An interview with author David C. Tucker - Gale Storm: A Biography and Career Record

We continue our look at the new book on Gale Storm this week with an interview with the author, David C. Tucker.  Please see last week's post for our review on Gale Storm: A Biography and Career Record.

JTL: You first researched the work of Gale Storm (and interviewed her) for your 2007 book The Women Who Made Television Funny: Ten Stars of 1950s Sitcoms. What made you want to take up Gale Storm as a full-length book project?

David Tucker: Before I wrote that first book, I knew less about her than most of the other women I profiled. But as I watched her shows, and researched her career, I was captivated by her charm and talent. Interviewing her only added to that, and kept me thinking about her even after The Women Who Made Television Funny was finished. A full-length book gave me the opportunity to explore her film career in depth, which wasn’t possible the first time. Although she had passed away by the time I began the newer book, I was lucky to be able to speak with her daughter, two of her grandchildren, her stepdaughter, and people like Linda Wood, who as a little girl loved Margie on TV and persuaded her father, a record executive, to offer Gale Storm a recording contract.

JTL: Gale wrote her own autobiography I Ain’t Down Yet, which revealed her battle with alcoholism.  Having read your book, I’d like to read her memoir as well.  Personally, though I enjoy biographies of entertainers, and especially value autobiographies as lending insight into their careers, I am inevitably disappointed that the greater part of these celebrity bios are devoted to little more than a cursory view of their career achievements.  Much of these books dwell on anecdotal material, which though entertaining (and as with Gale’s struggle with her disease, inspiring), is not always very useful to the serious film fan.  I found myself in reading many books on film stars to be annoyed that a film I wanted to know more about was dismissed as “and then he did this.”  Then a full chapter on the next divorce or scandal.  Your book, Gale Storm: A Biography and Career Record is a detailed career record fans can turn to for the most meticulous chronicling of her work.  Many serious classic film and television fans are extremely knowledgeable and compile their own informal hobby lists that would be the envy of professional keepers of baseball box scores. What is your opinion and your approach to writing about your film star subjects and Gale Storm in particular?

David Tucker: I wrote Gale Storm: A Biography and Career Record with the aim of complementing and supplementing the memoir she wrote. While that book is a great read, it focuses largely on her recovery from alcoholism, which had received much publicity at the time it was published. I wanted to cover her film and television career in more depth, including the B movies, which are often given short shrift in books. So there is an essay on every film she made, with behind-the-scenes details and a critical analysis. Likewise, there’s an extensively researched section on her work in television. Since her own book came out in the early 1980s, there was also a need to explore the last three decades of her life. Those later years included, among other things, her life as a widow after Lee’s death, her second marriage, and her final professional performances. On the personal side, it was exciting to meet and befriend her niece, who shared not only great stories with me about the family, but also rare photos of Gale’s parents and sisters.  

JTL:   I note that you credit in your acknowledgements section a thank you to fans who provided material -- films and memorabilia from their own collections.  When I was writing about Ann Blyth, I found her fans to be invaluable for sources of material that just could not be found elsewhere.  I still hear from fans wanting to share their treasures, and I’ve made a couple wonderful friends among them.  What was your experience in the hunt for film and television video, radio and recordings, lobby cards and various memorabilia and how did private collectors help you?

David Tucker: Gale had a very close, loving relationship with her fans, and they were incredibly helpful in preparing the book. People who didn’t really know me would send me DVDs, tapes, and memorabilia, so that I was able to see as much of her work as possible. Ron Baker, who co-founded her fan club, is a walking encyclopedia of Gale’s life and career, and he couldn’t have been more generous or helpful. Even Gale’s own daughter said he knew far more about her mother’s career than she did. 

JTL:  Also, as regards the challenge of collecting material for research, I’ve read where Boomers were big collectors and the older Boomers are now downsizing, but younger generations are less interested in collectibles (putting a dent in the income of some collectibles dealers).  Do you have an opinion on what will happen to all this material, these posters and 16mm films and such?  Will estate sales draw out other collectors or will they just be a glut on eBay?  Or perish the thought, left in landfills?

David Tucker: Some of it, inevitably, will be lost. But I like to think that my books help to preserve not only information, but also high-quality reproductions of rare lobby cards, film stills, and other memorabilia. My publisher’s books stay in print for long periods of time, and they can be found in the collections of many libraries and archives. Even after the original illustrations deteriorate, hopefully this will allow future generations to see them. I also plan to donate some of these original materials to archives, where they can be professionally preserved, and that’s something fans could consider doing as well.

JTL:  I enjoyed reading your book on Gale Storm very much.  Like most Baby Boomers, I’m familiar with her most from reruns of My Little Margie.  (I seem to remember there was a child character on the 1970s sitcom soap opera parody Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman who was addicted to My Little Margie reruns.) While, as a fan of classic films, I was aware of her career, but did not know the wide range of genres in which she performed -- noir, westerns, musicals, and I am delighted to discover her discography in recordings and Soundies. I really knew nothing of her recording career. “I Hear You Knockin’" quite surprised me, and the YouTube video I checked out -- I must say, a knock-out. Do you have a favorite film of Gale’s? A favorite record?

