Adrian, with a mustache and a beard.
Showing posts with label Adrian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adrian. Show all posts
Monday, June 9, 2014
Saturday, April 12, 2014
June's A Bust All Over?
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| Claudette Colbert in It Happened One Night (Columbia, 1934) |
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| June Allyson in You Can't Run Away From It [remake of It Happened One Night], (Columbia, 1956) |
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| Carole Lombard in My Man Godfrey (Universal, 1936) |
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| June Allyson in My Man Godfrey (Universal-International, 1957) |
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| Norma Shearer in The Women (MGM, 1939) |
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| June Allyson in The Opposite Sex [remake of The Women], (MGM, 1956) |
Compare and contrast, darlings.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
More Head
As we toil away, darlings, we hope that you're entertained by this post from the archives. We recently were involved in a spirited debate about Head, which made us think of this fondly remembered post. Enjoy!
A recent, marvelous post over at Poseidon's Underworld, detailing the costumes Edith Head created for the all-star Ross Hunter epic, Airport (1970), started us ruminating about the fabled, eight-time-Oscar-winning designer. During the early phase of her 42 year run at Paramount (1925-1967), the untrained Head was dwarfed by the staggeringly chic creations being turned out by head designers Howard Greer and, later, Travis Banton. When called upon, though, Head could supply the fireworks, as with the spectacular emerald sequined gown she designed for Mae West in She Done Him Wong (1933).
More often, though, Head took a practical, workman-like approach -- which, it must be admitted, gave many of the costumes she worked on an undated, timeless look. There was a minimum of adornment on her dresses and gowns, most of which were made in either neutrals or subdued tones. Her no-fuss ethic was in direct contrast with the fantastical, glamorous, almost otherworldly creations that other designers like Adrian (MGM), Orry-Kelly (Warners), René Hubert (Fox), Kalloch (Columbia), Walter Plunkett (RKO) and Paramount's Banton were turning out.
To be fair, during this period, Banton, as head designer, was in charge of the plum assignments, and therefore, the most important films and biggest stars. More often than not, little Edie was left to toil in B-unit productions like Jungle Princess (1936), Her Husband Lies (1937) and Dangerous to Know (1938).
Whether it was due to the smaller budgets on these films, Head's own minimalist approach, or a combination of the two, these stills illustrate both the designer's career-long fondness for simple lines with a minimum of frills, and a certain uneasiness when pressed to do something more outré: the sequined gown for Dorothy Lamour seems sleazy, especially compared with the clean, uncluttered look she gave Gail Patrick and Anna May Wong (more successful was the sarong that Head designed for Lamour in the same film!). But Head was acutely aware of her own limitations, and, when she was made head designer after Banton left Paramount in 1938, Head took pains to ensure that she rarely stepped out of her self-imposed boundaries again. She also set to work at making herself a household name.
The dark glasses. The crisp white blouse. The tailored suit. The bangs and chignon. The look, adopted in the late 1930's, would remain in place for the rest of Edith Head's life. "I knew I could never be the greatest costume designer," she once remarked, "but I knew there was no reason I couldn't be the smartest." Brilliantly, she copyrighted and branded herself, making her image nearly as famous as the movie divas she designed for. What Head wasn't so brilliant at, was fashion. Let us be very clear here: we respect Ms. Head as a very talented costume designer. That was her job, and she not only did it tremendously well, but she took it very seriously. She conferred not just with the director and actors on creating looks for the characters, but also with the art director and set designers, to ensure perfect harmony of line and color in every scene. The idea was for the costume to enhance and compliment the scene and character, not to overpower for mere effect.
Consequently, many of Head's best-remembered costumes were worn by some of the most celebrated, tempestuous women in Hollywood -- precisely because it took enormous presence and strength of character to bring many of Head's designs to life. Do you recognize either of these rather drab, uninteresting gowns?
How about now? They are, of course, the iconic dresses worn by Bette Davis and Elizabeth Taylor, respectively, in All About Eve (1950) and A Place in the Sun (1951).
