Except as a scientific achievement, I am not sympathetic to this "sound" business

Following the release of The Jazz Singer in 1927, many people in Hollywood believed that talking pictures were just a passing fancy. MGM's head of production Irving Thalberg, for instance, found The Jazz Singer "a good gimmick, but that's all it was", while gossip columnist Louella Parsons said, "I have no fear that scraping, screeching, rasping sound film will ever disturb our peaceful motion picture theaters." Many actors were also quick to reject the talkies, among them British-born Ronald Colman, a very popular silent film star who had started his career on the stage. In a 1928 letter to Abraham Lehr (vice-president of Samuel Goldwyn Productions), Colman shared his opinion on "this "sound" business", while refusing to sign a contract amendment authorising the new work method. In the end, Colman came around and successfully transitioned from silent to sound film, not least thanks to his beautiful voice (which proved a perfect match for his on-screen image). Popular silent stars who were not so lucky and didn't survive the transition to sound include John Gilbert, Emil Jannings, Norma Talmadge and Vilma Banky.

Having successfully transitioned to talkies, Ronald Colman continued to be a sought-after lead in the 1930s and 1940s, eventually winning an Oscar for his role in A Double Life (1947).

Source: Letters from Hollywood: Inside the Private World of Classic American Moviemaking (2019) by Rocky Lang and Barbara Hall

Transcript: 

5th August, 1928.

My dear Abe:

Sorry I did not see you yesterday and that tomorrow I shall be away from the studio on location.

With reference to the additional clause to the contract, - I would rather not sign this, at any rate just at present. Except as a scientific achievement, I am not sympathetic to this "sound" business. I feel, as so many do, that it is a mechanical resource, that it is a retrogressive and temporary digression in so far as it affects the art of motion picture acting, - in short that it does not properly belong to my particular work (of which naturally I must be the best judge).

That the public are for the time being demanding this novelty is obvious, and that the producer is anxious to supply it is natural, and for the actor to dispute this situation or contend against it would be foolish. After four years' experience with myself, the firm should have no doubt as to my reasonable co-operation in this matter - as in others.

For me to function conscientiously before the microphone is one thing, but to sign a legally phrased document authorising this is a very different matter and would logically presuppose my approval of this mechanical accessory to my work. 

Furthermore, if the original contract embraces such developments in motion picture making, then the amendment is superfluous. If it does not, I would not care to have it added.

I hope I have made this clear, Abe. May I request that the company will respect these convictions and leave the matter where it is.

Kind regards always,

Ronald Colman (signed)

Ronald Colman with co-star Joan Bennett in his first talkie Bulldog Drummond (1929). The film became an immediate hit and even earned Colman an Oscar nomination for Best Actor. (That same year, Colman was also nominated for Best Actor for another role, i.e. for Condemned, co-starring Ann Harding.)

Let me function or else come down and shoot it yourself

David O. Selznick's final film was his production of A Farewell to Arms (1957), based on Ernest Hemingway's successful novel of the same name. Prior to and during production of the film, Selznick went totally overboard with his infamous memos, reportedly dictating about 10,000 (!). Trying hard to control every aspect of the picture, the producer bombarded just about everyone with his directives. Director John Huston took the brunt of it, a very lengthy memo eventually causing him to quit the film before shooting had even started. (Huston and Selzick had constantly clashed, in particular about the script.)

As Huston's replacement, Selznick chose Charles Vidor who now became the main recipient of the producer's memos. Vidor grew increasingly annoyed with Selznick as more of his messages came pouring in. The director would occasionally send back angry responses, at one time accusing Selznick of not wanting a first violinist as a director, but a piccolo player. 

Charles Vidor (left), David Selznick and the film's leading man Rock Hudson on the set of A Farewell to Arms.

Another time, Vidor reacted angrily to a memo from Selznick regarding a kitchen scene. On 26 May 1957, the producer had written: "I am bothered by the stirring of the gruel for such a long period of time in the kitchen scene. I think it is going to be a bore. Couldn't the nurse be fiddling with an Italian coffee machine and/or preparing Italian bacon .... ". 

