My dear Cole

In the summer of 1948, George Cukor was in England directing Edward, My Son (1949), which was being filmed at the MGM British Studios in Borehamwood near London. Cukor was a happy man, seeing that Spencer Tracy (his male lead) was in a rare good mood, needing fewer takes than usual and being helpful to other actors. Production of the film went smoothly and was ahead of schedule by several days. Besides being happy with the film's progress, Cukor was also glad to be away from Hollywood, feeling at home in London while comfortably staying at the Savoy. 

On 14 July 1948 —a month after production of Edward, My Son had started— Cukor wrote a letter to composer Cole Porter, thanking Porter for his birthday greetings and telling him how things were going in England. Cukor was pleased with the quality of the material they had been shooting, but despite his hopes for the film it ultimately became both a critical and commercial disappointment. (Leading lady Deborah Kerr did receive an Oscar nomination for Best Actress, but lost to Olivia de Havilland in The Heiress.)

George Cukor flanked by his leading actors Spencer Tracy and Deborah Kerr on the set of Edward, My Son

George Cukor and Cole Porter

Incidentally, Cukor and Porter were friends and would work together twice, i.e. on Adam's Rib (1949) and Les Girls (1957). An interesting titbit about the two is that there was an unspoken rivalry between them that started in the years after World War II. Both men were homosexual and Cukor was known for his extravagant Sunday pool parties, which attracted Hollywood's gay crowd. Porter, after moving to Hollywood, was a regular guest there. At some point, however, Porter started to hold his own Sunday pool parties, an invitation to hís parties eventually becoming more coveted than an invitation to Cukor's. There were people who attended both parties, but they were always careful not to tell one host about the other.

Source: icollector.com

Transcript:

14th July, 1948.

My dear Cole,

It was mighty sweet of you to remember little me..... far, far away on alien shores. Your kind birthday greetings cheered me up to no end. Not that I am depressed at all, but I do have occasional twinges of home sickness for my dogs and for my house.... and oh yes! for my friends too of course.

I am comfortably settled in a very nice apartment facing the river at the Savoy, directly over Sophie Tucker, but so far no "Some of these Days". I am far too well fed and treated with great courtesy and consideration - more than I usually get at what you once so aptly called "the Elephants Grave Yard".

We are half-way through the picture and so far so good. If I were pressed, I would say 'So far...... better than good'. In fact there is real danger of us becoming smug! We are ahead of schedule by about four days. That is no mean accomplishment because the English take their picture-making at a much more leisurely clip than you Hollywoodians do - and it has been said by my enemies that I am a very slow director. But no longer!

However, I mustn't take all the bows. Spencer Tracy, who carries the picture - he appears in every scene, is so wonderfully accomplished and such a sure actor that we are able to do long, long scenes, five pages in fact, in one take. That is how we manage to get on with it so well.....

I think we are talking an awful lot about me and my picture.... so I will say one thing more. We are rather pleased with the quality of the stuff we are getting, but you will be the judge of that when we have a great big Premeerr at the Iris on Hollywood Boulevard.

People have been very kind and hospitable, but I very prudently spend the weekends "layin' on de bed" at the Savoy, instead of being brilliant and scintillating at some great house and telling them all my comical stories. 

After I finish, which according to present computations will be in the early part of August, I hope to take a little trip to Paris, France, and maybe as far as Rome, Italy, and then home sometime in September. I feel sure that I am missing all kinds of delightful lunches and dinners and galas with you. I am even longing to hear Kay Francis tell of her feud with Miriam Hopkins again - or am I going too far?

I hope, dear Cole, that you are well and happy, that your work is going on as you wish it to, and that your life - and your pool are full. I have a pretty good idea that they are.

Again my thanks to you, and affectionate regards,

(signed) George

_____

Note

I am intrigued by Cukor's comment about Kay Francis and Miriam Hopkins: "I am even longing to hear Kay Francis tell of her feud with Miriam Hopkins again ...". I didn't know about a feud between them and browsing the web I found nothing regarding a feud. In fact, several sources (including IMDB) claim the opposite. Francis and Hopkins reportedly became good friends ever since they had starred together in Ernst Lubitsch's Trouble in Paradise (1932). So perhaps Cukor didn't mean a "feud" literally and Francis was just telling him about a fight she'd been having with Hopkins?? (The only actress Hopkins seemed to have had a feud with was Bette Davis; read more here.)

Francis (l) and Hopkins

There is no one even second to her ...

From the mid-1940s until the early 1950s, Jeanne Crain was one of the biggest stars at 20th Century-Fox. After signing a long-term contract with Fox in 1943, Crain made her (uncredited) debut in the musical The Gang's All Here (1943). Her first substantial role was in the horse racing drama Home in Indiana (1944), followed by roles in Winged Victory (1944) and in such box-office hits as the musical State Fair (1945) —opposite Dana Andrews, with her singing voice dubbed— and the film noir Leave Her to Heaven (1945) playing the good sister to Gene Tierney's bad one. By 1946, Crain had become one of the studio's main box-office draws. The actress received more fanmail than anyone on the Fox lot (except for Betty Grable) and was also a personal favourite of studio head Darryl F. Zanuck. 

