Busby Berkeley, Dick Powell, The Gibson Girl

DAMES (1934) directed by Ray Enright, choreographed by Busby Berkeley; cinematography by Joan Blondell's husband George Barnes. Songs: “Dames,” “The Girl at the Ironing Board,” “I Only Have Eyes for You”, “Try to See It My Way.” “DAMES differed so little from the previous Berkeley musicals that only an expert can separate it from the others. Composer Harry Warren claims that he and Al Dubin tried to come up with a song in every picture that summed up the whole plot. Berkeley launches into another of his complicated, kaleidoscopic fanciful routines.” (Tony Thomas, The Hollywood Musical, 1975). The plot revolves around reformer Ezra Ounce (Hugh Herbert) who promises his cousin Horace P. Hemingway (Guy Kibbee) a fortune on condition that Hemingway heads the Ounce Society for the Elevation of American Morals and that he keeps out their young relative, 

Jimmy Higgens (Dick Powell), out of the theatre. Taking a train home, Horace finds himself stranded in a sleeping compartment with chorus girl Mabel Anderson (Joan Blondell) and he gives her money on condition that she keeps the matter quiet. When she reaches New York City, Mabel tries to get into Jimmy’s new Broadway show but he informs her he does not have the money to produce it. She acquires the funds by blackmailing Horace about the train incident. Meanwhile, Jimmy’s girlfriend, Barbara (Ruby Keeler), Horace’s daughter, becomes jealous of his involvement with Mabel and breaks off their engagement. When the fracas orchestrated by Ezra’s hirelings commences, the police arrive and everyone is carted off to jail. Behind bars, Ezra decides he prefers the company of chorus girls to reforming, while Horace must explain the situation to his strait-laced wife Mathilda (ZaSu Pitts), as Jimmy and Barbara become re-engaged. 

This was the fourth of seven Warner Bros. musicals to team Ruby Keeler and Dick Powell and the fourth of them to be directed by Busby Berkeley. “Dames” featured a bevy of blonde chorus girls weaving to and fro in intricate patterns bolstered by trick photography while Powell crooned the lyrics about the joys of gorgeous womanhood. According to Tony Thomas in The Busby Berkeley Book (1973): “By far the most memorable item in Dames is ‘I Only Have Eyes for You.’ One of the best songs ever written for a film, it is sung beautifully by Dick Powell and expertly staged by Berkeley. Dick and Ruby meet in front of a movie theatre, then take a long subway ride during which they fall asleep. As Powell dreams—hordes of girls appear, all wearing Benda masks of Ruby so that an army of Keelers assaults the audience's eye. Each girl, with a board on her back, bends over, and fitting the boards together, a gigantic jigsaw picture of Ruby’s face appears.” 

As in other Berkeley movies, his most spectacular number in Dames is held back for a delirious finale. As Richard Brody in The New Yorker described it, “The title number, a balletic day in the life of a showgirl, gives rise to one of Berkeley’s greatest visual inventions, a white background festooned with dancing girls’ black-clad legs—which rhythmically open and close to yield up a flying wedge of pubic rapture, ending with a black hole—at the end of which is a dancer dressed in baby clothes.  It suggests nothing less than “The Origin of the World.”

Producer Darryl F. Zanuck reteamed director Lloyd Bacon and dance director Busby Berkeley from 42ND STREET (1933), for this expansive musical affair: FOOTLIGHT PARADE (1933), which also contains some of Berkeley’s best remembered symmetrical production numbers, all presented in the final portion of the picture: “Honeymoon Hotel” with Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler as newlyweds; the two in a woodsy love song “By a Waterfall”; and the finale, “Shanghai Lil,” involving James Cagney and Ruby Keeler in a saucy story within a story, which had both of them singing, tap dancing in military precision steps. Young crooner Scotty Blair (Dick Powell) is soon attracted to secretary Bea Thorn (Ruby Keeler), who proves to be an excellent tap dancer. Scotty romances Bea during rehearsals while brassy actress Nan Prescott (Joan Blondell), who is interested in Chester, is frustrated to see him being vamped by wealthy Vivian Rich (Claire Dodd). 

While FOOTLIGHT PARADE was one of Warner Bros.’ most costly Busby Berkeley musicals, it met with mixed critical reception. The New York Herald Tribune enthused, “FOOTLIGHT PARADE is elaborate, well acted and fantastically extravagant in its chorus numbers." The Los Angeles Times reported, “This Warner Brothers feature is just about the biggest song, dance and story picture to date and I would hesitate to name any in its class for spectacular numbers. It’s easy to figure this as a sensational hit.” Originally, when FOOTLIGHT PARADE went into production, Dick Powell was suffering from a throat problem and Stanley Smith was brought in to replace him, but Powell recovered in time to join the cast, thus allowing for the third screen teaming of Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler. The latter was not initially intended to sing in the “Shanghai Lil” number; it had been planned for Renee Whitney (seen in the film as Cynthia Kent), but at the last minute it was decided to have Keeler perform in the interlude. 

