[go: up one dir, main page]

Showing posts with label William Wyler. Show all posts
Showing posts with label William Wyler. Show all posts

Friday, July 31, 2020

Frances Farmer Still Fascinates

Frances Farmer, whose myth and reality still compete 50 years after her death.


When I watch the real Frances Farmer on 1958’s This is Your Life versus Jessica Lange as a lobotomy-dazed Frances from 1982, it sums up for me the dichotomy between the real woman and the misery myth that’s been sold for five decades. Just type ‘Frances Farmer’ in a You Tube search and see what comes up. At least half the results are the most sensationalistic clips from the ’82 film bio or “tributes” that focus on the negative facts and fictions of Farmer’s life.
The infamous episode of 'This is Your Life.' At least Frances Farmer showed class & dignity!

Frances’ appearance on This is Your Life is composed, considering all that she had gone through, and then obliged to relive it in front of a TV audience. Frances Farmer comes across as articulate, thoughtful, and responsive—not the spooky zombie Jessica Lange portrays her as in the final scenes of Frances. And considering her rough ride in life thus far, Farmer looked lovely at 45.
Jessica Lange as a ghostly 'Frances,' after appearing on 'This Is Your Life.'

Frances Farmer died of esophageal cancer at age 57 in 1970. From then through 1982, Farmer’s life was the subject of a memoir that was completed by a friend, a later biography that made even more sensational claims, and finally, the nearly-total fiction film bio that launched Jessica Lange as a dramatic actress. The cherry on top of this showbiz soap opera sundae was when another misunderstood Washington-born artist, Kurt Cobain wrote the myth-inspired song, “Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle.” An eerie coincidence is that the Frances film bio came out a year after another movie myth buster, Mommie Dearest—a film that also buried and cemented a movie star image for decades to come. And Joan Crawford’s “horror” myth also inspired a rock tune, Blue Oyster Cult’s “Joan Crawford Has Risen from the Grave.”
Paramount found Frances Farmer's "difficult" personality problematic.

For me, the big question regarding the career of Frances Farmer is this: Did she get written off merely because she was “difficult?” I’m not talking about when she hit bottom in the early ‘40s, I’m referring to the late’30s, after Come and Get It. Bette Davis and Katharine Hepburn faced similar battles with their respective studios—pushing back on foisted upon images, fighting for good roles and fending off bad ones, resisting inane publicity stunts, etc. During that same time, Davis sued Warner Brothers and Hepburn, labeled box office poison, fought to go back to Broadway, too. Yet, Bette and Kate persevered, and eventually prevailed. Frances often fought these battles, but didn’t emerge the ultimate victor because she didn’t have the stability or steel-willed self-confidence of Davis and Hepburn.
Frances Farmer, whose great beauty shown more when Paramount's
hair & makeup department work was subtle and not slathered on.

Frances Farmer certainly had all the gifts to be a great movie star. Frances had the similar beauty of fellow Paramount star Carole Lombard, the husky voice of a Dietrich, talent and intensity, and she could sing, to boot. And Farmer was very serious about her career as an actress. So what if she was “difficult” over her career and image? That didn’t stop a lot of other actors who went on to great careers. It seems strange to me one aspect of a Farmer negated all the good things about her. Perhaps the problem was like this quote made about Elizabeth Taylor, in terms of ET surviving stardom: A fighter when she had to be, a diplomat when it paid to be. With Farmer, it was certainly the latter that was problematic.
Frances Farmer in college, looked very contemporary & natural.

I remember a Hollywood anecdote, when news of Marilyn Monroe’s firing and subsequent death rocked the movie biz. If memory serves, it was Walter Wanger who recalled at Paramount, when B.P. Schulberg had fired fragile Clara Bow from a film, and never forgot studio boss Adolph Zukor’s reaction: “Our job is to make stars, not fire them.”
This led me to do some research on Paramount and Clara Bow. Paramount had just gone through great turmoil with Bow, one of their greatest female stars. Despite her huge audience, Clara’s emotional stability, dramas, and scandals came at a time when Paramount itself was in dire financial straits. The studio survived, Clara was fired and soon retired, but I wonder if studio head Zukor and the ‘suits’ just didn’t want to go through all that drama again with Frances Farmer.
Frances Farmer became a hit in her second movie, as leading lady
to Bing Crosby, in 1936's 'Rhythm on the Range.'