Since Crain was a big Fox star, Zanuck wouldn't let her play the relatively small role of Clementine in John Ford's western My Darling Clementine (1946). In the memo below, Zanuck informs director Ford of his decision not to cast Crain in the part, which eventually went to newcomer Cathy Downs. According to John Ford biographer Ronald L. Davis, the director later responded to Zanuck's memo, saying he didn't care much who played Clementine, "providing she doesn't look like an actress".

DATE: February 26, 1946

TO: Mr. John Ford

CC: Sam Engel [producer]

SUBJECT: MY DARLING CLEMENTINE

Dear Jack:

There will be no chance for us to get Jeanne Crain to play in My Darling Clementine. I know she would be delighted to be directed by you but the part is comparatively so small that we would be simply crucified by both the public and critics for putting her in it. She is the biggest box-office attraction on the lot today. There is no one even second to her ...

D.F.Z. 

Source: Memo from Darryl F. Zanuck: The Golden Years At Twentieth Century-Fox (1993); selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer.

Crain with Zanuck and his children

Jeanne Crain went on to make successful films for Fox like Margie (1946) and Apartment for Peggy (1948), in the latter picture playing William Holden's young, chattering bride. Her most acclaimed films were still to come, however. Being top-billed, Crain starred alongside Linda Darnell, Ann Sothern and Kirk Douglas in A Letter to Three Wives (1949); and she played the titular role in Pinky (1949) as a light-skinned black girl passing for white. The latter performance earned Crain an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress, the only nomination of her career (losing to Olivia de Havilland in The Heiress).

It's interesting to note that the directors of A Letter to Three Wives and Pinky, respectively Joseph L. Mankiewicz and Elia Kazan, were both unimpressed with Crain's acting skills. Mankiewicz was unhappy with her performance in his film —against his will he would direct her again in People Will Talk (1951)— and once said about Crain: "I could only rarely escape the feeling that Jeanne was, somehow, a visitor to the set. She worked hard. Too hard at times, I think, in response to my demands, as if trying to compensate by sheer exertion for what I believe must have been an absence of emotional involvement with acting... She was one of the few whose presence among the theatre-folk I have never fully understood." And Kazan said about her: "Jeanne Crain was a sweet girl, but she was like a Sunday school teacher. I did my best with her, but she didn't have any fire. The only good thing about her was that it went so far in the direction of no temperament that you felt Pinky was floating through all of her experiences without reacting to them, which is what 'passing' is." While I agree that Crain was an actress of limited range, I have always liked her and I think she did a fine job in both A Letter to Three Wives and Pinky. (And I've just rewatched the delightful Apartment for Peggy and Crain is great in that.)

After appearing in several other films including Cheaper by the Dozen (1950), The Model and the Marriage Broker (1951), Dangerous Crossing (1953) and Vicki (1953), Jeanne Crain eventually left 20th Century-Fox in 1953. A few years earlier, Marilyn Monroe had (re) joined the studio and would soon become Fox's biggest star.

Clockwise: Jeanne Crain with Gene Tierney in Leave Her To Heaven (1945); Crain in Margie (1946); with William Holden in Apartment For Peggy (1948); with Linda Darnell and Ann Sothern in A Letter To Three Wives (1949), and with Ethel Waters in Pinky (1949). 

Working with you and knowing you has been a gentle and rare experience

Following her role in Green Mansions (1959), Audrey Hepburn was cast as a Native American girl in John Huston's The Unforgiven (1960), the only western of her career. The film, in which Audrey co-stars with Burt Lancaster, Lillian Gish and Audie Murphy, was plagued with problems. While shooting a scene Audrey was thrown from her horse, breaking several vertebrae in her back and causing production to be suspended for a number of weeks. Audrey recovered —nursed back to health by Marie Louise Habets, the Belgian nun Audrey had portrayed in The Nun's Story (1959)— and eventually completed the film. (Audrey later suffered a miscarriage, due to her fall.) Besides Hepburn, co-star Audie Murphy was also in an accident, which occurred during a break in filming. On a duck-hunting trip Murphy's boat capsized and, unable to swim due to a war injury, the actor nearly drowned and had to be rescued. 

There were also problems on the artistic front. Director John Huston was in constant disagreement with Burt Lancaster, whose production company Hill-Hecht-Lancaster Productions financed the film. Huston wanted the picture to be a bold commentary on racism in America, while Lancaster wanted it to be less controversial and more commercial. In the end, The Unforgiven failed both commercially and critically. Unhappy with his film, Huston later said, "Some pictures I don't care for, but The Unforgiven is the only one I actually dislike...". (For the plot of the film, go here.)

Above (left to right): Burt Lancaster, Lillian Gish, Audrey Hepburn, Doug McClure and Audie Murphy as the Zachary family in John Huston's The Unforgiven. Below: The cast is getting directions from Huston whose back is turned to the camera.

