she'd tasted in some time. However, her bouts with illness during the war-- including anemia, severe edema, jaundice, and asthma-- would forever affect her metabolism, as well as her psyche. She would never forget the horrors and cruelties she saw. Her most brilliant act of defiance was in not letting the memories cripple her. Instead, she approached life with beauty, grace, and dignity, which served as her sword, helmet, and shield through all the trials she had yet to endure.

Audrey's sense of fun and youthful wonder mixed with

her emotional maturity won her an Academy Award
in Roman Holiday and a lifetime friend

in Gregory Peck.

How did this little, twirling violet find herself in Hollywood? The trek was unlikely and a bit unwanted when it came. As Audrey matured, it became unfortunately clearer and clearer to her that ballet was not her calling. She was a capable dancer, but what she possessed in poise and charisma-- two things she had in abundance-- she lacked in skill and control. Anyone who observed her dancing performances, her work in "High Button Shoes," or the cabaret show at Ciro's in London, was captivated by her-- particularly with her eyes. She had a "quality." She was "bound to be famous." Many over the years would take credit for discovering her, and perhaps it's true that many did. Audrey was the only one who seemed surprised by her public reception. Always a practical and hard-working woman, she eventually got work modeling and taking some minor roles in mostly British films. Word of mouth and just plain luck earned Audrey a chance at the leading role in Anita Loos's stage adaptation of "Gigi" and a screen test for William Wyler's Roman Holiday. She nabbed them both! Suddenly, Audrey was the toast of the entertainment world: an inexperienced actress with a practically non-existent resume was to star on Broadway and in a major motion picture!? With Gregory Peck?! It all made sense when the world caught a glimpse of her. In "Gigi," Audrey's acting was at best mildly praised and at worst dismissed, but her being was extolled. She was just... adorable! And lovable. And real. These qualities would carry over into her first screen performance, where Greg Peck even gentlemanly acquiesced to sharing top billing with her, because he was so impressed. Audrey's rule was simple: not to "act," but to "feel." She would repeatedly admit throughout her career that she had no technique; that she relied entirely on her directors and co-stars to guide her. Her humility only made her more enchanting, and the honesty with which she approached her work made her an immediate sensation.

The Hepburn quality is a mixture of innocence and maturity; girlishness and strength. Skinny as a rail, she may have been. Still, no one got the impression, with her defiant, square-line jaw, that Audrey could be pushed around. But then, with her vulnerable features and ultimate kindness, no one wanted to. The same enchantment that she used to capture the loyalty of her directors and co-stars (she had Billy Wilder and William Wyler transfixed and notorious scalawags like Peter O'Toole and William Holden eating out of her hand) was the same that endeared a universal audience to her. In Roman Holiday, Sabrina, Funny Face, and Love in the Afternoon, we witness her in her ingenue supremacy. The little girl, a bit romantic but always intelligent, falls in love with an older male. Modern feminists could argue the issues all day, but in the end, it is never Audrey who is conquered. Her wit and depth, albeit in a younger, more seemingly impressionable package, always triumph over the uber-masculine, jaded, and philandering ways of Bogart, Astaire, and Cooper. As such, she is a girl who is allowed to fall in love, because she does so, not only genuinely, but with class. She may have given up the study of "empathicalism" to become a model in Funny Face, but the point is not that she looked beautiful doing it-- that she went through the Cinderella process at the cost of her brain-- but that she used both her beauty and brains to bring Fred Astaire through his own emotional Cinderella process, so that he would be man enough to meet her.

When Audrey looked in the mirror, she always saw a Funny Face; 

the world saw the epitome of gorgeousness.

Always, Audrey was proactive in her career, choosing roles that spoke to her and that held some level of decorum that preached her belief that beauty gives birth to beauty. She had seen enough violence in her life and had endured enough trauma. In her projects, there was always the resounding mantra of "let there be light," even if her characters had to sometimes face the harder aspects of humanity to find it. Yet, as the girl became a woman, so too did she seek out more mature roles. With the help of her first husband, Mel Ferrer--whose instincts for her career were as keen as his instincts toward his own were askew-- she more often than not was able to choose projects that ended as box-office hits, but then that was, again, probably just the Audrey Hepburn effect. The studios were enthusiastically shocked when The Nun's Story was a smash success, and indeed this film was a milestone in Audrey's acting career as well. Here, not only do we watch her acting reach new heights, but we watch the little girl we knew enter into a life of servitude (with conviction and courage), and exit it as a mature, worldly woman. It was the perfect beginning to a new chapter in her film work. I personally find her later movies more compelling, although admittedly her earlier, ingenue films are the height of Hollywood romanticism. Once she outgrew the role of "the new girl," or the "hot young thing," Audrey was able to use her clout to take on more daring projects that pushed the envelope of human understanding-- such as The Children's Hour-- or our very sense of cultural comfort...