Vidor responded by telegram the following day:

I received your memo regarding the kitchen scene STOP in the light of my past performance on this picture alone I find it idiotic and I think that by the light of Monday morning you will too STOP the memo indicates that you think you have on your hands a hopelessly inexperienced director STOP if you don't stop I will think that I am stuck with a totally inexperienced producer STOP for heaven's sake let me function or else come down and shoot it yourself.

Vidor   

Source: Selznick (1970) by Bob Thomas

An offended Selznick answered by memo (of course), feeling their relationship did not call for such a telegram. He also wondered: "It is only two days since you were flattering enough to be enthusiastic about my memoranda, and to ask me to "keep them going." I am now confused: am I to keep sending them, but first to screen them through your sensibilities?..." Eventually, Selznick suggested he and Vidor have lunch together and to "get on with the show!"

Above: Charles Vidor with his leads Jennifer Jones and Rock Hudson on the set of A Farewell to Arms. Below: Having dinner in a restaurant in Rome during the film's production, (l to r) Hudson, Jones, Vidor and Selznick.

A Farewell to Arms, starring Selznick's wife Jennifer Jones and Rock Hudson in the leads, ultimately proved both a commercial and critical failure. Ernest Hemingway hated the film and especially resented the fact that Selznick had cast Jones, at the time nearly 40 years old, to portray the author's 24-year-old heroine. After this film Selznick would never produce another again. While he did plan to make other pictures (including a film adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel Tender is the Night), A Farewell to Arms remained his final achievement.

_____

Concluding this post, I will leave you with excerpts from a column by Art Buchwald. The columnist had travelled to Italy, where A Farewell to Arms was filmed, in order to cover the film's shooting. Intrigued by Selznick's compulsive memo-writing, Buchwald wrote this funny piece:

There is a legend in Rome that if you throw a memorandum by David O. Selznick into the Fountain of Cinecitta Studios, you will never work on A Farewell to Arms again.

The people who have said farewell to A Farewell to Arms now number in the hundreds and include one director, John Huston, one chief of photography who quit two weeks ago, three art directors, a film editor, a special effects director, four chauffeurs, and the entire staff of the villa where Mr. and Mrs. Selznick were staying.

Most of the people claim it was not Mr. Selznick but his memorandums that got them down.

(....)

Since he dictates them at night to three secretaries who work in shifts, Mr. Selznick has no time to read them once they are typed up. This occasionally leads to misunderstandings between the producer and his help and most everyone on the picture keeps a bag packed in case he wants to leave Rome in a hurry.

(....)

People on A Farewell to Arms collect Selznick memorandums like other people collect stamps. The memo written to John Huston which caused him to quit is worth three memos that Selznick wrote to the cameraman about photographing Jennifer Jones. One person in the company has a collector's item, a Selznick memorandum of one line. He has been offered 50,000 lire for it, but refuses to sell it.

Each person reacts differently to a Selznick memo. One department head who is no longer there thought he would fight fire with fire and so when he received a memo from Selznick he sent him back a memorandum of the same length. But he got a memo the next day from Selznick saying please don't send him any memos any more because he doesn't have time to read them.

(....)

Mr. Selznick, according to his detractors, has a tendency to keep referring to Gone with the Wind when trying to make a point in a memorandum. He was so intent on making A Farewell to Arms as big a success that he insisted that all of the technical staff attend a special screening of GWTW.

An outsider who attended the command performance came up after it was over and said: "What is Selznick worried about? The rushes look great to me."

Source: Selznick (1970) by Bob Thomas 

David O. Selznick, champion at memo-writing

Your little monster, Jim

On 8 April 1954, a day after signing his contract with Warner Brothers, James Dean left New York and headed for California to prepare for his first leading role in Elia Kazan's East of Eden (1955). Production of the film was to start at the end of May, and until then Dean would be rehearsing and doing wardrobe and make-up tests. With no place to live in Los Angeles, Dean was initially forced to stay at the house of his father and stepmother, a living arrangement he was not at all happy with. Later Kazan arranged for Dean to rent a cheap, tiny apartment close to the Warner Bros. studio, which he would share with his Eden co-star Richard Davalos. Dean hated LA and missed his beloved New York (read more about it in this previous post). Shooting on Eden ended early August 1954, but the actor wouldn't return to New York until late December that same year.