What’s interesting is that Farmer scored with flying colors as a lovely leading lady to Bing Crosby in Rhythm on the Range. Then Frances made a strong dramatic impression with Edna Ferber’s Come and Get It, in a dual role, as the tart with a heart mother and the good daughter. Howard Hawks adored working with Frances, but left the film in a dispute with Sam Goldwyn, and was replaced by William Wyler. Both were great directors, but whose styles were like night and day. Hawks worked fast and had a loose improvisational style, a bit like the later Robert Altman. Wyler on the other hand was painstaking and meticulous, like George Stevens. Willie was also inarticulate if he didn’t get what he wanted, calling for dozens of takes, to the frustration of his actors. Frances clashed with him, but so what? He wasn’t a Paramount director.
Frances in her breakout dual role, in 'Come and Get It.' Here she is, as the barroom mama.
And Farmer later, as the good daughter in 'Come and Get It,' with Joel McCrea.


With Cary Grant in 1937's 'The Toast of New York.'

After The Toast of New York with Cary Grant and Edward Arnold, why was Frances stuck in so many junky genre pictures? Some folks have pointed to the disappointment of costly Toast for Farmer’s career stalling. I don’t buy it, since co-star Grant had been kicking around in movies for five years, yet hadn’t broken out as a star, and nobody held it against him. Why didn’t Frances get to work with Paramount’s Mitchell Leisen or Preston Sturges or get scripts by Billy Wilder, like later Paramount girls Paulette Goddard and Veronica Lake? Both women had their charms and they had to do junk, too. But Paulette and Veronica got far better star-making material, and even together, they didn’t have half the star potential that Frances possessed.
With Fred MacMurray in 1937's 'Exclusive.'

Ironically, Frances and Veronica had very similar career trajectories. Though Veronica was a decade younger, she swiftly took off as Frances did, with Lake barely past 20, as well. Like Frances, initial solid film work, Lake got stuck in genre garbage, and in less than a decade, her career was quickly over. Veronica, too, experienced pretty messy emotional ups and downs, and a drinking problem. Farmer died in ’70 at 56 and Lake passed at 50 in ’73.
With Tyrone Power in 1942's 'Son of Fury.'
This was Frances Farmer's last major motion picture.

A book could be written about the “what ifs” of the life and career of Frances Farmer. What if Frances had the wherewithal and opportunity to freelance like Barbara Stanwyck did? Barbara signed short-term contracts at Paramount as well as Warner Brothers. Yet, Stanwyck also did much of her best work freelancing. Carole Lombard left Paramount in 1937 to pursue dramatic roles, so there seemed to be paucity in the dramatic department at Paramount.
I can think of many movies that Frances Farmer might have given fine performances in. Disclaimer: the movies and roles I’m about to mention is not a knock on the actors who actually played the roles, but offering as examples of what Frances was capable was as an actress. Don’t light up your Internet torches, please!
Frances Farmer with Luther Adler in 'Golden Boy.'
WHY didn't Paramount option this property for their star?
It would have been good business sense and created good will with their star.

For instance, after Frances fought to go back to the stage and appear in Golden Boy, which was a hit and she received good reviews. Why didn’t Paramount buy the property for her? Imagine if Zukor had bought the property and borrowed new WB star John Garfield, in the lead role he longed to play? Instead they got stuck doing Flowing Gold a few years later at WB.
John Garfield, who amazingly lost the role of 'Golden Boy' to Luther Adler,
would have been perfect with Farmer in a screen version.
Instead they got teamed in 'Flowing Gold!'

