MENTAL MONTAGE: Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

There are many key identifiers that can clue you into someone's personality: the clothes he wears, the type of dog he has, or the way he decorates his home par exemple. Even more key is perhaps, not so much the car he drives, but the way he behaves behind the wheel after he's turned the ignition. As such, it sometimes seems that lives of danger or tragedy are prefaced in a star's vehicular life. Here are a few tales of Cars vs. Karma. "Fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a bumpy night."


(I apologize. I published this on Thurs 5/12, but somehow it disappeared overnight. Here it is again. Sorry for the repeat)!!!

James enjoyed whipping around town on a motorcycle

when such vehicles were still seen as a novelty.

Because of the way James Dean lived and because of the way he died, it is difficult to imagine him anywhere but behind the wheel of a car. In addition to his famous "chicken" race in Rebel Without a Cause, Jimmy also did a lot of racing in his private life. In accordance, he picked up more than a few tickets from the po-po, including one on the day of his tragic death: James was pulled over for going 10 miles over the 55 mph speed limit. After receiving the citation, he glumly accepted his error and conceded that he had better slow down, if not for his own safety, then to make sure that Little Bastard didn't get worn out before its first big race in Salinas. (Jimmy named his Porsche 550 Spyder "Little Bastard" because that's what his pal, stunt driver, Bill Hickman, called him. He in turn called Bill "Big Bastard"). Sadly, even though Jimmy eased up on his lead foot, he neglected to put on his seat-belt. Not too long after receiving his ticket, Jimmy was struck at the 41/46 junction when an opposing car came into his lane. This spot now bears his name in memoriam: The James Dean Junction.

James checks out his car in preparation for his race.

Up until this point, Jimmy had been invincible behind the wheel. His father, Winton, once remarked, when reminiscing about his son's early motorbike stunts, that "If he'd only fallen once, things might have been different." Yet, even as a child, while JD suffered the usual cuts and bruises, he always seemed to walk away from his daredevil feats unscathed. (The worst he was to suffer was losing his four front teeth while playing acrobats with friends in the barn. Even this, he shook off). His impenetrability was not pure luck, but the product of intense focus. A powerful driver, Jimmy seemed to be almost hypnotized when behind the wheel, always remaining perfectly in control and unruffled. Yet, James did suffer a minor catastrophe when driving in a Memorial Day race in Santa Barbara. Jimmy bent the rules by entering the race in the first place, for George Stevens had requested that he lay off racing during the filming of Giant. During the competition, James started out in eighteenth place. Before he could gain much ground, another Porsche swerved in front of him, cutting him off and nearly hitting his bumper. To avoid the collision, James stealthily veered his car to the side, where it luckily hit only hay bales. Dave Watson, who was watching, said that had it not been for Jimmy's ability, the accident could have been fatal. Luckily, "he didn't miss a trick." James pulled himself together and worked his way back into fourth place before he was forced to pull out-- his engine blew under the strain. Perturbed at his loss, James remained cool as a cucumber. Better luck next time, he thought. For now, he and his automobile exited unhurt.

Wallace Reid (left) too had a knack for car racing. From an early age, and far before he'd acquired a license, Wally enjoyed racing around in his parents' car. This need for speed would continue into adulthood, where neighbors grew accustomed to Wally blazing through town in his various automobiles, usually accustomed with a horn that tooted out the latest song. In keeping with his racing films like The Roaring Road, which he remains most famous for, Wally also entered into competitions in real life. In those days, there was an open track-- The Santa Monica Race Route-- composed of Ocean Ave, Wilshire Blvd, and San Vicente Blvd. The area where the then dirt roads of Ocean and Wilshire met in a sharp 90-degree turn was known as "Dead Man's Curve." Wally was proud when he set the new record high for this turn at 110 mph. But Wally's carefree, innocent immaturity behind the wheel came at a price. He had many collisions, scrapes, and mishaps. On Jan. 22, 1913, he was driving so recklessly up Mountain Road to Parma Park that he and his friends careened off the road and were literally hanging over the edge. The car couldn't be removed, so they had to leave it dangling until assistance could be found. But, more horrendously, Wally would be in a tragic car accident when he and pal Thomas Ince were rushing down the PCH in 1915. The facts remain fuzzy, as there was the usual subsequent studio cover-up, but Wally, who had probably been drinking, lost control of his vehicle and slammed into another car, which carried a family of five. The father was killed, and the mother and three children where seriously injured. Thomas too suffered a broken collar bone. Wally walked away from his totaled car with only cuts and bruises. The damage he did to himself psychologically was another story. When he later came to bury his personal pains in morphine, this is but one of the episodes he was running from.

