YOU SHOULD SEE: A Letter to Three Wives

Ann Sothern, Linda Darnell and Jeanne Crain

A Letter to Three Wives is yet another triumph on director Joseph L. Mankiewicz's resume. With his unparalleled gift at both literal and visual storytelling, "Mank" presents a snappy, intelligent, well-polished script with his uncanny brand of woman's intuition. (It's no secret that women loved working with him, and this film is a prime example of why). In three stellar performances, Ann Sothern, Jeanne Crain, and Linda "What I got don't need bells" Darnell, this film tells the story of a trio of pals and their worst frenemy: Addie Ross. Addie is the cat's meow... And she has fangs. Simply for the sport of it, she has cast a shadow over the unions of all three women, and when she sends a letter announcing that she will soon be running away with one of their husbands, the ladies' true natures erupt and the strengths of their marriages are tested. With Kirk Douglas and Paul Douglas turning out equally compelling and surprisingly humorous portrayals as two of the husbands, the story is dynamite, and little Miss Addie echoes the power of Orson Welles's Harry Lime in The Third Man, as she is one of the most impactful yet faceless villains of film. Will love triumph over lust?

THE REEL REALS: Erich von Stroheim

Erich von Stroheim

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

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

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

THE REEL REALS: Agnes Moorehead

Agnes Moorehead

Agnes Moorehead may not be one of the most famous actresses who ever lived, but according to Orson Welles, she was probably the greatest. Agnes lacked the perfect beauty that could have made her a golden idol of her era, but this perhaps served her well. She was able to maintain a career as a character actress long after many of her contemporaries' fresh-faced youths had faded. 

An educated woman, Agnes brought her great intellect and passion for literature with her when she began her performance career, which was only bolstered by additional training at the competitive American Academy for Dramatic Arts. Her great passion and emotional instinct for her art was indulged in early singing and radio work. Indeed, she had a voice, one that she could manipulate at will to cultivate a showcase of all the shades, cracks, and fissures of humanity. Crafting a fully formed character with vocals alone, the microphone gave Agnes a power over her audiences that was uninhibited by what she deemed to be her unattractive appearance. (Not true, Aggie). It didn't take long for Orson Welles, the Boy Wonder of Radio, to find her, and she joined his Mercury Theatre program, delivering spectacularly, emotionally articulated performances in his many adaptations, including "Dracula."

When Orson went Hollywood, he brought his Mercury players with him, which led to Agnes's performances in Citizen Kane, Journey into Fear, and the Magnificent Ambersons. Those who criticize the films (pft!) for their coldness, almost universally draw attention to Aggie's characterizations, which some deem to be the only depth in Orson's otherwise very cerebral narratives. Though a insecure, conflicted woman, who remained intensely religious throughout her life, her personal neuroses did not effect her cinematic career, which later translated to television. She was to appear on countless shows, and her surprise hit gig on "Bewitched" made her a pop cultural icon. Tragically, she was one of the many actors who performed in the oddball John Wayne film The Conqueror to pass away from cancer (uterine)-- this eerie coincidence is accredited to the fact that the movie was shot at a nuclear test site. 

With her wisdom, edge, and gift for simply being in the moment, Agnes is often overlooked for her talent. She was too good at what she did. The intellectual underdog, she remains a hidden victor in the continuing story of Hollywood, still camouflaging herself in the story as one of its mere moving pieces, convincing us that she isn't there at all.

DIDJA KNOW: Part VIII

Didja Know these two artists came together on a very important project?
Ingrid Bergman and Salvador Dali enjoy a chat during Spellbound.

"Film as art" was not an easily accepted credo. Nevertheless, great innovators of the business, particularly those who combined social subtext with stimulating presentation, were able to take creativity and the social impact of cinema to a much more respectable level than ever expected. As "genius" is sometimes read as "madness," some of our greatest, historic auteurs were prevented from bringing their compelling concepts to fruition. It is not a simple thing to get the guy holding the money to believe in your out-of-the-ordinary premises. Hence, some of the greatest cinematic moments were those that never made it to the big screen, whether they were laid to rest on the cutting room floor or buried on the page before being given a chance to breathe. Orson Welles is a perfect example, as the majority of his countless film ideas were labeled DOA: Don Quixote, Cyrano de Bergerac, Heart of Darkness, etc.

One director that seemed to escape these frustrations, at least at the height of his career, was the "Master of Suspense," Alfred Hitchock. Before his films and his sanity took a nose-dive post-Marnie (what was Topaz about exactly???), Hitch seemed to artistically, subliminally, and criminally get away with pretty much everything. His box-office receipts and cunning with studio execs-- he would shut off the camera because it was 'acting up' whenever David O. Selznick appeared on his set-- gave him a pretty impressive exemption from most censorship rules or reconstituted, pre-packaged production standards when it came to making his final cut. He didn't always win his arguments, however. Case in point: Spellbound.

DIDJA KNOW ABOUT THE STATUE?

The Salvador Dali-designed dream sequence in Spellbound remains perhaps the most memorable thing about the film. If anything, the collision of motion pictures with Dali's immobile yet liquid artistry is a stunning and perfect example of aesthetic fusion. (Of course, the acting and chemistry of the amnesiac Gregory Peck and the psychologically and sexually ignited Ingrid Bergman didn't hurt matters either). The Hitch-Dali combo created a perfect blend of structured surrealism that was evocative of the mysteries of the human subconscious when in an unconscious state. (Whoof). It was also nice to look at. However, there is an impressive piece missing from the final film. Originally, Hitch planned on having Ingrid in the dream sequence, as she was a dominant sexual focus in the dreamer's-- Gregory Peck's-- psyche. The plan was to have her appear in her beautiful glory before being miraculously cemented as a statue-- with an arrow piercing her neck, no less (left). Ants were to swarm about the exterior of the frozen entity. Oh, the psychological implications... 

