This thing called Zsa Zsa Gabor ...

Seldom praised for her acting skills, Hungarian-born Zsa Zsa Gabor is probably best known for her flamboyant personality, her many marriages (9!) and her great one-liners. Her memorable quotes include "I am a marvellous housekeeper. Every time I leave a man, I keep his house."/ "Husbands are like fires. They go out when unattended."/ "I want a man who's kind and understanding. Is that too much to ask of a millionaire?" That Zsa Zsa had a way with words is also clear from the following letter she sent to the fan magazine Photoplay in April 1953 (published in the Soap Box-section of the Readers Inc. page). The letter was Zsa Zsa's response to a negative comment about her from a reader named Lou Sullivan — a comment she simply couldn't ignore.

Source: Photoplay, December 1952 via Archive.org

Source: Photoplay, April 1953 via Archive.org

Signed, David-in-quest-of-his-Mate

In her autobiography A Private View (1983) Irene Mayer Selznick said that David Selznick didn't seriously propose to her until long after they knew they were going to be married. Once he had begun to propose, he never stopped. In fact, not a day went by without yet another proposal, each one more original than the previous one. 

One of Selznick's marriage proposals to Irene Mayer is seen below. In a letter the producer first discussed several film-related matters and then, seemingly as an afterthought, added this great proposal:

I've been thinking of you and decided to marry you if you'll have me. I'm middle-aged to be sure; I have a hammer toe and I run into things; I'm ex-arrogant, and once I wanted to be a big shot; I snore loudly, drink exuberantly, cuddle (i.e. snuggle) expansively, work excessively, play enthusiastically, and my future is drawing to a close, but I'm tall and Jewish and I do love you. David-in-quest-of-his-Mate.  

David Selznick and Irene Mayer (daughter of MGM mogul Louis B. Mayer) were married from 1930 until 1949 and had two sons. They eventually grew apart as a result of Selznick's infidelity —he had started an affair with Jennifer Jones— and his gambling addiction. The couple separated in 1945 but their divorce wouldn't be finalised until 1949. Having worked as an executive at her husband's production company Selznick International Pictures, Irene began a career as a theatre producer after the separation, producing the 1947 play A Streetcar Named Desire.  

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

Bette Davis & Life with Father

When Warner Bros. decided to film Life with Father (1947), the 1939 hit play by Howard Lindsay and Russel Crouse, they quickly settled on William Powell for the role of Father (Clarence Day Sr.) and borrowed him from MGM. Finding the right actress to play Mother (Vinnie Day) proved a more difficult task, though. Several actresses were tested, including Rosalind Russell, Rosemary DeCamp and even Mary Pickford who, wishing to make her comeback to the screen after a thirteen-year absence, was very eager to play the part. None of these ladies was chosen, however, with Pickford quite devastated when she was rejected. (Producer Robert Buckner recalled: "[Studio boss] Jack Warner and [director] Mike Curtiz were cowards about telling her, so they told me to go to Pickfair and inform America's sweetheart that she was washed up in pictures. She made a great entrance down a staircase and was smiling and beaming, thinking she had the part. She just dissolved in front of my eyes when I told her the bad news.")

1945, Bette Davis' costume test for Life with Father

The studio's initial choice for the female lead was Bette Davis, Warners' top leading lady at the time. While Bette wanted the role, the authors of the play weren't convinced she would be right for it, so they insisted that Michael Curtiz shoot a test with her doing a comedy scene. Curtiz travelled to New York to show the test to the theatre people but they were unimpressed and Bette was rejected. In a 1980's interview Bette said she didn't mind losing the part as she didn't want to work with Curtiz again anyway. (Having worked with Curtiz six times, Bette once said about him: "He was not a performer's director ... You had to be very strong with him. And he wasn't fun. He could humiliate people, but never me. He was a real BASTARD! Cruelest man I have ever known. But he knew how to shoot a film well.") 

The part of Vinnie Day was eventually given to freelance actress Irene Dunne, at the time still a top box-office draw. Irene thought the role wasn't appealing at all —she hated Vinnie's ditsiness— and refused it several times. It took a lot of persuasion from Curtiz before Dunne finally accepted: "... I accepted the part because it seemed to be rewarding enough to be in a good picture that everyone will see." And indeed — Life with Father became a huge box-office hit, receiving generally good reviews and four Oscar nominations to boot (including nominations for William Powell and Max Steiner for his score).