Steve McQueen was another actor who seemed perfectly positioned in a sleek sports car (see right). Like James Dean, Steve loved the thrill of a race. Friend and co-star James Garner would recall this fire foot causing a ruckus in Germany when they were filming The Great Escape. Along with doing many of his own driving stunts, Steve was always returning to the set with another speeding ticket-- he was constantly getting into trouble with the local authorities for his reckless driving. An interesting story involves not his driving acuity but his mental stealth. When filming the series "Wanted: Dead or Alive," he was irked when the show wouldn't give him time off the shoot the film The Magnificent Seven. In response, he purposely crashed his car so that he could claim injury. When the studio gave him time to recuperate, Steve neglected his bed rest and shot The Magnificent Seven instead. After Steve was all healed aka the movie had wrapped, he returned to work on the TV series as fresh as a daisy. Clearly, this was a guy operating on all cylinders.

Clark Gable (left) remains one of the biggest stars that MGM ever had. Nay, that moviedom ever had. Needless to say, he could afford to buy the best of the best, and he had definite taste when it came to his choice of vehicle. While he wasn't born with driving in his blood, there are rumors that some of the demons that drove him were the direct cause or result of various auto related events. Most memorably, Clark become incredibly morose after the death of his beloved Carole Lombard, and he took to motoring rapidly through the Hollywood Hills as if to tempt fate with his own life. Lucille Ball, a close buddy of Carole's, was a good friend to Clark at this time and was one of the many urging him to pull in the reigns. Rumor has it that he took more than a few spills, but he finally got a lot of his anger and regret out when he served valiantly in WWII in Carole's memory. Previous to this, there was another Clark controversy. There is still debate over whether or not the following is true, but many in Hollywood would recall Clark making a frenzied call to Howard Strickling in 1933. He had allegedly hit and killed a pedestrian when drunkenly turning onto Sunset Boulevard! If true, MGM did its best to cover up the hit-and-run and salvage their growing star's name. Legend has it that MGM paid a studio employee to take the blame, offering him a lifetime's employment at the studio. Interestingly, as author E.J. Fleming adeptly pointed out, the heretofore unknown MGM man John Huston was reported in the papers to have hit actress Tosca Roulien on Sept 22, 1933. Huston went to court, the accident was ruled as such, and the case was closed. John, of course, went on to enjoy quite a healthy directing career. But, did he have Clark to thank for this?

While Frances Farmer didn't suffer any major collisions that I can recall, she did survive one wreck of a life, and a lot of it is due to a 1942 altercation over her driving. Frances was a fiery and impassioned actress, smart and perhaps a little too reactionary. When leaving a party one night, during war time, she was pulled over for having her headlights on in a dim out zone. Frances, predictably, resisted her citation, which quickly escalated into an arrest. The defiant girl was hauled into jail and charged for a DUI-- which obviously wasn't the source of the argument. In any case, Frances paid an initial fee and was let go, but she failed to completely pay the full charge. This resulted in a bench warrant for her arrest. When a hairdresser later accused her of dislocating her jaw on the set, it was all the police needed to go after Frances and haul her in, guns blazing. She was located at The Knickerbocker Hotel, dragged through the lobby wearing allegedly nothing but a shower curtain, and subsequently locked up in a mental institution, with her loving [haha] mother acting as legal guardian and holding the key. Damn those headlights... Ironically, Frances would later be given a car when she appeared on the show "This Is Your Life" in 1958 after her "rehabilitation." Her career, however, never recovered from the scandal nor the false accusations of insanity. Like too many other strong, independent women, Frances was punished for her brazenness. In the old days, she would have been burned as a witch. In Hollywood, it was her fame that was left to fizzle. (Frances films Flowing Gold with John Garfield, right).