Above: James Dean photographed by Roy Schatt in 1954. Below: Dean doing wardrobe tests for his role as Cal Trask in East of Eden, his performance eventually garnering him a (posthumous) Oscar nomination for Best Actor.

Jane Deacy was Dean's agent in New York City and had signed him as a client around May 1952. As Dean's own mother had died when he was nine years old and he couldn't get along with his stepmother, Deacy was regarded by Dean as a second mother. A woman with a warm personality, she looked out for her client, arranged jobs for him and also handled his personal finances. Deacy had asked the Famous Artists Corporation Agency to represent Dean while he was in LA, not having an office on the US West Coast herself. The Famous Artists Corporation (founded by Charles Feldman) had assigned Dick Clayton, one of the younger agents and a former actor, to handle Dean's affairs. Dean was very happy with the agency, and in particular with Clayton, as he wrote in a letter to Deacy in (circa) mid-April 1954. In the letter, the actor also mentioned the fact that he was "very brown and healthy looking", much to Elia Kazan's satisfaction. During Dean's first week in LA, Kazan thought he looked too pale and tired and subsequently sent him to the desert to get a tan.

Transcript:

Dear Mom, 

Like always I can trust your judgement. I am very happy with the office you chose for me. Dick Clayton is a prince of a guy. Old man [Charles] Feldman is in equal rights a prince. The rest of them are patronizing and nice (think I'm a weird one of course, as always, they will catch on.) If I would louse up the picture Dick would still talk to me.

I haven't quite settled down yet but will soon. Rented a car. Very brown and healthy looking, Kazan is pleased. I love you.

Send Mr. Feldman a copy of my contract so he can see whats up. Please as soon as you can. 

Love 

Your little monster 

Jim

_____

In (circa) late April 1954, Dean sent another letter to Deacy, keeping her informed on several aspects of his life. Strapped for cash, Dean told his agent that he was still waiting for the checks to arrive from Danger, one of several TV shows he had played in. Furthermore, Dean talked about his health, both physical and mental. Regarding the latter, the actor mentioned he was going to look for a therapist after returning to New York. (Since he wouldn't go back to NY until December later that year, Dean reportedly found a psychoanalyst in Los Angeles in late summer/early autumn.)

Transcript:

Dear Jane 

I had a wire sent to my bank (Chase) and their reply to my frantic question was $121.00. Sure went fast. I had to give up the rented car idea. It cost me $138.00 the two weeks that I had it. I hope that I still have the checks from Danger coming. I can't live with my stepmother another minute and I'll have to find a mode of transportation. As you know without a car your [sic] good as dead in Calif. I hate this place anyway. Please tell me that I still have the Danger checks because I love you.

Have found a good dentist after a long and discreet search. Cliffton [sic] Webbs dentist (oh well). Have been going to a throat specialist because of a pigmented tongue [self-portrait drawing]. Too much smoking. Has [sic] stopped completely, also stopped drinking. Taking vitamins also. I was really run-down. I'm fatter now and feel much better. Tear myself up in New York. Build myself up in Calif. (health and maybe career huh?) 

The address at my fathers place is 1667 So. Bundy Drive, L.A. 19, Calif. or write to Dick Claytons office address and tell me that I have still the Danger checks. Returning home after picture to find analyst. (Is that spelled right, doesn't look right). Miss you 

Love 

Jim

August 1953, Walter Hampden, James Dean and Betsy Palmer in the anthology series Danger; the episode was called Death Is My Neighbor.

James Dean photographed in Jane Deacy's office in January 1955; unfortunately I couldn't find a photo of Deacy herself.

