I forgot everything you had done for me

A Swedish elevator boy, who worked in the New York building where Kay Brown had her office, once told Brown of his parents' enthusiasm for a new Swedish star named Ingrid Bergman and her role in the Swedish film Intermezzo (1936). A talent scout and assistant to producer David Selznick, Brown sought out the film and went "madly overboard about the girl", feeling she was "the beginning and end of all things wonderful". Her boss was very interested in remaking foreign films for the American market and as he loved the story of Intermezzo, Brown was sent to Europe (London) in the fall of 1938 to purchase the film rights. Later Selznick sent Brown back to Europe, this time to Stockholm to find the girl and sign her to a contract. (Bergman and Brown hit it off right away and became close friends.)

In May 1939, Bergman met Selznick for the first time at a Hollywood party at Miriam Hopkins' house. Selznick immediately told her that certain things wouldn't do —her name was impossible, her eyebrows too thick and her teeth no good— to which Bergman said she would go back to Sweden if he tried to change her. Realising she meant it, Selznick got an idea. He would do what no one in Hollywood had ever done before. He would allow Bergman to keep her real name and to remain herself. No heavy make-up, no plucking of eyebrows, nothing about her was to be changed. Ingrid Bergman, the Swedish star, was going to be the first "natural" actress in Hollywood.

Earlier, in Stockholm at Bergman's home, Kay Brown had already negotiated Bergman's contract. Selznick wanted to give Bergman the standard seven-year contract, but her husband Petter Lindström objected. In the end, a contract was signed for one picture with the option to do another. 

The picture was, as said, Intermezzo: A Love Story (1939), Selznick's remake of the Swedish Intermezzo, in which Bergman reprised her role of the piano teacher. Immediately after production of the film had ended, Bergman returned to Sweden to make Juninatten (1940). She had loved her Hollywood adventure and desperately hoped that Selznick would want her back for another film. Well, she needn't have worried, because aboard the Queen Mary en route to Sweden she received a telegram saying: "Dear Ingrid. You are a very lovely person and you warm all our lives. Have a marvellous time but come back soon. Your boss." 

In her diary (her "Book"), Bergman wrote about Selznick in the summer of 1939, while aboard the Queen Mary:

From the first minute, I liked him and every day my admiration and my affection grew. He knew his metier so well; he was artistic and stubborn and worked himself to the bone. Sometimes we worked until five o'clock in the morning. I would come to him with all my problems. He left important meetings to come out and discuss with me a pair of shoes. Hundreds of times he saved me from the publicity department. I trusted him when we saw the rushes and he told me what he thought. His judgement was very hard but it was just. To work for him is often terribly demanding and very hard on the nerves. But always there is the feeling that you have somebody to help with understanding, encouragement, and wisdom, and that is beyond price. When I left, he asked me to sign an enormous photograph, and I wrote: For David, I have no words, Ingrid. Which is true.

Back in Hollywood, Bergman was signed to a five-year contract with Selznick. During those five years she would work with him on only two more films, both directed by Alfred Hitchcock, i.e. Spellbound (1945) and Notorious (1946). For her other films she was loaned out to other studios — e.g. Casablanca (1942) to Warner Bros, For Whom The Bell Tolls (1943) to Paramount, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1941) and Gaslight (1944) to MGM, and The Bells of St. Mary's (1945) to RKO. Towards the end of the five-year period, Selznick tried to sign Bergman to a new contract (for seven years) but she wanted more freedom and decided to go freelance. 

Being loaned out all these years, Bergman knew that Selznick had made huge profits on her. She didn't mind, as she loved her work and was earning a lot more than she ever did in Sweden. However, with the expiration of her contract, Bergman felt she was entitled to some of the money Selznick had earned by loaning her out. When she asked him for money, Selznick became offended and angry and would not speak to her anymore. He found her ungrateful, seeing that he was the one who had made her a big star. Bergman, in turn, was very hurt by Selznick's anger, as she had always looked up to him and regarded him as a father and mentor. 

 

The three films Bergman did for Selznick: Intermezzo with Leslie Howard, Spellbound with Gregory Peck and Notorious with Cary Grant. Notorious started out as a Selznick production but, busy with Duel in the Sun (1946), Selznick lost interest and sold the rights to RKO. Nevertheless, with a 50% stake in the profits, Selznick (being Selznick) kept meddling in the project. Hitchcock was eventually credited as the film's producer.

