THE REEL REALS: Erich von Stroheim

Erich von Stroheim

Lord knows I love a good Austrian, and it could be said that Erich von Stroheim is the best of the worst. He cut his teeth in Hollywood by banking on his Germanic heritage by playing sadistic foreigners in the push for propaganda films during the Great War. In a way, he maintained his "soldier's position when he turned to directing, strutting around like some combination of a General and a Monarch in his boots, riding crop, and monocle. All this, while absurd from the outside, was but a calculated way for him to differentiate himself from the rest of the pack. No one remembers "normal" or "average," after all. (Think of him as the Marilyn Manson or Lady Gaga of his day). Of course, Erich's penchants for grandiosity and making a bold statement also interfered with his creative process. He never quite learned how to edit himself-- either in behavior or in artistry-- which brings us to the best and the worst of him.

Erich's unique talent as a filmmaker was his eye for detail. (See, the monocle helped)! His films are by nature all epics. The lush compositions of his sets, mise en scenes, the wardrobe, etc, make his jaw-dropping even today: the screen still seems to drip with his startling authenticity. In terms of story, Erich pulled no punches, standing in as the precursor to Orson Welles, directing movies that turned a pointed finger at the audience. Unfortunately, his aesthetic sensibilities, while savory to the eye and intellect, were uncomfortable for tooshies and equally drove MGM crazy as he bled them dry reshooting and perfecting every project, making them bigger and bigger, longer and longer. Irving Thalberg had to fire him from Merry Go Round, Gloria Swanson did the same when Queen Kelly started spiraling out of control, and his ultimate success, Greed, which clocked in at somewhere between 7-10 hours had to be cut to shreds in order to be both bearable to audiences and releasable-- some theaters weren't even open that many hours! 

Finally, his overzealous penchants put an end to his directorial efforts, but Erich was able to continue his acting career, as his notoriety had guaranteed him an eternal place in the spotlight. He churned out impressive and iconic performances in Le Grande Illusion, Portrait d'un Assassin, and of course, Sunset Boulevard. While Hollywood may have shunned his filmmaking, film lovers sure haven't, and we continue to be enchanted, bewitched, and transfixed by his efforts-- still remarkable and some of the best examples of cinematic genius from the silent era.

THE REEL REALS: Allan Dwan

Allan Dwan

Allan Dwan was a director extraordinaire during the silent era. While the Canadian (born Joseph Aloysius Dwan) had mild plans to enter the world of film, it is more justified to say that the movies came looking for him. His expertise as a lighting technician got him unceremoniously poached by Essanay, and after he made the transition to story-editor/writer, another twist of fate would put him in the director's chair-- or so the story goes. (Allegedly, he had to take the reins on a shoot when the original director disappeared on a bender). Well, thank Heavens for booze, because without any of these serendipitous events, one of cinema's greatest innovators never would have been!

During his career, one of Allan's many accomplishments was leading the Flying A Film Corp, one of the earliest and most important California film studios. Throughout his career, he worked with everyone from soon-to-be wife/ex-wife Pauline Bush, Wallace Reid, John Wayne, Shirley Temple, and Gloria Swanson. He also made an impression on the powerhouse couple Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, the latter with whom he made the iconic Robin Hood and The Iron Mask. Through a career that spanned 50 years, Allan allegedly lost count of how many shorts and features he was responsible for, but we know his stamp is on at least 400. His ability to use the camera as an extension of himself, the storyteller-- capturing the greatest source of action, inspiration, and intrigue possible-- kept him at the top of his game for this unprecedented breadth of time. Indeed, he is even responsible for devising something that all directors and cinematographers take for granted today: the Dolly Shot. 

Allan passed away a few years shy of his own centennial, leaving a profound level of accomplishment behind him. While less remembered than names like Griffith, Chaplin, or DeMille, he is an essential part of filmdom's backbone, his contributions laying the ground work for upon which all future directors would more easily tread.

MENTAL MONTAGE: The More the Merrier?

Margaret Dumont may have been Groucho's most popular leading lady,
but one damsel was never enough for this comedic scallawag-- here in
A Day at the Circus.

One of the funniest moments in the Marx Brothers' classic Animal Crackers is the following exchange:

Groucho/Capt. Spaulding: [to Mrs. Rittenhouse and Mrs. Whitehead] Let's get married.

Mrs. Whitehead: All of us?

Capt. Spaulding: All of us.

Mrs. Whitehead: Why, that's bigamy!

Capt. Spaulding: Yes, and it's big o' me too.

A surprising number of Hollywood greats must have agreed. If nothing else, celebrities are consistent in their irreverence for the the norm. Their knack for breaking "the rules," which they mistakenly don't believe apply to them, result in many a mugshot, courtroom cameo, or front page article in such publications as the groundbreaking Life & Style or In Touch-- both of which should probably consider changing their titles. One of the favorite nit-picking recreations in which modern society partakes with regard to their falling idols is "the Marriage Game." We roll our eyes at their numerous nuptials (Hello, Liz Taylor) or their shameful divorces (were you on Team Jennifer or Team Angelina?) and consequently declare them unsuited for the supreme honor of wedded bliss. Clearly, these silly stars don't understand the sanctity of marriage nor appreciate it. Or do they appreciate it too much??? Marriage: an event so nice, some do it twice... And occasionally without getting the necessary divorce.

Show-business becomes our business due to its overabundant coverage. We idolize our movie stars and musicians for living abnormal lives of excess and glamour, but we just as easily transition to a mob of teeth-gnashing, rabid dogs when they overindulge in these same things. Ingrid Bergman (left) learned this the hard way when she fell desperately in love with Robert Rossellini at the cost of her first marriage to Petter Lindstrom. As Petter promoted himself as the wronged and totally faultless party in the scandal, public opinion turned against Ingrid with insane rapidity. The former angelic presence of the silver screen was labeled a "whore." The mother of all that was good was suddenly deemed unfit for maternity. Naturally, Ingrid's previously proclaimed superb talent became "overrated" overnight. (People do have an uncanny knack for rewriting history, don't they)? 


