BITS OF COINCIDENCE: Part Five

Has Anybody Seen... James Dean???

It is commonly accepted that James Dean appeared in only three films. Accepted, but untrue. One of James's first big breaks came when he was featured in the film Has Anybody Seen My Gal (left)? A bit part, his big screen moment amounted to him ordering a sundae from Charles Coburn. Hardly groundbreaking... In fact, after Dean's death, the film's star, Piper Laurie, had no idea that she had even been in a film with the late, great James Dean until it was pointed out to her. However, the film's other star, Rock Hudson, would remember Dean when they were cast together once more in Giant. Rock was not amused at the reunion, and (despite gossip to the contrary), he and James did not get along. Mutually threatened by the other's presence, Rock and James rarely conversed and constantly competed for the attention of Elizabeth Taylor, a friend to both. Perhaps it was a simple clash of egos; perhaps the more congenial Rock simply couldn't get around James's idiosyncratic behavior. But, perhaps Rock was a little jealous of the fact that the runt, bit player he once towered over had grown exponentially in popularity since Has Anybody Seen My Gal, and was now stealing scenes from him to boot!

James also did a lot of television work, which isn't popularly recalled. His television debut came via an Easter special-- "The Family Theater: Hill Number One" (right). In it, he played John the Apostle. His first professional part on film and he was cast opposite both struggling actors and seasoned thespians alike, including Raymond Burr, Ruth Hussey, Roddy McDowall, Gene Lockhart, and Leif Erickson. A struggling nobody at the time, his fame would surpass them all within 4 years when he made Elia Kazan's classic East of Eden. But, he did get some notice at the time. His first foray into film acting also spawned his first small fan club, whose meetings he gladly attended! After all, the boy loved attention...

After her days in the Hollywood limelight had faded, which was just fine with her, Jean Arthur (left) had some intermittent bouts teaching dramatics. One gig found her at Vassar in the spring of 1968 as co-instructor with Clint Atkinson. The odd-ball lady's teaching skills were often reported as sub-par, but her students normally fell under her spell nonetheless-- that is, after they realized who she was. In the days before Cable, DVDs, and Netflix, becoming familiar with celebrities of the glory days was not as easy as it is in present society. In fact, it seemed at times that Jean herself had forgotten her stature. The once famous screwball queen of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town no longer saw herself as anyone of import, and she  always remained humbled by other performers. Never recognizing her own talents, it wasn't uncommon for her to become tongue tied around someone she found truly gifted. For example, she once went to one of the plays Atkinson directed, "Miss Julie," and was so blown away by the lead female's performance that she forgot her own status and gushed: "It was just like watching a movie star!" It was a prophetic moment, for the young drama major Meryl Streep went onto a very healthy and groundbreaking cinematic career.

Meryl, as she appeared in her Vassar days.

Jean wasn't the only one responsible for accidentally spotting one of Hollywood's predestined diamonds in the rough. In 1944, actor Ronald Reagan (right in Knute Rockne All American) was already dabbling in politics and matters of state when he was made a Lieutenant of the army's First Motion Picture Unit. Coincidentally, he had the idea to boost the war effort by sending photographers out to take pictures of women doing their part for battle. As such, photographer Corporal David Conover was sent to Radioplane at the Glendale Metropolitan Airport to photograph pretty girls hard at work a la Rosie the Riveter. Conover was particularly taken with one beauty, whom his camera truly seemed to favor. After the pictures were printed, it was clear that the rest of America favored her too. Before she knew it, she was working steadily as a model for Emmeline Snively. Soon after changing her name from Norma Jeane Dougherty to Marilyn Monroe, and getting a divorce, she would work her tail off in the film biz and become a famous movie star. I wonder if she ever thanked ol' Ron for the boost?

This Norma Jeane had a long way to go before
she became Marilyn Monroe.