Veronica Lake could also be described as a hot-tempered little dollop. When filming I Wanted Wings, which was to be her first major hit, she was often picked on and chewed out by director Mitchell Leisen. While Veronica would stand silently and take the tirades, which were incredibly humiliating, she did find her way to fight back. After one particular yelling match, Veronica jumped in her car and raced off to new hubby John Detlie, neglecting to tell anyone where she was going. That Mitch could kiss her canola, for all she cared! However, one should never drive angry, especially when on the verge of tears. While hurrying to reach her beloved, her car began to slide on the surprisingly icy roads of Needles, CA. Suddenly, she spun out of control and went spilling over the side of the mountain, nose first, flipping over and over. The tough cookie was luckily numbed by the snow and cold, and it took time for her to realize the pain in her knee or the fact that her toes were broken. Looking a bloody mess, she somehow managed to climb the hill back to the road where she flagged down a passing pickup. Inside, a surprised farmer and his family looked at the bloody beauty like she was nuts, but they still gave her a ride to town. She eventually made it to John, and when the studio located her, she had even more motivation to tell them to stick it where the sun doesn't shine. She got her way, and returned to work, where Mitch was forced by the studio to hold his tongue. (Ronni wisely lets Joel McCrea handle the driving, left in Sullivan's Travels).

Howard Hughes is more renowned for his abilities in the cockpit (as seen right), but he too had some adventures on wheels. When squiring his latest infatuation, Ava Gardner, the two went out dancing at The Cocoanut Grove. Howard was irked that Ava remained immune to his charms or money. The following situation didn't help matters. Upon leaving the club, Howard stopped at a red light to see another car also in wait in the opposing lane. Beads of sweat started to trickle down when he realized that the other driver was his seventeen-year-old protege/fiance Faith Domergue, driving the very car he had given her for her birthday. Gulp. Faith recognized Howard too, and when the light turned green, she busted a u-ey and started following the flustered couple. Weaving in and out of the lane, she nearly caused a wreck, forcing Howard to pull into an empty parking lot on Fairfax to avoid disaster, or so he thought. Faith immediately pulled around, lined herself up directly against the passenger side, gave Ava the look of death, and started ramming the car repeatedly. Luckily, another passerby entered the altercation, which brought things to a halt, and Howard asked the stranger to take the fuming Ava home. Howard was left to repair the damage and console his irate, immature mistress, but the damage had been done.

Superman George Reeves (left) had many auto altercations, as well. In fact, toward the end of his life, he had so many uncanny accidents and near death vehicular incidents that it seemed that it was more than just fate that had it in for the hero. The source of this bad karma was probably directly related to his recent break-up with Toni Mannix, wife of Eddie Mannix-- the MGM man with mob connections. Toni was more than miffed when her darling boy left her for the younger-- albeit not classier-- Lenore Lemmon. Consequently, in 1958, while driving his Alvis, (ironically a gift from Toni), he experienced a little rough driving from two passing, black cars. Luckily, this time around, the intimidation resulted in nothing more than George being a bit spooked, and he shook it off. Not much later, he was nearly plowed down in front of his home by a similar dark car. He had to dive onto his front lawn to avoid being hit! Then, in April of 1959, George was out in his new Jaguar. The new car didn't bring him better luck, for as he was rolling down the hills of Benedict Canyon, he realized that his breaks weren't working. Struggling to maintain control, he ran into a light pole at Easton Drive. When the cops arrived, they found that the actor had nearly gone through his windshield and had suffered a severe gash to his forehead, which required thirty stitches. They also found that all of George's brake fluid had been drained. Clearly, whoever was out to get George realized that vehicular manslaughter wasn't gonna do it. He was found dead with a bullet in his brain on June 16, 1959. Of course, it was ruled a suicide.


That being said, drive safely...

MENTAL MONTAGE: Who's Your Daddy?

Adoption seems to be a popular sport among today's celebrity elite. Sometimes a famous lady or gent has simply gotten impatient while waiting for Mr. or Ms. Right and decides to start a family on his or her own. Other times, a svelte actress may opt to visit the orphanage to protect her figure instead of having babes the ol' fashioned way. Then, of course, there is option three, wherein certain celebs become invested in a strange, maternal gluttony-- a la Mia Farrow or Angelina Jolie-- and keep adding to their litter like bitches in heat without the heat. (I suppose all the extra nannies help). Adoption in Hollywood is not a new phenomenon, however. Joan Crawford accrued a tally of four lucky (if you ask the younger two) or unlucky (if you ask the elder two) tots, and Cecil B. DeMille had only one legitimate daughter (Cecilia) before adding on another three, due to his wife's charitable love of children and alleged distaste of the marital bed. This brings me to the point of today's segment: those mysterious, adopted children who suspiciously resemble their new parents. Coincidence? Perhaps. But Scandal is much easier (and  more fun) to believe and, in Hollywood, almost always true.