Naturally, Ingrid was game. She endured the make-up process, the staging, and the obvious discomfort of tiny, scattering insects all over her body, because of her pure fascination for the concept and her desire to be a part of such a groundbreaking moment: art in motion (right). First, Ingrid was given a straw through which to breath, and this was placed through the plaster literally being built around her. Then, the sequence was filmed in reverse, with Ingrid breaking from the impromptu statue. Thus, played backwards, the statue appeared to be materializing. The entire length clocked in at twenty minutes. Unfortunately, while the scene was successfully filmed, it was never shown. This was a result of yes-man contamination. Someone, whom Ingrid did not name, approached Selznick and convinced him that the breathtaking imagery was complete and utter nonsense. Selznick, of course, demanded that piece de resistance be cut from the film. Tactical interference too often murders the best of ideas. Perhaps even more than Hitch, Ingrid mourned the loss: "It was such a pity. It could have had that touch of real art." Damn the editing!

DIDJA KNOW ABOUT THE KEY?

Ingrid's complex but devoted relationship with Alfred Hitchcock was made all the richer when her co-star of Notorious, Cary Grant, came into the picture. Together, they all represented Hitchcockian cinema at one of its grandest moments. Their contradictory natures as people blended well in the realm of professional collaboration, and their alliance outlasted the shoot. Hitch, as the eternal observer was able to watch the friendship of Ingrid and Cary with a certain amount of envy, which he brought to life on the screen. Through Cary, he got to hold Ingrid, kiss her, and dismiss her with a strange coagulation of frigid, sexual taunting. Ingrid's "Alicia" became the woman in heat yearning for deliverance from the erotic torture of Cary's "Devlin." In life, the roles were opposite, with Hitch being the suffering and lovelorn gent fawning over Ingrid, and she being the less cold but still unresponsive lover out of reach. What resulted from the complicated and intricate threesome was the birth of a classic.

Ingrid remained at the center of this awkward love triangle. Aside from her natural warmth and amiability, her acting left both of her male counterparts astonished. For the first time in history, Hitch would be so impressed with a female performance that he did not seek to cut the actress down to size. He was too in awe to be awful. His general commentary to Ingrid at the end of each day was a controlled yet intimidated "It was very good today, Ingrid." In addition, Cary Grant became the number one cheerleader on Team Ingrid. By monitoring her instinctual and raw performance, he learned a lot about the craft of acting, which inspired him to engage and cultivate his own talent with more bravery. Cary had worked with Hitch before on Suspicion, but it was Notorious that held the real place in his heart. So proud was he of the film and the time he had spent on it that, unbeknownst to everyone involved, he swiped the infamous Wine Cellar Key (left) from the prop department and kept it as a good luck charm. He felt it-- as a representation of the film-- was "the key that would open new doors in his career."

Cary held onto the Key for many years. He would work with Hitch as one of his preferred leading men-- he had in fact been the first choice for Spellbound-- and the duo would go on to make To Catch a Thief and North by Northwest together. Their bromance remained a mutually respectful and untainted one (right). Ingrid would happily work with Cary under lighter circumstances in Indiscreet, but her final film with Hitch was less than ideal. Still experimenting with his single-take sequences, which he had captured previously to better effect in the "real time" Rope, their collaboration in Under Capricorn was tedious to film and incredibly frustrating for the actress Some theorize that the grueling behind-the-scenes trauma Hitch inflicted on Ingrid was some version of sexual punishment. By this time, Hitch's school-boy crush had obtained a spiteful edge, and the working relationship between director and actress was not as smooth as it had once been. They would never work together again but were able to maintain their friendship.

The Key became the reminder, therefore, of better days. It represented the cohesion of all concerned at a moment of great triumph, both personally and professionally. The Key locked the three artists together and bound them in an alliance that may have dwindled due to time and distance but never disappeared. Cary had this token to hold onto and keep him grounded for many years. Then, when Ingrid and Cary re-teamed in 1958 to film Indiscreet--after Ingrid's affair, marriage, and separation from Robert Rossellini-- she got a little surprise from her old friend. Having witnesses his friend endure and persevere over the many ups and downs that had ensued during the years since Notorious, Cary felt that the time had come to pass his good fortune along. Thus, at the farewell dinner that he threw in Ingrid's honor, Cary bestowed the Key upon her, telling her that it had served him well over the years and that it was now her turn to take advantage of its magic. Needless to say, Ingrid was deeply touched. She held onto the Key for another twenty-one years, during which she regained her former incomparable status as a great and respected international actress of the stage and screen.

Hitch brings it home.

The trail finally came to an appropriate end in 1976. That March, Alfred Hitchcock was honored with the AFI's Lifetime Achievement Award. As such, the usual banquet and celebratory party was thrown, with many of Hitch's old colleagues and the actors and actresses of his films paying him tribute throughout the evening. Ingrid and Cary were obviously in attendance. When it became Ingrid's turn to speak, she went through the usual drill of gratuitous complimenting, but she cinched her speech with a more personal and heart-warming note. She began reminiscing about Notorious and, most importantly, the infamous crane shot of the Key. She went on to say:

"Cary Stole that key! Yes, and he kept it for about ten years-- and then one day he put it in my hand.... And now, I'm going to give it to you."

With that, Ingrid descended the stage and delivered the Key to the man who was directly responsible for its powers, whether real or imagined. In a very out-of-character moment, the normally stone-faced, wry, and poised director rose, embraced Ingrid and Cary, and all three of them found themselves crying. It was an beautifully sentimental moment for everyone in the audience. Now, the Key locks Notorious firmly into a place of cinematic genius that few other films in the Hollywood lexicon can boast. Hitchcock, of course, has maintained his reputation as the master of his craft.

PERSONAL NOTE: I Heart L.A.

Crowds gather at a Cinespia screening of The Shining at Hollywood 

Forever Cemetery, where films are projected onto the mausoleum

wall behind the Fairbanks tomb. Like nowhere else...

