Noir Nook: New-to-Me Noir – The House on Telegraph Hill (1951)
One of the many things that helped sustain me throughout the more-than-year-long COVID-19 shutdown was participating in a weekly classic movie Meetup. Each week, we were assigned a classic film to watch, and then we gathered via Zoom to discuss it. Recently, we were assignedThe House on Telegraph Hill (1951), starring Richard Basehart, Valentina Cortese, and William Lundigan. This feature was one of the few noirs that I’d never seen; when I saw that 20th Century Fox logo at the start of the film, my expectations were high – and I’m pleased to say that they were met.
House on Telegraph Hill (1951)
Cortese plays Viktoria Kowelska, who we first meet when she
is imprisoned in Germany’s Bergen-Belsen concentration camp during World War
II. Viktoria has befriended one of her fellow captives, Karin Dernakova
(Natasha Lytess), whose young son was sent to America to live with a wealthy aunt.
Viktoria is protective of her weakening friend, but despite her efforts, Karin
dies and when the opportunity presents itself, Viktoria assumes Karin’s identity.
Although she later learns that Karin’s aunt has died, Viktoria eventually
travels to New York and presents herself as the mother of Karin’s son, Chris
(Gordon Gerbert), and meets the boy’s appointed guardian, Alan Spender
(Basehart). Alan quickly falls for Viktoria, and after a whirlwind courtship, she
agrees to marry him, fully aware that the union will further solidify her place
in America. Alan takes his new bride to San Francisco, where she meets her
“son” and his longtime governess, Margaret (Fay Baker), but once Viktoria settles
with this motley crew into the family mansion on Telegraph Hill, she finds that
she’s gotten more than she bargained for.
The red flags start popping up immediately. Why doesn’t Alan
want to sleep with his wife on their first night in their San Francisco home?
What kind of relationship does the governess have with Alan? What’s the deal
with the playhouse that Chris isn’t allowed to play in? And what’s in the photo
album that Margaret doesn’t want Viktoria to see? The film doles out its
secrets like pieces of candy and you’ll eat them up!
The house used in the film still stands today!
The House on Telegraph Hill is available for viewing
(for free!) on YouTube – if you’ve never seen it, check it out and let me know
what you think! And in the meantime, enjoy the following trivia tidbits about
the film . . .
The real Karin was played by Natasha Lytess, who appeared in only a handful of feature films, but was better known as the acting coach for Marilyn Monroe from the late 1940s through the mid-1950s. It’s said that after every take on the 1950 noir The Asphalt Jungle, Marilyn looked to the ever-present Lytess for approval or disapproval of her performance; reportedly you can see one of these glances at the very end of Monroe’s first scene in the movie. Lytess died of cancer in May 1963, less than a year after the death of Monroe. (You can also see Lytess on YouTube, in a clip from the popular quiz show What’s My Line, on which she appeared as a contestant.)
Richard Basehart and Valentina Cortese in House on Telegraph Hill (1951)
Valentina Cortese and Richard Basehart first met during the filming of this feature and were married the same year of its release, 1951. The union lasted nine years.
The film was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Art Direction (now known as Best Production Design); it lost to A Streetcar Named Desire.
A local San Francisco restaurant, Julius’ Castle, built in 1922, was used as the exterior of the house in the film. A façade was built around parts of the structure to hide certain elements, such as the name of the restaurant. The restaurant closed in 2008 and was put up for sale; the current owner hopes to reopen the restaurant by the end of 2021.
Take a trip to 1950s San Francisco and visit the House on Telegraph Hill. You’ll be glad you did.
…
– Karen Burroughs Hannsberry for Classic Movie Hub
Karen Burroughs Hannsberry is the author of the Shadows and Satin blog, which focuses on movies and performers from the film noir and pre-Code eras, and the editor-in-chief of The Dark Pages, a bimonthly newsletter devoted to all things film noir. Karen is also the author of two books on film noir – Femme Noir: The Bad Girls of Film and Bad Boys: The Actors of Film Noir. You can follow Karen on Twitter at @TheDarkPages. If you’re interested in learning more about Karen’s books, you can read more about them on amazon here:
There is just so much to enjoy: a cool monster, a scientist dabbling in ill-advised experiments, a few good scares, fun atmospheric music/sounds and a handsome leading man. It also has a personal bonus of memories of watching it late at night with my dad.
And then there is
Steve.
Actress Mara Corday portrayed strong, resilient women in a trio of 1950s horror films which was unusual for the time. Here, she’s pictured in The Giant Claw.
Steve was the nickname of the character Stephanie Clayton, played by actress Mara Corday. Being a “Toni” (short for Antoinette), I was always excited to meet another female with a man’s name – especially one as remarkable as Steve.
She was intelligent, beautiful and confident – and I wanted to be like her.
The same could be said about Corday. Although she made only three horror films – Tarantula, The Black Scorpion and The Giant Claw – Corday and that horror film trio left their mark in B-movie creature-feature history.
Her characters in those three films broke the stereotype of women who were relegated to swooning and screaming in horror movies. True, Corday’s characters screamed (wouldn’t you if a tarantula was so large it was looking into your second-story bedroom?) and swooned (her leading men were John Agar, Richard Denning and Jeff Morrow after all), but the women were strong, too.
And they didn’t sit
back waiting to be saved.
Mara Corday, from left, John Agar and Leo G. Carroll are about to have a big problem in Tarantula. Corday is seen in the impeccable white outfit she wears when we first meet her.
In Tarantula, she was a young biologist who helps a well-meaning professor with his efforts to fight world hunger, only to learn his disastrous experiment caused a tarantula to grow as large as a house.
In The Black
Scorpion, she played a rancher fighting oversized scorpions that were
unleashed by a volcanic explosion in Mexico.
And in The Giant Claw,
she was a mathematician saving the world from a killer flying object.
It’s not the men who figure out what’s going on with the beast in the sky in The Giant Claw, but the mathematician played by Mara Corday.
* * * *
Mara Corday was born
Marilyn Joan Watts on Jan. 3, 1930 in Santa Monica, Calif. She was a dancer and
model, auditioning at only age 15 to dance in the cabaret-restaurant Earl
Carroll Review. It was there that she later decided to change her name to Mara
Corday after thinking it was “too plain.”
She took Corday from
a perfume bottle ad and Mara from Marita (“pretty little Mara”), a name she was
called by a bongo player at the Mayan Theater where she ushered. The lovely
name fits her perfectly and seems natural given her exotic beauty, which is
reminiscent of Ava Gardner.
In this publicity photo, it’s obvious why Mara Corday was once named “the most photographed model in the world.”
During the first few years of her film career, Corday was relegated to bit parts in mostly uncredited roles starting with her 1951 debut in Two Tickets to Broadway, followed by such films as Son of Ali Baba (1952), Toughest Man in Arizona (1952), Tarzan and the She-Devil (1953), Drums Across the River (1954) and Francis Joins the WACS (1954).
Corday was signed
briefly with producer Hal B. Wallis and as a contract player with Universal-International
Pictures. She also continued to model, becoming a popular pin-up girl and
magazine cover star. She earned the title of “the most photographed model in
the world” after having tens of thousands of photos taken. (She later was a somewhat
chaste and clothed Playmate of the Month.)
By 1955, however,
she was thrust into the spotlight with director Jack Arnold’s great big-bug classic,
Tarantula. Though she was hoping to take on dramatic roles, she was
happy to work with Arnold again after starring in his film The Man From
Bitter Ridge just a few months earlier.
That’s Mara Corday under the scientific gear along with great character actor Leo G. Carroll in Tarantula.