In December 1945, after returning from New York where he had screened Bette Davis' test for Howard Lindsay and Russel Crouse, Michael Curtiz sent Bette the following telegram in care of the Plaza Hotel in Laredo, Texas, where she and her third husband William Grant Sherry were still enjoying their honeymoon. Curtiz informed her that the people in New York didn't approve of the test, finding her performance "too powerful, too dominating, too superior and without any naivete...". The director went on to say that he was "heart-broken" as he had looked forward to working with her again. Whether Curtiz was sincere or not I don't know; at any rate, as mentioned above, Bette didn't like working with him and the two never worked together again.

 

Mrs. William Grant Sherry
Plaza Hotel
Laredo Texas 

December 14, 1945

Dear Bette: Just returned from New York after projecting your test to the group that operates "Life with Father". Bette, it was worse than the Potsdam Conference. I was not born to be a diplomat, so probably hurt a few people's feelings. I was and still am honestly convinced that you are the woman to play the part but I could not overcome objections of these critics using all the technical terms of the theatre, such as the characterization is too powerful, too dominating, too superior and without any naivete, etc., etc. I explained the circumstances under which we made the test without much preparation. Tried to convince them that being the great artist you are you could overcome all objections and you could easily characterize the part as it should be played but I was not very successful; was overruled, and I am afraid Bette, we will have to just consider it for the time being forgotten, unless I can change their minds when they come out to the coast and insist upon other tests. All I can tell you is that I am heart-broken as I had looked forward to working with you and I hope some day we can start on a moving picture which will not have to be approved by superior prejudiced critics of the theatre. Much love and happiness to you and your husband— Michael Curtiz

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

Above: Michael Curtiz and Bette Davis during production of The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1939), the last of their six collaborations. The other films are The Cabin in the Cotton (1932), 20,000 Years in Sing Sing (1932), Jimmy the Gent (1934), Front Page Woman (1935) and Kid Galahad (1937). Below: William Powell and Irene Dunne as Clarence and Vinnie Day in Life with Father. I can only agree that Bette would have been totally wrong for the role of Vinnie; Irene, however, was delightful in the role, being sweet, ditsy and clever at the same time.

You should face the fact that he has no talent

In 1952, Italian neorealist director Roberto Rossellini approached Rebecca West, British author and literary critic, to write the dialogue for his next film, to be based on Colette's novel Duo. West then travelled to Italy to meet with Rossellini and his wife Ingrid Bergman who was to be the female star of the film. Meeting Rossellini, West found the director "a show-off, very gabby, ignorant and pretentious" and thought that his idea for the screenplay was "not enough to make a good film". (As Rossellini had not been able to purchase the rights to Colette's novel, he had presented her with a plot line that was quite different from the book.) Also unimpressed with Rossellini's previous film Europe '51 (1952), West eventually declined the assignment and went back home.

Above and below: Rebecca West and Ingrid Bergman at the Women's National Press Club in April 1948.

Returning home from her disappointing Italian trip, West received a letter from Ingrid Bergman who apologised for the failure of their joint project. The letter shown below is not Bergman's letter, though, but West's brutally honest reply ("an extraordinary letter", as she herself called it, unlike anything she had ever written).

Incidentally, although West felt Bergman had "great talent and a great personality", she once made some derogatory remarks about the actress, saying that she was "common and mannerless" and that —after West's husband had told her that Ingrid's mother came from Hamburg, Germany— "she might well be a housemaid in a big Hamburg hotel".

10 March 1953

Dear Miss Bergman,

Thank you very much for your letter, which I am going to answer honestly. My feelings were not in the least hurt by the abandonment of what was for both of us a trial trip. But I was distressed by the whole incident, from your point of view. I had been asked to write the dialogue of a film which was being founded on an important novel, Duo, by an important writer, Colette.

Instead I was faced with a ridiculous idea, incapable of development in any way not likely to be prejudicial to your reputation.

You may love your husband very much, but you should face the fact that he has no talent. You have great talent and a great personality, and it is absurd that for the sake of your private emotions you should allow these gifts to be wasted in a film like Europe 1951, which is so inept that even your performance, which excites admiration by itself, cannot save it.

You will not believe this when you read it, and you will think me an odious woman. But when your husband has made two more films for you, you remember this letter, and think about putting yourself in the hands of a competent director.