The Unforgiven was shot on location in Durango, Mexico. Audrey Hepburn had her horse riding accident in late January 1959 and, as said, it took several weeks before she recovered and started filming again (wearing an orthopaedic brace). Probably in March, after she had returned to the set, Audrey wrote the following two letters to Lillian Gish (on The Unforgiven horse-themed stationery). The women got along quite well, The Unforgiven being the only film they made together. In the first letter Audrey tells the veteran actress how "working with [her] and knowing [her] has been a gentle and rare experience" and also talks about the gift she made for Gish. In the next letter Audrey thanks Gish for always being there for her. The film Audrey refers to here is Green Mansions, which premiered in March 1959 and was directed by Audrey's then-husband Mel Ferrer. Despite Audrey's hopes for Green Mansions, it was a disaster at the box-office.

Source: Bonhams

Transcript:

Friday

Dearest Lillian

I made this for you for chilly rehearsal halls or stages, drafty sets etc. In each stitch all my love — the wool comes from Finland and is soft but warm. Working with you and knowing you has been a gentle and rare experience — you are even more than what Herbie said you were. My gratitude and hugs

Audrey

P.T.O.

P.S. It was hard to buy something for you in Durango — hence the home-made

You wear it this way

[drawing]

See you tomorrow— or else shall find out when you leave.

About the tips— 50 pesos maximum should cover any one person— or a handbag for instance for Georgina— 25 pesos is fine for those you have been tipping as you went along.

Lillian Gish and Audrey Hepburn as resp. Ma Zachary and her adopted daughter Rachel in The Unforgiven. I think that Audrey was miscast as the Kiowa Indian girl and agree with Bosley Crowther when he wrote for the NY Times in April 1960: "As the girl, Audrey Hepburn is a bit too polished, too fragile and civilized among such tough and stubborn types as Burt Lancaster as the man of the family, Lillian Gish as the thin-lipped frontier mother and Audie Murphy as a redskin-hating son."

Audrey Hepburn knitting on the set of The Unforgiven

Source: Bonhams

Transcript:

Friday

Durango

Darling Mother Lillian

How good, how very good you always are to me — how like you to know just how I felt yesterday and bring me yourself a bouquet of love and warmth and understanding — all my hearts thanks and love.

Mel is HAPPY, terribly so, over the results— notices were mixed so far— most argue with the advisability of telling the story— Bosley Crowther said very nice things— N.Y. Daily News gave it 3½ stars!!! Motion Picture Daily excellent— O Lillian! and lovely ones for me— how deeply happy I am for Mel's sake— and how proud I am of him. [hearts drawing] Your completely devoted Audrey

Audrey Hepburn recovering in the hospital following her horse riding accident, with husband Mel Ferrer by her side.

Director John Huston with Lillian Gish behind the scenes of The Unforgiven

Lillian Gish on the set of The Unforgiven. Gish was an expert shot. For the film John Huston and leading man Burt Lancaster wanted to teach her how to shoot, but Gish turned out to be a better marksman than either Huston or Lancaster. Early in her career she had been taught how to shoot by ex-bank robber Al J. Jennings, who had become an actor and had played in one of her films.

A big big thank you for what you do

Martin Landau began his acting career in the late 1950s. At one time a student at Lee Strassberg's prestigious acting studio and a good friend of James Dean, Landau made his Broadway debut in Middle of the Night in 1957. His first important screen appearance was in a supporting role in Alfred Hitchcock's North by Northwest (1959), playing James Mason's creepy henchman. Other film roles followed, including supporting roles in the epics Cleopatra (1963) and The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965). Landau's big breakthrough occurred on television, however, with leading roles in the series Mission: Impossible (1966–1969) and Space: 1999 (1975–1977). The late 1980s saw a revival of the actor's film career when he was cast in Francis Ford Coppola's Tucker: The Man and His Dream (1988) and Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989), both roles earning him Oscar nominations for Best Supporting Actor. Landau's only Oscar win came several years later for his portrayal of Bela Lugosi in Tim Burton's Ed Wood (1994), starring opposite Johnny Depp who played Ed Wood. Landau continued to act in both film and television productions until his death in 2017, aged 89.

Seen below are two letters addressed to Martin Landau. First, a letter from Alfred Hitchcock with whom Landau had worked on North by Northwest. During production of the film, the two got along very well. Hitch wrote to Landau in connection with Cleopatra, in which Landau had played the role of Rufio, Julius Caesar's right-hand man. In his letter Hitch expresses his indignation about Landau not being included in Cleopatra's Gala Premiere Program. The second letter to Landau is from fellow actor Anthony Hopkins. After rewatching Ed Wood, Hopkins liked the film even better than the first time and in particular Landau's performance in it. His letter is what Hopkins himself calls a "fan letter", showing his great admiration for Landau's work. 

Source: Heritage Auctions

 Landau with Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra

Hitchcock and Landau on the set of North by Northwest

Source: Heritage Auctions

Transcript: 

15 August 96

Dear Martin

It seems we meet only at award events in Hollywood; we manage a brief hello and then are whisked off in different directions to do our ... whatever it is we have to do. In order to avoid the usual actor's chit chat about how one admires another one's work etc etc I've always regretted the lost opportunity to say just that to you.