In January 1947, Selznick wrote Bergman a long letter, pointing out all he had done for her and accusing her of being ungrateful and unreasonable for demanding a $60,000 compensation for a film she had never made. Selznick's letter is seen below, although it won't be shown in full as it really is quite looong. The letter is very unusual, because —in order to get his point across— Selznick had made it appear as though it was a letter from Bergman to him. David Thomson, Selznick's biographer, once said that he found it a wonderful idea for a letter but "one that a grown man should have abandoned in the morning".

Incidentally, the $60,000 compensation was eventually paid.

Mr. David O. Selznick

Selznick Studio

Culver City, California

January 13, 1947

Dear David:

I shall set forth herein a summary of the facts in my dispute with you. It is agreed that upon your receipt of my signature to these facts, you will pay me $60,000 in payment for the picture that I did not make for you under my contract, and for which I am claiming compensation.

These facts are as follows: 

You brought me to this country when I was unknown to American- or English-speaking audiences. When I finished my contract with you, under your management, I had become one of the greatest stars in the world, this development taking place entirely while I was under your management.  

[....] 

When my contract drew near to an end, our negotiations for a new contract bogged down upon your insistence on an exclusive contract for a period of seven years. Through these long negotiations, which had gone on for years, I repeatedly assured you that there could be not the slightest question about my continuing with you, but that I wanted to be free to do an occasional picture on the outside. I stated to you verbally and in writing, and repeatedly, that there could be not the slightest question but that I would continue with you. I made these statements right up to a few months before the expiration of my contract with you.

[....] 

When I went to Europe, I sent you a letter, a copy of which is attached hereto, in which among other things I said, "I think friendship and trust are of more worth than a piece of paper called contract. And if you never get that slip of paper you still will have, changed or unchanged, whatever you think, but still, your Ingrid." 

[....] 

Unfortunately for you, when I returned from Europe, and had everything that I wanted, I forgot all about my promises and statements through the years. I forgot everything you had done for me. I forgot my promises, and even my letter. And I demanded payment for the picture which I asked you to give up, and which you had given up, and which could have been one of the subjects listed above, on which you would, of course, have made a great deal of money, as well as absorbed your overhead, which was idle, largely as a result of my not making a picture. It is true that I entertained the troops on my own insistent desire to do so, but I didn't see and still don't see why you shouldn't pay me $60,000 for having done so.

I complained that you did not make more pictures with me, both privately and in the press. I neglected to say to anybody that you wanted to buy The Valley of Decision and make it with me, but that I didn't want to do it; or that you wanted to make The Spiral Staircase with me... or that you wanted to do Katie for Congress [The Farmer's Daughter] with me; or that you wanted to buy A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and make it with me, making it more the story of the mother, but that I didn't care to do it, and that Twentieth Century-Fox thereupon bought it and made it into a great success for themselves and for your Dorothy McGuire; or that you wanted to make Anna Christie with me, but that I didn't want to do it because Garbo had done it; or that you wanted to make Anna Karenina but that I didn't want to do it, for the same reason; or that there were half a dozen other stories you wanted to make with me, but that I didn't like; or that you took the unprecedented attitude that you would lend me to others for pictures I wanted to make rather than ask me to do pictures that you wanted to make, but in roles that I didn't care for.

Throughout the years, you devoted an enormous amount of time to going over material for me, and to reading scripts submitted from every studio in town, in order to be sure that I was the first actress in the history of the screen that had her pick of the best stories of every studio in town, plus the insistence of yourself as to how the picture should be set up and who should make them in each department. This insistence on your part meant that I had Fleming, Cukor, Curtiz, Wood, McCarey as my directors; that I had the best cameramen in the business, all selected and approved by you, since I didn't know any of them; that I had Spencer Tracy, Gary Cooper, Charles Boyer, Joseph Cotten, Bing Crosby, Gregory Peck, Cary Grant as my leading men, although any other rising young actress would have given her eye teeth for any one of these occasionally, and all of this through the formative period of my career. I am aware that I was the envy of every young actress in town, and even of every already established star, and that a great deal of trouble was caused at other studios by actresses who contrasted your handling of me with what they had to play in, whom they had to be directed by, and scripts, stories, leading men, publicity, etc..

When everyone in Hollywood disbelieved in me and wondered why you had brought me over, and through the long period when you couldn't lend me to anyone, and through the secondary period when you were lending me at cost and at less than cost, you insisted that I was the great actress of this generation, that I would be the greatest star in the industry, that I would be the Academy Award winner, that I would be universally acclaimed...

And in consideration of the above, I herewith make demand upon you for €60,000 for the picture which I asked you not to make, and for the period that I was entertaining troops. Upon payment of this amount to me, you are free of the obligation which I feel that you owe me, having had the privilege and glory of lifting me from obscurity to great stardom.