There tends to be a harsh divide between West coasters and East coasters, and for that matter the Midwest, Central U.S, South, etc. As they say, home is where your heart is, so that piece of land that maybe didn't raise you but somehow fits you like a glove seems to be the only place on earth that makes sense. The outside world views Los Angeles and thusly Hollywood as being artificial, narcissistic, immoral, and oblivious. Smoothie shots of rutabaga and bi-annual botox visits rightfully appear absurd to the "normal" inhabitants of such bread and butter places as Oklahoma, Mississippi, or Ohio (can I get a what-what for the Buckeyes?!). Likewise, the jaded urban hustle of New York and the liberated and more earthy metropolis of San Francisco find Los Angelenos to be pretty much full of... shitake mushrooms, (or perhaps just "on" them, if you know what I mean). I admit, I can whole-heartedly relate to these outsider perspectives or escapee conclusions regarding my new home state.

Indeed, to live here and survive, you must have a BA in BS; there are no two ways about it. L.A. is gross in so many ways. Living here, you are overloaded with overly aggressive billboards, film land flim flam, and giant tools who are ironically lacking in... ball bearings. Everyone seems to look and act the same. The glamour soon disappears within and sometimes before a year of living here: "Isn't that that guy from that show?" / "Who cares? One large snifter of oxygen please!" Despite this, because of this, there are many who migrate here and many more who immediately migrate back to a place that feels less offensive. Strangely, for all the macabre mimicry of human beings, for all the traffic, for all the smog and walking Barbie Dolls (on crack), this place-- this devious, despicable, delicious place-- still feels more like home for this Midwestern girl than her youthful world of Cincinnati (which basically encapsulates the entire tri-state area as far as anyone there is concerned). I have shared this thought, analogy, what-have-you, before... but Hollywood is the only place on earth that openly lies and tells the truth at once. That's why I love it. That's why I remain shackled to it. It is the only place I have ever been that isn't tight-lipped about its own monstrosity. It is a liar who doesn't lie.

"Hollywoodland" wasn't the only Los Angeles community marked with a hillside sign. There 

were several growing neighborhoods that used this propaganda tactic, including 

the "Outpost" development, which blasted its neon red lights from the area

now known as Runyon Canyon. It's remains can still be found there.

Unarguably, my attraction to the Golden State was instigated by my obsession with Golden Era Hollywood. From a young age, I wanted to be where that magic was; I wanted to be where insane levels of absolutely anything were possible. I'm constantly teased for my movie collection, and I take it like the woman I am, but a movie has never been just a movie to me. They are art-- even the bad ones. There is always something new to notice, to appreciate, to learn, be it studying the performance of a particular actor, the style of the fashion and settings, the technological/psychological innovations, or the dissection of human history right before your very eyes. As a lover of history and a perpetual, self-taught student, there are few things more perfect to me than discovering a new film to love, a new actor to appreciate, or a new piece of a former beloved flicker coming together and making more sense to a mind that thought it already had it all figured out. My love for film is the same as a young artist's devotion to Van Gogh or Magritte; a writer's love for Proust or Hemingway. An athlete's love for Babe Ruth or Karl Malone. I understand and love the world of cinema in a way that those who do not cannot understand, just as I can't understand people who waste hours watching football. But, I respect that. There is beauty there too. There is passion. Everyone has her niche; mine is here. I fit here, because I just do.

Dennis Hopper works the camera... sort of.

Hollywood itself is a fascination if only because it is the most recognized geographical place in America, and perhaps the world, where good and evil so gracefully converge-- on screen and off. Everyone has an opinion, everyone's a critic. You may have hated the last Adam Sandler movie (can't blame you), but you're talking about it, aren't you? You love that damn beautiful and talented Leonardo DiCaprio, but you liked his performance in this so much better than in that. You're talking about it. And that latest, controversial war movie? You thought it was totally misdirected, while every other schmo accepted it as the God's honest truth. You're talking about it. You're all thinking about it. You can feast on the occasional thoughtless movie when you need a break from the tired cranking of your mental wheels, but more than we realize, the movies don't entertain us, they prompt us to think. That is their beauty, even when they're ugly.

The other Jekyll and Hyde in this scenario is the artistic, impassioned face of the finished product contrasted with the beastly bitch of hard work, seemingly unimaginative studio big wigs who rehash for cash, and the spiritual and physical casualties that go into and result from show business. As someone who has witnessed this first hand, there is no more astounding conundrum than trying to be an "artiste" in a system that runs on numbers and figures. It is incongruous, yet one hand must always wash the other. For those that make it, a little of themselves must be sold, because the reality of this situation is that show business is just business. It is just another job. The erotic pose on the silver screen isn't felt on the soundstage when the boom guy is hovering over your carefully covered extremeties so he can record your synthesized moans appropriately. The smiling faces in interviews are literally gritting their teeth, because they are so tired of going through the grind and being marched before the commercial camera to promote promote promote their latest film or show, which it turns out, is just a product, as are they.

When the sometimes critical but mostly white-washed gossip of Hedda

Hopper and Louella Parsons was interrupted by scandalous rag mags

like Confidential... the pillars of Mt. Olympus started shaking.

But we know this, because we see the self destruction. We "ooh" and "aah" at how beautiful Julianne Moore looks this year at the Oscars, but we do this while flipping through the article regarding Lindsay Lohan's latest arrest. The former is a train wreck, but my God, she didn't get there in one breath. A child star pushed before the camera too young, used by her two inept parents, and far too easily introduced to the ever available valley of drugs practically sold here by street vendors, she didn't stand a chance. So few do. This town is a heart eater. As Marilyn Monroe, the undisputed authority on the subject, said: "Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul." It's true. People are used for profit and discarded the minute their box-office loses value. It is a place where one is constantly judged, where your job is always on the line no matter how famous you are at the moment, and where the timeline of your career is not something you ride until your retirement but a rapidly spilling hourglass. Will it be turned over for another cycle? The temptations of easy sex, comforting highs, and erratic, violent lows are much more understandable and easier to empathize with when viewed from this angle. Yet from the outside looking in, the vantage point is always low, looking down, judging, and never comprehending how easy it is for an actor, director, writer's spirit to be broken. The industry professionals aren't champions or Gods; they are hamsters on a wheel running for their lives. Anyone who emerges from the end of this rabid, Wonderland rabbit hole in tact deserves an honorary Oscar just for surviving.

