THE REEL REALS: Anna May Wong

Anna May Wong

Anna May Wong was a Hollywood deviant in every sense of the word. She defied the preconceived movie star prototype and surprised studios and the public alike with her automatic allure. However, she forever was forced to balance herself upon a tenuous beam of acceptance, both socially and personally. Shunned by prejudice in her home country of America, she was also slandered by the Chinese for being a "whore," otherwise known as an actress. Upon a visit to the nation of her forefathers, she was once pummeled with stones by an angry crowd. While she fortunately had more fans worldwide than villains, her choice to define her own life in her own terms would forever make her an outcast. The price of her independence would strangely be her liberty.

Anna's entry in film would be in the role of the featured servant girl or concubine. Naturally, her heritage would keep her from receiving leading roles or top billing in her projects. However, slowly but surely, her performances in larger supporting roles opposite big time stars like Lon Chaney and Douglas Fairbanks, and her alliance with director/lovers like Tod Browning and Marshall Neilan, would give her the opportunity to showcase her talents. The Toll of the Sea, The Thief of Bagdad, Peter Pan, Mr. Wu, and Piccadilly gave her increasing exposure to the audiences who fell in love with her almost spiritual essence. Her beauty was marked with an intelligence and profound depth that made her utterly fascinating to watch. As an outsider, she was able to move about as a free agent, deemed independent and often dangerous. She had a wisdom that was effective and even spellbinding, often distracting from her more popular Caucasian co-stars. 

She went to Europe to seek more opportunities and had some luck, returning to the states for talkies like the classic Shanghai Express, but despite her magnetic personality, she would always hit a brick wall of bigotry. She was never allowed to fulfill her total potential because of her race. Roles, like that of "O'Lan" in The Good Earth, went to white actresses like Luise Rainer, and censorship kept her from being given leading roles of her own. A failed attempt at TV and an attraction to alcohol-- a popular tool for many in burying sorry-- would prematurely end her career and her life. She passed away from a heart-attack at 56. Now looking back on her performances, she looked even then like a ghost-- a beautiful, haunting image from another place, another plain of consciousness, whispering tales and truths that many of us are still not open-minded enough to absorb.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Inspiration

"Subtext"and "Clift" are pretty much synonymous. In The Misfits, Monty drew on his own

ever-complicated relationship with his mother to add layer to an early phone 

conversation his character had. He nailed it in one take.

Where do good characters come from? One could say that the genius lies in the writing, but that's only half the battle. A good idea is just a ghost of intention if there is never an actor to grab a hold of it and flesh it out. Every performer has his own way of getting to a character, whether it be through Method, Meisner, or raw instinct, but some of the pieces of life experience that inspire a characterization and bring it more fully to life are just as fascinating as the movies themselves. Actors are perpetual creatures of human study. Al Pacino made a brilliant documentary recording his own quest to find and create one of the most complicated characters in literary history, Richard III, in Looking for Richard. One of my own acting teachers, we'll call him JHR, entertained the class with an episode that he experienced with Marlon Brando. At a restaurant, he happened to see (a much older and fatter) Marlon eating at a table across the way. He then saw Marlon observe another diner, who was struggling with his meal due to a neck brace, which clearly handicapped his movements. Marlon stopped, pulled back, assumed the same posture, and tried to eat in the same crippled fashion. I guess an actor acts, always. The following is a series of more descriptive circumstances that stellar performers used to shape their roles into realities. Here are a few answers to the question: How did he come up with that?!

 Montgomery Clift had definite standards when it came to acting. His chosen profession was more than a job, it was a mission.  If anything worth doing is worth doing right, than to Monty anything worth doing was worth hitting out of the park. Thus, he took his characterizations very seriously. In addition to getting in touch with the inner mechanisms of the man he wanted to portray, he too would try to establish him physically. For example, when preparing for the role of Father Logan in I Confess (left), he studied the way that priests walk, noting that they seemed to push their long robes forward with their hands as they moved. His attention to detail and sense of conviction would drive certain directors and producers nuts, but no one could argue with his results. As always, the battle between money and artistry is tough-going, especially in the factory mentality of Hollywood. As Monty himself would say, "I'm not an actor out there, I'm called a 'hot property.' And property is only good if it makes money-- a property is lousy if it loses money at the box office."

