THE REEL REALS: Edmund Gwenn

Edmund Gwenn aka Kris Kringle

Edmund Gwenn performed a miracle, not just on 34th Street, but in Hollywood: he won an Oscar for playing Santa Claus. How is that even possible? He is now so deeply ingrained in the public consciousness-- as familiar as Dr. Suess or the Statue of Liberty-- that few take stock of the great artistic feat fleshing out such a fantastical, fictitious character was. He took one of the most beloved mythological personalities of all time-- a cartoon of our hopeful delusions-- and made him real. He gave Kris Kringle a personality and a warmth that was genuine and full of heart when a lesser performance would have registered as cheesy, or worse, creepy. Today, we make holiday spirit spoof films like "Bad Santa" or "Elf." This isn't because we have necessarily lost our sentiment-- mankind has always been cynical. This transition is simply due to the fact that we need no more translations of Father Christmas and all that such a nostalgic spirit represents to our deeply hidden, childlike hearts in overgrown bodies. Ed marked that territory already. Game over. In one film, Ed saved Christmas for all time. 

Of course, while he is forever attached to this one characterization, Ed has many more accomplishments on his performance platter. He portrayed the similarly light-hearted and amiable priest who tries to convince William Powell's hilariously resistant, atheistic patriarch to be baptized in Life with Father. He was a Hitchcockian linchpin in both the macabre comedy The Trouble with Harry and the political thriller Foreign Correspondent, the latter of which makes you stop and go, 'Hey, wait... Santa? Wh-what are you doing, Santa?!?!" He contributed to Pride and Prejudice with Larry Olivier and Greer Garson, A Yank at Oxford with Robert Taylor and Vivien Leigh, and Of Human Bondage opposite Eleanor Parker (RIP) and Paul Henreid. And yes, he appeared in the iconic "Them!" In general, Ed took on the role of the moral father figure: the sturdy, aged man with the wisdom of life experience and a trustworthy face. His touches of comedy, grounded realism, and surprising character choices made him an eternal audience favorite. He would not be the star but once (when he went to the North Pole), but this was mostly due to the fact that he was in his fifties when he really started to make his mark in Hollywood. His fortune was better, in the end, for he was even more beloved than the model-T(insel town) stars of the era.

Ed was born with an adventurers spirit that he was finally able to hurl into his creative penchants, as well as athletic. Frustrated at his landlocked life (he had wanted to enlist in the Navy), the eternal, cuddly grandpa was quite the rebel in his younger days. His father opposed his career choice and predicted failure, but Edmund, his determination, and his talent, would prove his pappy wrong. It was a fortunate partnership with George Bernard Shaw that really opened doors for him as an actor, and after becoming a war hero, despite his poor eyesight, Captain Gwenn returned to the theater with full force, later doing some sparse silent pictures that eventually earned him a permanent place in Hollywood. Hitting his stride by the '30s, he enjoyed nearly thirty uninterrupted years on the silver screen before passing away at the age of 81. Had he not been struck down by a stroke and a following bout of pneumonia, he most certainly would have kept cracking the whip of creativity. Naturally, he will live forever as one of the most famous people in the history of cinema. More people know him than Gable. He's Santa Claus! 

God rest ye', merry gentleman. Thanks for the cinematic presents!

HISTORY LESSON: Man Enough? Part 2 - The Studio Era

Continued from Part 1 - Silents

William Powell represents the depression-era man in My Man Godfrey,
a film that showcased the struggle of masculinity through the dark age 
and, finally, his triumph: mind over matter, always with comedy.

... And then, the storm came. As the silent era dissipated like yesterday’s old dreams, the talkie revolution stepped in. Simultaneously, the Great Depression would hit. America would feel the full effects of both phenomena, but not immediately. Life continued on clumsily in the ignorance that tragedy could be averted while the movies tried to learn to speak. It would take man awhile to notice the desperation of the concurrent financial disaster, just as the cinematic medium used the period for experimentation, slowly trying to re-establish what exactly it was doing. As men, breadwinners, and former tough guys, started getting laid off, the male ego took a real blow. The movies valiantly saved the day, becoming one of the only successful businesses during this period. Why? They gave guys their guts back. The male archetype on film hollered, screamed, and took no prisoners. The early ‘30s were ruled by cavemen. With a finger on the slowing pulse of manhood, the leading men started to holler at the world and beat their chests, and the movies really started to scream...

The thirties introduced men with equal parts spit and polish, glamour and grit. They were dapper-- to counteract the cloud of poverty-- and dangerous-- to compensate for the national feeling of powerlessness. The Gangster took shape, introducing the era's only comprehensible form of the prosperous male: the criminal. If you couldn’t make an honest buck, you could make millions of them dishonestly. Crime was the only thing that paid. The world that slapped the populace in the face was, therefore, was about to get bitch-slapped right back. James Cagney (left in The Public Enemy) made his fierce entry into the medium alongside George Raft and Edward G. Robinson, birthing the contemporary embodiment of the American Dream turned Nightmare, while somehow inspiring hope. Mirroring the growing public desperation, these ultimate underdogs got scrappy. They would lie, cheat, or steal to get ahead, and somehow beat their own bad rap by getting “badder.” 