For all these contradictions, I remain mystefied and enthralled with Hollywood. It has a texture like nowhere else. Every street, every alley, every vacant lot, is brimming with tales of both life and death. I find solace at a cemetery walking among the stones and paying respect to the people who contributed to making cinema what it is. They are dead and gone, but the marked graves that confirm their previous existence somehow make them more vividly alive and seemingly still here. It draws the curtain back and reveals the flesh and bone behind the silver screen image. In every neighborhood, you will find remembrances of celebrities past (and present). I can drive past Lupe Velez's former home in Beverly Hills, and just by knowing that she once inhabited those walls, I am touched, and moved, and saddened, and invigorated. The Roosevelt, The Beverly Hills Hotel, Grauman's Chinese Theatre, The Million Dollar Theatre downtown... They are all standing tombs of history filled with the energies of ghosts, film fans, and the secret histories of so many people in so many eras-- all sandwiched together and somehow entwining and creating the collective soul that makes this town truly great. All of these inhuman artifacts are fossils of humanity, there to be laid bare and investigated, to tell us truths and teach us lessons about ourselves, just as the films this city produces.

Former Abode of Lupe Velez at 732 North Rodeo Drive. The home has been little changed

since her occupancy, but the more protective gate was added.

Of course, no other city pays such tribute to the art it forms. Only in Hollywood can you go to a screening at the Egyptian Theater and see living legend Kirk Douglas in the flesh. Only in Hollywood can you attend a Q&A session with Eva Marie-Saint. Only in Hollywood are there such dedicated and bold stage productions about Judy Garland or Marilyn Monroe by actors that are so good, you believe that you and a room of people are the in the presence of a ghost. Only in Hollywood can you attend plays starring modern celebrated performers carrying on a devotion to the craft laid down before us at the turn of the 20th Century and now taken for granted due to its availability. Ed Harris, Richard Attenborough, and John Goodman rarely make appearances in small town theaters, but here, actors who love acting continue to seek out their creativity despite the fame and fortune they've already accrued. They tread the boards where expression began before there was a camera to capture it; a place that gave birth to their initial thirst for storytelling.

Here, just as much as the industry feeds itself, the public celebrates its product. Screenings of new films, old films, silent films, forgotten films, B-films, cult classics, and film students' final projects are attended by lovers of celluloid. Hollywood may have gone commercial, it may cater to tourists in a way that is not as grandly hospitable and self-respecting as the gallant South, but at its core there is still the beating heart of is pure phenomenon. Directly on the pavement upon which you tread, there are etched reminders: Griffith was here, Garbo was here, DeMille was here, Hayworth was here. The same engine of pure drive, desire, and passion to create that brought legions of auteurs to these once barely inhabited hills still chug beneath the skin of cracked sidewalks, graffiti covered slums, and oceans of people who have forgotten the sources of magnificence at which they still marvel.

Orson Welles directs Citizen Kane and makes history.

I guess you could say that I came to Hollywood for its beauty and stayed for its soul. You know how they say, "You are attracted to a person's perfections, and you fall in love with his flaws?" That is the love I have for La La Land, which is coincidentally the same love we all have for it. Our fascination may have been instigated by the initial excitement of technological gimmickry and the glossy finish of pretty people in motion, but our loyalty has remained because of the vulnerable and dangerous underbelly and profound honesty we slowly discovered both on the screen and behind the camera. Once the initial sheen faded, which it did, we would have stopped believing in Hollywood and its tall tales had they not become true. We continue our mutually co-dependent relationship with show-business like shameless addicts. We are at the mercy of what it feeds us, but it is at the mercy of our ticket purchases. Los Angeles, Hollywood, or "Tinsel Town," is the sad dog in the pound that you choose to adopt, because it is adorable in its pitiful sadness. It nurtures us, we nurture it. Thus, despite the constant, holier-than-thou critiques of outsiders or under-appreciators, I remain convinced of and fascinated with the integrity and debauchery of this town. To know it, to truly know it, is to love it. And to me, at peace in the present chaos and the painful memories surging through the veins of this naughty metropolis and powering electric lights, I can say with utter certainty that Dorothy was right: "There's no place like home."

HISTORY LESSON: The Way We Never Were

Greta Garbo "reflects" on possible acting projects and their outcomes.

It is often said with regard to our most beloved, classic films that life without them would not be the same. This makes one wonder about all of the possible projects in cinema history that "fell through," either prior to shooting or before completion. Some scripts or concepts never make it past the pitch table; others fall apart due to financing, conflicting egos, drop-outs, or even deaths. If we choose to believe in fate, then it is safe to say that all of the films in Tinsel Town "churned" out the way they should have. However, pondering some of our never-realized movies can weigh on the mind. Their unattainability makes their absence too hard to swallow, much like so many lost silent films of the past. Here are a few examples of what might have been. Might it have been grand???

Greta Garbo (left) was, on the one hand, a force to be reckoned with. She once told her great-nephew (is that accurate lineage terminology?) that she would have been a success no matter what she decided to do with her life. On the other hand, despite her serious dedication to both her career and her craft, her business sense was not always on par. She relied heavily on friends and advisers for help when deciding which projects to take on and which to refuse. John Gilbert, her first Hollywood lover, filled this role only too gladly, even encouraging her to hold out on old LB Mayer for more money-- a ploy that worked. After Greta lost, or rather, "passed" on John, she looked to writer, actress, and den-mother to all Hollywood foreigners, Salka Viertel, for guidance. Mostly, Greta just wanted to act and be passionate about what she was doing. Early on, she took whatever temptress roles were thrown at her; later she got pickier, holding out for pieces she considered more interesting, though she let others do most of her bargaining for her. In her later career, she found herself almost exclusively doing projects suggested by or even written by Salka, which makes one wonder if Greta was her friend, muse, or cash cow. Perhaps all. 