It could be said, then, that Edith Head's greatest strength was knowing exactly what would work for the actress at hand, and the character she was playing. The clothing itself wasn't the star of the scene: it became a seamless, almost subliminal part of it. Indeed, it's difficult to imagine Margo Channing tossing off her "Fasten your seat belts" sally without that brown satin dress; but seeing it on its own hardly conjures up such delicious glamour. The clothes may not make the woman, but in many cases in Head's career, they helped make the character.
Perhaps Edith's greatest collaboration with a star was with Barbara Stanwyck. Stanwyck had a reputation among Hollywood designers as being difficult to fit; her long-waisted torso seemed to stymie them. The look Head perfected for Stanwyck -- wide waistbands, narrow backs -- gave Stanwyck a new identity, and the closest thing to a designer/star partnership (a la Adrian/Crawford, Banton/Dietrich) that the free-lancing, studio-hopping star would ever have. The two women remained close friends, with Head not only designing for Stanwyck's films, but also her personal wardrobe.
That Head and Stanwyck got on famously was no fluke; Edith Head was trusted and beloved by almost every actress she worked with. She not only knew how to accentuate and camouflage as needed (as in Stanwyck's case), she also knew better than to spill gossip about her clients' private lives or, worse, their figure flaws to the press. Edith may have lacked the talent of a true couturier, but she could very well have been a diplomat.
There were, of course, a few bumps along the way. Most famously, as Paramount's head designer, she refused to allow young French designer Hubert de Givenchy's name to be included in the credits of Sabrina (1954) -- in spite of the fact that he had designed all of the haute couture gowns for the film's star, Audrey Hepburn, at Hepburn's request. Adding insult to injury, Head won an Oscar for the film (her second for a Hepburn picture; she had won the previous year for Roman Holiday)! To Head's credit, she did thank Givenchy in her acceptance speech for his "contributions." History almost repeated itself three years later, when Givenchy designed the spectacular couture gowns for Hepburn in Funny Face (1957), while Head was relegated to Kay Thompson's gray suits and the sad-sack outfits worn by Hepburn prior to her transformation from duckling to swan. This time, however, Givenchy rightly demanded, and received, screen credit.
Her ambitions to do high fashion designs for Audrey Hepburn thwarted, Head found her 1950's muse in Hepburn's sleek blonde counterpart, Grace Kelly. For the future princess, Head designed some of her loveliest, most fashion-forward creations, particularly for Rear Window (1954) and To Catch a Thief (1955). These two films also cemented a long, fruitful relationship with Alfred Hitchcock, who was not only impressed by how Head's designs looked on his treasured cool blondes (Head would also dress Kim Novak for Vertigo [1958] and Tippi Hedren for The Birds [1963]), but how effectively they complimented his vision and direction.
The 1960's saw Head responding to the ever-changing times in a surprising fashion: she took the plunge into the outrageous, and her designs for such mid-1960's fare as What a Way to Go! (1964) with Shirley MacLaine and Love Has Many Faces (1965) with Lana Turner are eye-popping, jaw-dropping -- and not always in a good way. But they demonstrate Head's determination to remain not only relevant, but newsworthy and attention-grabbing. Much was made of the costume budgets for these two films, in particular; Lana's costumes alone were reportedly worth $1 million!
In 1967, after her Paramount contract expired, Head jumped ship to Universal. Though much of her work for Universal was minor, she did manage to win one final Oscar, for The Sting (1973). In an echo of the earlier Givenchy debacle, however, she was sued by the sketch illustrator who worked on the film (Head herself didn't, or couldn't, sketch), claiming that he had, in fact, designed the costumes. This sort of controversy started Edith Head's career -- she had conned her way into Paramount's costume department by displaying a portfolio padded with sketches by her fellow art class students -- and would continue to the end. When, in the 1970's, she began holding "fashion costume shows" purporting to feature her classic film gowns, many whispered that the gowns were, in fact, reproductions, and that some weren't even originally designed by Head in the first place.