Credited with revitalizing the popularity of the movie musical, 42ND STREET is one of the best musicals in the history of the genre. With its adult, fast-paced plot, a quartet of sparkling songs by Al Dubin and Harry Warren, and an appealing cast, 42ND STREET remains a viewing delight no matter how many times it is watched (even in its computerized color version). Ace Broadway producer Julian Marsh (Warner Baxter), in failing health, is set to put on his greatest musical (Pretty Lady), a lavish affair starring veteran actress Dorothy Brock (Bebe Daniels). Marsh has to deal with the temperamental star, her “backer,” Abner Dillon (Guy Kibbee), and her new boyfriend, Pat Denning (George Brent). Marsh also has troubles trying to coach the show’s ingenue, Peggy Sawyer (Ruby Keeler), who is falling in love with leading man Billy Lawler (Dick Powell), while a member of the chorus, Ann “Anytime Annie” Lowell (Ginger Rogers), keeps pushing for a bigger part in the proceedings. The part goes to Peggy, who after much coaching from Marsh, goes forth to perform, with the director commanding her, “You’re going out a youngster, but you’ve got to come back a star.” Peggy does just that and helps to make the show a hit. 

Peggy and Billy rejoice together. The film launched Dick Powell as one of filmdom’s most popular singers of the 1930s. It was also the beginning of Ruby Keeler’s movie hoofing career, which included nine musicals at the studio. Powell and Keeler were made for each other, they oozed pure chemistry together onscreen. 42ND STREET received Oscar nominations for Best Picture and Sound. In Gold Diggers of 1933, composer Brad Roberts (Dick Powell) uses his family’s fortune to back a Broadway show for producer Barney Hopkins (Ned Sparks) and the production gives work to needy showgirls Carol King (Joan Blondell), Trixie Lorraine (Aline MacMahon), Polly Parker (Ruby Keeler) and Fay Fortune (Ginger Rogers). The girls are all focused on snaring millionaire husbands and when Brad’s conservative brother, J. Lawrence Bradford (Warren William), learns of his brother’s folly he rushes to New York City. Stuffy Lawrence encounters Carol and is convinced she is out to vamp Brad, who really is in love with Polly. 

While Berkeley’s dance extravaganzas of the early 1930s would seem to be impossible anywhere but on the movie screen, they in fact did have origins dating back to 19th century stage spectacles. They evolved from the revues that had been popular on Broadway in the 1910s and 1920s. Revues were not a series of completely unrelated acts, like in a vaudeville show, but a series of musical and comedy specialties structured around a loosely defining theme. There were no overhead views, but Berkeley used stairs and platforms to alter the space on stage, and in Earl Carroll Vanities of 1928 he used an optical device called the “Vanities Votaphonevitotone” to project enlargements of one chorus girl’s face at a time on a screen. At MGM, he had giant turntables in one of his Eddie Cantor movies, but they didn’t revolve. Berkeley was told if he wanted revolving turntables, he would have to go to another studio, and he decamped to Warners.

Toby Wing was one of Berkeley’s favorite chorus girls. Dick Powell sings “I’m Young and Healthy” to her. Berkeley showed a gaggle of executives what his plans were for “Young and Healthy”: “I staged this with three revolving platforms, and I explained to Zanuck that I couldn’t show him exactly what he would see on the screen because I planned to shoot it in cuts. I outlined the continuity for him and showed him my camera placements, then I had Dick Powell and the boys and girls go through the numbers in sections. Zanuck and the others seemed very pleased with the performance and the staging I had planned; he turned to the executives who were with him and said, ‘Give Berkeley whatever he wants in the way of sets, props, costumes. Anyhthing, he wants, he can have.’”James Sanders notes in Celluloid Skyline: New York and the Movies, “One story has Darryl Zanuck coming onto the stage during the production of 42nd Street and finding the director in the rafters, looking at the stage floor. ‘What the hell are you doing up there?’ Zanuck shouted. ‘You can’t take the audience up there!’ ‘I know,’ Berkeley replied, ‘but I’d like to. It’s pretty up here.'” 

For Gold Diggers of 1933, he'd designed a crane that ran on dual tracks; it went both up and down as well as gliding back and forth. Sixty feet off the ground seemed not quite high enough, and he had holes cut in the studio roof to take his camera still higher. These numbers were rehearsed and rehearsed until they were perfect. Gold Diggers of 1933 embraces newly elected FDR’s New Deal, and in the pairing of innocents Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler looks forward to economic and spiritual rebirth. Busby Berkeley was an alcoholic, which became, after 1935, more of a handicap. He was hospitalized after a suicide attempt in July 1946. He was forgotten until his films began to be rediscovered as “camp” in the 1960s. —THE GREAT HOLLYWOOD MUSICAL PICTURES (2016) by James Robert Parish 

The Gibson Girls became the first 20th century standard of female beauty and style. Named after Charles Dana Gibson, a Life Magazine illustrator, the Gibson Girl was essentially an idealized brainy pin-up who would pave the way for the flapper in the Roaring 1920s. Gibson depicted the Gibson Girl as an equal and sometimes teasing companion to men. She was also sexually dominant, for example shown literally examining men under a magnifying glass, or, in a breezy manner, crushing them under her feet. Next to the beauty of a Gibson Girl, men often appeared as simpletons or bumblers; and even men with handsome physiques or great wealth alone could not provide total satisfaction to her. Gibson illustrated men so captivated that they would follow her anywhere, attempting to fulfill any of her desires. Source: www.harpersbazaar.com

