Silent Superstars: John Gilbert, Idol Of The 1920s
There are certain silent film stars who, for whatever reason, are mainly remembered for the myths about them. A prime example is John Gilbert, the darkly-handsome idol of countless moviegoers. When he’s remembered at all, it’s usually for the rumor that the talkies revealed his supposedly “squeaky” voice, sinking his career as one of the silver screen’s great lovers. But like so many old Hollywood tales, this was not only far from the truth, but it has unfairly obscured the career of the likable and talented “Jack” Gilbert.
Gilbert’s upbringing was less than ideal. His mother, a stock company actress, was mentally unstable and flitted from boyfriend to boyfriend; his real father wasn’t in the picture. Young John would eventually get the surname “Gilbert” when his mother remarried. Touring kept the Gilberts constantly on the move, with John only getting the barest of education until they settled in California and sent him to a military academy. When he was 14 his mother died, and Walter sent him to San Francisco to fend for himself with only $10 in his pocket.
The teen would find odd jobs and eventually work with stock companies on the west coast. While spending his free time going to movie theaters, he had an epiphany: why not try to become a film star? Wasting little time, he soon made his motion picture debut as an extra in the Wilfred Lucas short The Mother Instinct (1915). By a stroke of good fortune, his stepfather Walter knew a director working for renowned producer Thomas Ince and sent him a letter with a couple headshots of Gilbert. Surprisingly, the humble introduction worked and Ince sent the teen an offer to work for him at fifteen dollars a week.
Over the next few years the energetic Gilbert would be an extra in films like Civilization (1915) and Hell’s Hinges (1916) and work his way up to bit parts, which quickly grew more substantial. Hopping over to studios like Kay-Bee, Triangle, Universal, Paramount and more, he co-starred with major names like Mary Pickford and William S. Hart and dabbled in screenwriting as well. A 1921 contract with Fox established him as an official new star and he embarked on a number of romantic leading roles.
Romantic roles fit Gilbert like a glove. With his wavy dark hair and large eyes that almost seemed to glow under his striking eyebrows, he was one of the most dashingly handsome figures on the screen, at home in both tailored suits and embroidered period costumes. His acting was confident, sensitive, and impressively sincere. It wasn’t long before MGM, then the biggest and most ambitious studio in Hollywood, offered him a contract–before Fox’s had even ended.
Sadly, nearly all of Gilbert’s early 1920s features are lost, but fortunately the MGM films making up the remainder of his ‘20s filmography are largely intact. He would star in Erich von Stroheim’s prestige picture The Merry Widow (1925)–despite knocking heads with the eccentric director–and gave a powerful performance in the World War I drama The Big Parade (1925), the silent era’s biggest blockbuster. But it was his partnership with the beautiful Swedish actress Greta Garbo that practically became the stuff of legend. Paired for the first time in Clarence Brown’s romantic drama Flesh and the Devil (1926), their chemistry was nothing short of extraordinary–both onscreen and off. Falling head over heels for each other during the production, Brown would recall that the two were so absorbed by their love scenes in his film that he was embarrassed to call “Cut!”
Gilbert would propose to Garbo more than once, and even planned to hold a double wedding alongside director King Vidor and actress Eleanor Boardman. The story goes that Garbo never showed up for the ceremony, and Gilbert, despondent and several drinks in, ended up hitting Louis B. Mayer after the producer made a crass remark about her. While it’s sometimes rumored that Mayer vowed to sink Gilbert’s career in retaliation, the actor would go on to earn millions at MGM for the next few years–a testament to his box office stature.
Gilbert’s last silent film was Desert Song (1929), followed by his infamous first talkie His Glorious Night (1929). A romantic drama directed by Lionel Barrymore, its main weakness had nothing to do with John Gilbert’s voice–which had a perfectly normal and pleasant timbre–but its old-fashioned style of doing love scenes that came across as awkward in sound. The repetitive dialogue, especially Gilbert’s repeating “I love you, I love you” reportedly made audiences snicker, although his performance as a whole received praise.
His Glorious Night turned out to be the beginning of the end. Gilbert’s talkies weren’t drawing audiences the way they used to, and the actor himself was getting a reputation for being headstrong and difficult on the set. While offscreen “Jack” was known as a kind and witty friend, his growing dependence on alcohol was taking a toll, and his disappointment over the subpar talkies MGM gave him was hard for him to bear. His personal life was also rocky, having had four marriages to four different actresses all end in divorce–although he did have two daughters, Leatrice and Susan Ann.
Gilbert’s final pairing with Garbo in Queen Christina (1933) was a hit, and he attempted a comeback of sorts in the comedy The Captain Hates the Sea (1934). But by now alcoholism had ravaged his health to the point of no return. He would pass away from a heart attack in 1936 at the young age of 38. It was a tragic end to a career that can easily be described as glorious. While it’s a pity that he’s mainly remembered for a Hollywood myth, it’s also gratifying to know that in his surviving films the charismatic “Jack” still shines.
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–Lea Stans for Classic Movie Hub
You can read all of Lea’s Silents are Golden articles here.
Lea Stans is a born-and-raised Minnesotan with a degree in English and an obsessive interest in the silent film era (which she largely blames on Buster Keaton). In addition to blogging about her passion at her site Silent-ology, she is a columnist for the Silent Film Quarterly and has also written for The Keaton Chronicle.
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