Cecil ponders: how am I gonna pull this one over???

Returning to Cecil, he had an older brother, William (left), who was also a director. The two were very close and mutually respected each other. While Cecil went on to be a much more famous and powerful man in the business, he still looked up to and admired his big bro. Perhaps this is why, when Bill ran into a little trouble, Cecil was all too ready to offer his help. See, William had married Anna George in 1903. This, however, didn't stop him from having a few extramarital dalliances, including one with writer Lorna Moon. This affair led to the birth of a son, Richard, in 1922. In order to save his marriage and to save the child from an unknown fate, William asked Cecil to adopt the child as his own, so at least William could watch him grow up. Cecil agreed to the request, since he had already adopted two other children, John and Katherine DeMille. Cecil was known for having trysts of his own, most particularly with writer Jeanie Macpherson, actress Julia Faye, and secretary Gladys Rosson, though aside from Julia he never dabbled with his actresses, sensing the danger it would cause on the set. For this reason, Cecil held no judgement against his brother, and took on the task of raising Richard and supporting Lorna until her death of tuberculosis in 1930. It was publicly stated that the child was abandoned and left inside Cecil's car and that he took it in. This and Cecil's own checkered romantic life raised many eyebrows, and it was often incorrectly speculated that Richard was his own child. The only two people who supposedly knew the truth were the two brothers. Cecil kept the secret until after Bill's death, when, as agreed, he told Richard about his true parentage. This brought forth a rush of understanding on Richard's part, who, though always treated with the same love and tenderness as the other kids, suddenly understood both his uncanny feelings of somehow being "apart" from the rest of his family and his strange attachment to his mysterious Uncle Bill. However, it never changed his relationship with CB, who continued to treat him as his own son.

A sudden and questionable bundle of joy also arrived in (William) Wallace Reid's life in 1922. Wally (right) was the All American Boy whom no woman could resist, as many women of his time could attest. After successfully wooing and wedding actress Dorothy Davenport, the two became the delighted parents of Bill, Jr, Wally's pride and joy. However, as time wore on and the marriage cooled, Wally's hijinks and shenanigans did not. Living a fast-paced and debaucherous life as one of the most desired men in American-- and even the world-- this superstar found it hard to resist the temptations that came with fame and fortune. Of course, his outward bravado also hid a sensitive and somewhat sad overgrown boy who was constantly searching for comfort, whether it be in inebriation or the arms of an all too inviting woman. As such, it is rumored that Wally fathered a child out of wedlock with an extra girl, who appeared on his doorstep and begged his wife Dorothy to take the baby girl in as her own. Whether or not these are the exact circumstances is unknown, but Wally and Dorothy did adopt daughter Betty Anna Mummert in 1922. It is said that Wally, who loved being a father, adored her just as dearly as his "legitimate son," so much so that if anyone insinuated or mentioned the fact that she was adopted, Wally's eyes would turn red with anger. He could be seen playing with his two tots in his backyard on DeLongpre, where they enjoyed splashing around in the family's fashionable swimming pool. Many would recall the strange resemblance Betty had with her adopted father and sibling Bill, and it is also recorded that she inherited some of Wally's more tortured mental traits. After Wally died as a result of his morphine addiction in 1923, Betty would live for another fifty years, having become estranged from her remaining family. If she was in fact his true daughter, all concerned took that information to their graves.

Dorothy, Wally, Betty, and Bill, Jr.

Barbara La Marr (left) also allegedly adopted her own child in 1923. This task was much more daunting for a female, since she could not simply take on the child after its birth as the father could, but had to carry it to term without raising attention. Since producer Paul Bern had been pining away for Barbara for some time, and the newborn seemed to bear a slight resemblance to him, many opined that it was indeed his child. However, this throws a wrench in all of the rumors built up around Paul, which include the theory that he had infantile sex organs and was unable to pleasure future wife Jean Harlow, (coincidentally leading to his mysterious "suicide"). If in fact this whole story about Paul's anatomy was a fabrication concocted by Mayer to cover up Bern's mysterious death, his possible paternity of Barbara's child also begs the question why he wouldn't marry her when she became pregnant, since one hears nothing but how infatuated he was with her. It is possible that she simply turned him down, as she was not in love with him. (There were additional stories that Bern tried to drown himself in his own toilet when Barbara broke things off. Clearly, this was either an incredibly unstable man or one whose memory people loved to desecrate). In any case, the child is popularly believed to be Barbara's own, one that she placed in an orphanage temporarily to complete the ruse. Though the child's true father is unknown, there is another papa possibility- William Haines-- who was a constant "friend with benefits" to Barbara at this time.