Although Dick Powell's first directorial venture was uncredited at the time in the gritty noir Cry Danger (1951) by Robert Parrish, Rhonda Fleming, talking with Eddie Muller from the Film Noir Foundation, stated that Dick Powell had actually directed Cry Danger. Even in its streamlined construction, Cry Danger displays all the things that make noir the legendary film genre that it is, all the while raising the same philosophical questions that have come to be expected of the noir style, be it in literature or in film. In 2011, at the behest of the University of California Los Angeles (UCLA) Festival of Preservation, with funding provided by the Film Noir Foundation, Cry Danger was given a sterling digital transfer by Olive Films, bringing to life 60-year-old celluloid that remained a taut, no-frills film noir of the old school, drenched in simple noir elegance. Cry Danger has one thing that many noirs don't—an acrid sense of humor. As Rocky Mulloy, Powell is the classic tough-guy, stone-faced noir man, one who rattles off dark threats as easily as he does witty quips. To a bartender after tipping him: “I got that money from a typhoid carrier”; to a woman that rebukes him after a failed flirtation: “Someday, Alice, you and I are gonna have a nice long talk. And you’ll really do some talking”. Source: popmatters.com

Cry Danger, a relatively little-known film noir is an absolute treat, combining a sharp, witty script, tremendously atmospheric L.A. location shooting, and a top-drawer cast. Co-star Richard Erdman said at the UCLA Film Festival that when he first went to meet Dick Powell, whose production company was involved in making the film, Powell asked him what he thought of the script and of his role. Erdman said "It's one of the best parts." Powell told Erdman he was right and then asked, "How can we help you?" Erdman said that's how Powell conducted himself during the making of the entire film, always supportive and generous. Dick Powell re-invented his screen persona as a world-weary, acid-tongued noir deadpan guy. He was more likely to deliver a devastating put-down than a gun-butt or upper-cut. In Cry Danger, Powell pushes this persona to its reasonable limits. At times, as the ex-convict Rocky Mulloy, he seems more like a displaced stand-up comedian than an underworld denizen, and he nails it in this movie. Rocky Mulloy is among the biggest sour-pusses in film noir. And Powell plays him flat as pavement, and twice as hard. Source: filmnoiroftheweek.com

Eddie Muller: Dan Duryea is my favorite noir weasel of all time. But the noir icon who is the most unlikely of noir icons and yet still one of my favorites is Dick Powell. By the time he’s making Cry Danger, he has perfected his technique, because his performance in Cry Danger is as good a laconic, wise-cracking, tough guy performance as anybody has given in film noir. Dick Powell has become a very important figure in relation to the work of the Film Noir Foundation. He wanted to be independent, he wanted to cut the studio out of the equation because he was tired of the studios overlooking him for parts that he wanted to play, like Double Indemnity. He finally said, “Well, the hell with them, if they’re not going to give me the parts, I’m going to produce the films myself and star in them.” And so he made Pitfall, Cornered, Cry Danger and Split Second which he directed and produced. Source https://parallax-view.org

Dick Powell's first official debut as director Split Second (1953) was a smash success. Craig Butler wrote: "Not as well known as it should be but a favorite of many who know it, Split Second is an incredibly tense film noir-cum-atomic bomb flick that marked an auspicious directorial debut for Dick Powell who is aided by the first rate black and white cinematography of Nick Musuraca." In 1954, Powell had in mind to film a story about the fabled Gibson Girl, starring Jane Russell. June Allyson joked saying: "If he cast me, it would be a very different kind of movie. I have a feeling Richard fancies Jane Russell for the part." [This project would be thwarted by Howard Hughes, who assigned Powell to direct the disastrous The Conqueror two years later.]

The Powells don't gad all over the place. It's not the way her predecessor Joan Blondell, in her brash manner, tells it to gullible ears, but June Allyson certainly has made Dick Powell one of the best husbands in town. I asked June if she had ever given an off-screen performance worthy of note. She took her time and replied: "There was one, Sheilah, I don't know if it was one of my best, but it was certainly the most difficult performance I've ever given. It's over two years now, and it was when Richard was so ill. The doctors had told me that Richard probably had suffered an allergic reaction to penicillin after having caught pneumonia. At 4 in the morning the hospital called me to come over. I felt as though my heart would burst, but every time Richard opened his eyes, I managed to smile and tell him everything would be allright. Richard had told me how much those moments meant to him, so I bottled up the tears during my stay at the hospital. When he recovered and went back home, I must have cried buckets that day. You can do anything if you love someone enough." —Sheilah Graham for Photoplay magazine (November 1952, and August 1955)

Joan Blondell talks about her three husbands in the last two chapters of her alleged biography Center Door Fancy, and she disparages the three, although there are different degrees of grievance against her partners. She critizices her first husband George Barnes (who started as a still photographer for Thomas H. Ince, the man who died on Hearst' yatch) for being remote and not wanting children. Later, after divorcing him, she finds out he suffered a terrible childhood that left him deeply scarred. Barnes actually married eight times and had four kids, one with Joan (Norman S. Powell) who would be adopted legally by her second husband, Dick Powell. The most baffling reproachments against the collected crooner are quite contradictory. For example it's clear she was looking for security with Powell, who was a practical and caring family man. In fact, she leads Jim (Powell) to break up with May Gould (Mary Brian) and acts quite the seductress when she recounts: "Jim was waiting for me. I had on a white piqué sheath that made my skin tan and my hair very light. "You look pretty dawgone pretty," Jim said admiringly. "It'll be fun to make that musical together," I said to him. Jim laughed: "But I don't get you in the finale. Cagney does." 