David Tucker: Many people love It Happened on Fifth Avenue, of course, which was also one of her favorite films. I love it too, and recommend it to anyone, especially as a holiday treat. But, as you say, most people don’t know the extent of her film work. Her noir films of the late 1940s and early 1950s (Abandoned, Between Midnight and Dawn) are a revelation if you haven’t seen them. I’m also quite fond of G.I. Honeymoon, a little-known Monogram comedy from 1945 that really gives you an early glimpse at the type of characters she would play in her television series. As for her music, I especially loved her singing on Oh! Susanna, where she did beautifully choreographed musical numbers that really showcased her talent.

JTL:   I’m delighted that you covered her experience in summer theatre, another aspect of an entertainment career that is often neglected in biographies.  There is the usual “Have you retired?” question when a star flies under the radar in the film industry -- but not to fans who loyally flocked to summer theaters to see their favorites.  Interestingly, Gale did not start in theatre, but came to it rather late in her career.  Many studio-trained stars were uneasy, even terrified by going on stage.  How do you think she made the transition, and did she enjoy the challenge of stage work?

David Tucker: Although she had made a few stage appearances earlier, it wasn’t until the 1960s that it really became a major focus of her career. She had some nerves, as anyone would, but it doesn’t seem to have been a difficult transition for her. Gale had acted in front of a camera for so many years, doing shows that were filmed without a studio audience, that she found it exciting to hear live, spontaneous reaction when she performed. She was also heartened to realize that people still remembered and loved her, and would eagerly buy tickets to see her on stage. 

JTL: Radio, too, often goes unmentioned, but since Old Time Radio (OTR) is so much more easily discovered and shared in our Internet era, it is easier for a film star biographer to hear these shows to write about them. Gale’s career as you note, as did so many others, actually began on a radio contest, which sent her to Hollywood. What is your opinion on her versatility? Did you start writing about Gale as a fan, or did you become a fan through writing about her?

David Tucker:  Although it certainly wasn’t funny at the time, in later years she could laugh at the fact that her RKO contract, which was the grand prize in the radio contest, petered out so quickly. An executive there told her that she didn’t have what it took to become a star. Gale had more determination than people realize, and she proved him wrong, as he himself later admitted. I originally saw and admired her work on My Little Margie, but there is much more to her career. Researching this book really showed me that, along with being a talented comedienne, she was a fine dramatic actress, and is underrated as a singer. 

JTL:  A large section of your book is devoted to detailing episodes of My Little Margie and her second successful series, The Gale Storm Show: Oh! Susanna. You mentioned that Oh! Susanna never made it to DVD (I believe at least the first season of My Little Margie is on DVD) and, except for some episodes shared by collectors, there are only a few up on YouTube to give us a taste of what that show was like -- an early Love Boat, with Gale as a cruise director and the wonderful ZaSu Pitts as her buddy.  How do you think these two different series compare in illustrating her many talents?

David Tucker:  have a special fondness for My Little Margie, because to me it represents pure, unadulterated fun -- no messages or underlying meanings, just the biggest laughs possible. Margie is a great character who enjoys life thoroughly, and reminds us to do the same. When she did The Gale Storm Show: Oh! Susanna, there was an effort by producers and writers to let her character mature a bit, although she was still quite the schemer. I think both series show that she had comic abilities that were largely overlooked in her film career, and the second show has the marvelous bonus of integrating her singing talent. 

JTL:   Gale worked for many of the smaller studios in Hollywood.  I expect if that radio contest had sent her to MGM instead, she’d have been plunked into musicals for probably her entire career and not done the wider range of work she experienced. What do you think were her greatest strengths as an entertainer, and how do you think working at the smaller studios served her?

David Tucker: I think she has innate charm and likability that come out very clearly in her performances. Although she could, and did, play some fine dramatic roles (such as Abandoned), her sense of fun is a major factor in her success. Being at the Monogram studios meant she was a big fish in a very small pond. While there wasn’t much star treatment at a Poverty Row studio, she had the chance to play a variety of roles. She also demonstrated that she could do good work on a tight schedule, which made her a natural to transition into a weekly TV series. 

My thanks to David C. Tucker for joining us today, and I hope you visit his interesting blog and read his new book, Gale Storm: A Biography and Career Record (McFarland, 2018).

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THE WINNER OF THE CONTEST TO WIN EITHER AN PRINT BOOK OR AUDIOBOOK VERSION OF ANN BLYTH: ACTRESS. SINGER. STAR. IS...…

Sam H.!

Congratulations, Sam!  And thank you to everyone who entered the contest.

Helen Twelvetrees - A New Biography by Cliff Aliperti

HelenTwelvetrees, Perfect Ingenue: Rediscovering a 1930s Movie Star and Her 32 Films by Cliff Aliperti, is a new book on the career of an actress whose reputation after death slipped into a puzzling state of a punch line.  She deserves better, and Mr. Aliperti has championed the cause of Miss Twelvetrees’ career—remembered, and for the right reasons.

This post is part 2 of 12 of my monthly series this year on the current state of the classic film fan.  (Part 1, "A Classic Film Manifesto" is here.)  With self-publishing and with small publishers like Bear Manor Books and others, there seems to be a new trend in writing film star biographies: one, exploring the lives and careers of lesser-known actors rather than the mega-stars; and two, writing about them in a scholarly and less sensationalist manner than what is usually published by large commercial publishing houses.  We’ll discuss that issue more in later posts, but Cliff’s book is a prime example of a classic film fan taking the reins to produce a scholarly study of a neglected figure from the Golden Age of classic films in a way that I feel is refreshing, infinitely helpful to fans and students of old movies.  It fills a void left by large commercial publishing companies that seem more interested in books of a topical or salacious or controversial nature.