Harpo Marx adored children. The product of a large family himself, it was only natural that the Marx boy with the biggest heart would want a huge brood of his own. He and wife Susan Fleming would eventually adopt four children, all of whom worshipped their Pops, who was more of a child than they were most of the time. George Burns, a good friend, was so moved by Harpo's paternal penchants that he asked why he felt the need to have so many kids? Harpo responded-- with actual speech-- that his dream was to leave the house in the morning and have a smiling face waving to him from every window. I guess he was one kid short, because when shooting Horse Feathers in 1932, he became completely enchanted with a young actress who was ambling about the set with her mother. Though a very pretty little girl, Harpo mostly admired her spunk and unique talent, particularly because it was presented in such a small package. He offered to adopt the sweet pipsqueak for $50,000-- probably in jest, but with Harpo you never know. Shirley Temple decline the offer and stayed with her biological parents. Whoda thunkit? She could have been Shirley Marx-- part of the act!  But then, she was probably too mature for the rest of that gang.

Shirley feeds her belly, while Harpo feeds her ego.

There's no business like show business and no business so tough. It certainly helps to have a few people on your side, especially when it's family. However, the delightful singing trio of The Andrews Sisters-- Maxine, Patty, and Laverne (right)-- still had to overcome the same hurdles, despite having each other to lean on. Their one-two-three punch wasn't as original a gimmick as they'd hoped either. When staying in Chicago, it just so happened that another triplet of singing sisters were staying at the same hotel. At first, despite the age difference between the two sets, there was a little rivalry. Maxine used to rush to the building's rehearsal space in the morning to secure it for her sisters and lock the other intruders out. However, the ice was broken when the youngest member of the other group, nicknamed "Babe," asked to listen to the Andrews rehearse. Unable to say "No" to the adorable little girl, the sisters agreed. After singing awhile, they in turn asked Babe to offer up a song. When Frances Gumm opened her mouth and belted out "Bill" like nobody's business, the Andrews girls were left with their mouths hanging open. Maxine was so moved, she cried! Immediately, the  rivalry between the Andrews Sisters and The Gumm Drops disappeared and they became fast friends and allies. The Gumms would soon disband, but Judy Garland's voice had no problem going solo.

The Gumm Drops: Mary Jane, "Jimmie," and Judy.

And finally, in recognition of a recent royal wedding: Powerhouse actresses Olivia De Havilland and Grace Kelly were not formally acquainted in 1955. Divided by a generation gap, Grace was but one of the younger actresses in Hollywood who was taking on roles that would have once gone to diva extraordinaire Olivia. There were no hard feelings. Olivia was happily married to husband number two, Pierre Galante, and excited about her new life in France (happy coupled pictured left). However, she hadn't completely waved goodbye to Hollywood and was still active in the biz. Pierre used this to his advantage when, as movie editor of Paris-Match Magazine, he was looking for a good scoop in the featured Cannes Film Festival article. Knowing that Grace had been wooed to the event, he decided to use the aid of his wife, luckily a fellow actress, to arrange a fantastic story: "Hollywood Princess Grace Kelly meets Prince Rainier III of Monaco!" With Olivia as his co-conspirator, the duo offered to show Grace around Monaco, and "oh, by the way," introduce her to the Prince. Grace, who was actually quite bashful, begrudgingly agreed, and Pierre set up the meeting. However, there were scheduling conflicts, and after both parties finally settled on a decent time, Rainier still kept them waiting while running late from another engagement. Luckily, Olivia was there to keep Grace occupied with conversation. Had she not held her, Grace probably would have shrugged her shoulders and returned to the festival. Luckily, just as Grace was rising to leave, Rainier appeared, and offered her a tour of the palace, which she had already seen but out of kindness perused again. Afterward, Grace mildly reported to Olivia: "Well, he's very charming." Mission accomplished. The captured pictures were a sensation and the article was a hit. Little did Olivia and Pierre know that they had not only scored a scoop but had too shot the arrow of love.

Kate and William who??? Grace and Prince Rainier are wed just shy

of a year after their first meeting, thanks to O de H.

STAR OF THE MONTH: William Haines

William Haines

It seems fitting to start the New Year with a star who was born on New Year's Day. Indeed, he was born not only at the dawn of a new year but at the dawn of a new century. Little did anyone know on that January 1st evening that one of the most notorious and celebrated men of the 1900s had just been birthed, (though in fact it appears that he was born a few minutes into January 2nd. January first just sounded nicer to him).


