NOW, THAT'S FUNNY: Part III

William Haines in Are You Listening?

William Haines was no phony. While he may have enjoyed the privileges that a life of luxury could afford, he also never took any of it seriously. It was all a joke really, and while he liked nice clothes and a fancy home, he could just as easily have walked away from it all at any given moment... which he essentially proved when he left the movies. Perhaps this stems from his good, old-fashioned southern roots. Integrity was everything to Billy, and those who lacked it or shirked it for superficial reasons annoyed him. He found the dramatic mannerisms of Pola Negri hilarious. Some found Greta Garbo "mysterious;" he found her stuck up. Others fell for Louis B. Mayer's tearful rages, Billy just laughed. He wanted people to be real: if you had class, you didn't have to invent it, nor cram it down anyone's throat. Thus, it comes as no surprise that one of his greatest foes was the ever exaggerated Elinor Glyn, who sent his BS detector flying off the charts.

Billy wasn't the only one who found the authoress to be an over-the-top, full-of-baloney diva. Clara Bow would jokingly refer to her as "that sh*t head." Chaplin too openly laughed at her feigned, worldly knowledge. But, for the most part, people tolerated her condescending invasion into the Hollywood lifestyle as her erotic books were adapted into screenplays. Billy didn't give a hoot who a person was as long as he or she was honest about it, but he saw Elinor as a walking nightmare of garish concoctions, both physical and mental (see right). The two never got along. Indeed, he called her "Baby Peggy." When Elinor passed out her great stamp of "It" on various actors like Clara, Gary Cooper, and Wallace Beery, Billy did not make the list. In fact, she blatantly told the world that he did NOT have "it," which theater-goers obviously disagreed with in ticket sales. (Others not making the "it" list were: Ronald Colman and Ramon Novarro). This was a jab that Elinor took at Billy specifically because he was immune to her charms, refusing to fall for her ruse of grandeur and grace. Too, he refused to flirt with her, as many men did in the hopes that her public approval would enhance their careers. When Elinor came sniffing around Billy, he just raised an eyebrow, threw off a quip, and ignored her. The insecure Elinor was enraged.

Their battle was quite public, and Billy showed his open irritation, if not contempt, refusing to support the image of Elinor's supreme intellectual and sexual perfection. He made fun of it-- and her snubbing of him-- by saying: "Elinor... said I was a big ham. I replied that the best hams in the world came from Virginia." However, the most memorable confrontation Billy and Elinor had was at the illustrious San Simeon, home of William Randolph Hearst and Billy's good friend, Marion Davies. A frequent guest, Billy was not too jazzed to see Elinor in attendance at one particular party. He happened to overhear her rattling on and on about "It." Who had "it," who didn't, and finally he got fed up. After hearing her list off all the reasons that he himself did not have "it," Billy marched right up to her and said, "Madame Glyn, you, of course, certainly do have 'it,' but you left the 'sh' of it." Elinor's face turned bright red. Billy, undoubtedly, turned on his heels and sauntered off with a smirk and a whistle. Final score: Billy- 1, Elinor- 0.

Another minor rivalry existed between Louella Parsons and Veronica Lake. Ronni (right) could really care less what Louella Parsons thought about her, and she didn't ever get involved in any of the petty gossip that seemed to keep Hollywood spinning, but for some reason Louella took a particular interest in her. Perhaps out of jealousy, Louella often made Ronni the subject of her articles, spreading the slanderous rumors that Ronni was both hard to work with and a temperamental diva. These allegations are strange, as in looking back I find it difficult to find any accounts of unprofessional behavior or rage-fueled tantrums displayed by Ronni on the set. Most of the rumors harken back to her first big movie, I Wanted Wings, when Constance Moore started spreading it around set that Ronni kept late hours and was always up partying. Ronni was actually always home in bed while Connie was engaging in this behavior. However, director Mitchell Leisen believed the tales and gave Ronni quite a roasting. Stories were spread, and soon every one believed that Veronica was causing trouble on this and every set she ever stepped on. Louella caught wind and chose to believe that Ronni truly was the troublemaking brat Hollywood had labeled her as. In her columns, she often reference Ronni was "overrated," either in acting ability or in the looks department. Ronni tried to ignore the negative press, but it did at times get her down. One day, she got a little bit of revenge. She happened to bump into Louella at a beauty parlor. Louella didn't recognize her, which was common since in her off time Ronni dressed down and without makeup. Looking simple and soft, like the girl next door, she overheard Louella comment to her attendant, "What a pretty girl." Not letting the opportunity pass her by, Ronni piped in: "Why don't you write that in your column!" Whoops, Lolly.