Still, when Edith Head died on October 24, 1981, she was mourned not only by Hollywood but, thanks to Head's unrelenting publicity drive, the world. Obviously, Edith Head's supporters far outnumber her detractors; and, whatever her shortcomings as a designer may have been, her massive influence and sheer force of personality are such that they override any deficincies. In any case, if the unflattering designs she created for Mary Martin, Hedy Lamarr and Claudette Colbert (three of the very few stars with whom she shared a mutual dislike) are any indication of the kind of retribution she would dish out to those who dared cross her, we'd rather stay on her good side!
Thank you, Poseidon3, for getting our creative juices flowing! Frankly, in spite of her legend and her undeniable longevity, we've never been a big fan of Head. (And we never thought we'd have that phrase coming out of our, er, mouth.) Her work always struck us as a little bland and a lot derivative. And yet, contradictorily, she's the woman behind some of the most iconic costumes in film history, a few of our favorites among them. In the end, we simply have to give the lady respect and credit for all that she achieved in her nearly-sixty year career. And it goes without saying that we heartily endorse the always entertaining, always educational Poseidon's Underworld. Visit him today, and tell him that Big Edie sent you.
A recent, marvelous post over at Poseidon's Underworld, detailing the costumes Edith Head created for the all-star Ross Hunter epic, Airport (1970), started us ruminating about the fabled, eight-time-Oscar-winning designer. During the early phase of her 42 year run at Paramount (1925-1967), the untrained Head was dwarfed by the staggeringly chic creations being turned out by head designers Howard Greer and, later, Travis Banton. When called upon, though, Head could supply the fireworks, as with the spectacular emerald sequined gown she designed for Mae West in She Done Him Wong (1933).
Mae West in She Done Him Wrong (1933, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
More often, though, Head took a practical, workman-like approach -- which, it must be admitted, gave many of the costumes she worked on an undated, timeless look. There was a minimum of adornment on her dresses and gowns, most of which were made in either neutrals or subdued tones. Her no-fuss ethic was in direct contrast with the fantastical, glamorous, almost otherworldly creations that other designers like Adrian (MGM), Orry-Kelly (Warners), René Hubert (Fox), Kalloch (Columbia), Walter Plunkett (RKO) and Paramount's Banton were turning out.
Joan Crawford in Dancing Lady (1933, MGM)
Designer: Adrian
Kay Francis in Mandalay (1934, Warner Bros.)
Designer: Orry-Kelly
Gloria Swanson in Indiscreet (1931, Fox)
Designer: René Hubert
Irene Dunne in The Awful Truth (1937, Columbia)
Designer: Kalloch
Lupe Velez in Strictly Dynamite (1934, RKO)
Designer: Walter Plunkett
Marlene Dietrich in Desire (1936)
Designer: Travis Banton
Designer: Adrian
Kay Francis in Mandalay (1934, Warner Bros.)Designer: Orry-Kelly
Gloria Swanson in Indiscreet (1931, Fox)Designer: René Hubert
Irene Dunne in The Awful Truth (1937, Columbia)Designer: Kalloch
Lupe Velez in Strictly Dynamite (1934, RKO)Designer: Walter Plunkett
Marlene Dietrich in Desire (1936)Designer: Travis Banton
To be fair, during this period, Banton, as head designer, was in charge of the plum assignments, and therefore, the most important films and biggest stars. More often than not, little Edie was left to toil in B-unit productions like Jungle Princess (1936), Her Husband Lies (1937) and Dangerous to Know (1938).
Dorothy Lamour in Jungle Princess (1936, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Gail Patrick in Her Husband Lies (1937, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Anna May Wong in Dangerous to Know (1938, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Gail Patrick in Her Husband Lies (1937, Paramount)Designer: Edith Head
Anna May Wong in Dangerous to Know (1938, Paramount)Designer: Edith Head
Whether it was due to the smaller budgets on these films, Head's own minimalist approach, or a combination of the two, these stills illustrate both the designer's career-long fondness for simple lines with a minimum of frills, and a certain uneasiness when pressed to do something more outré: the sequined gown for Dorothy Lamour seems sleazy, especially compared with the clean, uncluttered look she gave Gail Patrick and Anna May Wong (more successful was the sarong that Head designed for Lamour in the same film!). But Head was acutely aware of her own limitations, and, when she was made head designer after Banton left Paramount in 1938, Head took pains to ensure that she rarely stepped out of her self-imposed boundaries again. She also set to work at making herself a household name.