In an interview for this post, Cliff remarks:

I like it—I’d like to be part of it. Some of the major Golden Age stars could still use a modern biography because previous efforts have been in that sensationalist manner you mentioned, but many of them have been done to death. Maybe I’m selling myself short, but I’ve always operated under the assumption that no one really needs me to write about Clark Gable, Jean Harlow, or stars of their ilk, the legends. That said, I’ve covered aspects of these stars—my post about Gable and the undershirt still draws traffic—and I do cover some of their movies, though I’m more attracted by the obscurities. I’ve even considered doing a book about Gable’s movies from the thirties, but cutting it off just before GWTW. Still, there was no Helen Twelvetrees biography, and it took quite an effort to piece together enough information to create one. Even then, only half of the book is straight biography; the other half takes a look at each of her 32 films, the wide majority of which nobody has bothered with either. Does everybody deserve a book? Well, no, there’s a line to be drawn, but the ease and cost of getting something to market today means that a much wider net can be cast.

To be sure, there were elements in Helen Twelvetrees’ life that could be viewed as sensational and could fit the bill for someone wanting to treat the subject salaciously, but Cliff demonstrates laudable restraint and respect for Helen.  He examines both her life and career with an intellectual curiosity and a sensitivity that this actress needs to be really understood.

Twelvetrees, that unusual moniker, was her first husband’s surname, which she kept after their divorce. Jurgens was her own surname. Cliff explains in his book:

 To revert to Helen Jurgens could only cause confusion. Plus the Twelvetrees name has a strong resonance that makes it stick once you hear it. It’s memorable and all at once a bit exotic while still sounding familiar. Even today, people who aren’t classic film fans often recognize the name. They just have no idea who it belonged to.

I had never thought about that before, but I immediately recalled what I think was my introduction to her: a gag line by announcer Gary Owens on the old Laugh-In TV show when I was a child.  I didn’t know who she was, but I assumed (and I can’t tell you why) that she was an old movie star.  I must have been in first grade at the time, but I knew enough to surmise this.  I don’t know how many times he made the reference in a joke, but it evidently made a strong impression on me.  Years later as an adult, I came across a novelty LP of Laugh-In audio episode clips, and wouldn’t you know, a Helen Twelvetrees remark was on it.

Cast regular Joanne Worley sang a brief takeoff on “Havah Nagilah,” and Gary Owens chimed in from the “radio studio” set:  “That, of course, was the delightful Helen Twelvetrees, and turning another musical page in our album of memories, here is the delightful Lamont Cranston.”

It only took me a few more years, probably by the age of ten or twelve, to discover who Lamont Cranston was.

The biography is thoughtful, detailed, and Cliff shows here, as he does regularly in his blog, Immoral Ephemera, his familiarity with lesser-known stars, character actors, and the studios of Hollywood’s Golden Age.  He utilizes many reviews and newspaper articles of the day to form the foundation of his perspective on Helen Twelvetrees’ career. In the book, Cliff describes Helen’s film persona:

It didn’t matter what studio Helen was working for, or who was her boss, during her peak years she was almost exclusively cast in films calling for her heart to be broken. But there’s always a touch of Brooklyn tinging her voice that makes her seem not quite as fragile as first suspected…The little helpless girl usually managed to roar loudly before her films ended, finding peace, redemption, or sometimes just settling on the right man.

Helen Twelvetrees, Perfect Ingenue is divided into two parts: a biography of her life and career, and second, a synopses of her thirty-two films, some of which are “lost” or otherwise not available for viewing.

Helen was named as one of the WAMPAS Baby Stars of 1929, in the impressive company of Jean Arthur and Loretta Young, among others. The peak of her film career was Millie (1931), which Cliff describes:

Millie provides Helen Twelvetrees with a showcase the likes of which she never enjoyed before or since. Variety drew attention to her surprising versatility stating, “she takes in all angles of a part that calls for a dozen different moods and situations during the 15 years or so this picture passes through.” Beyond Madame X and all the mother-love, despite the decorum demanded, even by a looser set of censors, Millie somehow emerges as the biography of a woman’s sex life, from maidenhood through numerous disappointing partners, who never manage to tame her. Millie isn’t unique, but it isn’t easy, and Helen handled every bit of nuance required through Millie’s turbulent years.

Helen’s real-life party-girl image when first arriving in Hollywood, her being bounced from the Fox studio to Pathe, then on to RKO, where a few prime roles were lost to other actresses, such as the young Katharine Hepburn and Constance Bennett reveals a not untypical story of poor timing or bad luck. The inevitable slide to obscurity began with a supporting role to ZaSu Pitts, who had once played her maid in an earlier film. 

Helen moved on to vaudeville and summer stock.  Her only Broadway appearance in 1941 was a flop, but she went back to touring in stock, toured with the USO during the war, and interestingly, touched something in her own soul, certainly touched her audience, with a stint as Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire.  Her rendering of the fey character was considered deeply moving.

Helen Twelvetrees died in 1958 at fifty years old of suicide, having endured more disappointment than success in her career, several marriages, and alcoholism.

