STAR OF THE MONTH: Carole Landis

Carole Landis

It is funny what celebrity death can do... both to the public and to the deceased. The masses were so distraught after Rudy Valentino's death that at least a couple of the broken hearts tried to take their own lives as well. The tragedies of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe, instead of ending their time on earth, brought them eternal life and the love of devoted fans. Yet, sometimes, despite one's fame, to die is to die. Such is the sad case of Carole Landis, who despite her bright light, her profound beauty, and the fanatic adulation she received during her lifetime, is now remembered-- if at all-- as a sad and balled-up corpse on the bathroom floor. After she took her own life in order to ease her wounded heart, the world was left in shocked silence. Slowly, she became all but forgotten outside the halls of Hollywood's macabre trivia. The time has come to unearth her and give her the respect and embrace she always wanted but was forever denied. As the anniversary of her death approaches on July Fourth, it seems befitting to dedicate our most patriotic month to the woman who, in her life, was America's favorite patriot. Carole Landis, God shed his grace on thee...

Carole was naturally photogenic... and a brunette. 

She went blonde when she went Hollywood.

Just as mysterious and saddening as her end was her beginning. Frances Lillian Ridste was the youngest of five children born to Clara Zentek and Alfred Ridste of Wisconsin in 1919. Yet, from the beginning there was controversy, including a debate as to just who her real father was. While the family was temporarily living in Montana-- due to Alfred's job with the railroad-- Clara met farmer Charles Fenner and, it is assumed, had an affair with him. Since Alfred obtained a divorce from Clara not long after Frances's birth, credence can be given to the rumor. Clara wed Charles after her first divorce, but that union would only last 17 months. Thus, Carole inherited two absent fathers and an equally absent mother, who was forced to spend most of her days working to feed and clothe herself and her 4 children (one of whom, Jerry, had tragically already died). Carole was often left to her own devices: both to entertain herself and to fend for herself. Her childhood lacked the innocence that every youth is owed, but she never belly-ached about it. In fact, her fortitude and her selflessness were well-honed qualities that she would carry with her into adulthood, where their repercussions would eventually and vengefully take hold. A naturally friendly, light-hearted, and popular child, Carole was laid-back and easy-going. After the family moved to San Bernardino, CA, she enjoyed the pleasures of going to school and socializing, excelling at both. She could easily chat with the girls, despite their jealousy over her growing beauty-- which her sweet demeanor rendered non-threatening-- but she preferred to play sports with the boys. Athleticism was always a major part of her life, and the glamorous gowns and delicate figure that she showcased in her later film roles would eclipse a tom-boy's energetic and shapely body. In her youth, the only "dangerous curves" Carole concerned herself with had to do with softball.

In a wardrobe fitting.

Feisty and independent, Carole would survive many tragedies and mature rapidly as a result. She lost another brother, Lewis, when he was accidentally shot at the kitchen table while playing with a neighbor's gun. After her mother suffered a ruptured appendix, Carole, despite being the youngest member of the household, was the only child who neither panicked nor cried. She did what she always did and "got to gettin'." Nonetheless, the scars of these early experiences increased in her a need for escape. One option for relief was through the movies, of which she very quickly became enamored. Singing was also a talent she indulged in, possessing a beautiful voice to match her gorgeous physical features. It was this latter beauty that led to another possibility of escape: men. At 14, she passed for 21, and the fellas noticed, especially after she started winning beauty competitions (for which she had to lie about her age to enter). Luckily, Carole was completely lacking in vanity, and saw this all as a fun joke. She was more focused on creating the first powder-puff football team at her school, (though the Principal didn't go for it because it was "unwomanly"). Then, at the age of 15, she met 18-year-old Irving Wheeler and fell in love. He offered her a life away from her increasingly dependent mother, and more importantly a life of their own. Carole took the bate, and the two eloped on January 14, 1934, though the marriage was soon annulled when both sets of parents found out. Defiantly, Carole wed Wheeler again, whose intentions were more physical than emotional, only to walk out on him by September of the same year. It would not be her last tumultuous relationship.

Twentieth-Century Fox definitely cashed in on Carole's sex appeal, 

which was at times devastating to her sense of self.