I think Frances might have played a number of Barbara Stanwyck roles quite well, such as Double Indemnity, or The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Farmer, with her husky voice, would have made a fine film noir fatale, such as Joan Bennett’s roles in The Woman in the Window or Scarlet Street. How about Frances as a '40s Hitchcock blonde? Or how about Farmer in some of Dorothy McGuire’s more serious roles, like A Tree Grows in Brooklyn or Gentleman’s Agreement? Frances Farmer was just three years older than McGuire and had that intelligence and strength that Dorothy possessed.
Though Frances Farmer was heralded as major talent by the likes of
  Cecil B. DeMille and Howard Hawks, Paramount shackled Frances
to either glorified B-movies or merely decorative roles.

I can see Frances in the career women type roles that Rosalind Russell, Joan Crawford, and Katharine Hepburn played. Frances also had the rare quality of being physically beautiful but also intelligent and would have been quite believable as a professional or an artist type. And as Frances reached her 40’s in the ‘50s, Farmer could have played many roles in Tennessee Williams and William Inge film adaptations. And Frances, who preferred realism over glamour, could have fared quite well in the ‘60s and ‘70s as a character actress. I can totally see Frances working with Robert Altman, or like Kate Hepburn, going back to the stage while holding out for the occasionally good older woman roles in post-studio era Hollywood.
I was struck by this 1958 TV publicity photo of Frances Farmer. Despite decades
of hardships, 20 years later, Frances' strong beauty was still with her at 45.

As it stands, there are glimpses of what might have been in the brief list of Frances Farmer movies.  Frances is animated in Rhythm on the Range, versatile in Come and Get It, strong-willed in Flowing Gold, and gorgeous in The Toast of New York and Son of Fury. There are others, too, like Exclusive and Ebb Tide, and glimmers amidst the genre junk.
It's startling to see Frances, '40s-style, as most of her work was from the '30s.
What a great film noir fatale Farmer would have made.

Frances Farmer is almost always worth watching. Even in certain studio stills, Farmer’s eyes are alive with intelligence and intensity. As a person, like Monroe, Garland, and Clift, Frances Farmer struggled with emotional and substance issues in an era not yet empathetic or equipped to deal with them. As an actor, the great tragedy of Frances Farmer was that she was a modern star, trapped in Hollywood’s “golden” era.
The myths and what ifs of the life of Frances Farmer still intrigue movie lovers today.
FYI: I put all the movie overflow on my public FB  movie page. 


Friday, April 21, 2017

Bette Davis: Double Bad in 'The Letter' and 'The Little Foxes'

“Nobody’s as Good as Bette When She’s Bad!”
“Nobody’s as Good as Bette When She’s Bad!”
***Spoiler alerts ahead***
That Warner Bros. advertising slogan for Bette Davis took on an extra meaning when she became older, crankier, and campier. I hadn’t watched The Letter and The Little Foxes, two from her heyday in ‘40 and ’41, since my teens. Re-watching recently, I was pleasantly surprised to see Bette’s tendency to overact kept in check by her favorite director, William Wyler.

Bette's bad medicine in 'The Little Foxes.'
Davis overplayed hot-headed, hard-hearted dynamic divas, like In This Our Life, Mr. Skeffington, and Beyond the Forest. Perhaps Davis downplayed the pyrotechnics in The Letter and The Little Foxes because Bette’s a cool customer as both “bitch” characters.

Leslie Crosbie in Letter and Regina Giddens in Foxes are two of her greatest roles. And both of Bette’s characters take extreme actions to control of their destiny in a man’s world: murder.
In The Letter, Bette takes on another M. Somerset Maugham anti-heroine, after her breakthrough in 1934’s Of Human Bondage. Leslie Crosbie runs hot and cold as the ex-pat plantation wife who plugs a man full of lead while leaving her house—not exactly the perfect hostess.

