Dear Bobbybones

Marilyn Monroe would have turned 100 on 1 June. While somewhat belated, this post is to celebrate and remember her on the occasion of her birthday.

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Marilyn loved children but never had any of her own. While she became pregnant three times —all of her pregnancies occurred during her marriage to playwright Arthur Miller (1956-1961)— Marilyn had two miscarriages and one ectopic pregnancy. The first time she became pregnant was in the summer of 1956 during the filming of The Prince and the Showgirl; she got pregnant again a year later, but this pregnancy was ectopic and had to be terminated to save her life; and the third time occurred in 1958 while filming Some Like it Hot, with her miscarrying in December of that year. Marilyn had a severe form of endometriosis with often debilitating pain, and her fertility issues were most likely linked to the disease.

Although she had no children of her own, Marilyn had three stepchildren. She was married three times, and her second and third husband, respectively Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller, were previously married, with children by their former wives. Her stepchildren —Joe DiMaggio Jr, Jane Miller and Robert "Bobby" Miller— meant the world to Marilyn, and she once said they were her best friends. In a 1962 interview with Alan Levy for Redbook magazine, she candidly spoke about them: "I take a lot of pride in them. Because they're from broken homes … I can't explain it, but I think I understand about them. I think I love them more than I love anyone. I've always said to my stepchildren that I didn't want to be their mother – or stepmother – as such. I wanted to be their friend. Only time could prove that to them and they had to give me time. But I love them and I adore them. Their lives that are forming are very precious to me and I know that I had a part in forming them." 

1957, Marilyn with her stepchildren, Jane and Bobby Miller

After Marilyn married Arthur Miller in 1956, she became stepmother to Jane and Bobby, who were Miller's children from his marriage to Mary Grace Slattery. Miller divorced his wife on 12 June 1956 and married Marilyn that same month, on 29 June. Especially Jane, who was eleven at the time —Bobby was three years younger— had a hard time accepting her parents' divorce and her father's new wife. However, it wouldn't be long before Marilyn befriended both children, remaining close to them until her death. 

On 2 February 1962, Marilyn wrote to Bobby Miller in response to a letter he had written, showing great interest in Bobby's life while also sharing stories of her own life. She excitingly talks about her new house and the dinner party she attended the night before, where she discussed civil rights with Robert Kennedy. Marilyn was a staunch advocate of civil rights and had become more politically and socially aware since her marriage to Arthur Miller (read more in this post). At the time of the letter, Marilyn had been divorced from Miller for about a year but was nevertheless eager to keep in touch with his children and for them to visit her in Los Angeles. Sadly, however, she passed away six months later, on 5 August 1962, so perhaps they never saw each other again. (Incidentally, on the last day of her life, Marilyn reportedly spoke on the phone with her other stepkid, Joey DiMaggio Jr.) 

Source: Cursum Perficio

Transcript:

Noon

February 2 [1962]

Dear Bobbybones,

The first thing I want to say is that I am very disappointed that you don't get to have your telephone. I don't quite understand why it didn't work out, and I am very sorry, but remember that in a few years you will be able to do more things that you want. For instance, like having your own telephone. What I am trying to say is that you will be growing up and having your own responsibilities (even thought [sic] I still think, and agree with you, that it would be fun to have a phone and I can't see any harm in it, especially since I want to give it to you as your Christmas present, and you feel you have a need for it.) Anyway, Bob, cheer up. I would like to get something that would replace it, but I don't know how. I am glad you liked the sweater, but I would still like to do something else with your check because it really belongs to you. If you can think of anything else, let me know. Or, maybe you would like to start a savings account, or something like that? Or, who knows -- but you let me know.

That pool table that you told me about in that Danish hotel sounds great. Did I ever tell you that I can really play pool? I learned when I was about sixteen and it is something that you never forget. I don't understand why they don't let you in to play pool. Do they they [sic] think you are a delinquent of some kind just because you like the game? Maybe you could go over and take a friend when all those Danish sailors aren't there, like at some odd hour early in the morning, or maybe you could find out which odd hours those Danish sailors don't play. Anyway, don't give up the ship, if you know what I mean, because they might just say yes, as you put it, just to shut you up.

I am glad your arm is feeling better. Where are you going skiing -- but do be careful.

By the way, I don't think you're so bad about sending letters when you consider how bad I am. I'm very happy to have heard from you and don't worry about sending me a present because I realize your allowance is limited and you need it for school things and what not.

