Stirred, Straight Up, with a Twist

The Fabulous Forties: Paulette Goddard

2011-09-13T00:00:00.006-04:00

In the opening credits of The Women (1939), the stars of the all-female cast are introduced with various members of the animal kingdom representing their respective characters. As the sly golddigger, Miriam Aarons, Paulette Goddard is symbolized by a fox. It couldn't have been a more apropos parallel, both for the character and the actress.

Paulette Goddard was smart, sexy, clever, crafty -- and foxy. She was also a major contract star at Paramount for nearly all of the 1940's, although even at the height of her movie fame, Goddard was perhaps better known (as she is now) for her off-screen exploits, romances and scandals. When, more than 40 years after her greatest stardom, Paulette Goddard left a multi-million dollar estate, including priceless art, fabulous jewels and magnificent properties, it was the culmination of years of not only hard work, but also canny opportunism and a healthy dose of feminine wiles.

Born Marion Pauline Levy on June 10, 1910, the future Paulette Goddard was extraordinarily beautiful from the start, working as a child model, and becoming a Ziegfeld Girl at the tender age of 13. By 16, she had married a wealthy New York businessman, shedding him a few years later for a substantial cash settlement, which Goddard used to subsidize her move to Hollywood with her mother.

Paulette Goddard in the Ziegfeld Follies production of Rio Rita (1927)

Along with other future luminaries Lucille Ball, Betty Grable and Ann Sothern, the newly minted starlet became a "Goldwyn Girl," appearing in such Sam Goldwyn productions as Roman Scandals (1933) and Kid Millions (1934). It was during this period that Goddard met Charlie Chaplin, and the two began a romance which would both help and hinder Goddard's ambitions for stardom.

Paulette Goddard as a Goldwyn Girl, circa 1933

Claiming to have been married in China, Chaplin and Goddard brazenly lived together in his Beverly Hills mansion, shocking the public and raising the eyebrows of even decadent Hollywoodites. By refusing to comment on the matter publicly, the couple stoked the fires of speculation -- all good for publicity and name value, in Goddard's case, but not beneficial for her reputation in the long run.

Husband and wife? Paulette Goddard and Charlie Chaplin, 1938

After her acclaimed appearance in Chaplin's Modern Times (1936), Goddard's career stalled -- Chaplin planned future projects for his was-she-or-wasn't-she-wife, but these never came to fruition. Frustrated, Goddard signed a contract with producer David O. Selznick, appearing first in The Young in Heart (1938), third-billed above the title with Janet Gaynor and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.

Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and Paulette Goddard in The Young in Heart (1938, United Artists)

Selznick then loaned Goddard out to MGM for their all-star production of Clare Boothe Luce's cat-fest, The Women (1939). In her flashy role as a street-smart showgirl who marries into high society, Goddard was in her element, and more than held her own against the likes of Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford and Rosalind Russell, having a memorable on-screen brawl with the latter.

Louis B. Mayer, Paulette Goddard and George Cukor at the premiere of The Women (1939, MGM)

It was a reunion of sorts for Goddard and director George Cukor; she had been David O. Selznick's front-runner choice for the hotly coveted role of Scarlett O'Hara in his production of Gone with the Wind. Cukor was the initial director on the project, and it was he who guided Goddard through her series of screen tests, including the only Technicolor screen test given to any of the multitude of potential Scarletts; many considered her a shoe-in. What may have ultimately cost Goddard the part, however, was the stigma of scandal which still clung to her unorthodox relationship with Chaplin; Selznick, in spite of his friendship with the couple, delayed in officially offering Goddard the role of Scarlett because of his concerns about the public's response to her private life. In the interim, the relatively unknown British actress Vivien Leigh arrived in Hollywood, determined to throw her hat into the ring. The die was cast. Selznick had found his perfect Scarlett, and it wasn't Paulette Goddard.

However, all of the publicity surrounding Gone with the Wind, combined with her strong showing in The Women, did result in a surge of interest in Goddard's career. She signed directly with Paramount, and was teamed with comedian Bob Hope in the hit comic thriller, The Cat and the Canary (1939). It signaled the beginning of major stardom for both players, and they were paired in two further films, The Ghost Breakers (1940) and Nothing But the Truth (1941).

Bob Hope and Paulette Goddard in The Cat and the Canary (1939, Paramount)

1940 was truly a banner year for Goddard, as she appeared with Chaplin once again in The Great Dictator, acquitted herself respectably alongside Fred Astaire in Second Chorus, and appeared in the first of three epic films she would make for Cecil B. DeMille, North West Mounted Police. But as her popularity and profile soared, Goddard continued to court scandal. Even as questions still lingered about her "marriage," she carried on torrid romances with the likes of composer George Gershwin, writer H.G. Wells and director Anatole Litvak. The latter was dining with Goddard at Ciro's in Hollywood when her diamond shoulder strap fell off and under the table. Litvak went down to retrieve it, and by the next morning, tongues were wagging across town that Litvak had been performing oral sex on Goddard at Ciro's. The story was repeated so often, embellished each time, that it would dog Goddard for the rest of her life, and derailed Litvak's career for several years.

There were whispers of Goddard's dalliances with women, as well. She reportedly had an affiar with the Mexican painter, Frida Kahlo ("If only one of them had been blonde," mused Salvador Dali, "they'd have made a perfectly beautiful couple!"); and in the late 1940's, Goddard's close friendship with actress Evelyn Keyes (who, ironically, had played Scarlett O'Hara's sister Suellen in Gone with the Wind) gave gossip-mongers something to talk about, especially when Goddard briefly moved into the home Keyes was sharing with then-boyfriend Peter Lawford, prompting rumors of a ménage à trois. As David Selznick's chief of publicity, Russell Birdwell, had warned years earlier, when considering Goddard for Gone with the Wind: "I have never known a woman, intent on a career dependent upon her popularity with the masses, to hold and live such an insane and absurd attitude towards the press and her fellow man as does Paulette Goddard."

A way with the ladies: Paulette Goddard as a cross-dressing caballero in Pot o' Gold (1941, United Artists)

Living well is the best revenge, though, and if some quarters clucked in disapproval, Goddard probably just laughed and eyed the growing collection of jewelry lavished upon her by smitten admirers; one of her most infamous pieces was a dazzling diamond necklace comprised of 570 stones, made possible, she said, by keeping all of her engagement rings. And, for a while, Goddard's star continued to rise. She obtained a Mexican divorce from Chaplin in 1942, the same year that she starred in her second DeMille epic, Reap the Wild Wind, in which she portrayed a very Scarlett O'Hara-esque Southern belle. Continuing her hot streak, Goddard was nominated for a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her role in So Proudly We Hail (1943), and two years later, had her career peak with the lavish star vehicle, Kitty (1945).

Paulette Goddard and Ray Milland in Kitty (1945, Paramount)

It was the beginning of the end, however. Her next film, Diary of a Chambermaid (1946), was an expensive failure largely viewed as a vanity project, filmed under the newly-formed production company Goddard had launched with her third husband, actor Burgess Meredith. Goddard's capricious nature and temperamental behavior, though, were what finally spelled the end to her movie stardom: co-workers and directors certainly didn't hold her in affectionate regard (even the famously diplomatic Edith Head recalled Goddard as one of only a handful of actresses she disliked), and when her career fortunes began to slide, not many were willing to step in to help.

Diary of a Chambermaid (1946, United Artists)

For instance, Goddard clashed badly with Cecil B. DeMille during the filming of their third picture together, Unconquered (1947), walking off the set and requiring the use of her stand-in for certain scenes. She never worked with the legendary director again, and when DeMille was casting The Greatest Show on Earth (1952), at a time when Goddard was desperately in need of a hit, she begged for the role ultimately played by Gloria Grahame. He refused.

Unconquered (1947, Paramount)

Two more disastrous vanity projects finished off Goddard's career as a major star. In Bride of Vengeance (1949), she played a heavily fictionalized Lucretia Borgia while decked out in some strange makeup and hairstyle choices; her longtime cosmetician tried to dissuade her, which only resulted in their dismissal. The film was crucified by the critics, with many commenting unfavorably about Goddard's appearance. Its follow up, Anna Lucasta (1949), cast Goddard as a wanton floozy surrounded by even more sordid characters; the general consensus was that the germ of a good idea was lost amid heavy-handed direction and overheated acting.

The infamous makeup job on the set of Bride of Vengeance (1949, Paramount)

Practically overnight, Goddard slipped from studio contract star to making cheapies like the infamous Babes from Bagdad (1952) and Sins of Jezebel (1953), the titles of which pretty much say it all. She turned to summer stock and television, and was reputedly down to her jewels and a few hundred dollars in cash when she married husband number four, author Erich Maria Remarque, in 1958. Goddard was now able to indulge fully in the life of a wealthy socialite, amassing a remarkable collection of art with her husband as they divided their time between Europe and New York.

Paulette Goddard, circa 1954

During her final marriage, Goddard only made one minor film; after Remarque's death in 1970, she made one last television appearance on an episode of The Snoop Sisters (1972), a 90 minute mystery-comedy series starring Helen Hayes and Mildred Natwick. She continued to make the rounds of New York society, still svelte, beautiful and bejeweled, often in the unlikely company of Andy Warhol. But age and illness were taking their toll, and Goddard, who had always been known for her prickly personality, was beginning to exhibit bizarre, sometimes outlandishly cruel behavior.

Richard Avedon photo used for Blackglama's What Becomes a Legend Most? campaign, 1971

In 1975, amid great secrecy, Goddard had a radical mastectomy; for a woman who had spent nearly her entire life parlaying her good looks into material wealth, the after effects were devastating: physical deterioration, depression and a series of suicide attempts. Goddard retreated to her lakeside Swiss villa, where she finally died of heart failure in 1990.