Nonetheless, throughout her career, Greta did have a mind of her own, and she often dreamed of roles that she would like to play. Ironically, a great deal of them were typically male roles. For example, Greta once mentioned that she would love to do an adaptation of Oscar Wilde's "The Picture of Dorian Gray," with herself as the title character. She also stated that her ideal leading lady would be Marilyn Monroe as "Sibyl Vane." This casting, of course, was not to be, because of its overt, homosexual connotations. However, Greta did not have a great same-sex agenda or national statement in mind by making this project. Mostly, she was just a woman who understood that the more interesting roles in history seemed to be written for men. She wanted the meaty stuff. Her own androgyny, of course, was a factor, for Greta was always up for any role that would allow her to explore her masculine side and, most importantly, afford her the chance to wear trousers. This begs the question: did she intend to play the role of Dorian as a man, or was she was indeed willing to embark on perhaps the first unabashed same-sex romance in film history? The truth is that the social implications probably never entered her mind. Since Greta often referred to herself in the masculine gender,-- "I've been smoking since I was a small boy"-- she probably wouldn't have seen the issue as an issue. Needless to say, this dream role never came to fruition, and it's too bad, because imagining what she could have done with it-- playing the notoriously vain and twisted character of Dorian with her own epically beautiful face-- is a tantalizing train of thought. Other male roles that Greta longed to play include Shakespeare's famous Dane, "Hamlet," as well as Homer's iconic "Odysseus" in a failed GW Pabst directed interpretation. She also longed to pull a Chaney and play a male clown. (Greta "man's-up", right, with C. Aubrey Smith and John Gilbert in Queen Christina).

Another reason Greta Garbo continues to live on as such a legend is this unity of gender. She seems to be almost the being into whom all human beings are trying to evolve-- the perfect blend of male and female. While women and men can both be boxed in by stereotypes-- ditzes or meat-heads, sluts or cads-- Garbo transcended any type of labeling by creating her own definition of existence. Unlike the effeminate male, the masculine female has always been a more accepted form of sexual fusion, which perhaps has some sort of sexist connotation in terms of embracing the masculine ideal. Yet, in her hands, it worked. When she hams it up like an overgrown boy in Queen Christina, it is like witnessing her come alive at her most perfect. This is Greta's male alter ego at its best. However, she did have a feminine side, and her femme alter ego came to its most brilliant fruition as the tragic, romantic heroine of Camille-- what some hail as her greatest performance. In Greta, womanhood was best defined not in terms of poise, manner, or dress, but in sincere affection and devotion, whether it be maternal or passionate. Some other famous ladies that she nearly played in epic biopics were Isadora Duncan, Joan of Arc, and Mother Teresa. The latter is particularly intriguing... There is much martyrdom in Garbo's later talkies, evoking images and ideas of sainthood, but could Garbo de-sensualize herself enough to embody a true life Saint? (Greta tries martyrdom on for size in The Painted Veil, left).

Charlie Chaplin (right) was an enormous Garbo fan, and she in turn had a mutual respect for his equal genius. Getting these two icons on the silver screen together would have been quite the experience, which could only be made more outlandishly divine by a third egomaniacal interloper: Orson Welles. In fact, Orson did concoct an entire screenplay that he hoped the two divine idols would star in: The Loves of D'Annuzio and Duse. Since Charlie was a fan of Orson's work, and Greta was not un-interested in working with either man, the film seemed for awhile to be a major possibility. However, with all things Orson, the story was very high-concept, abstract, and in the end, unsettling. In his words, the plot revolved around "two crazy monsters" and explored themes of "degenerate hyper-romanticism." Ummm... okay. Obviously, the description did not reflect the general images of the King of Comedy and the Goddess of Love. As such, both famed actors turned the project down. They probably adhered to the age-old rule that if you can't understand it, no one else will.

Speaking of Orson, his first foray into the movies was very nearly not the pivotal film that changed cinema forever, Citizen Kane. In truth, he was kidnapped by Hollywood with no clear idea in his mind for his great filmic introduction. Several ideas flitted around in his head, including the play "Cyrano de Bergerac," but the story that he temporarily decided on was an adaptation of Joseph Conrad's intense classic Heart of Darkness. It very nearly happened! Orson had storyboards, a hefty plot outline, and visual tricks all lined up after he came to RKO in 1939. He set about learning the art of film craft-- watching Stagecoach in particular repeatedly. In addition, with his typical, intellectual fervor, he set about studying anthropology to better familiarize himself with certain, untapped levels of the story, and he too decided to make some changes. First, he would move the locale from turn of the century Africa to contemporary South America. Then, he would turn the book's anti-hero "Kurtz"-- his role in the film-- into a fascist, which was a subtextual reading he uncovered in the original novel. He declared proudly that the film would be an attack on the violent Nazi system. He then combined the artist and the magician in himself to develop one heck of an opening sequence, which was totally un-related to the plot. His famous voice would boom out at the audience from a black screen declaring, as he had on his radio show, "This is Orson Welles..." A montage of images would thus flash across the screen: his mouth, a firing gun, an electric chair, a caged bird, etc. Finally, the succession of shots would land on an eye (left). All of this was meant to communicate his new technique of the "subjective camera," which throughout the film would act as its own character. He would then declare: "You're not going to see this picture-- this picture is going to see you." Unfortunately, the idea became a bit too avant garde... and expensive. The idea for Kane entered his mind, and that became the path he followed. (Later, his overly ambitious nature also nearly led to his adaptation of War and Peace with English producer Alexander Korda, but this too was not to be).

Errol Flynn also had to let go of one of his cinematic babies. By the mid '50s, Errol was past his prime as a leading man. Recently wed to Patrice Wymore and outrunning his own scandalous past, he hoped to approach the business from a new angle, and perhaps at last pursue more interesting roles that allowed him to "act." Of course, the glory of Errol's lengthy filmography proves that this guy more than knew what he was doing in front of the camera, but still, he hoped to take matters into his own hands and create his own personal epic. Thus, he set about producing an adaptation of the story of "William Tell." While hoping for something different, he clearly was also trapped in the mindset of his swashbuckling days and fearful that his audience would not whole-heartedly follow him into character dramas. Things started out positively with a sound crew, including camera guru Jack Cardiff (see right). However, financial issues clouded the horizon, and despite some impressive scenes caught on film and a devoted crew that was willing to hold on for months without pay, Errol was forced to throw in the towel, leaving the film forever uncompleted. It was one of the greatest disappointments of his life, particularly after his "friend" Bruce Cabot, a performer in the film, sued him for $17,000, even though Errol only owed him $5000 for his work on the project. Coming on the heels of the news that his business manager, Al Blum, had stolen over a million dollars from him as well, Errol hit rock bottom. Errol had hoped to make his best film ever and dedicate it to his latest daughter, Arnella. It tragically was not to be. All that remains of William Tell are a few feet of film, and these without sound. Yet, Errol would accomplish his goal in other ways, turning out impressive and nuanced performances in both The Sun Also Rises and Too Much, Too Soon. His pet project was sadly, too little, too late.