Ingrid obtained her divorce from Petter, refusing to contest any of his demands. She considered his attacks deserved retribution for her shameful actions. She wed her Italian beloved and made a new life and a new career in his country. She eventually recovered, but Ingrid was only truly forgiven by her American fans until after she started detaching herself from the erratic and possessive Roberto. It was considered an admission of her own defeat when Ingrid stepped outside his directorial control and performed in the superb Anastasia. After Ingrid decided to divorce Roberto, the US felt as if she had come to her senses and thus welcomed both her and her talent back with open arms. However, this second divorce was a little sticker than the first...

Roberto turned out to be just as vindictive as Petter during the separation, yet at no time did he come close to exhibiting any dignity. He bitterly told Ingrid that Italy did not "recognize" divorce (at the time), and if she ever wed another, she would be labeled a bigamist! In addition, he threatened to take their three children ("Robin," Isabella, and Isotta) away from her. His bitterness cleverly chose to ignore his own philandering during their marriage, of course. Again, Ingrid was appeasing and complacent to most of his demands, but she remained determined to obtain her separation from Roberto. With the help of her crafty lawyer Ercole Graziadei, she was able to obtain an annulment!!! The loophole used was thus: Ingrid had not registered her "proxy" divorce from Petter in Sweden before her Italian marriage to Roberto took place. Therefore, in the eyes of Roman law, she was still technically married to her first husband. Her strategically fashioned Swedish bigamy won her the annulment from Roberto; it was as though the second marriage had never existed. Fortunately, this tactic did not harm her children. At that time in Italy, when a father recognized his "bastard" children, they were considered legitimate. All was well, and Ingrid saw to it that her ties to all past men were totally severed, legally speaking.

Naturally, the public was secretly a little pleased by her estrangement from the man she had left her first husband for. The scale of crime and punishment was balanced once again. After Ingrid's third and final divorce from Lars Schmidt, she decided to avoid the menacing "aisle" at all costs. She openly admitted that her flighty ways, when mixed with her great romanticism, did not instigate the best choices. In reality, she was too much of a free spirit to put down roots anywhere or with anyone. Her great lover always remained her work.

Of course, Ingrid wasn't the only "naughty Marietta" in Tinsel Town. Another diva, who in her time was also considered the greatest of film beauties, had her own share of scrapes with love. Reatha Deane Watson (left) lived one Hell of a bittersweet, short life. At the age of sixteen, she had already run away from home and married one Jack Lytelle. Almost as suddenly, she reappered on her sister's front porch, claiming that her husband had died. (The facts on this remain a bit fuzzy). A wild gypsy at heart, Reatha would soon make her way to Los Angeles in the hopes of becoming a "somebody." She gained some ground when landing a gig in a burlesque. Unfortunately, she was arrested for being underage, hence her infamous appearance in court before the eyes of none other than writer Adela Rogers St. Johns. Labeled "too beautiful" to be in the company of such dirty men and scalawags, Reatha was set free and became an overnight press sensation. 

Yet, within months, she had wed "Max Lawrence," who turned out to truly be the already married father of three Lawrence F. Converse. In addition to participating in Converse's bigamy charge and arrest, there remains the question of Reatha's first marriage. Was her first hubby Jack truly dead, or had Reatha in this instance committed a double bigamy of sorts??? To further sensationalize the scandal, it was widely reported that Converse had knocked himself unconscious in his cell, allegedly for being dramatically distraught over the loss his beautiful, illegitimate bride. When he came to, Converse feigned ignorance of the whole affair, but Reatha could not outrun the scandal, which ruined her reputation in L.A. and drove her to San Francisco. There she performed in a cabaret show and temporarily wed Philip Ainsworth, but he soon left her for what he claimed were her extra-marital dalliances.

Starting fresh yet again, Reatha changed her stage name to Barbara La Mar and married Ben Deeley, though she was not yet quite divorced from Ainsworth. That brings her bigamy tally up to three, by the way. Eventually, the world-worn but still lovely Barbara La Mar became Barbara La Marr and fell in with a new lover-- John Gilbert, (prior to his marriage to Leatrice Joy). She did some extra work and fell under the protection of "Father Confessor" Paul Bern-- who would incidentally have his own bigamy issue of sorts concerning his common law wife Dorothy Millette when he later wed Jean Harlow-- and was handpicked by "Mr. Pep" Douglas Fairbanks to star opposite him in 1921's The Three Musketeers. Every man in existence seemed to fall under Barbara's spell, from homosexual BFF and sometimes "playmate" William Haines to the fawning Louis B. Mayer, who considered her "the most beautiful woman who had ever lived." Sadly, despite or because of her golden looks, Barbara's rough life never won her happiness nor did her trips to the altar gain her true love. She would pass away at the age of 29 after her hard-living body succumbed to tuberculosis. (Barbara right with Ramon Novarro in Trifling Woman).

Rudolph Valentino remains a controversial figure by nature. Uncovering his sexuality has become more important than studying and understanding his work or his influence on the entertainment industry. This is sad indeed. Neither answer, one would assume, should deter people from considering him an incredible cinematic force and one of the greatest symbols of sexual power to ever hit Hollywood. Ironically, one of the pieces of evidence used to argue whether Rudy belongs in the "homo" or "hetero" box is the bigamy case brought against him in 1922. As ever when it comes to this silent heartthrob, this debate remains heavily contested, frustrating, and unsolvable.