Ingrid Bergman 

Source: Memo from David O. Selznick (1972); selected and edited by Rudy Behlmer

In the end, Bergman and Selznick did part as friends. Realising he had to let her go, Selznick wrote Bergman this goodbye letter, wishing her luck for the future.

Dear Ingrid, 

I am informed that even Dan O'Shea [Selznick's associate] has reluctantly and at long last come to the conclusion that no new deal with us has been seriously envisaged as part of your future plans. This conclusion comes as no surprise to me, despite our final reliance and faith that I expressed in our conversation and in no way lessens my sorrow over our 'divorce' after so many years of happy marriage. You once said you had 'two husbands'. But Petter was the senior, and of course he knew all the time that his will would prevail. I do regret all the futile gestures and elaborate 'negotiations' but that is all I do regret in a relationship which will always be a source of pride to me. I am sure you know that I have the greatest confidence that your career will go steadily up to new heights, achieving in full the promise of your great talent; and that my good wishes will always be yours no matter what you do. So long Ingrid! May all the New Years beyond bring you everything of which you dream. 

David.

Source: Ingrid Bergman: My Story (1980) by Ingrid Bergman and Alan Burgess 

Hoping I will always live up to your praises

In Broadway Melody of 1938 (1937) fifteen-year-old Judy Garland sang You Made Me Love You (I Didn't Want to Do It) to a photograph of Clark Gable. It proved to be her breakthrough performance, making her an overnight sensation. Wishing to capitalise on her success, Judy's studio MGM immediately paired her with Mickey Rooney, at the time a big box-office star, their partnership subsequently bringing about a string of successful films. By the end of the 1930s, Judy had become a big star herself. Her portrayal of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz (1939) along with her immortal rendition of Over the Rainbow forever established her fame.

On 2 August 1937, a few weeks before the release of Broadway Melody of 1938, Judy wrote the following letter to famed gossip columnist Walter Winchell after he had said some nice things about her in his column and radio program. "They mean so much to a person who is just getting started like me", she wrote to him, not knowing then that Broadway Melody would soon catapult her career and her life would never be the same again.

Source: psacard.com

Transcript: 

San Francisco
Mon. Aug 02, 1937

Dear Mr. Winchell

This is just a note to tell you how much I appreciate the lovely things you said about me, both in your column and on your radio program.

They mean so much to a person who is just getting started like me.

Hoping I will always live up to your praises, and deserve them.

I'm sincerely yours

Judy

oxoxoxox P.S. PARDON AWFULL [sic] WRITING PLEASE!

At a fundraising event in 1951: Judy Garland flanked by Milton Berle, Ray Robinson and Walter Winchell (far right).

Grace Kelly's favourite teenage books

In April 1966, Evelyn Byrne (Faculty Advisor at the Elizabeth Barrett Browning High School in New York City) wrote Grace Kelly a letter on behalf of her students, asking her for a list of her favourite teenage books. Grace, who had been Princess of Monaco since 1956, was busy at the time with the Monte-Carlo Centenary and through her secretary initially rejected the school's request. Eventually, a year or so later, Grace did comply, giving Miss Byrne the information she had asked for. 

Below you'll find Grace's letter with her favourite teen books, showing that apart from poetry she seemed to have favoured adventure books. 

Grace reads The Silent World, a 1953 book co-written by Captain Jacques-Yves Cousteau and Frédéric Dumas. 

Source: liveauctioneers

Transcript:

Among my favorite books as a teenager were, "The Call of the Wild", "Typhoon" and, of course, "Black Beauty". Since I was a teenager during World War II, I was also very impressed with books like "The Raft" and "The White Cliffs of Dover". 

I was very fond of poetry, such as "Evangeline", and among my favorite poets are Wordsworth, Keats and Shelley.  

(signed 'Grace de Monaco')

Princess Grace of Monaco 

Note:

In case you're not familiar with the books in question, here are the authors:

The Call of the Wild by Jack London (1903)

Typhoon by Joseph Conrad (1902)

Black Beauty by Anna Sewell (1877)

The Raft by Robert Trumbull (1942)

The White Cliffs by Alice Duer Miller (1940), poem

Evangeline by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1847), poem

Tying at the Oscars

Oscar ties rarely happen. Of the 92 times the Oscars have been awarded, there were only six ties. Four times the ties occurred in minor categories: 

1950 (22nd Oscars) – Best Documentary Short Subject: A Chance To Live (Richard De Rochemont and James L. Shute) and So Much For So Little (Chuck Jones and Edward Selzer) 