The self-starter herein made her first big move: to San Francisco. Still only fifteen, she left school, her family, and all of her friends behind and travelled to the city that was known for its artistry and culture. She hoped to make a name there for herself as a singer. She did. First, she changed her name, taking "Carole" from one of her favorite actresses, Carole Lombard, and "Landis" from baseball commissioner (of course) Kennesaw Mountain Landis. Many have alleged that Carole spent her early days in San Francisco as a call-girl, but these seem to be nothing more than slanderous rumors cooked up by a jealous and unforgiving world. In truth, Carole had no time to engage in this type of vocation, because almost as soon as she stepped off the train, she marched into the famous St. Francis Hotel and asked the manager for a job. When he heard her sing, he was stunned and gratified to hire her on the spot. By working the smaller St. Francis bar, Carole was soon scooped up by the "Carl Ravazza Orchestra," and after enjoying a great deal of success and adulation, she possessed enough confidence to give Hollywood a go. In 1936, now seventeen, Carole was primed to take the industry by storm, though she would have to edit her age again to do so. With the same fearless determination and zestful work ethic that she had shown in San Francisco, Carole made the rounds to different studios and obtained numerous extra jobs until being offered a contract. 

Her athleticism served her well in the physically demanding 

One Million B.C. Eat your heart out, Raquel Welch.

Her first big break came when she was cast in the special effects, B-movie triumph One Million B.C, in which she outmaneuvered dinosaurs in scant clothing alongside costar Victor Mature. It was her athleticism that won her the role. D.W. Griffith himself was brought on board to help cast the film initially, and he hand-picked Carole because, as he put it, "She's the only [girl] who knows how to run." Soon, she was using her natural talent and knack for both comedy and drama to climb the popularity polls in films like Turnabout, in which she plays a man in the body of a woman, I Wake Up Screaming, in which she plays Betty Grable's morally questionable, murdered sister, and A Scandal in Paris, in which she plays such a sexy and devious villainess that she literally sets the screen on fire. Her beauty made her a prime candidate for some of the most popular pin-up photos of the day, though some of hers didn't make it to print due to censorship-- not because they were naughty, but because she was too well endowed. In fact, she became the first "sweater girl," before contemporary Lana Turner took the title. She was so innocently provocative that at least one particular photographer warned her before a shoot, "For God's sakes, don't inhale!" to try to diminish the appearance of her... gifts. Though Carole thought all of this objectification was a lark, she went along with it, simply because she was easy-going; not because she put stock in her sexual appeal. It wasn't until they tried to label her as the "ping" girl that she completely rebelled. She wanted to be a great actress and studied Bette Davis's performances with an eager ferocity, hoping to lend the same depth to her own roles. Sadly, because of her beauty, she was rarely afforded the privilege. Yet, she remained popular, especially among her contemporaries who constantly became smitten by her kindness and conviviality. She counted Patsy Kelly, Cesar Romero, "Mousie" Lewis, and Burgess Meredith as close friends. Even the most temperamental actors found safety in Carole's presence; she just had one of those auras that put people at ease. 

In Turnabout with John Hubbard.

All was not rosy, however. Carole's private life, if not her career, was always a failure. After finally obtaining a divorce from first husband Irving Wheeler, she then married and was divorced from Willis Hunt. She too was in a damaging relationship with Busby Berkeley and an abusive one with Pat DiCicco. Her many gentlemen friends led to rumors that Carole was just another of the many young women sleeping her way to the top. Yet, there is hardly any woman in Hollywood untainted by such a rumor, nor many who are completely innocent of it. Los Angeles doesn't breed angels. Though Carole was free-spirited and far from prudish, the assumption that she was, for lack of a better phrasing, a "studio whore," is unfounded and unfair. This is evidenced by that fact that she was able to make a legitimate career for herself, whereas so many women were simply used and discarded. It is, however, reasonable to assume that she did use the Hollywood game to her advantage, as many did, at least until she achieved enough power to extricate herself from the misogynistic system. It is generally accepted that she was one of the many ingenues Darryl F. Zanuck used for his own pleasure, but she eventually either grew tired of or outgrew this accepted station, and uttered the unfathomable word, "No." Consequently, this led to her casting in silly supporting roles beneath her talent, a tactic for Zanuck's vengeance. Ironically, the thing that saved her was WWII. Just as Carole's desire to please and bring joy to others had pulled her into a life in the entertainment business, so too did her big heart drive her to become the war effort's number one hero-- at the time above and beyond even Bob Hope or Jack Benny. Her tireless efforts in entertaining the troops at home and abroad made her America's Sweetheart and favorite patriot. Due to this, her popularity boomed, particularly after she penned a novel of her war experiences, Four Jills and a Jeep. Zanuck was begrudgingly forced to produce a film version-- albeit a Hollywoodized one-- starring herself and her three female compatriots, who were also worthy of much praise, Kay Francis, Mitzi Mayfair, and Martha Raye.

Entertaining the troops with Jack Benny.