Nonetheless, the mighty arm of studio mandates never broke Monty's artistic sensibilities. Throughout his career, he looked for motivations for his characters in unusual places, sometimes keeping observations in his pocket for years before he was able to put them to use. One example of this occurred in 1949, after Monty had just started to strike a chord with American audiences. Since he was hanging around friend and mentor Thornton Wilder a great deal, he steeped himself in brainy literature. Always an avid reader, he went on a rampage, consuming the entire works of Franz Kafka (right), with whom he had become absolutely fascinated. (His absorption in The Metamorphosis seems particularly uncanny, considering the parallel that he would later have with character "Gregor Samsa's" repulsive transformation). While on this literary journey, Monty became transfixed by a photograph of the author, which was taken in Prague the very year of his death. Something in the gaunt, bat-like face with haunted eyes seemed to move and disturb him, and the image certainly effected him enough that he felt compelled to rip it out of the book and carry it with him over the next nearly 10 years. He reportedly looked at it every day. 

Fast forward to his casting in The Young Lions after his own post-crash "metamorphosis." He was to bring to life the character of "Noah Ackerman," a Jewish soldier. In uncovering the nature of this man, he knew immediately how he wanted to flesh him out. In addition to losing 20 pounds and wearing purposely baggy clothing, he too made adjustments to his face to make himself look like Kafka in the infamous photo (left). Something about the author's tragedy and Noah's defiance against his own victimization made sense to him. He recalled his performance as his favorite role and the one of which he was the most proud.

Carroll Baker was one of many members of the Method crew that seemed to follow in the wake of Monty's naturally intuitive brand of acting. (Though he had never been a Method man himself, many of Strasberg's students would find themselves trying to create what Monty seemed to have invented). Carroll proved from the minute she arrived in New York that she was ready to go the distance in her acting. This soon got her noticed by Hollywood, who was interested in both her talent and beauty. Fortunately, she also had a brain. The wheels were definitely already spinning with regard to character "Baby Doll Meighan" by they time she began filming Baby Doll, yet there were certain behavioral elements she needed to round off. She found the perfect subject to study when she landed on location in Benoit, MS. No sooner had she set foot on Southern soil than she came into contact with a local woman named Ellie May. The typical Southern Belle, Ellie May was feminine, colorfully dressed, and also possessed a remarkable speech pattern that reflected both her Mississippi heritage and a blend of baby talk. Jackpot! For the remainder of her visit, Carroll kept Ellie May in close company and under even closer scrutiny. The way she was both delicate and assertive, coy yet calculating, gave Carroll all that she needed to use for her character (see right). The mimicry worked, and the role changed her life.

Carroll had another moment of divine inspiration when director Elia Kazan, known as "Gadge," was looking for a little extra oomph for one particular scene. Early in the film, Baby Doll sits and waits for her sexually frustrated older husband, "Archie," in their car. When he finishes his business and comes to meet her, the watching locals were supposed to start heckling him. Elia didn't believe that the scene worked without some sort of context, so he asked both Carroll and co-star Karl Malden for ideas. A light bulb when off: Carroll told Elia that her father had been a traveling salesman and that whenever she had to wait for him in the car somewhere, if she had been a good girl, he would bring her an ice cream cone. Elia loved it! The extra action of having Archie approach his young, ambivalent, untouched bride with a dripping vanilla cone provided a sexual undertone, an embodiment of the characters' power struggle, and also the blatant age difference. It totally worked. Thus, Archie stands in the hot sun sweating, while the object of his desire sits quietly lapping it up (left). Perfection.

James Cagney had a lot of personal material to draw on when he needed to add gravity to his performances. An easy touchstone for him was always his father. James Frances Cagney had been a lovable, tender man with an unfortunate penchant for alcohol. Occasionally, he would go into "fits," wherein he would endure severe headaches that left him moaning and howling uncontrollably. The only one who could calm him down was his wife, Jim's mother, Carrie. Meanwhile, the children in the family hid their eyes and covered their ears, unintentionally showing their fear of the man they loved so much. Jim  never forgot the sound... After several years in Hollywood as a leading man, he would tap into this particularly painful vein in order to deliver one of the most gut-wrenching moments of his career. In White Heat, his hard as nails gangster has but one soft spot-- for his mother, who ironically, is the only person who can calm him when he gets one of his "headaches." When later imprisoned, he is eating in the mess hall when he hears the news that his beloved mama is dead. His character, "Cody Jarrett," completely loses control of his senses, lets out an ear-splitting series of animal noises, and flails around madly about his fellow inmates (right). The extras in the scene had not been told what to expect, so when their star started braying desperately, many of them thought James Cagney had actually lost his mind! The stunned look of shock on their faces says it all. The noise Jim created was the same awful sound that he had heard growing up. He only watched the scene once, then refused to ever watch it again. It was far too painful. Yet, to him, it was worth it to cut himself open for the role.