When I was first introduced to the name William Haines escapes me. In my forays into Hollywood's complicated and intriguing past, his name continued to pop up over and over again. He was never the topic of any larger discussion, but he was always peppered into different accounts of celebrity life in the 1920s. In depth information about him was scarce, yet he was obviously important enough to warrant continuous reference. My impression of him was based upon three recurring things: his reputation as the first openly gay star, his post-film enduring career in interior design, and of course that nagging Gable rumor. Finally, fed up with these taunting bits of information, I decided to dig deeper into his life and career. What I discovered was a man who was so unbelievably charismatic that I was a little bit miffed to have never known him personally. Sometimes, my research introduces me to people whom I wish I could have been friends with in another time and place, and he definitely falls into this category. William Haines was fun!

Looking his happy-go-lucky self in a publicity still.

Born in Staunton, VA, Billy would always maintain his gentlemanly southern ways, but while he enjoyed a fairly happy childhood, he was quickly bored with the old-fashioned ideals of his environment. He ran away from home at the age of fourteen to live a life of continuous motion and excitement, and he would continue to evolve and grow with unparalleled vigor throughout all of his years. From a teenage dance hall owner, to a movie star, to an interior decorator to the stars, Billy never knew when to quit, so he never did. What allowed him to succeed in any endeavor that he approached was his endearing personality. He was a spark plug: mentally and physically alive, witty, and gregarious. His identity as a "wisecracker"-- a smart aleck quick with a retort-- was perpetuated on the silver screen. He started in extra work after winning the "New Faces" contest for Goldwyn Studios in 1921, along with Eleanor Boardman (a lifelong friend), but it was Brown at Harvard that catapulted him into stardom. Forever after, he would play the brash youth who recklessly and selfishly laughed his way through life until he was forced to take responsibility and become a man. He contributed to the great history of the "coming of age" film, taking the reigns from Douglas Fairbanks, whose earlier films about an immature boy who almost accidentally becomes a man were a far cry from the more sexually devious youths that Billy introduced.

Mustached with good friends Polly Moran, Marion Davies, 

and King Vidor on the set of Show People.

The irony of ironies, of course, is that despite the fact that Billy was a huge heartthrob and lusted after by teenage girls everywhere, he was a self-professed homosexual, living openly with his partner Jimmie Shields. If Billy is remembered at all today as a member of the film community, it is for the fact that he was not only a gay film star but has been labeled as the first and the only openly gay star of the silent era. Many rumors have been claimed about various stars with regard to their sexuality, and there are others whom we have later learned were unfortunately closeted due to the prejudices of their own times, which makes the fact that Billy failed to apologize for his orientation stand out not just in the '20s and '30s, but even today, wherein he remains an icon. At the time, to perpetuate a clean, wholesome image and to boost ticket sales, stars who were "queer" (as they were called at the time) were often encouraged to marry a "beard" so that their career could continue on unscathed. Billy many times was called into Louis B. Mayer's office, where his career was dangled before him like a carrot: "Behave or be gone!" Billy ignored LB's threats, then swaggered out and bought himself as many carrots as he wanted. While his identity was still guarded by a more friendly relationship between the studios and the press and his own ability to answer direct questions with jokes-- such as the tall tale that he was in love with the matronly Polly Moran-- his refusal to assimilate to societal standards for acceptance, or to studio standards for money, made him a very different presence in a world of otherwise carbon-copied and controlled identities. 

Opposite pal Anita Page in his first all-talkie picture, Navy Blues.

And Billy was embraced by his own community. Everyone in Hollywood loved him. Joan Crawford was his best friend, Carole Lombard adored him, George Cukor admired him, and all three of these people would also commission Billy to decorate their lush homes when he started working in interior design, initially as a hobby. After garnering attention for the gorgeous house he had made for himself at 1712 North Stanley Avenue, Billy was compelled to open an antique shop, which he filled with statues, artwork, and pieces of furniture that he'd discovered anywhere from flea markets to overseas European travels. After his film career stalled, Billy had no lag time between gigs. He literally went from MGM to Haines-Foster, Inc. and later William Haines, Inc. Over the years, his eye for style and beauty dressed up the homes of William Powell, Ronald Reagan, Betsy Bloomingdale, and Claudette Colbert. All the while, he endured in a fifty-year relationship with Jimmie and enjoyed the praise and appreciation for a life in the arts that he had never expected.