I never wrote such an extraordinary letter as this in my life. But I have also never seen such an extraordinary situation as the wreck of your artistic life.

With all good wishes,

I am, 

Yours sincerely,

Rebecca West  

[Source: Selected Letters of Rebecca West, edited by Bonnie Kime Scott (2000)] 

 

The film that Rossellini eventually made without West's help was Journey to Italy (1954), starring Ingrid Bergman and George Sanders as an estranged married couple vacationing in Italy. While both a box-office and critical flop upon release, the film is now regarded by many as Rossellini's masterpiece and according to director Martin Scorsese "one of the most honest portraits of a marriage ever put on film". Loosely based on Colette's novel Duo, the screenplay was written by Rossellini and Vitaliano Brancati.

George Sanders and Ingrid Bergman as Alex and Katherine Joyce in a scene from Journey to Italy aka Viaggio in Italia or Voyage to Italy.

Roberto Rossellini on the set of Europe '51 with Ingrid Bergman and another cast member. Rossellini and Bergman worked together six times — on Stromboli (1950), Europe '51 (1952), We, the Women (1953), Journey to Italy (1954), Fear (1954) and Joan of Arc at the Stake (1954). 

I'm sorry to have to tell you I'm hopelessly normal

By the summer of 1950, Judy Garland was overworked, dependent on pills and had already suffered a few nervous breakdowns. Her marriage to director Vincente Minelli was in serious trouble and would ultimately end in divorce in 1951. Despite having completed successful films like Easter Parade (1948) and In the Good Old Summertime (1949), Judy was largely discussed in the press in connection with her failures. She had been fired from The Barkleys of Broadway (1949), Annie Get Your Gun (1950) and Royal Wedding (1950) —due to her showing up late to the set and at times not showing up at all— to be eventually replaced by resp. Ginger Rogers, Betty Hutton and Jane Powell.

When the movie fan magazine Motion Picture announced in its June 1950 issue that Judy's film career was over, this not only evoked many reactions from her fans but also from the actress herself. Tired of all the negative gossip and the incorrect assumption that she was quitting films, Judy sent a letter to Motion Picture editor Maxwell Hamilton, assuring him that everything was okay and that soon she was to star as Julie in Show Boat. Judy's letter was published in Motion Picture in September 1950, the same month she and MGM parted ways after fifteen years. (The role of Julie LaVerne in Show Boat (1951) eventually went to Ava Gardner.)

While her film career wasn't over, from then on Judy would only make a handful of films, most notably A Star Is Born (1954) and Judgment at Nuremberg (1961). Sadly her problems continued and a barbiturate overdose ultimately led to her untimely death (at age 47) on 22 June 1969.

Judy Garland in New York, September 1950

This is the introductory text to Judy Garland's letter in Motion Picture (it's obvious that the magazine already considered Judy a has-been star), followed by the letter itself. 

In the June issue of Motion Picture, we published some pretty ugly, but well-founded, rumors about Judy Garland, to the effect that she would never make another picture. Judy denied our story and, on her own behalf, wrote us the letter printed on these pages, a letter we felt —and we told Judy so— was one of the frankest, most honest we've ever received from a star. Then, on June 20th, came the shocking news that Judy had attempted to take her life. We still think you'll want to read this dramatic letter, written, as we know it must have been, while Judy was under the strongest of emotional strains. For, to us, it paints a vivid picture of Judy Garland, the one picture which perhaps shows Judy as the truly beloved star she certainly has been. 

Via: The Judy Garland Experience (via twitter)

Original source: Motion Picture, September 1950

Summer Stock (1950), co-starring Gene Kelly, was Judy's final film for MGM. While it was a difficult shoot because of Judy's personal problems, the film contains one of the best musical numbers she ever performed on film, Get Happy. (Gif by my sister at Classic Movies Round-Up.)

Our system must be an ideal one

During the 1920s, Darryl F. Zanuck worked as a screenwriter for Warner Brothers before becoming head of production in 1931. Around the same time Edward G. Robinson, one of Warners' contract players, was having his big breakthrough with Little Caesar (1931) and eventually became one of the studio's biggest stars. Growing increasingly unhappy with the scripts that were submitted to him, Robinson wrote to Zanuck in the fall of 1932, uttering his grievances. Unfortunately I don't have Robinson's letter to show you, but Zanuck's reply —in which he told Robinson that he had nothing to complain about and to just have faith in "the system"— can be read below. 