In Tarantula, Corday’s character of Steve gets more than she bargained for after accepting a job as a lab assistant in a small Arizona town. Even as a kid, I was struck by her first appearance in the film as she steps off a bus in the dusty desert town impeccably dressed in a fitted white suit, hat and short gloves. She quickly gets to work helping Professor Deemer (Leo G. Carroll) and looks quite at home holding a clipboard and wearing scientific gear.
In her next film, The Black Scorpion, she spent a lot of time on screen without as much to do. She is resilient and smart as Teresa Alvarez, the head of a ranch located in an area that has been under some type of mysterious attack.
Mara Corday and Richard Denning star in The Black Scorpion.
She has a quiet strength as she calms and rallies her terrified workers to return despite the unknown threat, yet she’s also a fitting match in life and love for a visiting geologist played by Richard Denning. I like that she’s allowed to be attractive without being too dolled up, dressed mostly in a rancher’s uniform of pants, button-down shirt, neck scarf and black cowboy hat tilted just right on her head. In later scenes, she glams it up for a few romantic dinners showing women can be tough and beautiful.
For The Giant Claw, Corday plays a mathematician who doesn’t take nonsense from anyone, including a flirtatious scientist and pilot played by Jeff Morrow (admittedly, they do fall quite fast for each other). She helps unravel the mystery along with all the male scientists and military men. She holds her own in meetings surrounded by men and she figures out a key element that can help take down the terror from the sky.
In The Giant Claw, Mara Corday shows she can handle a gun to fight off a monstrous attack as well as the guys can, including Jeff Morrow.
* * * *
In January of 1957 – the same year she made The Black Scorpion and The Giant Claw – Corday married actor Richard Long who she met on the set of the 1954 noir Playgirl. Her career tailed off after that.
A publicity photo of Mara Corday and husband Richard Long.
Corday stopped acting just a few years into the marriage to raise her family and was married to Long until his death in 1974. Though they would be married for 17 years, they had problems only two weeks into the marriage and she filed for divorce numerous times.
Sadly it appears from interviews with Corday and other reports, that Long stymied and even sabotaged her career by turning down roles for her behind her back including one on his series The Big Valley.
I’m sorry Corday never had the chance to do the dramatic type of roles she wanted or that she was only able to build off the strong character of Steve in Tarantula in her two other horror films. We could have used more inspirational characters from her.
But we will still appreciate her trio of horror films where she showed us beauty could not have killed the beast without her brains, too.
Her ‘dear friend’
Clint
One of the most popular pieces of film trivia is that Clint Eastwood has an uncredited role as a pilot toward the end of Tarantula. The film started a lifelong friendship between Corday and Eastwood. Years later, he cast her in his films when she was in financial need after twice losing her insurance.
Mara Corday is the waitress pouring a bucket of sugar into Clint Eastwood’s coffee to get his attention in the famous “Go ahead, make my day” scene from Sudden Impact.
The roles were small but important. In Sudden Impact (1983) she was the waitress pouring sugar into Eastwood’s coffee in the iconic “Go ahead, make my day scene.” He also cast her in The Gauntlet (1977), Pink Cadillac (1989) and her final film, The Rookie (1990). Corday considers Eastwood a dear friend, calling him a “godsend” in interviews.
Toni Ruberto, born and raised in Buffalo, N.Y., is an editor and writer at
The Buffalo News. She shares her love for classic movies in her blog, Watching Forever. Toni was
the president of the former Buffalo chapter of TCM Backlot and now leads the
offshoot group, Buffalo Classic Movie Buffs. She is proud to have put Buffalo
and its glorious old movie palaces in the spotlight as the inaugural winner of
the TCM in Your Hometown contest. You can find Toni on Twitter at @toniruberto.
Silver Screen Standards: Eliza’s Voice in My Fair Lady (1964)
The socio-economic and geographical markers of dialect loom large in George Bernard Shaw’s influential play, Pygmalion, its 1938 film adaptation, and the splashy musical version that stars Audrey Hepburn as the fair lady of its title. If you’ve never had to think much about the way you talk, this theme might not be uppermost in your mind when you watch My Fair Lady(1964), but for me, it’s always at the heart of the story. When I went to college at 17, I found out that my rural Georgia twang led people to make a lot of assumptions about me, and I set to work to change it, or at least moderate it, which led to some bitter criticism from my mother. Nobody criticizes Eliza Doolittle for abandoning her Cockney accent, but she does eventually have to confront the ways in which changing her voice changes her identity. If she isn’t a Cockney flower girl, and she isn’t really a member of the idle aristocracy, then who is she? She certainly won’t get the answer from Professor Henry Higgins, who thoughtlessly sets Eliza on this journey without understanding or even being interested in its consequences.
Poor, hard-working Eliza imagines her idea of the good life in “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly” without realizing just how different it will be.
The plot of My Fair Lady more or less follows Shaw’s original play and the 1938 film starring Leslie Howard and Wendy Hiller, and the story has been retold so many times that you already know it. Professor Higgins (Rex Harrison), a temperamental narcissist, bets his new friend Colonel Pickering (Wilfrid Hyde-White) that he can pass Eliza off as a lady in high society. The ruse involves a lot more than speech, of course, as Higgins realizes when he first takes Eliza out in public and she beautifully enunciates her belief that her aunt was “done in” by greedy relatives. With help from his mother (Gladys Cooper) and Colonel Pickering, Higgins completes his efforts to transform Eliza, but he fails to recognize her part in winning his bet. She leaves him, much to his puzzlement and dismay, only to return at the very end, thereby seemingly validating his insufferable egotism (Shaw flatly rejected the possibility of such an ending, and so do I, especially when Jeremy Brett makes such an attractive alternative in the 1964 version).
The musical had originated on Broadway with Julie Andrews as Harrison’s leading lady, and much has been said about Jack Warner’s rejection of Andrews, the casting of Hepburn, and the subsequent dubbing of most of Hepburn’s songs. Despite all of that, the movie turned out to be both a box office and Oscar hit, with 12 Academy Award nominations and 8 wins, including Best Picture, Best Actor (Harrison), Best Director (George Cukor), and Best Music (André Previn). Hepburn wasn’t nominated for Best Actress but is better known for her Eliza today than Wendy Hiller, who had played the role on stage and did earn an Oscar nomination for Pygmalion but lost to Bette Davis for Jezebel (1938).
Shedding her Cockney accent is the hard work of the first part of the film, but Eliza has a breakthrough with “The Rain in Spain.”
My Fair Lady continues to be popular today, thanks in part to Hepburn’s radiance, the lively songs, and the gorgeous, Oscar-winning costume design by Cecil Beaton, but its themes also persist and repeatedly turn up in newer films that lead viewers back to it, if not to Shaw’s source material. Pretty Woman (1990) is probably the most famous of the modernizations, but more recently we’ve also seen She’s All That (1999) and the 2014 TV series Selfie as well as numerous movies that tap into the makeover as social ladder aspect of the story, including Can’t Buy Me Love (1987) and The DUFF (2015).
At the races, Eliza looks beautiful and enunciates well but reveals her difference from the well-heeled crowd in her behavior and conversation topics.
Ironically, though, the newer iterations all abandon the theme of dialect that Shaw builds on as the central issue of his play. In Pygmalion and My Fair Lady, Eliza’s speech betrays her lower-class origin more surely than her clothes or her manner; without the elocution lessons, she can never get a better job or ascend the social ladder no matter how good she looks. Higgins boasts at the opening that he can tell where someone is from within six miles or even two streets inside London, and although that might be an exaggeration, it hints at the connections between speech and place, both in terms of location and social status. Eliza’s speech communicates her place; once her speech changes, she loses the old place but doesn’t feel like she belongs in the new one, either. The newer movies, like many viewers, don’t register the importance of dialect and instead see the makeover as the key element; give the girl a dress, fix her hair and apply some makeup, and the rest takes care of itself, but that isn’t at all the point Shaw wants to make.