My favourite Woody Allen movie was "Crimes and Misdemeanors" and of course your performance in that. Also your amazing performance in "Ed Wood". I am up in the wilds of Alberta, about to start a movie with Alec Baldwin. I've had a few evenings free, and so rented a few videos. I picked out "Ed Wood" because I wanted to watch it again ... I just wanted to see how the hell you created Bela Lugosi!! Suffice to say, I don't know how you did it, and it doesn't really matter. So I thought: "well here goes ... write the man a fan letter" You were amazing!! I loved the movie when it was released, and even more now. Your performance was so moving (and funny of course) .... I don't know what else to say really. That's it I guess. I sometimes write letters to actors expressing my admiration for their work, and I think I could do it more often. I think that what I find so moving (and I really mean it - emotionally moving) is the work and detail and care and love and obsession that has gone into the performance. You and Johhny Depp were extraordinary ... It is altogether a strange business this acting stuff. Sometimes scary and mysterious and it takes vast courage to give it one's best shot. Your performance in Crimes and Misdemeanours was also excellent.

I just wanted to write you this note to express my appreciation for your work which is so powerful -what you captured in Ed Wood, as did Johnny Depp was the loneliness and pain of people desperately trying to make a mark in dreamland ... the hopes and longings for fame and success, and whatever it is that drives people sometimes into wonderfully rich and rewarding lives, and others over the edge to disaster and self destruction. I think what I am trying to say, Martin, is a big big thank you for what you do .... Thanks.

Yours

(signed "Tony")

Tony Hopkins

Landau and Johnny Depp in Ed Wood (l) and Sir Anthony Hopkins

Betty Grable's legs are no joking matter

After signing a long-term contract with 20th Century-Fox in early 1940, Betty Grable soon became a major star, some of her biggest hits being Springtime in the Rockies (1942), Coney Island (1943), Mother Wore Tights (1947) and How to Marry a Millionaire (1953). In 1943 she was the number-one box office draw in the world and in 1947 the highest-paid celebrity in the USA. Despite her talents, Grable was most famous for her legs. Her legs are prominently displayed in the now iconic bathing suit photo which adorned numerous lockers of American soldiers during WWII, making Betty the era's number-one pin-up girl. At one point, her legs were ensured for $1 million. Grable herself maintained a down-to-earth attitude about the subject of her legs, once saying to LIFE magazine, "They are fine for pushing the foot pedals in my car". And asked to describe her film career, she said dryly, "I became a star for two reasons, and I'm standing on them".

Above: 1943— Photographer Frank Powolny, who shot Betty Grable's iconic bathing suit photo, poses with his model in front of his work. Below: The original caption of this photo, taken for LIFE by Walter Sanders, reads: "Going to studio in the morning, Betty steps into roadster. Once asked to comment on her hips, well displayed here, she said, 'They’re just where my legs hook on.'"

In late September 1948, Preston Sturges' The Beautiful Blonde from Bashful Bend (1949) was about to go into production and Fox studio head Darryl F. Zanuck had just received the sketches for Betty Grable's wardrobe from costume designer René Hubert. In the following memo to Sturges, Zanuck asks for the director's opinion regarding the finale of the film. Zanuck wanted to show more of Grable's legs, something they had failed to do in The Shocking Miss Pilgrim (1947). For the finale he suggests to have someone step on Grable's skirt, so that it comes off and the actress' legs are shown. While this was eventually incorporated into the scene, it didn't help the picture which did poorly at the box-office.  

DATE: September 20, 1948

TO: Preston Sturges

SUBJECT: THE BEAUTIFUL BLONDE FROM BASHFUL BEND

Dear Preston:

I looked at the wardrobe sketches this afternoon that René Hubert has for Betty and I think they are wonderful, particularly the first red dress. The main reason I wanted to see them is that once when we made a picture called The Shocking Miss Pilgrim we did not show Grable's legs in the picture and in addition to receiving a million letters of protest the incident almost caused a national furor.

I am glad that he has given her a split skirt, at least in the opening, and that later on we see her in her panties.

Right now, I have thought of another idea that I would like to get your reaction on:

Suppose in the fight to the finish she is wearing a simple two-piece suit, something like a bolero jacket with a long skirt. Someone steps on the skirt and it tears off in the start of the battle royal ...

Perhaps you have some other suggestion. I know it perhaps sounds like a silly thing to worry about, but from a commercial standpoint Betty's legs are no joking matter. 

D.F.Z.

Source: Memo from Darryl F. Zanuck: The Golden Years At Twentieth Century-Fox (1993); selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer.

Incidentally, I recently watched The Beautiful Blonde from Bashful Bend at the recommendation of my sister who thoroughly enjoyed it and I must say, despite the film's bad reputation, I enjoyed it too. Admittedly, The Beautiful Blonde doesn't rank among Sturges' finest but the film —about a trigger-happy saloon singer who hides out in the tiny town of Bashful Bend after shooting a judge in the butt— is still good fun. I'm not too familiar with Betty Grable but she is delightful here and looks great in René Hubert's colourful costumes. Grable herself reportedly hated the film. 

A few scenes from The Beautiful Blonde from Bashful Bend, with Betty Grable in her panties and the red dress with a split skirt, as mentioned in Zanuck's memo. Top right, Grable pictured with Marie Windsor and Cesar Romero, and bottom right with Olga San Juan.