"Try not to suffer too much, Jim. After all, you've got me off-screen, you know?" "Really?" Jim asked seriously, slowing the car down. I fidgeted for my cigarettes, trying to hide my embarrassment and asked Jim for his lighter. We didn't speak for several blocks. Jim suddenly asked me: "Do you still love David?" She says no. Her intimate relationship with Powell starts at this moment, when both share a kiss, and she abandons George Barnes, favoring the secure arms of Dick Powell, who had sent her a 1000$ check for her son's childbirth. She expresses doubts to Sally (Glenda Farrell) about her true feelings towards Jim, saying "he's too nice to hurt." They marry, spending their honeymoon at the Santa Paula yatch, and they consummate their marriage. She seems to find Powell charming and even a bit daring when he gives a playful whack on her behind. Also, she writes: "He smiled and put his hands on my shoulders. He says (naughtily): 'I'm sure that we didn't do it the last few nights because your eyes would look glassy now'." Nora (Joan) feigns not knowing: "Glassy?" "From doing it too much!," Powell jokingly says. Nora rolls her eyes and tells to herself: "What did I get into?" Supposedly she was a sex enthusiast and later thinks of Powell as mechanical in bed, but it sure doesn't look like that from her initial account during their honeymoon. 

When Nora bumps into a table playing with her son and bruises her leg, Jim says worried: "People will say I did some weird sex thing to you, and I can't have that." So he sounds sensible and pretty knowledgeable of sexual matters. Powell wasn't just a hick from Arkansas, he was a very intelligent, amiable man and obviously he had sex-appeal. It's true that Powell was conservative politically and Blondell was a Democrat, and she tries to exploit this gap too, trying to characterize Powell as racist and anti-semite. She has Powell ranting: "Damned Jews run this business! Damned niggers get some fancy salaries now. The goddamned government is killing us with taxes! I've got to change agents, the son of a bitch does nothing for his ten percent." She tries so hard to make an impression of Dick Powell as Nixon is not even funny. In the last chapter, Joan (Nora) acknowledges that Dick Powell and Ronald Colman (a friend of Barnes) drew up a pension fund for Joan through Lloyds of London, which would allow her to retire at the age of 47. "It's with Lloys of London and when I'm 47, I'll get money enought to live on the rest of my life," she boasts to Mike Todd. And don't get me started on her obsession towards her eternal rival, the sweet and easygoing June Allyson. Ironically, Joan (Nora) barely talks of her terrible fights with her third husband Mike Todd, who was pathologically jealous and threatened with killing her if she ever cheated with him. What a prize she got! Source: medium.com

Icon: What Killed Marilyn Monroe

Two reliable sources who were also guests at the Cal-Neva Lodge, Betsy Hammes and the actor Alex D’Arcy, told biographer Donald Spoto that Sam Giancana was not present. D’Arcy, a friend of mobster Johnny Roselli, told Spoto: "There was absolutely never any affair between Marilyn and any of these mobsters. In fact, there was no connection between Marilyn and the mob at all! She was in Lake Tahoe that weekend [July 27-29], and I saw Marilyn eating dinner. Giancana and his crowd weren’t there, and I would have known if they were." On December 17, 1982, Assistant District Attorney Ronald Carroll requested information and reverse directories for 1962: •​General Telephone •​Pacific Telephone •​Haines Company, Reverse Directory Publications •​Los Angeles Police Department •​Los Angeles County Sheriff ’s Department •​Federal Bureau of Investigation •​Los Angeles City Public Library. Investigator Alan Tomich successfully obtained photocopies of Monroe’s telephone records. None of the agencies retained 1962 telephone reverse directories, but telephone companies and the library retained Los Angeles directories. The Los Angeles District Attorney LADA’s investigation confirmed through “confidential LAPD records” that LAPD seized Monroe’s phone records. The seizure included toll records from General Telephone Company covering the period from June 1, 1962, to August 18, 1962. During this period, eight toll calls were placed from Monroe’s residence to RE 7-8200, a telephone number in Washington, D.C. The last of these calls was made on July 30, six days before her death. Using law enforcement resources, LADA investigators determined the number RE 7-8200 in Washington, D.C., was the published number of the U. S. Department of Justice headquarters. The number belonged to the general listing for the main switchboard and not a private line. 

If Monroe had called the Attorney General RFK, she would have been transferred via operator assistance to another number. Newspaper articles placed Robert Kennedy in San Francisco and Gilroy the weekend of Monroe’s death. A review of the toll records indicated that no phone calls were made to San Francisco area during the entire period covered by the records. Message unit records were also secured by LAPD for both phones in Monroe’s residence covering June 1 to August 18. The numbers, 476-1890 and 472-4830 are the same numbers for which the long-distance toll records had been secured. Four calls with message unit billings were placed from the Monroe residence on August 5. Two calls were made from each phone. Two of the calls were for two minutes each and two were for one minute each. These calls could have been placed from one minute after midnight on August 5 to one minute before midnight at the end of the 24-hour day. 