The setting is a Singapore rubber plantation. Leslie’s husband Robert blindly adores her and they are popular in their upper-middle class set. She claims self-defense, saying the man, a family friend, “tried to make love to me.”
Yes, but didn’t Leslie pump a full round of bullets into his carcass as he staggered off her front porch?
Howard, their family friend—and lawyer—agrees to take the case. Soon enough, an ambitious young Asian lawyer sidles up to Stephenson’s character and tells him there’s a letter—and since that’s the title of the movie, it must be pretty juicy!

Gale Sondergaard & Bette Davis have a memorable confrontation in 'The Letter.'
Leslie and the gentleman caller were lovers. The letter by Leslie wasn’t a casual invite, but a summons. The holder of the incriminating note is the playboy’s Asian wife. The letter comes with steep postage: $10,000. Behind the husband’s back, Howard the lawyer and Leslie the adulteress use the family savings to buy the note back. This easily paves the way for the “proper” British wife’s acquittal. Today, Leslie Crosby would be considered the perfect example of white privilege.

Wanting a fresh start elsewhere, Robert is devastated to learn just why he is financially wiped out. Leslie comes clean, but to a painful degree. After her painful confession, Leslie soon pays for her sins. Leslie Crosbie may have been acquitted, but she’s not off the hook.

Bette played it director William Wyler's way, but she wasn't happy about it!
Davis and Wyler, who had a volatile professional and personal relationship, fought over Leslie’s telling her husband that she still loved the man she killed. Wyler wanted Bette say it to movie spouse Marshall’s face; Davis felt the wife could never look him in the face and say such a thing. When they came to an impasse, Bette walked off the set. This was a preview for coming attractions on The Little Foxes set.

What prevents The Letter status as a true classic is the censorship-mandated, tacked on ending where Leslie is killed by the vengeful wife. Otherwise, William Wyler weaves this tale of murder, passion, sexual frustration, class, and white privilege with skillful ease. Tony Gaudio’s photography is truly stunning, especially during the film’s opening and closing night scenes. Gaudio actually makes the moon a mesmerizing character. Max Steiner, composer for many Davis dramas, offers a haunting and romantic score.

Bette with Victor Sen Yung and James Stephenson, going to retrieve 'The Letter.'
Herbert Marshall goes his first round with Davis as Bette’s put upon husband, Robert. Marshall is empathetic as he goes from sure to sorrowful, regarding his marriage. James Stephenson as Howard made his film debut and won a best supporting nomination, to boot. Stephenson plays the lawyer’s ethical entanglement well. The supporting standout is Gale Sondergaard, genuinely chilling as Mrs. Hammond, the widow of wife’s lover. When she forces Leslie to meet her in person to retrieve the letter, the tension is incredible, with barely a word or gesture wasted by either actress. It’s all in the eyes. Despite the forced ending, their final, fatal meeting is still eerie.

Bette giving the moon a baleful look, which haunts her through 'The Letter.'
As for Bette, she’s subtly brilliant. Maugham’s Leslie Crosbie is a tricky role: She’s both sympathetic and a bitch; she’s passionate and stone-cold. It amazes me that Davis could play this type of role in the ‘30s and ‘40s and still win audiences over. An old female friend of mine, Alice, a moviegoer from that era, once commented that there were three actresses that men couldn’t stand: Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, and Katharine Hepburn. I’ll amend that to straight men! All were strong-willed, smart, not conventionally beautiful, and the first two often played roles that bedeviled the male characters. Davis, as the cool English “lady” with fire underneath, required a finesse which Bette employs to terrific effect.

Bette as Regina in 'The Little Foxes,' photo by George Hurrell.
Davis and Wyler re-teamed for the last time with Lillian Hellman’s The Little Foxes. (Their first was Bette’s second Oscar winner Jezebel.) This time, their collaboration was so combative that they never worked together again, though they remained friends. Tallulah Bankhead originated the role of Regina Giddens on Broadway. Movie mogul Samuel Goldwyn bought the property for William Wyler to direct. Wyler requested Davis for Regina, who just turned 33, to play the 40-something mother of a 17-year-old girl.