Having completed her transformation, an elegant Eliza prepares to attend the ball with Higgins and Colonel Pickering.
Even My Fair Lady undermines the importance of Eliza’s speech as key, by having Marni Nixon dub most of Hepburn’s songs; Jack Warner cast Eliza based on her looks and stardom, and rejected the more powerful singer Julie Andrews, but then denied Hepburn her own voice in the role even though the actress had prepared and expected to sing. Thus Warner played the Higgins/Pygmalion role in real life, taking Eliza’s voice away and replacing it to suit his expectations, and of course, that’s exactly how many powerful men in Hollywood have behaved to countless women. They, too, see themselves as the Pygmalion of Greek myth, molding formless clay into the perfect Galatea, but in Shaw’s telling, Eliza is already a fully-formed person with a raw but very real voice, and it is she who seeks out Higgins and tries to hire him as a dialect coach.
The musical ends with Eliza silent and smiling as Higgins dominates the scene with his smug behavior. George Bernard Shaw would have hated it.
It gets lost in the forced romantic ending that both film versions adopt, but the real instigator of Eliza’s evolution is Eliza herself. Perhaps that’s one reason Shaw resisted the alteration to his play’s ending so fiercely; he even wrote a postscript to it called “What Happened Afterwards” in which he insisted that Eliza should never end up marrying Higgins. Unfortunately, Shaw had lost the battle over the ending for the 1938 film, and by 1964, the “happy” version was firmly ensconced and My Fair Lady repeated it. On the bright side, a 1994 restoration of the movie uncovered some of Hepburn’s vocal tracks, and the premiere screening of the restored film featured her version of “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly” during the end credits. Those tracks appear as bonus features on the 50th Anniversary Edition Blu-ray, so Hepburn’s version of Eliza’s voice can finally be heard.
The popularity of My Fair Lady has led to numerous spoofs and homages in TV series like Moonlighting, The Andy Griffith Show, The Simpsons, and Family Guy, but for even more cinematic variations on the Pygmalion theme, try Educating Rita (1980), Trading Places (1983), Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen (2004), and Ruby Sparks (2012). More unusual retellings can be found in One Touch of Venus (1948) and Mannequin (1987). If you’re interested in stories about people who change their speech to get ahead in life, learn more about the history of the mid-Atlantic accent in classic Hollywood or delve into the biographies of actors like Cary Grant and Claude Rains.
Celebrating Robert Taylor with Author Gillian Kelly
After dedicating 10 years to researching and writing about Robert Taylor, I was delighted to be asked to be a guest speaker at Gage County Classic Film Institute’s 110th birthday celebration for the actor taking place in his home state of Nebraska this August.
My book Robert Taylor: Male Beauty, Masculinity and Stardom in Hollywoodis based on my PhD thesis exploring Taylor’s on- and off-screen star personae through close textual analysis of both his films and extrafilmic material, like magazine articles, while explored his position as a dominant ‘lost’ or forgotten star of Classical Hollywood. During his career, Taylor was one of MGM’s top male stars, starring opposite the likes of Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford and his wife of 12-years, Barbara Stanwyck. However, today he is certainly not as readily remembered as his counterparts Clark Gable, James Stewart, Humphrey Bogart and James Cagney.
Robert Taylor and Barbara Stanwyck after their wedding in 1939
I discovered Taylor merely by chance while watching TCM one day after school. As I entered double digits, I became a huge fan of classic Hollywood cinema, in particular its stars, after finding I Love Lucy on television and my movie buff brother lending me his copies of The Family Jewels starring Jerry Lewis and Anchors Aweigh with Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra. From then, I was hooked. The more I watched TCM, the more films, directors and stars I discovered while also realizing that there were specific genres, decades and performers that greatly appealed to me, including Ginger Rogers, Doris Day and James Stewart. Stars were, and remain, the main focus of my interest in cinema, and while indulging myself in a James Mason season around the age of 14, I settled down to watch what I thought was the 1937 film Fire Over England starring Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier, and featuring Mason in a small part, only to find that the film being shown was actually another Leigh vehicle: Waterloo Bridge which saw the actress fresh from her role as Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Windpaired with an actor I was yet to discover: Robert Taylor. He instantly intrigued me and fortunately, since TCM owned MGM’s archives, the studio where Taylor spent most of his career, I was able to access most of his catalog relatively quickly and easily since the channel was screening two to three of his films daily. After seeing his early comedies, A Yank at Oxfordand Personal Property, I was hooked and wanted to find out all I could about this star. Later, as an undergraduate in media studies, I found that most movie fans and even film scholars that I spoke to had also never heard of him. Those that I interviewed knew most of his co-stars, even some of his films, but had never heard of Taylor. While some males in their 50s and 60s said they knew him through his westerns and historical epics, several women in the same age group told me that their mothers had loved him and thought him very handsome. My own mother told me she only knew him because he had been my great aunt’s favorite actor. Some even told me that their favorite film star was Barbara Stanwyck, and were shocked to learn that she had been married to Taylor for over a decade and yet they had never heard of him. All of this fascinated me and led to my dedicating my PhD research to this dominant ‘lost’ star.
Taylor with Vivien Leigh in Waterloo Bridge (1940)
The only child of a grain-merchant-turned-doctor and his sickly wife who was advised against having any children, Robert Taylor was born Spangler Arlington Brugh in Filley, Nebraska on August 5th, 1911. A cellist who wanted to either pursue music or to become a doctor like his father, Taylor graduated from Pomona College around the time he was spotted by an MGM talent scout and given a screen test. Acting was not something he had ever considered, but in 1934 he was given his first bit part in the Will Rogers vehicle Handy Andy, with Mary Carlisle as his first on-screen love interest. Taylor was kept extremely busy in these first few years, and in 1935 alone he appeared in an impressive six feature films. Although an extremely handsome newcomer, MGM was not quite sure what to do with him, and at the end of 1935 they loaned him out to Universal to appear opposite Irene Dunne in John Stahl’s melodrama Magnificent Obsession, which was remade almost two decades later with Rock Hudson and Jane Wyman. The film turned Taylor into a star overnight, and he would never again play bit parts or supporting roles for the rest of his lengthy career. Remaining at MGM until 1958, and the breakdown of the studio system, Taylor holds the record as having the longest-running contract in Hollywood history, just ahead of Bing Crosby.
Throughout the 1930s, Taylor developed a cocky all-American persona, but one that was more wholesome than his counterpart Clark Gable, whose own career had begun in the pre-Code era and which had a more dangerous masculine appeal attached to it. By the 1940s and the outbreak of World War II, however, a new tougher and more manly persona was created for Taylor, and he left Hollywood to undertake active war duty, as did several of his contemporaries at MGM and beyond, including Gable, Robert Montgomery, James Stewart and Tyrone Power. In this decade Taylor portrayed a tough army sergeant in Hollywood’s first World War II combat film, the still shocking Bataan, as well as his first anti-hero in the crime thriller Johnny Eager. Returning to the screen after the war had ended, and like his contemporaries Stewart and Power, his characters became much darker and included murderous husbands in Undercurrentand Conspirator.