Rudy (right) married Jean Acker-- one of Alla Nazimova's cling-ons-- in 1919, a couple of years after he had made it to Los Angeles from Castellaneta, Italy. Unfortunately for Rudy, Jean turned out to be same-sex oriented. Thus, on their wedding night, rumors spread like wildfire that the ultimate lover Valentino had spent his honeymoon trying to beat down his lesbian wife's door. The argument here is that the marriage was a total set-up in order to hide the rising movie star's closeted homosexuality. Yet, Jean's reaction muddles this theory, as does the fact that Rudy hadn't yet obtained enough popularity to need such public protection as a mock marriage. So, was Rudy extremely surprised that night by his lover's reaction or did Jean had some serious second thoughts about their mutual ruse? Who the Hell knows... After a lot of back and forth in which the couple lived apart-- with Rudy allegedly trying to patch things up-- the duo settled on divorce. Though, Rudy's new girlfriend may have had something to do with it.

Rudy became enamored of Natacha Rambova-- yet another Alla Nazimova friend. (FYI-- Rudy hung around Alla quite a bit, which is used to both bolster and refute the homosexuality claims. Alla herself was bisexual, so you have the "guilt" by association slant, yet his association with her also spread his sex-God status. Allegedly, he once overpowered Alla so much in a sexual romp that she fainted mid-coitus). The same consternation of the Acker incident was repeated in the love affair of Rudy and Natacha, who was a creative and artistic force in his life. Rudy certainly preached old-fashioned ideals to friends in terms of marriage and family, but his attraction always veered toward the socially exotic. He was drawn to strength, divergence, and intellectual elevation in women. Whether this represents further proof toward his sexual preference or is irrelevant character information is still unanswered. Yet, his deep attachment to Natacha compelled him to hastily marry her on May 13, 1922 in Mexicali, Mexico. Natacha had assured him that their union would be legal outside the US, despite the fact that he had not waited the legally stipulated full year following his divorce from Jean. Such was not the case, and soon a warrant was out for his arrest!

Rudy turned himself in when the authorities informed him that the corrupt District Attorney Thomas Woolwine had charged him with bigamy on two counts-- both for his double marriage and his consummation of the second. When the case went to court, Rudy's defense argued that the second marriage was not truly legetimate as it had not been consummated. Natacha claimed that she had been ill on the wedding night and, to allow her to rest, Rudy had slept on the porch. This is often used as argument for the pro-homosexual party, as they claim it proves Rudy was not interested in sex with his wife. However, the true person sleeping on the porch that night-- a man physically seen by a passing Indian (?!?) was Douglas Gerrard, a friend who had served as the best man at the wedding. The perjuries committed by Natacha and friend Paul Ivano, who both supported the "unconsummated" defense, were considered a necessary evil to save Rudy from the slammer. The prosecution tried to refute these claims claims and pushed for proof of the standard Honeymoom Delight. They even produced the eye-witness testimony of a maid who had seen the couple wearing matching, purple pajamas while eating breakfast together the next morning. A couple that feeds together, breeds together.  (Feast or farce, right)?

The judge, who was just as confused as you are right now, became so irritated by the ridiculous  arguments and misplaced evidence that he finally had the bigamy charges dropped. An annulment of Rudy's marriage to Natacha necessarily followed to put things right, but this meant that the lovers were separated for a year until they could be properly married. Again. As Rudy's correspondence with Natacha at this time was typically overdramatic but honestly melancholy, it seems that the duo truly cared for each other, though they eventually proved to be incompatible. Had Rudy not died prematurely in 1926, a divorce would most likely have split them apart. Was part of that incompatibility sexual? I unfortunately would have to devote a separate website to that argument. But I do know that he was a bigamist...

...As was his Beyond the Rocks co-star, Gloria Swanson, but then, Gloria always went 'big' (see left). One of the most decadent stars of the silent era, this petite but powerful beauty commanded attention everywhere she went and wore the role of Hollywood Siren as if she had been born playing it. Of course, despite her violent hunger and ambition, Gloria didn't start her career as a lush and intoxicating force of nature. She allegedly began her cinematic employment at about the age of fifteen doing extra work at Essanay in Chicago. Allegedly, production was so taken with her beauty that she was signed to a contract. Before she knew it, she and her mother were moving out to California. Though she suffered through an emotionally scarring and brief marriage to Wallace Beery, Gloria emerged stronger, more resilient, and more determined. Soon enough, she was Cecil B. DeMille's chosen leading lady and one of the most followed fan-favorites in Hollywood.

With her assertive and somewhat intimidating beauty, Gloria had her share of lovers and slobbering supplicants-- from Joe Kennedy to Marshall Neilan-- and her taste for extravagance exposed itself in her six marriages. After Wallace came Herbert K. Somborn of "The Brown Derby" fame, then the dashing Marquis de la Falaise followed, whom she also divorced only to immediately marry Michael Farmer. It was due to this latter relationship that things got sticky. Gloria's impulsive need to be with Michael, which was driven by her severe case of ILL ('in love with love'), caused her to marry him in August of 1931 only to realize that she would not be free from her marriage to the amiable Marquis Henri until November. Thus, the lady received the temporary "bigamy stamp," which she quickly corrected, resolvedly returning to tie the knot with Farmer at end of the year as a legal eagle.

