Humphrey Bogart

by Darwin Porter

  When director Anatole Litvak sent over a script called The Amazing Dr. Clitterhouse, Bogie read it but wasn’t impressed. To Methot, he disparagingly referred to this movie as “The Amazing Doctor Clitoris.”

  “I don’t even get to play Dr. Clit,” Bogie told Methot. “The lead goes to the ugliest man in Hollywood, Edward G. Robinson. Alongside him, I look like Tyrone Power. Ronald Colman turned down the lead. Smart guy, that Colman. Would you believe my character is called Rocks Valentine? Who makes up crap like this? Some of the other characters include Pat Pal, Rabbit, Tug, and Popus Poopus. One guy, Billy Wayne, plays Candy. If we ever have a son, let’s call him Candy. He’ll learn to be tough when the bullies beat him up every day in the schoolyard.”

  This was one of the most bizarre gangster films Warners ever turned out.

  As Dr. Clitterhouse, Robinson wants to understand the criminal mind. To gain first-hand knowledge, he becomes a criminal himself, committing several jewelry heists.

  He joins up with a “fence,” surprisingly played by Claire Trevor, who negotiates deals with a gang of safecrackers headed by Rocks (Bogie himself).

  In a weird twist, near the end, Dr. Clitterhouse gives Rocks a poisoned drink so he can study his reactions while he goes into his death throes.

  On the set Bogie asked Robinson, “How many times are you gonna kill me in the movies before I die off?”

  “I predict you’ll have nine lives.”

  Bogie later claimed that Robinson had his mind on everything but playing the role of Dr. Clitterhouse. “All he talked about was the oncoming war in Europe. He was supporting every group opposed to Hitler and contributing a lot of dough. Because many of the groups he joined were pro-Stalin or pro-Soviet Union, he was later accused of being a Communist.”

  By late 1949, Robinson was being attacked by such ilk as Gerald I.K. Smith, the moving force behind the Knights of the White Camellia, an anti-Semitic, anti-Black group. “Robinson is one of Stalin’s main agents in Hollywood,” Smith charged. “A part of the Stalin machine. He should be put in a Federal Penitentiary.”

  On the set Bogie hoped to resume his warm, cozy relationship with co-star, Claire Trevor, but she was planning to marry CBS producer Clark Andrews, so she had cooled her ardor for him. “Let’s be friends,” she told him. And so they did.

  Born in Kiev, Anatole Litvak, the director, was married to actress Miriam Hopkins when he arrived on the set to direct Robinson and Bogart in The Amazing Dr. Clitterhouse.

  “Miriam and I just might take your title away from you,” Litvak told him. “The Battling Bogarts” might be replaced& by “The Battling Litvaks.” Miriam and I had a knock-out, drag-out—as you Americans say—the other night. I left her.”

  “Mayo and I don’t need an excuse to fight,” Bogie said. “What about you and Miriam?”

  “She found out about my affair with her arch rival, Bette Davis,” Litvak said.

  “That’ll do it every time,” Bogie said. “Women are so different from men. We’re made to have affairs.”

  “My dear boy, so are women,” Litvak said.

  Three days later, Bogie was only mildly surprised to encounter Bette Davis slipping onto the set for a rendezvous with Litvak, whom she referred to as “Tola.” That same year of the Clitterhouse movie, Litvak would direct Davis in The Sisters.

  With Davis and Litvak occupied in their torrid love affair, Bogie was left alone on the set to greet Gale Page, with whom he’d made Crime School, a film in which he’d been the star and Page his leading lady. Now in The Amazing Dr. Clitterhouse, he was reduced to third billing, but she fared even worse, having been demoted to sixth billing in her role as Nurse Randolph.

  “I thought Crime School was going to make you a big star,” he said to Page. “At least, that’s what you told me. What happened?”

  “You’re such a needler,” Page said. “I don’t need to be reminded about how I’m not setting the world on fire. Perhaps there will be a scene between us in this picture where I, as your nurse, get to stick a very long needle in your ass.”

  “You’d do anything to see my ass, wouldn’t you now?” Bogie asked.

  “You don’t have one of the great asses of Hollywood, in case you haven’t turned backwards for a look in a full-length mirror.”

  “She turned her back on him and started to walk away. “Actually, I’m an ass man myself, and you’ve got a set of buns,& baby.”