Breakfast at Tiffany's: where glamour and bohemia meet.

Oh, Breakfast at Tiffany's... Is there anyone alive who does not get misty when they hear the opening, melancholy notes of "Moon River?" (Heck, I'm tearing up right now)! Notoriously, Truman Capote would be aghast at the fact that Audrey was cast as his free-wheeling, little-girl-lost prostitute, "Holly Golightly." (He had hoped for Marilyn Monroe, see here). Many were inclined to agree with him. Audrey a call-girl??? Errr...  As a result, Blake Edwards's take on the novella was not as gritty nor as realistic, though brimming with life and humor, as Capote's charmed tale, but in retrospect, the end may just have justified the means. In a nation undergoing an incredible cultural shift-- from old school, to new school; from boundaries and glamour to "swingers," desegregation, and Vietnam-- our transformation into a new world, a more open, yet for many, peculiar world, needed a trusting face to guide us there. So, the last link of Golden Era Hollywood would wear the slim black dress of a society girl, have premarital sex, throw drunken parties, and still find a way to make it appear palatable. And also: Tiffany's? There's only one woman that could carry that banner. Audrey and style are forever intertwined. Despite some critical disapproval, Audrey's ever-running, ever-searching Holly is authentic unto herself. There was so much of that Holly in Audrey, that the performance is actually quite breath-taking and far above commendation.

Alan Arkin terrorizes Audrey in Wait Until Dark.

From this point on, Audrey would play Women and continue her position as an unexpected feminist role model. Another surprisingly controversial piece of work, My Fair Lady, was a grueling and emotionally draining experience to make, mostly because of the constant insults hurled Audrey's way for her lip-syncing. (Not her fault, by the way. She tried to sing her own songs, but Audrey's singing, much like her dancing, was never on par with her thespian abilities). Still, her "Eliza Doolittle," while funny in her cockney period, was most astonishing in her post-transformation. When her heart breaks over the uncertainty of her future, a woman in-between and without a home, the audience is with her and too cheers for her when she puts Rex Harrison's "Henry Higgins" in his place. Two for the Road introduced audiences to a more realistic, less-sugary portrait of marriage, and ironically helped to end Audrey's own, as she and co-star Albert Finney engaged in a passionate affair during filming. The entire blame was not on Audrey, mind you. Mel had been enjoying numerous, alleged dalliances prior to this for some time, and it was argued just how serviceable or controlling his interest in her career had become. He would produce Wait Until Dark-- a still undated, suspenseful masterpiece, thanks to Audrey's performance as a helpless, blind woman who uses her wits to escape disaster-- then the couple would divorce.

Audrey's career in film was all but over at this point, but then Hollywood was never truly her home. She admired the art but defied the pretension, finding solace in her home in Switzerland where she could enjoy more peace and privacy. After suffering numerous miscarriages, she would eventually have two sons, the first by Mel-- Sean Ferrer-- and the second by second husband, psychiatrist Andrea Dotti-- Luca Dotti. As she had been a career woman since her late teens, Audrey decided to devote the remainder of her life to being a wife and mother, making films only sporadically. Many hail Robin and Marian as her last, great classic, and I'm inclined to agree. (The chemistry between herself and the Scots' answer to masculinity, Sean Connery, is still mesmerizing). Sadly, while Audrey, guilty over the dissolution of her first union, was determined to make her second marriage work, she and Andrea Dotti were divorced after his very public liaisons became too much for her to endure. (You cheated on Audrey Hepburn? HONESTLY)!? Yet, she would find her soulmate after long last in the widower of Merle Oberon, the 7 years younger Robert Wolders. They would remain together for 12 years, most of which were encompassed by Audrey's dedicated work for UNICEF. Because of her own desperate struggles as a child, children in pain were always her weak-spot, and she charitably and exhaustingly gave herself to this cause, despite the emotional toll it took on her. Watching the deaths of innocents by the hundreds in places like Ethiopia, Turkey, and Somalia, was no easy feat.