Mr. Edward G. Robinson

Essex House

New York, N.Y.

October 26, 1932

Dear Eddie:

To start with the last paragraph of your letter first and then go backward, you accuse me of not submitting to you some of the pictures that we have made recently with other people which have turned out to be outstanding hits, and you state that you are certain that anyone of them would have been acceptable to you.

In the first place, you have no complaint as you have received absolutely nothing but the best in stories and, in the second place, you have repeatedly rejected stories that later turned out to be successful pictures...

As I see it, Eddie, the whole fault lies in the fact that you want to be a writer. By this I mean that you want to put your views into whatever subject we purchase rather than to accept the views of the men I engage here who are specialists at a high salary in this specific work.

When I submit you a Grand Slam [1933], you say we have taken the wrong slant on the story —the idea is good but it should be something else. When I submit you a Lawyer Man [1933] or an Employees' Entrance [1933], you say the same thing.

By the way, Lawyer Man is the best picture [William] Powell has ever made and it would have been a perfect vehicle for you. It will be previewed in a week or so and I will send you the preview notices.

I have always wanted and asked for your suggestions and the suggestions of every star, as to story, etc., and those suggestions you made as to dialogue, etc., have, to my knowledge, for the most part been very effective and certainly appreciated by me.

The point I am trying to make is that when we submit a Lawyer Man or whatever it happens to be, you must have some faith in us. After all, our record of successes and box-office hits places us as the A-Company in the industry today, recognized thus everywhere. Our system, therefore, must be an ideal one. You can't make a lot of hits with a lot of different directors and a lot of different stars and some of them with no stars at all unless "the system" is a perfect one as, in our studio, it isn't just a case of one director or one star continually making a hit and the other ones flopping. This should be the greatest assurance in the world to you that our judgment is more or less correct, especially on the selection of stories and if I were in your shoes, I would be greatly guided by this "system."

After all, our sole interest is getting great pictures out of anything we select and we will accept anybody's ideas or suggestions, but the treatment of the subject in script form should be left largely to the judgment and intelligence of our "system", at least until the day comes —if it ever does— when our flops are more numerous than our hits ...

Sincerely,

Darryl Zanuck

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

Edward G. Robinson in Mervyn LeRoy's Little Caesar (1931), the gangster film that made him a star.

The Short-Lived History Of Oscar Write-Ins

For two years in Oscar history —in 1935 and 1936— the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences allowed its members to vote for anyone they chose, even when that person was not officially nominated. Reason for the Academy to permit these write-in votes was the public outrage that occurred over the snub of Bette Davis' performance in RKO's Of Human Bondage (1934). Bette's powerful and daring portrayal of the coarse waitress Mildred was unanimously praised by critics, audiences and Hollywood celebs alike, with Life magazine even calling it "probably the best performance ever recorded on the screen by a U.S. actress". The fact that Bette wasn't among the Best Actress nominees led to a huge uproar and a write-in campaign followed to have her nominated anyway. (Even Norma Shearer who herself was nominated for The Barretts of Wimpole Street supported the campaign.)

Among the general public there were many people shocked by the omission of Bette from the list of Oscar nominees. A man named James Fitzgerald sent this letter to the movie fan magazine Movie Classic, showing his indignation and calling on others to also make themselves heard.

 

Source: Movie Classic via archive.org

In order to put an end to all the criticism, several days after the announcement of the nominations the Academy decided to change the rules and issued a statement: "Despite the fact that the criticism fails to take into consideration that the nominations have been made by the unrestricted votes of each branch, the awards committee has decided upon a change in the rules to permit unrestricted selection of any voter, who may write on the ballot his personal choice for the winner." Bette Davis became the only write-in nominee that year but eventually lost to Claudette Colbert for her performance in It Happened One Night. When Bette did win the next year for her role in Dangerous, she called the Oscar her consolation prize for losing out with Of Human Bondage.

The next year, write-in votes were again allowed and there was one studio that decided to go all in. Studio boss Jack Warner encouraged all Academy members among his employees to submit write-ins for Warner Bros. films. This resulted in unofficial nominations in seven different categories, including Michael Curtiz for Best Director in Captain Blood and Paul Muni for Best Actor in Black Fury (Warners being the only studio that year with write-in nominees). Warners' active campaigning eventually paid off when the unofficially nominated Hal Mohr (see photo) took home the Oscar for Best Cinematography in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Technical issues of write-in voting aside, the Academy realised that this kind of voting was not the way to go, seeing how easy it was for studios to manipulate the system and win Oscars. (It was later revealed that write-in nominees Muni and Curtiz had come close to beating the eventual winners Victor McLaglen and John Ford, who both won for The Informer.) 