Had she played by the rules, Paulette Goddard may have become a more enduring name in Hollywood, with a career that could have lasted far beyond the 10 year span of her greatest success. Certainly, she had the sparkle, talent and looks to become a superstar. But instead of international headlines and grief-stricken fans, upon her death the only mourners at her sparsely-attended funeral were her immediate household staff. In the end, the spirited, defiant, unapologetic Goddard probably wouldn't have cared. As her longtime housekeeper later reflected, “She always told me that she had three husbands and several fiances waiting for her in heaven.”

* For more on Paulette Goddard's later years, please visit our friend Brooks Peters at An Open Book

The Fabulous Forties

2011-09-02T08:00:00.005-04:00

The ideal American beauty, circa 1941

The great screen beauties of the 1940's are a peculiar bunch: for the most part, their stardom (which, in some cases, was extraordinary) failed to outlast the decade. The wartime sirens didn't become warhorse troupers, unlike those whose fame came to the fore in the 1930's, chief among them, Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn, Barbara Stanwyck, Marlene Dietrich, Rosalind Russell, and Olivia de Havilland -- all of whom continued their careers with their stardom undimmed well into the future decades. And even the newer stars that followed in the 1950's, as television encroached and the studio system crumbled, seemed to have greater staying power: witness the longevity of Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn, Doris Day, Sophia Loren.

Timeless faces, top to bottom: Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Marlene Dietrich, Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn

The number one box office attraction of the 1940's, Betty Grable, despite remaining a beloved star and icon of her time, was washed up in pictures by 1953. The decade's reigning musical star, Judy Garland, became an even greater legend by the 1950's and 1960's, but largely on the basis of her concert performances and personal triumphs and tragedies -- Garland only acted in four more films after 1950. Only Lana Turner emerged from the 1940's with her movie stardom intact -- and even that was badly waning throughout the entire 1950's, until a potentially damning scandal gave the former Sweater Girl such notoriety that her box office appeal suddenly went into a third act revival.

Lana Turner, a legend in three acts: superstar (1947), on the skids (1950), resurrection (1959)

Most of the celluloid goddesses of the 1940's are frozen in amber, forever shrouded in the shadows of film noir, or enshrined in the nobility of wartime pluck and determination. Unlike their supercharged 1930's predecessors, their glamour wasn't a fantastical illusion, but somehow more realistic -- while still more remote, moody and less approachable than those who inherited the mantle in the 1950's. Over the next few weeks, we shall showcase some of our favorites from the fabulous, fleeting, Forties. Most made films before and after, but the basis of their stardom is contained in that one unique decade. We inaugurate this series with the Most Beautiful Girl in the World...

The Fabulous Forties: Hedy Lamarr

2011-09-02T08:00:00.004-04:00

The most beautiful girl in the world

Hedy Lamarr: movie star, glamour queen, patented inventor. That the outrageously beauteous Lamarr should add that last, unexpected laurel to her wreath shouldn't come as a shock, as from the beginning, she was far from the average movie actress. Unlike many of her celluloid sisters at MGM, she came neither from grinding poverty, nor with a determined stage mother in the wings: instead, the well-bred and highly intelligent Lamarr came from a wealthy Austrian family. She began her theatrical career in Europe, first appearing on stage, and then, cataclysmically, in the Czechoslovakian film Ecstasy (1933), which featured the young beauty simulating (or was she?) orgasm and appearing in full frontal nude scenes.

Lobby card for the 1940 American release of Ecstasy

Lamarr then married her first husband, an Austrian arms manufacturer with Nazi ties. To escape, Lamarr reportedly disguised herself as one of her maids, and fled her husband's castle to Paris, where she obtained a divorce. Her next stop was London, where a chance meeting with Louis B. Mayer led to a contract with MGM in Hollywood. Mayer made it his personal mission to turn Lamarr into the star of stars; ironically, her first American film, Algiers (1938), was made on loan-out to United Artists, and its fame (based chiefly on co-star Charles Boyer's seductive suggestion to "Come away with me to the casbah") ultimately overshadowed nearly anything MGM featured Lamarr in. Indeed, her first two MGM pictures -- Lady of the Tropics (1939) and I Take This Woman (1940) -- were bombs, despite the huge Lamarr publicity build up, and the star wattage of co-stars Robert Taylor and Spencer Tracy, respectively.

Being made up for I Take This Woman (1940, MGM) -- snickeringly referred to as I Retake This Woman, so tedious and convoluted was its filming

Lamarr's most successful films were the ensemble dramas Boom Town (1940) with Tracy, Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, and Ziegfeld Girl (1941) with James Stewart, Judy Garland and Lana Turner; but her own starring vehicles were ultimately disappointing, with the exception of White Cargo (1942), in which the elegant "ice queen" played deliciously against type as the hot-blooded native girl, Tondelayo.

White Cargo (1942, MGM)

It was Tondelayo too late, though; the writing was on the wall for Lamarr at MGM, as Mayer grew increasingly frustrated with both his own attempts at molding her into a superstar, and Lamarr's refusal to bow to his every whim. Mayer was accustomed to screaming, crying and cajoling what he wanted out of his vulnerable stable of female stars, many of whom came from unfortunate childhoods and looked to him as a father figure. He was thoroughly unprepared to deal with the demands and caprices of an independent, well-educated European lady of pedigreed background. To be fair, Lamarr's stubborn and mercurial nature often worked against her. For instance, she refused the plum role that Ingrid Bergman would eventually win an Oscar for in Gaslight (1944), objecting to taking second billing to Charles Boyer -- her argument being that he, not she, was the loaned-out star this time.

Hedy Lamarr at her most glamorous, 1944

Lamarr's MGM contract was cancelled in 1945 (by "mutual agreement," as they euphemistically said in those days), and she immediately formed her own production company, which resulted in two interesting noir-ish dramas, The Strange Woman (1946) and Dishonored Lady (1947). Not bad films by any stretch, they also weren't earth-shattering; and, moreover, an exhausted Lamarr realized how much work went into being a self-contained artist without the benefit of a major studio for support.

Wearied by her experience with self-production, Lamarr signed a short-term contract with Paramount, and was cast as one of the titular characters in Cecil B. DeMille's gloriously vulgar epic, Samson and Delilah (1949). The film was a smash hit, and briefly restored Lamarr to renewed stardom; but the excitement was short-lived. MGM requested her services for A Lady Without a Passport (1950), but the film was such a dog, Lamarr should have refused. Paramount did her no favors by tossing her into a dreary Western, Copper Canyon (1950), then had her playing second fiddle in a minor Bob Hope comedy, My Favorite Spy (1951). In barely a year, Lamarr's comeback was already over.

Samson and Delilah (1949, Paramount)

The ad copy and costumes for A Lady Without a Passport (1950, MGM) shamelessly cashed in on Hedy's success in Samson and Delilah

Lamarr made one last attempt at reclaiming her movie stardom with the campy B melodrama The Female Animal (1957), in which she portrayed a fading screen queen, competing with daughter Jane Powell for the studly charms of George Nader. From there it was on to sporadic, sometimes bizarre TV appearances; botched plastic surgery which altered her exquisite looks; an embarrassing arrest for shoplifting which made worldwide headlines; a lurid "tell all" autobiography (ghost-) written for the money; and finally, quiet obscurity in Florida, far removed from her former fame.

With George Nader in The Female Animal (1957, Universal)

Guest hosting Shindig! with Jimmy O'Neill, 1965

At a press conference following her arrest for shoplifting, 1966

It's not to belittle Hedy Lamarr's abilities when we propose that she was the ultimate case of style winning out over substance. She was a tremendous star during the 1940's, whose very name was a byword for otherworldly glamour and beauty -- yet she never carried a classic film on her own, never was considered big box office. But even in her worst films, Lamarr's face was so compelling, audiences simply couldn't keep their eyes off of her. Unlike some starlets who had the looks but no talent and, worse, no charisma, Hedy Lamarr was a star who had the looks and charisma, and more talent than she was given credit for.

As for that invention? With George Antheil, Lamarr co-invented a technique for spread spectrum communications and frequency hopping, initially intended for wartime use to make radio-guided torpedoes difficult for enemies to detect or jam -- and the basis for the technology used for such modern day essentials as Wi-Fi and wireless telephones. As we noted before: not your average movie star.

Hurricane Irene

2011-08-27T14:01:00.000-04:00

Granny says there's a storm a-brewin'! Stay safe, darlings!

Dueling Irenes

2011-08-27T14:00:00.006-04:00

Wiglet-to-wiglet combat.

Good Advice

2011-08-27T14:00:00.005-04:00

Tyrone Power and Myrna Loy in The Rains Came (1939, 20th Century Fox)

In the event of a torrential downpour, head for higher ground, maintain calm, and always use water-proof tropical makeup.

Bare Necessities

2011-08-27T14:00:00.003-04:00

Dorothy Lamour in The Hurricane (1937, Paramount)

Bottled water, batteries, non-perishable food, and the most important of all... a sarong.

Pirate Booty

2011-08-04T00:00:00.010-04:00

Upon its initial release, The Pirate (1948) divided critics, alienated most audiences, lost money, and became a project that all involved -- stars Judy Garland and Gene Kelly, director Vincente Minnelli, and composer Cole Porter -- preferred to forget. Porter, in fact, decried the fantastical mistaken identity farce as "unspeakably wretched, the worst that money could buy." Today, half a century later, it's still often described as the most controversial film in the Garland canon.

