THE REEL REALS: Ann Dvorak

Ann Dvorak

Ann Dvorak didn't have time for bull sh*t. A gifted and daring actress who graced the screen-- large and small-- from the late 'teens to the early fifties, she was too much of a free agent to be reined in by studio stipulation, general opinion, or flat out nonsense. A child of divorce, she learned self-resilience early, and her exploratory heart and avaricious curiosity compelled her to thrust the tough but elegant woman she was into the artistic realm where her passion could rule. She luckily brought along her common sense.

She had an early start, growing up on film sets, but it would be in the thirties that she had her big break. After serving as a dance instructor, her gal pal Joan Crawford introduced her to Howard Hughes who soon cast her in Scarface as Cesca-- the sister whom Paul Muni's gangster has quite obvious, incestuous feeling for. Unabashed at such controversial subject matter, she became one of the go-to girls during the sultry pre-code days, her other most popular piece being Three on a Match in which she portrayed a fallen woman, drug addicted mother, and eventual suicide victim. Pretty heavy.

However, almost as soon as her career started taking off, she ran into trouble with studios, mostly because she had a habit for ignoring contracts or all out defying them. Her life belonged to herself and no one else, which was an outlook the grinding Hollywood machine did not take to kindly. She ran off to get married, was suspended, then brazenly combated her low salary rate as well as the poor quality of her films and roles. The result was an eventual and tedious escape from her contract to freelance. She would never become as big a star as some of her contemporaries because of this. She quite simply didn't like to play games. She preferred to increase the lexicon of her ever-growing library and expand her mind and horizons instead of her celebrity.

She spent the last nearly thirty years of her life off screen and away from the public eye, most probably enjoying the fact that she was actually living life instead of merely pretending to live someone else's. Unlike many others, she merely hovered around Hollywood instead of allowing her soul to be immersed in it and therefore stolen. She had her own plans and left us with exactly what she was willing to give and nothing more. This isn't the best news for us, because her remaining work makes one want to see more, but you have to respect a woman with boundaries.

MENTAL MONTAGE: The Direct-ators Part II



Lily Garland (Carole Lombard) gives her director/ex-lover Oscar Jaffe
(John Barrymore) a kick  in the pants in Twentieth Century.

You hear the name Audrey Hepburn and you think, "greedy little diva," am I right? Umm, not so much, (see adorableness, left). Audrey was pretty much the most cooperative and amiable actress in Hollywood, at work and in life. Though a serious actress who was hard on herself and stuck to her guns when it counted, it could hardly be said that she instigated egotistical wars on the sets of her films. One would be hard pressed to find a director who had anything but nice things to say about her. Billy Wilder would once joke that he was lucky that his wife's name was also Audrey, as he often called her name in his sleep! From the beginning of her career, Audrey seemed to enchant people. A hopeful dancer, she worked her way up from early theater work to her eventual experimentation with the movies. Audrey had very few films under her belt when she started working on the film Young Wives' Tale for Associated British Pictures Corporation-- the other ABC-- in London. She had previously been discovered by Robert Lennard, who had scooped her from the cabaret show she performed in at Ciro's. She had performed but two bit parts in Laughter in Paradise and One Wild Oat  by 1951, but she was already making an impression on industry players.

Certainly, Audrey assumed that the romantic comedy Young Wives' Tale (right) would be the standard-hit-your-mark-and-smile gig, particularly since she had a very small role as a typist. The focus of the film would be on lead performers Helen Cherry and Nigel Patrick. Nonetheless, somehow, some way, Audrey managed to earn director Henry Cass's antipathy-- perhaps because he was the sort of director who needed one person to pick on. (Orson Welles once admitted that he liked to fire someone at the beginning of every film, just to make it clear who was in charge). Perhaps with her soft personality and fragile appearance, Cass assumed that Audrey would be an easy mark for his ego game. Audrey was tough enough to behave professionally and take all of his unnecessary hits, but the consistent diatribes and verbal abuse she suffered under Cass's harassment often left her in tears. In later years, she would openly admit that Wives' was "the only unhappy picture [she] ever made." Still, she had her victory. Cass should have known to look out for the quiet ones. His film was panned and the only positive notice it received was generally due to underdog Audrey. Cass probably felt like an ass having wasted a golden opportunity to work with a rising star. He probably felt even worse when she made Roman Holiday and hit it big, never looking back or submitting to undue tyranny again!

Another classy lady forced to put up her dukes was Ingrid Bergman (left). This ambitious actress had the air of an angel and the fire of a warrior. Put these things together, and you get quite the combustible artistic passion! Ingrid's work was her everything. She hurled herself into her roles with a violence that few of her contemporaries, predecessors, or followers could match. Yet, her kittenish and amiable nature kept the drama where it belonged-- "in the can." On set, she was the perfect soldier, totally cooperative and only vehemently outspoken when she had something particular to add to her characterizations or the project as a whole. She didn't make waves, because the work came first. As such, she was basically a director's ideal. One would think that this made her a shoe-in for the rapidly-moving, no nonsense W.S. Van Dyke. Such was not the case. "Woody" had a habit for wrapping a scene in one take-- thus the genesis of his nickname "One Take Woody." Additionally, he had the personality of a crotchety corporal. He was able to make some allies in the industry, his most notable partnership being with William Powell and Myrna Loy in the Thin Man series, but his sharp-shooting and unsympathetic methods could rub some people the wrong way. If you were a pro, hit your marks, and gave him no lip, all was well, but woe betide anyone who went against his current.

Ingrid was very frustrated with master Van Dyke (right) when they began filming Rage in Heaven. A sensitive actress interested in doing deep, developmental, emotional work, Ingrid was thrown for a loop when her hyperactive and irritable director began running manic circles around her. It was fairly clear to all involved that this movie was destined to be a clunker, and equally that Woody wasn't wasting his time putting any fine spit and polish on what he deemed another, shoddy melodrama. He wanted to get the job done quickly-- in and out. Ingrid's hopes for doing her best with the material were thus not supported by her director. Robbed of extra takes and the opportunity to perfect her performance, Ingrid was irked. She also disliked the way Van Dyke was barking orders at the rest of the cast-- including Robert Montgomery and George Sanders-- and crew. One day, while watching Woody run back and forth slinging insults, she decided to unleash her inner Hell cat. She really let him have it too! Out came a fierce little speech about his dispassion for performance art, general inconsiderateness, and lazy, ignorant mode of direction. Then Ingrid nailed him with, "Why don't you put on roller skates so you can go quicker from one place to another!" Well, Woody went wooden! He mumbled something about her being "fired," but later he slipped into her dressing room-- hat in hand, you could say-- and apologized for his behavior, promising to be a good boy. He was, and for the remainder of the shoot, Ingrid was worshipped by all for her bold tongue thrashing W.S. Van Hush.

