MENTAL MONTAGE: The Direct-ators Part II



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOW, THAT'S FUNNY: Part IX

As gorgeous as Rita Hayworth was, there was always a touch

of little girl innocence about her.

Reviewing the life of Rita Hayworth, one may be left with the feeling that this poor lady had no fun at all. That is simply not true. A little girl trapped in the body of a luscious woman, Rita had a childlike sense of humor that she did, on occasion, get the chance to exercise. She seemed to bond with every day people more than her glamorous peers of the silver screen. As such, she formed close relationships with people like her secretary, Shifra Haran, and her make-up man, Bob Schiffer.


Shifra would see Rita at her best and at her worst. She came into Rita's employment because she had started out as Orson Welles's secretary, only to be charmed by Rita, whom she looked after like a daughter. She quickly empathized with the silent beauty, whom she realized was more insecure than her looks would indicate. When Orson began wooing Rita, Shifra would often walk into a room to find Rita reading, trying to improve her mind so that Orson would think well of her. Embarrassed by her almost total lack of formal education, she would hastily hide the book so that no one would know what she was doing. Shifra knew, and these little moments of humanity were what won her over to Rita's side, even after witnessing her all out brawls with Orson. One of her most cherished memories, however, is a moment when Rita really let her hair down. The two ladies had just returned to the US from Europe on the Queen Elizabeth. Having just divorced herself from Welles and currently being sought by Prince Aly, Rita was a ball of nerves most of the time. Clearly, she needed to unleash the stress. Thus, before disembarking from the great ship, Rita challenged Shifra to a spit-ball contest. She and Shifra stuck their dainty heads through a couple of port holes and hocked loogies like nobody's business. "That's the kind of gal she was," Shifra would recall proudly. However, their immature hijinks were not appreciated by all. Suddenly, Rita pulled her head back aboard: "The man below us just stuck his head out and I think I hit him!" Indeed she had, for when Shifra peered below to investigate, she was met by an angry gaze. One can imagine the two full-grown women chuckling uncontrollably at the mishap. For all of the glitz of Rita's movie star existence, it was these small moments that made her feel truly alive.



Bob Schiffer perhaps knew this better than anyone. He would come to know the woman behind the make-up very well as her cosmetics guru (see right). They remained nothing more than friends, although Bob admitted that he had a deep and unwavering crush on her that was constantly irritated by her poor choice in men. For this reason, he perhaps took a little too much pleasure in playing elaborate jokes on her suitors. Rita was at one time being romanced by producer Charles Feldman. It just so happened that Bob was over at her place having drinks when Charles showed up at her door. Rita was panicked! She was worried that Charles would misunderstand her friendship with Bob and was uncertain of how to explain his presence. Bob offered a solution: he would pretend to be Thor Heyerdahl of Norway-- adventurer and author of the recent success, Kon-Tiki. As such, he would pretend to speak no English and utter the only Norwegian word he knew, which was, of course, an expletive. Rita agreed, and Charles entered. When he met "Thor," he became excited, for he had been wanting to meet and sign him at the studio! Bob kept a straight face and feigned incomprehension as Charles tried to communicate. As Charles made an ass of himself talking slowly to the foreigner-- who only responded with his one token swear word-- Rita had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Several times, she had to excuse herself so she could have a hilarious outburst in her room. Bob performed like a pro, occasionally deigning to converse with Rita in Spanish, which Charles too did not understand. The game tarried on as long as the two dared before Bob said his goodbyes, never breaking character. Charles must have been disappointed that he didn't land that contract.



Bob had some definite scrapes with Orson Welles after Rita married him (together, left). When filming The Lady from Shanghai, Bob was serving once again as Rita's make-up man. This was all well and good, but Orson proved to be a bit of an overbearing dictator. Tyrannical and demanding, he sometimes seemed to invent reasons to belittle or snap at Bob. Granted, he was probably under severe stress, serving as both an actor and as the director, but he too was perhaps jealous of Rita's friendship with Bob and used his position to enact a little revenge. Things would come to a head one day, with Orson blowing his top and ordering Bob to hurry up with re-touches. The more he yelled, the slower the angered Bob would move. Finally, Orson screamed, "You're fired!" Rita was not pleased, but to keep the peace, Bob continued doing her make-up in secret and sent one of his assistants to "pretend" to do his work on the set. This ploy worked well, until the entire production had to switch to location shooting in Mexico. Rita had to smuggle Bob onto the departing plane without Orson noticing. Bob, understandably upset over the whole thing, got a little schnockered at the bar before take off, where-- in a stupor-- he divulged the time and location of the flight to several lurking reporters. He got to the plane early and took a spot in the cock-pit with the pilot, an old war buddy, and passed out. Rita and Orson arrived to much fanfare, uncertain how the press had discovered their rendezvous point. To make matters worse, there was much turbulence on the flight, which frightened Rita and angered Orson. At his wit's end, Orson stormed the cock pit to talk to the pilot, who coincidentally had just stepped out, leaving the plane on auto-pilot. Thus, Orson was greeted only by the sight of a slovenly Bob Schiffer at the helm. His eyes bulged, and he raced back to Rita. "That jealous friend of yours is trying to kill us," he screamed in terror! Not so, but at least Bob won a few points back by frightening the unstirrable Orson Welles, even if accidentally. He may never have won Rita's heart, but he could always make her smile