Judy Garland as Manuela in The Pirate (1948, MGM)

The fact that Garland missed 99 of the 135 days of shooting speaks to her deteriorating mental and physical state, and undoubtedly contributed to the film's uneven, awkward pacing; she was reportedly smoking four packs of cigarettes a day, and hallucinating from her drug use -- sometimes requiring the crew to literally carry her off the set in hysterics. As a vehicle for Metro's brightest musical talent, The Pirate fails miserably -- although its top-billed star looks splendid and displays a wry comedic touch, her dazzling singing talents are barely tapped. Garland's two ballads, "You Can Do No Wrong" and "Love of My Life," are pleasant, but not up to her usual high standard -- in fact, the latter song is only seen as a reprise in the final act of the film; its full rendition was deemed unworthy and was cut.

As a potential stepping stone in the possibility of Garland and co-star Gene Kelly becoming another Judy-and-Mickey box office super-duo (they had been successfully paired in 1942's For Me and My Gal), the film barely passes muster: their undeniable chemistry is undercut by a screenplay (and subsequent editing) which has the two go from adversaries to eternal lovebirds in a matter of seconds. But as a showcase for Gene Kelly's white-hot sex appeal, The Pirate has no equal.

In spite of his physical handsomeness, athletic dancing ability, and easy charm, Gene Kelly's screen persona was, and is, curiously asexual. As gorgeous and talented as he is in On the Town (1949), An American in Paris (1951), or Singin' in the Rain (1952), Kelly's glib style and mannered acting don't incite audiences to swoonful passion. But in The Pirate, Kelly's dancing was never more erotic or (literally) in-your-face: his first solo, "Nina," finds him introducing male pole dancing (take that, Steven Retchless!); being memorably kinky with a cigarette (fast forward to 3:19 in the clip below); and effortlessly getting the entire female population of the Caribbean to fall at his feet -- and we don't blame them.

Even more eye-popping and jaw-dropping is The Pirate's ballet sequence, in which a tanned, taut, toned Kelly cavorts in what can only be described as hot pants and an arm band, leaping amidst licking flames and a scarlet background. Frankly, it reminds us of a mash-up between the infamous Querelle (1982) and David "The Construction Worker" Hodo's "I Love You to Death" production number in the Village People epic, Can't Stop the Music (1980).

Gene Kelly in The Pirate (1948, MGM)

Brad Davis in Querelle (1982, Planet)

David Hodo in Can't Stop the Music (1980, Associated)

Perhaps due to her illnesses and absences, Garland doesn't have very much to do in The Pirate, aside from her wild "Mack the Black," which, if not exactly a high point in her career, is definitely the most uninhibited and sexually-charged production number she ever committed to film. Her acting is also jarring, almost raw and slightly unhinged; yet, at the same time, she's very, very funny, with razor sharp timing and brilliant use of subtle body language -- a raised eyebrow here, a discreet double take there. Indeed, in a movie often called far ahead of its time, MGM-era Judy is foreshadowing loopy, zany, witty 1960's talk show Judy by over a decade.

Judy Garland and Gene Kelly behind the scenes of The Pirate, 1948

Judy Garland on The Jack Paar Show, 1962

One cause for Garland's concern during the tense filming period was her suspicion that her director (and husband), Vincente Minnelli, was throwing all the good bits to Kelly, collaborating with the brilliant dancer/choreographer on extra bits of business, fleshing out Kelly's role at the expense of Garland's. There may have even been a lingering uneasiness that Minnelli's interest in the virile star wasn't purely professional; and, judging by the lingering eroticism which Minnelli's camera lavishes upon Kelly (akin to the palpable romanticism with which Minnelli framed Garland in Meet Me in St. Louis [1944], their first project together before marrying), Garland couldn't be blamed for feeling put out.

Dashing Gene Kelly as Serafin in The Pirate

Fifty-plus years later, audiences are still scratching their heads over The Pirate, so left-field are Garland and Kelly's characterizations, so stylized is Minnelli's vision. Surely, he intended The Pirate as a spoof? Garland and the other fair maidens of the Caribbean island of Calvados look and sound like well-scrubbed, all American debutantes, dressed for a costume ball in their mantillas and lace. The wonderful Gladys Cooper plays her role of a Spanish aristocrat like a grand dowager of the Main Line. And Kelly's always self-consciously hammy approach is taken to the nth degree, devastatingly sexy on a completely satirical level: he's Gene Kelly imitating John Barrymore imitating Douglas Fairbanks imitating Gene Kelly doing an imitation of John Barrymore imitating Douglas Fairbanks, with a side dollop of Errol Flynn and Gilbert Roland for good measure.

John Barrymore in Don Juan (1926, Warner Bros.)

Douglas Fairbanks in The Black Pirate (1926, United Artists)

Errol Flynn in The Master of Ballantrae (1953, Warner Bros.)

Gilbert Roland, ca. 1940's

So, is The Pirate a great film? Yes and no -- the high points are marvelous, and its flaws are glaringly obvious. As Liza Minnelli, the star and director's daughter, put it so succinctly in a featurette about her parents' grand failure, "There's nothing you can really criticize about the picture -- unless you don't like it!" We like it; and if nothing else, as the only MGM musical to ever get us hot and bothered, it stands alone.

Thanks for the Memory

2011-07-27T00:00:00.002-04:00

Was New York in the 1950's really as glamorous as we here at SSUWAT like to think it was? Listening to the fabulous anecdotes of our beloved friend Merle Bassett, the answer seems to be a resounding "Yes!" Over the next few months, we'll be sharing some of Merle's memories of a bygone Manhattan with you. We'd like to thank him for his time and graciousness in this endeavor, which we admittedly begged him to participate in! We inaugurate this series with what may not be the dishiest or raciest of his tales (keep watching this space!), but one which describes his (near) encounter with the most elusive superstar of them all.

Greta Garbo by Cecil Beaton, 1946

"I often dreamed of meeting the great Greta Garbo and in 1959, almost did! She lived on 52nd Street and the East River; I lived on 51st Street and 3rd Avenue. There was a Swedish delicatessen near my studio and I often went there to get sandwiches for me and my model. One cold winter afternoon I went to this delicatessen for sandwiches. When I got there I saw Garbo smiling and chatting (yes, chatting!) with the counterman! I froze in my tracks as I was about 15 feet away from this film icon, trying desperately not to stare. I stood there, watching the lady out of the corner of my eye. I was unsuccessful in hearing what she was saying and decided to leave before I made a complete fool of myself. When I returned to the studio, my model asked 'Where's our lunch?' I had forgotten all about our sandwiches." - Merle Bassett

Merle Bassett, 1950's

Which One Are You?

2011-07-26T00:00:00.002-04:00

A 4 o'clock fag...

...or a 12 o'clock girl in a 9 o'clock town?

Songbirds of Prey

2011-07-26T00:00:00.001-04:00

They'll make you work hard, make you spend hard; they're maneaters!

It's Delightful, It's Delicious, It's DeHaven

2011-07-23T08:55:00.003-04:00

MISS GLORIA DEHAVEN

July 23, 1925

It's Saturday!!!

2011-07-23T00:00:00.000-04:00

You should be dancing.

Good Time Gal

2011-07-22T06:00:00.005-04:00

"I looked over at Margaret, who was surrounded by five guys in a booth. There she was with the hair, the furs and the big gestures. I thought, 'Boy, now that's New York! That's glamour!' I had to meet her." - Jack Wrangler

MARGARET WHITING

July 22, 1924 - January 10, 2011

2011-07-21T10:31:00.002-04:00

Dear Friends,

Well, obviously, we're back! And we missed you terribly. We also were immeasurably cheered by your thoughtful comments and notes, so thank you, thank you, thank you.

After nearly a month without the Internet, and only the most rudimentary e-mail access, you can imagine that we're a bit backlogged, and not just with SSUWAT-related affairs. So please be patient as we continue to get back into the swing of things; updates may not be very frequent at first.

In the meantime, we hope you enjoy our return post about Madame Gumm -- we purposely made it one of our more long-winded ones (and with videos, yet!), so that you won't miss our daily updates too much.

Did we mention how much we love and appreciate you?

The Comeback Kid

2011-07-21T08:41:00.010-04:00

"Every time I go to the powder room," Judy Garland once quipped, "I have to make a comeback."

By 1955, the 33 year old legend had witnessed enough career ups and downs to fell a dozen other, lesser stars. A very public firing from MGM in 1950 after a dozen years, followed by a suicide attempt, caused nearly everyone to declare Judy Garland's career all but dead. Instead, she won some of the greatest reviews of her life by taking her show on the road and knocking 'em dead at the Palladium in London and the Palace in New York.

Program from the historic 1951 Palladium show

Judy was back at the top, professionally, and with husband Sid Luft, formed a production company with the intent of bringing a musical remake of the warhorse A Star is Born to fruition. Warner Brothers agreed to finance the film, and yet another comeback was underway. But, as with nearly everything in Judy Garland's life, nothing came easy, and certainly not without a price. A Star is Born (1954) earned Garland the finest acting reviews of her career, and despite its mammoth length (over three hours!), the film was doing excellent business. In an almost inexplicable move, then, Warners unceremoniously sliced and diced the film -- which had already been released and reviewed -- leaving gaping holes in the plot. Garland and director George Cukor were devastated; and in spite of her Oscar nomination for the film, Warners' essential disemboweling of Star almost guaranteed its ultimate financial failure. Yet, once again, Judy was handed most of the blame: she and Sid were reckless with money, Warners charged; Judy held up production with her illnesses and insecurities. But even with its infamously chaotic backstage dramas, A Star is Born could have been a profitable film for Warners, had it left well enough alone.