But, the most famous case of celebrity "adoption" is the story of Judy Lewis (Mary Judith Clark), who was adopted by her own mother Loretta Young in 1937 (both pictured right). This one gets even juicier because not only was this lovely girl the offspring of one of the most gorgeous and powerful women in Hollywood, but her true father was none other than the King himself, Clark Gable. When Clark and Loretta met and began work on Call of the Wild, it wasn't long before the sparks started to fly, and Loretta's high Christian morals were soon overcome by Clark's charms. The two entered into an affair, he still being wed to Ria Langham at this point. Loretta, to her own shock and shame, became pregnant. Of course, there was no way to solve this disgraceful problem except to have the child aborted, which is what the studio wanted in order to protect both of their stars' images. However, Loretta's faith would not allow her to do so, so she concocted a plan: she would "take ill" in Venice Beach until the baby was born (on November 6, 1935) and place it in an orphanage (St. Elizabeth's Infant Hospital for unwed mothers) with the understanding that she would return within a matter of  months to adopt it. With the help of Irving Thalberg, this is exactly what she did. 

Clark and Loretta adhere to the Call of the Wild... 

and pay for it 9 months later.

Of course, everyone in Hollywood knew the real story, but for the press, Loretta went on the with act-- perhaps the best of her career. Clark made a few visits to mother and daughter after the birth, and by Nov. 30, Loretta gave her first interview, sans child, about how she had completely recuperated from her illness. Judy remained well taken care of, basically sitting in wait for her mother to return to her, which she did after a year and a half. The world bought the whole story, however, the secret became more difficult to hide as Judy aged. Not only did she resemble her mother greatly, but she had also inherited her father's trademark ears, which Loretta kept firmly hidden underneath a bonnet until she was forced to have them surgically pinned back. Later, after being prodded by a friend at school with the curiosity, Judith asked her mother why, if she were adopted, the two should look so alike? Loretta fumbled for an answer, stating that it was simply that they had spent so much time together and used the same mannerisms and way of speaking, etc. When the truth came out in Judy's early twenties, and Loretta was finally forced to confess to her daughter, she became so overwrought that she rushed to the restroom and threw up. Loretta had been tortured by both her love of Judith and her knowledge that she was the result of outright "sin." For Judith's part, once she knew and accepted the truth, she said that it made her feel whole for the first time in her life. And while her sketchy history and upbringing has become the stuff of Hollywood legend, she remains secure in herself and proud of both parents, despite their naughty, naughty ways. (Judy shows her resemblance to both parents, with mother Loretta, left).

There are certainly more stories from whence these dollops came, but uncovering them all would take a large chunk of time. The sad truth is that in these studio days, when celebrities were looked up to as Gods, it was intolerable for them to commit human errors. Many adhered to studio regulations when being punished for their immoral crimes, hence the number of "appendectomies" that female stars had to undergo. (Marlene Dietrich once quipped that abortion was the only studio supported method of birth control). For some, like the aforementioned, who chose to bravely go against the grain and have their children against studio objection, they still had to sacrifice honesty for a continued life of fame and fortune. Since most people in the community knew the truth, it makes one wonder why people chose to wear the facade of morality when all concerned knew that it was a facade. Between the shame of studio condemnation and the knowledge that a pious audience may too turn their backs on them, these players were forced to keep up the ruse and maintain their pristine reputations. As always, The Greatest Show on Earth takes place behind the cameras.

MENTAL MONTAGE: Rollin' in the Dough

Ginger Rogers, head to toe in gold, in Gold Diggers of 1933.

Movie Stars and Money. Moolah. Bread. Gravy. Greenback... Whatever you want to call it, it always seems like celebrities have it. And lots of it. While many of us have to count every penny before going on an edited shopping spree to the ever glorious Target (Tar-jay to the upper crust), the exorbitant expenditures of modern entertainers with their private jets, sprawling mansions, and golf-ball sized engagement rings makes one both a) fiscally insulted and b) green (as cash) with envy. But whatever new car Diddy's rolling in or whatever designer gown is draped over the elegant Ms. Kidman at the latest awards show, today's divas have nothing on silent film spenders. Even in those early days, it was all about the Benjamins. Moreso, it wasn't the size of the bank account, but how one used it to advertise his or her own fame and stature. The early flood of cha-cha-ching and the resulting birth of American royalty created the still present trend of glorious, outrageous, unapologetic, economic narcissism. Here are a few of the earliest examples:

Cecil B. directs yet another lavish scene in Cleopatra- 

(Claudette Colbert stands center stage).

