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Grandson of Joan Crawford
Stepin Fetchit: The First Black Superstar
Book Review: The Star Machine
Written by Teresa Watson
Their
names and pictures were always in the fan magazines and gossip columns: eating
at the hottest restaurants, dancing at the Mocambo, or sitting at home reading
their latest scripts. They were dressed in the hottest fashions, paired with
other stars for ?dates?, which sent tongues wagging about a new romance. Movies
were created around their particular talent: Eleanor Powell and her
fast-tapping feet, Esther Williams and her swimming pools, Van Johnson as the
boy next door during World War II, with June Allyson as his girl next door. Some
of the movies were based on their looks, as in the cases of Johnson and Allyson,
others because they had the ?x factor?, that one thing that made them stand out
in a roomful of other people. It was the studios? ?star machine? that
controlled the development, personal and professional lives of the few who had
the ?x factor? for almost thirty years. Even with today?s stars, you can still
feel the influence, albeit indirectly, of this star machine, even though it no
longer exists and hasn?t since the 1960s.
Jeanine
Basinger breaks down the star machine in her latest book, explaining the process
step by step. It all started with the ?x factor?. When a studio discovered a
new person, they developed them slowly, starting with name changes, fake
biographies and makeovers that could be very extensive and detailed. Spangler
Arlington Brugh became Robert Taylor, ?The Man with the Perfect Profile?;
Shirley Schrift became Shelley Winters. In between studio lessons on manners,
deportment, and doing press interviews, the promising star was introduced in
bit or unaccredited parts. They moved on to small supporting parts, and if
audiences showed an interest in them, the studios moved them up into second
leading parts. If an actor or actress stood out more than others, movies were
created, showcasing their ?x factor?. The actor became a type: in the case of
Powell, she was a tap dancer, and her movies always featured several
numbers where she could tap across the stage and back, showing off the fastest
feet in the business. Mario Lanza had a beautiful tenor voice, but could not do
anything else but sing. He was put into silly movies where he was a singing
truck driver, a singing private in the army, and was ?discovered? by someone in
the business who pulled him out of the dumps and into a big show (he usually
appeared with Kathryn Grayson, a beautiful woman with a wonderful soprano
voice. She was in the same boat as Lanza: singing was her ?x factor? and they
developed movies around her.)
The
studios did everything for their stars. There were lawyers to take care of indiscretions and
publicity departments to keep the star?s name in the public eye, which worked
well for stars like Tyrone Power, who didn?t make a movie for several years
because he enlisted during World War II. The studios provided houses, cars,
clothes, and took care of them like they were children (some of them really
were). But they also told them who they could marry, who they couldn?t,
when they could have children and when they couldn?t. The stars had no say over
what type of movies they made or what kind of characters they portrayed.
Stars
like Joan Crawford had no problem allowing the studios to control their careers
and lives. But others, like Power, James Cagney, Olivia de Havilland and Bette
Davis railed against the system and fought to control their careers. Power became
disillusioned with the star machine because it continued to cast him as a glamour
boy, even after World War II, when it was obvious that the war had changed him
and his looks. He wanted desperately to take on serious roles, but because the machine
had placed him in ?the glamour boy? type, he was unable to breakthrough and
become the actor he knew he could be.
Basinger
points out that while actors like Lana Turner and Errol Flynn had no problem
being cast as a certain type, they gave their studios migraines with the chaos they created in their private lives. Because of the headlines they generated
off-screen, people began to expect them to act that way onscreen. When stars
could not break the ?type? mold, they simply walked away from their careers
(Deanna Durbin and Jean Arthur). Basinger looks at Loretta Young,
Irene Dunne and Norma Shearer, who took control of their careers, thereby lasting
longer in the business than many people expected. Actors that cannot be overlooked
are the ?oddities?, the character actors who always played supporting roles
in a movie, or the unlikely stars, like Wallace Beery, who struck a chord with
the audiences that the studios didn?t always understand but capitalized on. After
all, studios were in the business to make money, and if an oddball like ?in
your face? Beery brought in the audiences, who were they to argue?
The
star machine didn?t always work, and there were malfunctions in the system. But
the system began to break down after World War II, eventually disappearing by the
early 1960s. Today?s stars have the freedom to choose what movies they make, what
type they portray, although they do know what their audiences like and dislike.
But they are also like walking mini-studios: they get big salaries (Julia Roberts
can command $20 million per picture), but they have to pay for
hairdressers, agents, lawyers, and publicists, things that studios provided
free of charge at the height of the star machine. They are constantly compared to the
stars of the Golden Era. Today?s Tyrone Power can be seen in Pierce Brosnan and
Johnny Depp; Julia Roberts is the new Crawford/Turner because she can dominate
any movie she is in. Despite the death of ?The Star Machine?, Basinger points
out that it still lives on, but without the domination of the studios. It is
now controlled by the fickle public, who can love a star one day, and turn
their backs on them the next.
As
you read Basinger?s book, it is easy to feel sorry for the stars that were part
of the machine. Studios were like pimps: they picked someone out, made them
over, and put them on the screen to be viewed and used. When the actor?s star
dimmed, they were tossed out for a younger version. She gives a close-up view
of the machine and the long-lasting effect on the lives it touched.
Jean Harlow. The name resonates. Platinum Blonde. Blonde Bombshell. The labels applied by press agents during Harlow's seven-year career carry a charge 70 years later. An actress who died in 1937 has currency in 21st-Century culture. Harlow's films make new fans, whether in revival theaters, on cable television, or on DVD. Vintage Harlow photographs sell for as much as $14,000, and camera negatives for as much as $50,000. Chat room fans debate the cause of her husband's suicide and that of her own death. The movies' first blonde sex symbol has become a legend. In fact, Harlow is the very prototype of all the blonde icons who have followed, from Marilyn Monroe to Jayne Mansfield, an original blueprint for glamour and tragedy. In this, the centennial year of Jean Harlow's birth, Harlow expert Darrell Rooney and Hollywood historian Mark Vieira team to present the most beautiful -- and accurate -- book on Harlow ever produced. With more than 280 images, Harlow in Hollywood makes a case for Harlow as an Art Deco artifact in an iconic setting. Harlow in Hollywood is the first book devoted to both the Harlow image and the city that spawned it. Click HERE to order!
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