1987 (59th Oscars) – Best Documentary Feature: Artie Shaw: Time Is All You’ve Got (Brigitte Berman) and Down And Out In America (Joseph Feury and Milton Justice)

1995 (67th Oscars) – Best Live Action Short Film: Franz Kafka’s It’s a Wonderful Life (Peter Capaldi and Ruth Kenley-Letts) and Trevor (Peggy Rajski and Randy Stone)

2013 (85th Oscars) – Best Sound Editing: Skyfall (Per Hallberg and Karen Baker Landers) and Zero Dark Thirty (Paul N.J. Ottosson) 

Twice in Oscar history the tie happened in a major acting category. The first time was in November 1932 at the 5th Academy Awards, when both Fredric March and Wallace Beery took home the prize for Best Actor. March won for his role in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Beery for The Champ. Technically, March alone should have won since he got one more vote than Beery. At the time, however, the Academy rules stipulated that if a fellow nominee came within three votes of the winner, both would get the Oscar. By 1950, the rules had been changed, and only if candidates received the exact same number of votes it would qualify as a tie.

Wallace Beery (far left) and Fredric March with their Oscars, pictured here with Lionel Barrymore and Master of Ceremonies Conrad Nagel.

Another tie occurred on 14 April 1969 at the 41st Academy Awards, which is now the best-known tie in Oscar history. In the Best Actress category there were two actresses who had received exactly 3,030 votes each, i.e. Katharine Hepburn for her role as Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine in The Lion in Winter and Barbra Streisand for her debut film performance as Fanny Brice in Funny Girl. Presenter Ingrid Bergman was shocked and surprised after she opened the envelope, exclaiming: "The winner... it's a tie!" It was Hepburn's 11th Oscar nomination and her third win. (She had previously won for Morning Glory (1933) and for Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967) and would even win a fourth Oscar for On Golden Pond (1981).) Hepburn never came to the ceremony to receive her Oscar  —"As for me, prizes are nothing. My prize is my work", she once said—  and on this occasion it was the film's director Anthony Harvey who received the Oscar on her behalf. Of course newcomer Barbra Streisand did show up and was very happy with her prize, as can be seen in this clip.

Veteran Katharine Hepburn and newcomer Barbra Streisand in their Oscar-winning roles (above) and Streisand receiving her prize while Anthony Harvey accepts Hepburn's (below).

Following the Oscar tie, Hepburn sent Streisand a congratulatory telegram. Unfortunately I don't have this wire to show you, but below you'll find Streisand's reply to Hepburn. Streisand concludes her note jokingly with the remark "Do you have start singing as well!!!", referring to Hepburn's first and only Broadway musical Coco which would premiere later that year. Hepburn had no illusions when it came to her singing and reportedly later said: "I sound like Donald Duck". (Watch Hepburn as Coco Chanel here; she starts singing 8:15 minutes into the clip.)

Source: oscars.org

Transcript:

Dear Kate — (I feel I should still call you Miss Hepburn)
How very nice of you to send me such a lovely wire —
I, too, am most honored to share this with you —
but, there's one question I have to ask —
It's tough enough being in the same business with you—
but, do you have to start singing as well !!!!
with much admiration
Barbra

"Golden Arrow" seems to make unusually good sense

Bette Davis hated most of the films she made during the first half of the 1930s. There were exceptions like Of Human Bondage (1934), Dangerous (1935) and Petrified Forest (1936), but on the whole she thought the films were duds, doing nothing to advance her career. One of the films Bette despised the most was The Golden Arrow (1936), one of her many collaborations with George Brent. "I was actually insulted to have to appear in such a cheap, nothing story", she later said. The film was one of the "stinkers" responsible for Bette's breach of contract with Warner Bros. and her eventual lawsuit against the studio, which she lost. (During the latter part of the 1930s, she did get significantly better roles, starting with Marked Woman (1937).)

Seeing how much Bette hated The Golden Arrow, it's surprising how she still found something positive to say about it. Not about the film itself or her role in it, admittedly, but about the film's title. On a postcard, postmarked 18 May 1936, Bette wrote that, compared with the average film title, The Golden Arrow made "unusually good sense". Bette's handwritten message, consisting of just two lines, was sent to esteemed collector Saul Goodman and can be seen below.

I actually like a lot of the lighter, fluffier films Bette herself hated, including Golden Arrow. Bette and George are pictured here together in a scene from the film. I think they had the best chemistry.

Source: icollector.com

Transcript:

The title "Golden Arrow" —as compared with the average moving picture title seems to me to make unusually good sense. It means Cupid’s dart—or arrow—instead of being shot because of love—in this case is shot for gold-money!