Judy Garland and Marlene Dietrich at the premiere of A Star is Born (1954) -- one of the few times an audience saw the film as originally intended.

It was against this backdrop of uncertainty for the future that Judy Garland made her live television debut in 1955. (Technically, it was her second live appearance: the celebrity-studded premiere of A Star is Born had been broadcast live from Hollywood; Judy made a very quick appearance at the microphone to murmur her thanks and gratitude, her sweetly off-center behavior no doubt the result of the bottle of vodka hidden inside her fur muff -- which she had instructed designer Michael Woulfe to make big enough precisely for that purpose!) Judy didn't want to do live television; the idea terrified her. But when CBS offered $100,000 for a single special (the highest salary ever paid to a television performer to date), she and Sid couldn't turn it down. As she would be until the end of her life, Judy Garland was severely financially strapped, and CBS's virtual bag of gold was a godsend.

The Ford Star Jubilee was conceived as a monthly spectacular, featuring the biggest names in show business. Certainly, even with her controversies, there was no bigger name than Judy Garland; and it didn't hurt that Henry Ford, the sponsor, was such a huge fan, he would take his private jet around the country to see Judy's concerts. So it was only natural that Judy would inaugurate the 90 minute color extravaganza. It seemed simple enough: the script was based around Judy's famous concert at the Palace, with mostly-familiar songs from her repertoire, many of which she had just recorded for her debut album with Capitol, Miss Show Business. She would be supported by "Judy's Eight Boyfriends" (her male chorus), Broadway and Hollywood star David Wayne, and most bafflingly, a twelve year old Japanese singer, Mitsuko Sawamura, who guested here, and in MGM's Meet Me in Las Vegas (1956), then all but vanished.

Judy Garland, David Wayne and Mitsuko Sawamura in rehearsals for the Ford Star Jubilee special

As so often happened in her life and career, though, Judy skirted dangerously on the precipice of disaster. Nervous about appearing live before millions of people, Judy was unable to sleep the night before taping. Desperate for rest, in the early morning hours of September 24, the day of the broadcast, Judy overdosed on sleeping pills. When she was finally revived, Judy was not only groggy, but devoid of voice. For the dress rehearsal, Judy hit her marks and went through her paces -- without once ever uttering a note. Cue music, raise the curtain: and, miraculously, as Ford Star Jubilee made its national debut, the famous Garland voice issued forth: admittedly raspy at times, but growing in strength, power and nuance with each number.

Viewing the surviving kinescope today, the flaws are glaringly obvious: Judy is clearly ill at ease in the beginning, and slightly lethargic; still carrying extra weight from giving birth to son Joe a few months earlier, her gowns are uniformly unflattering (one wonders what grudge designer Irene Sharaff was holding against her); appearing "boxed in" by the staging, and without her beloved microphone -- and cord! -- to keep her hands busy, Judy seems unsure of what to do with them: at one point, she starts whipping the panels and scarf on her gown in the same manner she would have with a microphone cord, if she'd had one. (Note: only 60 black and white minutes of the original 90 minute color production survive; according to Garland historian John Fricke, this constitutes all of Judy's musical numbers. What was lost is what Fricke refers to as "the dead weight": guest comedians and sketches.)

David Wayne, who had performed so brilliantly on stage (Mister Roberts) and in film (Adam's Rib), has the thankless job of acting as quasi-emcee for the evening; he's stiff and unprepared beyond belief. On the plus side, he's touchingly tender and gentle with Judy, and in their musical moments together, he shines. The other guest, Mitsuko Sawamura, performs an atonal Japanese folk song and, more humorously, a threeway rendition of "It's Delovely" with Judy and David Wayne. It's inconsequential, but charming, and at least Judy seems to be having a good time.

Actually, considering the near-disaster which preceded the broadcast, Judy is in remarkably high spirits. Overcoming her initial jitters and unease, she's loose and relaxed and displays her legendary sense of humor -- much of it self-deprecating. At one point in their scripted banter, the slightly-built Wayne says it's a relief to be performing with someone shorter than he; in what appears to be an ad-lib, judging by Wayne's delighted reaction, Judy wryly raises an eyebrow, slaps a slightly expanded waistline, and cracks, "I'm just glad you didn't say 'wider' than you!" And during a recreation of the "Get Happy" production number from Summer Stock (1950), Judy stumbles slightly as she dances over the prone body of one of her chorus boys. Seizing the comic moment, she grimaces and then makes an intentionally ungraceful leap over the next dancer.

Judy's voice also grows stronger throughout the program. Some of the numbers were pre-recorded because of the movement and dancing involved ("Get Happy," for instance), but the majority were performed live, and the improvement in Judy's instrument is noticeable, particularly in her rip-roaring rendition of "Rock-a-Bye Your Baby with a Dixie Melody." By the time she sat at the lip of the stage, still dressed in her hobo costume from "A Couple of Swells" (with David Wayne a more than passable replacement for Fred Astaire), and began to tremulously sing "Over the Rainbow," Judy had the audience where they always ended up: in the palm of her hand.

If, in 1939, a 16 year old Judy Garland sang "Over the Rainbow" with all the innocent, wistful yearning of a young girl, then her 1955 rendition could only be described as opera set to popular music. Hope, despair, rage, longing -- all of these emotions burst to the fore. It was, as one astute critic wrote, the blurring of the line between entertainment and fine art.

Ford Star Jubilee's debut with Judy Garland drew a whopping 40 million viewers. But, as other performers before and since have asked (or wailed), Who can follow Judy Garland? The next Ford Star Jubilee special, starring Mary Martin and Noel Coward, drew a significantly lower audience. After only a year, CBS decided not to go forward with the expensive show -- but they ended it the way they began, with Judy Garland: The Wizard of Oz had its first television airing on November 3, 1956. Who can follow Judy Garland? No one; except Judy Garland herself.

The Paley Center in New York City is hosting a month-long screening of Judy Garland television appearances. Ford Star Jubilee was one of the shows which opened the event on July 20. For a complete schedule, please click here.

A Brief Update

2011-07-14T22:41:00.003-04:00

Dear Friends:

Thank you for your inquiries of concern. At the moment, SSUWAT is on an indefinite hiatus, but with every intention of being up and running as soon as possible. Our sincere wish to live permanently in 1962 has suddenly been granted, and we are currently Internet-less. (Thank you to the friend who has let us mooch off of their laptop, in order to give you this update.) At the moment, we are at the mercy of the cable company, our pocketbook, and our own complete ineptitude when it comes to anything remotely technological. However, we are doing our best to be back as quickly as we can. Thank you for your patience and fabulosity, darlings!

Please Stand By

2011-06-28T11:40:00.001-04:00

Unforeseen technical difficulties have placed us on temporary hiatus. We'll be back as soon as we possibly can, darlings.

Can't Stop the Music

2011-06-24T00:00:00.014-04:00

Just put your feet to the beat.

Where Angels Fear to Tread

2011-06-24T00:00:00.012-04:00

Barbara Rush is in.

She's a Gas

2011-06-24T00:00:00.011-04:00

The Good Sister

2011-06-24T00:00:00.010-04:00

Mother Didn't Tell Me (1950, 20th Century Fox)

The Story of Molly X (1949, Universal)

Brewster's Millions (1945, United Artists)

Intrigue (1947, United Artists)

Hi Diddle Diddle (1943, United Artists)

The Director's Cut

2011-06-24T00:00:00.009-04:00

Original Broadway production of On the Town (1944)

Original Broadway production of Along Fifth Avenue (1949)

Human Feelings (1978, NBC)

Proverb: The quicker picker-upper gets the pearl necklace.

June Allyson, Gloria DeHaven, Nancy Walker and Harry James in Best Foot Forward (1943, MGM)

And Also Starring

2011-06-24T00:00:00.008-04:00

Valerie Perrine

Special Guest Star Leigh Taylor-Young

Introducing Village People

The Beat Goes On

2011-06-23T01:00:00.003-04:00

A Carrolling We Will Go

2011-06-23T01:00:00.002-04:00

The Company She Keeps

2011-06-23T01:00:00.001-04:00

Joey Heatherton and Troy Donahue in My Blood Runs Cold (1965, Warner Bros.)

Joey Heatherton and Richard Burton in Bluebeard (1972, Cinerama)

Joey Heatherton and Perry Como in The Perry Como Winter Special (1972, NBC)

Joey Heatherton (C) and Anita Bryant (L)

Oh, Joey, Joey, Joey.

Leg Up

2011-06-23T01:00:00.000-04:00

Style is Timeless

2011-06-22T13:00:00.009-04:00

Anna May Wong in Dangerous to Know (1938, Paramount)

Anna May Wong in the Producers' Showcase TV series production of The Letter (1956)

She's the Greatest Star

2011-06-22T13:00:00.008-04:00

And Debbie Reynolds noses it.

It's Monkey Time!

2011-06-22T13:00:00.007-04:00

But not for long, because as Thombeau taught us: a girl and her monkey will soon be parted.

A Bird in the Hand...

2011-06-22T13:00:00.006-04:00

...or on the head.

The Best Little Bathhouse Performer From Brooklyn

2011-06-17T07:10:00.003-04:00

BARRY MANILOW
June 17, 1943

(Sorry for the lazy YouTube posts lately, darlings... we'll be back to our usual fabulosity soon!)

Beach Boys

2011-06-15T00:00:00.004-04:00

JORGE RIVERO
June 15, 1938

ARON KINCAID
June 15, 1940 - January 6, 2011

For Your Safety

2011-06-15T00:00:00.001-04:00

Safety gays, that is.