Jim used his pops for a much more light-hearted gag in an earlier film he made, Taxi (left, with Loretta Young). When he used to horse around with his father as a kid, the senior fellow would sometimes wrap his arm around his son's neck in mock anger and lightly pepper his chin with fake punches, saying all the while, "Why I oughta..."  Thus, in a scene in Taxi when Jim is jealously teasing a paramour, he wraps his arm around her neck, taps her chin and spouts: "If I thought that..." The action was a way of paying homage to his old man. When his mother, Carrie, saw this moment in on the big screen, she started weeping right in the middle of the theater. It meant a lot to her that Jim would honor one of his warmest memories of his father.

Luise Rainer was one of a kind. A delicate, feminine creature who often portrayed women of great romance and modesty, she was also a thinker who refused to ever get caught up in the Hollywood game. She was never in it for the stardom, she was in it for the story, and was honored that she was one of the few people in the world who had the great privilege of bringing interesting women to life. Nonetheless, there was great controversy surrounding her casting as "O-Lan" in The Good Earth (right), if only because she had been chosen over Anna May Wong in the role of the Chinese heroine. Luise understood the resentment, but studio politics being what they were, she graciously accepted the role and vowed to make good in it. She refused elaborate make-up, which she believed would caricature the race, and determined to work from "the inside out" in building O-Lan authentically. Through the subtle, quiet movement she observed in the female Chinese community, she was able to establish the modest touch she was looking for. Yet, she wasn't quite satisfied. She had the structure of O-Lan, but in her mind, she hadn't "found her" yet. Ah, serendipity: one day on the set, Luise was dressed in character and surrounded by genuine Chinese extras. She accidentally dropped her pocket book, and when she bent to pick it up, she knocked heads with another women, who kindly handed her wallet back to her. Their eyes locked. Suddenly, the extra realized that she was standing next to the star of the film! Her eyes went wide and she blushed. She seemed to pull back inside herself a bit in humility. "There she is," Luise thought. "That's O-Lan!" She used this woman and her honest, demure reaction as a model for her characterization... and won an Academy Award for her performance, (for the second year in a row, btw)!

Lon Chaney was, of course, the consummate character researcher as the consummate character man. As he occasionally found himself in Chinese roles, he-- like Luise-- would go to Chinatown to observe the people and study their mannerisms. His ultimate test if he had mastered his movements and make-up, was to ride the electric car to Chinatown and back, as authentic Chinamen got on and off around him. During the ride, if no one noticed that he was some actor in make-up, he knew that he had it (see him in Mr. Wu, left). He also liked to visit the courts and watch the different criminals, convicts, and cretins come in for their verdicts. He always found a lot of material there for his own villains. His attention to detail can be seen in all of his films, and his work has gone on to inspire many other actors. In fact, he was directly used by one actor in particular during the filming of Full Metal Jacket. Vincent D'Onofrio is an accredited character actor of his own generation, as is evident in his lengthy, varied filmography. His role as "Private Leonard Lawrence" in Full Metal Jacket was at once annoying, child-like, and demented. An important scene comes when he reacts to the abuse that the fellow soldiers are inflicting upon him, and (spoiler alert) he subsequently loses his mind and shoots off his own head. The day before they were to shoot, Stanley Kubrick was conferring with the young actor about this heavy scene. "Make it big," he said. "Lon Chaney big!" Vincent did. His maniacal control and sinister presence sends chills down the spine. He totally delivers in this shocking moment by going over-the-top mad! It works. Lon Chaney clearly isn't the only creeper, but because he was the first, his followers are much better prepared.

I've seen that face before... (Vincent D'Onofrio goes full-on Chaney
 in Full Metal Jacket).

*My apologies to those of you who may have caught a glimpse of an early draft of this article. I accidentally pressed "publish" instead of "save." :-/ Hey, I'm allowed one blonde moment a day!

MENTAL MONTAGE: Ladies in a Man's World

The ultimate female objectification: Jane Russell and her assets

advertised in a 3D movie.