Gorge on the gorgeousness.

Audrey Hepburn died at the age of 63, mere weeks after her rare and painful bout with cancer was even diagnosed-- the malignant tumor that had started in her appendix had already spread by the time Audrey had registered the discomfort, resulting in a hysterectomy and the partial removal of her colon. She opted not to undergo chemotherapy and left this earth as peaceably as she had lived within it. She was surrounded by loved ones as she took her last breath and was subsequently missed by all whose lives she had touched, many of whom knew her only from her presence on the silver screen. She would be held up over time as an angel-- an inhumanly beautiful woman inside and out. But Audrey was not an angel. She was, despite her slender figure, of hearty stock and a complicated, deeply emotional, acutely intelligent woman, whose generous contribution to society was her lightness of spirit. Have you ever laughed harder than at the dialogue she shares with Cary Grant in Charade? Have you ever watched Sabrina and not audibly sighed? War and Peace is one of her least known films-- and lesser praised as well (for good reason, I must say)-- but it eloquently ends with the words of Tolstoy: "The most difficult thing-- but an essential one-- is to love Life, even while one suffers, because Life is all." It may as well have been her epitaph. Few have come closer than she, perhaps, to living that very example.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Rita Hayworth

Margarita Cansino ~ Rita Hayworth

In encountering or examining the true life of a hero, one is confronted with mixed emotions, depending on the subject. At times, one crumples in laughter; at times, one jumps to the defensive. One is occasionally met with disappointment; one is sometimes filled with almost welcomed envy. After "The End," one wants to move mountains, right wrongs, or reverentially pay tribute. In reliving the life of Margarita Cansino, one wants to do nothing but weep. The problem with adoring Rita Hayworth, who is so easy to adore, is that there never was a Rita Hayworth. Never, in all cinematic history perhaps, has there been a performer who so resolutely was able to draw a thick, impenetrable line between her screen persona and herself. The duality of Rita/Margarita is something that continues to beckon fascination and curiosity. As thoroughly and intelligently analyzed by Adrienne L. McLean in her book Being Rita Hayworth, the construction of Rita Hayworth the movie star was something that was not hidden, but sensationalized and avidly participated in by all concerned-- except for Rita herself. Rita was a sex kitten and the girl-next-door. She was dangerous; she was harmless. She was dominant; she was passive. The one thing that she was consistently was malleable: she was whatever everyone wanted her to be. This is why she remains one of Hollywood's greatest movie stars and actresses of all time.

~     ~     ~

Rita Hayworth's childhood was stolen from her in every conceivable way. A naturally shy girl, she was already at a disadvantage in jumping into the social whirlpool. Whatever chances she had of shedding her protective exterior were annihilated by her unfortunate, inherited circumstances. Her father, Eduardo Cansino, had achieved a measure of acclaim on the vaudeville dance circuit, where he and his sister Elisa-- both non-English speaking imports from their native Spain--  enchanted audiences with their exotic and graceful movements. After he and showgirl Volga Hayworth married, they quickly birthed their first child, Margarita Cansino, in Brooklyn, NY on October 17, 1918. Two sons would follow-- Eduardo, Jr. ("Sonny") and Vernon-- but neither showed the natural penchant toward the family trade like Margarita. Thus, after the original "Dancing Cansinos" went their separate ways, the silent and obedient eldest girl became Eduardo's newest dancing partner. As a sad and embittered Volga increasingly disappeared into alcoholism, Eduardo took on the role of the violent patriarch, coaching Margarita in grueling dance instructions and taking her on tour after her originally chubby, adolescent body started to form into that of a well-crafted athlete. She had no childhood friends, mostly because she received little formal education. She was pulled out of school to work. Neighborhood kids would pass her on their own way home from school and see her silently staring from her porch. If one was so bold to talk to the bashful statue, she would perhaps offer a few sparse words, before she was inevitably called indoors by her controlling father.

The distant Hayworth gaze: one can imagine that this is the same look

she held as a little girl on that front porch.