Then came, oddly, the jokes.  Cliff writes:

Before the 1950s were out, columnist Earl Wilson asked Groucho Marx who would play him if his recently published biography, Groucho and Me, were ever adapted to film: “Duke Wayne, of course—or Helen Twelvetrees,” Groucho quipped. Maybe he hadn’t heard, Helen was dead. Her name continued as a punch line, often associated with Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, and even generic Fidos and Rovers, who no doubt sought relief in pastures dotted by a dozen trees. Nobody talked about her films.

Cliff does a great job disseminating the trail of this curiosity, and his empathy for Helen Twelvetrees is very gratifyingly apparent.

But now, a new interest in Helen seems to be growing for this lovely actress.   This book is a welcome addition to that second look at the unknown actress with the well-known name. 

One of my favorite passages:

The individual and her work are often positioned in the most fascinating time and place. She was in Brooklyn just ahead of Ebbets Field, and around New York City while the twenties roared. She came to Hollywood with sound, and peaked while the studios shuffled in response to the Great Depression. She made her first television appearance before many even owned a set to watch, and chipped in the World War II effort through benefit appearances and USO performances. Whether it was theater, vaudeville, radio, or TV, she kept busy long after everybody thought she was done. She conquered Hollywood before it slapped back, and still had the drive to reach Broadway more than a decade after she had abandoned the theater for movie fame…

I’d like to thank Cliff especially for participating in an interview with me for this post.  Here is more of our discussion:

JTL:  I was surprised at the rediscovery of Helen Twelvetrees in the plays, scripts that have been written in recent years.  Were you surprised by that?  What do you make of that?

CA:  It’s a strange rediscovery in that, with exceptions, it lacks substance insofar as telling us about Helen Twelvetrees. She’s usually mentioned not so much for who she was or what she did, but as something distant or forgotten except for the pretty label. The Twelvetrees name has an exotic resonance that naturally attracts people to her once it gets into their ear. She married the name, a blessing and a curse, but no doubt far more effective than Helen Jurgens, the name she was born with, when it comes to being remembered in any light. The name worked its magic on me too, but was reinforced by what I saw on the screen, a distinctive beauty possessed with unexpected levels of talent.

JTL:  I sense in this book, and always in your blog, a love of research, for the gumshoe detective work of a non-fiction writer, the puzzle that comes together only a bit at a time.  Can you describe your research for this book, the trails that you had to follow, the challenges you encountered?

CA:  Research included far more genealogy than I anticipated, a lot of old newspapers and magazines, including several paid sources: my credit cards are nowhere near as fond of Helen as I still am! Piles and piles of books, which were largely disappointing for either a complete lack of or totally superficial information. That’s part of what kept me digging. She began to feel like a taboo subject. Sometimes it felt like she was deliberately being scrubbed from film history. I mean, I know she’s not considered a major star, but she was a star. And a top shelf one for a few years that happen to coincide with my favorite film era.

The biggest challenges wound up split between dead ends and, believe it or not, the obvious. Figuring out when her mother died drove me crazy and the information was under my nose the entire time. My mistake came in brushing off one record, the key one it turned out, that placed her in a city I hadn’t bumped into before and had her living into her late nineties. I found it too early, and so I ignored the obvious. I eventually had a “Eureka” moment after I (finally!) decided to look into Helen’s brother. That’s when that unfamiliar city rang a bell and I shot back to Helen’s mother and tied it all together. All of that for a date I mention once towards the end of the biographical portion of the book—but I needed that date!

One bit of new information I never could completely resolve was discovery of a fourth husband (Helen’s third). I never could find a marriage record, and that bugs me. What I did find was the pair living together on the 1940 census with Helen using this man’s last name and, one of my favorite items, a letter Helen wrote to columnist Dorothy Kilgallen that Kilgallen published in her column in full. In the letter, which is a lot of fun because it drips with sarcasm, Helen outright says that she’s married—not that she was ever hiding the fact. The other gossip columnists dropped several references to her and this uncharted husband, but later histories missed it, and so Helen’s established biographies only list her other three husbands.

JTL:  What factors went into your decision to choose Helen as a subject for a book?

CA:  It began on my site. I had posted a few reviews of her movies on the site and included just a brief bit of biography in one of those. Then along came CMBA’s Forgotten Stars blogathon. I’d been wanting to expand upon the short bio in my Panama Flo review since I’d first posted it early in 2013. So for the Forgotten Stars blogathon I had planned slightly longer, but by no means exhaustive, biographical post, but, again, those movies sucked me in. I wound up covering 15 or so of her films in capsule review before I even got to her biography in a second post. The research for each of those posts got me started and kept me going: I finally posted what I had on the site, but there were too many open ends for me to stop. Plus, Helen had gotten under my skin: I liked her, and I wanted to know more.

JTL:  What did you most enjoy writing about or gave you the most satisfaction in discovering?

CA:  This goes for almost anybody I write about, but I really love piecing together as much as I can about a star before they became big. In the case of Helen Twelvetrees, even her youth provided me with some fun because she grew up in Brooklyn and the Brooklyn Daily Eagle has a great online archive. It’s not as though little Helen Jurgens was mentioned in there all that much, but the paper allowed me to get a grasp on life in Brooklyn at a very different time.