 Louella takes aim...

Of course, some of the slanderous portrayals of celebrity naughtiness are true, or at least based on some kernal of the truth. For example, William Haines was rightly referenced as a bit of a party-boy, enjoying nights on the town, get-togethers with friends, and good-natured shenanigans. One of his partners in crime was BFF Joan Crawford, his number one fan and lifelong ally. Joan had a rep of her own, mixing together her own ferocious ambition and unstoppable diligence with her raw and uninhibited sexuality. Joan always got what she wanted, whether it be a role or a man, but her career always came first. For this reason, she rarely got into trouble. She did get others into trouble, however. Case in point: West Point, in which she starred with Billy (left). The story takes place at the legendary military academy, and indeed this is where the cast and crew shot many of their scenes. Joan was already causing a stir on the set by NOT wearing stockings and baring her legs to the world, but she would take her rebelliousness further when flirting with the entire student body. In fact, the erotically charged Joan had no qualms about enjoying her time on campus, so she accepted (or perhaps even made) a date with one of its students. When it was discovered that the cadet skipped his classes to go out with Joan Crawford, he was immediately expelled. However, I doubt he regreted it, and Joan certainly had a good laugh.

Another naughty boy was Montgomery Clift, whose chosen salve for his personal demons was the age old trick of inebriation. Marring his classic good looks in his notorious car wreck of 1956 only propelled him deeper into his personal misery and an addiction to pain pills. Meanwhile, Monty had an ongoing rivalry with Marlon Brando, though they both truly respected each other. They would never be close friends, as competing egos rarely are, but they spent their lives privately inspired by each other, openly criticizing each other, and always trying to out-do each other. In truth, they were very different talents, with Marlon bursting forth on the screen like a lightning bolt and Monty insinuating himself more like an ominous storm cloud. In life, they came off the same way, with Monty being more elegant and Marlon more brash. Not surprisingly, Marlon found Monty stuck up and serious; Monty found Marlon just plain sloppy. Both were fairly quirky characters, though Monty often appeared much more "normal" than the exaggerated Marlon. This made it all the more shocking to learn that Monty was the one in greater personal danger, as Marlon himself would witness. 


Marlon showed his respect for Monty shortly after the latter completed Raintree County, the film which notoriously shows the "before" and "after" of Monty's car crash face. Monty went into a deep depression after the film bombed and he was snickered by audiences aghast at his lost beauty. Marlon surprised him when he drove to his house and begged him to get off the drugs and alcohol. Monty was touched (and surprised) by the concern, but insisted that he was fine... as he downed another vodka. The two buried the hatchet, admitting how impressed they were by their respective performances in A Place in the Sun and A Streetcar Named Desire. It was quite a moment. Marlon explained that he didn't want Monty to kill himself-- it was a waste of talent. Sacrilege! He also couldn't lose his top competitor, his "challenger," who kept pushing him to better his own performances. "You have to stop this nonsense, if not for your sake, then for mine!" he pleaded. Still, Monty was unmoved. But he was inspired enough to get to work on his next picture, ironically with Marlon. The two made The Young Lions, their only mutual movie, though they didn't even have any scenes together. Occasionally Monty would see Marlon lurking around the set, watching him work. Even in this, his darkest moment, he saw that he hadn't lost his touch. If he could impress Brando... Well, 'nuff said.

 A true actor, Monty insisted on creating truthful 
characters from the inside out, such as for 
his role as Noah in The Young Lions,

for which he distended his ears
and put putty on his nose.



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. 

TAKE ONE, TWO, THREE...: Oh, Baby!

Olivia de Havilland eyes the baby she was forced to give up in

To Each His Own.