Write-in voting was thus abandoned a year later and Hal Mohr remains the only write-in winner in Oscar history.

Please keep me posted on all the news

After their church wedding on 19 April 1956, Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier immediately left on their honeymoon, a seven-week Mediterranean cruise on Rainier's yacht Deo Juvante II. The newlyweds went ashore in Spain, among others visiting the island of Mallorca (where they attended a bullfight) and the cities of Madrid and Valencia. A few days after returning to Monaco, Grace wrote a letter to her friend and MGM publicist Morgan Hudgins, in which she commented on her honeymoon in Spain and meeting some of her Hollywood friends there (Cary Grant and his wife Betsy Drake as well as Ava Gardner and Ava's then-husband Frank Sinatra). Her departure from Hollywood still very fresh, Grace was of course quite anxious to hear all the news and urged Hudgins to keep her in the loop, especially regarding the critical reception of her two last films The Swan (1956) and High Society (1956). 

Grace's letter to Morgan Hudgins, in which she also worries about the press reactions to the wedding, is seen below. Incidentally, I don't know who "Nadia" is but I assume she was an assistant to Grace.  

Source: icollector.com

Transcript:

Saturday 

Dear Morgan

We arrived back on Thursday after a very wonderful honeymoon – Spain was so nice and we thoroughly enjoyed it – Saw Betsy + Cary Grant and Ava in Madrid – Ran into Frank briefly in a restaurant and I don't think he likes Spain very much – But the others all seem well and happy – 

Your records arrived yesterday and we are thrilled to have them as it is impossible to get them here – many many thanks – 

What a pity to hear of all the bad luck on those two big pictures – and I am very sorry to learn of Louis Calhern’s death*– 

And Monty Cliff [sic] who hasn’t worked in such a long time the moment he starts something happens*–

Sydney is here and is coming for tea with me this afternoon –  so I will get some more news from him –

Morgan I can't thank you enough for all you did for me through a very trying period – You were just wonderful – 

Please send me any reviews of The Swan +  High Society as I would love to see them – am delighted that the previews went so well – 

I still don’t know how the press was reacting during the week of the wedding – Do you think it was alright – and was anyone in particular offended? 

I learned on our return that Nadia intends to write a book – Which came as a great shock to me since she never mentioned a thing to me – I am not surprised really as she was such a disappointment to me when I really needed her – She was too busy minding other people’s business + having a good time to do anything I asked her – I guess she just felt as she was leaving me anyway so why bother? – But I was very hurt + disturbed by her attitude in N.Y. + on the boat –

Give my best to everyone + please keep me posted on all the news –

Affectionately

Grace –

*Note

On 12 May 1956, Louis Calhern (Grace's High Society co-star) suddenly died of a heart attack at age 61. On the same day, Montgomery Clift had a near-fatal accident after his car crashed into a telephone pole. At the time Clift was filming  Raintree County (1957), his first film after From Here to Eternity (1953).

Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier boarding the Deo Juvante II for their honeymoon

Grace photographed by her new husband aboard the yacht

Grace talking to the press with Morgan Hudgins on the left

Let him look a little swashbuckling, for Christ sakes!

Inspired by the box-office successes of MGM's Treasure Island (1934) and United Artists' The Count of Monte Cristo (1934), Warner Brothers made its own swashbuckler film in 1935— Captain Blood, directed by Hungarian-born Michael Curtiz. Based on the 1922 novel of the same name by Rafael Sabatini, Captain Blood tells the story of Doctor Peter Blood who, after being wrongly convicted of treason and being sold as a slave, escapes with his fellow slaves and eventually becomes the most feared pirate of the Caribbean. (For a full synopsis, go here.)