Taylor as the title character in Billy the Kid (1941)
The 1950s saw somewhat of a reinvention and revival of Taylor’s career when he was cast as a hypermasculine Roman soldier in the historical epic Quo Vadis, as well as the romantic hero in a trio of medieval British films: Knights of the Round Table, Quentin Durward and Ivanhoe. This decade also saw him reinvented as a western hero, although one whose characters often had a dubious past, such as in The Law and Jake Wade, where his dark good looks as a thief-turned-honest-sheriff contrast with his blond co-star Richard Widmark as his psychotic best-friend-turned-enemy. Westerns also allowed Taylor to present moviegoers with a more masculine, mature persona befitting a man now in his 40s.
The 1960s was not only the final decade of Taylor’s career, but also his life, but he worked until his death of lung cancer at the age of 57 in 1969. Once the studio system had broken down, bringing an end to what is now known as Hollywood’s classic or golden era, Taylor became an independent agent for the rest of his career. He was one of the first major film stars to move into television with the weekly crime series The Detectives; he also appeared on many other television shows, starred in several made-for-television movies and continued to perform in the occasional cinematic release, although many of his roles in this decade seemed to have a sense of nostalgia for days gone by attached to them, suggesting that he was handing over the reins the next generation. This is perhaps most obvious in his very last on-screen appearance in The Day the Hot Line Got Hot when he shakes hands with his also now-aged contemporary Charles Boyer before the pair walk away from the camera and the film’s young couple, played by Marie Dubois and George Chakiris, are shown walking into their future.
Taylor and Deboarah Kerr in a publicity shot for Quo Vadis (1951)
Taylor’s on-screen career consisted of 80 films and around 200 television appearances across several genres and four separate decades. Off-screen, he was half of a celebrity couple during his 12-year marriage to fellow Hollywood star Barbara Stanwyck, before becoming the breadwinner during his second marriage to former model and actress Ursula Thiess and their children. Throughout his career Taylor appeared on and within numerous international magazines and enjoyed a long and successful career as one of Hollywood’s biggest stars, and yet he is not as well-remembered today as he should be. My work on Taylor reappraises his long and rich career, discussing his on- and off-screen star personae in detail, exploring individual films as key case studies and examining the performance skills and abilities of this talented actor, which have long been overlooked in favor of his good looks when he is remembered at all. My keen interest in ‘lost’ stars led to the writing of my second book on Tyrone Power, who may be seen as Twentieth-Century Fox’s answer to Taylor, and another male star whose extreme good looks outweighed his acting ability throughout his lifetime and beyond. My main concern is that, if only a select few stars continue to be written about and remain in the public eye, talented but ‘lost’ stars such as Taylor and Power will remain forgotten, and I hope my work can address this one star at a time.
…..
–Gillian Kelly for Classic Movie Hub
Gillian Kelly received a PhD in Theatre, Film and Television Studies from the University of Glasgow in Scotland and has contributed to several journals including Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television, Celebrity Studies, Alphaville and Journalism & Mass Communication Quarterly. She has chapters in the edited collections Lasting Screen Stars (2018) and Exploring the Spiritual in Popular Music (2021) and her first book, Robert Taylor: Male Beauty, Masculinity and Stardom in Hollywood (2019) was shortlisted for best monograph by the prestigious British Association of Film, Television and Screen Studies (BAFTSS) in 2020. Her second book, Tyrone Power: Gender, Genre and Image in Classical Hollywood Cinema was released by Edinburgh University Press in February 2021 while her current research is on Ray Milland and Ida Lupino.
Guy Kibbee was a beloved character actor, appearing frequently in Warner Bros. films and Pre-Code musicals. He was born Guy Bridges Kibbee in El Paso, Texas, on March 6, 1882, or 1886, to James and Adaline Kibbee. Though his obituary and gravestone claim the 1882 birth date, his World War I draft card — filled out by Kibbee himself — and the 1900 census support the 1886 birth date. Kibbee’s first experience in the working world was setting type at the age of seven alongside his father, James. Kibbee’s father worked as an editor for the El Paso Herald-Post.
The Kibbee family would move to Roswell when James secured a role with the Roswell
Register, eventually traveling all over the southwest as his father
predominantly founded newspapers in New Mexico. Of his many siblings, Kibbee
also had a younger brother named Milton, born in Santa Fe, New Mexico, who
would also become an actor.
While growing up, Kibbee’s older brother, Jim, began working on the stage and Guy would tag along with his brother to work as a prop man. When one of the players in the stock company would overindulge in drinks, Guy would often step in and take on his role — sporting a full mane of red hair and weighing under 200 pounds.
By age 14, Kibbee expressed an interest in entertainment and ran away to
join a traveling stock of entertainers. He began performing on Mississippi
riverboats and stock companies, initially playing romantic leads in shows. Due
to his hair loss in his late teens, he stepped away from romantic leads and
into a variety of other roles, excelling in comedies and dramas.
A young Kibbee
Soon after, Kibbee married Helen Shay. The couple resided in Staten Island and had at least two children, including a son named Robert, who worked in academia and eventually became a chancellor for the City University of New York, and John. They would eventually divorce.
Kibbee would marry again to Esther “Brownie” Reed, remaining with her until his death. The couple would have at least two children, including a daughter named Shirley Ann and a son named Guy Kibbee Jr.
As the years went on, Kibbee would make his Broadway debut in 1930’s Torch Song, which opened to door to working in Hollywood. Paramount Pictures saw potential in Kibbee and he relocated to California to work for them, soon transitioning to Warner Brothers. While at Warner Bros., Kibbee became part of their stock company of actors under contract, rotating through many different films in supporting roles. Among his film appearances in this period were 42nd Street (1933), Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933), Captain Blood(1935), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), and Our Town(1940) to name a few.
Guy Kibbee in Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933)
Behind the scenes, Kibbee loved food, cards, baseball, and football. He was
also exceptional at golf.
Over the years, Kibbee would work on radio and have a brief stint on
television. He would return to his roots and perform on the stage again,
typically telling stories as a solo performer until he fell ill in 1953.
Kibbee was soon diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, spending nine months at
the Aurora Health Institute in New York. Columnist Walter Winchell requested
that readers of his column send the ailing Kibbee letters of encouragement,
leading Kibbee to receive over 3,000 letters from fans.
Kibbee was transferred to the Percy Williams home in East Islip, New York,
already broke. The hope was supported by the Actors Fund of America to assist
actors who were sick and in dire financial straits. He entered the home in 1954
and would be bedridden there for more than a year.
While at the Percy Williams home, Kibbee was able to watch some films in which he appeared, preferring the Scattergood Bainesfilms for a laugh. He passed away on May 24, 1956, most likely at the age of 70. He was buried in the Actor’s Fund section of Kensico Cemetery in New York.
Today, there are few locations of relevance to Kibbee that exist.
In 1917, Kibbee resided at 6 W. 98th St. in New York, New York,
which no longer stands. He later lived with Helen’s parents and his children
with Helen at 94 Trossach Rd in Staten Island, New York. The original home no
longer stands but this is the property today:
94 Trossach Rd., Staten Island, New York
By 1930, Kibbee was living with Esther and their children at 1216 Broadway
Blvd. in Kansas City, Missouri. The site of their home is now a parking lot.
1216 Broadway Blvd., Kansas City, Missouri
In 1940, he, Esther, and their children lived at 10839 Oxnard Avenue in Los Angeles, California. They also had a live-in governess for the children and a servant. The site of this home is also a parking lot.
10839 Oxnard Avenue, Los Angeles, California
Two
years later, they relocated to 605 N. Crescent Dr. in Beverly Hills, which does
remain standing as a private residence today.
605 N. Crescent Drive, Beverly Hills, CA
In
1950, the couple lived at 130 W. 94th St. in New York, New York,
though the original building does not appear to remain.
