During the making of Stage Fright, Wilding was ending his marriage to Kay Young, whom he would divorce in 1951, allowing him to marry Elizabeth Taylor the following year. Prior to his marriage to Taylor, he had been the fourth most popular star at the box offices of Britain.
Both Dietrich and Wilding were immediately attracted to each other. “When I introduced them, they were practically making love,” Hitchcock said. “I wanted to tell them to get a room. In a sense, they did. Her dressing room.”
On their first day together, Wilding was bewitched by “the world’s most glamorous grandmother.” As he recalled in a memoir, The wilding way, “My first sight of her was breathtaking. She was lying on a sofa, draped in furs, her lovely legs gleaming in black tights, looking like a 20th Century Venus. I was completely bewitched and tongue-tied until she broke the silence herself.”
“Before Marlene took up with Michael, I got a sample of her world-famous oral talents,” Todd said. “So did George Bernard Shaw, I heard, on their first meeting. After she serviced me, she told me that even though she opposed my upcoming marriage, she considered my bride to be a very lucky girl. I considered that a great compliment, considering some of the guys she had serviced. You name them, Gary Cooper, Yul Brynner, Joe DiMaggio, Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster, George Raft, Orson Welles, John Wayne, General George Patton, John Gilbert, Howard Hughes, Ronald Colman, John F. Kennedy, and such ladies as Colette and Barbara Stanwyck.”
Before Jane met Michael Wilding (above), Dietrich told her, “He’s the British equivalent of Jimmy Stewart.”
“That’s good to know,” Jane answered. “I’ve had Jimmy, and liked him, so maybe this newly liberated bachelor gal will make a new conquest.”
“Too late,” Dietrich told her. “I saw him first, dear heart.”
Wilding was nearly twelve years younger than Dietrich. She found him sophisticated and amusing, and he entertained her with amusing anecdotes about his life. As her biographer, Donald Spoto, wrote, “[wilding] had scarcely been introduced to her when she offered herself to him, as if the way for her to feel young was to prove to herself that she could keep a young man. ‘I am too old for you,’ she said bluntly. Obviously, he did not agree.”
During the shoot, Dietrich and Wilding became the most photographed couple in London, their romance generating tabloid fodder. But it was not destined to last. Maria Riva (Dietrich’s daughter), in her memoirs, provided the reason why her mother did not remain with Wilding.
Riva wrote: “During the Wilding time, my mother kept up her devotion to Maurice Chevalier, became involved with a famous American actress known not only for her talent, pined for Jean Gabin, received her baseball player when he needed cosseting, loved Erich Maria Remarque, her charming general, Edith Piaf, a gorgeous Teutonic blonde who became her German pal, and worked full time at being indispensible to her immediate entourage.”
Riva was being discreet, not revealing some of the other names with whom Dietrich was involved at the time.
After the filming, Dietrich told both Jane and Riva, “I don’t like Hitchcock. Why they all think he is so great, I don’t know. Josef von Sternberg was great, Stage Fright is bad. Maybe in cutting, he’ll do all his famous ‘suspense’ to save it. He certainly didn’t do it while we were shooting this monstrosity.”
Privately, Wilding told Hitchcock, “I don’t like this Wyman creature. Perhaps Ronald Reagan went for her. I’m not sure who Reagan is. I’ve never seen one picture of his. I hear he’s a second rate actor. She suffered being the only Yank in an all-English cast.”
Publicly, he said to the press, “Miss Wyman carried off her role with dignity and poise. I think she held her own beautifully.”
At the end of the shoot, Hitchcock told the press, “Marlene Dietrich is a professional star. She is also a professional cameraman, art director, film editor, costume designer, hairdresser, makeup artist, composer, and producer—and director.”
The next morning, she read in the london express observer that Marlene Dietrich had been spotted at one of the London airports while awaiting the departure of a flight to Paris. A journalist had reported that after being asked what it was like working with Jane Wyman, “Miss Dietrich merely shrugged her shoulders and walked toward the departure gate.”
Upon the release of Stage Fright, Dietrich got rave reviews, Hitchcock, Jane, and the movie not faring well. The word used to describe Jane was often “mousy.”