It is impossible to pinpoint the exact time of Monroe’s death from the records obtained by the original investigation. The evidence available regarding the level of drugs in her system and the apparent slow absorption rate indicate she probably died or was comatose around midnight the night of August 4, 1962. The records were secured 15 days after Monroe’s death, and it was during this period that rumors surfaced alleging she died while on the telephone or after fading out during a telephone call. If Monroe’s overdose was intentional, there was a legitimate need to investigate the possibility of her having been triggered to take her life by the content of a recent telephone call. The author cross-referenced the phone numbers appearing in the collection of Monroe’s 1962 account statements with Monroe’s 1962 address and telephone book. The results are as follows: •​TR7-7877 – attorney Milton Rudin’s residence in Los Angeles. •​TR5-1357 – friends Norman and Hedda Rosten’s residence on Remsen Street in Brooklyn. •​TR7-2212 – acting coaches Lee and Paula Strasberg’s residence on Central Park West in Manhattan. •​EL5-0954 – close friend Ralph Roberts’ residence on East 51st Street in Manhattan. •​PL8-0800 – attorney Aaron Frosch on East 56th Street in Manhattan. •​WBURY 263-3500 – Arthur Miller’s residence in Roxbury, Connecticut. •​OR3-7792 –Joan Copeland’s residence on Peter Cooper Road in Manhattan. •​PL9-4014 – Monroe’s private residential line at 444 E. 57th Street in Manhattan. •​MU8-4170 – photographer Richard Avedon’s office in Manhattan. •​LO5-0400 – dress manufacturer Henry Rosenfeld’s office on 7th Avenue in Manhattan. •​PL5-4400 – Joe DiMaggio’s residence in Manhattan. •​K13-1512 – Henry Sabini, driver of Exec-u-Car on West 60th Street in Manhattan, and •​CH2-3655 – poet Ettore Rella’s residence on West 14th Street in Manhattan. 

WHAT WAS DR. HYMAN ENGELBERG’S CULPABILITY? Psychiatrist Dr. Ralph Greenson described internist Dr. Hyman Engelberg as a narcissist, and Engelberg’s wife accused him of overmedicating her prior to their separation. Engelberg prescribed nearly 900 units of medication to Monroe in her last 60 days, giving her an arsenal of lethal substances. Monroe died of an overdose of Nembutal and chloral hydrate, contraindicated medications that should not be prescribed or taken together. Engelberg prescribed both medications and later lied to authorities about prescribing chloral hydrate. His name appears on prescriptions for chloral hydrate issued to Monroe in her last months and on the label of the vial of chloral hydrate photographed in her residence by Barry Feinstein on the day her body was discovered. Engelberg and Greenson recklessly coordinated her treatment. Communication between the medical professionals broke down in Monroe’s last weeks because Engelberg had become preoccupied with his marital separation. In 1982, Engelberg accused Dr. Lou Siegel of prescribing Nembutal and chloral hydrate to Monroe, but the original police investigation documented Engelberg had refilled a month’s supply of Monroe’s drugs two days before her death. 

Engelberg prescribed 25 units of Nembutal to Monroe on July 31, 1962, and refilled the prescription on August 3; a total of 50 pills—and a lethal amount if consumed in an overdose. He also prescribed chloral hydrate to Monroe on July 25 and refilled the prescription again on July 31. These refills, issued less than thirty days apart, may be the “smoking gun” in the case as Monroe died from overdoses of these two contraindicated drugs. Additionally, on July 10, 1962, Engelberg prescribed Monroe the following on one prescription: 50 units of Valmid, 25 units of Seconal, 25 units of Tuinal, and 100 units of Librium. Engelberg’s prescriptions for Nembutal and chloral hydrate in late July and then refilled early on August 3, argues Engelberg’s culpability. In early July 1962, Engelberg prescribed to Monroe Dexedrine, a stimulant drug. This stimulant may have triggered a manic episode or mixed episode of mania and depression, precipitating her overdose death. Although Dr. Engelberg and Dr. Greenson reported to the Suicide Prevention Team their treatment plan to decrease Monroe’s dependence on barbiturates and substitute less dangerous medications in her last two months, Engelberg’s refill of the prescription for a month’s supply of Nembutal only three days after the original prescription contradicts this wildly. 

Marilyn Monroe displayed several symptoms consistent with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), identified but quite misunderstood during the era, and requiring firm and consistent boundaries between the doctor and patient. Dr. Ralph Greenson experienced countertransference feelings in which he found importance and gratification treating and befriending a famous, charismatic female star. He also referred Monroe to his brother-in-law, Milton Rudin, who became her attorney. Greenson’s reactivity triggered Monroe’s feelings of abandonment and behaviors of lashing out at him. In May 1962, Greenson traveled to Europe while Monroe worked on the production of her final, unfinished film. Prior to the psychiatrist’s departure, he prescribed Monroe a combination of a sedative and stimulant which may have contributed to her final decline. The stimulant may have triggered a manic episode or mixed episode of mania and depression, precipitating her death. The mania could have fueled Monroe’s energy, increased impulsivity, and reduced judgement, thus increasing her risk of acting on suicidal ideas.

The Kennedy family had connections to Samuel Rosenman, chairman of the 20th Century Fox studio’s board, and she requested assistance from Attorney General Robert Kennedy in leveraging that connection for her reinstatement in the film production. Änd in the weeks prior to Monroe’s death, the board made significant changes in the studio’s leadership. Greenson stated Monroe appeared depressed and over-medicated when he last met with her on the last day of her life. He instructed Pat Newcomb, a competent woman with a direct communication style, to leave the residence and left housekeeper Eunice Murray, a passive personality, with no specific safety instructions related to monitoring Monroe. Greenson alluded that Monroe appeared angry toward him and often reacted with anger when he disagreed with her. Monroe later called the psychiatrist and asked if he had taken her Nembutal. Greenson did not question her current access to Nembutal. Monroe may have provided a hint that Engelberg had recently prescribed the drug that Greenson later stated he and Engelberg agreed to discontinue and replace. 