The battle of the sexes reached a fever pitch with the advent of cinema. Exploring gender roles on the silver screen was one thing, but it was the behind-the-scenes shenanigans that would take on much greater precedence in the history of He vs. She. The business of movie making, in a way, opened up a Pandora's Box of sexism, for as young ingenues came out to a land offering dreams-come-true and limitless possibilities, the consummation of ambition and corruption gave birth instead to what has commonly become known as "the casting couch." Sadly, it is not a myth. Hollywood itself, particularly in the early pioneering days and the apex of the studio system, was a glorified and gorified representation of a patriarchal society gone haywire. With large, wealthy businessmen and moguls holding the reigns and beautiful women running amok, it didn't take long for the well known game of quid pro quo to begin. As studio magnates got more and more powerful, their manipulation of the system, bloated egos, and inflated sensibilities of entitlement, resulted in a cat and mouse game, wherein more than one girl became the reluctant prey. In the eternal battle, many Virgins were sacrificed to the great Gods of Fame, Fortune, and Celluloid, but Rebels too came out swinging with a vengeance. Here are their stories.

LB at his throne of power.

MGM: "the dream factory." On the screen, it churned out delicious masterpieces for the eyes and imagination. Off camera, however, this iconic studio was a complete nightmare. Louis B. Mayer knew the business, he knew money, and he likewise knew how to cash in on his audiences. Yet, despite the fact that his job was to provide mass entertainment for the human soul, he seemed to lack one of his own. One of movieland's greatest hypocrites, he scolded his stars for their indecent behavior, while personally committing countless acts of debauchery and malevolence. In addition to controlling every aspect of his stars' lives-- his livestock-- spying on them, tapping their phones, intercepting their private letters and wires, he too abused his power physically. Some women, such as the strong Luise Rainer, never played into his trap and maintained enough control over their lives so that he was never able to infect their private business. Rainer (left) always made Mayer uneasy. He couldn't "figure her out." Read: she wouldn't play into his hands like an eye-batting simp. She came to work, did her job, and did not mix business with his pleasure. Actresses like Rainer, who didn't care about the fame but were invested specifically in the work, easily avoided the noose, and irritated the hell out of LB. Ava Gardner too could be lumped into this category. Fresh out of North Carolina, Ava was naive about the ways of the world when she was signed at MGM, which-- coupled with her beauty-- made her a prime target. However, Ava wasn't "that type of girl," and when she was nearly sexually attacked by a certain employee, she ran to Howard Strickling, MGM's publicity man, to protect her. Strickling ordered the man with happy hands to keep his "paws off." While Ava would later become more sexually adventurous, she was also a woman in control of her own life; she was calling the shots and not the other way around. For this reason, she was never played as a sexual pawn.

This is not to say that all women who fell prey to the man in charge were soulless fame seekers or women weak in spirit. Most girls were simply too young to understand how to fight back, nor in the days before the feminist movement did they know that they should. One such ingenue was Judy Garland (right), who in later years would recount being "felt-up" by Mayer a number of times when she was a young woman just starting to blossom. Mayer would call her into his office and have her sing for him. After she wowed him with her god-given gift, he would then say to her, "You know why you have such power in your voice, Judy? Because you sing from the heart. From here." He would then place his hand on her heart aka her breast. As an adolescent, Judy was awkward in these moments, not knowing how to react. Her instincts of course could feel that she was being abused, that something wasn't right, but Mayer was the man in charge. What could she do? (She joked in later years that she was grateful that she didn't sing from another part of her anatomy.) This type of occurrence repeated itself over the years, until finally, one day after Judy had matured, Mayer tried the tactic again. This time, Judy looked him straight in his bespectacled eyes and said, "Mr. Mayer, don't you ever do that again!" Mayer, who was known for lapsing into dramatic hysterics, burst into tears. "How could you say such a thing to me, after all I've done for you?!" Judy, shocked, suddenly found herself comforting him. At least he never laid another hand on her.

Mickey Rooney, Judy, and the "affable" Papa Mayer.

For all of the turbulence in their relationship, Mayer always had a soft spot for Judy, mostly because she proved to be such a huge moneymaker. This would come in handy later. Judy once had an encounter with one of Mayer's right-hand men, Ben Thau. When the stuffy, abrupt Thau surprisingly laid a kiss on the adolescent Judy, she was shocked. He then told her in no uncertain terms that she was to go to bed with him. Judy politely refused the flowery proposal, and Thau became angry, telling her that if she didn't obey, he would "ruin her." Judy by now had enough clout at the studio to hold her ground. She stared him down and said, "Oh, you'll be gone before I will." Indeed, he was. After the story was relayed to Mayer, Thau was out.