I am going to get that book you recommended; is it "Lord of the Flies" or "The Flees [sic]" ? I would love to read something really terrifying.

Bobby, I have the best news: I have just completely bought my new house. As I told you, it is an authentic little Mexican house, but it's got a gigantic swimming pool, and it looks just like Mexico. You would just love it. I have two guest rooms plus a large playroom, plus lots of patios, and a big Mexican wall goes all around the place with big high Mexican gates (that's to keep intruders out, in case anybody gets intrusive.) It's got a nice garden - not too large to take care of - and, as I told you, the swimming pool is so large it doesn't leave too much lawn to take care of. Anyway, I would love - for whichever vacation it can be arranged - if you and Janie wanted to - at least for a part of the vacation, even if it is for a few days, or a week - you are welcome to stay as long as you wanted to. I will take care of your plane tickets and meet you at the airport. You remember how much you liked California -- well, it's still here, and, what I want you and Janie to know is that you are always welcome. Now, I don't know how you are going to work this vacation thing out, but if I know you, you will probably figure something out - right? And, talk to Janie about it; maybe she has an idea. Or, if one of you is busy, you could take turns in coming. I don't know -- I just thought I would make these suggestions. First of all, I miss you very much and I think you would love my new home.

Oh, Bobby, guess what: I had dinner last night with the Attorney-General of the United States, Robert Kennedy, and I asked him what his department was going to do about Civil Rights and some other issues. He is very intelligent, and besides all that, he's got a terrific sense of humor. I think you would like him. Anyway, I had to go to this dinner last night as he was the guest of honor and when they asked him who he wanted to meet, he wanted to meet me. So, I went to the dinner and I sat next to him, and he isn't a bad dancer either. But I was mostly impressed with how serious he is about Civil Rights. He answered all of my questions and then he said he would write me a letter and put it on paper. So, I'll send you a copy of the letter when I get it because there will be some very interesting things in it because I really asked many questions. First of all he asked if I had been attending some kind of meetings. (Haha!) I laughed and said "no, but these are the kind of questions that the youth of America want answers to and want things done about." Not that I'm so youthful, but I feel youthful. But he's an old 36 himself which astounded me because I'm 35. It was a pleasant evening, all in all.

I am leaving today for New York so I'll call you when I get in. Maybe you could stop over for a visit or lunch or dinner, or, maybe you want to go to a movie. I'll be in New York for, I expect, about a week. Tell Janie all this and tell her I would love to see her. I haven't heard from her since Christmas. I guess we are all a little sloppy about writing. However, I think we all know what we mean to each other, don't we. At least I know I love you kids and I want to be your friend and stay in touch.

Say Bobsky, what happened about your math test? I don't know why I took it for granted, but I always thought you were sort of brilliant in math. Anyway, I hope that all your mid-term tests came out very well.

Well, I'll close now, since this letter is getting a little longer than I intended. Golly I'm sorry about the phone, but you will grow up before you know it and things like telephones will be possible and not out of your reach.

I love you and miss you, and, give my love to Janie.

P.S. 

My new address is 12305 Fifth Helena Drive, Los Angeles 49, California

Bobby Miller with his parents and sister Jane

Marilyn's last home at 12305 Fifth Helena Drive, located in the Brentwood neighbourhood of Los Angeles. It was at her home that she was found dead on 5 August 1962, making her letter to Bobby all the more poignant.

1962, Marilyn with Robert Kennedy (left) and John F. Kennedy (his back to the camera) on the occasion of JFK's 45th birthday party. While being the only known photo of Marilyn with JFK, it's possibly also the only known picture of her with Robert Kennedy.

 

Who cares or gives a damn about him - am sure I don't

In 1910, two unknown British comedians, Charlie Chaplin and Arthur Stanley Jefferson (later known as Stan Laurel), set sail for America as members of the comedy troupe Fred Karno's London Comedians. During the voyage, Chaplin and Laurel shared a cabin and subsequently spent a few years touring the USA with the Karno group, with Laurel often serving as Chaplin's understudy. The men eventually parted ways —Chaplin created the Tramp character and by 1918 had become one of the world's highest-paid and most celebrated figures; Laurel started a partnership with the American comedian Oliver Hardy in 1927, forming one of the most popular comedy duos in film history, Laurel and Hardy.