Bette Davis

[Bette plays a (fake) heiress, chased by suitors who are after her money. In order to get rid of these fortune-hunters, she enters into a marriage of convenience with a reporter, played by Brent]

The friendship of Martin Landau and James Dean

Martin Landau and James Dean got to know each other in the early 1950s when Dean moved from Fairmont, Indiana, to New York City. Landau had been working as a political cartoonist for the New York Daily News since he was seventeen but, like Dean, wanted to pursue an acting career. The two young men both studied at Lee Strassberg's famous and prestigious acting studio in New York and quickly became friends. Landau, who was three years older than Dean, recalled years later: "James Dean was my best friend. We were two young would-be and still-yet-to-work unemployed actors, dreaming out loud and enjoying every moment... We'd spend lots of time talking about the future, our craft and our chances of success in this newly different, ever-changing modern world we were living in."

When asked if his friend had been destined to die young, Landau resolutely answered "no". "Jimmy never talked about dying. Jimmy talked about living. Jimmy's only concern was that he would become an old boy, like Mickey Rooney. When Elia Kazan tested actors for East of Eden, Paul Newman and Jimmy auditioned on the same day. Paul looked like a man when he was 20, whereas Jimmy was still playing high school kids at 23. That bothered him a bit. But Jimmy did not want to die."

Still, Dean died at the much too young age of 24 on 30 September 1955, after he crashed his Porsche trying to avoid a head-on collision with an oncoming car. Shocked and devastated by the loss of his friend, Landau wrote the following letter of condolence to Dean's uncle and aunt, Marcus and Orteuse Winslow (who had raised Dean after the death of his mother in 1940), and his father Winton. The image below is a rough draft of the letter that Landau eventually sent.

Transcript:

Dear Mr. + Mrs. Winslow
+ Mr. Dean,

I feel as though I know you, having been one of Jim's oldest + closest friends in New York. I had heard him speak of you, the farm, and Indiana many, many times, with the greatest admiration, love and respect.

In fact, we almost met in November of 1953, when Jim went home for a visit. He asked me to come along but I was rehearsing a play at the time and was unable to get away. I'm sorry now that I didn't, I would have liked very much to have been able to meet you.

I am writing this letter because I know and understand how much you meant to Jimmy. It is hard to believe that he is gone. Last Christmas night, Jimmy had dinner at home with me + my family. For three years my mother had heard me speak of Jimmy, and although they had spoken to him on the telephone, this was the first time they had ever met him. They practically fell in love with him, as did my entire family, and feel now as though they've lost a son.

The news of Jim's death was a terrible shock to me, I can't begin to imagine what his loss must mean to you who raised him and were closer to him than anyone else in the world. I want you to know how terribly sorry I am.

I wish I were better at expressing my sympathy. This boy had every reason in the world to live. None of the comforting phrases apply. All there is to be grateful for is that, young as he was, he had shown his genius, and that remains, even though a thin substitute for his continuing life.

I am proud and happy to have known Jim, both as a fellow actor and a friend. I am going to miss him very much.

There's really nothing more I can say. I am heartsick for you and for everyone who loved him.

Sincerely -

Marty Landau

Source: Indiana Historical Society
(click on the link to read the Winslows' reply)

James Dean and Martin Landau photographed in a New York City diner in 1955. While Dean's career was tragically cut short, Landau would go on to have a long career. Landau's best-known work includes the tv series Mission: Impossible (1966-1969) as well as supporting roles in Alfred Hitchcock's North by Northwest  (1959), Tucker: The Man and His Dream (1988), Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989) and Ed Wood (1994), the latter film earning him the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.

It shows that our industry has a warm heart

On 17 April 1961, Elizabeth Taylor received what is generally regarded as a Sympathy Oscar. After having been nominated in the Best Actress category for three consecutive years (i.e. for her performances in Raintree County (1957), Cat On a Hot Tin Roof (1958) and Suddenly, Last Summer (1959)), Elizabeth finally won the Oscar for her role in Butterfield 8 (1960).

The role of call-girl Gloria Wandrous in Butterfield was not a part Elizabeth had wanted to play. In fact, she hated it and she also hated the film. However, due to her contractual obligation to MGM, Elizabeth still owed the studio one more film before she was free to do Cleopatra (1963) for 20th Century-Fox. Butterfield was the film MGM wanted her to make, which she then did under protest. (When Butterfield became a box-office hit she famously said: "I still say it stinks".)