But of all the bad asses of film, Robert Mitchum (left) probably delivered the best back hands. He could easily be managed by women, but when it came to men, look out! The harder people tried to rein him in, the more he just wanted to rebel. To begin with, he hated all the pretension that came with show business, and he could take the majority of the self-important people he worked with just as easily as he could leave 'em. Just so long as the director, cast, and crew knew what they were doing and left him alone to do his job, Bob was fine. At worst, when annoyed with someone or something, he would just take off fishing for days to make his point-- he'd rather be fishing anyway. Sometimes, there were a few dudes that got him worked up, and when that came, the foe would either find himself on the wrong end of one of Bob's furious and unexpected punches and beat downs, or worse-- the mark of his latest practical joke.

John Farrow was one of the first to learn this the hard way. An impossible alcoholic and "mean, ruthless son of a bitch," Farrow wasn't making a lot of friends on the set of Where Danger Lives-- a film co-starring Howard Hughes' infamous protégé Faith Domergue (right). Now, on a personal level, Bob was kind of simpatico with John-- who was then married to Maureen O'Sullivan and later father to Mia. The two men were both lovers of liquor and were hard-asses overdosing on machismo. Yet, where John was cruel bordering on sadistic, Bob was generally putting on a farce to cover his more sentimental side. He was entertained by Farrow's rudeness and vitriol, but he was quickly angered when it became directed at him. For example, his character was to tumble down three flights of stairs in Danger. Naturally, it was suggested that an experienced stuntman be used, but Farrow would have none of it. To wield his power and bolster his own ego, he demanded that Bob perform the stunt himself. Well, Bob knew this was a game. He could either say "no" and be insulted for being a sissy, or he could take the plunge and probably break his neck. As was his way, he opted for the latter. Despite protest from the rest of the cast, Bob tossed himself down the stairs. One take was enough; Bob stood up a success but dizzy and worse for the wear. Still, Farrow demonically told Bob to do the stunt again. Now, Bob was stubborn, but not crazy. He calmly told Farrow to go f*ck himself. After all, he'd proved his point, and Farrow knew he wouldn't make it one round opposite Bob in the ring, so the scene was indeed wrapped.

This battling duo was re-teamed on the follow-up project, the odd but delightful noir His Kind of Woman-- which would be a triumph in Bob's career as well as in his buddy and co-star Jane Russell's (right). Farrow was on better behavior to Bob and the rest of the major players this time, including Vincent Price and Raymond Burr, but he was still mean as a viper to the lower rungs on the cinema ladder. He knew that Bob couldn't be intimidated, and as Jane could hold her own and was equally under Bob's protection, filming went rather smoothly. The trick was to give the vindictive director as good as he got. If you couldn't match his venom or at least take his jabs as a joke, you would become the prey to his always ravenous predator. Well, Bob hadn't forgotten his treatment during Where Danger Lives, and he could certainly notice the way Farrow was mistreating people. This, according to Bob's surprising moral code, was unacceptable. He also noticed that John liked to drink from one particular bottle of Scotch in his trailer every day. Hmm... Now, it can't be proven just who did it, nor who instigated it, but one day a group of daring men snuck into Farrow's trailer, poured out half of the rare, pricey Scotch he so loved, and took turns... refilling it with a little help from their bladders. From that moment on, Farrow may have maintained his unashamed onslaughts, but no one seemed to mind. At least, not as soon as he took an ignorant sip of his specially made cocktail.

Another hard-liner was Otto Preminger, with whom Bob would work on Angel Face and River of No Return. Clearly, Otto had a little insecurity issue when it came to women, particularly beautiful women. He had a habit of sadistically terrorizing a majority of the actresses he worked with, behaving quite tyrannical and merciless in his criticism of them. Bob, who again had a soft spot for the ladies, didn't take too well to these tirades during Angel Face. Jean Simmons was the chosen victim on the film. Despite the strong-willed English beauty's incredible talent, she still managed to run afoul of the Austro-Hungarian Otto, who was a true genius at his craft but a living Hell to work with. His attacks in this particular case were further fueled at the insistence of Howard Hughes, who had been unable to get the defiant actress into bed. Otto's resulting attacks on Jean were unrelenting. "He absolutely, totally destroyed me," she would recall. When it came to a scene wherein Bob was to slap Jean, he naturally was able to feign the hit so it looked believable. Still-- just to be a creeper-- Otto insisted he do it again. For real. Jean was tough, so she told her co-star to go ahead. Bob adhered but yet again held back his full force, only grazing Jean's cheek. Otto demanded that he do it again, again, again, each time insisting that  the slap didn't look real in the close-up shot. Jean's cheek was growing red, and Bob was growing more and more nervous that he was truly hurting her, so when Otto howled out "Vunce more," once more, Bob lost it. "Once more?!" he yelled. With that, Bob slapped Otto clean across his stunned mug. Otto turned red and was soon on the phone demanding that Mitchum be replaced! No dice. Bob was there to stay. Somehow, the film was finished with no blood being spilled.

Bob was understandably unenthusiastic about Otto's following harassment of Marilyn Monroe during River of No Return, but at least in this case, Otto had already learned his lesson and knew that going too far would mean a punch in the jaw. Thus, through the intimidation of his pure presence, Bob was able to keep Otto in line. In fact, Otto even asked Bob to act as the go-between when director and actress stopped speaking. It could be said that Bob behaved as Marilyn's private director during filming, as he was able to get a performance out of her despite Otto's attempts at terrorizing the sensitive actress. He was even able to counteract the interfering instructions of Marilyn's then acting coach, Natasha Lytess, whose instruction of Marilyn's over-enunciation and exaggerated eye and lip movements did less to perfect her acting abilities than paint her as a sexual cartoon. He encouraged Marilyn to ignore Natasha and that they just perform a given scene "like human beings." While the humbled Otto sat behind the camera, Bob and Marilyn completed the project unscathed. Marilyn was eternally grateful to substitute brother Bob, whom she would describe as, "one of the most interesting, fascinating men I have ever known."

