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.