This is contradictory to how I began my answer, but I also enjoyed the few later published interviews I found with her. In general such later newspaper pieces are much more honest than the fan magazine fluff from when someone was at their peak. You can usually hear the difference in their voices when comparing such pieces and in Helen’s case I got a big kick out of how she presented herself after Hollywood. I found a few goodies featuring Helen from the 1940s and ‘50s that were a big help in piecing together who she was-or at least how I perceived her-and what she was up to. It was satisfying to discover her career didn’t just end after Hollywood.

Finally, for personal reasons, I got a big kick out an obituary (boy, does that sound morbid!) that I found for her father. Helen was already gone, but her parents eventually moved one town away from where I live, something I had no idea about until I was researching for the book. Helen’s father died in the local hospital, the same hospital where I was born, putting an unexpected local twist on what I was doing.

JTL:  What is the relationship between your collectibles business and your classic film writing?  Does it provide you with inspiration, or research materials?  Where, for you, does the merchandise end and the historical artifact begin?

CA:  Mostly illustrative at this point. Some items that pass through here are used in posts on my site. I like to think they add a little extra flavor. There was a time when I was more knowledgeable about the collectibles than the old movies though and some of my earliest blog postings developed simply because I wanted to know more behind the faces pictured on old trading cards and photos. I wouldn’t have predicted it, but at this point, despite how I’ve tried, the collectibles and the writing are practically two independent activities.

JTL:  What would you like to add or express here about your book, or about Helen?

CA:  I know Helen Twelvetrees is considered an obscure topic, so for anyone undecided, but tempted, by the book I recommend watching Millie.

Millie is Helen’s most versatile performance, made during her absolute peak, and has lots of other familiar faces in it to distract you along the way (Just don’t let Joan Blondell distract you too much!). Best of all, it’s easy to find. Millie is public domain, so you can view it online free of charge in several places (Youtube, Internet Archive) and it’s also one of the better DVDs I’ve seen in terms of quality from Alpha Video, who price it around six or seven dollars. I stress Millie because most of Helen’s movies are hard to find and you’re probably not going to think too much of her if you start with The Painted Desert ! (A tempting lure because of co-star Clark Gable. Don’t do it.) After Millie, make your way to State’s Attorney, where she turns in a fine leading lady performance opposite John Barrymore. It gets trickier from there, but the web will help you out and my book will point you to the titles worth searching for.

At this point two of my favorite Helen Twelvetrees movies, both very hard to find, are One Hour Late and Unmarried: I like One Hour Late because Helen shows a flare for comedy, a rarity for her in Hollywood, who preferred to give her something to cry about, but what she spent most of her time performing on stage in the 1940s and so presumably what she enjoyed most. Unmarried is her last film, and that’s a shame because she gives one of her best performances in it. It really leaves you wondering what she could have done if her movie career had continued.

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Cliff Aliperti’s excellent book, Helen Twelvetrees: Perfect Ingenue is available here in eBook and print through Amazon.

You can watch Millie here on YouTube.  

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Next month, part 3 of 12 of this year-long series on the current state of the classic film fan will feature a visit with Kay Noske of Movie Star Makeover.  Kay’s image consulting business and expertise in fashion dovetail with her blog and her appreciation of classic films.  She also introduces classic films at the Dryden Theater of Rochester, New York—making her presentations dressed meticulously in outfits suggestive of the film.  I’m looking forward to Kay’s input on how her love of classic films fits in with so many areas of her professional and private life, and her take on the current state of the classic film fan.  Join us Thursday, March 3^rd for that post.

Next week, a special look ahead to Valentine's Day with the unique marriage of Alexis Smith and Craig Stevens.  See you  next Thursday.

ZaSu Pitts - Photoplay portrait

Here is another portrait photo from Stars of the Photoplay, a 1930 "class album" type book that gives us brief bios of the current stars in the silent-cum-talkie era, along with some stunning portrait photos.

The photographer here is Elmer Fryer.  The bio,of course, explains the spelling of her unusual name. Interesting is the comment that the director Eric Von Stroheim declared her "one of the greatest tragediennes of the day."

We most often think of the zany ZaSu as one of the top comediennes of her day.  The soulful photo reveals perhaps a trace of her depth as an emotional actress and as a person.  Mr. Stroheim gave her a chance in his epic Greed (1924), and she impressed her very surprised colleagues and movie critics.

But if she came to be best known to us as the beloved bumbler, that would probably be okay with her.  She appeared on Broadway in 1940s, made the rounds on television in the 1950s, and worked pretty much until she died in the early 1960s.   She is thirty-six in this photo.  How perceptive the photographer was, to direct our attention to her luminous eyes, in which we may see the spark of mirth, but also an enigmatic pensiveness. 

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"Lynch’s book is organized and well-written – and has plenty of amusing observations – but when it comes to describing Blyth’s movies, Lynch’s writing sparkles." - Ruth Kerr, Silver Screenings

"Jacqueline T. Lynch creates a poignant and thoroughly-researched mosaic of memories of a fine, upstanding human being who also happens to be a legendary entertainer." - Deborah Thomas, Java's Journey

"One of the great strengths of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is that Lynch not only gives an excellent overview of Blyth's career -- she offers detailed analyses of each of Blyth's roles -- but she puts them in the context of the larger issues of the day."- Amanda Garrett, Old Hollywood Films

"Jacqueline's book will hopefully cause many more people to take a look at this multitalented woman whose career encompassed just about every possible aspect of 20th Century entertainment." - Laura Grieve, Laura's Miscellaneous Musings

"Jacqueline T. Lynch’s Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is an extremely well researched undertaking that is a must for all Blyth fans." - Annette Bochenek, Hometowns to Hollywood

Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. 
by Jacqueline T. Lynch

The first book on the career of actress Ann Blyth. Multitalented and remarkably versatile, Blyth began on radio as a child, appeared on Broadway at the age of twelve in Lillian Hellman's Watch on the Rhine, and enjoyed a long and diverse career in films, theatre, television, and concerts. A sensitive dramatic actress, the youngest at the time to be nominated for her role in Mildred Pierce (1945), she also displayed a gift for comedy, and was especially endeared to fans for her expressive and exquisite lyric soprano, which was showcased in many film and stage musicals. Still a popular guest at film festivals, lovely Ms. Blyth remains a treasure of the Hollywood's golden age.