On 30 April 1954, Deacy replied to Dean's letter, being mainly concerned with his financial situation. As Dean had spent a lot of cash in a short time —the $700 advance he had received on 7 April, when signing his contract with Warners, was nearly gone— Deacy suggested that he earn some money by doing a television or a radio show while waiting for filming on Eden to start. Dean had already thought of a different way to obtain money, though, having asked Warners for a second advance on his salary. On the same day that Deacy wrote her letter to Dean, the studio agreed to give him another $700 ("... in order that you make take care of certain personal matters"). With part of the money Dean subsequently bought a used MG TD sports car. 

While Deacy was very hopeful about Dean's future, tragedy would strike a year later. On 30 September 1955, Dean was killed in a car crash, driving his newly purchased Porsche 550. He was only 24 years old.

Incidentally, "Lenny", as mentioned in the letter, is probably Leonard Rosenman, Dean's best friend in New York, and composer of the scores for Eden and Rebel Without a Cause (1955).

Source of all letters: Nate D. Sanders Auctions (here, here, and here) (I may share more of Deacy's letters to Dean in a future post.)

I always feel stupid bringing up the matter of the Godfather

As a follow-up to the previous post, I am sharing a letter from Francis Ford Coppola to Marlon Brando, in which the director tries to persuade Brando to play the young Vito Corleone in The Godfather Part II (1974). Besides being a sequel to the first Godfather film, Part II also serves as a prequel, in flashbacks following young Vito from Sicily to New York where he eventually builds his mafia empire. Coppola wanted Brando in the role of young Vito, despite the fact that Brando was too old for the part. (At the time 49 years old, Brando was supposed to play Vito aged 25-30.) The actor turned down Coppola's offer, although he did agree to make a cameo appearance as Don Vito in the birthday flashback scene in the film's finale. On the day of shooting, however, Brando failed to show up and Coppola had to quickly rewrite the scene. 30-year-old Robert de Niro was cast in the role of young Vito instead of Brando, his performance eventually winning the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.

Marlon Brando and Francis Ford Coppola on the set of The Godfather (1972), with Robert Duvall in the background.

Below is Coppola's letter to Brando, undated but postmarked 1 May 1973. Coppola was trying to convince Paramount executives Frank Yablans, Robert Evans and Charles Bluhdorn to cast Brando as the young Vito Corleone. At the time, Brando and Paramount were not on good terms, especially after the actor's refusal to accept his Oscar for The Godfather a few months earlier. Also, Brando was mad at Paramount for the salary he had received for the first film, feeling he had been underpaid (considering The Godfather was the highest grossing film in history up till then, its success in large part thanks to Brando). Out of protest against Paramount, Brando decided not to appear in Part II after all.

Incidentally, Coppola would not be "quitting the movie business", like he announces in the letter, and would even make another film with Brando, the 1979 Apocalypse Now. 

Source: RR Auction

Transcript:

Monday

Dear Marlon,

I heard you were back from the South Pacific; but I didn't want to call you because I always feel stupid bringing up the matter of the Godfather. I know you return my calls on a personal and friendly basis, and so I can't bring myself to misuse that and bring up what is bothering me.

My problem is simply that I am stalling and stalling because I have the inkling that it may be possible that you will play the young Vito Corleone. I've seen in the past, that even a slight possibility may blossom into a fact, and so I've tried to kindle this as best I could. I've become a real behind-the-scenes monster playing Yablans and Evans and Bludhorn [sic]; trying to get them to do what I want. I tell Yablans that he's the only one who can do it. Then I tell Evans the same thing. 

I tell them the movie cannot be made without you; I tell Yablans he has to apologize to you. Now Yablans says that he's trying to do this, and get together on the money and stuff, but you don't return his call. 

Evans wants to approach you; but Yablans is terrified that Evans might make it work, where he failed…so he keeps preventing that.

But what it really comes down to is me. Marlon I respect you enormously; and if you told me that you did not want to do it under any circumstances, whatsoever…of course I would accept that, and never mention it again. And if you liked, I wouldn't tell anyone else. 