Throughout the years, Laurel publicly spoke about Chaplin with much admiration, considering him the greatest comedian of all time. By contrast, there seems to be no record —at least none that I could find— of what Chaplin actually thought of Laurel. Chaplin's 1964 autobiography does not mention Laurel beyond a brief reference in an early photo, despite their personal shared history. (Incidentally, in his book Chaplin leaves out more people, e.g. Buster Keaton, who appeared with Chaplin in Limelight (1952), is not mentioned at all.)

Stan Laurel (left) and Charlie Chaplin in 1913

Stan Laurel (far left) and Charlie Chaplin (inside lifebelt) amidst the Karno troupe en route to America in 1910

While Laurel spoke admiringly of Chaplin in public, privately he struck a different tone. In this letter to his friend Ed Paterson, dated 14 October 1957, Laurel openly talked about Chaplin, describing him in a negative way, while seemingly embittered and hurt by Chaplin's failure to acknowledge his old friends. The letter was written at a time when Laurel was still coping with the death of his partner and friend Oliver Hardy,  just two months earlier; it was a loss from which he never fully recovered.

Incidentally, when Laurel himself died in 1965, Buster Keaton spoke at his funeral, honouring him with the words: "Chaplin wasn't the funniest. I wasn't the funniest; this man was the funniest." 

Here is Laurel's letter, the first part dealing with Chaplin.

Source: Bonhams

Transcript:

25406, Malibu Road,

MALIBU. CALIF. U.S.A.

Oct. 14th. '57.

My Dear Ed:- 

Thanks yours 10th. inst.

I have to agree with you re Chaplin being mean & cheap, he never to my knowledge ever had any consideration to anybody - financially or otherwise, he never had any time for any of his close friends who worked with him in the early days, regardless of whether they needed his help or not, so you can imagine his feelings & actions towards utter strangers, including his beloved Kensingtonites. [Chaplin grew up in the London district Kennington, not Kensington.]

I was closely associated with Charlie for 2 or 3 years, I was his understudy & shared rooms with him on many occasions, so am fully aware of his idosyncrasies [sic], he was a very eccentric character, composed of many moods, at times signs of insanity, which I think developed further when he gained Fame & Fortune. I frankly believe Ed, that this was heredtary [sic], I understand both of his parents died in the asylum - at least I know definitely his mother did, shortly after he brought her to this Country & placed her in a sanitarium. I really think he is to be pitied more than censored - to my mind, he is still the greatest artiste in his field, but unfortunately his ideals have run amuck & he has lost all sense of propriety.

I realise the great dislike you have for him Ed, but I do'nt [sic] think you should get yourself all worked up, & upset yourself over it, its not good for your health, besides, who cares or gives a dam [sic] about him - am sure I do'nt [sic], whatever he thinks, says or does, is water on [sic] a duck's back to me - with all his millions we are happier than he is I'll guarantee, & one thing for sure, he go [sic] out the same way he came in, with nothing & without friends too, there'll be no tears shed.

I did'nt [sic] hear anything about Mack Sennett being in hospital - thats news to me. Interesting to note you are collecting cut-outs from old films, I remember very well when Billy Reeves made some comedies for Lubin Co. they were made in Florida, I think several of the old Karno boys were in them too. Am not surprised to hear re Fred Karno Jr. being in trouble - he always has been! through all the years I've known him, he sure threw away some wonderful opportunities when his father was alive, if he had behaved himself he would have acquired all those shows, but he was too fond of the four-ale bar dept. Incidently, I met his Landlady wife in '54. she seemed a very pleasant person. Thanks for your kind remarks re my Sister, am pleased she is so well thought of. Am writing her today & will mention the names of your friends Syd & David.

Yes, I understand TV is doing a lot of damage to the theatre business, especially the Provinces, its certainly a shocking situation for all those Variety artistes who are thrown out of work - its really serious.

Well, all for now Ed. Mrs L. joins in kindest regards & every good wish for health & happiness. Take care of yourself.

Bye & God Bless.

Sincerely always:-

'Stan' (signed)

Stan Laurel.

Note: "I understand that both of his parents died in the asylum..." — Laurel seemed unsure of how Chaplin's father had died. Chaplin Sr. was an alcoholic and died from cirrhosis of the liver. Chaplin's mother Hannah suffered from psychosis and was indeed committed to a mental asylum; she died while under institutional care.