Betty in the finale of The Beautiful Blonde from Bashful Bend after someone has stepped on her dress, tearing off the skirt and exposing Betty's legs.

Betty and Preston Sturges on the set of The Beautiful Blonde from Bashful Bend

In my heart you are my dearest friend in the whole world

Linda Darnell hated the Hollywood social scene and made only one close friend in Hollywood, actress/dancer Ann Miller. As young starlets the two had first met at a benefit on Catalina Island and immediately got along. They had much in common, both being from Texas and having started their careers at a very young age. They both lived with their mothers, who also befriended each other. Linda and her mother Pearl often visited the Millers up in the Hollywood Hills. "While the two mama hens clucked," Ann recalled, "we would gossip about our two studios and all the goings-on there." (Linda was under contract to 20th Century-Fox while Ann had signed with Columbia.) The close friendship between Linda and Ann lasted for decades until Linda's untimely death in April 1965.

Linda Darnell (l) and Ann Miller

The story of Linda Darnell's death is a tragic one. Linda was staying at the home of her friend and former secretary Jeanne Curtis when the house caught fire. The women had stayed up late watching one of Darnell's old films on television (the 1940 Star Dust) and afterwards went upstairs to go to bed. They woke up to the fire, which had started in the living room. Curtis and her daughter escaped through the second-floor window while Linda, who was too afraid to jump, had gone downstairs trying to escape through the front door. Firemen eventually found her lying behind the living room sofa, still alive but with burns over 90% of her body. Immediately rushed to the hospital, the actress underwent surgery but ultimately couldn't be saved. On 10 April 1965 —thirty-three hours after the fire— Linda Darnell passed away, only 41 years old. 

_______

While Darnell was in the hospital, letters, cards and telegrams from all over the world came pouring in to wish her well. Her friend Ann Miller sent her the following telegram, still hoping and praying Linda would recover. 

 

Dearest Linda. If there's anything that Mom and I can do, we'll be there to help. In my heart you are my dearest friend in the whole world and always will be. We are saying prayers for your recovery. Love, Annikat and Mommikat.

 

After Linda's death, Ann sent another telegram.  The telegram was read during the second memorial service held in Burbank on 8 May 1965.

 

To my dear friend Linda, lover of life and of people, a giver and not a taker. You will always live in our hearts. Farewell Tweedles. Love always, Annie and Mother K.  

 

Source: Hollywood Beauty: Linda Darnell and the American Dream (1991), by Ronald L. Davis.

Note: 

According to Linda Darnell's biographer Ronald Davis, it was never determined what caused the fire. There was no evidence that careless smoking had started it, and rumours that Linda had been drinking that evening were denied by Jeanne Curtis. It remains a mystery, however, said Davis, why Linda, who was terrified of fire, went down into the smoke and flames. Relatives and friends firmly denied that it had been a subconscious suicide attempt. (After a period of feeling depressed, Linda felt much better again and her career was looking up with a few possible film offers.) Curtis stated that Linda was simply afraid to jump from the second-floor window and thought she could make it out the front door ("Linda had very weak wrists and ankles and I'm sure she was afraid to get out on the ledge and jump.").

Often dubbed the “girl with the perfect face”, Linda Darnell was known for her roles in films like The Mark of Zorro (1940), Blood and Sand (1941), Fallen Angel (1945), Unfaithfully Yours (1948) and A Letter to Three Wives (1949). Here Linda is photographed on the set of Unfaithfully Yours.

I'm a great deal better now

In May 1956, during production of Raintree County (1957), Montgomery Clift attended a party at the house of co-star and friend Elizabeth Taylor and her husband Michael Wilding. On his way home from the party —feeling exhausted and having had too much to drink— Clift lost control of his car and smashed into a telephone pole. The actor had a severe concussion, broken jaw, broken nose and other facial injuries, which required surgery and several months of recovery. Clift's face eventually healed, although the left side of his face was left partially paralysed.

At the time of the accident, studio work at MGM had already been completed and the cast and crew of Raintree County were about to go on location to Mississippi. Due to the accident, however, the location shooting was postponed and it wasn't until 23 July that Clift returned to work. Two days earlier he had written a letter to his friend, theater actor William LeMassena, mentioning his recovery, his new dentures and the location shoot. Clift had reportedly been in a relationship with LeMassena during the early 1940s. The two remained close friends until Clift suffered a fatal heart attack in July 1966 (following years of drug and alcohol abuse). At the time of his death, Clift was only 45 years old. 

Source: Gotta Have Rock and Roll

Monty Clift and Liz Taylor on the set of Edward Dmytryk's Raintree County. While the film did well at the box-office —people went to see it en masse, if only to see the difference in Clift's facial appearance before and after the crash— it did not recoup its huge costs.

_______

Billy LeMassena

Also addressed to William LeMassena is the following letter from Monty Clift several years earlier, dated 5 January 1952. Besides the personal content of the letter —with repeated use of the F-word— Clift fleetingly mentions David Selznick, whom he despised and reportedly called "an interfering f*ckface" behind his back. Clift worked with Selznick on Terminal Station (1953), a film directed by Vittorio De Sica and co-produced by De Sica and Selznick. The actor hated Selznick's interference with De Sica's picture and sided with the Italian director in his disagreements with Selznick. Terminal Station was re-edited by Selznick and in 1954 re-released in the USA under the title Indiscretion of an American Wife. When Clift saw the American cut, he hated it and called it a "big fat failure".