Despite the triumph, all was not smooth with this union. According the couple's biological daughter Michelle Farmer, Michael was "an Irish playboy" with a tendency toward alcoholism. This definitely soured the romance. In addition, despite her turbulent union with Beery (who had raped her on their wedding night), Gloria still craved a man who could, as Michelle put it, "dominate her... Men came into her life like machos and they left like poodles sitting up for a biscuit." Gloria unsuccessfully tried to find a match who could go toe to toe with her own arresting personality (right) while being his own breadwinner; someone to take care of her, while allowing her independence. Being a major and obscenely rich movie star, she was frequently disappointed by her masculine prospects. Such was the case this go-round, and Gloria and the insecure Michael eventually headed for the divorce courts. At least, she did... Michael threatened to sue her for bigamy (yet again!) if she chose to get a divorce without his consent. I guess he didn't know whom he was messing with. Gloria got the divorce two days prior to what would have been their 3rd wedding anniversary.

Gloria would wait over ten years before she faced the altar again, both because she had learned a valid lesson from her past mistakes and also because her career and her life changed a great deal with the talkie revolution. Her star did not shine as bright as it once had once her mysterious magic was forced to speak, despite her talent and strong voice. While struggling with personal issues, she would eventually come out swinging... and wedding. The next stud in her stable was George William Davey, whom she was tied to for less than a year. Her final marriage to William Duffy was the most successful, lasting a full seven years and being ended by her 1983 death. Who knows? Had she survived longer, she may have dragged her wedding gown out of mothballs a few more times!

CAST AWAYS: Part XIII

Jane Greer and Robert Mitchum: movie casting Heaven

in the Hellish masterpiece Out of the Past.

Time for another round of Would-a, Could-a, but Should-a???

Robert Mitchum is one of those heavyweight actors that the history of cinema would be unfathomable without. The very specific niche that he carved for himself-- half leading man/half mysterious outsider-- was an important step forward in the world of film acting. Actors with his earthy appeal and natural, unrehearsed acting style, combined with the guttural passions of John Garfield, for example, paved the way for the Method phenomenon that would soon take shape. It makes one wonder if we would have been ready for the impact of Brando without the Mitchum bridge to carry us over... For that reason alone, Out of the Past-- the film that further defined Bob's deviant, film noir persona-- carries great weight in moviedom. Had he missed this chance at what was to become a cult classic of fanatic proportions, Bob may have been pushed into an uncomfortable, more commercial corner of the business, which probably would have given him the urge to "adios" before he could make such a huge impact on the industry. This was very nearly the case, as the role of "Jeff" was first offered to the King of Noir, Humphrey Bogart (left). It made sense that writer Daniel Mainwaring would envision the lead of The Maltese Falcon, To Have and Have Not, and Dark Victory, in his tantalizing film about sexual manipulation-- with the usual, scintillating twists and turns. Fortunately for us, RKO was more interested in pushing their new rising actor and assigned Bob to the film. Bogie would have been good, no doubt, yet his aggressive toughness onscreen would not have made him easy prey to the luscious Jane Greer's diabolical machinations. Bogie's film persona always solved mysteries; he wasn't bamboozled by them. Bob, on the other hand, had the perfect blend of sinister elegance and man's man vulnerability to fit the role like a glove. Thus, Out of the Past is ad infinitum.

After 10 years in the business, Bob had staked his claim and earned some real elbow room. A dedicated but reluctant actor, Bob had always wanted to be a writer-- a family passion that was passed down to at least two of his children. One particular story that was constantly kicking around his head dealt with the moonshine business-- and its necessary use of fast cars. Soon enough, his pet project Thunder Road was going into production with him at the helm as lead star, producer, co-writer, and sometimes director. He did specific research for the film, studying all the different methods of making and transporting the homemade liquor, which he was, of course, happy to sample. The cast and crew would grow friendly with the locals of North Carolina during the shoot and even enjoyed borrowing "hot" cars for the film that were used by actual "criminal whiskey drivers." When it came to casting the role of his character's brother in the film, Bob thought immediately of Elvis Presley, whom he was been very impressed with in Love Me Tender (right). When Elvis was paid a visit by his hero-- the Robert Mitchum, (whose hairstyle he had copied from an early film to create his own signature look)-- he was absolutely ecstatic! Unfortunately, Elvis, as always, needed the permission of his overly controlling manager, Colonel Parker, before he could say "yes" to the deal. Bob, who never needed anyone's permission for anything, was understandably flustered by the younger man's codependence, and the chance passed Elvis by. Instead, Bob did the next smartest thing and cast his eldest son, Jim, in the role of "Robin Doolin." Heck, as father and son, they certainly looked like they shared the same DNA, so they made believable brothers. Though Jim, then 16, was never able to copy the success of his father's career, he did pursue acting after Thunder Road and, due to his golden name, was able to land some gigs in mostly B-features.

One of Bob's most memorable performances, and my personal favorite, was that of "Max Cady"-- the lecherous anti-hero of Cape Fear. The project began when the eternal American gent', Gregory Peck, read the novel The Executioners by John D. MacDonald. Being impressed with the subject matter, he passed the book to director J. Lee Thompson and suggested it as their next project. After screenwriter James R. Webb adapted the text into a taut, daring masterpiece about a lawyer vs. his recently released and vengeful former client-- a brutalizer and rapist-- the casting for Greg's counterpoint became a grave concern. Officially, the film was on a tight budget, so most of the moolah was going toward paying the star, Greg. Therefore, actors of less public and economic stature were initially suggested: Rod Steiger, Telly Savalas, etc. Still, it didn't  feel right. Then, Bob's name was thrown on the table, and a light went on over Greg's head! His walking opposite and another bankable name, Bob fit the bill perfectly! Greg made his pitch, but Bob wasn't interested. He had been overworked and was looking for respite. He knew a character like Max Cady would require a lot of energy and dedication, and he just wasn't up to it. So, tactically, the production team started asking his opinions on the character, and Bob started offering his advice and his own perceptions: "The whole thing with Cady, fellas, is that snakelike charm: "Me, officer? I never laid a hand on that girl..." While talking, he started to realize that this role was meant for him. Still, he demurred. Greg cleverly sent him flowers and bourbon, and later Bob gave him a call: "OK... I'm drunk. I'll do it." Praise the Lord, for never was there a Devil so Divine! (Greg and Bob wrestle in the Cape, left).

