I am still fact-checking the book about Hollywood history and lore titled Armchair Reader: Hollywood. Though more time-consuming that I anticipated when I began the project, I am thoroughly enjoying the job. It offers the perfect excuse to spend some evenings in the library rummaging through star biographies that I never got around to reading, or skipping through other trivia books, checking the validity of little-known facts and anecdotes.

My favorite stories and facts have been about movies stars, especially those from the Golden Age. I come from a generation who grew up thinking that movie stars were special, gifted, and simply unlike the rest of us. After years of studying film history, I still prefer to believe that. Interestingly, some of the contributors on this project do not. The less experienced or young writers are incredibly snarky about film stars, preferring to focus on the dirtiest of scandals and misadventures in the most condescending way. I can tell they are young and/or inexperienced at writing and researching film history because they often fall for age-old rumors and myths still making the rounds on the Internet instead of digging a bit deeper to find accurate information in valid sources. Also, young writers tend not to understand the way the studios operated in the classic Hollywood era, assuming stars, studios, and directors worked under the same conditions that they do now. They know nothing of the contract system, the power of the moguls, the impact of the Production Code on star images, or the importance of fanzines and publicity.

FRANCES FARMER: A TRAGIC CAREER

For example, one writer assumed that Bette Davis’s decision to sue Warner Bros. over the restrictions of her long-term contract was an example of “diva” behavior, and he placed Davis on the same list as current divas who are notorious for their spoiled behavior, including Paris Hilton and Jennifer Lopez. He knew nothing of the contract system in the studios at that time, or that Davis was not allowed in this system to select her own material, or that stars were often forced to appear in mediocre material as a form of punishment by studio heads, so he was completely off the mark in his assessment. Another contributor wrote an incredibly insensitive bio of Frances Farmer and her problems with mental illness, using subheads such as “Going Out of My Head” and “A Bottle in Front of Me…,” which is an old joke that concludes with “and a frontal lobotomy.” The subhead covered Farmer’s battle with alcoholism and her continued mental problems, rumored to have peaked with a lobotomy, though recent information dispels this commonly believed story. That a writer could be so insensitive to Farmer’s suffering incensed me and made me wonder where such ungraciousness comes from. I suspect the toxic tone of current Internet sites such as TMZ and bloggers like Perez Hilton have much to do with it – sources every bit as nasty as Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons but without their cleverness. Armchair Reader: Hollywood is supposed to be info-tainment, not gossip, so these contributors’ inability to know the difference in tone between a fact-based book and a gossip rag was also troubling.

JOAN CRAWFORD: NOT THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

However, the majority of the writers have been doing a fine job and a handful of them have been excellent, so I don’t want to give the impression that the book is unworthy. But, I am bothered that much of the writing about stars past and present has a negative undertone to it, and I think that modern entertainment journalism combined with the stars’ own tendencies to try to be like the guy or girl next door have colored attitudes toward stardom through over-exposure, mean-spirited gossip, and unglamorous photos and personal details. I noticed in the book’s bio of Joan Crawford that her habit of dressing like a glamorous movie star no matter what errand or task she was doing in her everyday life was treated as an example of a star’s inflated ego.  When Crawford could no longer fight the effects of aging, she refused to appear in public the last few years of her life, because she thought her fans expected her to always look and act like a star. Yet, Crawford knew exactly what the purpose of movie stars are in our culture, even if she couldn’t articulate it; they are not “real people” but ideals or values we admire or try to live up to. We identify with them through their star images or the characters they play onscreen, not as real human beings. To Crawford, appearing glamorous in public, no matter what the occasion, was part of the job, and she knew we would be disappointed not to see her at her most stylish. As she once so famously said about actors who insisted on looking and acting like the general public, “If you want to see the girl next door, why don’t you just go next door.”

The book’s brief biography of Joan Crawford does mention one of my favorite Crawford roles, and I recommended to the editors that they beef up the story behind this film. Toward the end of her career, she appeared in the pilot for Rod Serling’s television anthology Night Gallery. Three separate films comprised this made-for-TV movie, and Crawford starred in the episode titled “Eyes,” about a ruthless businesswoman who is blind. She exploited a poor man’s circumstances in order to buy his eyes, so they could be transplanted into her sockets in a special operation that would allow her to see for just a few hours. The irony is that when she takes off her bandages, expecting to see for the first time since childhood, the famous 1965 New York blackout occurs. She thinks the operation has failed and for hours stumbles around her apartment in the dark, bitterly lamenting her life. She only discovers that the operation had indeed been a success and that she could actually see just as the sun comes up over the city’s skyline. At that moment, her new eyes give out, and she is blind forever. I saw the film when it originally aired on TV in 1969, and I was taken with Crawford’s performance. In addition, the scenes exhibited such a clarity of action from shot to shot that I can still recall specific sequences in my mind’s eye, including the bitter finale. Decades later I learned that “Eyes” was the first studio project shot by a 22-year-old Steven Spielberg. Crawford could have easily given Spielberg a lot of grief over his youth, and he feared that she would, but he chose to be extremely professional with her, deeply respecting her half-century career in the business. And, she returned the favor. The result is a fine piece of work from both of them. I like this behind-the-scenes story about this film for many reasons: It’s an example of two eras of Hollywood history converging and bringing out the best in each other; and, it’s a testament to the professionalism of Crawford whose memory will forever be stained by her daughter’s tell-all book, Mommie Dearest.

YUOL TAIDJE KAHN, JR.