Iconic films like Angels with Dirty Faces and Little Caesar produced a new, unlikely hero. Suddenly, audiences were sympathizing with the bad guy, who indeed was (at least initially) morally irredeemable. These "gents" were not your token, attractive guys either. Robertson’s bull-dog face only made him fill the shoes more ably of his internally ugly characters. Paul Muni as the original Scarface used cosmetics and body padding to make himself look absolutely Cro-Magnon in the role (right). These were the internal beasts coming out to play who, in a time of deprivation, took any and everything they wanted on behalf of their viewers, who had little more than their theater tickets to give them solace. By screwing the system that screwed them and defying the law with every breath, these guys filled their pockets with cash, dressed to the nines, and bathed in champagne. 

George Brent manhandles Barbara Stanwyck's "tramp"
in The Purchase Price.

They also had any woman they wanted-- those who wouldn’t have given them the time of day under normal circumstances. Money bought happiness. These “dames,” who were only looking for the highest bidder, were purchased like posh gold watches and discarded instead of rewound when they became outdated. It was about building from the ground up, after all. You have to drop the dead weight on the way to better things. As each gangster ascended, he dropped the “sluts” he had picked up along the way as soon as a better one came along. Mobsters weren’t into emotional investment. They wanted the best-- now. They also made certain to show a woman who was boss. Who can forget Cagney pushing that grapefruit into Mae Clarke’s face? The message was clear, “Keep your mouth shut and your legs spread.” This pumped up the ego while humiliated men fell in stature down the familial food chain, their wives taking on jobs to help out the family finances. It reestablished their position as the patriarch.

Edward G. Robinson as "Little Caesar."

Why did the public respond so heartily to these guys? Aside from the obvious cathartic release for men who could watch and live vicariously, the acting and writing of the time was so superb that the villains were given astounding humanity, however corrupted. These men were complicated. As lascivious as they may have been, audiences also saw the little boys within them-- their "holy" spirits may have been broken after living in the gutter, but the stars were still in their eyes. They also lived in constant fear, however well hidden behind their tough guy facades. Constantly hunted by the feds or competing thugs, there was a big, red target on each of their backs. An enemy could take them out at any minute, even when they were simply doing all they could to survive. Nothing in life is free, and while they may have left a trail of blood behind them, they bore their own scars and took their own hits. It’s a dog eat dog life... The interesting and scandalous layers of their personas, peppered in the subtext of the writing, also enriched their stories. Robinson’s homoerotic friendship with Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. in Little Caesar or Paul Muni’s uncomfortable and possessive relationship with his sister (Ann Dvorak ) in Scarface illuminated the multiple cracks in the impenetrable male facade. They were fascinating, dark, disturbed, and disturbingly real.

Clark Gable's "Babe Stewart" checks
something out at the library- Carole
Lombard- representing a healthy,
male, sexual appetite and the
norm of objectification.

Clark Gable was also a hoodlum and racketeer, strong arming Norma Shearer in A Free Soul and scheming his way to the top in San Francisco or China Seas. He too was portrayed as a rough and tumble guy whose good fortune was his good looks. His cocky manner generally presented itself with more suavity than his super-mafia brothers. He was a disrespectful, respectable self-made man. He played a little dirty, but he often found absolution in the end, generally in the arms of a woman, whom he had cleaned himself up to properly protect. His masculinity was therefore defined both by his abilities to be a provider but also to "fly right." He acted a bit as the bridge between the depression’s beginning and its end, his characters always being a bit edgy and unattainable but still able to outgrow their selfishness to settle down in a modern way with an equally broken but secretly angelic woman. By the end of the roaring gangster era, he maintained his macho yet became more innately decent. Even "Rhett Butler" became a family man. Still, whether playing house with Myrna Loy in Wife vs. Secretary or bad guy made good in Hold Your Man opposite Jean Harlow or No Man of Her Own opposite Carole Lombard, he showcased a man whose hands were dirty but at heart was a well-hidden, good guy. His great victory was triumphing over his circumstances and shedding his bad boy skin to become a real man. His “manliness” and his eventual passion and responsibility for his chosen woman made him catnip to the ladies as well.

Man's man Bogie roughs up the effeminate Peter Lorre,
and puts the "bitch" in his place in The Maltese
Falcon.