River of Cy's

2011-06-14T00:00:00.002-04:00

CY COLEMAN
June 14, 1929 - November 18, 2004

Just One More...

2011-06-14T00:00:00.001-04:00

Of course, we had to include this.

Somewhere Out There...

2011-06-13T18:44:00.003-04:00

MARY WICKES
June 13, 1910 - October 22, 1995

PAUL LYNDE
June 13, 1926 - January 10, 1982

...there's one hell of a party going on.

Lend Me a Crooner

2011-06-12T22:07:00.035-04:00

In the pantheon of great American male pop singers, there's an unfortunate tendency to place them into only two designations: Sinata, and Everybody Else. The temptation is understandable: when Sinatra exploded onto the scene in the 1940's, his contemporaries, and his immediate successors in the early 1950's, all covered the same kind of romantic ballad repertoire; all possessed clean cut good looks; and almost all were Italian-American.

Young man with a song: Vic Damone, 1947

Today's birthday celebrant is Vic Damone, born Vito Rocco Farinola, the skinny Brooklyn boy who went from Paramount Theater usher to singing sensation almost overnight (discovered by another Sinatra competitor, Perry [formerly Pierino] Como). He seemingly shadowed Sinatra even more closely than the rest; twice in his career, Damone was signed by Sinatra's former record labels in a bid to replace their golden gander -- in 1956, by Columbia, after Sinatra had defected to Capitol; then in 1961, it was Capitol who came calling, after Sinatra jumped ship to begin his own imprint, Reprise. And when Sinatra had a row with Louis B. Mayer and was fired from MGM in 1951, guess who was signed to a movie contract?

But it would be wrong to dismiss Vic Damone as a mere Sinatra clone. For one thing, the sheer beauty of his voice is dazzling: more classically trained than Sinatra's; prettier and more supple than Tony Bennett's; more muscular than Jack Jones'. And for another, in his relatively brief film career, Damone demonstrated a natural, easy charm in front of the camera, as well as a more traditionally handsome face and form than his idol.

Unfortunately, none of Damone's films for MGM were particularly memorable. He made his debut in Rich, Young and Pretty (1951) -- the title referring, incidentally, to Metro's resident operatic chirper, Jane Powell, not Damone! Although he made a positive impression, especially with the female audience, the film itself was no more than a charming diversion.

Vic Damone (top) with Wendell Corey, Jane Powell and Fernando Lamas in Rich, Young and Pretty (1951, MGM)

A stint in the Army placed Damone's career on hold briefly; upon his return, he was quickly cast in four musicals: Athena (1954), Deep in My Heart (1954), Hit the Deck (1955), and Kismet (1955), all but the last with Powell.

Deep in My Heart (1954, MGM)

Hit the Deck (1955, MGM)

Vic Damone and Jane Powell on the set of Athena (1954, MGM)

All were resounding failures, and such participants as Damone, Powell, Howard Keel, Ann Miller and Dolores Gray found themselves unceremoniously dropped from MGM's roster of stars. Damone's musical fortunes, however, continued to shine brightly: since his meteoric debut in 1947, Damone had notched up an impressive run of Top 10 hits, and in 1956, he scored one of his biggest, a cover of "On the Street Where You Live" from My Fair Lady. The following year, Damone could be heard crooning the lachrymose title song to An Affair to Remember (1957) starring Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr, and scored yet another major hit.

Almost overnight, however, the hit records dried up, as rock and roll swept the country. Damone's personal life was in shambles, as well: he had married Italian-born starlet Pier Angeli in an unexpected 1954 ceremony -- surprising everyone, including Angeli's lover, James Dean, who, according to urban legend, sat outside of the church during the wedding, weeping astride his motorcycle.

Vic Damone and Pier Angeli marry, November 24, 1954

When the Damone/Angeli marriage ended in 1958, it was amid ugly accusations of gambling, infidelity, alcohol abuse and wife beating. The publicity didn't help Damone's public image, which was already tainted by what many perceived as cockiness and brazen egoism. He was dropped by his press agents, blasted by his own manager as a "S.O.B.," and was in and out of courtrooms as he and Angeli waged a bitter custody battle over their son, Perry; at one point, Angeli actually had Damone arrested for kidnapping when he violated a visitation order.

Perry Damone, Pier Angeli and Vic Damone (with second wife, Judy Rawlins) following a custody hearing, 1965

Redeeming Damone's image somewhat was the surprise success of a 1962 summer replacement series called The Lively Ones, which Damone hosted, aided by two comely sidekicks, Joan Stanley and Shirley Yelm. Showcasing an impressive array of jazz talent, ranging from Peggy Lee and Ella Fitzgerald to Dave Brubeck and Shelley Manne, the program was clearly aimed at a sophisticated, adult audience, and Damone was praised for his hosting skills, as well as his musical abilities. It was considered such a hit, Capitol quickly issued a "tie-in" album by Damone to cash in on the show's success.

The Lively Ones returned for the summer of 1963, this time with Quinn O'Hara and Gloria Neill supporting Damone. And, once again, Capitol decided to "capitol"-ize on its popularity by titling one of Damone's albums after it: The Liveliest captured Damone's slick nightclub act at New York's famed Basin Street East -- and, in a nod to the show's sponsor, Damone, O'Hara and Neill were prominently photographed with a gleaming new Ford Galaxie 500.

Strangely, despite his obvious appeal and talent, Damone never had a regular series of his own, although he hosted several other summer replacements, starting back in 1957 with, appropriately enough, The Vic Damone Show; and, in the summer of 1967, The Dean Martin Summer Show with Broadway vet Carol Lawrence and Dino's daughter, Gail Martin.

Vic Damone with Carol Lawerence and Gail Martin, The Dean Martin Summer Show (1967)

Although Elvis, and then the Beatles, spelled the death knell for the crooners on the charts, Damone and his contemporaries retained a steady, popular presence throughout the 1960's, thanks to television and nightclub work. Things started to bottom out in the 1970's, however; Damone declared bankruptcy in 1971, and that same year, his ex-wife, Pier Angeli, died at age 39 from a drug overdose. Three years later, his second wife, Judy Rawlings, committed suicide in the same manner.

L-R: Twin sister Marisa Pavan, son Perry Damone, mother Enrica Pierangeli, drama coach Helen Sorrell, and ex-husband Vic Damone arrive at Pier Angeli's funeral, September 13, 1971

Damone paid of his debts by touring constantly, particularly the lucrative Las Vegas circuit, and enjoyed a resurgence of popularity in the 1980's, particularly when he married fourth wife Diahann Carroll, who was just coming off of the height of her Dynasty fame. The two performed a well-received act together, but would eventually divorce in 1996. Despite their nearly 10 year union, the breakup was not a pleasant one, with Carroll later revealing some harrowing details about what she described as his demeaning behavior towards her, and Damone suggesting that Carroll's hard-as-nails ambition and show business drive were at odds with what was by then his more laid-back lifestyle.

Vic Damone and Diahann Carroll, 1990

Since 1998, Damone has been married to fifth wife Rena, and seems content to have left his tumultuous past behind in favor of a relaxed family life. He has aged well and gracefully, and although he's been effectively retired since 2001, friends and family report that his gorgeous pipes are still in fine shape -- he simply would rather play golf and spend time with his six grandchildren than make the concert hall rounds again. In his best recordings, and in the glimpses of potential shown in his MGM films, Damone steps out from behind Sinatra's shadow to leave a lovely legacy of song.

VIC DAMONE
June 12, 1928

Everyone's Invited...

2011-06-10T12:00:00.007-04:00

...to a birthday party!

JUDY GARLAND
June 10, 1922 - June 22, 1969

Them There Eyes

2011-06-10T12:00:00.006-04:00

Doin' What Comes Naturally

2011-06-10T12:00:00.005-04:00

OK, Boys...

2011-06-10T12:00:00.004-04:00

Who wants to administer the birthday whacks?

GARDNER MCKAY
June 10, 1932 - November 21, 2001

Love That Bob

2011-06-10T12:00:00.003-04:00

Of course, he loved pussy.

ROBERT CUMMINGS
June 10, 1910 - December 2, 1990

Hidden Jewell

2011-06-09T00:35:00.013-04:00

Gertrude Lawrence

Joan Davis

The most popular guesses for our latest Mystery Guest were, respectively, musical comedy legend Gertrude Lawrence and comedienne Joan Davis. Popular, but wrong. Personally, while we can see shades of Gertie in our MG, we don't see Davis at all -- but we would have understood, had any of you guessed Katherine Cornell, Ilka Chase, or even Gloria Guinness!

Katharine Cornell

Ilka Chase

Gloria Guinness

You would, however, still have been wrong. No, our Mystery Guest is not any of these soignee, gracious ladies of the thea-tah or society pages; she's Isabel Jewell, the snappy broad who will be forever immortalized as "that poor white trash, Emmy Slattery" in Gone with the Wind (1939).

Miss Jewell specialized in playing tough cookies; she was even romantically linked in real life with the fast-talking actor Lee Tracy, which would have been a marriage made in pre-Code heaven. Among her more notable appearances were Manhattan Melodrama (1934), which is remembered as the first pairing of William Powell and Myrna Loy, as well as the last film John Dillinger ever saw (he was gunned down by federal agents upon exiting the theater); and as one of Bette Davis' fellow dance hall "hostesses" in Marked Woman (1937).

L-R: Mayo Methot, Lola Lane, Bette Davis, Rosalind Marquis and Isabel Jewell in Marked Woman (1937, Warner Bros.)