The eBook and paperback are available from Amazon and CreateSpace, which is the printer.  You can also order it from my Etsy shop. It is also available at the Broadside Bookshop, 247 Main Street, Northampton, Massachusetts.

If you wish a signed copy, then email me at JacquelineTLynch@gmail.com and I'll get back to you with the details.

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My new syndicated column SILVER SCREEN, GOLDEN YEARS, on classic film is up at   or check with your local paper.

Sing and Like It - 1934

Sing and Like It (1934) is one of the best examples of parody in an era probably remembered more for melodrama, serious social commentary, gangster flicks, and the beginning of the Production Code. A few Busby Berkeley chorus numbers may have turned our heads with either suggestiveness or silliness, but most movies of the day were products of an industry that took itself pretty seriously. In Sing and Like It, we see a movie of unexpected sophistication in the way it gently mocks the movies’ most treasured lead characters.

The wonderful ZaSu Pitts heads the cast of players all who parody some type or other.  Directed by William A. Seiter, the movie blends a gangster theme with the world of theater, tackled with tongue-in-cheek silliness. It is not the kind of very demonstrative humor that tries too hard to be funny, not screwball or slapstick (although there are some elements of this as well). It’s wry rather than witty, personified in the way ZaSu Pitts plays her role, Annie Snodgrass, a bank teller who, after work is the leading lady of the Union Bank Little Theater Players.

She of the Olive Oyl demeanor takes herself utterly seriously. She casts her large eyes to the heavens, wrings her fluttery hands, and declares her passion for the art of acting.

“No woman that has known the triumph that I knew when I played Lady Windermere’s Fan in the Fall River High School Senior Play can ever get theatre out of her blood.”

First of all, what a choice for a high school play.

ZaSu is self-absorbed in a way that is more serene than obnoxious. No one can puncture her dream world or rattle her self confidence. She is sweet, and pathetic, blissfully unaware of how untalented she is, and we love her for it, perhaps even envying her peace of mind.

John Qualen, that terrific character actor we once discussed here, plays her shy, but devoted fiancé. He wants to take her away from the sordidness of life as an actress in the Union Bank Little Theater Players (I love that name). He plans a quiet life growing tomatoes.

But, she must see her dream through, first. She gets help from an unlikely source.

Nat Pendleton plays a mobster, who is about to rob the said Union Bank with his gang, which includes the cigar-chomping sarcastic Ned Sparks. Sparks also serves as Pendleton’s interpreter when the less than eloquent mob boss needs an explanation. “He says ‘Nerts!’”

Just as they are about to blow the vault in the bank, they hear rehearsal going on, and ZaSu singing her song about mother love. She gives it her all in that anemic manner (and sings the song several times in the movie, so you’ll have it down pat by the end).

Pendleton listens, and tears form in his eyes and roll down his mobster cheeks. Da song is jus’ be-oo-ti-ful.

He decides the world must hear this voice and this song. He threatens theatrical producer Edward Everett Horton to put ZaSu in the lead of his newest production. Or else.

Mr. Horton is not his usual squirming, befuddled and helpless creature here. He’s fed up, angry, and barks at people. He is used to being in control. A theatrical producer with numerous photos of stars on his office wall, but a photo of himself on his desk.

Meanwhile, Pendleton’s moll, played by Pert Kelton, also has designs on the stage, but he refuses to allow her a career. He places ZaSu in her care, and the jealous Miss Kelton would like to scratch her eyes out for getting the opportunity she wants.

If you’ve only seen an older Pert Kelton in The Music Man (1962) as the Widow Paroo, tossing around her lusty Irish accent while little lisping Ronny Howard spits at her, you may find her sexy, other-side-of-the-tracks routine here as quite a shock. And funny as heck.

She tosses verbal hand grenades to ZaSu, but is ineffectual against the protective wall of ZaSu’s own marvelous stupidity. ZaSu imagines that Pert is jealous of her beauty and talent, fearful of having the gangster boyfriend lured away. ZaSu is a parody of the worldly actress.

“If I were an ordinary woman, I wouldn’t come between you, but I am an actress and I must…I’ll try not to lead him so far away that he cannot find his way home. Try not to hate me too much.”

Pert sees the only way to communicate with ZaSu is to join her in her fantasyland. She delivers the capitulation ZaSu expects in a flat voice and a kind of sarcasm ZaSu will never understand, “You’re a voluptuous siren and an artist, but deep underneath somewhere, I know there’s a good woman. Yes, Annie, I understand.”

This movie must have been such fun to do. There are a lot of very wry, funny lines, a little racy here and there, and bits of business, that it takes at least a couple of viewings to catch it all.