The war changed Carole. Seeing brave men fight and die, befriending them and then losing them, and witnessing first hand the terrors of war, awakened in her a deeper knowledge of herself. No more did the glitz and glamour of stardom matter to her, not that it ever did much anyway. Now she wanted something more meaningful and fulfilling in her life. Most particularly, she yearned for a love that would lend her life gravity and comfort. She sought to attain this goal by wedding a soldier whom she met in England, Thomas Wallace. However, after their whirlwind, mid-battle courtship and wedding, the two returned to American soil and realized that they had little in common. Tommy had married her to fulfill a dream-- to wed a movie star-- only to realize that a determined woman with a career was far too belittling to his own masculinity. Carole's pipe dreams again went up in flames. After Tommy broke her heart, she moved on quickly and wed businessman Horace Schmidlapp, though that marriage too was not to last. The construction of her happy home was thus based on rocky soil. Love is found, not manufactured. The fighter in her believed a little elbow grease and work would create the life she wanted, but in reality she could never really build with anyone the love that she was looking for. 

Carole lies dead, beneath Det. Emmett Jones.

Then, she met Rex Harrison. Handsome, educated, talented, (and married), he wooed her quickly and efficiently. The only trouble was that, besides the Missus, Rex had a dark side. His feelings for Carole were superficial and sexual where hers were deep and emotional. Finding herself lost and unhappy in her career after the war, which left her feeling undernourished and useless, Rex became her all. Making movies, and bad movies at that, was a far cry from the deeply fulfilling humanitarian efforts she had offered up in Europe and Africa. She trucked along, never revealing her inner pains, remaining the devoted and beloved friend every one knew and loved, but inside she was crumbling. There is speculation that Carole tried to end her life more than once but had always been stopped before the mortal damage was done. These attempts, if true, were cries for help from a woman who was unable to articulate her own weaknesses; who knew only how to serve others and not take selfishly from them. The ability she had to push past her pain, slowly but surely crept up on her and reached a climax with hurricane Rex. Finally, tired of being used, of always being the other woman, Carole confronted Rex after a Fourth of July party that she had hosted. It is assumed that the two quarreled and the relationship was abruptly ended. That night, Carole packed all of Rex's belongings, photos, and memorabilia into a bag and left them by the mailbox at Ronald Culver's house, where Rex was staying. Then, she drove home, swallowed 30-50 Seconal tablets, and was not found until the next morning when a stunned Rex appeared before her maid and said, "I think she's dead." He, coincidentally, ran from the scene after the discovery. The eternal image of Carole now is that of a girl in a pretty summer outfit, lying on the floor in a ball, her arms frozen in an awkward, bent position. This posture suggests that she was trying to raise herself back up. She would not make it. Carole Landis: dead at 29 years of age on July 4, 1948. 

In one of her girl-next-door in one-helluva-sweater poses.

This sad, tragic tale is like so many in Hollywood, but is perhaps the most tragic because of the girl it involves. Of all the tormented souls wandering La La Land, or those who are immersed in their own demons, Carole seemed on the outside to be the least likely of its victims. Strong, vibrant, endearing, sensitive, giving, sweet... She was beloved by everyone in the community, save for those salacious studio wives who enjoyed spreading slanderous rumors about her. For her corpse and not her film work to be more remembered, for treacherous lies to be recalled and passed on and not her good deeds and selflessness, is the height of shamefulness. In every role she played, Carole brightened even the dullest of duds. She stole every show, not through effort, but from pure, unadulterated charisma and charm. She was the girl-next-door every service man in America fell in love with, and the compassionate lady every soul-sister wanted to give a big ol' hug. Yet, she forever remained apart. In her youth, she was the "other" child, and later, she became the pretty girl in Hollywood who, no matter how surrounded she was by people, was always alone. You cannot invent love, you can either give it or receive it. Too much of Carole's nature was in the giving and not the receiving, until she gave all that she had and was left with nothing. Her offerings to us, her remaining films, are cold comfort to a world who at one time idolized her and now only sits in ignorance. But, for the precious few who do recognize the true jewel that she was, her entertaining films and performances shall have to suffice. 

STAR OF THE MONTH: Carole Landis

HISTORY LESSON: Something's Got to Give and It Ain't Cleopatra

During the last gasps of the studio era, there were no bigger stars than Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor. Both talented, beautiful women and indomitable forces, these ladies were greatly valued by the studios for their box-office appeal. Their roller-coaster love lives and love/hate relationships with the tabloids also bound them together in a kind of celebrity sisterhood. Aside from this, two women never had less in common. This would become blatantly obvious during the Twentieth-Century Fox cataclysm of 1962 when the faltering studio's prayers for salvation rested on these two stars and their respective projects. While Liz drained the Nile dry in Egypt (actually Rome), Marilyn's illness infected the lot at home, and Fox could only pray that box-office receipts would recoup their almost unfathomable financial losses when Joseph L. Mankiewicz (director of Cleopatra) and George Cukor (director on Something's Got to Give) finally called "cut." This was not to be. The Fates were against the Goddesses this time, and the Moguls would pay the forfeit. In history, Liz Taylor is remembered in this debacle as the frothy shewolf who ate up Twentieth-Century for breakfast, but at the time is was Marilyn Monroe who was held up as the sacrificial lamb, publicly blamed for the collapse of yet another Hollywood empire. As in most cases, it is always the drama behind the scenes that is most riveting. Today's Movie: The Buck Stops Here. The Stars: Liz Taylor and Marilyn Monroe. Aaaaand, action!!!