Finding the right actor to play Peter Blood proved to be a difficult task. While Robert Donat was signed to play Blood in December 1934, due to ill health (asthma) he eventually bowed out. Clark Gable and Ronald Colman were considered for the role but they had to be borrowed from MGM, so studio boss Jack Warner and producer Hal Wallis decided to let them go. Other candidates were Fredric March, Leslie Howard, Brian Aherne, George Brent and Ian Hunter — all experienced actors who were ultimately uninterested or unsuited. And then there was also Australian newcomer Errol Flynn, who had previously played in an Australian film In the Wake of the Bounty (1933) and done bit parts in The Case of the Curious Bride (1935) and Don't Bet on Blondes (1935). By July 1935, after many months of casting, Warners still had no Peter Blood and eventually decided to take a chance on the inexperienced, 26-year-old Flynn (a considerable risk since Captain Blood was a big-budget project). On 8 July, Jack Warner wrote to studio executive Irving Asher, seemingly confident about their choice:"[I] am sure Flynn will come through with flying colors. His tests are marvelous. If he has anything at all on the ball he will surely come out in this picture and go to great heights. If he hasn't it will be one of those things, but we will do all in our power to put Flynn over in grand style."

In the end, Warners' gamble paid off. Captain Blood became a huge box-office hit and its leads Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland, who had been cast in favour of Jean Muir, became overnight stars. Having rewatched Captain Blood for this post —I had not seen the film in ages— I can only say that it was as great an adventure as I remembered. Errol is fantastic as the swashbuckling hero, brimming with infectious energy, and Olivia —very young (only 19) and radiantly beautiful— is perfect as his leading lady. With their chemistry jumping off the screen, it seems only natural that they would go on to make another seven movies together. 

Above, from left to right: Jack Warner, Michael Curtiz and Hal Wallis. Below: Errol Flynn with Curtiz on the set of Captain Blood. Giving the inexperienced Flynn a hard time, Curtiz was told by Wallis to "work with the boy a little" and not crush his confidence ("... the fellow looks like he is scared to death every time he goes into a scene.")

While Captain Blood turned out to be a big success, the shooting of the film was an often frustrating experience for Hal Wallis. After Darryl Zanuck left the studio in 1933 due to a salary dispute with Jack Warner, Wallis had taken over from Zanuck as head of production and Captain Blood was his most important project thus far. With so much at stake —the film had a budget of one million dollars — Wallis was determined to make it a success. His collaboration with director Michael Curtiz, however, was not without problems. Curtiz, who was a personal friend of Wallis, was someone who liked to do things his own way. Wallis, in turn, wanted to control every aspect of the production and throughout filming kept bombarding Curtiz with memos, demanding all kinds of changes and also giving advice to Curtiz on how to direct the cast (especially how to handle an insecure Flynn). 

Here are two of the many memos from Wallis to Curtiz, both written after Wallis had watched the daily rushes, clearly feeling exasperated and frustrated by what he'd seen. Much to the producer's annoyance, Curtiz simply ignored his memos and continued to direct the film in his own way. (Despite their professional differences, Wallis held Curtiz in high esteem and would later call him his "favorite director, then and always".)

 

TO: Curtiz

FROM: Wallis

DATE: August 28, 1935

SUBJECT: "Captain Blood"

I am looking at your dailies, and, while the stuff is very nice, you got a very short day's work. I suppose this was due to bad weather.

However, I don't understand what you can be thinking about at times. That scene in the bedroom, between Captain Blood and the governor, had one punch line in it; the line from Blood: "I'll have you well by tonight, if I have to bleed you to death," or something along these lines, anyhow. This is the one punch line to get over that Blood had to get out of there by midnight, even if he had to kill the governor, and instead of playing that in a close-up —a big head close-up— and getting over the reaction of Errol Flynn, and what he is trying to convey, and the crafty look in his eye, you play it in a long shot, so that you can get the composition of a candle-stick and a wine bottle on a table in the foreground, which I don't give a damn about.

Please don't forget that the most important thing you have to do is to get the story on the screen, and I don't care if you play it in front of BLACK VELVET! Just so you tell the story; because, if you don't have a story, all of the composition shots and all the candles in the world aren't going to make you a good picture. ...

Hal Wallis 

Despite Wallis' memo, Curtiz didn't go for a close-up and kept the candlestick and the wine decanter in the shot.

TO: Curtiz

FROM: Wallis

DATE: September 30, 1935

SUBJECT: "Captain Blood"

I have talked to you about four thousand times, until I am blue in the face, about the wardrobe in this picture. I also sat up here with you one night, and with everybody else connected with the company, and we discussed each costume in detail, and also discussed the fact that when the men get to be pirates that we would not have "Blood" dressed up. 