Elizabeth had not been a favourite to win the Oscar, but a few months prior to the ceremony she suddenly became very ill. While filming Cleopatra, she contracted double pneumonia and an emergency tracheotomy was performed to save her life. Thinking that Elizabeth had not survived, some newspapers already ran her obituary. (Joan Collins was standing by to take over Elizabeth's role as Cleopatra in case of her death.) The fact that Elizabeth almost died is considered by many the main reason why she ultimately won. Elizabeth herself later acknowledged that her Oscar win had indeed been a sympathy win: "The reason I got the Oscar was that I had come within a breath of dying of pneumonia only a few months before. Nevertheless, I was filled with gratitude when I got it, for it meant being considered an actress and not a moviestar. My eyes were wet and my throat awfully tight. Any of my three previous nominations was more deserving. I knew it was a sympathy award, but I was still proud to get it."

Elizabeth Taylor, seated next to husband Eddie Fisher, is congratulated on her Oscar win by Greer Garson at the Oscar after-party. Elizabeth won a second Best Actress Oscar for Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966), this time for a performance which earned her much critical acclaim. 

Greer Garson was one of Elizabeth's fellow nominees, being nominated for her role as Eleanor Roosevelt in Sunrise at Campobello. The rest of the nominees were Shirley MacLaine for The Apartment — considered a favourite to win the Oscar, MacLaine would later quip: "I lost to a tracheotomy"—, Deborah Kerr for The Sundowners and Melina Mercouri for Never on Sunday. A month after the Oscar ceremony was held, Garson wrote the following letter to Ted Ashton, unit publicist at Warner Bros., in which she gave her opinion on Elizabeth's "sentimental" Oscar win. 

Incidentally, Greer had won the Golden Globe for her portrayal of Mrs. Roosevelt a month earlier, beating Elizabeth who was also nominated.

Source: icollector.com

Transcript:

May 1, 1961

Dear Ted:

How nice of you to write. Have been out of town and found your letter just now on my return.

Certainly missed you at the Academy Awards presentation and am so disappointed that you were prevented from seeing it even on television. Bob Hope paid me a fine compliment when he introduced me and said I had played E.R. so convincingly that now Westbrook Pegler [journalist who had a feud with Mrs. Roosevelt] hates me! If the award of Oscar this year to Elizabeth was a sentimental award, as many claim, then I am very glad indeed because it shows that our industry, often accused of being cold and cynical, has a warm heart. I for one was well pleased to see it go to her at this time and I am sure it will speed her good recovery. She is a fine actress, too, and has done splendid work before and will do lots more, I am sure. As for me, I was thrilled and very happy to have a nomination and to be part of the whole exciting business and occasion.

So you speak German... I have been invited to represent the USA as one of the nine judges at the West Berlin Film Festival this summer. I don't think I am going to be free to accept, but if I were I would beg Messrs. Warner and Orr to give you a couple of weeks leave to come along and help me - provided, of course, that it seemed an interesting project to you.

Well, maybe there will be another opportunity before too long for us to work together. I do hope so. Meanwhile, good luck, Amigo, and all the best as always from

Yours sincerely,

(signed 'Greer')
GREER GARSON

-Go here to watch a still weak Elizabeth Taylor receive her Oscar.
-Go here to watch the ever elegant Greer Garson present the Best Actor Oscar after being introduced by Bob Hope (as mentioned in her letter).

Greer Garson and Elizabeth Taylor in Julia Misbehaves (1948), their only film together in which Garson played Elizabeth's mother.

I strongly feel that "The Maltese Falcon" is not an important picture

During his career, George Raft had rejected a lot of roles. He seemed to have made a habit of turning down good parts, often in films that turned out to be classics, e.g. Dead End (1937), High Sierra (1941), The Maltese Falcon (1941) and Double Indemnity (1944). (After rejecting Double Indemnity, Raft later said: "I wasn't very intelligent then".)

One of the roles Raft had refused was the role of private investigator Sam Spade in John Huston's The Maltese Falcon. Raft didn't want to work with an inexperienced director —the film was Huston's debut— and he had no faith in Dashiell Hammett's story as it had been filmed twice before, having flopped both times*. Raft chose to do Raoul Walsh's Manpower (1941) instead, in which he received third billing after Edward G. Robinson and Marlene Dietrich.

*The Maltese Falcon (1931), the first version, was a pre-code starring Ricardo Cortez as Sam Spade. The second version was Satan Met a Lady (1936), a loose comedy adaptation of Hammett's story, starring Bette Davis and Warren William as the detective, renamed Ted Shane. 