With all the recent hullabaloo about the Sam Raimi prequel Oz the Great and Powerful, it is interesting to look back on The Wizard of Oz. There are many good films, quite a few classics, but there are few that  are bigger than time itself. The tale of "Dorothy" and her motley, goofy cronies' trip down the yellow-brick road holds its own specific place in eternity, where it steadfastly continues to inspire the young and old, make new memories, and resurrect forgotten or too rarely indulged dreams of innocent fantasy. The strange behind-the-scenes disasters somehow managed to come across brilliantly on the silver screen: the birth of little girl Judy Garland as a true movie star, the mythic and vibrant coming of age story, the nostalgic "Over the Rainbow..." Everything fell into place as it should-- even Dorothy's tornado swept house, which was actually filmed dropping from the camera and then played in reverse so it appeared to be crashing to the ground-- right on the Wicked Witch of the East! The "Wicked Witch of the West," (Hell of an alliteration, that), is the one we really remember. Margaret Hamilton's green-faced performance of horror, hysteria, and camp is the very one that she seemed specifically born for. A character actress with a notoriously unusual profile, there was little chance that she would become a screen sensation, yet she remains a legend still. However, the role was originally given to the glamorous Gale Sondergaard (right). The first interpretation of the character was to have the Witch much more sensual: evil hiding in beauty. However, as production went along, it was realized that there firstly was no place for sex in Oz and secondly, Gale was not exactly a frightening threat. MGM decided they needed more edge, so they tested some "ugly" make-up on her, but Gale was so aghast at her mutilation that she resigned from the role. Margaret picked it up, and the film caught fire, burning infinitely! (This can be taken more literally, as Margaret actually did catch on fire at one point during filming)!

Ooh-la-ahhhhhh! Maggie works her [black] magic!

In case it has somehow escaped your notice, Sunset Boulevard is my favorite film. (I am actually pretty sure that I could run a blog specifically about Sunset and Lon Chaney and never run out of material). A movies about movies? The ultimate, silent celebrity playing the ultimate silent celebrity (and spider woman)? Billy Wider?! I mean... Come on! Holden's not bad to look at either, but that goes without saying. I've mentioned in a previous post that Mae West was actually offered the role of the fading movie icon, "Norma Desmond," but she wasn't the only one considered for the epic part. Before Gloria Swanson won the role-- which she thought was a mere supporting part, only to be surprised that she was yet again the leading lady after so many years-- there was another woman in the running. When one thinks of silent cinema, of top Hollywood figures, of heroes, legends, and the talents that built this industry, there is only one woman who could ever bear the name "Mother Hollywood," and that is Mary Pickford (left). Mary's life was slowly starting to resemble that of Norma Desmond by the time she was offered the role. As she spent a great deal of her latter days in hermitage in her fading temple, Pickfair, grappling with her own sanity-- I'm literally making a sad face as I write this, :(-- her casting in the film, in retrospect, would seem not only to be a product of synchronicity at its best, but her understanding of the role and her presence in the film would have certainly made it a phenomenon. Yet, there were some hiccups. Mary may have been a bit too perfect for the role, for she immediately started indulging in her too little exercised inner diva of old. She felt the film should center entirely around Norma, making Holden's "Gillis" a mere speck of dust in the periphery of her own magnificent mania! Wilder wasn't sold on Mary's ideas, as they eliminated the bulk of the story. So, he went back to the drawing board and cooked up some other fading screen madams, including Pola Negri. Yet, it was Gloria Swanson's destiny to breathe vivid and disturbing life into Ms. Desmond, which she did to perfection. For that, Gloria, I heart you forever!

"We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!" Damn straight, Gloria!!!

CAST AWAYS: A 'Big' Favor Between Friends

Wallace Beery gets tough in The Champ.

Wallace Beery remains a controversial figure in cinematic history. Far from the typical, handsome leading man, the beefy Beery became a success regardless of, and perhaps because of, his rough mug. On the one hand, you have his acting talent, which brought him great acclaim for his performances in some of the most enjoyable, popular and nostalgic films of the early, burgeoning studio era, such as The Champ, Tugboat Annie, and Dinner at Eight. On the other, you hear stories of his notorious temper, penchant for violence, and general jack-ass tendencies. Co-stars like Jackie Cooper and Jean Harlow claimed that Beery was less-than-friendly between takes on the various projects on which they worked together. Of course, this could be chalked up to insecurity-- a common, human frailty. But then there is Gloria Swanson's horrendous account of her wedding night with Beery, who in her description, essentially raped her. Their marriage was, needless to say, brief. There are also those nagging rumors about the death of Ted Healy, whom Wallace may or may not have beaten to death in a drunken brawl at the Trocadero with the help of Pat DiCicco and Albert R. Broccoli. The public was told that a trio of college boys had been responsible for the death of Ted, the creator of "The Three Stooges." Clearly, Beery was a complicated individual, perhaps even dangerously so. Yet, despite his hardened edge, he had a multitudes of fans, one of whom was another co-star, Louise Brooks, a woman who was not prone to pretense or bull-sh*tters.