  “You’ll never get to enjoy it,” she said as her farewell greeting.

  “An hour later, Litvak emerged from his bungalow, leaving Davis inside, presumably to repair the damage to her makeup. Bogie walked over to Litvak, but decided not to mention Davis. “I just encountered Gale Page,” Bogie said. “Leslie Howard and I have this bet to see who can seduce the largest number of our co-stars, but I just struck out with Page.”

  “Don’t bother with her.” Litvak said. “I’ll give you my wife’s phone number. You can call up dear Miss Miriam Hopkins herself. She’d love to get deep-dicked by you. She’s certainly not getting it from me.”

  “Thanks for the offer of your wife’s sevices,” Bogie said. “Bette Davis must not find out about this. She positively hates Miriam.”

  “I know,” Litvak said. “Now get back before those cameras and try to give me some emotion this time.”

  As far as it is known, Bogie never revealed to any of his friends, not even Spencer Tracy, whether he took advantage of Miriam Hopkins’ phone number—or not.

  In the making of The Sisters, Davis had fought with her director over how a scene should be shot. She called Litvak “stubborn.” He called her “very, very stubborn.”

  When Davis and Bogie met again, he asked her pointedly. “I heard you and Litvak broke up. What happened?”

  “It was more than his being a very stupid director,” she said. “I found out that he took Paulette Goddard to dinner at Ciro’s and spent most of the evening under the table servicing the bitch.”

  Bogie had a major fight with wardrobe when he was asked to don a bathing suit and dive off the edge of a swimming pool. “I don’t have the kind of body I like to show off,” he said. “Get Wayne Morris, maybe Johnny Weissmuller.”

  Finally, Litvak got him to perform the scene in an old-fashioned “shoulder-to-thigh” suit.

  John Huston, the future director of Bogie’s The African Queen showed up on the set of The Amazing Dr. Clitterhouse. He’d written the screenplay with John Wexley, who identified himself to Bogie as “a radical leftist.”

  That afternoon, Huston would encounter a trio of stars—Robinson, Bogie, and Claire Trevor, all of whom he’d eventually cast in Key Largo (1948), along with Bogie’s fourth wife, Lauren Bacall.

  Billy Wayne played so many bit parts between 1935 and 1955 that he lost track of the number of times he’d been cast as cabbies, sailors, reporters, and photographers. Bogie asked Litvak to introduce him to the boy playing “Candy.” He expected him to be effeminate. If so, Bogie would rib him a bit.

  “Hi, Candy,” Bogie said, coming up to him. “I play Lollipop in this movie. Maybe we can get together and eat each other?”

  Wayne studied him carefully. “You know that scar on your lip, Bogart? Would you like another?”

  Bogie had several drinks with supporting players John Litel and Ward Bond. They were part of what became known as the “Warner Bros. Stock Company” in the 1930s, assigned to various supporting roles whenever they came up.

  “I’m getting old, guys,” Bogie told Litel and Bond. “If I don’t make it soon as a number one movie star, I’ll be playing character roles with you losers.”

  Always cast in no-nonsense roles, Litel would appear in more than 200 films. A few times he played the lead in B movies. Bogie would work with him again in They Drive by Night.

  Gruff, burly, Nebraska-born Ward Bond became a familiar face to movie-goers of the 1930s and beyond. A favorite of director John Ford, Bond was John Wayne’s best friend.

  “What do you guys do all the time hangi
ng out together?” Bogie asked.

  “We go to bars, get drunk, and start fights,” Bond said.

  “Sounds like fun,” Bogie said. One afternoon when Bogie was complaining to Bond that Warners forced him to make too many movies in one year, “Don’t& be a fucking sissy,” Bond said. “In 1935 I& acted in thirty movies.”

  Bond himself would make at least 175 movies. One drunken night Bond and Bogie made a strange pact. Both of them agreed to die before their 60th birthday. “Who wants to live to be 60?” Bogie asked.

  “Not me,” Bond replied.

  Although they may have forgotten their alcohol-sodden vows by the time of their deaths, both Bond and Bogie kept their promise to each other, each of them eventually dying at the ages of 57 and 58, respectively.

  The Amazing Dr. Clitterhouse earned a profit of $10,000, The New York Times calling it “sad and aimless,” the kindest words they had for this turkey.