Marilyn Monroe clearly had a genetic predisposition for mental illness. Engelberg informed the author and others of her having displayed symptoms consistent with the diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder with mixed episodes of depression and mania making her a high risk for impulsive suicide. Monroe’s maternal grandfather took his own life by hanging; suicide is usually always the manifestation of a psychiatric disorder. Monroe’s maternal grandmother was institutionalized and diagnosed with Manic Depressive Psychosis. Monroe’s mother was diagnosed with Schizophrenia and was institutionalized most of her adult life. Monroe’s complex trauma in childhood may also have led to symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder, increasing risk for suicidal behavior to end her severe emotional pain. The forensic evidence points to Monroe having overdosed on approximately 47 Nembutal, pointing to her ingesting 25 pills in the original prescription and its refill. 

Many biographers deny Monroe’s potential for intentional suicide; they may be unaware of Borderline Personality Disorder crises that results in suicide gesturing to communicate emotional pain or to end emotional pain.  Greenson later reported Monroe was “quite upset” and “somewhat disoriented.” It was clear to him that she had taken some sleeping pills during her last day. “Marilyn was talking in a confused way,” Greenson told author Maurice Zolotow, “and it was hard to know what exactly what was bothering her.” If she accidentally overdosed, her condition suggests depression, disorientation, or disorganization. Individuals may take their own lives in a mixed or manic episode of Bipolar Disorder, when the serotonin levels in the brain increase energy and decrease judgement. Was Pat Newcomb concerned about Monroe’s stability and intentionally prevented Monroe’s access to Nembutal by keeping it secured in the bedroom where Monroe had invited her to sleep? Could this be the reason Monroe asked Greenson in their last telephone conversation if he had removed the vial of Nembutal? Had Newcomb indirectly deferred to Greenson’s judgment about granting Monroe’s access to the Nembutal in the room where Newcomb had slept the previous night? The constellation of Borderline Personality Disorder and Substance Misuse Disorder clearly increased Monroe’s risk for intentional or accidental overdose. 

Monroe struggled with sleep disturbances for many years, and according to Joan Greenson, especially in her last months. Monroe routinely took steps to create an environment conducive to falling to sleep and minimizing disturbances to awaken her. The fact that one of the telephone extensions remained in her bedroom suggests Monroe had not prepared for sleep when she ingested the overdose. This clue supports the theory that she intentionally overdosed. Of course, we cannot ascertain Monroe’s intention to die or to end emotional pain by overdosing. Nor can we ascertain if Monroe had acted out by risking her life in a suicide gesture during a Borderline crisis as a cry for help while hoping to be rescued. There is no hard evidence of Monroe and JFK’s involvement in an intimate relationship. Monroe’s friends, Ralph Roberts and Sidney Skolsky, wrote about her disclosing to them a brief affair with the President. But how accurate are these sources? Skolsky had been Monroe’s friend since the early days of her career and reunited with her in Los Angeles during her last year. Probably, Skolsky may have been influenced to write about an affair by his publisher. As a close friend and confidant, Roberts had frequent contact with Monroe in New York and Los Angeles during the last two years of her life. 

There are rumors of Monroe and Kennedy being together at Bing Crosby’s residence in Palm Springs in March 1962. The most compelling source is Monroe’s friend and confidante Ralph Roberts who documented a phone call from Monroe in Palm Springs in March 1962 and claims he spoke to a man with an unmistakable Bostonian accent. However, the phone call alone is not evidence of an intimate relationship with JFK. Monroe met Robert Kennedy and Ethel Kennedy at a reception hosted by Peter Lawford and Patricia Kennedy Lawford in February 1962 prior to the couple’s departure for a goodwill tour of Asia and Europe and socialized with them again during the President’s birthday gala in New York in May. In June 1962, Monroe declined an invitation from Robert and Ethel Kennedy to attend a reception at their home in Virginia during her negotiations with the studio. Monroe also had brief contact with Robert Kennedy at two social receptions at the Lawford residence in late June and late July. In June, Robert Kennedy briefly visited Monroe’s residence in the presence of Eunice Murray. Monroe contacted Robert Kennedy through the main switchboard of the Department of Justice in Washington, DC, from June 25-30, 1962. These calls were precipitated by her termination from 20th Century-Fox Studios following her appearance in May at the President’s Birthday Salute in New York. Monroe’s calls to the Attorney General were related to Kennedy’s connection to Samuel Rosenman, chairman of the board of Fox in New York. The simple explanation for Monroe’s calls is possibly her efforts to request Kennedy’s leverage of Roseman to support changes which would result in her return to the studio. In the end, Darryl F. Zanuck eventually returned and criticized the studio leadership’s decisions which had included Monroe’s termination. 