While I have painted some of Hollywood's best filmmakers in very bad lighting, it should be said that sometimes a little authority goes a long way. Directing a film is not an easy job. There are a lot of balls to juggle, including forming a coherent and visually compelling storyline, staying on schedule, and dealing with unpredictable diva temper tantrums. A master of the perfect blend of work and play was Howard Hawks-- with whom Bob worked in El Dorado. John Wayne was the star of the film, and he had come a long way from his days of being John Ford's whipping boy, and was now one of the biggest stars in the world. Things were much easier on a Hawks set. Whose policy was, as someone once said, "to make good pictures while having a good time." There was a definite feeling of camaraderie, and Bob and Duke got along like peas and carrots and had a mutual love and respect for their skilled ,yet laid back, director. Of course, despite being chums, Howard knew when he had to step up and play the father figure from time to time, just to keep his boys from acting up or getting into trouble.

One particular evening, the cast and crew had wrapped another long night, but besides Hawks-- who liked to get his rest before the next day's shooting-- the wild boys' club was just getting revved up for the night. The typical late-night bro-fest included alcohol, cards, and Bob occasionally holding someone in a headlock-- the usual. Well, this time things got a little carried away, with everyone was making way too much noise! Ed Asner, who was also a member of the gang, started getting worried that this little shindig was getting out of control. If they woke up Howard, there was going to be Hell to pay! They were hushed by neighbors several times, they would cool down, be quiet as mice, but inevitably they would start getting obnoxious again-- boys will be boys, as they say. While Ed started the sweat and Bob laughed a cussed, there came the loud thundering of three Bangs! outside. One of the stunned fellas opened the front door to take a peek at the source of the ruckus. There, standing in his PJs and pointing the gun he had just fired into the air at their heads, was Howard Hawks-- clearly grumpy that his bedtime had been interrupted. "Goddamn it," he said. "If I see anybody not in their bed in five minutes, they're on the goddamn plane outta here!" The white-faced boys scrambled out of that room like their britches were on fire and hopped right into bed. Now that is how you run a picture!

Duke and Bob in El Dorado-- two drunks caught-red handed and
reprimanded by director Howard Hawks.

HISTORY LESSON: Performers in the Pen- Part I

Robert Mitchum enjoys a cigarette in prison, ironically

when he was arrested for smoking something else.

When Robert Mitchum was interviewed regarding his work on Crossfire (1947), a press agent asked him why he chose to perform in the film (in the role of "Keeley"). His response was: "I hate cops." This retort was mostly the product of his nonsensical and irreverent style-- he didn't care much for studio publicity-- but it was also partially true. Having several brushes and skirmishes with the law, Bob had certainly earned a touch of antipathy toward the police force. However, any personal anger was diluted by his equal sense of humor about his sketchy past, which at least supplied him with plenty of material for his favorite hobby of storytelling. He wasn't the only one with an entertaining or embarrassing stain on his history. Over the years, the very public brother- and sisterhood of celebrity cellmates has only increased. Today, they seem like a piece of daily news, but back in the day, when movie stars' reputations were protected at all costs, their little, legal slips and slides were better hidden-- and thus all the more scandalous when they landed on the front page.

Bob didn't have to delve too deeply for his characterization of resentful ex-con

"Max Cady" in Cape Fear, having spent some time 

"in the clink" himself.

Bob had an early start in building his criminal record. He would later joke that he had been arrested at least 37 times in his life, but this was probably more of that legendary Mitchum exaggeration.  However, there are several events of which the public is now aware. For starters, Bob was arrested for vagrancy when on a train-hopping kick in his teens. Many towns held a grudge against these legions of traveling bums, who wandered in and out of various communities, muddying up the view. Thus, when Bob hit Savannah, GA-- where he was innocently picking up some money that his mother had been kind enough to send-- he was immediately accosted and taken to the station. Bob always maintained that he was arrested for simply being poor. The county tried to tack a shoe department burglary onto his charge, but even the judge had to admit that this was ridiculous. He did spend 7 days in Chatham County Camp No. 1 for the vagrancy charge, but when he learned that the guards had a tendency to extend sentences in order to keep incarcerated laborers on the chain gang, Bob promptly took a run through the woods and escaped! He found life safer at home in Delaware.

In April of 1945, while enjoying an increasingly promising career in Hollywood, Bob arrived home exhausted (and probably tight) one  particular evening to find the police at his house. It seems that his wife-- Dorothy-- and his neighboring mother and sister had gotten into quite the quarrel. Both sides were very possessive of Bob-- his wife thinking that she deserved his full attention, and his blood relatives thinking the same. The cat fights were constant. Needless to say, Bob was both miffed and stressed with all the B.S, and in a fit of misdirected animosity, he lashed out at the officers and told them to arrest him: "Let's go downtown right now, motherf*ckers!" They apparently took his request literally, for a fight ensued, and Bob was booked. Originally handed 180 days, he later opted to accept the more patriotic, military option, joining the America troops overseas. This ploy was most probably a studio push to protect his image. A soldier looked much better than a convict.

However, no sooner had he gotten back than Bob and his pal and body double, Boyd Cabeen, raised some more Hell. Suffering exhaustion during the dual shooting schedule of Desire Me and Undercurrent, which left him hopping back and forth sometimes thrice a day between RKO and MGM, Bob and his drunken cohort decided to enact a little boyish tomfoolery. More than tipsy, the duo returned to MGM after a round of drinks, wandered into wardrobe, and started pulling any and everything they saw off the shelves: hairbrushes, hairdryers, Lucille Ball's wig, etc. Bob gifted the hair dryer to his wife, probably while swaying proudly in their front doorway upon his homecoming. MGM's own Chief H.Q. Hodgett later got down to brass tacks and located the infidels, who had been clearly witnessed in their revelry by several people. Bob was called while on the set, wherein he admitted to his participation in what he called a "gag," and the stolen objects were retrieved.  The studio didn't press charges, but did fine RKO-- Bob's home studio-- for damages. (Lucy may have been haunted by the mysterious Boris Karloff during Lured, but it was Bob and his sticky fingers that she should have feared at this time, right)!