Critic Molly Haskell hailed Dietrich’s performance as one of the greatest in her long career. The Sunday Mirror in New York found Dietrich “supercharged with sex appeal at her age. She makes Jane Wyman look like a Girl Scout leader.”
Another reviewer mocked Jane’s attempt at a Cockney accent, except when she said “mattam” for madam. “That was the only Cockney enunciation she managed to get correct,” he wrote.
Years later, Jane said, “On the screen, I was supposed to be falling in love with Wilding. Nothing could have been further from the truth. In my scenes with him, I could-n’t make out half of what he was talking about.”
Fans today, especially those who watch Turner Classic Movies, seem to appreciate Stage Fright more than those who saw it back in 1950.
***
In an inaccurate report, the daily express ran a story asserting that Lew Ayres had flown into London and was seen dancing with Jane Wyman. The journalist wrote, “I hear wedding bells in the background.”
Jane was not with Ayres, as he had previously broken off with her. She was dating her latest beau, Clark Hardwicke, described as a “millionaire sportsman.” He was actually a golfer. But he did look like Ayres, so the inaccuracy in the report was based on a case of mistaken identity.
Jane in 1950, on the loose with Clark Hardwicke, capturing a young man’s fancy until the real thing came along.
Jane’s affair with the young man would continue after her return to Hollywood.
A pivotal moment came for her in London right before she left. On a sightseeing trip in a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce provided by the studio, she asked her driver to stop in front of an imposing building. She thought it was Westminster Abbey. Actually, it was Westminster Cathedral, the largest Catholic church in England. She later told a reporter, “I’d never seen such a sight in my life.”
She spent an hour inside, marking the beginning of her interest in the Catholic liturgy. She attended the Cathedral every day during the remainder of her stay in London, becoming fascinated by the rituals inside, including mass, rosaries, the wardrobe of the priests, and the panorama of church history extending back to its Old Testament beginnings. On the day of her final visit, she made a strange statement: “I’m going to become a Catholic even if it kills me.”
In Hollywood, among the bills that had piled up, she first opened a letter from her divorce lawyer, Lloyd Wright. He charged her $7,500 for divorcing Reagan. She sent him a check for $5,000 and marked it “Payment in Full.” He accepted her reduced fee.
Plain Jane, without makeup, testifying in court about her intention of divorcing Reagan.
***
Ironically, her letterhead read, “Mrs. Ronald Reagan, Hollywood, California.”
When Clark Hardwicke returned to California, she was seen frequently with him. There were rumors of an upcoming marriage.
Ruth Waterbury, a former assistant to Louella Parsons and the former editor of both Photoplay and Silver Screen, didn’t think so. “Let’s face it: Clark Hardwicke is a cute, sexy kid with a good athlete’s body. Janie was feeling light and giddy, and Clark filled the bill for that mood. She used him to distract herself. I never heard her say anything really deeply felt about him.”
[The last time Jane was seen in public with her dashing young beau was in august of 1950, when Movie Life covered the preview of The Glass Menagerie, her latest film based on the hit Broadway play by Tennessee williams. after that, Hardwicke slid into the graveyard of her forgotten beaux.]
***
A new saga in the very dysfunctional life o
f the Wingfield family began when Charles Feldman and Jerry Wald, as producers, set out to bring Tennessee’s The Glass Menagerie to the screen. They envisioned it as a 1950 release directed by Irving Rapper.
Casting was a major issue fraught with trauma. Tennessee rarely got his wish when it came to the stars who were hired for screen adaptations of his plays. Originally, he’d wanted Teresa Wright for the role of Laura. “Her sad eyes and the aching vulnerability in her voice would make her ideal as Laura,” he told Feldman.
But by the time Tennessee reached Hollywood, he had changed his mind, telling Feldman, “Only Judy Garland can capture the poignancy of Laura.”
The producer had his own ideas. “I’m pitching the role of Amanda [the play’s steely matriarch] to Ethel Barrymore and the part of Laura [amanda’s disabled and overly vulnerable daughter] to Jeanne Crain.”