By now, the family was living in California. Eduardo had intentions toward a career renaissance in the new medium of film. If he worked Margarita hard enough, she could perhaps be his way in and his struggling family's salvation. She put up no argument against his tyrannical and abusive practice sessions, and more and more she became a mere dancing puppet-- seemingly hollow and lacking in identity. She did as she was told and hid her inner sadness behind a stoic, obedient face. The worst was to come in Tijuana, known as "Sin City," because it provided a pleasing outlet for those escaping prohibition. Eduardo claimed to be protective of Rita when they toured here, dancing their routines as "husband and wife"-- because it provided a better front-- but he had no qualms about parading her before the drunken, drooling men who looked at her gorgeous figure and face like starving men looking at a meal. While the thirteen-year-old danced nightly and exhaustively on stage-- usually forced to go out afterward and catch fish for dinner, because Eduardo had, of course, gambled all of their money away-- her brothers went to school and enjoyed comparatively normal childhoods under their caring but distant mother's watch. Volga was not there looking out for Margarita when Eduardo, at this point in the young innocent's life, started repeatedly raping her. As always, Margarita internalized, compartmentalized, and went on with the show. The thick, impenetrable veil she was building up would later become the most intriguing part of her characterizations. In later years, no one would know that the scintillating heat brimming beneath the beauty's cool surface was the burden of pain and shame.

When father and daughter returned, Volga was perhaps the only one who noticed a change in her daughter, and though she never stood up to her husband, she did begin sleeping in Margarita's room, joining the duo on tours, and leaving them alone together as little as possible. Unfortunately, the damage had been done. Despite Margarita's natural sweetness and passivity, inside she was a silent tiger pacing in its cage, waiting for the chance to get out. Ironically, Eduardo's solution of a cinematic career would allow her to escape through one trap door into another prison. But at this point, what choice did she have? A screen test, thanks to Fox production chief Winfield Sheehan, won her a contract with Fox, and soon she was dancing onscreen with Gary Leon in Dante's Inferno- choreographed by Eduardo, of course. Due to her dark features, she was typically cast in Latin roles or as other "exotic" types, such as her turn as Nayda in Charlie Chan in Egypt. Despite potential, she failed to break through to a place of real recognition. Enter the second manipulative man in her life-- Eddie Judson, who was a thirty-nine year old con-artist keen on turning the vulnerable sixteen-year-old into his meal ticket. After Fox dropped her, Eddie was able to land her a new seven-year contract at Columbia, headed by "White Fang" Harry Cohn. Columbia was the "hack lot," always borrowing other stars, because they had none of their own. Little did Cohn know when signing "Rita Cansino" that he had just grabbed a hold of his first, true movie star. Eddie Judson already knew, but he had to build her up before anyone else would see. 

Rita Cansino as she appeared in Dante's Inferno.

Thus began the transformation of Margarita Cansino to Rita Hayworth-- a much more American sounding name. Rita eloped with the man she hoped would be her release from Eduardo in May of 1937, but Eddie Judson proved to be as much of a taskmaster and, in effect, pimp as her father. He submitted her to ruthless diets and workout regimens, dyed her hair red, and forced her to endure months of painful electrolysis to heighten her hairline and create a widow's peak. Papa Eduardo thankfully no longer had a hold over his daughter, but this was sadly because she no longer existed. She belonged to another Ed, and he had total control. Judson initiated press releases about his young bride, keeping her in the public eye and pushing her into meetings with well-to-do executives and filmmakers out at the clubs where, dressed glamorously, the still shy woman ineffectually tried to hob-nob and schmooze. Due to her soft-spoken demeanor and lack of pretense, it was not an easy thing for her to do, and her nightly failures sent Eddie into rages. He even went so far as to tell her not to shy away from opportunities to use sex as a tool-- aka sleep her way to the top. Consider it a business investment. Just how much she listened to these suggestions remains debatable, but with such a soft backbone, one has to admit that in Rita's case, the worst is not only possible but likely. Slowly, Eddie's plans started to work. Rita started catching on in Only Angels Have Wings-- a big coup-- and gained a reputations as a hard-working, diligent actress who was equally welcoming of the press. She was labeled "The Most Co-operative Girl in Hollywood." Unfortunately, this did not make her the happiest. On set, she was silent. She would sit and wait for her scenes, perform, then retreat back inside herself. It was the only way she could hold herself together.

Rita performs with James Cagney and Olivia DeHavilland in

The Strawberry Blonde.