Hence my nervousness that the property could get away from us

In the late 1950s, producer David O. Selznick and director Billy Wilder had plans to make a film together, starring Jennifer Jones, Selznick's wife, in the female lead. The letter for this post shows that the two wanted to make a film adaptation of a story by Austrian author Stefan Zweig, although it's unclear which of Zweig's works they were planning to film. In any case, it was a Zweig story dealing with an adult subject, which was previously considered taboo. At the time of Selznick's letter to Wilder, the Zweig property had not been purchased yet and Selznick worried that, if they didn't act quickly, it might slip away from them. 

Of Selznick's five-page missive to Wilder, this is the first page. "The [Audrey] Hepburn picture", mentioned by Selznick, is Love in the Afternoon (1957), and "the diamond story" is likely Some Like it Hot (1959). Paul Kohner, referenced in the letter, was a prominent agent hired to secure the rights to the Zweig property.

Source: RR Auction

Transcript:

28 May 1958

Mr. Billy Wilder

Samuel Goldwyn Studios

North Formosa

Hollywood, California

Dear Billy:

I am terribly afraid lest Jennifer's fervent desire, and what I had understood was your desire, to make the Zweig story with her —and to make it after you had finished the Hepburn picture and the diamond story at the latest (unless, unexpectedly, it became possible to do it earlier)— is getting all snarled up, in consequence of mysterious goings-on which frankly I don't understand. To obviate the possibility of any misunderstandings, I should like to impose upon you this statement of my position, which normally I would have thought quite unnecessary.

As you know, MCA is our agent for Jennifer, and our dealings with them have been through George Chasin. As is my wont, I have by memoranda informed Chasin of our conversations concerning the matter, and have further expressed my views, as they occurred to me, in the hope that it could be expedited, and out of my fear that the property might fall into the hands of somebody else. I am aware that the property has been around for a long time without it being bought; but the danger of it falling into other hands is, in my opinion, enormously aggravated by what could become the knowledge, if indeed this has not already happened, that you want to do it, that Jennifer wants to do it, that I am interested in it; and, at the very least, this could substantially boost the price— which, from what I understand of your own plans, could be most damaging to you personally. Furthermore, the principal reason why it has not been picked up sooner by others is obvious: the subject matter is of a sort that would have made it taboo until the recent easing, from a practical standpoint, of regulations on adult subjects. Additionally, there is apparently the complication about the French rights, which I was glad to hear from you Kohner thought he could clear up; but which would have kept many companies, particularly the European producing units, from wanting it; but since this apparently can be cleaned up, and since further this would not necessarily today be a deterrent to American companies (who are only able to exhibit a fraction of their pictures in France anyway, because of quotas), this too is no longer a factor upon which we can rely to obviate competition. Hence my nervousness that the property could get away from us while we were going through these elaborate manoeuvers and delays. 

****

Below is the last page of Selznick's letter (the other pages are not provided by the source). Walter Mirisch, mentioned here, was an independent producer and produced many of Wilder's films through The Mirisch Corporation. Interestingly, Selznick also mentions William Wyler, the renowned director; Wyler too is named as a possible producer and one of the potential buyers of the Zweig property (either independently or perhaps in partnership with Wilder). At any rate, Selznick's main concern was clearly to purchase the rights to the property before competitors did, with the matter of ownership and possible production structures to be settled later. 

Henry Citron, also mentioned in the letter, was a MCA agent, like George Chasin.

Transcript:

If, on the other hand, you still wish to wait for Mirisch's return, that is also all right with me; and in this case I should appreciate your consent to my telling Jennifer that you are going to go forward with Mirisch, if he is agreeable. And, finally, I do again urge that we instruct Kohner to close. By the time the copyright could be cleared and the contracts drawn, we would presumably know whether it has been approved by Mirisch or by Wyler; and we could then simply insert the name of the buyer -- whether you, or myself, or Mirisch, or Wilder-Wyler, or whatever other company or unit does go forward with it. 

You decide the course of action, or of inaction, as the case may be: let me know, and I will follow it precisely. 

You are of course perfectly free to show this letter to Citron and/or to Chasin.

Affectionate regards.