Another man who was known to throw his slovenly, repugnant weight around MGM was producer Arthur Freed. Judy had a hefty business relationship with Freed, whose name is present on the majority of the MGM pictures she made. Freed was another chronic womanizer who used his power for personal gain. His most infamous relationship perhaps involves Judy's co-star Lucille Bremer, who starred as Judy's older sister in Meet Me in St. Louis. She secured the job only because she was Freed's "girl." Sadly, her career didn't last much longer after the film's release. Another story involves Freed's meeting with Shirley Temple, the pint-sized actress who was one of cinema's greatest moneymakers (left). When she transferred over to MGM from Fox, the eleven-year-old was invited into Freed's office, where the pompous windbag told her that he was going to "make her a star," which, coincidentally, she already was. He then presented his... member to her. (That's right, I said 11-years-old). The young child responded with childish, uncomfortable laughter, which set off Freed's hairtrigger temper. He screamed at her "Get out! Get out!!!!" Honestly, what response did he expect? Despite the fact that this story in particular is unsettling due to Shirley's age, it is comical in that a pre-teen girl was able to emasculate the notorious lecher. (Temple's mother was also forced to fend off the wolves, who often tried to proposition her when she was trying to get her daughter ahead in the business. It is also speculated that Judy Garland's mother, Ethel, freely offered herself up on behalf of her daughter's career.).

Mayer's #2, Eddie Mannix, is a perplexing person in film history. A bruiser with mob connections, his experience and knowledge of cinema was null, making his high post at MGM... questionable. Publicly, he was Vice-President. In truth, he was a glorified spy who kept stars in line by keeping himself very knowledgeable about their private business. Needless to say, Mayer loved him, and Mannix loved his job, using MGM as his personal, sexual piggy bank. His favorite girl for a time was Mary Nolan, a former Ziegfeld Girl nicknamed "Bubbles" (right). When Mannix fell for her, she was suddenly cast in films opposite the likes of Lon Chaney and John Gilbert. However, she paid the price for fame. Attempting to prove his great machismo, Mannix was mentally and physically abusive. Sometimes he would beat Mary so savagely that she required surgery. Many would note her black and blue appearance when coming to set. It was only a matter of time before she, in addition, became addicted to morphine. (Ironically, she would play an addict in West of Zanzibar). When Mannix tired of her and tried to break it off, Nolan fought back and sued him in a court of law. Of course, being a high man on the totem pole with his hands in government pockets, Mannix never suffered the consequences for his actions. Mary was libeled as a "drug-addict" and a "tramp" in the press and quickly intimidated out of town by Mannix's henchmen. She died alone of liver disease in 1948.


One of the most horrific stories about the distorted misogyny of Hollywood can be learned from the story of extra girl Patricia Douglas. MGM held yearly sales conventions, during which Mayer entertained his multiple investors by showing off the fruits of their monetary contributions. Concocting elaborate parties that invited these men onto the back lots of the studio, wild and ribald behavior was endorsed and the wine flowed like... wine. The beautiful women and hopeful ingenues were too paraded before the slobbering lot-- dancing, singing, and serving them liquor. Eternal gentleman John Gilbert was so disgusted at the display at one particular party-- and the way Mayer was offering up "those poor little girls" like prostitutes-- that he stormed out, much to Mayer's chagrin. It seemed like harmless fun from the outside, but the truth was that once the gates of MGM closed, over a hundred girls were trapped and outnumbered by drunken, pawing men who felt they deserved a little "reward" for their lucrative contributions to the studio. On June 1, 1931, 20-year-old, Patricia was one of these victims. Growing up in Hollywood, the lovely young girl was familiar with the business and some of its players and took the job for a little extra money. It wasn't as easy a job as she originally expected, and soon things became rowdy and out of control. Actress Ginger Wyatt was also present at this affair, and would recall things getting so out of hand that actor Wallace Beery had to punch a few guys out in order to get her to safety. Patricia was not so lucky.

She was eventually asked to dance by MGM employee Dave Ross. She found him unsettling and creepy, but she found him difficult to avoid. At one point, he and an unnamed friend held her nose and poured a mixture of scotch and champagne down her throat. On the verge of vomiting, she stumbled outside onto the dirty fields of the Hal Roach lot. Ross came up behind her, pushed her down, threatened her life, warned her not to scream, and raped her. After she was discovered, bloody and bruised, she was taken to MGM's own hospital. Patricia expected something to be done, but the silence was deafening. She approached District Attorney Buron Fitts, but he of course gave service to the highest bidder, so Patricia's case went nowhere. MGM had to protect its reputation, so the story of their party had to be squelched. Despite the fact that Patricia was a young innocent and a virgin, a fact many testified to, she was labeled as a "loose woman" with unsuitable morals who was out for money. Her case was dropped, MGM was kept out of the papers, and Patricia never got her retribution. Her sad story meant nothing to Hollywood's biggest money machine-- she was just another commodity to be used as the men in charge saw fit. In court, Buron Fitts solidified MGM's defense with the mere comment, "Who would want to sleep with that?" That sentence would echo through Patricia's ears for the rest of her life. (Learn more from the film Girl 27 by brilliant author and filmmaker David Stenn).