It should come as no surprise that Cecil B. DeMille be counted as one of the Kings of Coin. His films themselves were so lavishly produced and luscious to the eyes that one can only imagine the coronary Adolph Zukor must have had each time he looked at a budget estimate. In fact, despite the money that CB's movies earned at the box-office, most of them were still considered failures because they couldn't recoup the production costs. But with an eye for detail and an unwavering loyalty to (exaggerated) authenticity, DeMille spared no expense when it came to his films. He wanted what he wanted, believing that his audiences deserved the best, and that is what he gave them. In The Affairs of Anatol, for example, Wallace Reid had the distinct pleasure of filming a scene wherein he got to destroy $30,000 worth of furniture, including original Louis XVI chairs and a grand piano. CB wouldn't accept cheap props; it had to be the real deal. He also added strange, costly mandates to his productions. Anne Baxter would recall that Cecil had all of her necklaces specially "heated" before they were placed on her skin during The Ten Commandments (left). This was not a stipulation she required, but one that Cecil saw to on her behalf-- he wanted her treated like a Queen since she was playing one. Between Gloria Swanson's submergence into an expensive tub in Male and Female and Claudette Colbert's illustrious milk bath in The Sign of the Cross, CB too started a craze for opulent bathrooms. However, his own house guests were often disappointed to find that his private bathroom was rather plain.

Anne Baxter in one of her temperature controlled necklaces 

in The Ten Commandments.

But CB was not always modest in his private life. Granted, he was not as extravagant off screen as he was on, preferring to spend his down time at his vacation home, Paradise, where he could hike and feed the animals. But he did have a few flashy quirks to show off just how wealthy a man he really was. For example, male guests to Paradise would be offered color-coded silk shirts-- red for a regular Joe, white for producers, and purple for directors, corporate big-wigs, or government officials. The gents also received Gold or silver chains to spice up their look. CB also enjoyed splurging on jewelry, offering women whom he was pleased with in some way a choice of his own private collection of gems. In addition, female guests were given Cecil B. DeMille's own concoction of "Paradise" perfume. For all this, Cecil still lived fairly simple compared to some of his contemporaries. Sure he had a yacht and several real estate investments around town, but his monetary swagger was tactical more than anything else. While it could be said that he enjoyed spreading the wealth and bringing a little beauty into life, he committed grand financial acts more to stake his claim as one of Hollywood's major hitters, so people would know who was boss. It worked, for "DeMille" and "Decadent" remain pretty much synonymous.

But Cecil wasn't the only power player with cash to burn-- literally. With money comes power and thus the ability to pay for pretty much whatever you want. It naturally followed that certain celebrities were able to produce custom made products or add their own special innovations on different every day merchandise. The tiniest thing would require some specific attention in order to differentiate one's belongings from every one else's. Thus, star vanity even lead to the creation of custom made cigarettes. For his part, ill-fated director William Desmond Taylor smoked only his personally designed black cigarettes with golden tips-- that's genuine gold, folks. Actor and Mr. Muscles himself, Francis X. Bushman (right), also insisted on creating his own stock of lavender colored ciggies.

Bushman let this innovation follow him over into the realm of automobiles. When driving around town in his fancy Rolls Royce, also lavender, it wasn't enough for people to merely notice his expensive wheels. He wanted them to know that it was he who was behind the wheel. Thus, he had a special light affixed into the interior, so that at night, a bright aura would shine over his face and people would know that the famous star of Ben-Hur had just sped by. Cowboy star Tom Mix (left) followed suit. For his car, he specified that the tires be produced with his own personal "crest," which was essentially the compilation of a "T" and an "M." When his car rolled down the then dirt roads of Hollywood, his insignia could be seen in the tracks. He basically left his initials all over town, an effective way of saying "Tom  Mix was here, yeehaw!!!" Gloria Swanson too had a dream car. In fact, her earliest ambition as an actress, or as anything, was to be able to afford a heretofore unseen orchid-colored automobile. People told her she was crazy and that such a thing didn't even exist. But once she became the grande dame of silent cinema, she got her fantasy car-- and then some!