I learned a lot from you…one thing being that it's only a movie, and what's that compared to everything else there is in the world. 

At times, I try really hard to imagine what you're like in your thoughts. I realized that you've been in this strange state of adoration and exhibition for 25 years now, intensely…and I think that would have driven me crazy. And the fact that you're really a good man, and warm, and love people is a tremendous achievement considering that you've been in a glass box for half your life. 

I always to tell you that,…although it has nothing to do with this letter. 

All I'm saying is that if you will be in this movie; I will do my very best to make it be good; and human, and express the notion that the Mafia is only a metaphor for America and capitalism, which will do anything to protect and perpetuate itself. (I will do this anyway, if you're not in the film…but if you were in it, it would be better, and you would help me with your ideas as I work on the script.)

If you will not be in it, I will love you no less. All I ask is to please tell me without the shadow of a doubt. 

I am very happy; having a terrific time up here. After this film I am quitting the movie business, and will do other things that I am excited about (that may involve film). 

Sincerely, 

Francis 

My number is 563 2632 

_____

While Marlon Brando would not reprise his role in The Godfather Part II, several of the old cast members would, among them Al Pacino, Robert Duvall, Diane Keaton and James Caan (the latter in a cameo appearance in the birthday flashback scene). As with the first film, Coppola worked on the screenplay with author Mario Puzo. Although less successful commercially and critically than its predecessor, Part II was still very well received and won even more Oscars, six in total. Oscars went to Best Picture (Francis Ford Coppola, Gray Frederickson and Fred Roos), Best Director (Coppola), Best Supporting Actor (Robert de Niro), Best Adapted Screenplay (Coppola and Puzo), Best Art Direction (Dean Tavoularis, Angelo P. Graham and George R. Nelson) and Best Original Dramatic Score (Nino Rota and Carmine Coppola). 

The final installment in the Godfather series, The Godfather Part III (1990), would be the least successful of the three films, and while nominated for seven Oscars it won none.

After Brando had declined the role of young Vito Corleone, Coppola offered it to Robert de Niro, with whom he is pictured here on the set. De Niro is great as the young Vito, a much better choice than the older Brando would have been. 

I think you’re the only actor who can play the Godfather

Published in 1969, Mario Puzo's novel The Godfather tells the story of the (fictional) Corleone mafia family, headed by patriarch Vito Corleone. The book covers the years 1945 until 1955, with its main storyline following son Michael who eventually succeeds his father as head of the mafia clan. Puzo's novel became a huge success, remaining on The New York Times bestseller list for 67 weeks and selling more than nine million copies in just two years. 

Before Mario Puzo had even finished his novel, Paramount Pictures bought the film rights for $80,000, on the basis of a 60-page treatment. To direct the film, Paramount hired Francis Ford Coppola after several other directors had declined (including Sergio Leone, Peter Bogdanovich and Otto Preminger). Coppola would work on the script with author Puzo, the latter hired by the studio in April 1970. They worked on the script separately, Puzo in Los Angeles and Coppola in San Francisco. While writing their respective screenplays, the men kept in touch with each other, their combined efforts ultimately resulting in a completed script in March 1971.

From the start, even before he was hired by Paramount to work on the picture, Puzo already knew who should portray the family's patriarch —Marlon Brando. (Brando was also Coppola's first choice.) In order to entice Brando to play the role, on 23 January 1970 Puzo wrote him the following letter.

Source: Gotta Have Rock and Roll

Transcript:

Jan 23

Dear Mr Brando

I wrote a book called THE GODFATHER which has had some success and I think you’re the only actor who can play the part Godfather with that quiet force and irony (the book is an ironical comment on American society) the part requires. I hope you’ll read the book and like it well enough to use whatever power you can to get the role.

I’m writing Paramount to the same effect for whatever good that will do.

I know this was presumptuous of me but the least I can do for the book is try. I really think you’d be tremendous. Needless to say I’ve been an admirer of your art.