The dark glasses. The crisp white blouse. The tailored suit. The bangs and chignon. The look, adopted in the late 1930's, would remain in place for the rest of Edith Head's life. "I knew I could never be the greatest costume designer," she once remarked, "but I knew there was no reason I couldn't be the smartest." Brilliantly, she copyrighted and branded herself, making her image nearly as famous as the movie divas she designed for. What Head wasn't so brilliant at, was fashion. Let us be very clear here: we respect Ms. Head as a very talented costume designer. That was her job, and she not only did it tremendously well, but she took it very seriously. She conferred not just with the director and actors on creating looks for the characters, but also with the art director and set designers, to ensure perfect harmony of line and color in every scene. The idea was for the costume to enhance and compliment the scene and character, not to overpower for mere effect.
Consequently, many of Head's best-remembered costumes were worn by some of the most celebrated, tempestuous women in Hollywood -- precisely because it took enormous presence and strength of character to bring many of Head's designs to life. Do you recognize either of these rather drab, uninteresting gowns?
How about now? They are, of course, the iconic dresses worn by Bette Davis and Elizabeth Taylor, respectively, in All About Eve (1950) and A Place in the Sun (1951).
Bette Davis in All About Eve (1950, Twentieth Century Fox)
Designer: Edith Head
Elizabeth Taylor (with Montgomery Clift) in A Place in the Sun (1951, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Elizabeth Taylor (with Montgomery Clift) in A Place in the Sun (1951, Paramount)Designer: Edith Head
It could be said, then, that Edith Head's greatest strength was knowing exactly what would work for the actress at hand, and the character she was playing. The clothing itself wasn't the star of the scene: it became a seamless, almost subliminal part of it. Indeed, it's difficult to imagine Margo Channing tossing off her "Fasten your seat belts" sally without that brown satin dress; but seeing it on its own hardly conjures up such delicious glamour. The clothes may not make the woman, but in many cases in Head's career, they helped make the character.
Barbara Stanwyck in Ball of Fire (1941, RKO)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Perhaps Edith's greatest collaboration with a star was with Barbara Stanwyck. Stanwyck had a reputation among Hollywood designers as being difficult to fit; her long-waisted torso seemed to stymie them. The look Head perfected for Stanwyck -- wide waistbands, narrow backs -- gave Stanwyck a new identity, and the closest thing to a designer/star partnership (a la Adrian/Crawford, Banton/Dietrich) that the free-lancing, studio-hopping star would ever have. The two women remained close friends, with Head not only designing for Stanwyck's films, but also her personal wardrobe.
Barbara Stanwyck in The Lady Eve (1941, Paramount) and Ball of Fire (1941, RKO)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
That Head and Stanwyck got on famously was no fluke; Edith Head was trusted and beloved by almost every actress she worked with. She not only knew how to accentuate and camouflage as needed (as in Stanwyck's case), she also knew better than to spill gossip about her clients' private lives or, worse, their figure flaws to the press. Edith may have lacked the talent of a true couturier, but she could very well have been a diplomat.
Edith Head and Gloria Swanson, in costume for Sunset Blvd. (1950, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
There were, of course, a few bumps along the way. Most famously, as Paramount's head designer, she refused to allow young French designer Hubert de Givenchy's name to be included in the credits of Sabrina (1954) -- in spite of the fact that he had designed all of the haute couture gowns for the film's star, Audrey Hepburn, at Hepburn's request. Adding insult to injury, Head won an Oscar for the film (her second for a Hepburn picture; she had won the previous year for Roman Holiday)! To Head's credit, she did thank Givenchy in her acceptance speech for his "contributions." History almost repeated itself three years later, when Givenchy designed the spectacular couture gowns for Hepburn in Funny Face (1957), while Head was relegated to Kay Thompson's gray suits and the sad-sack outfits worn by Hepburn prior to her transformation from duckling to swan. This time, however, Givenchy rightly demanded, and received, screen credit.
Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday (1953, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face (1957, Paramount)
Designer: Hubert de Givenchy
Designer: Edith Head
Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face (1957, Paramount)Designer: Hubert de Givenchy
Her ambitions to do high fashion designs for Audrey Hepburn thwarted, Head found her 1950's muse in Hepburn's sleek blonde counterpart, Grace Kelly. For the future princess, Head designed some of her loveliest, most fashion-forward creations, particularly for Rear Window (1954) and To Catch a Thief (1955). These two films also cemented a long, fruitful relationship with Alfred Hitchcock, who was not only impressed by how Head's designs looked on his treasured cool blondes (Head would also dress Kim Novak for Vertigo [1958] and Tippi Hedren for The Birds [1963]), but how effectively they complimented his vision and direction.
Grace Kelly in Rear Window (1954, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief (1955, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief (1955, Paramount)Designer: Edith Head
The 1960's saw Head responding to the ever-changing times in a surprising fashion: she took the plunge into the outrageous, and her designs for such mid-1960's fare as What a Way to Go! (1964) with Shirley MacLaine and Love Has Many Faces (1965) with Lana Turner are eye-popping, jaw-dropping -- and not always in a good way. But they demonstrate Head's determination to remain not only relevant, but newsworthy and attention-grabbing. Much was made of the costume budgets for these two films, in particular; Lana's costumes alone were reportedly worth $1 million!
Lana Turner in Love Has Many Faces (1965, Columbia)
Designer: Edith Head
Shirley MacLaine (with Robert Mitchum) in What a Way to Go! (1964, Twentieth Century Fox)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Shirley MacLaine (with Robert Mitchum) in What a Way to Go! (1964, Twentieth Century Fox)
Designer: Edith Head
In 1967, after her Paramount contract expired, Head jumped ship to Universal. Though much of her work for Universal was minor, she did manage to win one final Oscar, for The Sting (1973). In an echo of the earlier Givenchy debacle, however, she was sued by the sketch illustrator who worked on the film (Head herself didn't, or couldn't, sketch), claiming that he had, in fact, designed the costumes. This sort of controversy started Edith Head's career -- she had conned her way into Paramount's costume department by displaying a portfolio padded with sketches by her fellow art class students -- and would continue to the end. When, in the 1970's, she began holding "fashion costume shows" purporting to feature her classic film gowns, many whispered that the gowns were, in fact, reproductions, and that some weren't even originally designed by Head in the first place.
Edith Head and models at one of her costume fashion shows, 1970's
Still, when Edith Head died on October 24, 1981, she was mourned not only by Hollywood but, thanks to Head's unrelenting publicity drive, the world. Obviously, Edith Head's supporters far outnumber her detractors; and, whatever her shortcomings as a designer may have been, her massive influence and sheer force of personality are such that they override any deficincies. In any case, if the unflattering designs she created for Mary Martin, Hedy Lamarr and Claudette Colbert (three of the very few stars with whom she shared a mutual dislike) are any indication of the kind of retribution she would dish out to those who dared cross her, we'd rather stay on her good side!
Mary Martin in Love Thy Neighbor (1942)
Designer: Edith Head
Hedy Lamarr in The Strange Woman (1946, United Artists)
Designer: Edith Head
Claudette Colbert in Zaza (1939, Paramount)
Designer: Edith Head
Designer: Edith Head
Hedy Lamarr in The Strange Woman (1946, United Artists)Designer: Edith Head
Claudette Colbert in Zaza (1939, Paramount)Designer: Edith Head
Thank you, Poseidon3, for getting our creative juices flowing! Frankly, in spite of her legend and her undeniable longevity, we've never been a big fan of Head. (And we never thought we'd have that phrase coming out of our, er, mouth.) Her work always struck us as a little bland and a lot derivative. And yet, contradictorily, she's the woman behind some of the most iconic costumes in film history, a few of our favorites among them. In the end, we simply have to give the lady respect and credit for all that she achieved in her nearly-sixty year career. And it goes without saying that we heartily endorse the always entertaining, always educational Poseidon's Underworld. Visit him today, and tell him that Big Edie sent you.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Friday, September 2, 2011
The Fabulous Forties: Hedy Lamarr
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.
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.
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