Of course, there were different varieties of men in this period. Muni and Spencer Tracy were the symbolic martyrs of fallen men, churning out socially conscious pictures like I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang or Fury. Tracy's dominance in this particular field would continue throughout his career, portraying compelling figures battling changing sociopolitical tides. He remains a master in the craft, and his version of the American male would transcend and mature with the ever-changing world. Errol Flynn and Tyrone Power were the caution-be-damned, overgrown boy heroes (in tights) who maintained our optimism in the face of danger. Their spirits sharpened our belief systems and our personal quest for poetic justice, "with a little sex thrown in." Bogie led the noir revolution, establishing a man with his own definitions of morality and right and wrong. He was a bad guy who was a good guy, solving crimes with unnecessary roughness and street smarts. He also maintained his manhood by defeating the femme fatale, drawing a hard line between the sexual and the romantic. He saw to it that the man wore the pants and equally took it upon himself to take down the villain. His "Gal Friday," in contrast to the sexy succubus trying to drain him of his power, was protected purely because of her submission, even as she also took on harder edges like Lauren Bacall. The harsh world that had changed him had to accept him, warts and all, and this was exemplified by this attentive and never deterred Gal Friday. His damaged goods but wizened hero helped pave the way to fiscal and social “normalcy” as the depression eased up. However, the noir shadows he brought along with him would always indicate the ghosts of our past. He was the face of an aged America.

Captain America, Gary Cooper, in The Pride
of the Yankees, the morale boosting war-
time film that promoted wholesome
values through the great national
pastime of baseball.

There too were more romantic moral compasses, like James Stewart, Henry Fonda, or Gary Cooper, whose messages of righteousness started to increasingly transcend the domestic sphere and get political, particularly as the thirties became the forties. Their all-American heroes, by promoting “all-American ideals,” portrayed the prototypical male as one bound by duty, country, and integrity. Films like Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Ox-Bow Incident, etc, presented fighters for truth, justice, and the American way, even when the hero was a humble guy who bore less muscle than the formerly prosperous, gun-toting gangster. The interesting William Powell provided the ideal modern husband, as the often half-drunk but always charming "Nick Charles" of The Thin Man series. He solved crime and made love to his wife, triumphing over the horror of life by accepting it as the greatest gag ever played-- not to be taken seriously. In essence, he laughed in the face of danger. As WWII gained steam and our country’s participation in it became inevitable (after the Pearl Harbor horror), redefining America as something worth saving became the dominant concern. We needed unsung heroes to finally be heard. Their message-- that we were all going to be all right-- was vital to morale as our villains switched masks from the government, the Man, or the tax-man to the foreigner.

War heroes fighting for freedom, women, and country, filled theaters as men (including some of our stars) took to the skies and propaganda took wing. Mr. America himself led the way. John Wayne (right) had long been wearing the badge and toting the pistol of the unofficial Sheriff of the United States. His characters became increasingly rugged and uncompromising in their unbreakable defense of liberty. His cowboys and soldiers, whether at their most pure-hearted in his early career (Stagecoach, Flying Tigers) or bitter toward his later career (The Searchers, The Green Berets) were symptomatic of man’s need to hold onto his own patch of earth, fighting for it to the teeth. As the cowboy, he was more of a drifter, and a somewhat Godless one at that. His religion, always, was freedom. As the soldier, this religion became wider in scope-- from the open plain to the entirety of the country-- as he guided men abroad, defending his personal definition of human rights and taking down whatever foreigner was threatening his sense of safety. Increasingly politically incorrect and thick-skinned as the years progressed, he was the Uncle Sam holding onto ideals that remain cemented in our culture. He made the United States feel safe to contemporary audiences. His unmannerly, unforgiving and, by modern standards, skewed perception of reality, was consistently saved by the palpable sadness he carried within him, again creating for men a man with a hidden depth. Buried emotions-- the refusal to be interpreted as a “sissy”-- were the glue that held America together. This submergence may harden the man, but it saved his brothers. So, the gangster became the soldier, still pointing a gun, the ultimate symbol of masculine power, to create and maintain the intimidating fortress of the United States. 

Jimmy Stewart made a career representing and fighting for the little guy. An
average looking and awkward sounding fellow, he was an underdog who
somehow made a home for himself as a bona fide leading man. The
messages in his films-- fighting passionately for truth and mankind
in general-- left people with the pleasing sensation that integrity
would win out in the end, no matter the circumstances.

Thanks in part to these films, America would entertain this necessarily self-centered focus for some time. Men were never as large as they were in the Studio Era. While the United States quaked under the pressures of the economy and then the second World War, we created larger than life heroes to bear the brunt of our desperation and rescue us from Hell on earth. Our men got dirtier, a little nastier, but they too became a little more authentic. There was truth-telling going on beneath the studio finessed perfection. While Hollywood was already veering toward its reliance on handsome faces, the cracks and flaws of man were becoming more visible, all of their howling, shooting, and manhandling covering up the paranoia they experienced at the loss of their livelihood and therefore their manhood. The variations of these different male prototypes has solidified them in history as the ultimate personality stars. None will ever be as famous as these guys, nor so important to upholding the mirage of Americana. However, as times changed, and as new threats appeared in the apple blossom gardens of American Eden-- the brief quiet following the war-- new movies with new heroes would lead us into another chapter. The biggest threat to man's sacrosanct structuring and exhibiting of the domestic bliss of the nuclear family would be one Hell of an atomic bomb: the "method" actor.