Pert Kelton gets herself appointed ZaSu’s understudy, and of course tries to do her in, finally resulting to kidnapping. John Qualen is a faithful, stubborn swain, and Pendleton has a heart underneath the gun in his inside coat pocket.

To ensure his leading lady is a success (in a play that has been rewritten by one of his goons who thinks he’s funny), Pendleton has his boys threaten the town’s leading theatre critic with a gun during the performance, making him laugh in all the right places.

Except for ZaSu’s mother song, which leaves the gangster sobbing once again.

When the performance is over and ZaSu is the toast of the town, she feels obligated to the gangster, and as perfunctorily as if she were paying a bill announces to the mobster, “Come take me, I am yours.”

He is shocked in a rather Puritan, un-gangster-like way. “I ain’t that kind of heel. What I done was for art!”

Some cute bits include Pendleton’s complaining of Pert Kelton always chewing gum and leaving her old gum stuck all over the place. Once she kisses him and he is startled to find her gum transferred to his mouth. At the end of the film when he makes up with her (after a couple of un-PC but very funny black eyes he has given her), he takes out a stick of gum, breaks it in half for them to share. He pops hers into her mouth.

They’re all having fun with “types,” teasing the way the movie industry usually presented these types. Good parody always has a ring of truth to it.

It is purely a matter of coincidence, I’m sure, that Miss Pitts’ character’s home town of Fall River (Massachusetts), established its own little theater two years after this movie was made, in 1936. The Little Theater of Fall River is still going strong, even without the help of ZaSu’s warbling of “Your Mother”.

Life with Father - 1947

Oh, GAD! It is with only a little tongue in cheek that I wish those who celebrate Easter a pleasant holiday by discussing a movie about a man who refuses to get baptized.

From the first glimpse in the stereopticon images to the opening theme swelling with a rhythm that suggests the clip-clop of trotting horses, “Life with Father” (1947) sweeps us back to a simpler time that is part history, and part parody.

One could categorize this film along with some of the others in the post-War era that seemed to soothe our raw nerves from the experiences of wartime with gentle nostalgia, a family of films that would include “I Remember Mama” (1948), “Good News” (1947), “Cheaper by the Dozen” (1950). But, “Life with Father” has its own pedigree.

The film is based on the famous stage play that, at the time, had been the longest running show on Broadway. On my New England Travels blog this week, we have a look at the Lakewood Theater in Skowhegan, Maine, where this premiered in 1939. A young Teresa Wright, before she came to Hollywood, played the role taken by Elizabeth Taylor in the film.

Like “Mama” and “Cheaper by the Dozen”, “Life with Father” began as a book. In each case, the authors wrote humorous and heartwarming reminisces about their parents. Opposite of the angst-filled, vitriolic, tell-all books popular today, it’s interesting to think that Mama, and Frank Gilbreth, and Clarence Day could be manufactured by their children into characters in American literature.

Perhaps they are not so well known characters these days, but there was a time when at least a couple of generations of readers claimed familiarity with them. Have a look at this post where we discussed popular novels turned into films.

The movie, with sets painted in those pleasing, soft colors we’ve noted in some other post-War color films, takes us back to 1883 New York City, where irascible Clarence Day, a Wall Street financier, domineers his family not so much with sternness as with overpowering confidence that his own judgment is unfailingly right.  The first glimpse we get of the great man is of his shadow on an upstairs hall landing.  It's a great entrance.

William Powell plays Mr. Day in a performance that deservedly earned him an Oscar nomination. His tolerant wife is played by Irene Dunne. These two, at the sunset of their film careers, are charming in their roles. She would earn her own Oscar nomination the following year for “I Remember Mama”.

They have a family of four sons, played by Jimmy Lydon, best known for his portrayal of Henry Aldrich (“Coming, Mother!”) in a series of B-movies; a tall 15-year-old Martin Milner in his first film. We last saw Martin here in “I Want You” (1951). Johnny Calkins is next in line, and little Derek Scott plays the youngest. All the boys, like their father, are redheads. Martin Milner reportedly mused that of all the cast, he was the only natural redhead of the bunch.

Monte Blue, from silent film days, gets a brief role as the cop. Zasu Pitts, like Mr. Powell and Miss Dunne, a veteran of Hollywood’s heyday, plays a visiting cousin, but though her role is chipper and chatty, she does not get to display here her tremendous gift for slapstick comedy that we noted in this post on “Bargain of the Century” (1933). It is almost something of a shock to see her act like a regular person, and not that lovable but almost tragically obtuse comic character she created so many years before in Mack Sennett shorts. There’s something vaguely disappointing about Zasu Pitts being normal.  I miss the Olive Oyl warble in her voice, and those hysterical expressions that despite their goofiness seemed to indicate a superior knowledge of the human condition.

Miss Pitts comes to town with a young Elizabeth Taylor. With a handful of films already under her belt, Elizabeth plays her ingenue role with confidence. Much has been written lately in the aftermath of Miss Taylor’s passing about her beauty, her iconic image, and her power as an actress. I can’t refute any of that, but I would note that one scene in this film has always stood out for me, and perhaps it’s because it shows the possibility of an alternate future for Elizabeth Taylor.