Aside from her gallery of various floozies, chippies and molls, Jewell also won notice for her against-type portrayal of a doomed seamstress destined for the guillotine in A Tale of Two Cities (1935). Her most substantial role, however, was as the sympathetic prostitute in Lost Horizon (1937).

Publicity for Lost Horizon (1937, Columbia)

Despite her strong showings in an impressive number of major, A list features, Jewell's career went into an almost immediate decline following Gone with the Wind; she appeared in such unsavory productions as Babies for Sale (1940) and the Poverty Row comedy Danger! Women at Work (1943).

Lobby card for Danger! Women at Work (1943, PRC)

By the end of the 1940's, Jewell was back in prestige productions like The Snake Pit and Unfaithfully Yours (both 1948), but in unbilled bit parts. Around this time, she also began cultivating a considerably more refined image, after years of being typecast as the brassy blonde.

Isabel Jewell, ca. 1940's

During the 1950's, television brought a steadier flow of work, but like so many unfortunate cases before her, Jewell fell on hard times: she was arrested in 1959 for passing bad checks, and again a few years later for drunk driving. She died at age 64, from undisclosed causes, in 1972; and posthumously entered the cult film annals via her appearances as Edie Sedgwick's mother in Ciao! Manhattan (1972) and a snoopy landlady in Tab Hunter's sleaze-shocker Sweet Kill (1973).

Isabel Jewell, ca. 1964

The profile-less "David" correctly guessed Miss Jewell, as did our ever-astute Toby Worthington -- a "jewell" of a fellow, himself. As always, thanks for playing, darlings; and for being patient while you waited for the reveal!

The Ballad of Alexis and Gladys

2011-06-08T19:48:00.024-04:00

OK, we promised the Mystery Guest reveal today... but forgive us, darlings, because we're pushing it back again -- there's another birthday to celebrate! Today, we pay homage to the cool elegance of Miss Alexis Smith.

The statuesque, stylish, intelligent Smith was born in British Columbia with the decidedly less glamorous moniker of Gladys. By the time she made her first featured appearance in Dive Bomber (1941), opposite no less a superstar than Errol Flynn, she had thankfully been rechristened Alexis, after her father, Alexander.

Fred MacMurray, Alexis Smith and Errol Flynn in Dive Bomber (1941, Warner Bros.)

Perhaps hoping to recreate the success of Flynn's earlier teaming with the genteel Olivia de Havilland, Warner Brothers capitalized on Smith's patrician beauty by casting her as Flynn's love interest a total of four times. Her subsequent outings with the dashing lothario were Gentleman Jim (1942), San Antonio (1945) and Montana (1950). Although these films didn't quite measure up to Flynn's previous successes with de Havilland such as Captain Blood (1935) and The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), they were popular with audiences, and Smith's contributions grew more substantial as her own popularity grew.

Gentleman Jim (1942, Warner Bros.)

San Antonio (Warner Bros., 1945)

Montana (Warner Bros., 1950)

Unfortunately, Warners didn't seem to know exactly what to do with their new star; by 1945, the lot was crowded with formidable female talent, with Queen Bees Bette Davis and Joan Crawford leading the pack, followed closely by Ida Lupino, with the likes of contractees Ann Sheridan, Eleanor Parker and a dark horse, Jane Wyman, nipping at their heels. Smith seemed to get lost in the shuffle, often playing stylish second leads opposite bigger stars, as in The Constant Nymph (1943) with Charles Boyer and Joan Fontaine; One More Tomorrow (1946) with Dennis Morgan and Sheridan; Of Human Bondage (1946) with Paul Henreid and Parker; and The Two Mrs. Carrolls (1947) with Humphrey Bogart and Barbara Stanwyck.

The Constant Nymph (1943, Warner Bros.)

Sheet music for One More Tomorrow (1946, Warner Bros.)

Of Human Bondage (1946, Warner Bros.)

The Two Mrs. Carrolls (1947, Warner Bros.)

Given the chance to play the star, Smith proved an engaging presence, but she seemed to dwarf (at 5'9", sometimes literally) the second-string male leads she was given in smaller films like Stallion Road (1947) with Ronald Reagan and Whiplash (1948) with Zachary Scott and Dane Clark. And opposite such powerhouse talent as Cary Grant in the laughable-but-successful Cole Porter biopic, Night and Day (1946), or Clark Gable in Any Number Can Play (1949), Smith had little to do but look attractive.

Stallion Road (1947, Warner Bros.)

Whiplash (1948, Warner Bros.)

Night and Day (1946, Warner Bros.)

Any Number Can Play (1949, MGM)

As the 1940's closed, Smith left Warners when her contract expired. Her fortunes didn't immediately improve, as she quickly went into three Universal cheapies: Undercover Girl (1950), where she at least got to act tough and get top billing; and two Westerns, Wyoming Mail (1950) and Cave of Outlaws (1951), the latter being less notable for acting than for the asbestos britches Smith had to be outfitted for, as a scene called for co-star Macdonald Carey to administer a severe spanking!

Undercover Girl (1950, Universal)

Wyoming Mail (1950, Universal)

Cave of Outlaws (1951, Universal)

Things looked considerably brighter when Smith landed a showy supporting role in the markedly more lavish Paramount comedy, Here Comes the Groom (1951) with Bing Crosby; she was such a scene-stealer that Paramount gave her the lead opposite William Holden in The Turning Point (1952). Holden was fresh off of his success in Sunset Blvd. (1950), but this film was certainly no repeat of that classic, and once again, Smith found herself on the sidelines of the largely male-motivated action.

Alexis Smith and character actress Adeline de Walt Reynolds on the set of Here Comes the Groom (1951, Paramount)

The Turning Point (1952, Paramount)

Smith concentrated her attention increasingly on the stage, touring successfuly in stock productions of Private Lives and Bell, Book and Candle, among others. She also freelanced in the occasional motion picture; Split Second (1953, with Stephen McNally), The Sleeping Tiger (1954, with Dirk Bogarde) and The Eternal Sea (1955, with Sterling Hayden) didn't exactly further her career, but they helped pay the bills.

Split Second (1953, RKO)

The Sleeping Tiger (1954, Anglo-Amalgamated)

The Eternal Sea (1955, Republic)

By the end of the decade, Smith's stock had fallen to where she was given below-the-title billing in such witless fare as Bob Hope's Beau James (1957) and the Blake Edwards misfire, This Happy Feeling (1958). More satisfactory was her small but effective role as the boss' wife who seduces Paul Newman in The Young Philadelphians (1959) -- but that would prove to be Smith's final film role for over a decade. Ironically, it brought her back again to the Warners lot.

The Young Philadelphians (1959, Warner Bros.)

During the 1960's, Smith continued to keep busy with regional theater, sometimes appearing with her longtime husband, Craig Stevens, another former Warners contract player who had gained newfound fame as TV's Peter Gunn (1959-61). It seemed as if Smith would fade into obscurity, when she had one of the most unexpected third act revivals in show business history: landing the role of Phyllis in Stephen Sondheim's groundbreaking Broadway musical, Follies. Aside from warbling a few inconsequential numbers in her 1940's films, Smith had never sung or danced before, and certainly not on the scale that Sondheim's music and Michael Bennett's choreography demanded. But against the odds, she triumphed: finally, the stars aligned for Alexis Smith, and she won a Tony and landed the cover of Time magazine for her efforts.

Such was Smith's success in the legendary show (which, incidentally, only ran for a little over a year), that on its reputation alone, she became a bona fide theater superstar. Curiously, Smith's character doesn't even have the score's most memorable solos -- as elegantly bitchy as she was performing "Could I Leave You?", the real showstoppers were Dorothy Collins' heartwrenching "Losing My Mind" and Yvonne de Carlo's trenchant "I'm Still Here." Yet, somehow, the aura of true stardom, which seemingly eluded the movie cameras all those years, carried across the footlights and resulted in total audience adulation.

Alexis Smith in the original Broadway production of Follies (1971)

This remarkable renaissance resulted in Hollywood once again knocking on Smith's door; unfortunately, the results were somewhat less than stellar. Playing "the fifth wealthiest woman in the world" in the atrocious film adaptation of Once is Not Enough (1975), Jacqueline Susann's final (and worst) novel, Smith's lesbian love scenes with Melina Mercouri (as a Garbo-esque film star) were embarrassing to behold. More interesting -- if lower rent -- was the atmospheric thriller The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane (1977), in which Smith meets her end at the hands of an adolescent Jodie Foster.

Once is Not Enough (1975, Paramount)

The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane (1977, AIP)

In 1977, following brief runs in a revival of The Women (1973) and a short-lived reinterpretation of William Inge's Picnic called Summer Brave (1975), Smith planned a further Broadway triumph with a star vehicle tailored specially for her talents: Sunset, later retitled Platinum. It seemed perfect both for Smith and the times; her character, Lila Halliday, is a faded 1940's movie queen now touring in stock productions of Hello, Dolly and Mame. She falls in love with a much younger rock star, who immerses her in the rock and disco scene, and she attempts a comeback with the "now" sound.

Program for the pre-Broadway tryouts of Sunset (1977)

Besides the star power of Smith, Platinum boasted direction and choreography by Joe Layton. Layton's big directorial success had been nearly fifteen years earlier, with No Strings (1962), but more recently, he had proven remarkably successful in directing and choreographing splashy one-woman shows for Bette Midler and Diana Ross, so Platinum's contemporary score and setting seemed a good fit. Bob Mackie designed the glittering costumes, and all seemed set for THE musical event of 1978... except that the book was a mess and the songs were horrendous. The show closed after only 33 performances, although Smith emerged relatively unscathed: her personal reviews were largely positive, and she was nominated for another Tony. However, she never again graced the Broadway boards.