The Little Foxes was Lillian Hellman’s indictment on American greed and capitalism, which ironically became a huge commercial success. Regina Giddens relies on her invalid husband Horace for finances to remain comfortable; Regina’s crooked brothers, Oscar and Benjamin Hubbard, have already amassed fortunes. Still, they all want more. A visiting investor offers to make them partners in a cotton mill. The brothers have their share and count on Regina to get her estranged husband to put up the third share. The mill, which promises to exploit the locals, gets a prompt no from her noble husband. Once again, he is played by long-suffering—literally, this time—Herbert Marshall. The brothers put up Oscar’s dimwit son to steal the funds from Horace’s bank deposit box. When Mr. Giddens finds out, he refuses to press charges, to thwart the deal. Naturally, Mrs. Giddens is livid.

Oh, did I mention Horace Giddens has a serious heart condition?

Bette as Regina, watching her husband crawl in the background, dying.
And Regina is serious as a heart attack that she will hold the cards in this deal. Regina and Horace have a showdown. She whips him for foiling her attempt at good fortune, and for good measure, tells Horace that their entire marriage a failure and she never loved him. Well, that has him reaching for the heart medicine, which he promptly knocks over. Whoopsy! Regina gets up to help, then hesitates. Opportunity knocks for the opportunistic southern belle. This famous onstage scene was made even more legendary on film by Citizen Kane’s cinematographer Gregg Toland’s renowned deep-focus photography. In the background, Herbert Marshall, acting out the throes of a heart attack, crawls across the room and up the staircase for help; in the foreground, Bette bolted to her chair, her wide eyes their widest, as she waits for the perfect moment to strike. The scene is still a showstopper: kudos to Wyler, Toland, Marshall, and Davis. Also, when I think of that grueling scene, I recall that poor Herbert Marshall wore a wooden leg, due to a war injury.

Patricia Collinge is great as poor Aunt Birdie, trampled by her greedy family.
Most of the Broadway cast was brought in to recreate their roles. They are all terrific, especially Patricia Collinge, as tragic Aunt Birdie. Miserably married to Regina’s brother, Oscar, Birdie gradually became an alcoholic. Birdie’s scene of recalling her life’s journey—belle of the ball, bartered bride, and finally, the bottle—is a stunning piece of acting by Collinge.

Bette’s performance was controversial. There’s a confusing history of quotes as to whether William Wyler wanted Bette to play Regina like Bankhead or that he thought Davis’ own interpretation was too unlikeable. Whatever the case, Wyler hated Davis’ portrayal. And Bette despised his direction of her. Tensions peaked where Bette walked off the set and production was shut down for several weeks. This is one of the key points in Bette Davis’s career when the “difficult” label was applied. Who was right and who was wrong?

Rare shot of Bette as Regina in color. Davis was made to look older in B&W.
It’s hard to say, since Davis and Wyler were equally hard-headed. For me, what matters in the end is what’s up onscreen. Bette powdered her skin, thinned her lips, and narrowed her eye makeup to look pinched, weary, and older. Which Wyler also hated. Only 33, Davis plays a scene where Regina dolls up for her husband’s return home, to butter him up. Regina catches an unexpected glimpse of herself in the mirror, at an unforgiving angle. The belle gets a reminder that she’s no longer the sweet young thing, but bitter and hard. Imagine another actress of that era willing to submit to such a harsh close-up. As with Leslie in The Letter, Bette’s Regina is bad, with no excuses as to how she got that way. Bette’s Regina is restrained, for such a show-stopping role; Davis is also a team player, this isn’t just a vehicle for her.

Bette with Frank Capra & William Wyler on 'The Letter' set.
The Letter and The Little Foxes are films that dealt with tough topics in an adult way, but still entertained. That’s why they still hold up today. Finally, despite their combustible chemistry, Bette Davis gives two of her best performances, playing bad to the bone, under the tough, strong direction of William Wyler.