Back in the days when the "unwed mother' was ostracized for her immoral life choices, her options were few. She could either A) Keep her baby and deal with the hostile prejudices of an unsympathetic society and brave the world alone, B) Find a discreet doctor to help erase her... situation, or C) Leave the little bugger on a doorstep, and hope that the inhabitants would give it at better life. This seems outrageous in these modern times when pregnancy without a wedding ring is more readily accepted and single mothers are favorites of the magazine rack: from the latest mommy to be, Natalie Portman, to all those "Sixteen-and-Pregnant" girls I seem to be hearing about everywhere. Back in the days when there were more concrete rules for acceptable behavior and more vocal contempt against those who dared to stray outside the norm, one's reputation was everything. Thus, one would rather be caught dead than unwed with a bun in the oven. This spawned a plethora of films possessing a very similar plot: "good girl" finds baby and claims it as her own and is thenceforward labeled as a "bad girl." Comedy ensues. This time, I have not three movies to compare for you, but four: Tess of the Storm Country, It, Bachelor Mother, and Bundle of Joy. Let's move forward chronologically.


Tess of the Storm Country:


(I saw the 1922 version of this film, starring the incomparable Mary Pickford, thinking it was the only one. However, upon further investigation, it appears that this film alone has been made and re-made several times, the first of which was in 1914, also starring Ms. Pickford. Future versions were made in 1932 with Janet Gaynor and in 1960 with Diane Baker. As it is based upon a novel by Grace Miller White, I suppose the continued use of the story makes sense. However, I will refer to the 1922 version, as this is the only one I have viewed).

The plot of this movie involves a backwoods girl, Tess, who is squatting with family on the wealthy Elias Graves's land. Needless to say, Elias tries to remove the impoverished nuisances from his property. The usual battle of rich versus poor ensues, and in the meantime, Frederick Graves, son of Elias, becomes fond of Tess and takes her side in the argument. Meanwhile, Fred's sister Teola becomes pregnant out of wedlock by a law student who is quickly murdered, and thus unable to marry her and make the baby legitimate. Humiliated and suicidal, Teola is desperate. Enter Tess, who out of her good heart pretends that the newborn baby is her own to save Teola's face. The only problem is that now Frederick thinks that the girl he was falling for is really a no good scamp. Fred turns his back on Tess, and so Tess is left alone to raise the baby. The truth is eventually discovered when Tess brazenly tries to baptize the child herself after being initially denied the privilege by the church-- it's  a bastard child, after all-- and Teola and Elias witness the event. Teola is so moved that she spills the beans and confesses that the baby is hers. Fred feels like a cad and apologizes to Tess, whom despite her low class has more courage and goodness in her than anyone in his elite circle. After declaring his undying love, the two embrace, the two feuding families call a truce, and everyone lives happily ever after.

Tess and Fred, played by Lloyd Hughes, fall in love.

The plot of the film is quite bold in that it makes the unwed mother a sympathetic character, however it is still the innocent Tess that is lauded as the true hero. Yet, what she symbolizes also speaks volumes: the hypocrisy of prejudice. Tess is labeled as something she is not, and is shunned by the man she loves. The world looks down on her, but considers her behavior typical of a woman of "her kind," meaning poor, uneducated, and uncouth. By the end, we learn the age old lesson, "don't judge a book by its cover." Tess not only possesses more grace than the upper classes that are judging her, but it is also one of their own that is the true culprit of immoral behavior, Teola. The guilt of blaming one woman for another's crimes, and the imminent death of Teola, who dies shortly after her revelation of motherhood, causes people in the community to open their eyes and rethink the harshness of their own criticisms. If you live in a glass house, don't throw stones. So, the movie preaches open-mindedness, while at the same time being church-friendly in suggesting that we all try to be "good"-- it is much better to be a Tess than a Teola. The movie itself is an entertaining silent, and one of The best of Mary Pickford's remaining gems.


"It":

Lord love Clara Bow (right). This 1927 movie will forever be the one most associated with one of the hottest flappers to ever va-va-voom onto the silver screen. Clara wasn't known for her dancing, of course, but for her electric presence, which sizzled in the camera's adoring eye. This film was fashioned for her with the help of Elinor Glyn as a publicity campaign to boost the already rising star. Clara was labeled as the "It" girl: one completely possessing of that mysterious X-factor that separates the superstars from the rest of us civilians. Many are familiar with the concoction of Clara's title as "the It girl," but few are familiar with the film that awarded her this stamp. Upon comparison, it is quite clear that it is, or rather was, a more modernized version of Tess of the Storm Country but in the raw and bustling environment of the roaring twenties.


