Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1957)

press Poppaea in “The Sign of the Cross.” The actress had to convey the idea that she reveled in taking milk baths. Claudette was tagged it. Later, she served DeMille as a memorable Cleopatra, and went on to win an Oscar for the historic free-for-all “It Happened One Night.” That was the night the Santa Fe Railroad held up the Super Chief. Claudette was all set to board the train when the Academy telephoned her with the glad news she’d won an Oscar. They held up the train, while Claudette went to collect her prize. Many another fine Colbert performance followed, and a lot more of them will be seen when Paramount and Universal, the last two holdouts, iron out their current TV feature-film deals. Meanwhile, Claudette has contented herself with occasional appearances in TV spectaculars and other shows, summer-stock work and a stint replacing Margaret Sullavan in a Broadway play. Recently she exclaimed, “I’ve been out of movies so long that now, when I get into taxis, the drivers want to know why I left pictures. I never left. Will you please tell that to all the people!” Note that all top entertainers enjoy their work — and if honest, admit enjoying acclaim. P 92 Irene Dunne has been seen even less often — and now has a splendid excuse for her show-biz inactivity. President Eisenhower recently appointed her one of five alternate American delegates to the United Nations. This is an honor that Irene has fully earned; but fans, after reviewing her wonderful work in “The Awful Truth,” “Love Affair,” “Penny Serenade” and “I Remember Mama,” will surely clamor to get her back before the cameras. In Hollywood, when scandals break and divorce monopolizes the headlines, Irene is held up as a contrasting example of how to have both fame and a serene private life. Next July 16th, Irene and her physician husband, Dr. Frank Griffin, will celebrate their thirtieth anniversary. She holds the record for the most Oscar nominations without a win (five). In establishing herself among filmdom’s all-time favorites, she broke most of the rules. When Irene entered Hollywood, sex-pots ruled supreme and gaudy glamour was as plentiful as air. “It’s not for me,” she told a friend. “That’s one side of it. There’s another. It’s smart to be conservative — if you’re born conservative. I was. I’ll play that way, being myself.” Later, her exceptional personal qualities were to gain her a Notre Dame medal given only to outstanding Roman Catholic laity and an award from the National Council of Christians and Jews. The title of “Hollywood’s perfect lady” was repeated often enough to be embarrassing. “It’s nice of people to call me a lady,” she once remarked. “But I do hope they’ll remember it’s important to be a woman first.” A fellow conservative, Claude Rains is another who’s made himself scarce. He’s one of the few players able to hold their own before a camera with Bette Davis. Though he played some sympathetic roles, Claude is best remembered for the parts he once referred to, with relish, as his “dirty dogs.” (In “Anthony Adverse,” “Adventures of Robin Hood,” “Notorious,” etc.) A hayseed at heart, London-born Claude struggled for success in the role of a private -life American farmer. He now lives on 300 acres in Delaware County, Pennsylvania, along with chickens, pigs and bushels of corn. About forty Rains films are now available for TV, and you can see him “live” shortly (as the villain, natch!) in the TV spectacular “The Pied Piper of Hamelin.” The actor having probably the greatest TV revival (twice weekly in some communities) is the late Lionel Barrymore (1878-1954), an astonishingly versatile person and, while he lived, a testament to the human spirit in the face of adversity. Until twenty years ago, Lionel had distinguished himself in several plays, acted in scores of movies (he started in 1912), written a number of screenplays, directed six films and won an Oscar. Then he acted in “Saratoga,” which seems to have been bad news for its cast. Star Jean Harlow died before it was finished, and a hip injury that Lionel sustained on the set confined him to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Far from ending his career, he spread out in new directions. Ahead of him lay the Dr. Kildare and Dr. Gillespie series, in which, as the crusty old autocrat of Blair General Hospital, he endeared himself to millions. On the side, he was ANSWERS TO “HOLLYWOOD’S BIGGEST COMEBACK” QUIZ on page 45 1. Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert in “It Happened One Night” 2. William Powell, Myrna Loy in “The Thin Man” 3. Tyrone Power, Sonja Henie in “Thin Ice” 4. Fredric March, Joan Bennett in “Trade Winds” 5. Leslie Howard, Merle Oberon in “The Scarlet Pimpernel” 6. Jerome Cowan, Jon Hall, Dorothy Lamour in “The Hurricane” 7. Ralph Bellamy, Cary Grant, Irene Dunne in “The Awful Truth” 8. Lew Ayres, Lionel Barrymore in “Dr. Kildare’s Crisis” 9. Sylvia Sidney, Gabriel Dell, Joel McCrea in “Dead End” painter, novelist and composer of symphonic music. Lionel’s death reduced the big three of the acting Royal Family to one. Sister Ethel, like Lionel an Oscar winner, is now in semi-retirement and was recently on your theatre screens in “Johnny Trouble.” Mention of the Barrymores brings up the Bennetts, another family of theatrical renown. At the head of it stood Richard Bennett, a magnificent actor and a flamboyant personality. Asked once if daughter Constance inherited her temperament from him, Bennett shot back, “Now where the hell do you think she got it from?” He was intensely proud of all three daughters and their success. Barbara retired early from the game, and Connie went along her own spectacular way, at one time becoming the highest-salaried player in pictures. But it was the relatively subdued Joan who proved to have what it takes over the long haul. “You can never tell about Joan,” her father remarked during her youth. “She has all kinds of possibilities.” Those possibilities never really came to light until producer Walter Wanger cast her as a neurotic in “Private Worlds.” He then prevailed upon her to let her blondined locks revert to their natural dark brown shade. This step improved her screen image and brought out a marked resemblance to another Wanger protegee, Hedy Lamarr. The idea was given an added fillip when Gene Markey, Joan’s second husband, went on to become Hedy’s second husband. Anyway, in 1940 Joan eloped with her producer. They had two daughters, to add to Joan’s two daughters by her previous marriages. In films like “Woman in the Window,” “Scarlet Street” and “The Macomber Affair,” Joan projected her popular personality plus plenty of pulchritude, and many of her hits are now in the TV treasury. The rarity of Joan’s screen work these days may be traced to the time, twenty years ago, when she subbed for a pregnant Margaret Sullavan in the road company of “Stage Door” and promised herself time out from films for footlights. In recent years, she’s been quite successfully active in theater work all over the country. The other lady that Wanger brought to stardom is Hedy Lamarr, often called “the most beautiful woman in the world.” Oddly enough, it’s for this reason that Hedy probably won’t be watching her old films on TV in Houston, Texas, where she and her fifth husband, oil millionaire W. Howard Lee, make their home. Hedy has always been of two minds about her famous face. A close friend once observed, “She clings to the idealization of her beauty — it’s the one thing she has that is her own that she can be sure of.” But Hedy frankly blamed her classic features for a lonely life and a dismal marital record. Husband number one, munitions magnate Fritz Mandl, shut her up in a castle while he made futile attempts to buy up all prints of “Ecstasy” — that torrid bit of German celluloid wherein Hedy went swimming in nothing but water. The seventeen-year-old bride took her cloistered existence for almost five years, and then fled to America. After a dazzling debut in “Algiers” (“Come wiz me to ze Casbah,” murmured Charles Boyer), Hedy’s Hollywood future was assured, and she soon embarked on her second marital venture. This was with Gene Markey, who, Hedy testified at the divorce, spent exactly four nights in fourteen months at home with her. Husband number three was actor John Loder. For number four, bandleader Ted Stauffer, Hedy put all her possessions on the auction block and moved to Mexico. That idyl was over in seven months. Now Hedy is at U-I making “The Female Animal.” When all is said and done, after seeing her recently, the Lamarr beauty is still one of the fabulous sights of this generation. Merle Oberon is another lovely who’s had more than her share of private woes. Discoverer Korda claimed she had “the most beautiful face I ever saw,” but when Merle came to America, producer Samuel Goldwyn told her to “go wash it” (i.e., take off the exotic makeup). She did, and scored in a string of hits. (Her personal favorite is “Wuthering Heights.”) A very regular gal beneath her aristocratic film manner, Merle was probably happiest entertaining troops during World War II. But private happiness eluded her. Korda was knighted three years after their 1939 nuptials, and Merle mixed in London society as his lady. Divorce ended that union in 1945. Then an allergy to sulfa drugs left her face scarred. (The