Further complicating the Beery mystery-- was he a misunderstood good guy or a temperamentally evil bad seed?-- is the friendship he shared with Lon Chaney. If anyone could sniff out a fake, it was Lon, who kept his closest friends at arms' length and his enemies in the Ozarks. If he had felt that Wallace was a menace, he would have avoided him like the plague. However, these two fellows hit it off when they met doing work in silent pictures, including their collaboration in Victory. In addition to sharing a birthday-- April Fool's Day, with Lon two years Wallace's senior-- the duo both had roots in theater and were notorious hams between takes, often clowning around together. Lon had a profound effect on Wallace, who must have looked up to him, not only as an incomparable actor, but as a genuine human being. Lon's saintlike, Monkish, and oh-so-private existence stood in sharp contrast to Wallace's hard-drinking, hard-playing bitterness and mommy issues. Lon perhaps saw in Wallace a man struggling against demons and felt compassion for him.

Lon indulges his evil side, in a publicity still for The Unknown.

In any case, after Lon's surprising, premature death in 1930, Wallace was one of many to speak out in candid reverence for his friend: "Lon Chaney was the one man I knew who could walk with kings and not lose the common touch." Therefore, it must have been an odd feeling when he usurped the role of "Butch" in The Big House, which it is said had been intended for Lon before he succumbed to the illness that would claim his life. Certainly, Wallace must have enjoyed the success that the film achieved, and certainly he would have been honored to have fulfilled an obligation for his deceased friend. Still, it must have been hard saying the lines, going through the motions, when he knew that they were intended for another man, one of few whom he apparently held dear. (Interestingly, Wallace would also appear in 1941's The Bugle Sounds, which bore the same title as a silent film slated to be a Chaney picture that never came to be. In the original, Wallace and Lon were to be cast opposite each other as rival sergeants).

Insert Lon HERE: ---------------------------------------------^

Chester Morris and Wallace in The Big House.

In a way, Beery picked up where Lon left off. Though very different types-- Lon the master emotional and physical contortionist, and Beery the big lug with usually menacing intentions-- Beery's career skyrocketed with the advent of sound, and he portrayed a slew of memorable character roles that Lon himself may have been offerend as well. The bonds of friendship are strange, but Wallace's relationship with Lon at least earns him one point in an otherwise questionable life.

If You Love Charlie...

... You Will Buy This Calendar!

Support the preservation of silent cinema. The 2013 edition is dedicated to Flying Machines!

Go HERE to place your order, "Please" and "Thank You." (On behalf of Chaplin. And Keaton. And Swanson. Oh, and Pickford... And Valentino... And Gish... And Chaney, etc, etc, etc...).

STAR OF THE MONTH: Clara Bow

Clara Bow

Clara Bow has always been one of my favorites. However, I have put off an analysis of her life for some time. Her films make me incredibly happy, but her life story has a way of making me severely depressed. Nonetheless, this is one woman well worth investigating. With a name like Clara Bow, which needed no alteration when she hit Hollywood, it seemed like this diamond in the rough was bound for a life in lights. However, the truth of Clara's history, upbringing, and experiences in show business tell quite a different story. She was one of the first successful personas to enter the film business in its second generation. The world of Hollywood was on a major high by the time the 1920s hit. The collision of film's solid foundation with a quickly changing world would be simultaneously fabulous and fatal. Clara's peers would come of age in an industry built on shattered dreams. Former top-notch celebs like Fatty Arbuckle, Mabel Normand, and Wallace Reid were some of the fallen stars whose reputations uncovered then destroyed the illusion of Tinsel Town's perfection. Clara's gang of "flappers" would be more real. They rebelled against Hollywood's established ideals while embracing and running amok with the glamour. However, there was a price to be paid for this frivolity, for now that the public knew that its Golden Gods weren't impenetrable, they seemed even more intent on breaking them down than they once had been on building them up. Clara would be one of the first and the worst victims of this tragedy. Her sad fate is no shocker considering how she began. Once upon a time in Brooklyn...

~   ~   ~

...Clara was born. Two elder siblings had died at birth, making her the third-times-the-charm child of Robert Bow and Sarah Gordon on July 29, 1905. Unfortunately, her birth wasn't all that "wanted." In fact, her mentally unstable mother resented her own life and marriage to Robert to such an extent that she had hoped to die in child birth. Clara was, thus, forever punished for not killing her mother. She too was punished for surviving. Her mother's erratic behavior, mood swings, and psychotic episodes-- including violent death threats-- were co-mingled with Robert's lack of interest in familial responsibility and avid participation in alcoholism, philandering, wife-beating, and the eventual sexual abuse of his 16-year-old daughter. Growing up in impoverished tenements, Clara had few friends, save one that she witnessed burned alive. Mocked by the girls in class for the scraps that served as her clothing and her crippling stutter, Clara got along slightly better with neighborhood boys, playing stick ball and offering up a left hook to any punk who thought he could elbow his way around her. She was forced to leave her education behind at the age of 14 to help support her family, which she did by getting a job slicing buns at Nathan's hot dog stand in "Coney Island." Despite the harsh nature of her life, Clara's nature was never harsh. She continually blamed herself for her parents' actions, sought to appease them, and defended them when necessary. When Robert first caved and decided to take Sarah to a mental institution, Clara begged him to let her mother remain at home. Clara knew that Sarah wasn't right in the head, and she believed that deep down she really loved her. She was willing to do whatever it took to find that love.

Winning the "Fame and Fortune" contest didn't do Clara any favors.

She had to pound the pavement like any other actress. She

won respect by giving soulful and vibrant performances

such as this one in Down to the Sea in Ships.