Mario Puzo

A mutual friend, Jeff Brown, gave me your address

_____

Brando was not interested in the role despite Puzo's letter. The actor later said in his autobiography Songs My Mother Taught Me (1994): "Alice Marchak [Brando's secretary] remembers my throwing [Puzo's letter] away and saying, "I'm not a Mafia godfather". I had never played an Italian before, and I didn't think I could do it successfully. By then I had learned that one of the biggest mistakes an actor can make is to try to play a role for which he is miscast .... But Alice took the book home, read it and said she thought I should take the part if it was offered me. She didn't change my mind, though I did call Mario without having read the book and thanked him for his note." 

While working on the screenplay, Puzo called Brando every now and then, pleading with him to reconsider his decision. Puzo was also lobbying at Paramount on Brando's behalf (without the actor's knowledge) but his attempts proved futile. The studio didn't want Brando for the role, partly due to his notorious bad behaviour on set and his recent box-office failures. Paramount's preferred choice was reportedly Orson Welles, and other actors who were being considered include Laurence Olivier, Anthony Quinn and Ernest Borgnine. Unable to make the Paramount executives change their minds, Puzo typed this letter to Brando in March 1970.

Source: RR Auction

Mario Puzo and Marlon Brando on the set of The Godfather, pictured here with Red Buttons (left). (Buttons and Brando had become good friends after co-starring in the 1957 Sayonara.)

In the end, after reading both the novel and the screenplay, Brando decided he wanted to play Don Corleone after all. Paramount finally regarded him as a serious option but wanted to do a screen test first. Afraid that a test would offend Brando, Coppola thought of a way to do one secretly. He visited Brando at his home with a video camera and told him, after first having discussed the role, that he wanted to test some things on tape. With Kleenex stuffed in his cheeks and shoe polish in his hair, Brando then did his interpretation of Don Corleone for Coppola, not realising he was being screentested. The footage impressed Paramount and they finally agreed to Brando playing the role. Brando was cast in January 1971, just a few months before production was to start. His performance turned out to be one of the most iconic of his career, earning him the Oscar for Best Actor (which he famously declined).

The Godfather (1972) was a huge success, both with critics and audiences. The film won the Academy Award for Best Picture (Albert S. Ruddy), Best Actor (Brando) and Best Adapted Screenplay (Puzo and Coppola). It was followed by two sequels, The Godfather Part II (1974) and The Godfather Part III (1990). Brando appeared only in the first Godfather film. 

On the set of The Godfather with director Francis Ford Coppola (left), Marlon Brando and Al Pacino, the latter playing the role of Vito Corleone's youngest son, Michael.

All three occasions cling to my memory as fun experiences

Barry Sullivan and Barbara Stanwyck made three films together. Their first picture was John Sturges' film noir Jeopardy (1953), followed by two westerns, Joseph Kane's The Maverick Queen (1956) and Samuel Fuller's Forty Guns (1957). Sullivan enjoyed making all three films with Barbara, even though —as he says in the letter below to Ella Smith from March 1972— "only Jeopardy [stuck in his] mind as having any merit". In his letter, the actor talks about working with Barbara, while elaborately singing her praises and jokingly admitting to being "in love with the lady". Ella Smith was the author of the 1973 Starring Miss Barbara Stanwyck, and Sullivan's letter was his contribution to the book. As can be seen in previous posts (here and here), other people had also sent letters to Smith about their collaborations with Barbara, each of them praising the actress for her character and professionalism.

Barry Sullivan and Barbara Stanwyck in Jeopardy

Source: eBay

Transcript:

10/3/72

Dear Ms Smith,

This note is probably too late for your deadline, but I do want you to know I am not really a rude SOB. Your letters re Barbara have just caught up. What circuitous route they traveled only God may know, but please understand I was not resisting a chance to expound on one of the more divine people I have known. (Allow me to throw down a few impressions for your personal edification and say good luck with the book)

Most of your replies to date, I am certain, have included glowing words about Missy's fantastic professionalism (and every word justified, by the way), but professionalism is nonsense if unaccompanied by heart.