"Eternity" mentioned in the letter is Fred Zinnemann's From Here To Eternity (1953), in which Clift played the role of Private Robert Prewitt. He was the first actor to be hired for the film, with production starting in the spring of 1953. For his performance Clift would receive his third Oscar nomination but didn't win (the other nominations were for The Search (1948) and A Place in the Sun (1951)).

Source: Gotta Have Rock and Roll

Note:

Monty Clift probably misdated his letter, the year being 1953 instead of 1952. Terminal Station was filmed in Rome, Italy from October until December 1952. So it seems likely that the letter was written in January 1953 after production of the film had ended, with Clift being more than eager to go home.

David Selznick and Monty Clift

I think I have been a good dog for three years

In the summer of 1938, Warner Bros. cast Claude Rains as a tough New York City cop in They Made Me a Criminal, a Busby Berkeley film starring John Garfield in the lead as a boxer wrongly accused of murder. Rains, who had signed a long-term contract with Warners in November 1935, considered himself unsuited for the role and did not want to play it. Requesting to be released from the film, the actor sent studio boss Jack Warner a telegram on 31 August 1938. The role would do nothing to advance his career, Rains thought, and his miscasting could only hurt the picture. 

Claude Rains, John Garfield and Billy Halop (of The Dead End Kids) in a scene from They Made Me a Criminal.

August 31, 1938

Jack Warner

Vice President, Warner Brothers

First National Pictures

Dear Jack. Having thoroughly enjoyed my association with the studio and toed the line to cooperate to the best of my ability, I feel that you should know of my inability to understand being cast for the part of Phelan in "They Made Me a Criminal." Frankly, I feel that I am so poorly cast that it would be harmful to your picture. You have done such a good job in building me up that it seems a pity to tear that down with such a part as this, and I am confident that your good judgment will recognize this. Dogs delight to bark and bite and I think I have been a good dog for three years, so perhaps you will give me five minutes to talk it over.

Claude 

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

 

When Warner threatened Rains with suspension, the actor accepted the role and indeed —I must agree with Rains and the general opinion— he was terribly miscast. (But I don't think he harmed the picture, considering how little screentime he had.) Later Rains said that of the films he had made They Made Me a Criminal was one of his least favourites.

One of my favourite character actors, Claude Rains had pivotal roles in a number of classic Warner Bros. films, among them The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), Now, Voyager (1942) and Casablanca (1942). Rains was nominated four times for Best Supporting Actor, i.e. for Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Casablanca, Mr. Skeffington (1944) and Notorious (1946), the latter film on loan-out to David Selznick.

Francis My Love

In her 1990 autobiography Ava: My Story, Ava Gardner said that Frank Sinatra was the love of her life. The two had met in 1943 at a Hollywood nightclub and, after seeing each other only occasionally over the years, met again at a party in 1949. They started an affair, with Sinatra still married to his first wife Nancy Barbato (with whom he had three children). On 7 November 1951, ten days after Sinatra's divorce had come through, Ava and Frank tied the knot, entering into a very tumultuous and highly publicised marriage. The two were both —in Ava's own words— "high-strung people, possessive and jealous and liable to explode fast", their temperaments often leading to heated fights, sometimes even in public. During their marriage, Ava got pregnant with Sinatra's child twice but in both cases had an abortion. On 29 October 1953, after two years of marriage, the couple formally announced their separation, with the divorce eventually being finalised in 1957. Ava and Frank remained good friends until Ava's death in 1990, at age 67. 

Ava Gardner and Frank Sinatra, who was Ava's third and final husband (Artie Shaw and Mickey Rooney being husband number one and two).

In April 1952, five months into their marriage, Ava wrote Sinatra the following note. At the time Ava was filming The Snows of Kilimanjaro (1952) at the 20th Century Fox Studios in Los Angeles while Sinatra was in New York. 

Source: Lot-tissimo

Transcript:

Francis my love —

I finally tricked Bappie [Ava's older sister] + Ben into buying some stationery for me so now I have to use it, cause it's new + cause I love you — That's all I have to say so goodnight baby— I can't wait till next Tuesday— Love, love, love, yours 

Ava

There are loyalties that are greater than the loyalties of friendship

Louis B. Mayer and Irving Thalberg first met in November 1922. Thalberg, who was working for Universal Pictures, made a deep impression on Mayer and a few months later was appointed vice-president in charge of production at Mayer's production company, Louis B. Mayer Pictures. In 1924, the company merged with Metro Pictures Corporation and Goldwyn Pictures to form Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and 25-year-old Thalberg was made part owner and also vice-president and head of production of the new company. Thalberg and Mayer worked well together, Thalberg's ability to combine high quality with commercial success and Mayer's shrewd business sense proving a winning combination. In a few years' time, MGM would become the most successful studio in Hollywood, some of the studio's earlier successes being He Who Gets Slapped (1924), The Merry Widow (1925) and Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ (1925). 