To Be Continued in the Final Chapter-- Method to the Modern

HISTORY LESSON: The Scarlet "P'

Lupe Velez, her inner turmoil always secretly

simmering beneath her public facade.

The only thing more fearful than the wrath of God is the human finger of judgment. Human beings, while capable of great brilliance, kindness, and sympathy, are just as equally capable of hypocrisy, short-sightedness, and an indulgence in the ever-unfashionable superiority complex. From our long evolution from savage cavemen and women to "civilized" mankind, we have created certain societal structures that make life more functional and cohesive. Social mores, rules, laws, taboos, religious morals, and definitions of principle, have all woven together to create expected behaviors and ways of living. Unfortunately, just as much as man needs order, he rebels against it. Hence our inner cavemen convincing us to color outside the lines from time to time. Often times, it is the sexual impulse that gets us in trouble. Ironically, the simplest part of our nature is too the one that makes life so complicated. It would be nice if everyone followed the Cleaver family's simple steps to acceptance: a woman remains a virgin until marriage, wherein she is joined to a man earning a steady living, and they commence making perfect babies who follow their sterling example when the time comes. Raise your hand if you stuck to that path? Yeah. It's complicated, hence the slew of celebrity "Un-oh" moments that ended with the letter "P" -- Pregnant!

Pregnancy out of wedlock, at too young an age, with the wrong partner, etc, is hard enough. Having a baby in Golden Era Hollywood was harder. Celebrities had a stellar image to uphold. There could be no hint of scandal that could turn the public against the idols who kept the studios churning. Thus, if two unmarried lovers "got in trouble," the publicity department would do whatever was necessary to keep the information out of the press. But, if people did find out, an actress wouldn't be too surprised to find herself stripped of her contract and left in the cold. It was rough for women, as they literally had to carry the burden of their indiscretions and, more often than not, face the hurtful decisions and judgments to follow alone. In addition, actresses were openly encouraged to participate in the most popular form of Hollywood birth control: abortion. This wasn't just ever-so-delicately suggested by the big wigs when an adulterous affair went wrong. It was also inflicted on any pregnant actress in order to both a) keep her working and b) keep her figure. Thus, many women were intimidated and manhandled into choosing their careers over their unborn children. The emotional toll this took was obviously devastating, as it instigated desperate measures, (See the cases of Loretta Young (read here) or Lupe Velez (here), the latter of whom was so disturbed at her circumstances that she killed both herself and her child in one fell swoop).

Many women are rumored to have had abortions, which explains all those press releases from the early era regarding this or that actress being hospitalized for an "appendectomy." Everyone in Hollywood knew what that meant. The public might have had a clue, but most just assumed that California water induced a Hell of a lot of appendicitis. Marilyn Monroe (right) is often cited as one who obtained several abortions. How many of these claims can be confirmed is uncertain. It is, however, very likely that in her youth, she had to undo one or two wrongs, since she was allegedly passed around like a cigarette by the industry. Raising a baby alone would not only be incredibly difficult, but it would forever destroy her dream of becoming the greatest star in the world. If she did have an abortion or abortions, this would explain the difficulty she later had in conceiving. She must have naturally felt with every failure that she was being punished for her previous mistakes. As such, she was always very attentive to the children of her friends, and she took distinct pleasure in being the temporary step-mother of Joe Jr. ( as in DiMaggio), with whom she remained close after her divorce from Joe Sr. (She even spoke to Joe Jr. on the night of her death). Every future miscarriage she suffered, including one with Arthur Miller, was agonizing. She never fulfilled her desire for motherhood. (Although, there are conspiracy theories that she did give birth to, if you believe the BS, dozens of babies over the years, whom she gave up for adoption. The numbers are a little too steep to be believed).

Joan Crawford is another cinema siren who is often speculated to have had her share of abortions. In her case, this is often chalked up to her desire to maintain her youthful body and continue her reign as one of the Queens of Hollywood. This would make sense, as she adopted four children in time (another controversial story) but never bore any of her own. Whether Joan made this move to present the image of the loving movie star whom she thought the public wanted, or whether she did so to indulge her own maternal instincts, is still debatable. Probably, it was a little of both. As a girl with a complicated relationship with her own mother, she may have wanted to undo the wrongs of her upbringing by giving neglected children their second chance at a warm family life. There is continuing argument about just how good a job she did. The elder two children, who instigated the Mommie Dearest fiasco, would be combated in their sinister assertions by the younger two, who vigorously defended Joan as being a wonderful parent. Certainly, Joan may have had her issues, including a possible penchant for OCD, and as her career always came first-- her insecure way of overcoming her past and proving herself to the world-- she was not the prototype for a perfect mother. The idea of motherhood is much easier than the reality. (Joan strikes a maternal pose with adopted daughter Christina, left, who would later pen a scathing novel about her "motherly" attributes).