Interestingly, Kibbee’s legacy also lives on in association with a breakfast dish — Guy Kibbee eggs. Kibbee prepares this dish in Mary Jane’s Pa (1935), cracking an egg into a piece of bread with a hole cut out and frying it. The dish is also known as “eggs in a basket.”
Kibbee’s “eggs in a basket”
Kibbee’s many wonderful supporting performances delight classic film fans to this day.
Annette Bochenek of Chicago, Illinois, is a PhD student at Dominican University and an independent scholar of Hollywood’s Golden Age. She manages the Hometowns to Hollywood blog, in which she writes about her trips exploring the legacies and hometowns of Golden Age stars. Annette also hosts the “Hometowns to Hollywood” film series throughout the Chicago area. She has been featured on Turner Classic Movies and is the president of TCM Backlot’s Chicago chapter. In addition to writing for Classic Movie Hub, she also writes for Silent Film Quarterly, Nostalgia Digest, and Chicago Art Deco SocietyMagazine.
And — please join us on Aug 22nd for our next Screen Classics Discussion Video Series Event with University Press of Kentucky and co-host Aurora from Once Upon a Screen, in which author Robert Crane will be discussing the book! It will be a live Facebook Chat, so you’ll be able to comment and ask questions!
In the meantime, please don’t forget to check out our other author discussions in the series, embedded for your convenience way down near the bottom of this post: “Jayne Mansfield: The Girl Couldn’t Help It,” “Vitagraph: America’s First Great Motion Picture Studio,” “Jane Russell and the Marketing of a Hollywood Legend” and “Growing Up Hollywood”.
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In order to qualify to win this book via this contest giveaway, you must complete the below entry task by Saturday, August 28 at 6PM EST. Winners will be chosen via random drawings.
We will announce our four lucky winners on Twitter @ClassicMovieHub on Sunday, August 29, around 9PM EST. And, please note that you don’t have to have a Twitter account to enter; just see below for the details.
To recap, there will be FOUR WINNERS, chosen by random, all to be announced on August 1st.
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Bob Crane… many fans know him from his starring role in Hogan’s Heroes
And now on to the contest!
ENTRY TASK (2-parts) to be completed by Saturday, August 28, 2021 at 6PM EST
1) Answer the below question via the comment section at the bottom of this blog post
2)ThenTWEET (not DM) the following message*: Just entered to win the “Crane: Sex, Celebrity and My Father’s Unsolved Murder” #BookGiveaway courtesy of @KentuckyPress & @ClassicMovieHub – #EnterToWin http://www.classicmoviehub.com/blog/crane-sex-celebrity-and-my-fathers-unsolved-murder-book-giveaway-august/
THE QUESTION: In addition to starring in Hogan’s Heroes, Bob Crane also played Dr. Kelsy on The Donna Reed Show, and also had his own self-titled show. What is your favorite Bob Crane role and why? And, if you’re not familiar with his work, why do you want to win this book?
*If you do not have a Twitter account, you can still enter the contest by simply answering the above question via the comment section at the bottom of this blog — BUT PLEASE ENSURE THAT YOU ADD THIS VERBIAGE TO YOUR ANSWER: I do not have a Twitter account, so I am posting here to enter but cannot tweet the message.
NOTE: if for any reason you encounter a problem commenting here on this blog, please feel free to tweet or DM us, or send an email to clas…@gmail.com and we will be happy to create the entry for you.
ALSO: Please allow us 48 hours to approve your comments. Sorry about that, but we are being overwhelmed with spam, and must sort through 100s of comments…
Join us on Sunday, Aug 22 at 9pm ET (6pm PT) for a Facebook Live Chat with Author Robert Crane
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If you missed our other chats in the Screen Classics Discussion Series, you can catch them on Facebook and YouTube:
Jayne Mansfield: The Girl Couldn’t Help It — with Author Eve Golden
Vitagraph: America’s First Great Motion Picture Studio – with Author Andrew Erish:
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Jane Russell and the Marketing of a Hollywood Legend – with Author Christina Rice:
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Growing Up Hollywood with Victoria Riskin and William Wellman Jr:
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About the Book: On June 29, 1978, Bob Crane, known to Hogan’s Heroes fans as Colonel Hogan, was discovered brutally murdered in his Scottsdale, Arizona, apartment. His eldest son, Robert Crane, was called to the crime scene. In this poignant memoir, Robert Crane discusses that terrible day and how he has lived with the unsolved murder of his father. But this storyline is just one thread in his tale of growing up in Los Angeles, his struggles to reconcile the good and sordid sides of his celebrity father, and his own fascinating life. Crane began his career writing for Oui magazine and spent many years interviewing celebrities for Playboy―stars such as Chevy Chase, Bruce Dern, Joan Rivers, and even Koko the signing gorilla. As a result of a raucous encounter with the cast of Canada’s SCTV, he found himself shelving his notepad and tape recorder to enter the employ of John Candy―first as an on-again, off-again publicist; then as a full-time assistant, confidant, screenwriter, and producer; and finally as one of Candy’s pallbearers. Through disappointment, loss, and heartbreak, Crane’s humor and perseverance shine. Beyond the big stars and behind-the-scenes revelations, this riveting account of death, survival, and renewal in the shadow of the Hollywood sign makes a profound statement about the desire for love and permanence in a life where those things continually slip away. By turns shocking and uplifting, Crane is an unforgettable and deeply human story.
Western RoundUp: Western Film Book Library – Part 5
Once or twice a year I’ve enjoyed sharing some
of my “Western Film Book Library” here at the Western RoundUp.
I’ve had some wonderful
responses as readers have let me know that these columns helped inspire them to
track down books for their own collections. With that in mind, this month I’m
presenting a new list of film books I’ve enjoyed!
For past Western Film
Book Library columns, please check out the links at the end of this post.
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Arizona’s Little Hollywood: Sedona and Northern Arizona’s Forgotten Film History 1923-1973by Joe McNeill
Arizona’s Little Hollywood: Sedona and Northern Arizona’s Forgotten Flim History 1923-1973by Joe McNeill was published by Northedge & Sons in 2010.
Arizona’s Little Hollywood: Sedona and Northern Arizona’s Forgotten Flim History 1923-1973 by Joe McNeill
Although the book has
been out for over a decade, I didn’t discover it until I chanced to find it in
Lone Pine’s Museum of Western Film History gift shop earlier this year.
I consider this book one of the most significant additions to my film library in the last few years, and that’s saying something! It’s 678 glossy pages of relatively small type, extensively detailing the Northern Arizona filming of over five dozen films – all but a couple being Westerns.
As seen below via these
sample pages, the book is beautifully illustrated with glossy photographs:
The book is a
fascinating history of many favorite films; it’s so dense that I haven’t
digested it all yet, but it was a tremendous help as my husband and I visited
Western movie locations in Sedona this past May. I highly recommend this book.
Gene Autry Westerns by Boyd Magers
Gene Autry Westerns by Boyd Magers is another discovery thanks to the Museum of Western History gift shop. I came across it during a brief stop in Lone Pine earlier this month.
Gene Autry Westerns by Boyd Magers
While Autry‘s not my favorite “B” Western star, there’s no denying his importance to the genre, including his foresight in making sure that his films were preserved in good condition. (The same sadly cannot be said of Roy Rogers‘ Republic Westerns.) Western fans also owe Autry a debt of gratitude for his establishment of the Autry Museum of the American West, which I wrote about here in 2019.
Author Boyd Magers is a key Western film historian; in 2019 I recommended a pair of books he co-wrote on Western film actresses. Magers’ name on this book made it a “must buy” for me.
As seen on this sample
page, this 456-page book is beautifully detailed. Each film has a credits list
for cast and crew, lists of songs and locations, cast biographies, reviewer
comments, and detailed information on the making of each film. This will be an
extremely useful reference for me going forward, and I suspect it will also
interest me in seeing a greater number of Autry’s films.