Although Mayer and Thalberg initially got along, their relationship became increasingly strained. By the fall of 1932, Thalberg had come to resent the fact that Mayer and his New York boss, Nicholas Schenck, were getting rich off what he felt were essentially hís successes. Thalberg wanted to take a year off —suffering from depression following the death of his friend Paul Bern— but when Schenck offered him a generous 100,000-share stock option he could not refuse. Mayer, despite being Thalberg's superior, only got 80,000 shares. The stock deal worsened the relationship between Thalberg and Mayer, leaving the latter's ego deeply hurt. Thalberg's growing power and success made Mayer feel increasingly threatened, even more so after an article was published in Fortune magazine in December 1932, depicting Thalberg as the guiding force behind MGM while barely acknowledging Mayer. 

Irving Thalberg, Lillian Gish and Louis B. Mayer in 1926

Then things suddenly changed on Christmas morning 1932 when Thalberg —born with a heart disease and once told he wouldn't live beyond thirty— suffered a heart attack. In order to keep the studio run smoothly, Mayer hired David O. Selznick (his son-in-law) as producer at MGM, giving him his own independent production unit. Thalberg was furious and felt betrayed, thinking that Mayer took advantage of his illness and intended to replace him with Selznick. Although he wasn't being replaced, Mayer would eliminate Thalberg's position of head of production. When Thalberg returned to work in August 1933 (after an extended trip to Europe), MGM had been reorganised and, like Selznick, Thalberg was given a production unit of his own. Several other producers also got their own production units, men who had previously been Thalberg's subordinates like Walter Wanger and Hunt Stromberg. Demoted from head of production to unit producer, Thalberg went along with the new system as long as he didn't have to answer to Mayer. While Selznick and the others were to report to Mayer, Thalberg would report directly to Schenck.

Despite his considerable loss of power, Thalberg continued to make successful films, among them such classics as Mutiny on the Bounty (1935), A Night at the Opera (1935) and Camille (1936). His relationship with Mayer, however, would never be the same. Thalberg biographer Roland Flamini said that what had once been a "friendly rivalry" had "soured into animosity and then degenerated into enmity".

Thalberg won the Oscar for Best Picture for Mutiny on the Bounty (1935), here photographed with Clark Gable and director Frank Capra at the Oscars of 1936. Click here to see and hear Thalberg accept the award from Capra. Thalberg had won the Best Picture Oscar twice before, for The Broadway Melody (1929) and Grand Hotel (1932).

_______

On 23 February 1933, while Thalberg was recovering from his heart attack and about to depart on an extended journey to Europe, Mayer wrote him the following letter. He wanted to restore his relationship with Thalberg after their last meeting had ended in a heated argument and loss of temper. Producer David Selznick had just been hired by Mayer behind Thalberg's back, leaving Thalberg feeling angry and betrayed. As said, the episode caused a rift between Mayer and Thalberg that would never be repaired.

 

Dear Irving: 

I cannot permit you to go away to Europe without expressing to you my regret that our last conference had to end in a loss of temper, particularly on my part. It has always been my desire to make things as comfortable and pleasant for you as I knew how, and I stayed away from you while you were ill because I knew if I saw you it was inevitable that we would touch on business, and this I did not want to do until you were strong again. In fact I told Norma [Shearer] to discourage my coming to see you until you felt quite well.  

It is unfortunate that the so-called friends of yours and mine should be only too glad to create ill feeling, and attempt to disrupt a friendship and association that has existed for about ten years. Up to this time they have been unsuccessful, but they have always been envious of our close contact and regard for each other.  

If you will stop and think, you cannot mention a single motive or reason why I should cease to love you or entertain anything but a feeling of real sincerity and friendship for you. During your absence from the Studio, I was confronted with what seems to me to be a Herculean task, but the old saying still goes —“The show must go on.” Certainly we could not permit the Company to go out of existence just because the active head of production was taken ill and likely to be away from the business for a considerable length of time. I, being your partner, it fell to my lot, and I considered it my duty and legal obligation under our contract, to take up the burden anew where you left off, and to carry on to the best of my ability . . . . 

I regret very much that when I last went to see you to talk things over I did not find you in a receptive mood to treat me as your loyal partner and friend. I felt an air of suspicion on your part towards me, and want you to know if I was correct in my interpretation of your feeling, that it was entirely undeserved. When I went to see you I was wearied down with the problems I have been carrying, which problems have been multiplied because of the fact that the partner who has borne the major portion of them on his shoulders, was not here. Instead of appreciating the fact that I have cheerfully taken on your work, as well as my own, and have carried on to the best of my ability, you chose to bitingly and sarcastically accuse me of many things, by innuendo, which I am supposed to have done to you and your friends. Being a man of temperament, I could not restrain myself any longer, and lost my temper. Even when I did so I regretted it, because I thought it might hurt you physically.  

Regardless of how I felt, or what my nervous condition was, I am big enough to apologize to you, for you were ill and I should have controlled my feelings.  