Fox needed a hit. A Supreme Court decision had abolished studio-owned theater monopolies in 1948, cutting profits in half. In addition, the phenomenon of television continued to thrive and keep viewers at home. Cinema was hurting. Twentieth even had to sell the land on its backlot to real estate developers to stay afloat: thus, when you're shopping at Century City Mall, you're actually walking on the sacred ground that was once Fox Studios. The idea to re-vamp the all time vamp Theda Bara's Cleopatra (left) was not a new one in 1959. Cecil B. Demille had already done so with the help of Claudette Colbert back in 1934 and George Bernard Shaw's play Caesar and Cleopatra was translated to film with the help of Vivien Leigh and Claude Raines in 1945. When producer Walter Wanger suggested that the time had come for yet another makeover of one of history's most notorious vixens, it seemed like a surefire success. Love, tragedy, war, sex, betrayal: it was a soap on wheels! Originally, the budget was a minimal one, with the studio hoping to produce an attractive, cheaply made B-movie to reel in major profits. Because of this, relatively unknown newcomers were suggested for the lead. Joanne Woodward's name came up, but it appeared that Joan Collins would be crowned as the chosen Egyptian deity. However, Wanger had envisioned a much more elaborate production; an epic no less. He wanted to make the movie to top all movies, one that he proposed could save Twentieth. Using set design artists to woo the money men, elaborate sketches were prepared to lure them into his dream. Surprisingly, President Spyros Skouras signed on. Thus, out of a small idea and a story as old as time itself would grow one of moviedom's greatest monstrosities.

Now that the picture was given the green light, Director Rouben Mamoulian was tasked with giving life to the old Bara film. The script was dated, appearing nearly like parchment itself when unearthed for editing, and it needed hefty revisions. Nunnally Johnson was one of many writers who contributed to sprucing it up. In the lead roles, Peter Finch was cast as Caesar, Stephen Boyd as Antony, and after discussing Audrey Hepburn and Sophia Loren as Cleopatra, Wanger put in his vote for Elizabeth Taylor, recently released from her MGM contract and for the first time working as a free agent. Not everyone was in favor of this idea. Liz (right) was not only a contractual liability, being constantly ill, but she was also going through one of her fan slumps. After the death of her husband, producer Mike Todd, Liz had found comfort in the arms of friend Eddie Fisher, snatching him out from under Debbie Reynolds's unsuspecting nose. She was almost unanimously declared a homewrecker. Still, few women packed the power or punch of Liz in those days, and this alone was enough to suggest that only she,  the diva extraordinaire, could portray a woman who had once been the most powerful female in the world. Liz herself had doubts. For this reason, when 20th called with the offer, Liz told new hubby Eddie to ask for $1,000,000. No one was more surprised than she when she got it. Or was she? A savvy business woman, Liz knew her star power. Uncertain whether or not she really wanted the role, she took a gamble and won big, becoming the first performer to earn a mil' for one role. She would make further stipulations in her contract that offered her additional income: the implementation of her deceased husband's groundbreaking, wide-angle camera, the Todd-AO, for which she too got royalties. Crafty, crafty.

For the time being, this all seemed like chump change. All the money the studio was sure to make off the film would more than make up for these early, lush expenditures. Oh, naive vanity. When cameras started rolling at Pinewood Studios in London (left) in September of 1960, the film was almost immediately doomed. For starters, the weather was horrendous. London was no Egypt. The rainy weather caused the elaborate sets to peel, the transported tropical vegetation had to be replenished almost daily as it died, and the weather too was wreaking havoc on Liz's frail health. She was able to appear in some wardrobe tests but overall was absent from the entire shoot. Mamoulian was forced to shoot around her, focusing on Finch and Boyd, but there was little to be done without the central character. When Liz's illness lapsed into pneumonia and induced a coma, she lay at the brink of death at her hotel. Luckily, a doctor was attending a party in another guest's room and was found, brought to her bedside, and able to stabilize her until an ambulance was summoned. An emergency tracheotomy was performed, the scar from which can be seen in the subsequent film. It was just disaster upon disaster. Mamoulian eventually walked when Finch and Liz continued to complain about the poor nature of the almost juvenile script, leaving the film with no director. As per Liz's contract, she would approve but two replacements: George Stevens or Joseph L. Mankiewicz,  the latter of whom she had just worked on Suddenly Last Summer. It was Joe who got the job. This big coup in addition to Liz's survival after her brush with death, which brought back a wave of fan sympathy, made it seem like Cleopatra still had a shot at being a success. Joe moved the set to Rome and began re-writing the script himself. Act Two was about to begin.