Pensive, dashing, sylish... and surprisingly serious.

Billy's career in film is therefore made a little less impressive in comparison to his life as a stylist, but he is nonetheless notable for his contribution. In 1930, he had become so popular that he was voted the #1 Male Box-office Star. His pal Joan Crawford, whom he called "Cranberry," was voted the #1 Female Star. He transitioned well into talkies, and indeed was MGM's first talking star, but changing social tides caused his happy-go-lucky and reckless smart-ass characters to be moot. His films failed to reel in the audiences they once had, and when things between him and LB came to a head, he was offered an ultimatum: give up Jimmie and get married or get out. And so, despite a few films outside of MGM and a Set Decorating gig on Dorothy Arzner's film Craig's Wife, Billy left the movies to pursue bigger and better things. Yet, he'll never really leave the movies, because his magnetic presence is still there in Little Annie Rooney, Tell It to the Marines, and Slide Kelly Slide. Eighty years since his day in the sun, the guy remains as likable as ever. I could go on all day talking about him, and indeed it looks like I very nearly have, but I'll let his work (onscreen and off) speak for him. 

MENTAL MONTAGE: The Blurring of Violence

In continuing my exploration of Lon Chaney this month, I thought it appropriate to discuss one of his most notorious films: London After Midnight. However, I do not broach this topic as a means of discussing the usual controversy surrounding the movie, which is that it remains one of the most sought after "lost" silent film in existence-- or, in this case, non-existence. Rather, I want to confront the startling effect the film had on its audiences and on one audience member in particular... 

I have often said that if you investigate early cinema for the first 20 years of its existence, you will have heard the whole story. We continue to interpret darker current events as startling and even devastating when in reality they are tired, tried, and true stories of shamefully recurring human behavior. In Hollywood, from film plots to celebrity self-destruction, it's all been done before, because as it turns out: times may change, but people don't. [Moment of silence for human stupidity].

So it is with London After Midnight, which planted the seed of blame in the land of celluloid for actions of violence in the real world.  Lon Chaney was already known for his horrifying faces and their powerful affect on the public by the time he starred in Tod Browning's latest feature. In fact, during previous screenings of The Phantom of the Opera, ambulances often had to be summoned to attend to the faint of heart who were passion out in the middle of screenings in reaction to the gruesome visage of the phantom "Erik" for the first time. (Friedkin's The Exorcist repeated this phenomenon in the '70s, but again, Lon was first). However, to my knowledge, it wasn't until London that the line between exhilarated viewership-- high on the adrenaline of a good scare-- and paranoiac obsession was crossed, instigating viewers to repeat 2-dimensional sequences of the silver screen in our 3-dimensional world.

Robert Williams was a carpenter living in London when he saw London in 1928. So profound was his reaction to what he saw that he claimed he was afterward "haunted" by the Vampire Lon had portrayed. Overcome with fear and anxiety, he suffered an "epileptic fit," and consequently killed his Irish housemaid, all while supposedly under the influence of Chaney's villain. In court, Williams would plead his innocence, citing temporary insanity as induced by his viewing of the film. The courts, thankfully, did not buy his story, and he was found guilty of the murder.

Clearly, controversy surrounding violence in the media is not a new phenomenon, born in the past few decades but an old dog playing new tricks. The more brutal the stories become and the more graphic the special effects, the more people want to blame film's more macabre moments for instigating horrific actions in reality. The "the movies did it" defense has become an easy fall back for out-of-control, non-fictional villains responding to carefully contrived, fictional worlds.

Most are aware of the infamous story of John Hinckley, and how he became so obsessed witha young Jodie Foster (left) after watching Taxi Driver that he tried to assassinate Ronald Reagan on March 30, 1981. His goal was to "impress" Foster; to make himself as important and historically relevant as she had become through her acting. And this was not his first attempt. He had stalked Jodie, moved to Connecticut when she began her classes at Yale, slipped notes under her door, and had originally targeted Jimmy Carter as his victim, only to be foiled by a fortunate firearms charge. Hinckley's (below) defense for the attempted assassination of Reagan was to blame the movies. He claimed that he was so effected by the violence and mania of Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver that he was driven to murder.