In the weeks that followed, Feldman ran into more and more roadblocks and kept calling Tennessee to report on changes in his vision for the cast. In the first of these calls he announced, “I think Gene Tierney should play Laura, with Montgomery Clift in the role of the Gentleman Caller.” Tennessee at least liked the idea of Clift.
Two days later, Feldman called again with another change: “How about Marlon Brando as the Gentleman Caller, and Tallulah Bankhead as Amanda?”
“As much as I adore Tallulah, don’t you think she’s a bit strong to play a gentle Southern belle?”
Before Feldman called again, he’d spoken to Brando. “Marlon said he’ll never work with Tallulah again unless the Earth is attacked by Martians.”
[in 1947, Tallulah and Brando had starred together, with frequent outbursts of spleen, rage and fury, in the Jean Cocteau play, The Eagle Has Two Heads.]
A week later, Feldman called again. “I’ve come up with the best idea of all: Miriam Hopkins, that Savannah magnolia, as Amanda, with Ralph Meeker playing the Gentleman Caller. He’s less than lovable to work with, but brazenly masculine for the role.”
A dysfunctional mother argues with her dysfunctional son: Arthur Kennedy with Gertrude (“Rise & shine!”) Lawrence.
Although it had been pre-arranged that the film would be distributed by Warner Brothers, there were rumblings from Louis B. Mayer at MGM. Enraged, he had telephoned Tennessee’s literary agent, Audrey Wood, claiming he owned the rights to The Glass Menagerie because Tennessee, while on salary at MGM, “wrote the play on our dime. By giving this to Warner’s, he’s biting the hand that fed the little faggot. I’m finding it harder and harder to cast Greer Garson. But she’d be great as Amanda. I also resent Williams’ criticism of my judgment at MGM.”
[Tennessee had told the press that he had been dropped by MGM “in retaliation for my unwillingness to undertake another stupid assignment after i fucked up on Marriage Is a Private Affair (1944) for lana Turner.”]
Mayer’s threat of a lawsuit did not materialize, and eventually, to his humiliation, he lived to see his own daughter, Irene Mayer Selznick, produce Tennessee’s second film, a Streetcar named desire, for Warner Brothers, not MGM.
Tennessee was surprised once again when Feldman called to tell him that he’d just signed the British star, Gertrude Lawrence, to play Amanda. Tennessee knew her as a singer, dancer, and musical comedy performer. The Glass Menagerie would be Lawrence’s only film in which she worked at an American studio with an otherwise all-American cast.
Since, contractually, Feldman had the power of casting, Tennessee relented, but nevertheless threw in a dig, “Is Lawrence bringing Daphne du Maurier to Hollywood with her?”
[Both Tennessee and Feldman knew that lawrence and the world-famed novelist were lesbian lovers.]
When Tennessee actually met Lawrence, he was deliberately provocative: “In London, Noël Coward told me that he lost his virginity to you when he was just thirteen years old. According to Noël, the two of you did it on a train.”
“That story is absolutely true,” she answered. “I fear I scared off the boy from women for life.”
With some reluctance, Tennessee accepted a screenwriting credit with Peter Berneis, the play’s adapter.
Tennessee shuddered when he learned the details of the movie’s final casting. The role of Laura went to Jane Wyman.
He feared that she was too old for the part, but the co-producer, Jerry Wald, assured him she’d be terrific. “Jane, of course, isn’t fresh anymore. But she studies a character for weeks and throws herself into the part.”
It was the director, Irving Rapper, who called Tennessee to tell him that the pivotal character of Tom Wingfield would be played by Arthur Kennedy, and the part of the Gentleman Caller would be given to Kirk Douglas, then in the first flush of his stardom.
Visiting the set, Tennessee met with Jane, later defining her as “a strong, cold, and determined bitch.”
He remembered her divorced husband, Reagan, dropping by the set to give her a poodle for her birthday.
Kirk Douglas as the “Gentleman Caller,” with Jane as the girl whose psyche is as damaged as her club-foot.
“I later met John F. Kennedy before he became President,” Tennessee said. “I thought he was much too good looking and sophisticated to get elected. As for Reagan, there is no way in hell that I could believe this un-talented actor would ever become president. It was inconceivable. I guess I don’t know how to pick them in politics.”
He made this statement in 1980 to Margaret Foresman of The Key west Citizen.