Some women fell prey to the pressures of the industry when addressing their pregnancies, but more interestingly, some were manipulated by their own mothers. Jean Harlow (right) is one example. Jean was one of few actresses in Hollywood-- joined by Carole Lombard and Audrey Hepburn-- remembered by every cast and crew member as being a true sweetheart. Her early death at 26 provoked a stunning silence on the MGM lot that few celebs have been able to equal (two others being Lon Chaney and Irving Thalberg). Jean's rise to fame was accidental. It had been her mother, the real Jean, who had wanted to be a star. Daughter "Harlean" had literally been in the right place at the right time when her call to the camera came, and soon her mother was riding her designer gowns all the way to the top. Jean became an overworked piggy-bank for her mother and sketchy step-father, Marino Bello. When Jean became pregnant by her first husband Charles McGrew, whom she wed at the age of 16, it was Mama Jean who insisted that her daughter get an abortion, so her rising career would not be interrupted, nor Mama's cash flow. Jean was distraught, as she had always wanted a simple life with children and her own family. Obedient as ever, the easily pressured Jean gave into her mother's demands. She spent the rest of her life enduring further heartbreaks: the death of husband Paul Bern, a divorce from friend Harold Rosson,  and a tortured love for William Powell, with whom it is speculated that she endured another abortion. She never seemed to raise a hand to defend herself against anyone, perhaps having already given up on a dream that she felt she no longer deserved. She died exhausted and heartbroken, though still brimming with kindness. Ironically, her nickname was "Baby." (Jean would gain notoriety for her platinum locks, but she seemed much more comfortable and natural on camera when she went dirty blond and played girls-next-door more like herself, right in Wife vs. Secretary).

Bette Davis seems like the kind of character who never bowed to anyone's will but her own. However, even she had a very close and complicated relationship with her mother, Ruthie Favor. Bette had always admired her mother, who had done more than her share in raising her two daughters (including the younger Bobby) alone after her husband left them. A woman with an aesthetic eye, the photographer and sometimes actress would influence her elder, more vibrant daughter Bette's interest in the arts. Bette was not exactly an easy child. Headstrong, and perhaps suffering from some level of OCD herself, it was always "her way or the highway!" She insisted on receiving money for dresses, purses, dancing classes, etc, and Ruthie always gave in for fear of Bette's tantrums. Shyer sister Bobby just sort of watched the madness while she disappeared into her own. When Bette went Broadway, the family joined as her coterie. It was all about Bette.

However, this resulted in an unnatural co-dependence between mother and daughter. Their rapport was intense, combative, yet loving. For all the yelling back and forth, they would defend each other with every breath in their bodies. So, when Bette found herself pregnant with first husband Harmon Oscar Nelson's child, it was the idolizing Ruthie who convinced her rising star daughter to have an abortion. Bette's career was just starting, and both she and Ruthie feared that any hindrance in her progress would be irredeemable. Bette deliberated the options, but she concurred with her mother. Oscar was not told about his unborn child until much later. It is alleged that Bette would have multiple abortions over the years, including one resulting from her affair with William Wyler, but the majority of claims are pure speculation. When Bette later had daughter, B.D, (above left) with William Grant Sherry, it is said that the same mother-daughter relationship continued. Bette took Ruthie's place; B.D. took hers. The cat fights continued.

And then... There are the scandals! Marlene Dietrich was known for seducing many of Hollywood's leading men, from John Gilbert to John Wayne. Needless to say, when she began filming on Destry Rides Again with everyone's favorite, regular fellow Jimmy Stewart, his chances of escaping her wiles were as slim as his waistline. The attraction was mutual (right). Ten years before he fell in love and wed his only wife, Gloria, Jimmy was one of the most eligible bachelors in Hollywood. Handsome, charming in his awkwardness, and riding the wave of an increasingly successful film career, he was very appealing to the opposite sex, if only because he seemed to be equally gentlemanly. Ginger Rogers herself would attest, when it came to dates, she preferred Jimmy and Cary Grant as her dance partners. When the more sensually provocative Marlene set her sights on him, and he caught a glimpse of her gams, it didn't take long for fire to ignite-- on and off screen.

Unfortunately, in the midst of their brief fling, Marlene got pregnant. As a married woman, in a very open relationship with husband Rudi Sieber, she could at least play the child off as legitimate. On the other hand, Jimmy-- according to her recollection-- was a nervous wreck! Firstly, he had committed adultery-- although Rudi didn't seem to mind a bit about his wife's infidelities, while he was openly living with his own permanent mistress Tamara Matul. More importantly, Jimmy was disconcerted at the idea that he was going to be the father of a child he couldn't even claim! Marlene said that Jimmy became the exact, stuttering replica of his onscreen persona: "W-Well, what-what, what're you gonna do!?" Marlene would state on the record that the baby just "went away," implying a miscarriage, but since she had already decided that she didn't want to have anymore children-- she had one daughter, Maria-- it is more likely that she chose a more forbidden solution to the problem. After this altercation, the romance between Jimmy and Marlene was finito.