Barbara Stanwyck (left) was at the tail-end of her cinematic hey-day when she filmed the cult-classic Forty Guns with director Sam Fuller. Sam was completely hypnotized by her abilities and her jaw-dropping performance as the intimidating, salivating, yet desirous "Jessica Drummond. " He always hoped to work with her again, realizing that her potential as a character actress could easily be utilized in more mature and gritty roles that suited her age. Unfortunately, this film became Babs's cinematic swan song. She turned the majority of her attention to television thereafter, sensing that the new medium would offer her more opportunities than the youth-centric movie world. It had become a running theme: an acclaimed film star was essentially booted from the studio when he or she became too old, but was then more readily embraced by the TV studios, who were always looking for big names and former idols to pull in viewers. Talk about your back-handed compliment... Filmdom should have been sad to lose Babs, and Sam Fuller certainly was. He had planned to film a biopic of Evita Peron with Babs in the lead. Watching this hard-knock Brooklyn girl sink her teeth into the First Lady of Argentina was more than an opportunity missed, it was a tragedy. At least Sam knew talent when he saw it!

After the great success of All About Eve, Bette Davis (right) and Joseph L. Mankiewicz used to talk on and off about making a sequel. The actress-director duo had gotten on so well during filming and had collaborated so flawlessly that a reunion seemed to be more than in order. Thus, before What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, there may have been a "What Ever Happened to Margot Channing (and That Bitch Eve Harrington?)." Bette was always in earnest about pursuing the project, but just how serious Joe was remains debatable. He probably merely kicked the idea around with her as a means of personal entertainment, while Bette hung on his every word and started crafting out her character in her mind. As the years passed, it became pretty clear that the project was not going to happen, and all for the better-- a classic of All About Eve's stature should remain untainted by a string of re-evaluations and re-imaginings. In the end, there were no hard feelings. Later, after Bette had survived a disastrous and abusive marriage to Gary Merrill-- her co-star and love interest in the previous film-- Joe mentioned the sequel project to her in passing. Bette looked him in the eye, and with a twinkle in her own, told him to scrap the whole idea. With regard to the continuing saga of Margot she spouted: "I lived it. It doesn't end well!" Thus, the tale of life after Eve will never be told in celluloid. At least this way, Bette gets to metaphorically ride off into the sunset with her soul mate on the screen, whereas she had to endure the harsh loss of Gary and all hopes of love in reality.

This one hurts. After the usually stellar collaboration of Tracy and Hepburn failed to pull in astronomical numbers at the box office in Desk Set, the studio began looking for Spence's next project. Producer Buddy Adler thought he had discovered just the right one. In order to break out of the familiar pattern of "Spence and Kate," Adler wanted to try a new angle... or rather an old one. Thus, it was announced that Spencer Tracy would portray "Professor Unrat" in a colorized revamp of The Blue Angel-- the German film that had made Marlene Dietrich a phenomenon. His leading lady would be none other than Marilyn Monroe. It sounded like gold! Money in the bank! An acting match made in movie heaven!!! For Spence to play the aging, love-struck, then clowned and castrated Unrat would have been a challenge worthy of such a complicated and dedicated actor. To see Marilyn step into Marlene's stilettos as "Lola Lola" too makes the mind reel at the sensual possibilities. As Marilyn had already started to regain respect as an actress after her turns in Bus Stop and The Prince and the Showgirl, it seemed that she may have been able to bring something new and deeper to the table, perhaps even giving Marlene a run for her money, as only Marilyn could. Unfortunately, this dream engine too went kaput. Spence was skeptical about working with Marilyn, who was known to be... unpredictable. Certainly, he had his own issues as a man who battled alcoholism, so Marilyn had his sympathy on that count. However, at the first scent of trouble and "Marilyn" antics, he backed out. Even with the agreement that he would receive first billing, he was unmoved. He just wanted to make movies; he didn't need the extra complication of MM's neuroses (and lateness). He went on the make The Old Man and the Sea and Marilyn went on to terrorize the set of Some Like it Hot. Her film was still a bigger hit. (Marilyn poses as Lola Lola in the famous Richard Avedon photo session, left).

And then there was Lon. Lon Chaney was very involved in the story selection process when it came to his career. Once he had enough power in the industry to pursue and choose his dream projects, he did just that. History has shown that he was directly responsible for seeking out his two most famous roles as the Hunchback and the Phantom in addition to many others. While Lon did his role fishing, the studios did too, and as a top commodity, films were crafted completely around and for him and what he could do with his special talents. In his book The Films of Lon Chaney, Michael F. Blake not only goes into detail about the many completed films of his hero, but also of the handful that didn't make it before the camera. The sad lot includes the following:

• An untitled Gouverneur Morris film, in which Lon was to portray four or five different characters, fell through in the early twenties. Since Lon had made such a splash in another Morris adaptation, The Penalty, there is no telling what a continued combination of Morris's macabre genius and Lon's contortion could have produced.
• A young David O. Selznick himself penned a script for Lon entitled "The Man Who Lived Twice." The title alone makes this one intriguing, but the reasons as to its dissolution remain a mystery. This was a fate also belonging to an English production entitled "The Lancashier Witches," to which Lon was also assigned but did not complete. Too bad... it may have gotten the Colorado boy out of the country for once!
• Lon also had a missed collaboration with his favorite partner, Tod Browning, titled "Hate." I am still angry about this one, and I am sure Tod is equally still fidgeting in his grave about it. In it, Lon was set to play the leader of an Apache band of thugs in war torn Paris. (Yes, you read that correctly). In any case, the bigger demands of national combat bring foes together in battle, and war with within war ensues. It was slated to be quite bloody. But, the duo skipped it and made The Big City instead.