  Bogie later claimed that the role of& Rocks Valentine was “one of my all-time least favorites.”

  ***

  Also cast in the Dr. Clitterhouse movie was Max (Slapsie Maxie) Rosenbloom. Bogie found this former boxer fascinating with his cauliflower ears, fat lips, and punch drunk mug. Instead of chasing women on the set, as he usually preferred to do, Bogie spent long hours talking with Slapsie Maxie, a title bestowed on the boxer by Damon Runyon because of this less-than-classy style of slapping opponents in the ring.

  Slapsie Maxie enthralled Bogie with his stories of the ring, but also his tall tales of his gambling and womanizing. He claimed he’d bedded Mae West, and Bogie did not find this unbelievable as Miss West was known to have “this thing” for boxers.

  Bogie confessed, “I’m a coward. I run from a fight. But since I play a tough guy on screen, every bully goes after me.”

  Slapsie Maxie agreed to work out with Bogie in the ring to teach him how to defend himself. “I did okay in the ring before I ended up in Hollywood playing Runyon-like thugs and pugs. But I was never a strong puncher in my heyday. I developed this technique of a hit-and-run defensive type of boxing. I’ll teach it to you.”

  “Actually, I wish you would,” Bogie said. “Not just to protect myself from bullies, but for another reason. Career advancement. Hollywood is getting ready to make Golden Boy. I want the lead role of a boxer.”

  “Okay, I’ll teach you to box,” Slapsie Maxie agreed. The ex-boxer kept his promise, with Bogie working out in the ring with the champ, as Mayo stood on the sidelines, screaming, “Kill the fucker, Bogie. Kill him!”

  Bogie continued to see Slapsie Maxie over the years.

  In 1943, Bogie showed up at Hollywood’s newest night club, Slapsie& Maxie’s. Bogie’s date that night was Ingrid Bergman.

  In just a few years, the boxer, as Bogie observed, was suffering from Paget’s disease, actually pugilistica dementia, as a result of continuous blows to his head which he’d endured as a boxer.

  “Poor Slapsie Maxie,” Bogie later said. “He taught me how to fight. Punch the fucker in the kisser, bloody his nose, and while he’s recovering from the blow, run like hell.”

  ***

  On the set Bogie encountered Ronald Reagan again. He was complaining about his meager part as a radio announcer. “They are not even letting me show my face in this film—just my voice.”

  “Would you say that’s better than having to show your ass?” Bogie asked. “Listen to me, Reagan, you’re a good looking guy—not my type, but good looking enough, I guess, although I prefer men with more kissable tits. I saw a picture of you without your shirt.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Reagan said. “I was told you like to put people on.”

  “You’re gonna go to the top,” Bogie said. “I’ve told you this before. You’re going to become a bigger star than I could ever hope to be. It’ll take a few more Bs for you, then it’s Grade A prime rib beef movie roles for you. As for me, with my kisser, I’m stuck in the Bs. Jack Warner has told every director on the lot that I’m not good looking enough for a romantic role. He also considers me a midget. He complains I’m losing my hair. Then there’s the question of my lisp.”

  “Yes, I was wondering about that,” Reagan said. “I was told to stay away from guys who lisp in Hollywood.”

  “Good advice, kid.”

  “I also got my report card from Jack Warner,” Reagan said. “A little bird told me.”

  “You mean a certain secretary in Warner’s office, the one with the shapely legs.”

  “Something like that,” Reagan said. “Warner thinks I’m nice looking—of course, that’s damning with faint praise. He says my best quality is my voice, very friendly. As for my acting, he thinks I’m a bit stiff but okay for B pictures. He thinks I have no comic timing, so I can only do drama. But, and here’s the rub, he thinks I have ‘no heat’ on the screen.”

  “If you and I did a love scene together, we’d burn up the screen,” Bogie said.

  “You’re such a kidder,” Reagan said. “I was warned about you. Fortunately, man-on-man kissing scenes will never be shown on the screen—we can thank God for that.”

  “As I said, hang in there,” Bogie said. “You can play romantic leads throughout the 40s and into the 50s. If you’re still around in the 60s, highly unlikely, you’ll have to switch to villain roles.”

  “What about you?” Reagan asked. “You still plan to be a villain in the 1960s?”

  “No, not me,” Bogie said. “When the 60s roll around, I’ll be resting comfortably in Forest Lawn.”