More drama followed as the film was pushed into production. Hard-working pro Mankiewicz, a wizard both with the camera and with words, wasn't even halfway finished with the script when he was forced to start filming. He was therefore stuck shooting all day and writing all night, kept awake with a series of drugs that left him an overworked zombie. Forced to shoot in sequence as a result, certain actors sat around while being paid with nothing to do, and already built sets were left vacant and un-utilized. Fox was bleeding money. The cast had also changed, as the months that had lapsed between the initial call to action and the current production had taken Finch and Boyd out of the running. Joe happily called upon friend Rex Harrison to take on the role of Caesar, and Fox bought out Richard Burton's stage contract on "Camelot" to win him over as Antony. It was a steal, or so they thought. The soon shocking love affair of Liz and Dick (right) caused enough of a scandal to earn even the Pope's wrath. Liz too was enjoying the luxuries of her own house-sized dressing room, gallons of champagne, and her favorite chili delivered all the way from Chasen's in West Hollywood, all at Fox's expense. This, in addition to the exotic costuming of 1000s of extras and the intricately designed and detailed sets, led to Cleopatra costing $70,000 a day alone to produce. Spyros Skouras was sweating bulletts, Liz and Dick were drawing tabloid ire, and Mankiewicz was left nearly crippled when one of his daily injections hit a sciatic nerve. However, the film had become too expensive to just drop. Fox needed another savior. Their only other bankable star was called upon to save them with a quick, fun romantic comedy. Act Three-- Iris in, Enter: Marilyn Monroe.

Fox again went digging for a script in their vault that could quickly and efficiently be produced and rushed into theaters. The success of My Favorite Wife in 1940 suggested that a slightly modernized re-write with Marilyn Monroe, Dean Martin, and Cyd Charisse would fare equally well, if not better, at the box-office. However, there were the same hesitations: Marilyn was notorious for holding up productions with her lateness, which resulted from her insomnia, which resulted from her nerves, stresses, and performance jitters. Still, the studio was forced to hedge its bets, and they decided to roll the dice once more with their most famous star. They were right to worry, for almost from the beginning, things went sour. A power struggle was constantly ensuing between director and star. Initially, Nunnally Johnson was called in (yet again) to help with rewrites of the script. Marilyn approved of this, as she had enjoyed working with Nunnally on How to Marry a Millionaire. Nunnally was attentive to Marilyn's own ideas and was ably trying to tailor her character specifically for her. Cukor, however, was not happy. He wanted to maintain the charm of the original 1940 film, and effectively had Nunnally replaced by his own choice, Walter Bernstein. Marilyn took the snub admirably, but was to suffer another one. At a phenomenal wardrobe test in April (left), in which Marilyn looked fresh, beautiful, and softer than ever before, Cukor was noticeably absent. Not much later, producer Henry Weinstein, who had replaced Cukor's friend David Brown, had to suffer the shock of finding Marilyn in the throes of an accidental overdose, from which she quickly bounced back. In fact, many marveled at the seemingly unfazed way her doctors reacted to what must have been a regular occurrence. Indeed, the suffocating nature of her relationships with both her psychiatrist Dr. Greenson and her acting coach Paula Strasberg would be future matters for the production to contend with. Cukor abhorred Paula's presence and executives were a little unsettled at the way Greenson, a shrink, was handling Marilyn's business affairs. He at one point assured them during a moment of hesitation not to worry because he could "convince Marilyn to do anything." Prior to the first day of shooting, Marilyn attended a script meeting, then flew to New York for a private acting class with Lee Strasberg, from whom she sought advice for her character. Unfortunately, she returned to Los Angeles with more than Lee's counsel; she too caught his cold.