Another small faux pas occurred much later while behind the wheel of his Jaguar. When pulled over for speeding, Bob, at first, was casually shooting the breeze with the policeman peering into his car. Then, taking a look around, he asked the cop if he had any "witnesses" to his vehicular debauchery. The answer, considering the emptiness of the dark, quiet street, was naturally, "No." With that, Bob yelled, "Bye-bye!" and sped away. A warrant was issued for his arrest for speeding over 70 mph, evading arrest, and resisting an officer, which combined could have landed him in the clink for five years. Looking a bit sheepish in the courtroom, the Judge was lenient with Bob, lessening the charges to just speeding and "delaying an officer." Bob was fined $200 total for his lead foot.

For a man who loved freedom, driving anywhere-- and fast--

 was second nature to Bob.

Yet, this is not the most notorious of Bob's legal woes. Every actor seems to have a stigma hovering over him. For Errol Flynn it was the statutory rape trial, for Rudy Valentino it was the "powder puff" label, and for Richard Gere it is that lingering gerbil rumor. For Bob, it was another thing entirely: Marijuana. Bob would be the first to admit that he loved the stuff. He found it mellowing, reassuring, comforting, and honestly just enjoyable. He began his love affair with Mary Jane at a young age and, being the eternal scholar that he was, had educated himself on every genus of the delicious weed available. He even grew his own crop and, like a wine connoisseur, could tell friends exactly where each bud was cultivated just by taste. (Show off). However, as the substance was and remains illegal-- that is, unless you suffer from insomnia, anxiety, or dancing, banana hands, and have therefore obtained a magical pot card-- it wasn't exactly a positive thing for him to be so nonchalantly indulging in the vice. Indeed, he should have feared the reefer...

Bob had formed a friendship with the struggling actress and social castaway Lila Leeds (left) in 1948. Enjoying a brief and bumpy career in the industry, Lila was trying to make a comeback, and gaining a pal like the unpretentious Mitchum-- a real find in Hollywood-- gave her a little more confidence. However, she also had a growing addiction to various inebriates, including Bob's shared passion: cannabis. Thus, she and her roommate Vicki Evans invited Bob and his friend, real estate agent Robin Ford, to their place for a little late night game of puff-puff-pass. Bob and Robin arrived, not knowing that the police had been staking out their hostesses' pad in Laurel Canyon. As soon as Bob took his first drag, the door burst open, and the toking foursome found themselves under arrest! Due to the irregularity of this strangely coincidental arrest, all signs pointed to a set-up. After all, the cops hadn't barged in on Lila and Vicki, who had been imbibing all evening, but had waited for the big name star to arrive. Conspiracy theories ran amok: Lila thought that she had been set up by Vicki, Bob suspected his former business manager, others believed that either the studio magnates or the district attorney were simply making an example of him. There was even a theory that Mickey Cohen had orchestrated the whole thing, though his reasons for doing so remain unclear.

In any case, Howard Hughes of RKO put on his hero cape and arranged for Bob to have the best lawyer, the infamous Jerry Geisler, who would be representing Bob on two counts of possession and conspiracy to possess-- totaling 6 years in jail time. Mitchum posted bail at $1000 after enjoying some laughs in jail for the cameras, and Geisler got to work. While the counselor agreed that something odd was afoot, he could not prove who it was that had "framed" Bob and felt that a public delving into his client's past and private life could damage the star's career irreparably. Thus, he threw Bob on the mercy of the court, asking that they decide his innocence or guilt for the "possession" charge in accordance with the "conspiracy to possess" count. They would therefore be judging Bob's fate "on the basis only of the transcript of the testimony before the Grand Jury." It was agreed. In the end, both Bob and Lila obtained a one-year sentence, which was lessened to 2 years of probation, including a 60 day sentence. 

Bob may be getting a little irritated with the photography

at this point...

This was how Bob found himself Prisoner #91234 at the county jail and later at Wayside Honor Farm, where he wore overalls and did hard time doing farm labor. Despite the chili from Barney's Beanery that friends brought or all the candy bars that Hughes consistently sent him-- a specification the latter found necessary for Bob's health-- Bob still worked off whatever weight he had and became nearly as thin as he was in his youth.  He also sobered up and took stock of the pain and humiliation that he had caused his wife and children. In addition, because of the fines and legal fees, he had been forced to sell his family's home, and the debt was piling up. One innocent night of social smoking had left him cooked. Thankfully, the eccentric Hughes like Bob, and courteously loaned him $50,000. In the cold light of day, Bob started to feel properly guilty, though he maintained his amused demeanor before the hoards of visitors and press hounds. He did his time and, needless to say, was overly grateful when he was again free. For a man who hated walls, jail was pretty much Hell. 

Probably a posed shot for the press to indicate his

"good behavior" to the public.

Fortunately, the public-- at least the younger crowd-- thought Bob was all the more "cool" for his latest transgressions. His "badness" was exactly what they liked about him in the first place. However, this particular arrest was a stain on his life that he would never outrun, and it also probably led to the industry thereafter never taking him seriously, despite his impressive resume and mind-blowing work on the silver screen. 

To add insult to injury, the woman who owned the property that Lila had been renting in Laurel Canyon-- the scene of the crime-- put her couch up for sale after she had evicted the naughty starlet. The listing was as follows: "Charming sofa and arm chair, new slipcovers hide cigaret [sic] burns. Robert Mitchum sat here." Apparently, the dough she got for the furniture wasn't enough, for she later sued Bob for the damages he had allegedly done at the now notorious 8443 Ridpath house, though he had been there mere minutes before the police barged in.

Sporting a mustache, Bob had clearly been incarcerated for awhile

when this picture was taken. But is he packing or unpacking?