Publicity photo for the original Broadway production of Platinum (1978)

An infrequently recurring role on Dallas aside, Smith was low-key for much of the 1980's. She made a surprise return to the big screen in The Age of Innocence (1993), before her death at age 72 from brain cancer. Despite Hollywood's shortsightedness, and her too-brief run as a Broadway baby, Alexis Smith remains a favorite here for her grace and style -- and for being an enduring reminder that third acts can, indeed, stop the show.

ALEXIS SMITH
June 8, 1921 - June 9, 1993

Gray Pride

2011-06-07T17:31:00.026-04:00

No, this is not our most recent Mystery Guest (we promise the reveal tomorrow, darlings!), but today, we just had to recognize one of our very favorite performers on their birthday: Miss Dolores Gray!

Extravagant, opulent, campy, vampy, glamorous: all of these adjectives could accurately describe Dolores Gray's outsized persona. She was singing in nightclubs by the age of 14, encouraged by a formidable stage mother who, as Gray later recalled, "...once said to me, 'It's not a very happy life unless you make it very big.'"

Gray's first major triumph was being chosen to star in the London production of Irving Berlin's Annie Get Your Gun in 1947, after the Broadway star, Ethel Merman, declined to reprise the role. Gray made her West End debut on her 21st birthday, and was an immediate smash, staying with the production for two years and 1,304 performances.

With this triumph under her belt, Gray was wooed back to Broadway, where she had previously co-starred in two ill-fated shows: the Cole Porter flop Seven Lively Arts, and Are You with It? -- the answer to which was "no." This time, Gray was co-starred with Bert "the Cowardly Lion" Lahr in a slick musical revue, Two on the Aisle.

The show opened on July 19, 1951, and was a modest hit, running for 276 performances. However, it marked the beginning of a series of contretemps between Gray and her leading men: she and Lahr detested each other, and each would pull all the stops out to upstage the other during the performance. Given the showy nature of the songs by Jule Styne, Betty Comden and Adolph Green, one can easily imagine that this one-upmanship merely served to entertain the audience; Gray's showstopper was the deliciously wordy "If You Hadn't (But You Did)," which further crystallized her wink-and-nod maneater image.

It was inevitable that such an explosive performer, described as being "a sexy Ethel Merman" and "the Esther Williams of the stage when it comes to shapliness," with "more sudden curves than Niagara Falls," would eventually turn her attention to films. Gray caught the eye of Arthur Freed, head of production for MGM's fabled musicals, when she performed out-of-town previews of the Broadway-bound Carnival in Flanders in Hollywood and San Francisco. When the show finally opened in New York on September 8, 1953, it lasted a mere six performances; but Gray, as had become custom, won rave reviews, introducing the standard "Here's That Rainy Day," and even won a Tony as Best Actress in a Musical -- going down in the history books as having performed the briefest run in a production to still win a Tony.

Audrey Hepburn, Dolores Gray and Jo Van Fleet at the 1954 Tony Awards

Gray signed her contract with MGM in 1955; had she arrived at Metro even just five years earlier, lightning might have struck, but the timing was all off. Musicals in general were on the wane, and the new, no-nonsense head of MGM, Dore Schary, had little interest in maintaining the glamorous images of MGM's veteran superstars or creating any new ones. Gray's first film, It's Always Fair Weather (1955), could have been a hit, pedigreed as it was with star/director Gene Kelly, co-director Stanley Donen, and writers Betty Comden and Adolph Green, who had worked so well with Gray on Two on the Aisle. The film itself had a darker, more cynical edge than audiences expected of a glossy Metro product; but even if the movie may have caught 1955 audiences off guard with its satirical bite, what really sank it at the box office was MGM's complete lack of promotional support: it was quietly released on a double bill with the bleak noir-Western, Bad Day at Black Rock, of all things.

Dolores Gray and Gene Kelly on the set of It's Always Fair Weather (1955, MGM)

For her part, Gray decried her role as uber-glamorous television hostess Madeline Bradville as "an ageless, sexless caricature"; but it's undeniably her most enduring performance for latter-day audiences. Despite the lack of success of It's Always Fair Weather, Gray might have ridden out the storm if she hadn't immediately found herself in two complete clunkers: Vincente Minnelli's Kismet (1955) and The Opposite Sex (1956), the infamous musical reimagining of Clare Booth Luce's classic catfight, The Women. Once again, Gray was superb, even with the formidable shoes of Marlene Dietrich (who played Gray's role of Lalume in the 1944, non-musical Kismet) and Rosalind Russell (the definitive Sylvia Fowler in the 1939 version of The Women) to fill -- but the scripts and productions were stacked against her.

Dolores Gray and Howard Keel in Kismet (1955, MGM)

Dolores Gray, June Allyson and Joan Collins in The Opposite Sex (1956, MGM)

In 1956, Gray was also strongly in the running for the Diana Vreeland-inspired role of magazine editor Maggie Prescott in Funny Face, starring Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire. She turned the role down, feeling that it was yet another "sexless caricature" -- but it would have been a showcased role in a wildly successful, ultimately classic film. Instead, Gray wound up her all-too-brief MGM tenure as "the other woman" in the stylish, non-musical comedy, Designing Woman (1957). She looked splendid in her Helen Rose costumes, and sparred nicely with Gregory Peck and Lauren Bacall, but it was too little, too late to save her floundering film career.

Dolores Gray and Gregory Peck in Designing Woman (1957, MGM)

Once again taking on a Marlene Dietrich role, Gray returned to Broadway in 1959 with a musical production of Destry Rides Again, which had been Dietrich's 1939 film comeback. She was paired with Andy Griffith, with whom she reportedly did not get along. The show was directed and choreographed by Michael Kidd, who had co-starred with Gray in It's Always Fair Weather; but if either expected a happy reunion, all hopes were dashed when Kidd called Gray "a slut" in front of the entire company, and his leading lady hauled off and slapped him, then stormed off the set. In spite of the backstage tensions, the show did well, running for 476 performances.

Gray kept busy for the first half of the 1960's with numerous television appearances, her celebrated nightclub act, and regional theater performances. In 1966, the 42-year-old married for the first time, to Andrew Crevolin, described in newspaper reports as a multimillionaire horsebreeder and landowner. Although their marriage legally lasted until his death in 1992, and they remained lifelong friends, Gray and Crevolin's actual union only lasted a few years. In 1967, she made another splashy return to Broadway in Sherry!, a musical version of The Man Who Came to Dinner. Despite high hopes, the show was a failure.

The 1970's saw Gray perform more frequently in her beloved London, both in her cabaret act, and succeeding Angela Lansbury in the 1973 revival of Gypsy. Throughout the years, she remained an outrageous, glamorous, larger-than-life personality, delighting the press with her penchant for carrying no less than 36 pieces of luggage (packed with 120 pairs of shoes and 25 evening gowns); booking a private cabin on the Queen Elizabeth solely for her Persian cat; and, on one trip to England, traveling with a dozen full-length mink coats -- and two full-time bodyguards to protect them.

Gray enjoyed one last major London hurrah when Stephen Sondheim personally asked her to come out of retirement to appear in the 1987 revival of Follies. She agreed, and once again, brought down the house as Carlotta, putting her own stamp on the done-to-death "I'm Still Here."

Dolores Gray in the 1987 London production of Follies

Flamboyant and outspoken to the end, Gray continued to be a glamorous addition to Manhattan nightlife, squired about town by friends and fans like John Epperson, a.k.a. Lypsinka, and holding court in her plush Upper East Side apartment (described by Epperson as being decorated in gold, purple and leopard skin!). Dolores Gray passed away in 2002 of a heart attack at the age of 78; but, here at SSUWAT, she is still a living, breathing icon -- no gray area there.

DOLORES GRAY
June 7, 1924 - June 20, 2002

Guess Who?

2011-06-04T00:00:00.004-04:00

(If you already know, let everyone else guess first, darlings!)

Constance Craving

2011-06-04T00:00:00.003-04:00

More Auntie Mame madness from SSUWAT's good friend, Stephen Marshal Jones!

Goodness Geisha

2011-06-04T00:00:00.002-04:00

Rosalind Russell in A Majority of One (1961, Warner Bros.)

Shirley MacLaine in My Geisha (1962, Paramount)

Lucille Ball and Vivian Vance in "The Ricardos Go to Japan" from The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour (1959)

Hose 'em Down

2011-06-03T08:00:00.004-04:00

Back when pantyhose and pumps were konsidered de rigueur for klassy glamour.

The Mane Event

2011-06-03T08:00:00.001-04:00

"Having a lot of hair is a big responsibility." - Diana Ross

A Mansfield Moment

2011-06-03T08:00:00.000-04:00

Provided by Loni Anderson.

Fun in the Sun

2011-06-02T08:00:00.002-04:00

...with the tragic, beautiful Sean Flynn

What Goes Around, Comes Around

2011-06-02T08:00:00.001-04:00

Leo's Lord of the Loincloth

2011-06-02T08:00:00.000-04:00

JOHNNY WEISSMULLLER
June 2, 1904 - January 20, 1984

Pucker Up

2011-06-01T02:00:00.004-04:00

MARILYN MONROE
June 1, 1926 - August 5, 1962

PAT BOONE
June 1, 1934

Birthday kisses all around!

Friends of Dorothy

2011-06-01T02:00:00.003-04:00

Dorothy Malone and Tab Hunter in Battle Cry (1955, Warner Bros.)