Another solution in this quest for adoration was cinema. Clara wished to be the recipient of the same level of awe and respect that she had given her idols, one of whom was Mary Pickford. She knew if she could get on the big screen, she could change her life and the lives of her family. It seemed like a hopelessly desperate dream, but when Clara saw the opportunity, she seized it. She entered Brewster Publications' "Fame and Fortune" contest in 1921 and was shocked to find herself a finalist. Her naturalism and pep during her audition was a far cry from the other ladies, who had walked through their actions with contrived posture... and rudeness. The majority of the girls made fun of Clara's paltry outfit. She had the last laugh on that count when she won the big prize-- a bit part in a major motion picture! Her mother's congratulations was calling her a "hoor." Clara's first project as an actress was in Beyond the Rainbow. Little was expected from her, and her hard-won role wound up on the cutting room floor. Right after the film's release, Clara woke to find her mother brandishing a knife over her bed. As a result, Sarah Bow was institutionalized yet again on Feb. 24, 1922. Despite this upset and the dismal outlook of her cinematic future, which the Movies had assuredly already tossed in the scrap heap, Clara put herself to work, trying to find auditions and other acting gigs. She heard all the worst: too young, too fat, too short, etc. When Elmer Clifton took a chance on her, casting her in Down to the Sea in Ships, it changed her life. It was a contest that brought Clara into the world of film, but by God it was her talent that was going to keep her there!

Clara got down and dirty in Grit, and impressed director

Frank Tuttle in the process.

Clara jumped off the screen in Down to the Sea in Ships, stealing every scene she was in, and making memorable a film that would otherwise have been a run-of-the-mill dud. Her innate charisma and emotional instinct brought more attention and another role in Enemies of Women. While filming, Clara would learn that her mother, who still protested against her chosen profession, was dead. She received the news from her father while she danced on a table for one particular scene. She would always carry the guilt that it was the one thing in life that brought her the most joy that killed her "Mama." Robert, on the other hand, was ecstatic about Clara's career. The money and the increasing fame was working out well where he was concerned, as was his access to beautiful women, whom he made certain to introduce himself to on Clara's sets. Clara overlooked his behavior, believing that he was all she had left. When she started work on Grit and met 2nd cameraman Artie Jacobson, she would meet the first of many men that would sincerely care for her. The two fell for each other quickly, and after Clara made the move from New York to Hollywood, she and Artie would even begin scandalously and un-apologetically living together in sin. Clara's lack of qualm when it came to her personal life would cause quite a furor later on, but for now she was not quite popular enough for it to matter. Her new "boss," Ben Schulberg of Preferred Pictures, would make sure that she became plenty famous in due time.

The Grande Dame of BS, Elinor Glyn, dubs Clara the perfect representative 

of IT. In the film, Clara defines what "it"  really is: charisma, fire, sexuality, 

magnetism, character, strength... perfection.

Clara's popularity started taking off in The Plastic Age, but it was the iconic It that solidified her as a bona fide star, not to mention legend. With the publicity boost of the infamous Elinor Glyn dubbing Clara the 'It' girl, Clara became the leader in a legion of women who were embracing the new found freedom of the roaring-est decade in American history. Clara's heroine in It was more or less copied in her following films: all were openly sensual women living life on their own terms. They liked to dance, laugh, tease, and have fun where they may. Yet, they too were strong, sassy, and warm. Clara's own soulful sadness and world-weary knowledge would give her brazen females a gravity and honesty that rendered their spirited antics celebratory instead of defamatory. Clara's girls were basically good girls in the end, so all of the spunk Clara projected was digestible to the more uptight members of the American audience. Everyone seemed to agree that the It girl indeed had it, and their worship of her and clamoring for her films made her Hollywood's biggest star. (Louise Brooks was a huge fan). Clara was full of life, magnetic, electric, and yet kind. She too was a real girl, approachable-- incredibly beautiful with big, liquid eyes, but still un-intimidating. She wasn't a goddess on a pedestal like some of the other silent film Queens-- Gloria Swanson or Norma Talmadge, for example. She was a kid from Brooklyn, and a kid most importantly. In an era where the flaming youth notoriously burned the candle at both ends, Clara was the heat that ignited the wick.

Clara too continued to impress her directors, who marveled at her ability to so easily vacillate between giggles and tears. She so naturally was able to indicate her characters' hidden feelings and articulate their outward impulses that the director needed to tell her little more than where to stand-- not that she ever was able to stand in one place anyway. She drove her devoted cameramen crazy by whirling around the set, making it nearly impossible for them to keep up with her jazzy tempo. Her films continued to do sensational business: Wings, Get Your Man, Red Hair, etc. Having transferred to Paramount with B.P. Schulberg, she was the studio's number one cash veal. As a result, Schulberg worked her like a dog, putting her on a back-breaking filming schedule with little room for respite. Clara never complained, being in love with her work, but she did have moments of nervous exhaustion. In addition, the material she was given plummeted in integrity after It. Paramount had discovered that audiences would come to see the It girl no matter What, so they bothered little with structuring interesting plot-lines around her or trying to build her reputation. They let her charisma ride and watched the receipts roll in. Clara yearned for dramatic roles and the chance to prove the depths of her great emotion and experience, but the chances kept passing her by. This would hurt her later on.

Coop never stood a chance: Clara's buoyant humor and warmth charmed

him the moment they started filming Children of Divorce. The 

love affair wouldn't last. His old fashioned values couldn't

tolerate her modern temperament.

Her reputation was already in danger considering her candid demeanor and scandalous love-life. Clara had been taught as a child, by her mother Sarah, that men were dogs and not to be trusted. One must use her sexual wiles to control them without falling into their traps. Clara absorbed this lesson while hiding in a childhood cupboard when her mother was forced to entertain various "Uncles" during one of Robert Bow's countless absences. Money was short, and Sarah's heart grew harder. Clara was a much warmer and more loving woman than her mother had ever been, but emotional closeness was still difficult for her as a result of her childhood experiences. As such, she made a switch on the gender roles and often strung multiple men along at once-- most infamously juggling Victor Fleming, Gary Cooper, and Gilbert Roland all at the same time. Ideally, she wanted to settle down and be a normal, family gal, but the energy in her bones did not take well to domination. Eventually, she would need a safe place; for now, she made hay while the sun shined.