This time around, Clara stars as Betty Lou, a single working girl trying to get by, who has a job behind the counter of a posh store. Brimming with energy despite her financial woes, Betty is Miss Congeniality as far as her friends are concerned, but her low class keeps her from her recent crush-- the store Manager, Cyrus Waltham, Jr (Antonio Moreno). Cyrus is already involved with another woman, but when he finally notices the lovely Betty Lou, he can't help but be taken in. She takes him out for a night of fun at Coney Island, where for once he gets to let his hair down. However, things turn sour when he leans in for a kiss only to receive a slap-- Betty Lou isn't that kind of girl! Cyrus is a bit shocked, but still intrigued. However, any of Betty Lou's plans are foiled when her roommate gives birth to an illegetimate child, only to have welfare workers threaten to take it away. Betty Lou steps in, claims the child as her own, and insists that she is able enough to take care of it. Now, Betty has to walk around with a scarlet T on her face (T for Tramp), and any chances of love between her and Cyrus are ruined-- the heir to a fortune can't be swindled by some hussy who's clearly only out for a good time, particularly when she teased him with that left hook!

Clara shows her sales skills (to William Austin).

Instead, Cyrus offers a compromise: since she's obviously a loose woman, Betty can settle for being his mistress. She does not take well to this suggestion, believing that his love for her should be enough to see through any alleged past mistakes she's made, and at the very least he should not insult her with such an offer! Cyrus chooses appearances over love and kicks Betty to the curb, but she's not to be outdone. She shows up at a party on his yacht, seducing him with her innocent wiles once again, and she gets her sweet revenge when he finally proposes marriage. She tosses it back in his face with a defiant "Thanks, but no thanks" and  secures her pride once more. Afterward, she and Cyrus are thrown overboard, and they find themselves in each other's arms. Now that Betty Lou has taught Cyrus a lesson, and he knows the truth about the baby, they reconcile and live happily ever after. Again, the same themes of upper class hypocrisy and lower class... class. We see that Betty is more moral than those financially and socially superior to her in that she refuses Cyrus's attempts to make a whore of her, consequently making him the true embarrassment. Compassion for the unwed mother is too explored, but just as Tess, Betty Lou is put on a pedestal for her ability to be both decent and demure. Her raw sexual magnetism too makes a statement that a woman can be sexy without being a mere sex object. In both this and the aforementioned film, the baby and its destiny is less important than how it effects others' lives or at least the images of them. A silent classic, this too is one of the leading lady's best.


Bachelor Mother:

Baby makes three in 1939 with Ginger Rogers, David Niven, and everyone's favorite character actor, Charles Coburn. Hereafter, the plots remain quite similar to It in that the main character is a shopgirl trying to make a living who gets caught up in a case of mistaken motherhood instead. Love, of course, is always found in the process. Thus, Ginger stars as Polly Parrish, working at J.B. Merlin's department store (left). Polly is fired over the Christmas holiday, and soonafter sees a baby that has been left on the stairs of an orphanage. Fearing that it is going to roll right off and be injured, she hurries to pick it up. The baby is mistaken as her own, and she is left to care for it and defend the fact that the little thing isn't even hers. JB (Coburn) gives Polly her job back, feeling guilty about firing an unwed mother, especially during the holiday, and his son, play-boy David (Niven), becomes equally involved in the welfare of the baby and its mother. As a relationship between Polly and David grows, she no longer tries to deny that the baby is hers, if only because it is the one thing that keeps David in her life. He equally falls for her, but is too snobbish to admit that he has fallen for a lowly shop girl, let alone one with an illegetimate kid-- nevermind the fact that the Lothario probably has had his own fun around town. More hurdles are thrown into the mix when a search for the true father is begun, which includes JB's belief that his son is the true father. David is surprised to find this out, but is delighted to discover that his dad is fairly happy at the prospect of having a grandson and eager to have him settle down and make the family legit. David, after initially insulting Polly, finally admits his true feelings to himself and thus to Polly and Baby John. Soon enough, the fictional family becomes a real one. With this description, I can immediately jump to the next film, for it is a direct re-make.