There is no evidence of Monroe and Robert Kennedy engaging in an intimate relationship either. Ethel Kennedy’s invitation to Monroe supports this along with Monroe’s reported denial of an affair to close friends such as Norman Rosten and Ralph Roberts. Most likely, Monroe had a social acquaintanceship friendship with both Kennedy and his wife, initiated through mutual friends Patricia Newcomb, Patricia Kennedy Lawford, and Peter Lawford. Ralph Roberts’ published memoir, Mimosa: Memories of Marilyn and the Making of “The Misfits” contains the author’s notes related to Monroe’s last excursion to Lake Tahoe. The notes include a nonspecific reference to “her disagreement with Joe DiMaggio.” Apparently, Monroe quarreled with her former husband leading to increased stress during the weekend. “I didn’t want to go,” Roberts quotes Monroe as telling him. “Pat [Lawford] persuaded me. It turned out to be a complete disaster.” Why was Monroe at the Cal-Neva Lodge? The simplest explanation is that she accompanied the Lawfords to support Dean Martin, her co-star in Something’s Got to Give, who was headlining in the resort’s Celebrity Show Room. The Reno Gazette-Journal promoted Martin’s booking at the Cal-Neva in July 26, 1962.

 

WHO FAILED TO INTERVENE DURING MONROE’S FINAL CRISIS? Peter Lawford called Marilyn Monroe on the last night of her life and after speaking with her, believed she was in danger. He described her slurred speech and voice fading out during the call. When he called Monroe back, her phone was busy. He called an operator who informed him of no conversation on Monroe’s telephone line, indicating her telephone receiver was off its cradle. Intoxicated and unable to drive, Lawford enlisted his friends, Joseph and Dolores Naar and manager Milton Ebbins, to check on her. Dolores Naar Nemiro is the only surviving guest of Lawford’s reception that evening (she is a member of SHARE, the oldest charity in Beverly Hills, started by the wives of the famous Rat Pack). Milton Ebbins went on recording having advised Lawford not to become involved in Monroe’s crisis as Lawford was married to the sister of the President of the United States. Ebbins initiated a series of telephone calls to enlist others in intervening, including his leaving a message with Milton Rudin for a call-back. Robert E. Litman, a psychiatrist who co-founded the nation’s first comprehensive suicide prevention center in 1958 in Los Angeles, examined Monroe's “psychological autopsy,” thinking after a deliberate overdose, she made a call for attention and she wanted to be rescued.

It was a Saturday night, and those involved may have been drinking alcohol and under its influence. First, Ebbins contacted the answering service of Milton Rudin, Dr. Greenson’s brother-in-law and Monroe’s attorney. Ebbins remained at home where he was meeting with comic Mort Sahl. When Rudin returned Ebbins’ call from a dinner party, Lawford’s urgent concern about Monroe may have been minimized. Rudin called Monroe’s residence but did not communicate an urgent concern when he spoke to Eunice Murray, housekeeper/companion. Murray stated Monroe was fine. Rudin did not press the issue with Murray. Murray’s lack of action may also have been influenced by Monroe’s intentions of firing her along with Greenson. After receiving Murray’s feedback, Ebbins called the Naars and told them not to drive to Monroe’s nearby residence to her. In the end, no one checked on Monroe’s safety after Peter Lawford raised the alarm. In this scenario, Murray delayed intervening until it was too late to save Monroe’s life. Toxicological and chemical analysis revealed Nembutal and chloral hydrate were present in high concentration in Monroe’s liver and low concentration in her blood, indicating an oral ingestion and complete metabolism of the drugs. Monroe slipped into coma, and cardiac activity and respiration slowed before ceasing. Time of death is estimated between 12:30 am to 1:00 am on August 5, 1962. Monroe ingested approximately forty-seven units of Nembutal and seventeen units of chloral hydrate. Medical Examiner-Coroner Theodore Curphey informed the press in 1962 that Monroe’s toxicology report indicating 4.5 milligrams of barbiturate poisoning per 100 cc of blood constituted about twice the amount usually considered a lethal dosage. 

Does anyone really want to know what lead to Marilyn Monroe’s death? I think not. That would close the case. It is the retelling of her death story that interests the public, sells books, attracts viewers to documentaries and dramatizations. Monroe is killed in each narrative. Writers recycle information regardless of its accuracy and despite it having been disproven. Marilyn Monroe was a resilient survivor of childhood complex trauma who succumbed to intergenerational mental illness. On August 18, 1962, according to the Suicide Team report, Monroe’s case should be classified as a “probable suicide.” The Coroner’s Office held a press conference to announce the findings during which the Chief Medical Examiner stated his conclusion: Monroe’s death was caused by a “self-administered overdose of sedative drugs and that the mode of death [was] probable suicide.” On October 1, 1983, Simon & Schuster released the first edition of Dr. Thomas Noguchi’s autobiography, Coroner, co-authored by Joseph Dimona. The former coroner went on record to defend his official findings of the cause of Monroe’s death. “In my opinion, the official conclusion stated the situation correctly (if evasively): ‘probable suicide,’” he wrote, “I would call it ‘very probable.’” The cause of death by acute barbiturate poisoning determined to be a “probable suicide” seems an appropriate conclusion based upon the forensic data and psychological history of Marilyn Monroe. —Icon: What Killed Marilyn Monroe, Volume Two (2023) by Gary Vitacco-Robles

Dick Powell, Some Enchanted Evenings

What I love most about Classic films is that the Hays Code, while certainly restrictive, resulted in some fantastically subtle dialogue and storytelling. The limitations on conduct forced the writers/crew to be creative in a way they never would nowadays. The constricted nature of what they could say and show, made it so if the writers wanted to discuss something or have it portrayed on screen, it had to be in a clever way, within a subtext. Thats what has me baffled about the dialogue in alot of these films, it feels so ahead of its time, even nowadays, its shocking. How could Golddiggers of 1933, His Girl Friday, or The Philadelphia Story, among many others have such brilliant dialogue back then that it sort of puts alot of modern day movies to shame. There is something especially mentally delicious about how innuendo is employed in Classic Films. There's more attention required of the audience to grasp the subtext, and isn't it nice to have a subtext? The black and white silvery cinematography could be indescribably beautiful, the larger than life beautiful actresses. 