*In other jail bait news, Robert did time at Wayside with tennis player Bill Tilden, though they never saw each other. He also filmed The Wonderful Country with baseball player Leroy "Satchel" Paige, who was specifically let out of prison to perform his role in the picture. He had been serving time in Florida when Bob requested him for the film.

More faces and disgraces to come next week!

Bob and Robin.

To be continued...

MENTAL MONTAGE: Say what???

All they needed was a good father figure: the Dead End Kids pose during  

Angels with Dirty Faces. Jim Cagney rarely played family guy roles, and

his relationship with these characters is perhaps the closest he ever

came.

As much as we love our dear stars, they too make mistakes. Despite their grand, seemingly impenetrable reputations, they are in fact fallible, flawed, dare I say, "human." Even some of the celebrities I adore the most have at times exhibited such uncharacteristic and "off" behavior that it sort of left me doing the dumb dog look-- the ol' head tilted, one eyebrow up, "huh?" kinda thing. While occassional, deviant star behavior hasn't turned me against anyone, the consternation at the discrepancy between the perfect individual I had imagined and their imperfect actions does make an impact. At the very least, it reveals another level to the idol, which in turn only makes him or her more fascinating. Just when you think you have someone figured out, you realize you don't. Here is a cluster of out-of-character moves some of my favorite screen stars have made. After getting over the original irked feeling I received upon these discoveries, I was left trying to wrap my brain around them, and eventually I was able to conclude what I felt to be the source of their surprising, quirky moves. To err is devine...


JAMES CAGNEY & HIS CHILDREN

Perhaps of all the guffaws I've encountered, this one most particularly made me go, "Who? What? Why?!" James Cagney (right) came from a big, gregarious and supportive family. A warm and nurturing man himself, it only made sense that he want to become a father and pass on the same familial tidings to his own young brood. Well, apparently the will was there but the follow-through was weak. Jim had wanted children for some time, but discovered that he was sterile, so to fulfill his parental destiny he and wife Frances adopted two children, son Jim, Jr. in 1940, followed shortly by daughter Casey. While the outcome is not as notorious as the Joan Crawford/Mommie Dearest episode, it was far from a happy ending. See, Junior and Casey didn't even live in the same house as Jim and Frances! They had their own cottage out back, where they were mostly looked after by their own housekeeper. Jim was always kind to them and saw them when he could, but since he was a busy man focused on his work, he rarely had time to indulge full-time in a father-child relationship. Frances would claim that they built the house simply so the children would not be in the way while Jim learned his lines and prepared for the next day's shoot. He needed quiet and the space to focus and craft his characters. Obviously, one can understand that Jim was a busy man who was very dedicated to his art, but he too was a homebody. He never really went out unless to meet his buddies in the "Irish Mafia," so a normal domestic style would seem in keeping with his personality. It doesn't add up. So, what's the deal Jimbo? Why even adopt the kids if you don't want a real family?


DIAGNOSIS: The jury is still out on this one, but there are hints into the peculiar nature of Jim's home life. The only apparent glitch in the Cagney family system that raised a red flag was the relationship between his mother and siblings vs. his wife. Apparently, Frances aka "Willie" never fully got along with the rest of the Cagney clan. One suspects that this was because she and matriarch Carrie Cagney were both strong women vying for Jim's attention. When family get-togethers were had, Jim was always happy to go, but Willie was rarely invited, and when she was, she still didn't attend. Being the driving force behind Jim and his career, on paper it seems like Willie was a controlling, dominating woman-- albeit a devoted one. There is no argument that she deeply loved Jim, and indeed it was her suggestion that they even adopt in the first place. Unfortunately, she soon found that parenting wasn't her style. It is remembered by friends that Jim was always closer to the children than Willie. It is also recalled that Willie had a bit of a temper-- a trait which neighbors would witness from time to time-- while Jim always remained level and calm. For Willie, Jim came first, and clearly, the kids were a distant second. Perhaps, it was truly Willie who liked her space? Perhaps she convinced Jim that it would be better if the kids lived out back in their own house and left them to themselves? But then, it seems cruel to simply blame "the wife." Who knows... Since Jim was always kind to neighborhood kids and his pals' children, he clearly wasn't some emotionless monster. Whatever the cause of the odd decision, the result was not good. Both Junior and Casey became emotionally estranged from their adoptive parents as a result of their detached upbringing.


LON CHANEY & HIS FAN MAIL

Every movie lover has their number one favorite: the star that he or she thinks hung the moon. If one lives outside of Hollywood, the chances of seeing this personality in person are slim to none, so there are very few places one can turn for fanatic satisfaction: the theater, the movie magazine, or... the fan letter. As film personalities in the early days of cinema slowly turned into those glowing figures that we now know as movie stars, the desire to reach out and touch one became, well, Paramount in an avid viewer's mind. The need to make contact with or forge a connection with someone valued as larger than life could be an obsession to some, and soon enough random guys and gals began picking up their pens to write gushing letters to all the Gods and Goddesses on Mt. Olympus. Some were ridiculous, others erotic, some crazy, but most were just honest indications from a grateful public that one's screen work was affecting lives. It is always difficult to go out on a limb and open your heart to someone, especially someone you admire, but every day hundreds of people took the chance and crossed their fingers that their favorite "One" would respond to them with some token of him or herself: a photo, an autograph, or even a reply! In all his years, Lon Chaney (left in The Blackbird), who was one of the biggest and most worshipped of all film personalities, rarely ever answered his fan mail. He could often be seen toting his latest large bag of fan letters to the nearest dumpster bin, thus depositing numerous broken hearts into his "high-priced secretary." Why the cold shoulder Lon? Don't you love the fans that love you?