Bundle of Joy:

In 1956, Bachelor Mother was remade as a musical to showcase the talents of married sweethearts Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds, as well as to capitalize on the fact that the two had had their first child (Carrie Fisher). This film, therefore, has the exact same plot as the one mentioned above, but with more musical numbers. This time, Debbie is Polly and Eddie is Dan Merlin. Adolphe Menjou steps in as wealthy store manager, and proud grandpapa, JB Merlin. Both Bachelor and Bundle have their merits, but Bundle is more obviously cheesy. Debbie is her usual sunshine self, and her gift at comedy and charm is the saving grace of the film. Eddie does well enough, but doesn't possess the same charm as David Niven. Ginger, of course, is superb as ever in the earlier film, and it is her performance-- with a keen sense of timing and strong delivery-- that makes Bachelor a more graceful interpretation.

Modern family: David and Ginger play house.

The alterations in the script in these latter films make the male character a bit more likable in that he tries to become a part of the child's life from the beginning, even if just as a make-shift uncle, rather than turning up his nose in disgust and running away. The relationship between the leading actor and actress comes about because of and not in spite of the baby, as opposed to the first two films, and a sense of family is professed over that of romance, (though in Bachelor and Bundle the writers would have us believe that the two go hand in hand). In the enforced production code era, it should come as no surprise that the ideal set-up of husband, wife, and baby be extolled, and in both movies the sad mother who abandoned her child is never even seen by the audience. It is much nicer to just pretend that she doesn't even exist, and that no out-of-wedlock sex was ever engaged in. The child, therefore, just dropped from the sky. Indeed, sex is not an issue, especially in Bundle, where innocent kisses between Eddie and Debbie take the place of the sexual propositions of It. Thus, with the first two films, we are taught more of a lesson about social hypocrisy and moral prejudice and with Bundle we are taught "family first." Bachelor is somewhere in between. Also, the theme of mistaken identity plays a much bigger part to the central plot of the movie in the last two features than in the first two, wherein it was just another log on the fire to much bigger shenanigans.


It is difficult to recommend just one of these films, for they all have good points and are equally entertaining. However, as I am an obvious Clara Bow fan, It remains my favorite. If I were to suggest one of the latter two, I would offer up Bachelor Mother, if only for performance's sake. It is interesting to investigate these films, to watch them chronilogically, and to witness how clearly social attitudes changed with the times. The silent duo are more free and uninhibited, if only because they arrived before 1934's production code and the disarming alterations of the great depression. They too are a bit more ballsy, with Mary being brazen and almost naively heroic, and Clara pushing the envelope further by adding a dash of sex appeal into the mix. Their heroics were done not necessarily for any great moral stance, but simply because it was the right thing to do. The latter two films come after the end of the hooplah twenties, but Bachelor maintains a little more naughtiness than Bundle, which is pretty much family fun from concentrate. In Tess we were taught to stand for something, in It we were taught to stand up for ourselves, in Bachelor Mother we're encouraged to simply try to stand still while the chaos ensues around us, and in Bundle of Joy we're lectured to stand as a family unit. I guess the film you relate to the most, will equally tell you where you stand.

Have a Happy New Year!!!

MENTAL MONTAGE: Fan Mail

Judy Garland writes to her favorite movie star while singing

the classic, "Dear Mr. Gable."

In Tinsel Town, it could be said that a star is worth his weight in fan mail. Studios were able to gauge the popularity of their contracted players based not only upon their box office receipts but also upon the amount of gushing fan letters they received every week. This method also helped to predict soon-to-be stars, for when admirers sent letters requesting more of "that blonde" or asking "Who was that handsome chap...?" in such-and-such scene, studios would know who to beef up in the publicity department. In fact, before there even were "movie stars," film-goers were pestering Biograph and later IMP trying to find out the name of their favorite leading lady. Carl Laemmle would give them what they wanted, staging a huge publicity gag to introduce Florence Lawrence to the world, and thus dub her the first official Movie Star.

The biggest stars got bags, truckloads, thousands of fan letters a week. People wrote in to RKO, MGM, or Warner Bros. begging for a picture, an autograph, or-- God help us all-- a written response. Some celebs like Mae West and Joan Crawford, the true diva pros, would insist on answering all of their mail, however not every one was that ambitious. It was impossible to keep up, to respond to everyone, to sign that many photos without getting chronic carpal tunnel. Most leading ladies and gents would have had no time left over to make movies! For example, at one point, Veronica Lake (left) was receiving somewhere around 1,000 letters a week. Though she tried to answer at least 1/5 of them, she fully admitted that she couldn't answer them all. The majority of her mail was answered by an expert forger who would respond to hopefuls with a signed Ronni photo. (This is why you can't trust all of the "autographs" out there-- most are scams. Caveat emptor)!