Yet tonight, in the dailies, in the division of the spoil sequence, here is Captain Blood with a nice velvet coat, with lace cuffs out of the bottom, with a nice lace stock collar, and just dressed exactly opposite to what I asked you to do.

I distinctly remember telling you, I don't know how many times, that I did not want you to use lace collars or cuffs on Errol Flynn. What in the hell is the matter with you, and why do you insist on crossing me on everything that I ask you not to do? What do I have to do to get you to do things my way? I want the man to look like a pirate, not a molly-coddle. ... 

I suppose that when he goes into the battle with the pirates (the French) at the finish, you'll probably be having him wear a high silk hat and spats. 

When the man divided the spoils you should have had him in a shirt with the collar open at the throat, and no coat on at all. Let him look a little swashbuckling, for Christ sakes! Don't always have him dressed up like a pansy! I don't know how many times we've talked this over. ... 

I hope that by the time we get into the last week of shooting this picture, that everybody will be organized and get things right. It certainly is about time.

Hal Wallis 

Director Mike Curtiz ignored Hal Wallis' pleas not to use lace collars or cuffs on Errol Flynn, as can be seen in the photos above and below. Above Flynn is pictured with Henry Stephenson and Olivia de Havilland and below he is shown dividing the loot, as mentioned in Wallis' letter. 

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

This post is my contribution to the THE 2021 SWASHBUCKLATHON, hosted by SILVER SCREEN CLASSICS. For more swashbuckling entries, go here.

God Bless, Charlie Brown

Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow met in 1964 when he was 49 years old and she 19. Sinatra immediately fell for Farrow and later reportedly said: "I was hers, instantly. I loved that hair, man. I think the hair's what got me." (Farrow would later cut her hair and while it was said she had done it to spite Sinatra, in her book What Falls Away: A Memoir (1997) she denied this and said that Sinatra loved her pixie cut the minute he saw it.)

The couple got married on 19 July 1966, each wanting different things out of married life. Sinatra wanted Farrow to give up acting and be a housewife while she wanted to be an actress, refusing to give up her career for him. In 1967, Farrow accepted the leading role in Rosemary's Baby (1968), Roman Polanski's horror film, which would ultimately lead to the couple's divorce. Since production of the film got delayed by several weeks, Farrow wasn't available to co-star with her husband in his next film The Detective (1968) which she had agreed to do with him. Sinatra demanded that she drop Rosemary's Baby but she refused and insisted on finishing it. A furious Sinatra then served her with the divorce papers on the set of Rosemary's Baby in November 1967. Unable to overcome their differences —according to Farrow the age difference was the main reason for their breakup— the two eventually divorced in August 1968.

After their divorce, Sinatra stayed friends with Farrow, like he had with his other ex-wives Nancy Barbato and Ava Gardner. (He married Barbara Marx in 1976, his last wife until his death in 1998.) Farrow said in an interview with Vanity Fair in 2013 that they "never really split up", calling Sinatra the love of her life and saying that her son Ronan (thought to be Woody Allen's son) was "possibly" Sinatra's. Several people close to Sinatra have denied the implication made by Farrow, including Sinatra's daughter Tina (stating her father had a vasectomy in 1968) and Sinatra's close friend Tony Oppedisano who addresses the subject in his recently published book Sinatra and Me: In the Wee Small Hours.

At any rate, until his death Sinatra remained close to Farrow, at times writing her letters which showed his continuous affection for her. A few of these letters can be seen below, the latter two written after the divorce. The first note (on KLM Royal Dutch Airlines stationery) was penned by Sinatra in July 1966 from London, just before he married Farrow later that month in Las Vegas.

Incidentally, Sinatra used to call Farrow "Angel Face" and she nicknamed him "Charlie Brown".

Source: Gotta have rock and roll

Transcript:

Angel Face —

The moment I discovered you I became a tower of contentment and happiness, and Christopher Columbus became a bum. 

I adore you

Francis

alias 

Charles Brown

love to Samantha

[sketch]

(on envelope) ONE GUESS!

Source: Gotta have rock and roll

Transcript:

Wednesday

May 1st [1974?]

Good morning darling,

It's very early here, and I'm on my way to Washington to meet with the vice-president for a couple of days. Will be back in N.Y. Friday.

I'm fairly well these days except for being terribly lonely. I miss you a great deal. Please look after yourself and stay well.

I love you I love you

C.B.

P.S. The snapshot is to make you smile. [snapshot of a cute little dog]

Source: Vanity Fair