The birth names of stars always fascinate me, probably because they rarely fit the star’s image, and when I run across their given names, I am jolted into remembering that they are human beings who live in the real world. These particular birth names made me take note: Yuol Taidje Kahn, Jr. (Yul Bryner, then Yul Brynner); Walter Matuschanskayasky (Walter Matthau); Merle Johnson Jr. (Troy Donahue); Cornelius Crane Chase (Chevy Chase); Camille Javal (Brigitte Bardot); Margaret Mary Emily Anne Hyra (Meg Ryan); and Eric Marlon Bishop (Jamie Foxx). By the way, Joan Crawford’s real name was Lucille Le Sueur, but during her lean years while trying to break into show business, she went by Billie Cassin, which I thought was a charming show-biz name. When MGM signed Crawford to a contract in the 1920s, the studio allowed a fanzine to post a contest to re-name their new starlet; though “Joan Crawford” came in second in the voting, it was the name eventually chosen. Crawford’s identity was completely wrapped up in her movie stardom, from her name to her personal attitudes and lifestyle. She was the epitome of the movie star, and she loved every minute of it.

LIONEL BARRYMORE'S PAINTINGS: THE ONE ON TOP IS THE PAINTING OF "PURDY'S BASIN"

Some movie stars have enjoyed a measure of acclaim for unusual accomplishments outside of making movies. I already knew that sultry Hedy LaMarr applied for and received a patent for a communications technique that would allow for control of armed torpedoes over long distances without detection by an enemy or without jamming. She and composer Georges Antheil actually helped the war effort during World War II when the pair came up with this technology, which became a precursor of spread-spectrum communications now used in cell phones. But, I was also impressed by Lionel Barrymore’s overall talents in the arts. He was a long-time painter who had studied art in Paris from 1903 to 1907. He also attended the Art Students League in New York City during a time when its instructors –Thomas Eakins, William Merritt Chase, Childe Hassam — represented the best of an American “school” of painting. In addition to painting, Barrymore dabbled in printmaking, and many of his woodcuts were turned into mass-market lithographs. A few years ago, I picked up a lithograph of  Barrymore’s “Purdy’s Basin” in an antique store in rural Ohio for $12. Barrymore also composed music, and he wrote a symphony called Tableau Russe, which was featured in the 1941 film Dr. Kildare’s Wedding. Crusty old Wallace Beery can’t quite live up to LaMarr or Barrymore, but among fisherman, he is well remembered for holding the world’s record for snagging the largest black sea bass. In 1916, he hooked the 515-pound fish just off Catalina Island, and this record stood for 35 years.

JACK HALEY IN THE DEADLY MAKEUP.

Some articles about Golden Age films reminded me that the studios thought no more of the safety and welfare of their contract stars than any other factory or company. The Wizard of Oz was notorious for the toll it took on some of the actors. Almost everyone knows the story of Margaret Hamilton whose makeup for her  turn as the Wicked Witch of the West left her with green skin for several weeks after the shoot was over. But she also suffered first degree burns on her face and second degree burns on her hands during a pyrotechnics accident.  Buddy Ebsen was originally cast as the Tin Man, but he became seriously ill with a horrible reaction to the makeup, which was made with aluminum powder. The powder coated the inside of his lungs, and he was hospitalized  for six weeks. The studio, however, announced to the press and the industry that Ebsen had developed pneumonia. When MGM hired Jack Haley to replace Ebsen, he was not told the real reason for his predecessor’s illness. The makeup formula was changed from a powder to a paste, but when a tiny bit lodged in Haley’s eye, he developed a serious eye infection.

RIN TIN TIN JUMPING A 12-FOOT WALL, ONE OF HIS TRADEMARK STUNTS

Some of my favorite stars are of the four-legged variety, and I really enjoyed researching the story of Rin Tin Tin. Rinty and his sister Nenette were found by American serviceman Lee Duncan in a bombed-out kennel in Lorraine, France. Duncan named the puppies after French puppets and then decided to take the canines home with him to America. Sadly little Nenette did not survive the ocean voyage to America. Once in California, Duncan found Rin Tin Tin to be adept at learning complicated stunts and tricks, so he began to court the studios, hoping to get his dog into the movies. In 1922, he and Rinty were visiting the set of The Man from Hell’s River at Warner Bros. when the trained wolf assigned to the film refused to do the tricks. Duncan and Rin Tin Tin stepped in, performed the stunts, and landed a contract.

Rin Tin Tin starred in more than two dozen successful movies, bringing in a great deal of money for a cashed-strapped Warner Bros. At the height of his popularity, the canine reportedly pulled down $6,000 per week and attracted 40,000 fan letters per month, though much about the dog’s stardom has been exaggerated by the press and public – just like his human counterparts. For example, fanzines claimed that Rinty ate a tenderloin steak every day and it was provided to him by his own private chef. And, for years after he died, rumors circulated that he passed away in the arms of Jean Harlow, who was Duncan’s neighbor for a while. Oddly enough, author Susan Orlean, whose book The Orchid Thief was the basis of the film Adaptation has spent several years researching and writing a book about Rin Tin Tin. When it is published, I will be the first in line to buy a copy.

Though Rinty was originally buried in California, Duncan reinterred him in France, his country of birth, in the famous Cimetiere Des Chiens in Paris . The final resting place for more than just dogs, this cemetery is hallowed ground for the pets of many prominent Parisians and includes the remains of Barry the St. Bernard, a mountain rescue dog who saved the lives of 40 people.

This summer has flown by for me, but I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent investigating Hollywood legends, debunking old film industry myths, and learning new facts and details. What a dream job!