However, the most touching of all Ronni's fan letters would reach her long after her hey-day in Hollywood. You see, Veronica Lake had a brief love affair with Marlon Brando (right). I'm a little uncertain when their relationship took place, though it is safe to assume that they crossed paths when Marlon arrived in Hollywood in the early '50s, coincidentally at the same time that Ronni's film career was taking a nosedive. (Though, it is possible that they rubbed elbows in New York as well, which is where Ronni moved after her immediate exit from California). In any case, their affair was heated, brief, and mutually and amicably ended. Reflecting on Marlon, the ever humble Ronni would say: "Our romance was short but sweet. He was on the dawn of a brilliant film career, and I was in the twilight of one. Of course, my career could never compare with his." However, despite his eccentricities, Marlon could be oddly loyal and was in truth a very compassionate person. When he read in the paper that his former flame, the Veronica Lake, was working as a cocktail waitress at "The Martha Washington Hotel" in NYC, he sent her a $1000 check. Ronni was floored! However, proud woman that she was, she never cashed it. Instead, she had it framed, and it adorned the wall of her later Miami home.

Marlon's respect for disappearing Movie Queens is equally reflected in his treatment of the eternal flapper and "It girl," Clara Bow. Long after her day as the #1 box office star at Paramount Studios, Clara (left) had succumbed to the increasing deteriorations of schizophrenia-- something she had in common with Ms. Lake. After her fear of the mic and the brutal treatment by the salacious tabloids all but chased her from Hollywood, Clara had spent the remainder of her life trying to make a go of it on her ranch with husband Rex Bell. Her increasingly erratic behavior led to her psychotherapy at "The Institute of Living," where-- after unearthing the shattering sexual abuse she had experienced as a child at the hands of her own father-- her mental disease was also diagnosed. Later, separated from her husband and two sons and living alone at the Los Altos Apartments, Clara's health continued to decline, and except for the occassional emergence of her old, spunky spirit, she faded easily from the public consciousness. She would get a little boost in her later days when she heard that Marlon admired her, for she was equally enthralled by his raw, new performances. She even made a visit to  meet him at his home, which the (by then) sheltered lady never did. Marlon must have been equally effected by the meeting for, a few days later, Clara received a signed photo of Marlon in the mail. It said: "To Clara Bow Bell, A Memorable Personality Who Has Given So Much To So Many, With Sincere Respects, Marlon Brando." It warmed her heart to no end and reassured her that what is temporarily forgotten is not always completely gone.

Interestingly, there was always one fan letter that Clara wished she had written-- to her favorite actress, Marilyn Monroe (right). When witnessing Marilyn's cataclysmic and whirlwind career, Clara couldn't help but draw comparisons between her own pressure-filled rise and fall and the latest blonde ingenue's journey. In fact, Clara would not be the first nor the last to note the similarities between the two ladies: sexual dynamos with a hovering shadow of mental illness (both of them had mentally ill mothers) who were constantly mistreated and abused by the press. For this reason, Clara always wanted to reach out to the little girl who reflected so much of her own torments and pains. She never did, and both ladies were too shy to ever meet. It was probably shocking to Clara when Marilyn suddenly died in 1962. Clara would outlive her by three years, finally passing away in 1965. So much was left unspoken.

Another unsent fan letter was penned by Olivia De Havilland. Still alive and kickin' today, this tough movie diva remains one of the final touchstones to the studio era, which she almost single-handedly brought to an end thanks to her daring court case ending in the "De Havilland Decision." Though she correctly fought against her mistreatment and abuse by the studios-- Warner Brothers more specifically-- she could still look with fondness on her glory days as a star and her countless cinematic works, most of which remain classics. Her fondest memories, of course, always went out to her constant collaborator, Errol Flynn. Errol would not fare so well as the resilient Olivia in his later days. After a lifetime of alcohol (et al) abuse, the once handsome swashbuckler had become a sad wreckage of his former self. Sometimes, friends could see the mischievous bad boy peeking out from his sad eyes, but a life of living hard and fast was driving him to an early death. For this reason, after watching a later screening of Robin Hood, Olivia decided to write to her old friend, extolling his talents and remarking on how their chemistry and partnership had truly stood the test of time. Then, before the ink was dry, she had a change of heart. Fearing that the wisecracker would find her a sentimental old fool, she tore the letter up. She regretted her decision, for Errol passed away not much later at the ripe young age of fifty. (The famous duo sit together between takes, left).