When Carroll Baker (right, as Luz Benedict II) began taking acting classes with Lee Strasberg, she found herself in very handsome company. Struggling actors like Paul Newman and Steve McQueen were friends, and Eva Marie Saint was a constant companion. At many a get-together, Carroll would see another boy, whom she felt strangely drawn to and mystified by. He was an odd duck, with a small frame, tousled blonde hair, and a tiny face. Always separate from the group and lost in his own thoughts, he spent most of his time playing his bongos before disappearing to God knows where. Every now and then, he would see Carroll looking at him, trying to read his thoughts, and he would smile. But they exchanged few words. Yet, for some reason, James Dean always held a place in her heart. When Carroll was called West for a screen test for George Stevens's Giant in the spring of 1955, she was escorted to Warner Brothers by one of Jack Warner's lackeys. When they arrived at the gate, they were greeted by the security guard, who was hunched over, his face hidden by his hat. Suddenly, issuing beneath the brim, Carroll heard a muffled, "Carroll. Car-roll. CAR-ROLL!" She jumped out the car and swiped the hat off the head of Jimmy Dean, who burst into laughter. Carroll never did figure out how he knew when she was going to arrive-- she was too surprised to ask. He grabbed her, set her atop his motorcycle, and drove her (rapidly) out to his favorite place on the lot: a white house with a picket fence. Since they had never really been friends before, Carroll was shocked by Jimmy's sudden attentiveness. He seemed to have grown taller and more confident. They still talked little, but had an instant sort of rapport and camaraderie. He then drove her to the commissary where she ate lunch while staring at the likes of Elizabeth Taylor.

Carroll landed the role of Luz in Giant without a real audition. George met her and was sold. Carroll returned to New York and her husband, Jack Garfein, but before she knew it, she was back at Warner's for the big shoot... And back at that security gate! The same thing happened. The guard started in with "Carroll. Car-roll. CAR-ROLL!" This time, Carrol hopped out of the car and tore the cap from the guard's head only to be met with shock. She stood staring at a small boy with dark, sad eyes. He grinned at her shyly. Undeterred she called, "Come out, Jimmy! I know you're here!" Jimmy hopped out of the booth, cracking up yet again. "Oh boy, did I fool you!" He introduced her to Sal Mineo, his accomplice, with whom he had just wrapped on Rebel Without a Cause, then drove her back to the same white house as before. However, this time, they were met by an intruder, and one that Jimmy was not too happy to see: Dennis Hopper. Seeing that their privacy had been compromised, Jimmy grew irritated. Carroll never did figure out why he grew so cold at the sight of Dennis at "his house," but she assumed it was out of annoyance-- it was pretty clear to her that Dennis was trying to mimic all of Jimmy's mannerisms and attitudes. In any case, this little white house remained special to her, because it held such pleasant memories between James and herself. This had been the first place in Hollywood where she had felt at home. After Jimmy died, it was here that she went to grieve and say good bye. (Jimmy lassos Liz Taylor in Giant, left).

Forever Amber was being touted as a Twentieth-Century Fox sensation! Adapted from the scintillating novel by Kathleen Winsor about a young woman who sleeps her way up the English social totem, Linda Darnell was cast in the star-making role of Amber St. Clair (right) and Cornel Wilde was cast as one of her many suitors, Bruce Carlton. Unfortunately, all the hype and expense did not end as profitably as the studio had hoped. Though far from a failure, the film did not reap a success of Gone with the Wind-like proportions. Of course, there were signs all along that the movie was doomed. Linda herself, at a mere 23 years of age, was forced to carry the entire picture on her young shoulders. With a grueling shooting schedule, forty costume changes, and a strict diet weakening her system, it came as no surprise when the formerly brunette and now blonde actress collapsed on the set. She was sent home with Mastoiditis, though many would believe her true illness bore another name: Otto Preminger. Linda didn't take too well to the director. Few did. He was tyrannical, abrasive, and almost sadistic in his methods. While he produced mesmerizing films, few of the actors that suffered under his demands believed that the pain was worth the pleasure.