DIAGNOSIS: This one is fairly understandable when you break it down. Considering the number of fan letters Lon was certain to have gotten in a week, plus the amount of time he spent working, it is doubtful that he had any real time to go through his numerous letters. Nor did any other star for that matter. Taking exception to people like Mae West, Joan Crawford, or John Wayne, who lived for their fans, very few celebrities actually took the time to sit down and sift through their fan mail and send personal responses. Occassionally, one may respond to a letter here or there, but let's face it: the majority of autographed pictures sent from the studios were signed by an assistant, not the star himself. In addition, Lon was never in the business for the adulation. It was a job. Pure and simple. He publicly stated that he believed performers should pay more attention to their work and less to their fan mail, which he considered an inaccurate measuring stick for one's popularity. While he certainly respected the fans that kept food on his table, he was always uncomfortable with fantaticism. His dark brown eyes were notorious for boring holes into strangers with a pondering, "All right bub, what's the agenda?" He didn't want to either feed into the idea that he was extraordinary nor play the celebrity game of inflated egos begging for attention. He wanted too to maintain his station as the man of mystery, not just as a publicity coup, but because he sincerely wished for a private life away from the set. When the director yelled "cut," that's just what he did: cut and run. So, while it may make one chafe that he wasn't more attentive to his fans, you can't really blame him either. In person, he was always warm and pleasant, but he didn't suffer fools gladly and he even moreso tried to prevent himself from looking like one.


CARY GRANT & HIS AUTOGRAPH

In the same vein as Lon and his fan mail was Cary Grant's (right) reaction to his live fans. A strange phenomenon occurred later in Cary's career when he was accosted by a salivating worshiper. When asked for his John Hancock, he would ask for 25 cents. Eh? What's that? Yeah, I know. I had the same reaction. Why in God's name would a man who had more money than God ask for 25 God darned cents? It seems inconceivable that the man who was so light-hearted, charismatic, and often goofy in his films could be such a miser. In fact, it became a bit of a running joke in Hollywood that he was, for lack of a better word, a cheapskate. In effect, he was in life what comedian Jack Benny played on screen. Of course, there is no harm in knowing the value of a dollar, and in fact it's an admirable quality, but the whole concept of charging fans seems to be a bit overkill. One wonders what happened to the people that didn't happen to have a quarter on them. Did they just glumly skulk away? Were there revolts? Tears? Tirades?! The contrast between the witty, warm and caring pal that Hollywood friends recall and the man who would make such a demand of his fans-- who equally adored him-- seems a pill too hard to swallow. What's the deal Cary? Are you as cold-hearted as all that? Should we change your name to Ebenezer Grant?

DIAGNOSIS: From the lips of Eva Marie Saint: "He felt if you put a price tag around your neck, people appreciated you more." What few seem to realize about Cary is that he wasn't born the suave, polished dominant male force he appeared to be on the screen. His childhood memories were as bleak and cold as the chilly British air that used to freeze him to his bones. Little Archie Leach would lose his mother when she was placed in a mental facility for her chronic depression. He was then abandoned by his father when he found a new wife and family. Lonely, hungry and with no desire to finish school, Archie just wanted to escape, which he did when he joined a vaudeville troupe and hooked a ship to the US of A in 1920. After more struggles in the acting world, his determination to make something of himself and shake away the melancholy of his past paid off. After being handpicked by Mae West for a plum role in her first major film She Done Him Wrong, the new Cary Grant took off professionally and never looked back. But, his impoverished childhood always haunted him, and while he was secretly very charitable, he too had a reputation for being tight with a penny. Yet, while Eva's assessment can thus be considered accurate-- that Cary wanted to both maintain his position and prove his worth, while making a bit of a profit-- he too, I believe, used this tactic as a form of protection. Proud of his accomplishments, but always insecure of himself, he would once quip: "Everyone wants to be Cary Grant. I want to be Cary Grant." He wasn't joking. Public attention, while appreciated, also made him uncomfortable, as if sooner or later the fans were going to catch on that he was just a hack in a fancy suit. Thus, the 25 cent deversion tactic became a way to keep the wolves at bay. Hell, I woulda paid it. He was worth much more!



KATE HEPBURN VS. GINGER ROGERS

Katharine Hepburn (left) was considered by many in the film industry, and outside it as well, to be a person of considerable loyalty and strength. The number of times she was called upon to help a friend, a random acquaintance, or even a complete stranger are numerous, a fact that I have recorded in past blogs (see example here ). Her optimistic spirit and sturdy, level-head made her the typical Taurus-gal, which may explain why, while others came and went, lost their careers, or succumbed to mental or physical ailments, Kate always seemed to be as happy and healthy as a horse-- or rather stubborn bull. There too are accounts of her coming off a bit haughty, which is a characteristic she put to brilliant use in films such as Stage Door and The Philadelphia Story. She could rub a more sensitive person the wrong way, merely because she was a bit distant-- flinty. While on the screen she let her emotions unravel, in life she seemed to lead with her head not her heart. She was a woman of wit and gumption, not warmth and tears. Yet the lives she touched and the impact she made is extraordinary, which makes the memories of Ginger Rogers seem so peculiar. Apparently, the two had a bit of a competition going on, although both would deny it. As the top female stars at RKO during their mutual reign, the press made much of their alleged clash of egos, but how factual this rivalry was is debatable. However, while Kate kept mum, Ginger did let loose a couple tales of "off" Kate behavior. One episode recalled Kate kicking Ginger in the shin during a screen test for Mary of Scotland. Another account has Kate tossing a glass of water at Ginger's new mink coat to see whether or not it was "genuine" fur. Ginger expressed no hate at these deeds, but rather consternation. Why the hate, Kate? What did lil' Ginger Snapper ever do to you?

DIAGNOSIS: I think this one comes down to a simple and unfortunate misunderstanding. As Kate is one of my all time favorites, it is natural for me to want to jump to her defense, but I don't think such a inclination is unfounded. Proof in her past shows that she truly was a woman of good character and selflessness. Thus, the strange Ginger fiasco remains a pickle. However, I think it can be traced back to the original incident on Mary of Scotland. At the time, Ginger (right) was sick of playing the same roles over and over and wanted to prove that her talents went beyond her taps. So, she finagled a "fake" audition for the role of Elizabeth Tudor in the film opposite Kate. Ginger was known for her pranks, and with the help of director John Ford, she planned to come do the screen test in makeup under the alias Lady Ainsley in order to convince producer Pandro Berman that she was right for the part.When she hit the set, no one recognized her, except of course Ford and Kate-- who would be doing her "audition" scene with her and had been let in on the scheme. Ginger could sense that Kate wasn't happy, and when they started going through their dialogue, suddenly Kate let out: "Who do you think you're fooling?" and kicked Ginger beneath the table. As this came out of nowhere, I can only imagine that Kate felt that Ginger's shenanigan was devised merely to cause trouble and unnecessarily slow production. She probably thought the whole thing was a gag and was unaware that Ginger was serious about obtaining the role, a theory that Ginger's elaborate wardrobe and fake name encouraged. A pro, such a waste of time certainly miffed Kate, though perhaps she overreacted when showing Ginger where she stood. Ginger didn't get the role, needless to say, and Elizabeth was played by Florence Eldridge.