For weeks, Marilyn was unable to come to work. Diagnosed with chronic sinusitis by the studio's own doctor, Lee Siegel, Fox thought it was just a case of the actress crying wolf. However, many saw her struggling-- blinded by headaches, shaking with chills, and barely able to rise to her feet. Her housekeeper Eunice Murray witnessed her waking up in cold sweats, and her own chauffeur sent her back into the house when he saw how ill she was. Head of Production Peter Levathes himself bore witness to her poor health, and tried to have the production pushed back until she was fully recovered. A resounding "No" echoed through the vacant Fox back lot. In the meantime, as during Liz's illness on Cleopatra, Cukor was forced to shoot around Marilyn. He did scenes with Dean and Cyd, scenes with the child actors, the supporting cast, whatever he could. Marilyn, who was eager to begin working, finally forced herself to come to set, though her initial attempts resulted in collapse. In later years, certain members of the cast and crew would maintain that Marilyn was not, nor did she ever appear, ill, which added to the false perception that her entire illness had been contrived. It had not. However, the studio had started administering drugs, given by Siegel, to get her going. Marilyn was giving daily injections-- "hot shots"-- of amphetamines. So, when Marilyn arrived to set, ready and glowing, people did not realize the true source. The drugs masked her symptoms and implied a picture of health. However, there were also witnesses who saw Marilyn faint on the set under the strain or witnessed her trying to psyche herself up in a corner, barely able to stand, because she was light-headed and dizzy.

The infamous kiss heard 'round the world.

It is interesting to note the strange similarities both films exhibited. Both sets were plagued by chronically ill female stars, who, as annoying as they may have been to executives, were legitimately unwell. Whether or not these ladies were able to psychosomatically induce sickness, which almost seems possible, does not deter in either event from the fact that they were indeed almost deathly ill at various stages of shooting. (Another parallel is that both Liz and Marilyn were raised with a background in Christian Science, and though Marilyn in particular did not adhere to this religion, the effects of the power of mind over body is evident in both of their lives. Suspiciously, whenever plagued by doubt, insecurity, or sometimes plain stubbornness, their health with give out in unison with their waning spirits). However, pros that they were, they both managed to muddle through the shoots, even triumph, doing impressive work-- though the use of drugs on both parts, and sometimes alcohol, helped to carry out this chore. For her part, Liz Taylor's behavior induced Fox to have an ambulance always parked nearby on "suicide watch" as her relationship with Burton grew increasingly tumultuous.

Both films were also driven by almost maniacally detailed directors. Cukor (right with Marilyn) insisted that the set be designed to mirror his own lush abode-- the same pleasure palace designed by William Haines-- and saw that every aspect, down to the exact shade of green on the trees, was the same. He too was suffering the physically debilitating effects of one of his crash diets-- aka starvation. For his part, Mankiewicz was working overtime, equally driving himself to a mental and physical breakdown, and essentially performing the duties of producer, director, and writer. The overly ornate designs of the Cleopatra sets, which he made sure appeared authentic, were diligently and expensively crafted-- some with pure gold leaf. The Roman Forum was designed to be three times its actual size, because even that wasn't deemed grand enough. Every aspect, down to the smallest walking stick had to be extravagant, and most of these details were only seen for a fraction of a second, if they remained in the final cut at all. However, despite all of Joe's stresses, he was never tyrannical on the set. Cukor on the other hand, who had not gotten along with Marilyn since their Let's Make Love days, took an uncharacteristic and almost sick pride in demeaning his lead actress and blaming her for every little thing that went wrong, though footage shows her maintaining her composure far more often than he.

Liz "arrives" in Rome.

Sex was also a common denominator. Many people recalled the day that Richard Burton marched onto set with a devilish grin and proudly announced: "Well, I finally f*cked Elizabeth Taylor in the back of my Cadillac!" Martin Landau, who must have missed this press release, was however present when the still married Richard strutted into wardrobe and surprisingly laid a wet one on the still married Taylor-- to which Landau internally exhaled an "Uh oh..." For some time, studio heads were fearful that Liz's star power would diminish under the swell of growing public hatred against both herself and Burton. Despite Joe Mankiewicz's feeble attempt to calm the storm with his crack that it was actually he with whom Richard was really in love-- resulting in Richard arriving to work and too laying a wet one on Joe-- the Vatican proclaimed Liz a "whore," the US Congress tried to have her dual citizenship (she was born in England) revoked, and Skouras feared that ticket sales would continue the anti-Liz onslaught. However, when Cleopatra's grand entrance to Rome was filmed-- one of the most awe-inspiring moments in cinematic history-- Liz triumphed yet again. The Italian extras were supposed to scream "Cleopatra!" But instead, they screamed "Liz! Liz! Baci Baci!" (Baci meaning "kisses"). It was at this moment too that many believe Richard Burton truly fell in love with his Queen, for in seeing her incredible hold over the public, he witnessed a force that nearly brought him to his own knees. He went from being the man that was sleeping with Elizabeth Taylor to the man who was infatuated with her. Thus, when Liz bows to Caesar and rises with a smile, her simple wink speaks volumes. Liz the tigress had prevailed.