Reagan invited Tennessee to join Jane and him in the commissary.
As Tennessee remembered it, Reagan and Jane talked about which boarding school would be the right choice for their daughter, Maureen. “They decided on Palos Chadwick School at Palos Verdes. That’s where Joan Crawford sent her daughter, Christina, instead of smothering her. I’m sure Joan would have decided on death-by-strangulation if she knew that Christina would write that horrid little memoir, Mommie dearest, [published in 1978] about her adoptive mother.”
Tennessee continued: “Maureen never wrote a daddy dearest book about Reagan, but that other daughter of his, Patti Davis, came close, or so I’d heard. I never read crap like that before.”
After Reagan bid Jane and Tennessee goodbye, he headed out the door.
Ten minutes later, Tennessee left the commissary with the intention of beginning his afternoon walk. He later told Darwin Porter, “Reagan was outside, waiting to be picked up by someone. This blonde suddenly pulled up in her car. I strained my one good eye. The face was unmistakable. That blonde taking Reagan away, no doubt, for a session of love in the afternoon, was none other than perky little Doris Day.”
***
Interpreting the role of Laura was a rough challenge for Jane, as she had to play the club-footed and deeply depressed daughter of the spectacularly dysfunctional Wing-field family. She lives in a world of her own, collecting fragile glass animals. She shares the apartment with her brother, Tom (as played by Arthur Kennedy), and her iron magnolia mother, Amanda (Gertrude Lawrence). Tom is a frustrated would-be writer earning a meager living laboring in a warehouse. The three survive in a tenement building in St. Louis. The absent husband of the house, a telephone repairman, “fell in love with long distance” and, years before, abandoned his family to survive as best they could.
Wanting his disabled sister to find a potential beau, Tom brings home a gentleman caller (Kirk Douglas) as the movie heads toward its tragic dénouement. At a particularly poignant moment, he informs the very vulnerable Laura that he’s already engaged to another woman.
Jane used her expressive eyes to convey her character’s vulnerability, living in her “world of glass.” She told Rapper, “In some respects, Laura reminds me of that lonely little girl I left behind in St. Joseph.”
Although Rapper was the wrong director for the job—it called for an Elia Kazan—he did try to make effective use of Jane’s bittersweet docility in closeups.
She recalled, “It takes more than a limp to play a lame girl. It takes a definite frame of mind, in whic
h you project yourself into the part so fully that you even think like a handicapped person and act like one. In Menagerie I wear a specially designed shoe that makes my left foot turn in and that actually forces me to limp.”
Ironically, Jane’s personal hobby involved collecting glass replicas of animals. She even lent Warners some pieces from her personal collection.
During the filming, Michael Reagan became desperately ill with some kind of flu virus and had to be hospitalized. When she wasn’t needed on the set, Jane was with him at the hospital.
Rapper warned that she was risking shutting down production if she contracted the flu herself.
She later became furious that Warners publicity promoted the film like some sex drama with large lettered typeface proclaiming:
HE WAS TOO SHY FOR TOO LONG…AND THEN CAME FRESH GUY.
The filmed version of The Glass Menagerie (1950) did not do well at the box office. Even Douglas expressed his disappointment. “Unfortunately, the movie was not well directed,” he said, “and Gertrude Lawrence’s vanity had to be appeased. She insisted on a flashback, where she was young and glamorous, so no one would think she was the old lady that she actually was. The elements didn’t mesh; the movie just didn’t come off.”
Years later, Douglas would recommend that moviegoers wanting to see The Glass Menagerie should, in lieu of the version he was in, catch the 1987 version directed by Paul Newman, starring his wife, Joanne Woodward.
In reference to the 1950 version, Tennessee himself later stated, “I detested the film. As I predicted, Lawrence was a dismal error in casting. The movie version was a dishonest adaptation of my play. I would soon get used to that in Hollywood’s other attempts to film one of my dramas.”
For a brief few months, Jane Wyman captured Greg Bautzer, a powerful attorney and the most sought-after bachelor in town.
Love Triangle: Ronald Reagan, Jane Wyman, & Nancy Davis (Blood Moon's Babylon Series) Page 90