The Tom Mix Bar Brand, also present on his tires.

Or course, in these days, many celebrities were chauffeured around town in their glamorous automobiles. After all, in the cast/cash system, a higher echelon personality was going to make his or her status known. Thus, wealthy vixens like Pola Negri provided extra jobs to various servants who would accentuate their prestige. Pola (right) had a chauffeur who drove her everywhere in her white, velvet upholstered Rolls, but there was an added stipulation: he was to wear white on sunny days and black on rainy days. She too had servants who were in charge of cascading rose petals into her path so that her precious feet-- adorned with toe nail polish, which was not yet popularly worn-- would never be sullied by making direct contact with the floor. Just to add a little more oomph, she too paraded around town with her pet tiger, who often accompanied her on jaunts down Sunset Boulevard. Why, who knows? She did it simply because she could, and Pola was a definitely a drama queen on and off camera.


But perhaps the most well known example of Hollywood grandeur is that of Pickfair. The fairy tale wedding of the swashbuckling hero Douglas Fairbanks to the Golden Goddess of the Screen Mary Pickford captured the attention and affection of the American people when they were united on March 28, 1920-- despite the fact that they had essentially ditched their other spouses to make such a dream come true. It didn't matter. To the general public, they had escaped unhappy lives to reach the unbelievable culmination of true love, fame, and fortune. Of course, in order to rule on high in their fantastical splendor, they needed a Kingdom, which they dubbed "Pickfair." Situated in the hills on Summit Drive above Benedict Canyon, Mary and Doug lived in what appeared to be an oversized cottage. Its ornamentation wasn't overly glamorous, but its amenities were: a seashell shaped swimming pool, big enough to fit a canoe and complete with a slide, a tennis court, and stables. Their life together at this mansion on a hill was the ultimate American Dream. Of course, one must always wake from even the best of dreams, but while Mary and Doug's marriage may have hit the skids, the memory of their plush palace remains forever entrenched in our memories.

Doug and Mary take a row in their oyster pool.

These early celebrities didn't live in a world of "what could have been," they created worlds that were. Worlds that were as outlandish, flamboyant, unrestrained, and yet impossibly possible. When America entered into the economic crisis of the Great Depression and the film world was engulfed but the crisis of the new talkie era, the fawning awe of celebrity expenditure would give way to the public's love/hate relationship with their stars. No more would we find it completely palatable for these cinematic souls to throw cash around so nonchalantly; we would let them get away with it only if they seemed like one of us-- coming up the hard way. But, for a brief moment in time, we adored our movie stars for being larger than life, or perhaps even larger than larger than life. While their splendor may make one wrinkle his nose or perhaps erupt only in a cynical guffaw today, at the time, it was all in day's work. At least, in Hollywood...

STAR OF THE MONTH: Cecil B. DeMille

Cecil B. DeMille- Director and Renaissance Man.

That's right, this time around I chose to feature a director. Not just any director-- the director. The name DeMille still has a powerful resonance and serves at times as the very definition of Hollywood itself. This makes perfect sense, being that ol' CB was one of the founding fathers of this luxurious place we know as La La Land. And trust me, luxury has everything to do with it.


While DeMille was an artist and craftsman, working behind the scenes in the original days of Hollywood-- back when orange groves and pepper trees lined the major through street of Prospect-- at heart he was a showman. In fact, he studied acting first, attending the same school at which his father-- a playwright-- had once taught: The American Academy of Dramatic Arts (ring any bells?). Taking the brains of his father, the passion of his mother, and the flamboyance of family friend David Belasco, young Cecil matured from a curious and ambitious youth into a vivacious and unstoppable entrepreneur. He took odd jobs in the theatre circuit-- writing plays, directing, producing, even acting-- all of which he could perform ably, but it wasn't until a partnership with Jesse L. Lasky and Sam Goldwyn brought him into the cinematic world that his life was forever altered-- and our world as well. His first directorial effort, The Squaw Man, made with the help of Oscar Apfel, is still historically cited as the first full-length feature film made in Hollywood.

Jesse L. Lasky, Adolph Zukor, Sam Goldfish (Goldwyn), Cecil and Albert 

Kaufman- Founding fathers of Famous Players-Lasky.