Marilyn's sexual shenanigans also foiled the set of Something's Got to Give, however her great "arrival" occurred on the stage of Madison Square Garden for President Kennedy's birthday gala on May 19, 1962 (left). Upsetting Cukor and the other execs by skipping out of the shoot to attend the illustrious celebration, Marilyn was assured by Bobby Kennedy himself that the problem would be solved. It was a promise the hot-headed younger brother wouldn't keep. However, the cleverly orchestrated idea to have Marilyn sing a seductive rendition of "Happy Birthday" (complete in a barely there Jean Louis dress) to JFK was not a moment to propel her to the heights of stardom, as Liz's affair with Burton seemed to. It was instead conceived to publicly ridicule her and announce her as the lusty and misogynistic Prez's sexual plaything. In a brash move, JFK had inflated his ego by having his mistress all but publicly announce their affair. He had even given Marilyn private instructions over the phone on how he wanted the song performed. Marilyn knew that she was taking a gamble, even acknowledging the fact that she was about to make a fool of herself before she walked on stage, but she was so in love with and infatuated with Jack Kennedy that she let her need to please and be loved overshadow her reason. The result has remained one of the longest running jokes in history, and it is sad that after Marilyn had worked so hard to rebuild her image as a serious actress, she had all but annihilated such a prospect by illustrating herself once again as nothing but the embodiment of sexual desire. Her absence from the film set to perform this infamous song both infuriated the studio and sent shock waves through the nation. After this, Marilyn's days on Something's Got to Give were numbered.

36 and not too shabby.

Marilyn returned to a hostile setting, drawing antipathy for yet another absence when she failed to report for work after the party. She feared that she looked too tired after her whirlwind trip. This angered Cukor, but was rational on Marilyn's part. Knowing the effect fatigue would have on her beauty, and thus her fans, she used her clout to rest up so she could return only when refreshed and beautiful. When Dean Martin came to work ill, Marilyn too refused to work with him for fear that his health would again impair her own. Irrational as her behavior may have seemed to those on the other side of the camera, all was forgiven when Marilyn bared all for her infamous nude swim, enduring four hours in the water, shivering all the while . Even George Cukor, not Marilyn's biggest fan, behaved like a kid at a candy store when this actress did what she did best: exude sex appeal, beauty, and charm. After this success, Marilyn had a mysterious weekend. She returned on Monday, May 27th, a shell of a woman. There has been much debate over what happened, why she could barely remember her lines, why she seemed completely unglued... Many assumed that it had something to do with her relationship with Jack  Kennedy, who it was theorized had finally severed their relationship. Marilyn's only answer was scrawled on her dressing room mirror in lipstick: "Frank, help me!" Frank meaning Frank Sinatra. Dean himself kicked everyone out of her dressing room and tried to get to the root of his friend's problem. She was finally sent home. Footage shot that day was destroyed by Cukor, who knew how damaging the drug-addled performance would be to his star-- nemesis though she may have been. After pulling herself together and completing a few more successful scenes, Marilyn celebrated her 36th birthday early on June 1st with a decidedly modest party on the set. Cukor refused a real party, but was finally forced to acquiesce to a cake and birthday card after all the day's shooting had completed. The card read "Happy Birthday (Suit)."

That evening, Marilyn went to a fundraiser for muscular dystrophy at Dodger Stadium. After being out in the cold weather all night, Marilyn's health collapsed once again. She relapsed and was unable to report to work the next day. This was the last straw. Marilyn Monroe was fired. Of course, the reasons behind this were more than her supposedly temperamental behavior. In retrospect, Marilyn was not causing any more trouble in LA than Liz was in Rome. Liz too was chronically late, chronically ill, and worse-- chronically arriving to set drunk as a skunk after lunch with Richard. The costs of filming Something's Got to Give were far from the exorbitant expenditures of Cleopatra. The simple fact was that Fox had mismanaged its money, had poured too much into Cleopatra, and Something's Got to Give became the easier project to dismantle. There had in fact been several failed attempts to fire Liz, but she somehow always got out if it, much to the confusion of the executives. Marilyn instead was the one to fall. If ever there was anything to snap Marilyn back into gear, it was the fear of losing her career (she fights back in a strategic George Barris photo, right). After the studio started planting false and salacious articles in the press, claiming that Marilyn was both incoherent on the set, a drug addict, and mentally unstable, Marilyn rebelled. Footage and outtakes of the remains of Something's Got to Give are enough to refute these claims. Marilyn was present and focused on set, normally moreso than Cukor himself. The press release infamously issued by the crew of Something's Got to Give, thanking Marilyn for the loss of their "livelihoods," was yet another false scheme. Horrified by the news, Marilyn issued apologies to all involved. However, no member of the crew knew anything about the statement. It was a planted ploy of Fox to turn the public against its former star. Marilyn had become their scapegoat, but it had been their own mismanagement that was primarily to blame for the film's failure. When Shirley MacLaine and Kim Novak both turned down Marilyn's role out of respect and Lee Remick was announced as her replacement, Dean Martin walked off the set. Without Marilyn, there was no Dean, and no movie.