Then, there is the much more sorrowful case of Patricia Neal and Gary Cooper (who ironically is also rumored to be the real father of Lupe's tragic baby). Coop had been a notorious womanizer, as his "aw, shucks" prettiness was like catnip to the ladies, who reacted to him much the same way as they did Mr. Stewart. However, while Jimmy's appeal was more accidental, Coop's was instinctual, and he didn't seem to turn away any prospects. He'd had intense relationships with Clara Bow and Lupe, and multiple  other flings while enduring his loveless marriage to "Rocky" Balfe, but his final great love affair was with his Fountainhead co-star, ingénue Pat Neal. A Kentuckian with an atypical, assertive beauty (left), a wonderful, deep voice that seemed to be coated with good Southern liquor, and an education in the more modern style of acting, Patricia didn't seem to be a good match for Coop. When he saw her testing for the role of "Dominique Francon," he thought she was "awful." However, once filming began, their attraction was immediate. Patricia fought her more primal urges until filming had completed, then on the night of the wrap party, the duo's affair began.

Friends of Gary would say that it was the happiest that they had seen him in years. Patricia was also in love and fascinated by the classic, older actor (25-years her senior) who had a quiet intelligence, elegance, and an astounding hold on his craft. So smitten was Gary, that he started attending Pat's classes with her, watching younger thespians developing a new take on acting. The pair's relationship endured its ups and downs, including Patricia's guilt, their inevitable lack of future, and Coop's continued philandering-- Pat once returned a pair of earrings that Coop had given her only to find that he had bought two more identical sets for other women. The final nail in the coffin was her pregnancy. Needless to say, despite her strength and determination that she could raise the child on her own, the resulting scandal would be something from which both performers would be unlikely to recover. In Pat's own words: "For over 30 years, alone, in the night, I cried. I cried over that baby... I had not allowed him to exist." Pat would eventually marry her only husband, Roald Dahl, and have five children during their 30-year union. She saw Coop alone only once more after their split. Much time had passed, and they were able to bury the hatchet and depart as friends. Their passion for each other had died with their child.

Yet, there has been at least one torrid Hollywood affair and adulterous conception that ended with a birth. I speak, of course, of Ingrid Bergmann and Roberto Rossellini. Ingrid's soft, ethereal beauty (right) and her emotional, instinctual performances had made her the new golden girl of Hollywood in the '40s, as well as Alfred Hitchcock's latest obsession. A woman in constant search of a father, she often found herself confusing her on-screen attraction for her co-stars spilling into her private life. Her marriage to  Dr. Petter Lindstrom, who actually used to ration her food (!), had offered her little comfort over the years, so she consistently took solace in the most familiar men in her life-- her leading men. Unfortunately, as soon as her films wrapped, so did her feelings. It seems the final call of "cut" always brought her back down to earth where she was confronted by her guilt over what she had done. Gary Cooper would recall falling for her during For Whom the Bell Tolls, but after filming ended, he "couldn't get her to return [his] calls."

At the end of the day, it was Ingrid's art that meant the most to her. Her work was the most honest thing she could give to the world or herself. However, when she traveled to Europe to begin shooting Stromboli with hot (married) Italian director Roberto Rossellini, there was no confusion about her feelings. She fell in love with the brilliant man who was changing the face of foreign cinema. Hitchcock was a bit burned when his top actress kicked him over for another director, but his anger was just the tip of the iceberg. When Ingrid got pregnant, she opted to keep her child, divorce her cold husband, and marry her dream man. Son Robertino "Robin" Rossellini was born, (joining his half sister Pia), and chaos ensued. The world's reaction was more than harsh; it was devastating. Ingrid was literally shamed out of Hollywood-- simply for being honest-- and virtually blacklisted from American work. Yet, as time heals all wounds, six years would repair the damage. She would return with a career comeback in her Oscar-winning performance as Anastasia. Once again, Hollywood was groveling at her feet. The sturdy Swede had made her point. Her marriage to Rossellini didn't last, nor did her final marriage to Lars Schmidt, but she still triumphed personally and professionally: she had a combined brood of 4 beautiful children from her first two unions-- including her final twin daughters, Isabella and Isotta-- and a career that any actress would envy.

Ingrid with her four grown tots: Isabella, Robin, Isotta, and Pia, before one

of her stage performances.

It is a dangerous thing and a heavy burden to play God, which we do when we act as our own creators and make new life. It is a sacrifice to which some of us cannot commit for various reasons. No road is easy. For those that travel the path of parenthood, the struggles are difficult, stressful, but (one hopes) ultimately rewarding. For those who do not, the grim reality of their dismissal of nature's call and the resultant guilt is often punishment enough-- no stone throwing necessary. As ever, in such dark and multi-faceted subject matter, our stars act as our martyrs, just as they do on the big screen-- magnifying the life experience and providing the many, varied shades and examples of survival we all make, have made, and will make in our collective history. No one's story is the same, but we are all tragicomics. My heart goes out to the women who had to endure the harsh scrutiny, strict control, and ridicule that they suffered under the mighty Hollywood microscope. Ladies, let it be known, in your incredible work, you were mothers to us all.