Gene Autry Westerns by Boyd Magers
Gene Autry Westerns was published in 2007 by Empire Publishing
of Madison, North Carolina.
On Location in Lone Pineby Dave Holland
On Location in Lone Pine by Dave Holland was published by the author’s The Holland House back in 1990. It’s subtitled A Pictorial Guide to Movies Shot In and Around California’s Alabama Hills.
On Location in Lone Pine by Dave Holland
This book was a gift
from my father years ago and was what my husband and I used to track down Western
film locations when we first began visiting the Alabama Hills about 15 years
ago.
The book’s numerous detailed maps and photographs helped us find locations for films such as Yellow Sky (1948), Rawhide (1951), and 7 Men From Now (1956) years before we began attending the Lone Pine Film Festival and going on location tours with experienced guides.
Along the way, Holland
also shares extensive history on movies shot in Lone Pine. It’s a key resource
for anyone interested in movie locations in general and Lone Pine specifically.
Anthony Mann, New and Expanded Edition by Jeanine Basinger
Anthony Mannis a study of the director by pre-eminent film historian Jeanine Basinger, published by Wesleyan University Press. I have the New and Expanded Edition published in 2007; the book was originally published in 1979.
Anthony Mann, New and Expanded Edition by Jeanine Basinger
The book covers Mann‘s entire life and career, but as Western film fans will be aware, many of Mann’s greatest films were Westerns.
Basinger is, in my opinion, an extremely engaging writer who always causes me to jot down lists of films I want to see thanks to her descriptions. She examines the films from numerous angles, including themes, character analysis, cinematography, and editing; her writing is simultaneously sophisticated and accessible.
Joel McCrea: A Film History by Tony Thomas
Joel McCrea: A Film History by Tony Thomas was originally published in 1991. In 2013 a revised edition was published by Riverwood Press with a new foreword by the actor’s grandson, Wyatt McCrea.
Joel McCrea: A Film History by Tony Thomas
In my experiences with Thomas’s books dating all the way back to my pre-teen years, his books are more error-prone than most; my understanding is that some of the author’s past errors were cleaned up for this new edition. Minor things have still crept in, such as 1937’s Internes Can’t Take Money being referred to in multiple places as Interns Can’t Take Money, but in my opinion, these types of issues are not significant enough to detract from the book’s value.
Also like Thomas’s other
books, this volume excels from the standpoint of photographs; some are new to
this volume, thanks to the McCrea family and other sources. The book also
presents engaging descriptions of the movies, many of which, of course, are
Westerns. It was this exact type of book which was key to helping develop my
interest in classic films. Wyatt McCrea’s warm introduction is another big
plus.
Joel McCrea: A Film History by Tony Thomas and Frances Dee: A Film History by Ed Hulse
Fans of Joel McCrea may also be interested to know that in 2016 Riverwood Press published a companion volume on McCrea’s wife, Frances Dee: A Film History, by Western film historian Ed Hulse. Like the book on Joel McCrea, it has a foreword by Wyatt McCrea and is exquisitely illustrated.
Fans of McCrea and Dee
will definitely want both of these volumes on their bookshelf.
As always, recommendations for additional books on Westerns are always very welcome in the comments!
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– Laura Grieve for Classic Movie Hub
Laura can be found at her blog, Laura’s Miscellaneous Musings, where she’s been writing about movies since 2005, and on Twitter at @LaurasMiscMovie. A lifelong film fan, Laura loves the classics including Disney, Film Noir, Musicals, and Westerns. She regularly covers Southern California classic film festivals. Laura will scribe on all things western at the ‘Western RoundUp’ for CMH.
For those of you who are unfamiliar
with Cinemallennials, it is a bi-weekly podcast in which I, and another
millennial, watch a classic film that we’ve never seen before, and discuss its
significance and relevance in today’s world.
In this episode, I talked with German film director, and host of Lars Henriks Podcast International, Lars Henriks about one of the most beloved films of all time, The Wizard of Oz (1939). While most Americans are introduced to the wonderful land of Oz very early on in their cinematic lives, this wasn’t the case for Lars who remembers his cinematic childhood through the lens of mostly Disney animated films and some traditional folk tales. As Lars is a director who has a special affinity for the unique and fantastical, I was intrigued to see how he would react to the quintessential American fantasy film.
The Scarecrow (Ray Bolger), The Tin Man (Jack Haley), Dorothy (Judy Garland) and The Cowardly Lion (Bert Lahr) traverse the Yellow Brick Road.
From being the first film that truly made Technicolor a culturally resonant phenomenon to its technical achievements, no wonder, The Wizard of Oz is considered one of the greatest films of all time, and is the film that made future fantasy stories – often considered impossible to adapt into film, like The Lord of the Rings – possible for generations to come. Oh and, we can’t forget the unforgettable cast of characters. Whether it be Dorothy, The Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion, The Tin Man, or even The Wicked Witch of the West – all of the characters have their own charming personalities and rewarding arcs. We see them fail and fail until they skip over the hurdles that are constantly put in front of them on the Yellow Brick Road.
Dorothy (Judy Garland) singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow.
The film is also famous for the countless development stories that have emerged over the last 82 years – its mistakes, its successes, and of course, the people behind the scenes that went on to make cinematic history. The Wizard of Oz’s legacy is still prevalent today, as it is not only notable for its writing and directing, but also its casting, musical compositions, elaborate sets, and costume design. These elements have influenced the world of filmmaking since the film’s release in 1939.
The Scarecrow (Ray Bolger), watching over his crops.
During this episode, Lars and I will be discussing topics like a child’s blissful and yet often scary unconditional acceptance of film as reality, how certain childhood films can shape a region’s youth, and how sometimes in our day and age, someone that seems powerful may just be someone behind a curtain throwing levers and pushing knobs unknowing of what they do.
Through our journey to Oz and back, we as the younger generation, can see the timeline of all of our most beloved childhood films and can be made aware of how our cinematic experiences often shape our perceptions of reality – and how, through connecting to our childhood, we can create a kinder, more accepting world, just like the land of Oz.
I hope you enjoy this episode of Cinemallennials, which you can find here on apple podcasts or on spotify. Please reach out to me as I would love to hear your thoughts on The Wizard of Oz, especially if you’re a first-time viewer too!
Dave Lewis is the producer, writer, and host of Cinemallennials, a podcast where he and another millennial watch a classic film that they haven’t seen before ranging from the early 1900s to the late 1960s and discuss its significance and relevance in our world today. Before writing for Classic Movie Hub, Dave wrote about Irish and Irish-American history, the Gaelic Athletic Association in the United States, and Irish innovators for Irish America magazine. You can find more episodes of Cinemallennials, film reviews and historical analyses, on Dave’s website dlewmoviereview.com or his YouTube channel.
“I wish I knew how you wanted me to be. If only you’d tell me.”
Most fans who make their way through film noir will invariably stumble upon the tragedy of John Garfield. A remarkably naturalistic actor, Garfield was adept at taking hateable characters and humanizing them so much that their fates seemed unjust. Audiences knew he was wrong, but they couldn’t bring themselves to root for his downfall. He was one of them. If Humphrey Bogart was the patron saint of noir cool, then Garfield was the born loser, doomed to fumble the bad hand he’d been dealt.
Unfortunately, the doom that colored Garfield’s film roles bled over to his personal life. The actor was asked to speak before the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1951, but his reluctance to testify landed him on the dubious Hollywood blacklist. Garfield was devastated by the decision, and he suffered a massive heart attack before he could regain any career momentum. He died at age 39, not far from his New York birthplace. He left behind three Oscar nominations, a slew of classics, and a death that made him all but inextricable from his screen persona.