After forming her own publicity campaign to repair the damage that was being done, Marilyn won her fans back to her side as she always had. She was even able to enlist the help of Fox figurehead Darryl F. Zanuck. Zanuck had been increasingly angered by his studio's gross misconduct, which had impeded the completion of his own masterpiece, The Longest Day, at that time filming in Europe. Zanuck had never been Marilyn's biggest fan, but he at least was able, shrewd businessman that he was, to know the true culprit for the catastrophes of both Cleopatra and Something's Got to Give. As Cleopatra inched closer to completion, after years of hard work, and with Liz Taylor banking $7,000,000 total for her work on the film-- the extra dough resulting from overtime-- Zanuck decided to fly back to America, regain control of his studio, and get Something's Got to Give back up and running-- with Marilyn in the lead. Thus, mere weeks after she was fired, Marilyn got her job back. Unfortunately, she did not live to finish it. Her death was announced to the world on August 6, 1962.

This mural originally only showed Liz and Dick, but

Rex's contract demanded that he be painted in as well.

Cleopatra would finally conquer, wrapping on July 28, 1962. The movie, originally intended to be two separate films: Caesar and Cleopatra and Antony and Cleopatra was cut from 6 hours to 4. Reviews were mixed, with some calling it a triumph and others calling it a "monumental mouse." Fans still came out in droves, proving that Liz and Dick's allure and the public's fascination with them had not wavered. However, theaters were only able to show the film once a night due to its length, meaning that it was only bringing in half of an average film's revenue. For this reason, Zanuck ordered more cuts, bringing the film down to somewhere around three hours. Elizabeth Taylor saw this version when it premiered in London. And threw up. Cleopatra is recalled as one of Hollywood's greatest flops, but in truth it was not. It fared well at the box office, but recouping the film's incredible costs was not something easily done. It wouldn't be until future re-releases and DVD sales that it could completely make up for Twentieth-Century's losses. It went on to win four Academy Awards, and is at least successful in that it is still notoriously recalled today. As for Fox, Zanuck was able to slowly bring it out of its slump and enjoyed another hey-day with the smash success of The Sound of Music.

In the battle of Liz vs. Marilyn, there were no real winners nor losers. Both films, though one incomplete, had moments of brilliance and folly. Marilyn, who longed to be, yet never was able to become, a mother in her private life, is both vibrant and tender in her interaction with the actors playing her children in Something's Got to Give. Her new found sophistication and maturity also present an intriguing and distinguished Marilyn Monroe, one far removed from the elegant yet cheesecake Marilyn of the past. Liz, for her part, possesses both the brass and the class to portray the Queen of the Nile, and though the overly long and melodramatic scenes can lag on the viewer, by the time Cleopatra nears its end, there is a quietness and a dignity present in the defeated ruler and a palpable pain in her sacrificed love. 


It is strange how two such women, equal in stature, parallel in tragedy, and dissimilar in persona, were so closely linked for a brief time. Battling it out for survival-- not their own, but their studio's-- only one would even survive the task. Ironically, Marilyn had lobbied for the role of Cleopatra when the film was but a whisper of an idea years before it was produced, but despite her many talents, Marilyn lost out to Liz's more guttural snarl. This, among other things, is why Liz was for the most part able to triumph where Marilyn failed. Marilyn, impassioned  and shrewd as she was about her career, lacked the killer instinct that could keep her in an impenetrable position of power. Both women were able to get what they wanted, but Marilyn lacked the ability to hold onto it for an uninterrupted passage of time. This fact was evidenced by the ladies themselves at a party thrown by Frank Sinatra in Las Vegas. The two gals had never gotten along too well, perhaps jealous of each other and rightly sensing the threat of an equally beautiful, equally bankable female star. At the party, Marilyn became drunk and was wobbling around unsteadily, causing much concern and annoyance from friend and sometimes lover Frank. In a statement that said more than even she knew, Elizabeth declared to an observing reporter: "Marilyn shouldn't drink if she can't hold her liquor. I know how to hold my liquor." With that, she kicked her head back and took a big swig of her martini. She partied on long after Marilyn was carried upstairs to bed.

Long live the Queen...

HISTORY LESSON: Something's Got to Give and It Ain't Cleopatra