Lon gets violent in The Big City.

• Perhaps the most interesting lost relic of Lon's career would be "The Wandering Jew," a film purchased by Louis B. Mayer in the early twenties that was shelved until 1927, when it was finally announced for Lon. The plot involved the burdened and cursed life of a man who struck Christ on the day of the Crucifixion. As Lon was always a man of faith, a fact that Clarence Sinclair Bull would relate in a story about a secret photo session that he did with the actor (see great article here), the martyred role of a man paying his penance before God must have been very interesting to him, not to mention incredibly fitting with his always suffering on-screen persona. Yet, no dice. Que sera sera...

If there is anything positive we can derive from these missed opportunities that could have been either home runs or total nightmares, it is the knowledge that we still have many stories left to tell. You look at some of these creative gems just sitting there waiting to be picked up and wonder why Hollywood keeps making movies about... well... nothing. And so, we are left to sit here and wonder how the history of film could have been different, better, worse, and thusly how even our lives would have been effected had we had these different films to relate to or to make us question ourselves. But, we only have what we have, don't we? There is no "if." It kind of reminds me Milan Kundera's classic, The Unbearable Lightness of Being:

“There is no means of testing which decision is better, because there is no basis for comparison. We live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? That is why life is always like a sketch. No, "sketch" is not quite a word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture.”

That comparison may have resulted from a bit of over-analysis, but... fitting, no? 

MENTAL MONTAGE: Movie Stars on the Radio

The body (minus the leg warmers) that inspired America to "do the
Jane Fonda..." and Mickey Avalon to write a hit song.

When it comes down to it, movie stars are nothing more than romanticized human beings: romanticized in their dramatic performances and romanticized in the public consciousness. They put themselves before the camera, and we place them on pedestals. And so, it is not really surprising that so many of our beloved celebrities become muses of song. In Byron's day, we would have read about some random, faceless damsel whom he was lusting over in one of his lyrical opuses. Today, instrumental inspiration often comes from a more obvious source, and so songwriters, rock-stars, and pop-idols reveal their own personal fanaticism by penning ballads and hit songs about the grand stars of cinema's bygone glory era. When these musical offerings are not straight-forward dedications to the Gods of Mt. Olympus, they are at least homages to the singular figures in our ever-growing pop culture.


Buggy Bette

The best celebs always have a trademark. For Harlow, it was her flaxen hair. For Flynn, it was his debonair mustache. For Bette-pop-eyed-Davis (left), it was her large, invasive peepers... (and perhaps a cigarette). Bette's luminous eyes did a great deal of her acting, taking her characters even in moments of stillness from anything from dewy wonder to murderous intent. As such, her baby blues inspired the lyrics to the 1974 Jackie DeShannon song, "Bette Davis Eyes," which described a dangerous coquette who knows how to use her sensuality to get what she wants: "She's precocious, and she knows just what it takes to make a crow blush." The song became more famous when it was re-recorded with minor lyrical changes-- crow became pro-- by Kim Carnes in 1981, where it became the #1 hit of the year. Bette was so flattered to be initiated into yet another generation of fans that she personally thanked Carnes for the "shout out." It meant a great deal to her that, years past her prime, she was still looked upon as the staple of female sexual power.


Jack White's Red-head

Alternative rock musician Jack White has enjoyed success in a number of realms: in various bands, in a solo career, as a music producer, and even as a film actor. His work is often interesting for its articulate yet untidy homages to different artists of the past. He makes no secret of his adoration for heroines like Loretta Lynn or Wanda Jackson, for both of whom he spearheaded new albums. His appreciation of the musicians of yesteryear is always apparent, and his respect blends mediums. Nursing a clear crush on the gorgeous Rita Hayworth (right), he made her the leading lady in the song "Take, Take, Take"-- his perspective on the draining and abusive side of celebrity. Released in 2005 on the White Stripes album Get Behind Me Satan, Rita Hayworth is described as being accosted repeatedly by an increasingly demanding fan whose obsession finally chases her away: "Well it's just not fair/ I want to get a piece of hair." The question both raised and answered is: "What price fame?"

Jack also pays a very direct homage to Rita's hubby Orson Welles in a Citizen Kane tribute. From the 2001 White Stripes album White Blood Cells, "The Union Forever" is totally comprised of pieces of dialogue from the Kane script. A seemingly impossible feat, White weaves the story of Charles Foster Kane (left) into a macabre translation of destructive capitalism and the ravages suffered by its most famous cinematic victim. "The union forever" is thus illustrated as a death sentence, and the painful life of isolation-- "It can't be love, for there is no true love"-- that Kane is left to suffer in his untouchable castle on a hill is sonically translated by White. In listening, movie fans can connect to the otherwise unrelatable character on a whole other level.

Hello, Norma Jeane...

Marilyn Monroe's (right) name pops up everywhere, so it barely joggles the mind anymore when she presents herself in song. However, the most famous and direct offering to Hollywood's sacrificed movie angel is Elton John's "Candle in the Wind." Released in 1973, Elton composed a cathartic release for a world still in mourning for the luminous star who died too soon. The song is particularly fascinating in the way Elton's empathy for the fallen idol and his poignant childhood memories reflect the powerful impact that she had and has maintained on the universal culture. Marilyn was as American as apple pie, but her beauty and vulnerability crossed over borders and oceans to reach people around the world. Few people can have such an amazing effect. Elton would alter the lyrics in 1997 to honor the death of another far-reaching woman, Lady Diana, after her equally shocking and affecting death, but the fact that Sir Elton's feelings of loss were as palpable for a starlet he never knew as they were for a close friend speaks volumes: "I would have liked to have known you,/ but I was just a kid."