Garfield and Winters bring dynamite chemistry to the film’s poster.
The overlap between Garfield the man and Garfield the persona is what makes He Ran All the Way (1951) such a remarkable sendoff. It was the last film Garfield completed during his lifetime, and the plight of his character, Nick Robey, hits so close to his offscreen paranoia that one can’t tell where the performance ends and the truth begins. It’s as though he knew the clock was ticking, and saw Robey as an outlet for his tortured real-life predicament. Try as he did, the film wasn’t cathartic so much as it was prophetic.
He Ran All the Way has a stronger fatalist slant than most noir films, as evidenced by the opening scene. Robey is seen having a nightmare in his rundown apartment, and the experience leaves him reeling. He urges his partner to delay their heist on the grounds that he’s “got no luck” today, but the plea falls on greedy ears and they proceed. Robey’s dream is treated as a moment of clarity, a moment in which he could have turned things around, but the allure of quick cash proves too much to resist. Robey ignores his bout of common sense and winds up shooting a cop. Suddenly, this nobody is a wanted man.
“You read that in a book somewhere. I think you’re dead wrong.”
Robey gets nearly cornered at an Amusement Park, but a chance flirtation with a woman named Peg Dobbs (Shelley Winters) gives him an out. He plays up his interest in her, and insists she invite him over for some coffee. Once inside, however, Robey’s fear takes over and he takes the entire Dobbs family hostage. It’s familiar noir territory, but the script adds a wonderful little wrinkle when Robey looks over the family newspaper. His paranoia is so strong that he gives himself away as the cop killer, when his name hadn’t even been in print. It’s a gut punch of a reveal, and one that Garfield delivers with withering self-despair. He can’t seem to catch a break.
The rest of the film takes place in the Dobbs household, with sporadic cuts to the outside. It begins to resemble a play, as characters bicker while moving in and out of the same space. Garfield shines in these lengthy scenes, casually alternating between cruelty and unexpected flashes of warmth. His character bonds with Peg’s little brother Tommy (Bobby Hyatt), and he even shares a moment of understanding with the Dobbs matriarch (Selena Royle). Conversely, he berates Peg for her looks and tosses out verbal abuse when he’s not lusting after her. The film never feels the need to categorize Robey as a bad seed or a misunderstood good guy, and it’s all the better for it. Instead, the film lets the viewer sift through his impulsive decisions and decide for themself. It’s a refreshingly modern approach and a reminder that noir’s ambiguity often allowed it to go places that other genres could not.
Robey’s paranoia repeatedly gets the best of him.
The doom that lingers over the film is promoted by Garfield, but he isn’t solely responsible. He Ran All the Way also benefits from the Dalton Trumbo-Hugo Butler script and the taut direction by John Berry. All three men were privy to the Red Scare that was sweeping the industry, and given their liberal views, one can’t help but place an allegorical reading on their approach to the Robey character. Robey’s crimes are not analogous to Communism, but the paranoia that was sweeping Hollywood is present in every frame, and the passing swipes at classism and American greed are commonplace in the works of Trumbo, Butler, and Berry. Not surprisingly, they would join Garfield on the blacklist by year’s end.
Robey’s premonition about being unlucky comes true when he entrusts Peg with his getaway plans. Once again, his paranoia proves his undoing. He accuses Peg of setting him up and makes a run for it, only to be cut down by the police. As he slumps down on the sidewalk, he realizes that Peg kept to her word. Too little, too late. The sequence is shot in devastatingly tight closeups, and Garfield’s pained expression is topped only by the image of his character crawling towards the headlights of a parked car. In a final, haunting moment of futility, he keels over before he can reach the light. All that’s left for noir’s patron saint is the black asphalt.
Robey makes one last attempt to run all the way.
He Ran All the Way will always be a notable release by virtue of it being Garfield’s last film. The parallels between his life and his character’s predicament are innumerable, and his performance is staggering, but even without the real-life context, the film is a remarkable piece of noir storytelling. The screenplay packs an ironic punch, and the cinematography by James Wong Howe is among the finest of the time period, particularly on the back end of the film. As far as swan songs go, it doesn’t get much better.
TRIVIA: Due to the blacklisting of Trumbo, Butler, and Berry, all three men’s names were removed from the film. Their credits have since been restored.
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–Danilo Castro for Classic Movie Hub
Danilo Castro is a film noir aficionado and Contributing Writer for Classic Movie Hub. You can read more of Danilo’s articles and reviews at the Film Noir Archive, or you can follow Danilo on Twitter @DaniloSCastro.
Lives Behind the Legends: Doris Day – Looking For Love
Doris Day
When you think of the iconic Doris Day, you probably think of a picture-perfect blonde who had it all — the all-American girl, the perfect housewife, the happy-go-lucky sweetheart. Doris almost seemed to personify the ideals of the 1950’s: her image was virtuous, sweet, joyous, and proper. Men wanted to marry her, and women wanted her to be the neighbor who gave them cooking advice. In reality, Doris’ life was far from a white picket fence dream. Though Doris always wanted a loving husband to make a happy home with, this dream eluded her time and time again. Eventually, she found that happiness can be achieved in many different ways and that love comes in many forms.
Doris had a complicated relationship with the first man in her life. Her father was a strict and old-fashioned man, who rarely showed affection. Still, for the first few years of her life, Doris seemed to have an idyllic home life. Her father’s job as a music teacher made sure that the family was surrounded by music and instruments, her mother was a loving housewife and Doris got along well with her big brother. They lived in a tight-knit community in Cincinnati, where the children were free to play to their heart’s delight. But this community would soon be rattled by a scandal, which was preceded by a traumatic night for ten-year-old Doris. As she tried to fall asleep while her parents were having a party downstairs, she heard her father and a close family friend come up the stairs. ‘My father and this woman came in and tiptoed to the bedroom beyond. I heard everything. God help me. I pulled the pillow over my head but there was no way to shut it out. I cried myself to sleep,’ Doris later admitted in her autobiography. Little Doris kept this information to herself in hopes of keeping the family together. It was no use; her mother found out about the affair soon after. Her parents divorced, and Doris’ father married his mistress. She would see him for dinners once a week as an early teen, but contact ceased after a while, and she did not have a relationship with him as an adult. Although this upset her, she was never angry with her father. ‘It is my nature to forgive’, she later lamented. Her friend Mike DeVita said that her parent’s divorce and the lack of a relationship with her father had a profound effect on Doris, even suggesting that she went on to look for the father she never had in her future husbands.
The idyllic home life
that had been her early childhood, was something Doris desperately wanted as an
adult. There were multiple twists and turns in Doris’ life that eventually led
to fame and fortune, but becoming a movie star was never her dream. As Doris
herself said: ‘I could have happily lived my entire life in Cincinnati, married
to a proper Cincinnatian, living in a big old Victorian house [and] raising a
brood of offspring’. Although she was already a singer in a popular band at age
sixteen, she saw this as something to do until she could start a family.
Doris Day as a teenager
So when she fell for 23-year-old trombone player Al Jorden, she did not waste any time. Despite objections from both her mother and her bandleader, the 17-year-old Doris married the unpredictable Al. The pair moved into a dingy apartment in New York, where Al had a job in a new band. Soon enough, Al turned out to be pathologically jealous and abusive. It was only the day after their marriage that this side of him surfaced; when Doris kissed his bandmate on the cheek after he gave her a wedding gift, Al dragged her to their apartment, blind with rage. His physical abuse became a pattern in their relationship and Doris lived in constant fear of him. As he became more brutal, she realized she had to leave their marriage. Then she found out that she was pregnant. Doris hoped that this would soften Al and she decided to stay. Unfortunately, her pregnancy brought out an even darker side to him. He did everything he could to get her to terminate the pregnancy, culminating in him trying to shoot her. She was able to talk him out of it and secretly started making plans to leave him. As soon as her baby boy Terry was born, Doris left Al and moved back in with her relieved mother. She would never see Al again: he was later diagnosed with schizophrenia and committed suicide.