Cornel (left) had worked with Otto previously on Leave Her to Heaven and Centennial Summer, and was in no way, shape, or form looking forward to a reunion. He almost envied Linda for being home recuperating while he was left to suffer on the set. Linda did turn out to be lucky. One day, a dueling scene was to be shot, and Otto insisted on a special effect to simulate an early morning fog. They tried dry ice, but it dissipated too quickly. Then, some genius suggested using Nujol. The oil mixture was sprayed into the lights and created a beautiful illusion of mist. It was just what Otto wanted. There was, however, an unfortunate side effect. See, Nujol also acts as a laxative. After inhaling the chemical for hours on end, as Cornel recalled, the entire company got diarrhea. Linda was grateful to miss this episode. The worst she was to suffer was her initial illness and a minor burn from the great burning of London sequence-- during which many local residents called the fire dept. upon seeing the sky engulfed in smoke and flames. Yet, the worst scar Linda carried with her was that of Otto. She detested him, and this in effect had broken her trust with many future directors. When she started filming on A Letter to Three Wives, Joseph L. Mankiewicz decided to use this to his advantage. During the scene in which Linda's Lora May is to look with antipathy at a photo of character Addie Ross, he supplied a picture of Otto. The effect was perfect.


On the silver screen, Fatty Arbuckle and Buster Keaton got into all kinds of madcap shenanigans. Off screen... Fatty Arbuckle and Buster Keaton got into all kinds of madcap shenanigans. The anatomical opposites were a perfect match in the world of silent comedy and the best of friends in reality. Their physical dexterity mixed with their mental proclivities for mischief is perhaps what helped them gel so well. Their pranks became infamous and were so well planned and thoroughly calculated that mayhem seemed to be their religion. Soon enough, the duo were referring to their naughty gags as "Special Operations." They would find a mark, formulate their ploy, and execute with no mercy. One member of their countless prey was actress Pauline Frederick. As wealth was accumulated in Hollywood, some of the hoity-toity movie stars began taking on their new roles as rich aristocracy a little too seriously. For her part, Pauline had decided to spend her seemingly endless dough on authentic English grass, which she had specially imported and placed in the lawn of her new Beverly Hills mansion. Fatty and Buster couldn't resist. Enlisting the help of Al St. John, the threesome disguised themselves as Water Company Workers, complete with a rented truck. They told Pauline's staff that they were looking for a leak. In order to locate it, they would have to disturb her lawn. Thus, they rolled up her entire yard and carted it off. When Pauline woke in the morning and stuck her head out the window, she was greeted with nothing but dirt. Those dirty scoundrels! (Right in The Bell Boy).


Another favorite prank of Fatty and Buster occurred when they took one of their many trips to San Francisco-- ironically a place that would hold little laughter for Fatty later. They rented a room in a hotel and decided to have a some fun at the staff's expense. Buster took off his shoes and scraped them along the edge of the windowsill, getting them good and dirty. Then, Fatty balanced him with his hands, and Buster-- acrobat that he was-- proceeded to walk up the wall, then did a handstand off Fatty in order to walk across the ceiling and back down again. Thus, it appeared that a man had literally walked all over the room. When the cleaning crew came in the next day, there is no telling what they made of the strange trail of footprints. It must have driven them crazy trying to clean it, but overall, I would say that they were just confused... (Fatty, Luke the Dog, and Buster left in The Cook).

Didja Know: Part III

Here are the latest facts that were "news to me." Didja know that...

Cagney gets a little rough with Bogie in Angels with Dirty Faces.

... James Cagney almost slept with the fishes???

In 1939, James Cagney and George Raft went to work on the intense prison film Each Dawn I Die (left). The two leading men knew each other and got along well. Both had grown up "in the hood" as it were, and had rubbed elbows with some of the nastiest ne'er do wells-- some of whom would go on to become leading gangsters and Mafiosos. However, both managed to keep themselves from becoming too deeply involved in the mobster lifestyle. For his part, Jim stayed completely away from the men he considered morally reprehensible. George, on the other hand, forged certain alliances when acting as a chauffeur for certain goons in his Hell's Kitchen days, yet he never got into the deep stuff. A suave guy, he knew how to play the game, kept things social, and stayed out of the business, while giving the bad guys just enough allegiance to maintain their respect and his own separate life. These connections would come in handy. James and George met again in Hollywood, and Jim got George one of his first big breaks dancing the "Peabody" in Taxi. Later, George would return the favor.