The role of Sam Spade eventually went to Humphrey Bogart, turning him into a major star. Bogart had been Huston's first choice from the start and Huston was over the moon when Raft rejected the part. I guess we should be grateful to Raft for considering The Maltese Falcon "not an important picture", as he wrote to his boss Jack Warner in the following letter on 6 June 1941. Had Raft accepted and played Spade instead of Bogie, The Maltese Falcon would most likely not be the classic it is today.

Mr. Jack Warner
Warner Bros. Pictures Inc.
Burbank, California

June 6, 1941

Dear Jack:

I am writing to you personally because I feel any difference of opinion that may have arisen between us can be settled in a most friendly manner. As you know, I strongly feel that The Maltese Falcon, which you want me to do, is not an important picture and, in this connection, I must remind you again, before I signed the new contract with you, you promised me that you would not require me to perform in anything but important pictures — in fact, you told me in the presence of Noll Gurney [agent], you would be glad to give me a letter to this effect. A long time has passed since you made this promise to me and I think you should let me have this letter now.

I understand that you are quite agreeable to use someone else in The Maltese Falcon, provided you get an extension of my time. This I think is only fair....

Very sincerely,

George Raft 

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

My thanks to you for the break you gave me

Following his successful portrayal of Count Dracula in Tod Browning's Dracula (1931), Hungarian-born Bela Lugosi was typecast in horror roles for the rest of his career. He often played opposite his rival Boris Karloff (e.g. in The Black Cat (1934), The Raven (1935) and Son of Frankenstein (1939)), with Karloff always receiving top billing, even when Lugosi had the bigger role. Lugosi repeatedly tried to break away from his horror image, but due to his strong Hungarian accent the roles he could play were limited. (He did have a rare non-horror role in Ernst Lubitsch's box-office hit Ninotchka (1939).) 

In the mid-1930s, Universal stopped producing horror films and Lugosi's career started to decline. While Boris Karloff found work in other genres, Lugosi did not. For two years he didn't receive any film offers and tried to work on the stage. Facing serious financial problems, Lugosi had to borrow money from the Actors Fund of America to pay for his baby son's medical bills.

Below: Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi in a scene from the 1935 The Raven. While Lugosi had the bigger role, he received second billing after Karloff.

Quite unexpectedly, Lugosi's career received a big boost in August 1938 when a Los Angeles film theater showed the 1931 films Dracula and Frankenstein as a double bill. The screening of these two films together was so successful that extra shows were scheduled and Lugosi was hired to make public appearances at the theater. Because of the enormous success of the LA screenings, Universal decided to re-release both pictures nationwide, which led to a major success at the box-office.

Not having produced a new horror film in two years but realising there were still lots of fans of the genre, Universal began to make horror films again. The first film was a big-budget Frankenstein sequel, reuniting Lugosi and Karloff. Entitled Son of Frankenstein (1939), the film became a huge success and Lugosi's role in it is generally considered one of his best. A year later, Universal made another film with Lugosi and Karloff, Black Friday (1940). Although the two men didn't share one single scene, the film did bring them together for a bit of Hollywood publicity.

On 14 January 1940, famed gossip columnist Hedda Hopper devoted an article to Lugosi and Karloff in The Los Angeles Times. Hopper had visited and interviewed the men at Karloff's house and had found them to be just a "pair of home-loving folks", talking about the birth of their children, the books they read etc.. A powerful and influential force in Hollywood, Hopper could make or break a career and her positive article inspired Lugosi to write to her and thank her, hoping the article would "increase [his] popularity and cement [his] comeback". Unfortunately, despite his hopes, Lugosi would mainly appear in forgettable low-budget films from then on. (There were a few exceptions such as Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman (1943), a re-teaming with Karloff in The Body Snatcher (1945) and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948).) In the end, Lugosi died a poor man, buried in the black cape of the character that made him famous.

Source: The Bela Lugosi Blog

Transcript:

January 23, 1940

Hedda Hopper

c/o Los Angeles Times

Los Angeles, Calif.

My dear Miss Hopper:-

Thru my clipping office I just received that wonderful article you wrote about Karloff and myself on January 14, 1940.

I cannot find the words that would adequately express my thanks to you for the break you gave me . I am sure it will increase my popularity and cement my comeback.

Hopeing [sic] that you will have the kindness to preserve that attitude of goodwill, I beg to remain always - 

gratefully yours.

(signed 'Bela Lugosi')

__________

In November of that same year, Lugosi wrote Hopper another letter in response to an article she had written about the appeal of horror films. Again, he was "deeply grateful" to her for her article, which had been published in the LA Times on 10 November 1940.

Nov. 13, 1940 

Miss Hedda Hopper
Guaranty Bldg.
1945 Hollywood Blvd.
Hollywood 

My dear Miss Hopper:

I am writing to express my appreciation for your article in Sunday's Times. 