But MGM wasn't alone in its sexual shenanigans. Darryl F. Zanuck of Twentieth-Century Fox was also a notorious lecher. In fact, it was well known on the lot that business with Zanuck was closed from 4-4:30pm each day. Why? Because that was always the time that a pretty, young actress was escorted into his office, where he would personally "audition" her. It was a free for all, and women who didn't perform off screen were told in no uncertain terms that they wouldn't perform on screen. The way these girls were paraded around led to more than one woman gaining a reputation. Carole Landis and Linda Darnell both allegedly suffered the humiliation of social judgment after various encounters. It was just the way of the business. Who were these young actresses to question it? Upon most of their initial introductions to Hollywood, they were told that this was just how things were. Not every girl was equipped with the same fierce and gamely antagonistic spirit of a Bette Davis, and some were a little too naive to simply say "No." However, Zanuck would learn that he wouldn't always get his way. When the young Betty Grable (right) entered his office at 4pm one day and was unceremoniously offered his appendage, she simply said, "That's beautiful. You can put it away now," and walked out the door.

Harry Cohn of Columbia was no prize either. The sadistic relationships he had with his actresses, especially the resistant ones like Rita Hayworth, Kim Novak, and Jean Arthur-- who opposed his power plays-- were legendary. He was labeled as "White Fang," a mental and physical rapist who left in his wake a landscape of discarded and humiliated women. He was said to have auditioned new actresses by sticking a pencil in their mouths to examine their teeth, lifting their skirts to look at their legs, and moving them over to his infamous white couch where they would "perform" before being escorted out the back door. After Marilyn Monroe appeared in Ladies of the Chorus for Columbia (left), she was invited to a meeting by casting director Max Arnow. Nervous about a possible new role, Marilyn prepped herself, crossed her fingers, and went to the appointment. However, Arnow wasn't there. A smiling secretary sent her instead into the office with Cohn, who beamingly showed off a picture of his yacht. He then invited Marilyn to come along on his next trip to sea, to which Marilyn responded, "What about your wife?" Cohn became enraged telling her to "leave [his] wife outta this," but any time he tried to redirect conversation to a rendezvous, Marilyn avoided the bait. Despite what is often said about her, Marilyn was a shrewd tactician and she knew better than to become yet another one of Cohn's walking wounded. Thus, as she made her way to the exit, Cohn blurted out "This is your last chance!" She exited nonetheless. Her Columbia contract was cancelled the following Monday.

The stories out there are endless, most of them experienced by the nameless women whose sacrifices never got them the opportunities they were promised when in a compromising position. Often, in recollection, women still protect the names of the men that so abused them on their rise to the top. One such woman is the spitfire Veronica Lake (right), who was never prone to gossip. BS maybe, but gossip no. Ronni's encounters in the extreme and sometimes rotten world of Hollywood are entertaining and eye-opening to say the least. She would recount in her memoirs mysterious auditions for various "films," which turned out to be pornographies-- one sort of movie she was not apt to make. She recalled being somewhat fearful in these situations. The casting director would try to intimidate her into accepting the job, leaving her nothing to do but run. The most hilarious of her appointments with sexism is also the most indicative of her character. She was once called in to meet a certain producer, whom she left nameless. After talking about a future role for her, this man took out his member (seemed to be a running theme) and laid it on his desk. Instead of batting her eyes at the great wonder of nature before her, or cowering nervously and searching for the exit, Veronica did what only Veronica would do. She threw a book at it. A heavy one. That had to hurt, and good riddance!

Mae West: an actress who put women firmly in a position of

power and took over Hollywood on her own terms.