At this point, Doris was a 19-year-old single mother and divorcee. Although she was thankful to have escaped her traumatic first marriage, this was not how Doris had imagined her life to go. But there were more pressing matters: she had to put food on the table. So Doris re-joined her old band and went out on the road, leaving Terry in the care of her mother. After two years, the band released the song Sentimental Journey and it became a huge hit. More chart-topping songs followed, but that did not matter much to Doris. She had fallen in love with a fellow band member once again: saxophonist George Weidler.
Doris Day and second husband George Weidler
Their bandleader
reportedly was not fond of his band members sharing a hotel room, so the
loved-up pair quit the band. They subsequently decided to get married and moved
to Hollywood, where there would be more job opportunities. Their marriage was a
rocky one from the start. Despite the passionate nature of their relationship,
George had a wandering eye. More worryingly, was that George was anything but
excited about the prospect of being a stepfather when Doris suggested that her
mother and son should move in. Still, their marriage was going strong until
Doris found an agent and was getting more job opportunities as a singer. After
only eight months of marriage, George let Doris know that he was filing for
divorce because he did not want to be known as ‘Mr. Doris Day’. Doris was
blindsided by the failure of her second marriage. She visited her mother and son
in Cincinnati to recover. She quickly found that what she really needed was a
distraction. So Doris went back to Hollywood and threw herself into her work.
She was right on time.
The creators of the film Romance on the High Seas were struggling to find their leading lady. They needed a wholesome, all-American girl who could sing. Newly returned from Cincinnati, Doris was dragged to an industry party by her agent Al Levy. One of the creators of the film was there as well, and after meeting Doris, he knew he had found the one. Warner Bros., the studio making the film, saw the potential in Doris as well and signed her to a seven-year contract. Doris never expected to become a star, but things happened fast. Only two years after her screen debut she found herself starring opposite her idol Ginger Rogers in Storm Warning and dating future president Ronald Reagan. Doris had made it. She thoroughly enjoyed this rollercoaster ride to stardom, and being a career woman unexpectedly suited her. She had a strong work ethic, and receiving accolades, such as being named ‘favorite star’ by servicemen in Korea, touched her deeply. Her romance with Reagan didn’t last, but Doris had no time to wallow; she was making films back to back. Her agent Al put a lot of effort into her career, but not just out of professional interest. He was developing an obsession with his client, and things got so out of hand that Doris had no choice but to contact his agency. Al was swiftly sent to New York, and Martin Melcher took over for him. Doris and Marty took an immediate liking to each other and they were married on Doris’ 29th birthday. The newlyweds moved into a big, beautiful home, and Marty adopted her son Terry. Finally, Doris had the family she always wanted.
Doris Day, husband Marty and son Terry on the set of Calamity Jane
At this point, Terry was nine years old and had always lived with his grandmother. Although he was now a part of Doris’ new family life, he would later state that it was his grandmother who raised him. Doris also admitted that they were more like brother and sister, since she had him when she was only 18. Still, they had a strong bond that would last their entire lives. The same cannot be said for Terry and Marty. Marty was an incredibly strict disciplinarian, who sent the boy to military school to ‘make a man out of him’. As Doris’ agent, Marty was the opposite of her second husband. He wanted her to work and was involved in every aspect of her career, including handling her finances. Some people in the industry called him her Svengali, but Doris would not hear of it. She was incredibly happy and said that she seemed to have found ‘the solid, serene life’ she had been seeking. Her career was still soaring as well; it was during this time that she starred in one of her most popular films: Calamity Jane.
Despite entering her third marriage before her thirties, her image was as prim and proper as ever, making Oscar Levant quip: ‘I knew Doris Day before she was a virgin’. Doris was never a fan of her image. She would later say, ‘My public image is unshakably that of America’s wholesome virgin, the girl next door, carefree and brimming with happiness. An image, I can assure you, more make-believe than any film part I ever played. But I am Miss Chastity Belt, and that’s all there is to it.’ Nonetheless, Doris loved her work. She founded her own film and music company with Marty, she had her own radio show and still managed to make popular movies and chart-topping songs. At one point, she had a complete burn-out, exacerbated by a hysterectomy for a benign tumor that left her unable to have any more children. By now, her marriage to Marty was all about business, and she came to resent his dominance. The final straw was Doris witnessing Marty hitting her son. She found out that this had been happening for years and she decided to separate from Marty. They never officially divorced and he would stay on as her agent. Doris was unsure if she should continue acting at this point. The swinging sixties had not embraced her and the press jokingly referred to her as ‘The World’s Oldest Virgin’. Besides, she had worked tirelessly for decades and was ready to slow down. In 1968, Marty fell ill, and Doris insisted on nursing the man she had loved for so long. He passed away a few months later and Doris mourned her third husband, who had still been a big part of her life. But she was in for a nasty surprise. Instead of millions of dollars in her bank account, she was actually hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. Marty and his business partner, Jerome Rosenthal, had squandered her earnings. Despite Doris wanting to quit acting, she found out that Marty had committed her to a television series, The Doris Day Show, and it turned out that she was going to need the money made from that show. Her court case against Rosenthal would take years and require a lot of money in legal fees. She later said about Marty that she was ‘mystified by this man who had slept with me, adopted my son, managed my career and business life.’ Still, she felt that Marty had never intended to betray her and that he had simply trusted the wrong person. The court case against Rosenthal dragged on until 1985, when she was finally awarded only a fraction of her once large fortune.
After The Doris Day Show, Doris mostly retracted from the limelight. She focused on the two loves of her life: her son and animals. She founded The Doris Day Animal Foundation and started a pet-friendly hotel with Terry. She gave love a shot one more time when she married maître d’ Barry Comden in the seventies. The marriage was over after three years, and Barry said that Doris had preferred the company of her dogs. He may have been right, since she admitted to a friend that she had originally thought marriage was the way to live, but felt it was ‘so confined’. In her old age, Doris could live life on her own terms. She lived happily in her beautiful home in Carmel, spoke to her son daily and took in every stray dog she wanted to take in.
About her love life, she would joke, ‘Boy, I know how to pick ‘em, don’t I?’ She suffered one more tragedy when her beloved son Terry passed away in 2004. She subsequently released the album My Heart, with songs produced by Terry, who was a successful music producer in his own right. The proceeds went to her animal foundation. In 2011, at age 92, she told People Magazine, ‘I love life. I have my pets around me and good friends. I’m young at heart and I love to laugh. There’s nothing better.’ She stayed committed to her animal foundation until her death in 2019 and loved reading and answering her fan mail. Every year on her birthday, a growing fan base would gather in Carmel to celebrate their icon’s life. In her final years, she admitted that her status as a national treasure was ‘so delightful’ it made her cry. In the end, the love Doris felt from her son, her animals and her fans brought her the happiness and warmth she had always longed for.
Arancha has been fascinated with Classic Hollywood and its stars for years. Her main area of expertise is the behind-the-scenes stories, though she’s pretty sure she could beat you at movie trivia night too. Her website, Classic Hollywood Central, is about everything Classic Hollywood, from actors’ life stories and movie facts to Classic Hollywood myths. You can follow her on Twitter at @ClassicHC.