  “I’m going to hang around for two or three more years,” Reagan said. “If I don’t make it, I’m going back home, back to radio.”

  Of his early roles, including Swing Your Lady, Reagan later said, “Remember the guy in the movies who rushes into the phone booth, pushes his hat to the back of his head while the tails of his trench coat are still flying, drops a nickel in the box, dials a few numbers and then says, ‘Gimme the city desk. I’ve got a story that’ll split this town wide open!’ That was me.”

  Bogie had met so many young actors like Reagan in Hollywood. As he told Methot, “They start out in bit parts, become romantic stars on the screen, and end up in character roles when the face sags. The hero often becomes an aging villain.”

  Indeed that was what happened to Reagan in his last movie, The Killers, based on a story by Ernest Hemingway. He was cast as a powerful underworld figure who beats up on poor Angie Dickinson. A scene of him, with his face contorted in anger, was used against him when he ran for president in 1980. The head read: HE VIOLENTLY BEAT UP ON ANGIE DICKINSON. AS PRESIDENT, HE’LL DO THE SAME TO AMERICA!

  ***

  As long as Bogie lived, he’d never forget the way Susan Hayward had approached him on the set of The Amazing Dr. Clitterhouse. She was appearing in the film in a minor role.

  “Hi, Rocks,” she said, using the name of the character he was playing. “I’m Susan Hayward, and I’ve come to Hollywood to play Scarlett O’Hara. It appears we’ll be working together, with you as my Rhett Butler.”

  He was so stunned by her approach that at first he did not have a ready answer, unusual for him. “You certainly have the hair to play Scarlett,” he finally said.

  “That’s not the issue,” she said, standing before him with a hand on her hip. “The question is, do you have the balls to play Rhett Butler?”

  “Indeed I do,” he shot back, “and I’m ready to start clanking them at any minute.”

  “Ronald Reagan’s already beat you to me,” she said.

  This surprised Bogie, who felt that Reagan wasn’t quite enough of a man to handle Hayward. As he would later tell Claire Trevor, “I wonder if I’m enough of a man to take Hayward.”

  “If you can deal with Mayo Methot, you can tackle Hayward.”

  The details are missing, but it appears that Bogie did have a brief fling with Hayward. It seemed to be a tryst he wanted to break off quickly.

  Trevor later said that Bogie came to her one day with a horrible problem.
“In bed, Hayward claws a man’s back like a tigress. How am I going to explain that to Mayo?”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Trevor said. “Take her in the kitchen while she’s cooking dinner. You remain fully clothed, with only your pants down. Pull up her dress and go at it. Tell her you were overcome with passion and couldn’t wait to get to the bedroom and undress.”

  “Claire, that’s why I love you so,” he said. “What would I do without you?”

  “Learn to live with it,” she said. “I’m fully booked.”

  “The question was only rhetorical.”

  In later years, he would say, “Susan Hayward was a stunning beauty. But she had a savage heart. In many ways, her granite-hard Brooklynese, feisty spirit evoked Barbara Stanwyck. Susan made it the hard way. From the slums to the stenographers’ pool, from the modeling agency to Hollywood’s casting couch. She did it her way. What she lacked in talent, she made up for in fierce determination to become a star. We ended up working for different studios, but I think one of the great screen teams of all times would have been Humphrey Bogart and Susan Hayward.& Note the billing, of course.”

  In the final cut of The Amazing Dr. Clitterhouse, you don’t see Reagan but you hear his voice as a radio& announcer, a job he held before becoming a film actor.

  As Hayward lamented to Bogie, “My part in the film ended up on the cutting room floor.”

  “Welcome to Hollywood, babe,” Bogie said.

  Even though Hayward and Bogie would never work together, she would appear in his life story as a morbid footnote. Bogie and Lauren Bacall were planning on filming Melville Goodwin, U.S.A., a script based on the novel by John P. Marquand.

  After Bogie died, Bacall understandably dropped out. Warner Brothers re-titled this 1957 release Top Secret Affair, giving Hayward Bacall’s part and awarding her star billing. Kirk Douglas took the role originally slated for Bogart.

  This box office bust was about an aggressive lady publisher seeking to discredit a distinguished war hero. “Too bad Bogie died,” Hayward said upon the release of the film. “I wasted my time and energy on this turkey. He should have lived to make his Last Supper.”