The match was struck, and the fire in DeMille was ignited. He would work without even stopping for breath from 1914-1959. Forty-five years worth of dedication, drive, passion, and vigor would inevitably leave behind a legacy of unparalleled celluloid glory. After his contemporaries, including hero D.W. Griffith, disappeared into obscurity, DeMille always marched on, his energy for his work kept alive by the devout love of his craft. As the times changed, DeMille may not have exactly changed his own style, but he allowed it to expand, pushing the envelope further and further each time with respect to his artistic capabilities and his aesthetic extravagances. He loved movies, and he watched them as much as he made them, keeping up with the latest directors, the latest techniques, and the newest innovations. Over time, he fell into the immaculate cliche he had contrived for himself, that of the egotistical mouthpiece of God. His epic religious features, meant to strike the fear of a higher power into his viewers, too allowed them to indulge unapologetically in their sensual sides. While every film preached a lesson of love, brotherhood, and humility before one's maker, it too presented a very thorny and enjoyable segue on the crooked way to righteousness.

The King of Kings- DeMille's piety. (H.B. Warner as Christ).

Herein we have the two DeMille's: the craftsman and the poet, the moral liberal and the political conservative, the lover and the fighter, the tactician and the showman. DeMille is either accused of being a slave-driving fascist-- marching around the set in his boots and riding breeches, followed everywhere by his chair boy, and shouting out brash commands through his megaphone-- or a dastardly seducer-- injecting his sexual, sinful, and exuberant films with a moral lesson simply to get them past the sensors. The truth is, both versions are true. "Indulgent" is, in fact, the best word with which to describe CB. His brimming intelligence yearned to ask every question, his passionate side sought to fulfill every pleasure, and his spiritual side hoped to do honor to the only being he was humble before, God himself. His silent films remain dangerous and inventive contributions to a quickly growing and expanding medium, and his sound pictures have found their place in hedonistic kitsch. But in either case, the one unifying factor is detail: the composition of every enchanting frame in every rich scene. DeMille produced vivid, living texture-- films his audiences could very nearly reach out and touch. It is this reason beyond any other that they last. Beyond the story, beyond the cheesy dialogue, beyond the special effects that still leave directors like Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese spellbound, is the painterly, fluid, lusciously dripping quality of each masterpiece. This is why DeMille is synonymous with "Classic."

The Affairs of Anatol: DeMille's hedonism. (Gloria Swanson, the woman

he made a star, and Wallace Reid).

As controversial as DeMille remains, his lasting imprint on cinema is justified. But his impression was left on more than the screen. Those who knew him in his life were struck by how this cinematic God could so seamlessly come back down to earth. Many personal accounts recall the tenderness with which he dealt with those he loved and the generosity he provided to those in need. After his father passed away in his youth, the adult CB would always provide for his mother and even his brother, Bill (who too was a director, though a less notorious one), and his wife and children-- oh, and his three mistresses, who were not lookers but were intellectually vibrant and integral to his life. When actors from the silent period witnessed their careers disappearing into the abyss of sound, Cecil always found them parts in his films. He and his wife, Constance, began many charities, particularly for children and women. He lavished friends with gifts, enjoyed his wealth while living simply, and lived each day with the ambition of sucking all the marrow he could out of life. This he did up until the end, when, in 1956, his determination to re-make and improve upon his original silent film, The Ten Commandments, nearly killed him. In fact, perhaps it did. But he succeeded, and his last directorial effort became the pinnacle success of his career, (though The King of Kings remained his proudest film).

 Samson and Delilah: the DeMille unity. 

(Directing Hedy Lamarr and Victor Mature).

We cannot imagine a Hollywood without DeMille, for he was and is Hollywood. He built it as if with his own two hands, and he made it something bigger, something greater, something grander. Cecil and cinema are inseparable, which is why he was the necessary ingredient in Billy Wilder's Hollywood masterpiece, Sunset Boulevard. His mere name carried the context needed to relay all that movies are, all that they endow, and all that they represent. While a director in memory, he was at heart an actor, putting on the greatest show of his life by being the untouchable, indefinable Cecil B. DeMille. What he did, no one else could do, and the effort has taken down many men, (as Joe Mankiewicz could attest after his own Cleopatra debacle). CB gave his movies everything he had and gave us a limitless world in return. Vincent Price once said that you weren't a movie star until you had appeared in a DeMille picture. I suppose it goes without saying that you aren't a film lover until you've seen a DeMille film. With that said: All right, Mr. DeMille. We're ready for your close-up.