During the big Hollywood shakedown, when gang warfare had resulted in physical and financial intimidation of the studios-- who were forced to use mob managed union workers-- the notoriously stubborn Jack Warner must have been causing the big guns a little bit of irritation. While on the set of Each Dawn I Die, George happened to see his old pal Willie Bioff wandering around the set. Bioff's eyes landed menacingly on Cagney, no friend to the mob, then moved up to a large klieg light hanging above. George then witnessed Bioff give a signal to a worker standing in the rafters. What George didn't know, was that Bioff was planning a celebrity assassination: he wanted to take Cagney out by dropping a light on his head! Offing one of Warner's biggest stars was a definite way of sending the big-wig a message. It has been popularly recalled that George stepped in to save Jim's life, but this is only partially true. George clearly knew that something was afoot, but he didn't know what, and he also knew better than to get in the middle of it. Later, after the film wrapped, Bioff told George that he was indeed going to bump Cagney off, but had been halted because they didn't want to screw up filming for George. So, in effect, George did save Jim's life, even if indirectly. One wonders if Jim ever knew how close he came to curtains???

Of course, Jim always knew that life on a film set was dangerous. Not only is a film celebrity's career constantly in jeopardy due to changing public tastes, competitive talent, or demanding moguls, but before the advent of the Screen Actors Guild-- of which Jim was a proud member and instigator-- performers were often put through the mill emotionally and physically. Overworked, underpaid, and unprotected, the company brass had little concern for the pawns in their money game. After all, if you lose one actor, you can just hire another. This mentality led to the lackadaisical way actors were put in danger. Ever notice how in those old Cagney pictures and likewise gangster films, the shooters are always pointing their guns at a downward angle? This was because they were often shooting with live rounds. For those big productions, when Jim had to outrun or dodge an array of bullets, he wasn't acting. When working on The Public Enemy, for example, a man named "Bailey" was hired as a professional sharpshooter. Having served in the Great War, Bailey was an ace shot. The director would set up the scene and direct the movement, then Jim's character would be instructed to run this way or that away from the spray of bullets, which Bailey, from his gunner platform, calculatingly fired behind him, leaving authentic bullet holes along the walls of the set. Filming these scenes took a lot of guts-- or stupidity. As good a shot as Bailey was, it took a lot of trust for Jim to perform knowing that if he moved a hair out of place, he might lose his whole head! Luckily, the miracle of special effects has made this method of gun play obsolete on the sound stage.


... John Barrymore had one up on Al Jolson?

Everyone recalls The Jazz Singer as being the miracle film that moved cinema from a land of silence to a world of sound. However, this transition did not occur overnight. Even The Jazz Singer itself was not an in toto sound film from start to finish. Instead, it is a silent piece with synced music in various places, into which Al Jolson stealthily added a line of dialogue or two. Before continuous music and dialogue became the norm, there were films produced with random sound effects, profiting off the gimmick of the new innovation. Inserted into the fray were a whistle here, a car horn there, and occasionally entire songs. But, before The Jazz Singer was released in 1927, John Barrymore's romantic epic Don Juan was produced in 1926 (left). It represented another step toward sound film in that it was actually the first film Warner Brothers released with the use of the novel "Vitaphone." Warners really spearheaded the sound film movement by investing in and acquiring this new apparatus, while the rest of the industry remained hesitant both about the change and the huge costs it would incur-- not only in production but in restructuring theaters to suit the new technology. The first Vitaphone feature film, Don Juan was synced from start to finish with sound effects and music, though dialogue was still noticeably absent. When played to packed houses, it was often accompanied by more talkie shorts and even an intro by the fearful censor boss, Will Hays.The film was a huge success as a result, but despite big box office, it failed to recoup its financial losses. This put Harry Warner off a bit, but Sam Warner-- the most forward thinking of the brothers-- really pushed for continued use of the device. His pegged the next Vitaphone feature as The Jazz Singer. Though not the first film produced with the Vitaphone, it would in time prove to be the most vital. Ironically, Sam would pass away one day before the premiere of his greatest success.


... the Egyptian was the first Hollywood movie theater?