There are other stories, of course, but they are so common these days that they usually don't make as many waves. The television show "Dexter" has lately been blamed for inciting the murder of Johnny Brian Altinger by Mark Twitchell, a fan of the show. In Scotland in 2002, Allan Menzies claimed that he murdered a friend when seduced by Akasha, Anne Rice's anti-heroine from the film adaptation Queen of the Damned. Equally, after the Columbine tragedy, many questions were raised as to the influence that violence in the media had had on the two young killers, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. 

Ted Bundy was also clever enough to blame pornography for his disturbing, sexually charged murders, and in this instance the public equally jumped on the band wagon. The scapegoat of dangerous images became a convenient way to explain away the psychological conundrum of our species and equally gave us an agenda to, in a sense, kill the messenger to ease our fears, those which in this case we specifically hold against our neighbors. Bundy was just toying with us of course, and his claims offered no real resolutions. However is making the intangible world of, for our purposes, cinema an antagonist in our endlessly chaotic world like blaming the inventor of the hammer for the person who uses it to bludgeon instead of build? The narrow line between artistic interpretation and skewed and repackaged media dramatization wherein we are hypnotized by dirty pictures and salacious advertisements to feed our sado-masochistic tendencies. In America, the Lizzie Borden case is often identified as the source of the strange gluttonous love affair between media and audience. Over 110 years after Lizzie was declared "not guilty," television viewing audiences held their breath watching the OJ Simpson trial.

As showcased in the aforementioned, the irony of the "life imitating art" argument is, of course, that movies are the result of art imitating life. Films are made to translate in a structured fashion the complexities of human behavior; they are meant to act as mirrors, reflecting our own compulsions and emotions back onto us. We go to the theater seeking some truth of ourselves, and whether the image revealed be glorious or ugly, these "truths" were crafted with our own hands by our own collective history. A movie is not a living creature, enforcing its wrath on us; and if it is, it is our breath that gave it that life.

This creates a confusing and baffling cycle, for movies are thus made interpreting old patterns of human behavior only to be blamed for inciting new violence. For example, Psycho, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Silence of the Lambs, were all partially based upon the true story of Ed Gein and his horror house of death (below). On November 17, 1957, police arrived at Gein's residence in Plainfield, WI to arrest him for shoplifting, only to find the farmhouse full of dead bodies, chairs made of skin, and belts made of nipples (to name only a few monstrosities). The disturbing evil, which Gein had crafted into his own sick artistry-- fashion of the flesh--  was a prime subject for storytelling. Possessing the worst in all things psychological, social, historical, and human, it is no wonder that Hitchcock swooped in to turn Gein's madness into cinematic genius. Psycho shocked, appalled, intrigued... and apparently inspired, for later murders were blamed on the film. But Psycho did not create the monster; Hitch had simply re-told an old story. This raises other questions, including that asking if cinema had accidentally become a way for serial killer Ed Gein to continue his destruction? Had the vessels of truth become tools of evil?

                                                  Hitchcock's Psycho House                                                    

In the end, blaming movies for the actions a person chooses to perform in life seems to be a desperate and feeble attempt at salvation. The movie screen, in its magnitude and power, sits Godlike on its pedestal over our heads. We look up to it for answers, for help, for healing... We hope for it to take us away from our lives and protect us from the big bad world outside, (if only for two hours). We love it, as long as it loves us, but when it disappoints us, all we tiny humans can do is point our fingers at it and say, "This is your fault! I renounce you!" In this, we only ever renounce our own responsibility.

As in all things, you take from something only what you bring to it, but, the wheel goes round and round-- or should I say the film canister-- and so the blame game continues. In the end, it is not the images we see flickering on the screen that terrify us, but the things they make us see within ourselves-- evoking, provoking, enticing, forbidding, making masochists of us all, because despite protestation, we keep buying tickets.

*** Update: Indiana teen Andrew Conley was arrested for the murder of his 10-year-old brother in November of 2009. He was an alleged "huge Dexter fan," and many are blaming the show's violence for his horrendous acts.