The RKO divas size each other up in Stage Door.

However, with this bad blood already between them, Kate must have formed the opinion that Ginger was an attention-hungry wise-ass, more interested in fame and games than doing good work. This would explain why she took pleasure in the second event. Ginger had stopped beneath George Stevens's office window on the lot to say "hello" and show off her new coat when Kate jokingly tossed out the water, probably thinking it funny that the superficial diva's silly new coat was in jeopardy-- though as a real mink it obviously went unharmed. The humor did not translate. Ginger made a few efforts over the years to get Kate to warm up to her, though the two would never be friends. Yet, over time, it appears that Kate did soften, perhaps finally realizing that Ginger was a good egg and not the miscreant she had originally thought her to be. When Ginger beat her out for the Oscar, winning for Kitty Foyle against Kate's comeback role in The Philadelphia Story, Kate sent a nice letter of congratulations, and publicly stated that she thought Ginger's performance had been great. Perhaps this event alone proved to her that Ginger was indeed a serious actress. Yet, it may just be a good, ol' fashioned cat fight, which, sadly, all females engage in at one time or another. After all, the two were polar opposites playing the same game: they both were engaged to Howard Hughes at different points, starred in films to equal acclaim, and perhaps just rubbed each other the wrong way. Since Kate never let us in on her side, and we only have Ginger's recollections to go by, it also leaves the question of how trustworthy our narrator is. After all, despite the fact that Ginger was a naturally sweet and well-liked person, no party is completely innocent in a feud. She quite possible could have done something equally out of character to peeve Kate off. In the end, it doesn't really matter since both women walked away equal winners, box office champions, and eternal film idols. The history of film would be lacking without either them, and at least their confrontations make said history more interesting.

STAR OF THE MONTH: Ginger Rogers

Virginia Katherine McMath- (she would take her stepfather 

John Logan Rogers's name to become Ginger Rogers).

In all of my years of research, I have discovered two actors that remain steadfastly adored and defended by their fans. The male counterpart is Errol Flynn. You don't ever say anything negative about Errol, or his fans will have your head, (can you blame them?). Just as devout is the loyalty that fans have for Ginger Rogers. The number of fansites, web pages, tributes, blogs, and continuing discussions about this woman are astounding. Of course, I had come across Ginger in my ambles through the past-- how could ya' not? But until the past month or so, I failed to completely understand her power. Thus, I decided to really dig into her life and work. And yes, I have been converted.

Ginger with mother Lela aka "Leelee."

I suppose what didn't necessarily "turn me off" but rather deterred me from Ginger fanaticism at the beginning were all the rumors I ran into about her. The tight relationship she had with her mother is often interpreted in various references as odd or unnatural. Thus, I made it up in my own head that Lela Rogers was one of those crazy stage mothers who used her daughter to gain her own financial desires and that the two together were pushy, power-hungry divas. Well, shame on me. That's typical "man's history," (no offense). In Hollywood, when a woman is typecast behind the scenes as "difficult," "demanding," or "temperamental," it is pretty much a way of calling her strong. She will not submit to the casting couch, she will not be pushed around, she will voice her opinions, she will guide the course of her own career-- horrendous. Strength, dignity, integrity: these were qualities all possessed by Ginger and instilled by her mother, who was not a domineering tyrant but a supportive and intuitive businesswoman who charted her daughter's dreams and not her own. Also adding to my misconception was the fact that Ginger historically has been placed forever in a supporting role to Fred Astaire. It's "Astaire and Rogers," not the other way around. Fred has been remembered as the genius and Ginger his muse. But, while one may have worked fine without the other, the two worked best as equal partners. Astaire gave their relationship style; Ginger gave it life, or as otherwise noted by Katharine Hepburn, Fred gave Ginger "class," and she gave him "sex."

Ginger as a young ingenue, with her hair a 

few shades darker!

But that all came later. In the beginning, there was just Lela and Virginia McMath, a single mother and her young daughter, battling life's hard knocks on their own. Lela had escaped her wandering husband William Eddins McMath after he proved to be a ne'er-do-well. He would re-emerge only to kidnap his daughter-- a traumatizing event for the infant who remembered it well. Luckily, the defiant Lela stole her right back, and the mother and daughter never left each others' sides for the remainder of Lela's life. Early on, Ginger wasn't too interested in performing, but she had a natural knack for dancing and loved music as well-- she often played the ukulele. After being encouraged by friends to enter a "Charleston" competition, the untrained young girl blew the panel away and took the trophy. The taste of victory and the thrill of performing were thereafter chronically flowing through her veins. She and Lela started traveling around on the vaudeville circuit, performing with the likes of Ed Lowry and Paul Ash. After a failed teenage marriage to a childhood crush who turned out to be a boozer, Ginger found herself on Broadway performing in top notch shows like "Top Speed" and "Girl Crazy," where she would meet a helpful choreographer, Fred Astaire, for the first time. It wasn't long before Hollywood came calling for a screen test. Ginger delivered and was scooped up by Paramount and later Pathe, Warner Bros, Twentieth-Century Fox, etc. She already had plenty of cinematic experience in big productions like 42nd Street and Gold Diggers of 1933 before she was signed at RKO and re-teamed with Fred in Flying Down to Rio. Their supporting characters stole the show, particularly in their "Carioca" routine, which friend and choreographer Hermes Pan suggested they do with their foreheads touching. It caused a sensation. RKO had struck gold, and for 9 more pictures, the world would enjoy watching the most famous dancing collaboration of all time.

Fred and Ginger do "fun and fancy free" in Swing Time.