In Thine Honor

The tragedy of Frances Farmer (right) has become one of the most famous cautionary tales about Hollywood: if you come here and try to maintain your independence, you will be lobotomized. I am hearing Marilyn Manson's "Beautiful People" in my head as I say this, as he has been known to make a commentary or two on celebrity (Hello, "Dope Show" and ass-less pants). But, a much less dramatic and equally tortured musician added his two cents to the Tinsel Town blood bank. Kurt Cobain continued the saga of fame's destruction with his own drug overdose in 1994. One of rock's most complicated and raw poets, his personal demons certainly found a soul mate in Frances, to whom he penned an ode in 1993's In Utero. The song "Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle" not only explored Cobain's empathy for the destroyed muse, but reflected his understanding of her inability to compromise. At the time, his internal battle to maintain artistic integrity with the growing popularity of his band caused him to draw a connection between himself and the actress, who fought the same losing battle so many decades before. He would too lose his fight by succumbing to his addictions, but through his words, they both come out victorious, leaving an indelible mark on our cultural history: "She'll come back as fire, And burn all the liars,/ leave a blanket of ash on the ground." We're still burning.


Not Too Fast to Leave a Mark

James Dean (right) remains the poster boy for his generation and a symbol to every generation of youth that follows. He carries the torch of existential confusion, youthful rebellion, and the sort of obstinate bravery that gets us all through puberty. As such, he has influenced many people. Many would try to copy his look to replicate that James Dean cool, but The Eagles tried instead to synthesize his sound. Their 1974 offering "James Dean," from their album On the Border, is an example of a direct star tribute. There is no metaphor; there is no mystery in the lines. Don Henley et al simply wanted to write a song about pretty much the coolest person in their personal recollection. The impenetrability of Dean's bravado on the screen gave him a great power that many an adolescent wished to possess, hence the remaining fascination with his persona: "James Dean, you said it all so clean/ And I know my life would look all right/ If I could see it on the silver screen." Herein too does the band solve the mystery behind Dean's immortality: tragically killed in an auto accident in life, on the screen he still survives. Behind the shield of cinema hides the eternal elixir of life. Too fast to live, too famous to die.


Music in Silence

Not all the glory went to our more contemporary idols. Even in the days of silent films, movie stars were making a lot of noise. One of the crazes of the day was to write songs in honor of popular, current figures. In keeping with this mindset, the world's first movie star, Florence Lawrence (left), got her melodious comeuppance while at the pinnacle of her career. In the days of vaudeville, barber shop quartets, and fox trots, music had a very different personality from the one it bears today-- which is very schizophrenic at times. But, imagine an era where you could actually identify the instrument you were hearing-- I know, it's a long shot. While visiting with friends, one might hear a musician tickling the ivories to "Sweet Rosie O'Grady." A drunken night with friends might end with a house band encore of "And the Band Played On." In 1916, Carl Laemmle hosted a company party for the employees of Universal-- a masked ball no less-- to which his ace star Flo was invited. Imagine her surprise and delight when the MacDonald and Steiner Company's most recent hit, "Florence Lawrence," started echoing through the air and extolling the virtues of her "eyes like the violent, lips like the cherry." Had she any question that she was famous, it was quickly answered, and one can imagine she waltzed it up-- in between blushes, of course.


The Great Profile

Montgomery Clift was pretty (see right). Pretty talented, but also just really damn pretty. Before his tragic car crash, which marred his otherwise perfect visage, it was fairly well agreed upon that he was born with the right profile. Hence, The Clash's 1979 London Calling offering, "The Right Profile." The entire song is written about the public's agony, confusion, and even cold-heartedness after witnessing the movie star's altered appearance in Raintree County: "Monty's face is broken on a wheel/ Is he alive? Can he still feel?"  Monty's downward slide and addiction to pain pills and alcohol are also melodized, as is the hypocrisy of a world that turned its back on one of their prettiest people when he wasn't so pretty anymore. As the idol of Red River and A Place in the Sun, Monty had overcome the crutch of his good looks to bring forth great performances of depth and feeling. After his car crash, Monty in one respect found himself unbound-- as an actor, he was now able to pursue more character roles that would have been denied him in his pristine condition. But too, he suffered the ego blow of his fall from grace when he lost his face. In his life, he became both beauty and the beast, a point that The Clash illustrated with their typical howling and hard-hitting rhythms. 


Quick Hits:

As Lon Chaney (right) is "The Man of a Thousand Faces," it is fitting that he too become "The Man of a Thousand Songs." Countless numbers have been written for the sad actor whose continuing pain and influence never seem to wane. He has been mentioned or directly written about in songs from multiple artists: from Vetiver, to Garland Jeffreys, to Rob Zombie-- not to mention the hit from The Hollywood Revue of 1929, "Lon Chaney's Gonna Get You If You Don't Watch Out!" From Lon's martyrdom to his grotesquerie, he continues to inspire like-minded sufferers, freaks, and idolaters. Over 80 years after his death, his growing legion of fans hold tightly to his memory, as if hoping that he will emerge from the grave and perhaps in turn wear their faces too when they become too heavy. At the very least, these different musical artists return the favor by taking turns wearing his.

When John Ford's The Searchers hit theaters in 1956, he probably hoped at best to have made a great film. Little did he know that it would become an instant classic and the movie that future filmmakers like Steven Spielberg would look to as the prototype of perfect filmmaking. The success of the flick centered around the layered and complicated performance of John Wayne (left), whose hardened, prejudiced cowboy reflected the political unrest of a society undergoing change. His stubborn behavior was clearly indicated in his constant retort: "That'll be the day..." By the film's end, the day of reckoning did come... and so too did Buddy Holly's hit "That'll Be the Day," which was lyrically if not thematically inspired by the film and Wayne's performance in it.

This one remains nameless, but the song "The Second Time Around," which was penned by Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen in 1960, was dedicated to one very special lady. While the song made its debut via Bing Crosby, it was more heavily associated over the years with King Crooner Frank Sinatra. This is not just because Frank recorded and performed the song himself many times, but because it was through him that Van Heusen met Shirley MacLaine (right), an often forgotten female member of the infamous Rat Pack. Van Heusen fell in love with Shirley, who unfortunately was married to Steve Parker. While he pined, poor Jimmy wrote the ballad for his lady love, whom he prayed would leave her husband. She did, but not until the '80s. Jimmy didn't get Shirley, but at least Frank got a hit out of it.

And the bands play on...