I mean the scene where she and oldest boy, the Yale-bound Jimmy Lydon attempt a violin-piano duet on “Ye Servants of God”. She does not recognize the tune, though she is familiar with the words of the hymn on the sheet music. The Day family are Episcopalian, and Elizabeth confesses that she was raised a Methodist. The tune is different in the Methodist church. They make several false starts and struggle badly through the piece.

“It was my fault,” Mr. Lydon gallantly states, but Elizabeth, like a 19th Century Juliet unable to socially bond with her Victorian Romeo:

“No, you’re the Episcopalian.” She then remembers that her father had been baptized in the Episcopal church, but joined the Methodist church when he married her mother.

“She was the Methodist,” Elizabeth says, as if she is calling her mother something vile, and it is a sparkling moment of deft comedy. It makes one wonder if Elizabeth Taylor could handle comedic timing so well, so young, what would her career have been like had she not also been so beautiful? Her chirpy voice is an affectation of the moment, but might she have blossomed into a less iconic leading lady, but with a larger range of roles had audiences been allowed to identify with her more and deify her less.

The question of religious affiliation drives a good part of the film, beginning with third son Johnny Calkins constantly seeking help to practice his catechism for his upcoming Confirmation. Still troubled by the “mixed marriage” of her parents, Elizabeth Taylor asks William Powell if he had been baptized Episcopalian, and Mr. Powell jovially confesses he was never baptized at all.

Irene Dunne nearly pops her corset in shock, deeply upset both by Powell’s cavalier insistence that it’s not important, and by the thought that he will not join her in heaven, that they are not really married in the eyes of the church, and that her children are quite possibly illegitimate.

Though she has taken great pains to accommodate the master of the house in all things from scaring away nervous Irish servants, to banishing her new rubber plant, to maintaining accurate household accounts (mostly), she is unrelenting about the horror of his not being baptized and insists he get the ceremony done immediately.

He insists, with what we might consider a quite modern outlook, that he will be a Christian in his own way.

“They can’t keep me out of heaven on a technicality!”

Of course, among Christians, the idea of being a Christian in one’s own way is nothing new. If this were not the case, there would never have been any Methodists or Episcopalians, Lutherans, Quakers, or Baptists, etc. Re-defining, honing perhaps, the essentials of religious practices seems to be part and parcel of what it is to be a Christian.

The movie has a lighthearted grip on this irony, as well as on the elements of Victorian society that also pit tradition versus change. In a scene where Jimmy Lydon asks his father about women, we have William Powell sitting down to tell his son the facts of life, only to sputter about wrong his mother is over her stubborn beliefs. When Lydon wants clarification on men’s relationships with women, Powell turns back into the Victorian father and sternly remarks, “Gentlemen don’t discuss such things.”

Edmund Gwenn plays the gentle minister who makes Powell squirm in his pew (which Powell informs his wife has lost property value in two years - “If the market ever goes up, I’m going to unload that pew.”), by sermonizing on the perils of not being baptized.

“I don’t go to church to be preached at as if I’m some lost sheep!” Powell blusters.

Eventually, Mr. Powell takes his troubles directly to God when Irene Dunne becomes ill. Powell, in a funny, but moving prayer, hollers at the Deity, “Have mercy, I say!” and promises to become baptized if she is spared.

She gets well. It’s time for Powell to pay up, but he still refuses, and it takes a bit more cajoling to get him to the font. It’s another humorous touch that one of the motivating factors that makes him decide to proceed with getting baptized is that the cab Irene Dunne has hired for that purpose is costing him $2 an hour just waiting outside.

One of the sweetest moments in the film is a scene of domestic bliss between Mr. Powell and Miss Dunne, when they sit together, their discussion fading off into a soft duet of “Sweet Marie”. We knew Dunne could sing, but Powell is charming. The camera pans back and we see the stillness, the orderliness of the drawing room with the only movement a slight billowing of the lacy curtains at the window, sifted by the summer breeze. It is a cameo image of the 19th Century.

Michael Curtiz directs this film with his customary economy, but moments like these make one think of Vincente Minnelli.

Another memorable moment is when Jimmy Lydon, wearing one of his father’s old cut-down suits, is unable to kneel in church, or sit with a girl on his lap, or do anything his father wouldn’t do in this suit. The suit seems to control him. When Elizabeth curls up to him, he growls helplessly, “Get up! Get up!” What bigger insult can a young lady have?

The boys try to raise money, and Jimmy Lydon offers his “piece of John Wilkes Booth’s finger” to Martin Milner.

When Irene Dunne laments the newspaper article about a wreck on the old New Haven railroad line because it would disturb Wall Street and therefore her husband: “I do wish the New Haven would stop having wrecks. If only they knew how it upset your father.”

There is, above all, the glorious, just short of scene chewing mastery of William Powell, with his pince-nez glasses on a ribbon, his colossal ranting, and his clear, helpless devotion to his wife. His flirty, “Shall I leave the room?” when Zasu Pitts wants to show Irene Dunne her purchases of intimate apparel.

The horse-drawn streetcar, the quiet country lane that once was Madison Avenue in New York City, and the stereopticon pictures. It’s a feast for the eyes.

And could be a better visual feast if only the film was restored, but it is now in public domain and has become an orphan. (Oh, GAD!)   If you’d like to see it right now, here’s a link where you can watch the whole thing, interrupted by a few commercials. It’s not the best way to see this delightful movie, but even Clarence Day couldn’t argue about the price.