Success and notice grew in The Strawberry Blonde and Blood and Sand, during the latter of which she met close friend and choreographer Hermes Pan. The sensuous, confident, even malevolent women that she was able to craft onscreen were so vastly different from her true self that when people met her after seeing her films, they were shocked. She was a shy violet, a wallflower, and definitely not the man-eating glamour vixen Hollywood had painted her to be. She did possess enough fight to extricate herself from her sadistic husband, a decision that resulted after he tried to push her into a sexual relationship with Cohn. Rita refused. The results were one step forward and two back. While she gained her independence, Eddie walked off with nearly everything, and Cohn would develop an unsatisfied obsession with her that would lead to a complete invasion of her privacy and a possessive stranglehold over her life. Cohn even had wire-taps placed in her dressing room-- a fact that Rita's inner child enjoyed, for all she would talk about in this sacred area was how much she hated Cohn. Still, Cohn was right to want to hold onto Rita. Her popularity was growing every day. Her great talent as a dancer was put to use opposite Fred Astaire in both You'll Never Get Rich and You Were Never Lovelier, and a prime photo in Life Magazine became the pin-up item during wartime, rivalled only by Betty Grable's derriere extraordinaire shot. Though Rita fell into the arms of Victor Mature during My Gal Sal, a kind, down-to-earth guy who did much to support her during her divorce, she would soon fall into the maelstrom of another suitor, who had become enamored after seeing the infamous Bob Landry photo. Orson Welles was determined to make Rita Hayworth his (second) wife. As was his way, he got what he wanted.

Rebecca, Rita, and Orson.

Rita would forever recall Orson Welles as the love of her life. Dubbed "Beauty and the Brains"-- flattering to his ego, but bruising to hers-- the publicity surrounding the strange pairing was dynamite. Orson became the only man to whom Rita would confess her childhood abuse or the horror of her first marriage. But trust took time. Orson was intimidating. Embarrassed by her inferior education, Rita was put off by his interest at first, certain of what he was truly after, but  she later was surprised at his genuine interest and the way he could draw her out of herself. On their first date, he used an old mind-reading trick to actually get her talking. Suddenly, and surprisingly, she felt safe. But there was already danger. Was Rita really a full-blooded woman that Orson loved? Or was she a mere sexual experiment? Was he infatuated, fascinated, curious, or did he uncharacteristically hold deeper feelings? Rita adored Orson; the trouble was that Orson had the same problem. Orson Welles was in love with Orson Welles. If anyone ever came close to claiming his heart, it was indeed Rita, whom he remained protective over even after their marriage hit the skids. His affection remains evident as well in the fact that he was the only man Rita ever tried to win back after she had filed divorce papers. But she had her problems as well. Incredibly jealous and untrusting, Rita's insecurity acted as an isolator. She too had an inferiority complex that could only be quelled with sexual attention, a result of the abuse that she had suffered from her father. After having one child together, daughter Rebecca, Orson's philandering and Rita's mistrust finally got the better of them, and they called it quits. Of course, after seeing Rita's performance in the earth-shattering Gilda, Orson certainly must have had his regrets.

Gilda. There are no words, except "perfection."

Gilda remains the eternal Rita Hayworth film. A film noir, Rita is the perfect femme fatale, yet the life and humanity she gives her character makes her an imperfect villain who is still able to walk away with the hero's heart and the audience's approval. Richard Dyer pinpointed this phenomenon thus: "No other femme fatale dances." It was in her dancing that Rita truly came alive, and her "strip tease" sequence, the most famous moment of her career, is both a self-lacerating and a self-empowering act that proves yet again her amazing duality and complexity as a human being. This is no cardboard cut-out villainess. This is a she-wolf out for blood, but, most importantly, out for love. She would have future moments of genius, but no performance she would give would be so perfect. And there were to follow many brilliant moments, including an even more erotic and jaw-dropping strip tease in Salome. Rita's confidence and dominance presented itself always in her dancing: Cover Girl, Down to Earth, Tonight and Every Night, Affair in Trinidad, The Loves of Carmen, etc. These roles and her execution of them both maintain her status as a genuine talent and confuse the mind as to her unhappy personal life. 