Jean Arthur ponders her opening words of praise... 

(Still is from Mr. Deeds Goes to Town).

Luckily, these misfires are the exception and not the rule. While some may feel a bit silly before licking the envelope and sending their love to a comrade of celluloid, most simply see it as a way to pay their respects to those they continue to admire in the industry or new faces that they believe continue the legacy of integrity in film acting. Such was the case with Jean Arthur. Jean became enamored of Christopher Reeve (right) when she was introduced to his film work in the '70s. As a result, she made an out-of-character move when she wrote him a letter, gushing like a school girl in love. Jean was a woman not easily impressed, so Reeve must have been extremely flattered when he received her note. To be honored for his performances by one of the Queens of Silver Screen Comedy was a testament indeed! To show his gratitude and equally pay his respects, he sent her an autographed photo with a personal note.

A rare, legitimate Chaney autograph for Lt. Jay Roy Harlacher,

a Los Angeles fingerprints expert whom he conferred

with for his role in While the City Sleeps.

Lon Chaney was not a man apt to answer fan mail. Embarrassed by the attention, the notorious King of Mystery didn't get personal with his fans. Gracious, yes, but he preferred to allow the public to believe in the illusion of him over the truth. This is why a genuine signature from Lon is a rarity. They do exist, on his friend Jack Feinberg's violin for instance or in personal cards to friends, but the bulk of the pictures sent out to his multitudinous fans were signed by the studio itself. Lon always saw himself as just some guy, nothing special, so why all the hooplah? However, he too made an exception when he received an unlikely letter from stage actress May Robson. Acclaimed on the stage, May (left) was fairly unknown at the time, but would later gain further fame for her onscreen performances in films such as the original A Star is Born and Bringing Up Baby. May was deeply moved by Lon's performance as Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame and penned him a letter telling him so. The genuine regard of an equal talent for his own moved Lon, and to be given validation by someone he truly respected caused him to do the unthinkable: answer her. He sat in front of his typewriter and wrote his penpal back with "humble thanks and appreciation," stating also that he hoped to live up to the great honor she had bestowed upon him. 

A photo of a very relaxed Montgomery Clift, taken by

Stanley Kubrick.

Sometimes these communications between fan and star aren't always by note. After the telephone entered every home in America, it was, of course, common for fellow stars to call and congratulate each other on a supreme piece of work or perhaps set up a future collaboration. Both Marlon Brando and Montgomery Clift would get frequent calls from a devoted fan who was eager to express his admiration for them. However, his attentions at times got a bit annoying too. It was only later that Marlon and Monty would compare notes and realize that they were both being phone-stalked by James Dean. The two thespians were initially flattered, but the equal sides of their nature that embraced acting, shunned celebrity and were irked and embarassed by the attention. Monty, whose talent Jimmy favored, entertained the young Dean's frequent buzzes as much as he could, sensing in the youth a familiar thirst for artistry (as well as perhaps the pressures of internal sexual conflict). In the end there was only so much he or Marlon could do for someone who was, in reality, a stranger. Dean's desperation to reach out to them is indicative of his search for both a father figure and a support system, and the fact that he aimed so high too communicates his desire to attain the greatness these men had already accomplished. Sadly, Dean would pass away before he could fully emulate Monty or Marlon's bodies of work but not before he became a legend. When Monty heard the news, he was so disturbed, he vomited. The loss of a like soul hit far too close to home. 

Jimmy Dean, equally relaxed but less at ease...

What is most interesting about these varied correspondensces between celebs, is that it brings them down to earth. In seeing their respect for their own individual idols, we too get to see the children in them-- the dreamers who wanted to be something more than and something better than themselves. They too looked up to their predecessors and sometimes contemporaries for guidance and inspiration. Thus, we get to see a wider spectrum of the close-knit community of Hollywood, which seems so big on the movie screen but is in truth a small family of co-workers, co-stars, and collaborators, who need just as much validation for their diligent work and efforts as the rest of us. As they say, one kind word goes a long way, and sometimes a pat on the back from a friend makes all the difference.