Cordially,

'David' (signed)

****

In the end, the project never happened, and Selznick and Wilder never worked together. In August of the same year, Wilder started filming Some Like It Hot, generally considered one of the best comedies of all time (despite Selznick's warning to Wilder beforehand that gangsters and comedy didn't mix). Selznick, by contrast, would never produce a picture again. While he kept looking for projects, his last film remained Charles Vidor's A Farewell to Arms, which was released in December 1957.

Incidentally, other than this letter, I could find no more information about this unrealised Selznick-Wilder project. 

David Selznick (right) with Rock Hudson and Jennifer Jones, the stars of the last film he ever produced, A Farewell to Arms (1957). 

In the summer of 1958, instead of working with Selznick, Billy Wilder (right) started shooting Some Like It Hot (1959); here he is pictured on the set with one of his stars, Marilyn Monroe, and Maurice Chevalier who paid them a visit. 

You don't gain anything by suspending

It's been almost two years since I last posted here. The main reason for my long absence is that I had lost my appetite for watching classic films and, as a result, for doing this blog. A while ago, however, I started (re)watching classics again and, sure enough, my love for them quickly returned. The fact that the Filmoteca here in Valencia is holding an extensive retrospective on Billy Wilder certainly helps, allowing me to catch both my favourites and some new-to-mes on the big screen. 

In any case, I am back and will try to post here again on a regular basis. 

As I started a new blog last year, I will be dividing my time between my two sites. So whenever I am not here, you may find me at my new place: Letters from Centuries Past.

Now, on to the post!

Jack (left) and Harry Warner; the brothers had a complicated relationship.

Suspending actors as a punitive measure was practised by all the major studios during Hollywood's Golden Age. Roles were not chosen but assigned by the studio, and refusing a role usually meant suspension without pay (with actors also being prevented from seeking work elsewhere). Of the big studios, Warner Bros was among the most rigid in applying suspensions. During World War II, however, as many Hollywood stars joined the war effort, studio president Harry Warner worried that suspensions were hurting the company. In a telegram to his younger brother Jack, dated 7 June 1944, Harry asked him to temporarily stop suspending actors and allow them to play parts of their own choosing ("When the war is over … you can at that time suspend anyone you want— including me, but right now don't cut your nose to spite your face."). Jack Warner was in charge of the studio's day-to-day operations, dealing directly with the stars. He replied to his brother the same day.

[Harry to Jack]

June 7, 1944

After thinking it over, believe you will have to find some way of discontinuing suspending people. If they don't want [to] work in one picture, make some other picture with them, but for goodness sake make a picture. You don't gain anything by suspending, and you just lose a picture with a big drawing star. You must bear in mind that everyone is preaching liberty and freedom and the actors are getting to believe it, and therefore want to play only the parts they want to play. When the war is over and all the actors and help have come back, you can at that time suspend anyone you want—including me, but right now don't cut your nose to spite your face. If it were me and they wouldn't play in one picture then I would have them play in another.

 

[Jack to Harry]

June 7, 1944

Agree with you wholeheartedly about not suspending anyone, but all you have to do is let actors play parts they want to and you won't be in business very long. You must also remember it isn't always they don't want to play parts, but majority times have found they use this as alibi to get more money or rewrite contract. That's my opinion, however will try your method as maybe I am all wet. Also, everybody isn't suspended every time because they don't play in picture. If they were, we wouldn't be making pictures at all. We play ball with them but when people become ornery like [Humphrey] Bogart, [Olivia] De Havilland, this type, you haven't any alternative.

 

Source: Inside Warner Bros. (1935-1951) (1985), selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer

At the time of the telegram exchange, Warner Bros was awaiting the ruling of the appeals court in the Olivia de Havilland case. In August 1943, Olivia had filed a lawsuit against Warners after six months of accumulated suspensions had been added to the length of her contract. While actors usually signed a seven-year contract with their studio, it was common practice for studios to extend the contract with the suspension time —a practice Olivia single-handedly challenged. In November 1943, the court ruled in Olivia's favour, after which Warner Bros immediately appealed. 

On 8 December 1944, the California Court of Appeal upheld the decision of the lower court, again ruling in Olivia's favour. Warners subsequently took the case to the California Supreme Court for review, but their petition was denied. Olivia finally claimed victory in February 1945, with the ruling of the California court becoming state law (still known today as the De Havilland Law). While the suspension policy itself was not abandoned, from then on contracts could no longer be stretched beyond seven calendar years, effectively limiting the studio's power.

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.