Clara's demise came from three hefty punches: the talkies, the depression, and the public. With a heavy New-Yawkuh accent and a stutter that reappeared in moments of stress, Clara was bewildered by the talkie revolution. The mic became a foe, and an unnecessary one, for Clara's charms and voice transferred well to sound. Yet, her "mic fright"-- which was exemplified when her eyes continually rose upward in search of it while she was performing her scenes-- was a symptom of something much more debilitating in her psyche. Only in her early twenties, Clara was already exhausted. She dealt with her father and extended family feeding off her, she was betrayed by countless friends,  was taken for a song by her business manager, and her studio still gave her no respect. Despite her popularity, she still earned far less than her contemporaries. Her desire to keep moving to keep from feeling was also catching up with her-- as was a series of broken hearts.

Clara put on her usual, brave face during her first talkie, 

The Wild Party, but her inner anxiety made her mic 

fright nearly unendurable.

The Depression didn't hut her financially, as her savings were in a trust for the most part, but the national temper had altered. Living fast and frolicking like there was no tomorrow made no sense to a country that saw only infinite, darkening clouds. Therefore, her usually un-stoppable film formula no longer worked as well. Then, the press started haranguing Clara out to dry, as it were. One of the first victims of harsh, gossip rag mags and swill publications, Clara was publicly defamed as a whore. She must have heard her mother's voice crying at her from the grave: "Hoor!" Her sex life became public, exaggerated, inaccurate knowledge, and before Clara knew it, she was being accused of screwing everything from her pet Great Dane to the USC football team. Why? Because she never concealed who she was or who she was currently infatuated with. Other starlets lived the same lifestyle, but wore masks of deceit and contrived innocence. As the times wound down, society no longer wanted "fast" girls, and Clara quite simply couldn't take it slow.

Clara said her mouth smiled, but never her eyes. In this 

melancholy photo, it is easy to see the pain they bear.

After an emotionally draining court case against her secretary Daisy DeVoe and a nervous breakdown, Clara escaped from Hollywood with her latest and most loyal beloved, Rex Bell, to a ranch in Nevada. Betrayed by those she had trusted, defamed by the fans who had made her famous, Clara decided to try something she never had: old-fashioned happiness. She and Rex were married. It worked... for awhile. While Rex supported her with his own acting and growing political career, Clara enjoyed the peace and serenity of isolation. It was a welcome relief. She returned to Hollywood to make two final features-- Call her Savage and Hoop-la-- and then she retired permanently. Part of the reason was her newly discovered psychiatric condition: schizophrenia. The condition slowly pulled her apart at the seams and pulled her away from her family, which had grown to include sons Tony and George. A failed suicide attempt and her increasingly erratic and unendurable behavior made Rex fearful of his wife and sons' safety, as well as his own sanity. The boys were sent to military school, Clara lived on her own-- in apartments and occasionally at sanatoriums-- and Rex continued earning the bread and butter. A sweet, generous, and charismatic guy, he continued to put on a brave face as Lt. Governor of Nevada, even though Clara and he were married in name only. He never obtained a divorce-- even when Clara's normally decent and entertaining behavior became vindictive-- remaining loyal to the woman who couldn't help herself. Clara became sad and even a litte bitter with the distance, but too quaked in fear at the idea of being in a domestic atmosphere. The pressure and responsibility of family life is what surprisingly sent her on her downward spiral. She accepted that she was better off where she was, yet she still missed the dream life she once had and felt continual guilt toward her husband and sons as a result.

The smiling Bell family in better days. The tension and fear in 

Clara's face is already poignant.

She too missed the movies, of which she remained a devoted fan. She adored Marilyn Monroe and Marlon Brando. She spent her time keeping up with new Hollywood, reading innumerable books- normally historical non-fiction-- and keeping up on her correspondence. Still, like Garbo, she allowed few visitors, save for perhaps her sons and Gilbert Roland, who had remained a devoted friend. It seemed the world had forgotten her, though she did obtain fan letters all the time, proof that she was indeed remembered and still adored. People wanted more Clara; Clara had no more to give. She passed away peacefully on Sept. 27th 1965 just past midnight. She was watching her ex-lover Gary Cooper in The Virginian as it played on Television. She probably sat thinking about the good old days and the magic that she had encountered when she was a part of that distant world of the movies. 

While Clara always carried within her a deep sadness, the

fighter in her always came out swinging. She emitted 

joy over despair. We are still reeling from her 

sucker punch.

Though her ending seems tragic, Clara wouldn't have accepted pity. She never did. She never felt sorry for herself, nor did she harbor any resentment against a world that had dealt her such repeated, dirty knocks. The same vivacious spirit and emotional generosity that she shared in her performances, which made her the studio favorite of every crew she ever worked with, is also the same quality that continues to intrigue modern audience. Dorothy Arzner said of her: "They all called Clara 'the "It" Girl,' the outstanding 'flaming youth.' Well, she was all that, but I think she was also the one flaming youth that thought." It is ironic that a woman who devoted her brief career in film to escaping her demons was worshipped because the sincerity of her personal horrors always infiltrated her performances and gave them truth. Because Clara was always able to relate to her characters, we were always able to relate to her. Most importantly, even after her death, she continues to give of herself in order to make others feel better. Clara was and is fun. Her Cinderella story didn't end with a happily-ever-after, but whoever wanted a perfect heroine anyway? It was Clara's earthy, brazen, unpretentious personality that surprisingly made her brief tenure as the Queen of Hollywood as unexpected as it is enduring.