One would hope that the aforementioned practices are a thing of the past and that the rise of feminism had abolished the submission of women in the Hollywood workplace, but the sad truth is that this kind of thing still goes on all the time. In a fame-hungry world, the need for power and celebrity to validate one's own existence only heightens a prospective star's susceptibility to such a cruel injustice. The hungrier one's desire for fame, the easier it is for a person in the position to give it to feed his (or her) own appetite. Luckily, there have always been those ladies who knew that their greatest service to society and themselves could not be performed on their backs. From those who suffered and those who triumphed, we can learn much: the cost of fortune should never be one's soul. Unfortunately, this truth was not blatant enough for all of these young women to see. In the game of sex, life, or business, if a girl isn't in control of her own moves, she is the one being played. Women like Lake, Rainer, and Grable had enough gumption to turn the tables and not be the pawn. Check mate, fellas.

MENTAL MONTAGE: The Rat-Race of Race

The integration of different races into our cinematic culture has been a lengthy and complicated battle. The appearance of racial minorities in early film was both rare and heavily stereotyped. It comes as no surprise that in the days of segregation, movies too were segregated, thus the faces from the golden studio era that we remember are only intermittently peppered with non-Caucasian faces.

Even when a role called for a specific race or ethnicity that was outside of the Anglo-Norman norm, the character was portrayed for the most part by a white actor in make-up. Lon Chaney was praised for his incredible metamorphoses in Shadows, Outside the Law, and Mr. Wu, in which he defied stereotype and inserted great humanity and depth into his portrayal of different Chinese characters. Warner Oland (left) for years made his career by portraying Charlie Chan, and even Myrna Loy cut her teeth in cinema by playing Asian temptresses in films like The Mask of Fu Manchu opposite Boris Karloff. While these performers are to be commended for their sensitive interpretations, it does not take the edge off a rusty blade.

For example, Chinese actress Anna May Wong (above in Piccadilly)was forced to watch as the heroine O-Lan in The Good Earth was portrayed by Luise Rainier in "yellow-face" rather than by herself, an authentic Chinese woman. (Rainer won the Oscar for her performance). Anna was primarily offered the roles of venomous villainesses; the lead roles of long-suffering heroines went to white actresses in makeup, who could legally perform in love scenes with white actors. Anna was unable to engage in interracial romances on the silver screen, even if the actor performing with her were portraying a Chinese character. Still, Anna May paved the way for future Asian actresses, heightening her place in film through her nuanced and insightful portrayals. In a great show of character, she turned down the role of "Lotus," the evil siren of The Good Earth, after the role of O-Lan, which she craved and rightfully deserved, went to Ms. Rainer. Anna had talent, but she also had pride!

Even after an actor or actress such as Anna May Wong, Paul Robeson, or the lovely-- and already greatly missed-- Lena Horne had established themselves as respected and accepted members of the acting community, they faced their trials. Hattie McDaniel (left) was the first African American to win an Academy Award (for her supporting role as "Mammy" in Gone with the Wind). Her charismatic nature and jovial personality defied her stereotyped roles and endeared her to audiences so much that she became as famous and adored as her Caucasian contemporaries. Even her contender for her 1939 Oscar win, co-star Olivia de Havilland, would admit that the prize was rightfully bestowed. Despite all of this, Hattie would still have to combat prejudice.

Her one wish upon her death was to be buried in a shiny, white coffin at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, the same place where so many of her acting contemporaries and predecessors had been laid to rest. However, even in death, Hattie's skin color did not qualify her as an equal. She was denied interment at the cemetery, and instead was laid to rest at the more racially friendly Angelus Rosedale Cemetery (ironically, the same place where Anna May Wong would be buried). Years later, to correct the terrible wrong that was done, Hattie's relatives were offered the opportunity to have her finally placed at Hollywood Forever, but since so much time had passed, and they did not wish to upset her body, she was left at Rosedale, buried not far from her brother Sam and actor Dooley Wilson, remembered best for his role as Sam in Casablanca. Instead, Hollywood Forever, and more specifically new owner Tyler Cassity, placed a monument dedicated to Hattie right next to the cemetery's pond, so at least in this small way justice could be done to one of cinema's most charming individuals.

Hatties resting place at Angelus Rosedale Cemetery

Hattie's Monument at Hollywood Forever.

Another actor who faced prejudice was James Baskett (above), who starred in the half live-action/half animated classic Song of the South. This film remains the center of controversy and debate, with many claiming that its subject matter is insulting to the African American community. The bulk of this argument has to do with the infamous "tar-baby" scene, as well as the continued myth of the "happy slave." It is more than safe to say that slavery never made anyone happy, a fact even Hollywood confirmed through films depicting the longed for liberation of white slaves and prisoners, including Ben-Hur and Spartacus (how fickle is history). Song of the South remains unavailable for purchase, (unless you are super savvy and know where to look on the down-low, ahem), and this is a true crime, for James delivers a beautiful and heartfelt performance as the lovable storyteller of the shenanigans of Brer Rabbit. His performance of the sentimental and eternal Disney song, "Zip-a-dee-doo-dah" is reason enough to allow this treasure to be shared. The film boasted a cast of many black performers, including Ms. McDaniel, and was a big step forward in the history of film.