Back in the early Hollywood days, the awkward transition from live performance to recorded film was evidenced in the film premiere. These days, one merely sits back as the opening credits start to roll, but in the 1920s especially, the film premiere was made to be almost as big a production as the film itself. Sid Grauman personified the extremities of cinematic extravagance with his plush movie palaces, complete with vast stages for elaborate pre-show performances, skits, dance numbers, and songs. The theater-going experience was just that-- an "experience," and one ripe for the senses. In addition to transporting his paying customers and clientele to various different places as they watched the screen, Sid too constructed his theaters to resemble far off, exotic locales. Grandeur, splendor, pleasure-- there was no holding back, and customers paid to be awed. While his Chinese Theatre is best remembered, he too had great success with a previous venture, The Egyptian Theatre, which opened 5 years earlier in 1922, mere blocks away on Hollywood Boulevard (right). This was the first official Hollywood movie theater because it was built specifically for cinema and was not a transformed storefront or vaudeville theater like the others, including The Iris.

Modeled after the infamous African country, and cashing in on the invigorated interest in the recent King Tut phenomenon, Sid covered the Egyptian's walls with ancient artwork and hieroglyphics, convincing audiences that they were sitting in the midst of a desert mirage. Lining the red carpet entrance, where fans stood to watch their favorite stars attend premieres, there too were rows of vendors offering souvenir items and showcasing costumes and props from the latest flick. Needless to say, the largess made it a huge success. To Sid, it was all in the details. He even had a sentinel fully costumed, standing on the roof of the theater to announce when showtime was about to commence. After the pre-show hooplah, the fan mayhem, and the dancing girls, it's a wonder anyone had any energy left to even watch the scheduled movie. Because Sid created this first massive theater, he literally brought film to Hollywood, which until then wasn't considered the hub of the industry it is today. With studios scattered all around Los Angeles, Hollywood and cinema had little connection until Sid came along, which is why he was given the name "Mr. Hollywood." After nearly 90 years of operation, the Egyptian is still going, though it's interior has changed a great deal. Nonetheless, it remains the oldest running 100%-movie-theater in Hollywood.

 ... "virgin" is a dirty word?

In 1953, Otto Preminger decided to tackle Hugh Herbert's smash play and turn it into a film. The Moon is Blue, a comedy of wit and manners, may have read like a modern Oscar Wilde play, but it translated like a bombshell. Opposing forces took offense to the very open and lighthearted dialogue with regard to sex. The film's heroine is a young, outspoken, and charming girl played by newcomer Maggie McNamara, who just happens to be a virgin and makes no apology about it. After she meets architect William Holden on the Empire State Building observation deck (where else?), he becomes completely smitten, but is mostly consumed with the idea of-- politely-- ridding her of the tedious "virgin" label. What results is a inept seduction with fellow suitor David Niven thrown into the mix and both boys realizing that they're no match for Maggie's smarts. Despite the fact that all ends well, in matrimony, MPPDA head Joseph Breen was hot under the collar due to the casual way with which sex was discussed, not to mention the open way in which the characters of Holden and Niven went about hatching plans to seduce their innocent prey. Breen refused to give the film the censorship's seal of approval, but Preminger released the film anyway with the help of United Artists. Such a thing was unprecedented. Due to the film's themes and the use of words like "seduction," "mistress," "pregnant," and "virgin"-- the latter of which had never been used in such context in a film before-- several theaters refused to show it. It started at small venues, slowly drumming up a fan following, and eventually earned a hefty $3.5m dollar profit. "Virgin" thus became the word that started the toppling of the production code administration. The film was additionally successful in earning McNamara an Academy Award nomination and winning Niven a Golden Globe, (which was doubly eventful for him, since originally the studio didn't want to cast him, thinking he was old news). 


... porn is nearly as old as film itself?

That's right. We've all been dirty perverts a long, long time. It's nothing new. While some pinpoint early German sexual education/health films as the earliest source of pornography, the movie labeled as the first official stag film is 1915's A Free Ride (right). There is some debate as to the year of its release, which may actually have been later, around 1923, but thus far it is the oldest surviving product of our cinematic debauchery. The plot is about as intricate as those today: some random guy picks up some random girls on the side of the road. After he pulls to the side to relieve himself in the desert, one of the two females follows him to do the same. The sight of her panties dropping apparently is more than he can handle, and before you know it... Yadda yadda yowza! Because such levels of sexuality and outright raunchiness were illegal, the film was not released publicly but was instead shown in all-male clubs, so as not to offend delicate, female sensibilities-- excluding of course the two female leads. What can be said about this now hilarious attempt at celluloid erotica, is that the filmmakers apparently embraced its comedy. The director is credited as A. Wise Guy, the DP as Will B. Hard, and the title writer as Will She.