DIDJA KNOW: Part IV

Errol Flynn as immortalized by friend John Decker.

The latest batch of trivia tid bits and humdingers. Didja know...


... that Babs wore blackface?

It was only once, and I assure you not for any sort of racist intent. While filming Ball of Fire, cinematographer Gregg Toland was hoping to punch up the style on a romantic scene between Barbara Stanwyck (left) and Gary Cooper. In the script, Coop's  "Professor Potts" comes to Barbara's "Sugarpuss O'Shea" the night before their wedding to profess his love for her. She, in the meantime, is trying to finagle a way out of the matrimonial plans and escape with her gangster boyfriend, "Joe Lilac" (Dana Andrews). However, when the poetic yet understated Potts comes to her dark room, her emotional internal battle is supposed to come to the surface, and as his words reach her, the audience is meant to realize the depths of her feelings for him. In order to pull this off, Gregg got creative. He wanted Sugarpuss's eyes to shine out of the darkness as she silently watches Potts and listens to his heartfelt plea. Babs would thus be left to show the metamorphosis of predator to pussy cat through only her oculars. A novel concept, but one not easy to film. In order to create the illusion wherein Sugarpuss's eyes would truly pop from the blackness, Gregg had her put on blackface, so her skin would blend with the shadows, leaving only the whites of her eyes to be lighted. The plot worked, but the result was a bit odd. It became one moment in a screwball comedy that was somewhat terrifying, like something out of a horror movie. Instead of seeing a woman caught up in emotional turmoil, the audience is left with the impression of a dangerous feline stalking her prey: will she pounce on her victim, or embrace him? In any case, it made the final cut, as incompatible as it was with the rest of the light-hearted film. As ever, Babs would do anything for her work.


... that in silent films, there were no blue eyes allowed?

In the early process of filmmaking, there was a strange bigotry that manifested itself in the casting process. More often than not, brown-eyed actors were preferred as performers and thus had the upper hand when it came time to choose a cast. This wasn't personal; it was purely business. Lighter colored eyes simply didn't register as well in early films, due to the novice lighting procedures and orthochromatic film stock of the still infantile artistic medium. For example, you can see in Stan Laurel's early films that his eyes appear almost translucent, which gives him an unintentionally creepy effect. Since eyes are the windows to the soul, directors wanted players whose peepers would photograph well. Blue eyes came off a bit vacant and blank, whereas darker eyes were captured in all their detail. Dark eyed Mary Pickford was thus an ideal actress, as was Lon Chaney. As times improved and technology picked up the pace, this eye issue was an issue no more, but for a time it was a hassle-- particularly for a perfectionistic director like Cecil B. DeMille. He was dying to have the great opera star Geraldine Farrar (right) in his romantic and erotic (of course) production of Carmen, but this saucy songstress had gray eyes. What was he to do? Improvise, of course. When filming Carmen's precursor with Geraldine, Maria Rosa, Cecil discovered that if her eyes were focused on a dark piece of cloth, her eyes appeared darker, (due to the expansion of the retinas). This meant that they photographed better. Thus, Cecil kept a piece of black velvet out of camera range and in her eye line, where Geri could gaze... and dilate. Voila! Her eyes were captured perfectly. Geraldine used this trick for the rest of her career.


... that Lulu wrote for Times?

Louise Brooks (left) may be remembered as one of the most beautiful silent film actresses of all time, but this woman had brains too. After she left Hollywood behind with 13 years worth of cinematic experience, she had plenty to say about Tinsel Town. What followed was a surprising career with the pen, writing film criticism and historical analyses of celebrity, which were printed in several publications, particularly in the foreign market. Of course, there is her notable biographical effort Lulu in Hollywood to take into account as well. However, those who were shocked at her brazen literary skills would perhaps be further surprised to learn that she had a 50-odd year head start in the profession of scripture. When Louise was working as a dancer in NYC, she was dating Herman Mankiewicz, then a drama critic for the "New York Times" (and today better known as being Joseph L's brother). On one of their outings, Herman took Louise to the opening performance of "No, No, Nanette." Louise played hooky from her gig at the Ziegfeld Follies to attend on her new beau's arm. Unfortunately, Herman liked liquor even more than he liked Louise, and by the time they arrived at the infamous Globe Theatre on Broadway, he was already schnockered. He promptly fell asleep, which-- apart from being rude-- was a poor career move, for he was expected to write a review of the performance. Louise, deciding to make the most of a bad situation, used this courting mishap to exercise her brain cells. She soaked in the play, took notes, and dutifully wrote Herman's review for him-- and did a bang up job of it too! She referred to it in overall positive terms, calling it "a highly meritous paradigm of its kind." Herman turned in the piece, and no one on staff at the illustrious paper ever knew that they had printed a review by an 18-year-old chorus girl!

... the skinny on Laird Cregar?