However, despite his great performance and his leading role in the film, James was unable to attend the premiere in Atlanta. Due to the city's continued segregation, he would have been unable to enjoy any part of the celebration, thus making his attendance moot.  What a crime. I can still remember seeing this film as a child, and being enthralled by the music and the magical blending of the animated and the real worlds, much as I would be by Who Framed Roger Rabbit?.  To my youthful eyes, there was no difference between Mr. Baskett or any other actor. He was "Uncle Remus," and in my heart, he became my Uncle too. For future generations to be deprived of the knowledge of him makes me very sad indeed. Perhaps the world would be better if adults could see it as children do... But that is another argument all-together! Thankfully, James had the last laugh, receiving an Honorary Oscar in 1946 for his performance as amiable Uncle Remus (below).

This topic is one that is far too broad and all-encompassing to be discussed in one short article, and there are countless artists worthy of our respect and admiration for their pioneering efforts, from Dorothy Dandridge to Sidney Poitier; from James Wong Howe to Honorable Wu. I introduce the subject to mention Mae West's position in this corner of history. In Mae's heart, there was no room for prejudice or racism. To her, if you were talented, you were talented; it didn't matter if you were black, white, red, or purple. This is an attitude she learned from her father, boxer Battlin' Jack West, who befriended many black boxers whom he often invited over for dinner. Mae's equally giving nature also drew her to the underdog, and just as she would make great strides toward the acceptance of the homosexual population, so too would she do with the African American population. 

Mae: more than a pretty face

Working on the stage in New York before she made it to Hollywood, Mae was always raising eyebrows (and temperatures) with her discussion and portrayal of sex, prostitution, drugs, and murder. Her sense of humor was able to dilute the harsher topics of the day before she fed it to her audiences, who were both shocked and appreciative that such subject matter was finally being discussed in the open. One of the many progressive steps that Mae took was to introduce a dance that was popular in the black community to her audiences-- the "Shimmy Shawobble." She did so in the play Sometime, in which she referred to the risque and wild dance as "the Shimmy." It seems innocent now, but certain sects of society were absolutely shocked! The other half, of course, ate it up and asked for more. It was different, liberating, and exciting to the general, repressed theater-goer, and theater is, after all, all about living vicariously. During the influenza epidemic of 1918, the happy-go-lucky vision of joyous bodies in motion was certainly a welcome reprieve to frightened and paranoid audiences.

Aside from their dancing, Mae also adored "black music," aka Jazz. She therefore had no qualms about using it in her films when she went to Hollywood. In fact, she can be credited with presenting musician Duke Ellington to uninformed audiences with her Belle of the Nineties, in which she insisted that he perform his music himself. Paramount had wanted to hire a studio orchestra to perform the music, but Mae refused. Always deferring to the intelligence of her fans, she knew that they would recognize the difference and demanded the authenticity of Duke himself. People wrote to her in later years and thanked her for introducing them to his music. During this film, she also supplied jobs for many black extras, as she did in her other films. She was equally responsible for giving several African American actresses a leg up in her movies, casting Louise Beavers (above), Gertrude Howard, and Ms. McDaniel in various roles. The scene in I'm No Angel where Mae is sitting around with her maids, who are more like girlfriends, chatting it up and having a laugh, is still a memorable and entertaining piece of film. Actress Libby Taylor, in fact, had been a real life maid of Mae's, but Mae saw her talent and encouraged her to go into film-acting. She freely let Libby leave her employ and helped her to get a job in the business, including a role in Belle.

These little known facts are the things that people should know about Mae, but she always kept the sweetness that she carried within her cloaked from the public, not just to save her reputation as a hard-broiled dame, but also because she didn't need the flattery or validation for doing something that she considered the responsibility of any and every one. Her small contribution made a definite difference to the few black performers that she helped in the business, and the ripple effect of her efforts contributed to the noble war of equality that many argue is still being waged in the entertainment industry. If we learn one thing from Mae, it should be to tip our hats to these often overlooked but equally important talents of the silver screen, whose brave, boundary pushing movements have been worth their weight in gold.