I am doing everything possible for the best interests of yourself, Bob [MGM attorney Robert Rubin], myself, and the Company, and I want you to know just how I feel towards you; and, if possible, I want you to divest yourself of all suspicion, and believe me to be your real friend, and to know that when I tell you I have the greatest possible affection and sincere friendship for you, I am telling the truth.  

I hope this trip you are about to make will restore you to even greater vigor than you have ever before enjoyed, and will bring you back so that we may work together as we have done for the past ten years. 

And now let me philosophize for a moment. Anyone who has said that I have a feeling of wrong towards you will eventually have cause to regret their treachery, because that is exactly what it would be, and what it would be on my part if I had any feeling other than what I have expressed in this letter towards you. I assure you I will go on loving you to the end.  

I am going to take the liberty of quoting a bit of philosophy from Lincoln. This is a quotation I have on my desk, and one which I value highly: “I do the very best I know how, and the very best I can, and I mean to keep doing so until the end. If the end brings me out right, what is said against me won’t amount to anything. If the end brings me out wrong, ten angels swearing I was right, will make no difference.”  

I assure you, Irving, you will never have the opportunity of looking me in the eye and justly accusing me of disloyalty or of doing anything but what a good friend and an earnest associate would do for your interest, and for your comfort.  

If this letter makes the impression on you that I hope it does, I should be awfully glad to see you before you go and to bid you Bon Voyage. If it does not, I shall be sorry, and will pray for your speedy recovery to strength and good health.  

With love and regards, believe me, 

Faithfully yours, 

Louis

Thalberg responded two days later.

 

Dear Louis:  

I was deeply and sincerely appreciative of the fact that you wrote me a letter, as I should have been very unhappy to have left the city without seeing you. I was indeed sorry that the words between us should have caused on your part a desire not to see me, as I assure you frankly and honestly they did not have that effect on me. We have debated and disagreed many times before, and I hope we shall many times again. For any words that I may have used that aroused bitterness in you, I am truly sorry and I apologize.  

I’m very sorry that I have been unable to make clear that it has not been the actions or the words of any—as you so properly call them—so-called friends, whose libelous statements were bound to occur, that have in any way influenced me. If our friendship and association could be severed by so weak a force, I am sure it would long ago have been ruptured by that source. There are, however, loyalties that are greater than the loyalties of friendship. There are the loyalties to ideals, the loyalties to principles without which friendship loses character and real meaning, for a friend who deliberately permits the other to go wrong without sacrificing all—even friendship—has not reached the truest sense of that ideal. Furthermore, the ideals and principles were ones that we had all agreed upon again and again in our association, and every partner shared equally in the success that attended the carrying out of those principles.  

I had hoped that the defense of those principles would be made by my three closest friends [presumably Mayer, Schenck and Rubin]. I say this not in criticism, but in explanation of the depths of the emotions aroused in me, and in the hopes that you will understand. I realize with deep appreciation the effort you have been making for the company and in my behalf, and no one more than myself understands the strain to which you are subjected.  

Believe me, you have my sympathy, understanding and good wishes in the task you are undertaking; and no one more than myself would enjoy your success, for your own sake even more than for the sake of the company.  

Please come to see me as soon as it is convenient for you to do so, as nothing would make me happier than to feel we had parted at least as good personal friends, if not better, than ever before.  

Irving

 

Source: Irving Thalberg: Boy Wonder to Producer Prince (2009), by Mark A. Vieira

Despite their broken friendship, Thalberg and Mayer remained civil and polite to each other, at least in their letters. Not only the letters above show the courtesies between them, but also the following letter written by Mayer to Thalberg on 31 December 1933. Mayer expresses his wish to "get closer and closer in [his] association" with Thalberg in the new year, and also says he will do anything to make Thalberg's work "light and pleasant". However, it was Mayer who stonewalled Thalberg in preparing his first films as a unit producer. Thalberg found that writers and actors he wanted to work with were suddenly unavailable, assigned elsewhere by Mayer. Also, Mayer had blocked Thalberg's access to MGM's best directors, so for Riptide (1934) Thalberg had to look outside the studio and eventually hired freelancer Edmund Goulding. 

Source: Bonhams

Sunday

Dear Irving

First many thanks for your beautiful gift, when away from home I will think of you. Tomorrow starts the New Year and hope you shall not know of illness. We have much to be thankful for, as for instance your health, that financially we pulled through, but my prayer and fervent hope is that commencing with 1934 we shall get closer and closer in our association. Depend on me to do all in my power to make your task as light and pleasant as lies within my [power].

[signed 

"Faithfully and sincerely Louis B."]

_______

On 14 September 1936, Thalberg suddenly died of pneumonia, only 37 years old. Mayer was very saddened by Thalberg's death and said that he had lost "the finest friend a man could ever have". It must be noted, however, that according to IMDB "some Hollywood observers believe that Mayer was relieved by Thalberg's untimely death, though he professed a great deal of grief publicly...." Whether false or true, after Thalberg's passing Mayer appointed himself head of production in addition to being studio head. Without Thalberg MGM continued to thrive, and it was under Mayer's leadership that a few years later MGM released Gone with the Wind (1939), the story once rejected by Thalberg who famously said: "No Civil War picture ever made a nickel".

Thalberg with wife Norma Shearer and Mayer in 1932