It's no secret that Mark Sandrich, the director who helmed 5 out of 10 of the Astaire/Rogers pictures, favored Fred. Ginger would often remark that she was left to feel like little more than window dressing to her tapping comrade and that the back of her head often got more screen time than her face. For this reason, she was ecstatic when she got to work with directors like George Stevens on Swing Time and was encouraged to stake her claim and indulge in her own talents. (Of course, Ginger didn't really need help with that; it was just nice to have someone fighting on her side). One of the many things that can be said about Ginger is that she was brimming with creativity. Whereas Fred was more the perfectionist, Ginger always gave their routines a little extra spice, and many of her suggestions were implemented into various dances. It was her idea that she and Fred dance on roller skates in the "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" sequence of Shall We Dance. It was her idea that Fred swing her repeatedly over the tables in the "Yam" sequence of Carefree. The "I'm Putting All My Eggs in One Basked" routine of Follow the Fleet, one of the funniest ever filmed, was too her concept-- her character gets stuck in a step and keeps repeating it ad nauseum. She also eased the tension, for when Fred was stressed on set, Ginger was always relaxed. When Fred was insecure about a scene or one of her ideas, Ginger would talk him into it. And she was tough. Fred would remark that Ginger was the only partner he had who never cried... even when her shoes were literally filling with blood. With her crafty, playful persona, she added a unique energy that made their rapport and chemistry so believable and enviable. Even though the duo only kissed onscreen minimally-- allegedly due to the stipulation of Fred's wife Phyllis-- their romance, their synchronicity, and their poetry on the dance floor always indicated the true depths and passions of love.

Ginger (in her notorious ostrich feathered dress) and Fred do 

"romance" in Top Hat, one of the most famous 

dance sequences ever filmed.

And they got along, which is something both had to protest through the years. True, they had their  spats, over Ginger's lush, feather dress of Top Hat, for example-- another one of her innovations that stole the show-- but they worked well together, enjoyed each other's company, and respected each other immensely. The fact was, they were two separate people, and didn't want to be forever joined. Their desires to work on other projects and further their individual careers suggested to many that they hated each other, but this was simply the product of mutual, respectful ambitions. Especially after the duo's films started to  wane in popularity, particularly after The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle, they decided to go their separate ways and pursue other endeavors. The results were mutually successful. For Ginger's part, she had already showed the world her talents, her acuity, her ability to keep up with a superior dancer, and her progress can be seen from film to film, wherein she always holds her own. Flying solo, she got the chance to prove what she could do on her own two feet. Her comedic sensibilities were tested in Billy Wilder's directorial debut, The Major and the Minor, and she won the Academy Award for her honest and grave performance in Kitty Foyle. Prior to this, she had stepped out with great aplomb in Stage Door, Vivacious Lady, and Having Wonderful Time, all of which included stand out performances and revealed her many emotional levels and capabilities. This girl was the whole package: singer, dancer, acclaimed actress, athlete, and also fashionista-- I know Grace Kelly and "style" are supposed to be synonymous, but no one knew how to wear a dress like Ginger.

Resting while shooting The Major and the Minor, in which 

she splendidly and hilariously plays a woman 

pretending to be a child.

Ginger, as well as being beautiful, vibrant, and fun, was also resilient. She played the Hollywood game with her mother as her manager/consultant and herself alone as master. Being raised in the Christian Science faith, Ginger could easily enjoy the social life of Hollywood without succumbing to its temptations. She loved to go out, dance, and meet with friends, but she never drank or imbibed on any other substances. She didn't need 'em. The way she saw it, she had her head on straight, so why knock it sideways? To her, playing a game of tennis-- at which she excelled-- indulging on ice cream, or painting private works of art, were the best ways to stimulate the mind and body. She was the product of discipline, but not harshly so. She worked hard and lived lightly. When looking over old candid photos or reading her memoirs, one can't help but be envious. This woman had fun! She possessed self-confidence and pride without possessing arrogance. She possessed beauty and a perfect figure without being conceited. She enjoyed her life and the fruits of her diligent labor without throwing her weight around. All of this vitality and optimism shows in her work. Onscreen, there is always something that makes Ginger snap! This is what drew friends, like Margaret Sullavan, and scores of male admirers, like ex-fiance Howard Hughes, to her. Going down the roster of her boyfriends and wooers, one becomes downright jealous. From her marriage to Lew Ayres to a never fully realized romance with Cary Grant, this lady had her pick of the litter!

Ginger and friend Jimmy Stewart share the honors at the 1941 

Academy Awards,  she winning for Kitty Foyle,

 he for The Philadelphia Story.

Unfortunately, love in its traditional form was never in the cards for Ginger, which is ironic since she was a fairly traditional girl who hoped for home and family. Her second marriage to Lew failed as did three following unions. The reasons for these dissolutions are never fully explained, but the educated guess is the usual sad song of independent, career women in Hollywood: men fall in love with the movie star, and are intimidated by the real woman. It is hard for anyone to play second fiddle to a star as big and bright an Ginger was, and while her great light drew many to her, for some, it in turn became too overpowering. Through all of this bad luck, Ginger relied on her own perseverance and faith to pull her through, and as a result she always won out. So, she missed out on the picket fence package? She still was able to love deeply, to work hard, and live life to the hilt-- in a mansion. She worked consistently if less often through her later years, and had a rebirth in live theater when she took on starring roles in both "Hello Dolly!" and "Mame," as well as her own Las Vegas show, which left audiences wondering how the heck someone her age still had "legs like that?" Life wasn't a competition, it was an experience-- one that she soaked up until her dying day at the ripe old age of 83.

The eternal, playful glamourpuss-- why America 

fell in love with her.

While her films with Fred Astaire may have sealed her forever into the legion of legends, Ginger did all right on her own. The remaining, steadfast adulation of her fans speaks to that. A sassy woman, a street smart girl, a lady with chutzpah, and dame with integrity... she played them all. She was them all. It is her strength that continues to speak to future generations and to women in particular. One of our favorite accidental feminists, Ginger belongs in the same category as those determined, talented, and inhumanly human ladies like Davis, Stanwyck, and Hepburn. She was one of the greats, giving a positive spin on the depression through song and dance and giving the female sex someone to look up to as times started changing. We love Fred. We all love Fred. But while his dancing always leaves us in awe, it remains almost too impersonal. Too good. Ginger made it real, and she made it fun. And in the end, shouldn't that be what it's about?