In my decade as a bogeyman I have read a number of explanations of the popular appeal of horror pictures, but none gave such a lucid and understandable analysis as you did. You hit the nail squarely on the head. 

I feel that your article will help me both in the film industry and with the public in general. So, naturally, I am deeply grateful to you. 

Therefore, my profound thanks.

Sincerely,
(signed 'Bela Lugosi')

Source: Robert Edward Auctions

In case you're interested, both Hedda Hopper's articles can be read here.

Marilyn Monroe, Tony Curtis & the Hitler Quote

In 1959, Marilyn Monroe and Tony Curtis shared a kissing scene in Billy Wilder's comedy Some Like It Hot and afterwards Curtis made his infamous remark about Marilyn, that kissing her was "like kissing Hitler". Throughout the years, when interviewed about the subject, Curtis kept denying he had made the remark. His constant denial seems strange, given the fact that there were multiple witnesses who heard him say it. 

The now notorious line was uttered by Curtis when he and others were watching the rushes of the kissing scene in the screening room. Co-star Jack Lemmon and still photographer Richard Miller were among those present and describe the incident in the 2001 documentary Nobody's perfect: The Making of Some Like It Hot (watch in full here). After the rushes had ended, Curtis stood up and made the Hitler comment, causing everybody in the room to fall silent. While shocked when he heard it, in the docu Lemmon 'defends' Curtis, saying "he didn't really mean it, of course", and that if he (Lemmon) had said it he'd probably deny it too. At that point Marilyn was impossible to work with, unable to remember even the simplest of lines, requiring numerous retakes, and always showing up late or not showing up at all. Curtis was clearly fed up with her (as was the rest of the cast and crew) and, according to Richard Miller, he was also mad at Marilyn for having refused to kiss him during rehearsal. (Billy Wilder wanted to rehearse the kiss so the cameraman could check the lighting etc., but Marilyn wouldn't kiss Curtis until they were shooting the actual scene.)

Towards the end of his life, Curtis finally admitted to making the vicious remark. In his 2009 memoir The Making of Some Like It Hot: My Memories of Marilyn Monroe and the Classic American Movie, co-written by Mark Vieira and published a year before Curtis' death, the actor implied it wasn't serious but meant sarcastically: "The lights came up. I had to leave. On my way out, some guy whom I didn’t recognize called out to me. "Tony," he said. "That was terrific. Hey. Tell me. What was it like kissing Marilyn?" I didn’t stop to acknowledge him. I kept walking. "What do you think it was like, buddy?" I got to the door. "Like kissing Hitler?" I went through the door and slammed it after me". 

Film critic Mick LaSalle argued in this interesting article (and I think his argument makes a lot of sense) that if Curtis had really meant to be sarcastic, he wouldn't have chosen Hitler but someone else, like Milton Berle for example. LaSalle said that "Hitler may be a reference point, but not for ugliness or physical revulsion. He's a reference point for moral horror, for someone you really, really hate".

Below: Marilyn and Curtis talking on the set of Some Like It Hot, with Paula Strasberg behind Marilyn looking on.

Marilyn herself was not in the screening room to hear Curtis say it but her drama coach and confidante Paula Strasberg was. Whether Marilyn heard it from Strasberg or from someone else, the remark got back to her and she would later comment on it in a 1962 interview.

.... You’ve read there was some actor that once said about me that kissing me was like kissing Hitler. Well, I think that’s, you know, his problem. And if I really have to do intimate love scenes with an individual who really has these kind of feelings towards me, then my fantasy can come into play. In other words, out with him, in with somebody else. There was somebody else there, not him. He was never there. [To hear Marilyn say the words, go here.]

It is believed that the following note from Marilyn was also a reaction to Curtis' Hitler remark. Moreover, the note contradicts the claims that Curtis would make decades after Marilyn's death of having been romantically involved with her. In his 2008 memoir American Prince, Curtis said they had an affair before Marilyn became famous. And in his 2009 book he went even further, claiming they rekindled the affair during Some Like It Hot and that she got pregnant with hís child, not Arthur Miller's (i.e. the child she later miscarried). While Marilyn wasn't alive anymore to deny what sounds like a fantastical story, this one-line note, handwritten by Marilyn, seems to refute Curtis' claims. As said, the note was reportedly written in response to the "kissing Hitler" remark.

Source: Julien's Auctions

Transcript:

There is only one way he could comment on my sexuality and I'm afraid he has never had the opportunity.

Credit: gif made by my twin sister who runs this great classic Hollywood blog.