The media's influence on body perception and expectation is not a new topic. The more superficial and self-conscious society becomes, the more cases there seem to be of anorexia, bulimia, body dysmorphia, etc. Starvation diets and intense workout regimens, cleanses and acai pills... Man, where'd the self-love go? As we continue to feed this body-conscious monster, the number of its victims continue to grow. Women are most popularly effected, but men too are being usurped by the apparent cult of "There is but One Form of Beauty" fanatics. Despite the fact that more curvaceous figures were favored in the studio era, women-- such as Rita Hayworth, Jean Harlow, and Marilyn Monroe-- were still induced to go on strict diets to maintain their trim physiques. But there would too be a very public male sufferer of this stress. Laird Cregar was growing in popularity at Twentieth-Century Fox as a character man who had delivered stellar supporting roles in films like Blood and Sand and This Gun for Hire. Yet, Laird was not satisfied with his films nor himself-- he longed to be a matinee idol like his co-star Tyrone Power. As such, he began an intense starvation diet, which quickly took him from 300lbs to 200 lbs. When filming began on Hangover Square, with him in a lead role (right) opposite Linda Darnell, he was noticeably thinner-- shockingly so. From the outside, it seemed that he was in good health and that he was doing a superb job getting himself in shape. However, he took his ambitions too far: he would die on Dec. 9, 1944 of cardiac arrest following a stomach operation-- a result of the stress he had put on his dwindling body. He was but 31-years-old. It doesn't always pay to be thin.

... that John Decker was the go-to guy for celebrity art?

John Decker was notorious in Hollywood for a number of reasons, one of which was his raucous friendships with Hollywood hellraisers like John Barrymore and W.C. Fields. He too was known for his artistic abilities and his unique gift of duplicating well known works of art. He once gave pal Thomas Mitchell a "genuine" Rembrandt of "Bust of Christ"-- Tom never knew that it was a forgery, and it was a private joke that John enjoyed until his early, alcohol fueled death in 1947. (It is now owned by Harvard). John was even more notorious around town for his portraits of stars, which in more cases than not were caricatures of sorts. While his talent for perfectly replicating faces on canvas with impeccable detail was certainly not humorous, his decision to use celebrity faces to bring to life other historical figures was creative, amusing, and at times absurd. This little twist was thoroughly enjoyed by his paying customers, who liked to see themselves both glorified and lampooned on such a grand scale. Some of his victims were Clark Gable painted as a cavalier, Katharine Hepburn as Mary of Scotland,  and W.C. Fields as Queen Victoria. Clark and Kate were not amused by their renditions, but the majority were. John did, of course, do the occasional straight portrait of his friends: Barrymore, Anthony Quinn, and Errol Flynn,etc. In the latter case, instead of making the obvious choice to depict Errol as a mythical knight or some other epic heroic figure, his adept skill picked up on his good friend's darker side and haunted nature. He gifted his painting to Errol, and it became one of his most prized possessions, even after his friendship with John hit the skids. It remains in the possession of Errol's last wife, Patrice Wymore. After Errol's death, his property in Jamaica-- where the painting was hanging-- was hit by a hurricane. The painting was thrown clear of the home, and while it suffered some damage, it remains in tact. Decker's art is, therefore, both priceless and indestructible. Too bad the same could not be said for John himself! (John's regal interpretation of William Powell, left).

... that studio tours are almost as old as studios themselves?

Carl Laemmle, the man responsible for Universal Studios and the first independent movie colony, Universal City (est. March 15, 1915), was clearly a business-savvy man. Just as he jumped on the movie-gravy train and made his fortune on a gimmick that so many had waved off as a passing fad, so too would he predict the audience fascination with the behind-the-scenes filmmaking process. We have him to thank for our introduction to the first, official movie star, Florence Lawrence, whom he "outed" in an astounding publicity coup in 1910, and we too have him to thank for the still running and now heavily copied studio tours, where ravenous movie fans go to watch the magic happen. At the opening ceremony of Studio City, Carl invited members of the public to attend and had actors from his stables give them tours of the grounds. There was such an enthusiastic, awe-struck response, that Carl saw dollar signs. Lots of them. He opened the studio for regular tours for a mere 25 cents a head, so every-day folk could see how movies were made (see ticket, right). It was a huge success! Too huge... The tours started interrupting filming, which became costly. Thus, the tours came to an end, not to be resumed until the 1960s, when management had a better handle on how to combine tour scheduling with film scheduling. Yet, Carl's early move had inspired many. Doug Fairbanks, another innovator who had a soft spot for his fans, too created a tour of sorts while he was filming Robin Hood, which he allowed tourists to come watch over the fifteen weeks of its production. Not only were the impromptu viewers astounded, but Doug performed even better with a live audience to impress. Nearly one-hundred years later, almost every major studio in Hollywood continues these tours, including Warner Brothers, Paramount, and Sony (formerly MGM). Who would have thought that Carl's sudden inspiration would become a foregone (and profitable) conclusion?

An eager audience watches Harry Carey on the Universal Studio Tour in 1916.