Of the films I did with Miss Stanwyck only JEOPARDY sticks in my mind as having any merit, but all three occasions cling to my memory as fun experiences. This may seem a minor thing in discussing a fabulous artist, but, Dammit, in my book it looms very formidably. We start out in this business thinking of it as a glorious adventure and "fun", and all too often it seems like drudgery. You know you're not doing your best work when something is drudgery, right? When you work with the lady you know damn well it is fun and thus the glorious adventure you always dreamed about and you come up a couple of octaves.

All great artists have this one thing in common. Tracy had it, Bette Davis has it, George C. Scott has it, young Robert Foxworth has it -- They give it their very best shot regardless of the calibre of the material. And Barbara most certainly has it in large quantity.

We don't always get Arthur Miller or Lillian Hellman to perform. It is common knowledge that most of the material today borders on the mediocre. It would be easy, and perhaps forgiveable, if one were to sluff, or, as we say "walk through it" using only part of whatever God has given you. You'll never find Barbara doing that. I think maybe she might have worked harder when the writing was thin. She just damned well pulled it up to her level and everybody else in the cast could do no less.

I guess I am labeling her "inspirational", and she would laugh uproariously at that word. The ability to laugh, though, is perhaps what makes her so damn great. The set was always loose. No phony tensions that can distract from the job at hand. Young actors and actresses, perhaps on a first job and understandably somewhat nervous would lose the nervousness and begin to enjoy. I've seen her, too, with some of our senior performers who might be up tight (it happens at both ends of the spectrum, God help us). Her infinite patience, her joshing way, her generosity in blaming herself to reduce pressures when a scene would blow - all these things are marks of professionalism mayhap, but I rather feel they are the marks of one great human being.

This carried over to the technical people, too. She knew their problems always. Always their mechanical problems that beset all film making, and almost always their personal problems. If a director goofed because he had a hangover maybe, she was better than Bromo; If a prop man forgot something because the baby was sick at home, she was better than pediatrician; If a makeup man started applying the wrong color because he was preoccupied about a fight with his girl friend, she was better than Max Factor. What else can I tell you? One can go on ad infinitum. Bear in mind, however, that none of this was phony bleeding heart concern- it was and is all genuine.

If all this gush sounds like I'm in love with the lady, I plead guilty. My fondest hope is that I will walk on a set one day soon and and [sic] find her waiting. (as she will tell you, I am always late dammit). I know I will have one helluva good time and that's what it's all about, isn't it?

Sincerely

(signed) Barry Sullivan

Sullivan and Stanwyck in The Maverick Queen (above) and in Forty Guns (below). The Maverick Queen is, I think, by far their weakest film and Forty Guns their best.

You brought eggsactly the right flavor to Batman

Today, on what would have been Vincent Price's 113th birthday, I am sharing a letter sent to Price by Adam West in 1990, on the occasion of Price's 79th birthday. West was Price's co-star in the 1960s Batman television series, in which he played the lead role of Bruce Wayne/Batman. In season two and three of the series (1966-1967), Price had a recurring role as the villain Egghead, appearing in a total of seven episodes. Created especially for the Batman TV series, Egghead was —in the character's own words— "the world's smartest criminal", his crimes and speech patterns usually involving eggs. Price later said about the series: "I was thrilled to be on the Batman series. I really felt that it was one of the most brilliant television series ever done. The imagination and the creativeness that went into those shows were extraordinary. They were way ahead of their time..." The Batman series ran for three seasons (from 12 January 1966 until 14 March 1968) with 120 episodes. Ratings had dropped considerably by the end of the third season and, as a result, the show was cancelled. 

Vincent Price (l) and Adam West as resp. Egghead and Batman

Price as Egghead with Anne Baxter as Olga, Queen of Cossacks. Appearing in five episodes, Olga was Egghead's partner in crime and love interest. (Baxter played two villains in the series; apart from Olga, Baxter also played Zelda the Great in two episodes.)

Source: Heritage Auctions