One wonders how she was so able to completely draw the shade, to metamorphose from a child of deep sadness to a heroine of power, sensuality, and confidence. While watching her work, I have often caught myself thinking, "Rita, how are you doing this?!" On the screen she is vibrant, alive, and impassioned. In life, she was broken-hearted, used, misled, and constantly disappointed. Her flaws and sorrows would more ably be applied in her later, more mature roles. When Salome is asked to sell her body and dance for King Herod, Rita had a living well of reference to pull from. When Sgt. O'Hara  learns that Sadie Thompson is a prostitute who has given her body to countless men, he screams at her that she is "dirty!" The pain on her face is evident and echoes back into her very soul. And yet even more impressive is the profound joy and humor she injects into her more light-hearted roles. Rita is kind of a lovable ham! She is always beautiful and poised, but too she makes fun of herself. When she chews the scenery in numbers like "Poor John," she is clearly having a riot. The girl was extraordinary in this respect. While she never wanted stardom, she has the ability like few others to completely enthrall the camera and the viewer, and she had the talent to do it. Scene stealing from Gene Kelly is no easy feat, yet it is one she accomplishes simply by standing there and being Rita. 

The erotically charged and bare-footed dance that Valerie Bettis choreographed for Rita 

in Affair in Trinidad caused quite the scandal... and made more money than Gilda!

If only life had been as kind to her as the movies. Her true self continued to be clouded and her innermost desires ignored. A failed marriage to Persian Prince Aly Khan further proved to her the famous quotation-- always worded differently-- "Men go to bed with Gilda and wake up with me." She was never loved for herself. While Rita was adored, Margarita was unknown. Another con-artist, Dick Haymes, too swindled her into the marriage bed in order to escape his own legal problems, and this ended only in another physically abusive relationship and a subsequently shocking claim of child neglect. While battling out Dick's problems, Rita's children were left in the care of Dorothy Chambers in White Plains, NY. Living conditions were exaggerated by a Confidential press hound who took posed photos of the children playing with trash. Both Orson and Aly Khan (whose daughter with Rita, Princess Yasmin,  was too caught in the chaos) testified on her behalf. Rita finally extricated herself from Haymes and would endure only one more brief marriage to and divorce from producer James Hill before she succumbed to a darker master-- Alzheimer's. Despite all of her trials and tribulations, Rita had always been  a professional on the set. Then, suddenly, dialogue became difficult for her to remember, she became paranoid and frightened, and occasionally she would exhibit strange moments of confusion, memory loss, or erratic acts of anger. For many years, she remained undiagnosed, with no one understanding the source of her outbursts nor how to stop them. Her increased drinking only exacerbated the problem. It was as though, for far too long, Margarita Cansino had tried to be too many different people-- the dutiful daughter, the punching bag, the mother, the love goddess, the little girl lost, and the movie star, Rita Hayworth. Not once had she ever been who she truly wanted to be-- a simple wife and mother in a safe and secure home. The life she had had thrust upon her, the multiple demands made of her, and the countless characters she had played, had fractured her psyche to the breaking point. Maybe she finally wanted to escape, even to a place of not knowing herself. She had never really existed anyway. 

Orson Welles used The Lady from Shanghai as a way to diagnose and dissect his 

multi-faceted wife, a point made clear in the great mirror showdown.

Rita gave the world whatever it wanted. She divulged whatever side was necessary: the sex kitten, the hot-dog eating American gal, the exotic siren, the girl-next-door, etc. Her acting and natural gifts were always underrated due to her natural beauty and allegedly her lack of range. Because she came to set and did what she was told and nothing else, it has been recalled that she was merely another talking prop, a claim that many use when diagnosing Orson's nightmarish masterpiece The Lady from Shaghai. These critics do not take into account that the entire movie is supposed to read like a bad dream-- intricate, but unfeeling; authentic, yet hollow. Rita may have acted as a willing puppet to her husband Orson Welles (whom she was divorcing at the time), but if the effect of her performance is lost, the fault lies with him not her. He asked for a vacant villainess, and she delivered. If anyone can observe her dying character, bleeding out like a crocodile, crying with a savage and multi-layered howl-- "I don't want to die!"--  and not see some stroke of brilliance... well, God help you. This woman had no range? This woman was every range. From the ambitious, conflicted show-girl who breaks Gene Kelly's heart in Cover Girl, to the faded beauty and desperately grasping lost soul who comes calling for salvation in Separate Tables, Rita Hayworth was a force to be reckoned with. Had little Margarita Cansino had a chance, perhaps she could have ruled the world. Imagining the possibilities breaks the heart. Fortunately for us, it takes one mere viewing of Down to Earth to mend it again. But Rita Hayworth, Rita Cansino, Margarita Cansino, whoever, does not belong here with us mortals. A Goddess like that belongs in the Heavens with the rest of the stars.