Dorothy Malone and Rock Hudson in The Tarnished Angels (1958, Universal)

Dorothy Malone and Liberace in Sincerely Yours (1955, Warner Bros.)

She Feels Pretty

2011-06-01T02:00:00.002-04:00

Oh, so pretty.

Do Not Fold, Spindle, Mutilate or Mame

2011-05-31T12:00:00.008-04:00

Very special THANKS

But Alive

2011-05-31T12:00:00.006-04:00

Lauren Bacall

Anne Baxter

Arlene Dahl

Eleanor Parker

All but one of 'em.

Strike a Pose

2011-05-31T12:00:00.005-04:00

Blondes have more fun.

It's All in the Grooves

2011-05-31T12:00:00.001-04:00

Spring is Here

2011-05-27T11:25:00.006-04:00

What can we possibly say about the remarkable Marilyn Maye that we haven't told you before? We could tell you (again) that she's an octogenarian dynamo who looks, shimmies and sounds at least two decades younger. We could tell you (again) that she has a seemingly inexhaustible set of pipes that put most singers half her age to shame. We could tell you (again) about her bawdy sense of humor, her sharp wit, and the mass adoration she inspires from her audience.

But the most helpful thing we could tell you about Ms. Maye, and her new show at Feinstein's at the Regency, It's Maye in May, is to simply buy your tickets now. It is an absolute do-not-miss event.

At first glance (or hearing), this program didn't seem to have the same structure as some of Maye's other, now-legendary shows, i.e. devoted to a single composer (Johnny Mercer the Maye Way) or a story arc (Love on the Rocks, dedicated to mostly torch songs). Then, going over the set list once our dizzying state of euphoria lifted, we realized that this breakneck show was light on the ballads, and jam-packed with zingy, springy arrangements -- Maye in May, indeed.

Ms. Maye -- glittering in sequined black -- broke us in gently, with a lightly swinging medley of "You Make Me Feel So Young" and "Young and Heart." But the number of rafter-ringing showstoppers which followed was astonishing: not only for Maye's vocal stamina, but for their clever pace and placement. In lesser hands, so many Big Numbers would have been overwhelming for the audience. A savvy pro like Marilyn Maye cooks up medleys which begin at a moderate tempo, and then gradually build to a wild climax ("Honeysuckle Rose," which capped off a brilliant Fats Waller medley, had the room practically standing on their chairs, cheering); while standalone gems like her incredible arrangements of "Get Me to the Church on Time," "On the Street Where You Live," "Blues in the Night" and "Come Rain or Come Shine," are bookended by slower and/or lighter moments.

It must also be mentioned that Ms. Maye's virtuosity is more than well-served by her flawless trio: her unflappable drummer Jim Ekloff, who has been with Maye for almost 50 years; the always-dignified Tom Hubbard, superbly supplying bass; and the whiz kid, Tedd Firth, musical director and pianist par excellence, whose jaw-dropping playing matches Maye's vocal flights of fancy to a tee.

By the time we get to the 11 o'clock torch number, "I'm Still Here" from Follies, it seems almost anti-climactic, essentially putting the brakes on suddenly after so many scorching, sizzling-hot highlights. But there's no denying Maye's well-won right to perform this warhorse, especially after her incendiary performance of it at composer Stephen Sondheim's birthday celebration at Carnegie Hall last year. And, of course, she absolutely nails it, wringing every last drop of wry wit and bemusement from the lyric.

We've often mentioned our dislike for this particular venue; its shortcomings almost always color our experience, no matter how good the performer. When Marilyn Maye made her Feinstein's debut last year, even her magic couldn't make us completely overlook the charmless setting. But this show is too darn hot to miss, and Marilyn Maye, if you'll forgive a cliche, has never been better. We've been twice since she opened this past Tuesday, and will be back two or three times before her run ends on June 4.

If you want a perfect evening, we can think of none better than this: start with dinner at Le Veau d'Or on East 60th and Lexington -- another all-time classic which just keeps going. Order the vichyssoise and the poussin, baby roast chicken; or maybe the celeri rémoulade and the divine monkfish special. After you polish off your Pêche Melba or œufs à la neige, walk one block west to Feinstein's at East 61st and Park. Bask in the younger than springtime glow of Maye. Then, if you're anything like us, repeat.

Buy tickets HERE.

A Ghost Story

2011-05-24T00:00:00.002-04:00

This is not a pre-surgery Joan Rivers...

Joan Rivers and Ed Sullivan, ca. 1968

...nor is it Florencia Bisenta de Casillas Martinez Cardona (a.k.a. Vikki Carr).

Vikki Carr, ca. 1965

No, this lovely lady is our latest Mystery Guest: the deliciously throaty thrush, Miss India Adams!

Miss Adams is, of course, best known as the "ghost voice" employed by MGM for Cyd Charisse and Joan Crawford in the 1953 pictures, The Band Wagon and Torch Song, respectively. In the former, Adams dubbed Charisse for "New Sun in a New Sky," as well as the ensemble finale, "That's Entertainment."

Oscar Levant, Cyd Charisse, Jack Buchanan, Fred Astaire and Nanette Fabray perform "That's Entertainment!" in The Band Wagon (1953, MGM)

Charisse actually filmed another solo spot, dubbed by Adams, for The Band Wagon, entitled "Two Faced Woman." It was ultimately cut from the film, but when Adams was assigned to supply the singing voice for Joan Crawford in Torch Song, the number was resurrected -- only to be staged, inexplicably, in a "tropical" setting, with Crawford and her chorines made up like refugees from a minstrel show.

Joan Crawford is a "Two Faced Woman" in Torch Song (1953, MGM)

The other numbers recorded by Adams-as-Crawford included the already well-known pop hit, "Tenderly"; "You Won't Forget Me," which was apparently considered memorable enough for popular jazz starlet Helen Merrill to include on her With Strings album two years later; and "Follow Me," which Crawford herself recorded (in hopes of providing the vocals for her entire characterization).

Re-edited video of "Follow Me" from Torch Song with Joan Crawford's own vocal

Interestingly, Adams would later recall her experience with Crawford quite fondly, while remembering Cyd Charisse as cold and unfriendly. Unfortunately, Adams' friendship with Crawford -- which lasted beyond filming -- came to an abrupt end when MGM released a recording of the numbers from Torch Song, giving Adams full credit for the vocals -- something which was rarely done at that time, with the studios (and the stars themselves) preferring to let the fans believe that the actors were doing the actual chirping. MGM had expressly told Adams not to let Crawford know about the record until its release, and the perceived deception hurt Crawford deeply. Still, to this day, Adams has nothing but praise for Queen Joan.

Following her brief run as a celebrity ghost at MGM, Adams relocated to New York, where she performed in theatre (including Can-Can and The Most Happy Fella); toured nightclubs, such as the famed Latin Quarter; and recorded a highly sought after album for RCA, Comfort Me with Apples (1959), which is a masterpiece of the "sex kitten chanteuse" genre popularized by the likes of Eartha Kitt, Abbe Lane and Lola Albright.

The next stop for India Adams was England, which she made her home base from 1965 until 1981. In 1969, she was the stand by for Ginger Rogers when the latter starred as Mame at the Drury Lane Theater; in true old trouper fashion, Rogers never missed a performance, even when ill, so Adams never had the chance to make her West End bow.

Ginger Rogers and India Adams

Newsreel footage of Ginger Rogers as Mame

She may have made a career out of singing, subbing or standing by for superstars, without ever becoming one herself; but among the discerning few, India Adams is a fondly remembered talent -- and she's still going strong, having performed most recently in Hollywood this past January. We think she's just sensational!

We're sorry we've been so ghost-like ourselves of late, but we hope to be back to our normal pace very soon. As always, thanks for playing, darlings!

Official website HERE.

Everything's Coming Up Rosie

2011-05-23T07:16:00.003-04:00

ROSEMARY CLOONEY
May 23, 1928 - June 29, 2002

(We apologize for the sporadic updates... Mystery Guest reveal tomorrow, darlings!)

The End is Near

2011-05-21T10:14:00.001-04:00

But at least her hair is close to Heaven.

Guess Who?

2011-05-20T10:37:00.001-04:00

(Remember, darlings -- if you already know, let everyone else guess first!)

Hallelujah, They Love Him So

2011-05-15T10:00:00.005-04:00

Lift your bosoms and sing.

Nearer God to Thee

2011-05-15T10:00:00.003-04:00

The big J.C. with the Good Book.

Never on Sunday

2011-05-15T10:00:00.002-04:00

It's her day of rest.

Kick Back, Relax...

2011-05-14T00:00:00.000-04:00

...and enjoy the weekend, darlings!

TGIF

2011-05-13T00:00:00.002-04:00

Have one on us, darlings!

Meet the Author

2011-05-13T00:00:00.001-04:00

A Happy Moment

2011-05-13T00:00:00.000-04:00

Rock Hudson never looked lovelier.

The Voices in Her Head...

2011-05-11T20:30:00.000-04:00

...calling Gloria Parker: conductor, songwriter, and "the Yasha Haifitz of the musical glasses."

Go Ahead...

2011-05-11T20:23:00.001-04:00

Pick a finger.

Back to the Beach

2011-05-11T19:59:00.000-04:00

That last photo is of our beloved Merle Bassett, who was, of course, Burt Lancaster and Joan Crawford rolled into one.

Oh, My!

2011-05-07T08:54:00.004-04:00

We haven't forgotten about you, darlings; we've just been busy little bees, full of stings, making honey, day and night, night and day...

We'll be back shortly!