The dialogue and writing in these films was often vibrant, especially considering some of these films are nearly 100 years old. In fact, the writing and banter on Bringing Up Baby, or The Philadelphia Story, or His Girl Friday, doesnt feel dated at all and is superior than 90 percent of screenwriting today. I love the feeling and vibe these movies create. The fashions, elegant men wearing hats and suits, those epic orchestral soundtracks. Sometimes they make one wish to live inside these films. Obviously there were chaotic and scary situations too, WWII and the Great Depression being the obvious examples, but times seemed simpler, easier in some aspects. I love not seeing cell phones or the internet on screen, for example. Also, the concept of "movie as an event" is exciting. Even with today's huge Marvel movies, or Netflix exclusives, there is something about these classic films; they were huge major events. When I am watching a classic film, I am really focused whilst it unfolds its plot, I find myself captivated by the sheer magic that these old Hollywood gems possessed. It was as if they had a unique ability to whisk you away from the ordinary and immerse you in something truly extraordinary. I couldn't help but be reminded of a bygone era when movie actors exuded elegance and sophistication, leaving an indelible mark on the art of filmmaking.

There was an inherent class and authenticity in those films that seems to have become increasingly rare in today's Hollywood industry. They made pure cinema, crafted for the sheer joy of storytelling and the sheer love of the characters. It was a time when movies were created for art's sake, mostly without any ulterior motives or hidden agendas. I think a lot of the "magic" with 30s, 40s and 50s Hollywood has to do with the fact that a lot of the actors of that era were on stage before they went to film. They knew how to emote loudly with their entire body language. Camera shots were often wider and there was more of a focus on close-ups. Through one of the miraculous accidents of history, the musical film was born exactly when it was most needed. The United States’ financial boom of the 1920’s created an explosion of technological innovation within the film industry and an orgy of reckless stock speculation on Wall Street. By the end of the decade, both trends reached their logical endpoint. Synchronized sound film was perfected and became an industry standard, while the country’s financial system crashed violently, leaving millions of americans in dire straits. One could reasonably have suspected that with fiscal calamity ravaging the country, non-essential expenses like movie tickets would be the first items cut from family budgets - but Hollywood’s business boomed during the Great Depression years. 

America needed its spirits lifted, and movies were the most effective way to escape the daily doldrums. No type of film gave the viewer more bang-for-the-buck than the musical genere. For the price of a single ticket you’d get comedy, drama, lavish production numbers, and catchy tunes that you’d be humming as you left the theater. It was a sure-fire cure for the blues. I'm reminded of the good lesson taught to us by Preston Sturges at the end of Sullivan's Travels, where he shows us laughter and glitz is the best medicine to combat depression and sadness. In The Pirate, Judy Garland’s Manuela, who craves romance and adventure, insists, “Underneath this prim exterior, there are depths of emotion, romantic longings.” It’s a statement that could be made by virtually any character in any musical. These are hardly frivolous matters. The musical is for anyone who has ever longed for something or someone—that is to say, everyone. What is life without fantasy? To be firmly grounded, one must occasionally walk on air. 

Gold Diggers of 1933 is conspicuously aware of the time in which it was being made. It opens with a jaunty, dazzling production of “We’re In The Money” which lands on a harsh note of irony. As the girls finish singing this hymn to carefree success, the police march into the theater to repossess the troupe’s stage equipment on behalf of creditors. The dazzling illusions of showbiz wither under the unforgiving circumstances, and our three protagonists - Carol (Joan Blondell), Trixie (Aline MacMahon) and Polly (Ruby Keeler) - suddenly find themselves unemployed. “It’s the depression, dearie,” Ginger Rogers’ Fay caustically reminds us. What Gold Diggers of 1933 serves up afterward was just what audience’s ordered, a reversal of their fortunes - we get to follow these three tough, wise-crackin’ gals as they stick it to snobby rich guys and eventually reach points of contentment somewhere on the broad spectrum between love and financial security. Mervyn LeRoy directs the dialogue scenes with the same caustic brio that he brought to his gangster films (Little Caesar, Five Star Final), giving the film’s comedy a sardonic (and often risqué) edge that might come as a shock to modern audiences more accustomed to the relatively wholesome attitudes that characterized the Hollywood musical after the enforcement of the Hays Code.

But what really sets Gold Diggers of 1933 apart are the dazzling, audacious production numbers of Bubsy Berkeley. Unlike most musical directors, Berkeley was uninterested in traditional dance and choreography, instead using his cast performers to create elaborate geometric designs. Critic Dave Kehr who counts Berkeley “among America's first and greatest abstract filmmakers,” writes: "By the time of Gold Diggers of 1933, Mr. Berkeley had dissolved the spatial confines of the stage and was mounting his extravaganzas within the big, black box of a gigantic Warner Brothers soundstage, where Euclidean notions of space dissolved in a fantasy world without visible borders and only occasional concessions to Renaissance perspective." 

There are moments in every Berkeley number where the director seems to have taken off completely for deep space: images so abstract that it is difficult to identify the human figures that compose them at their base. Indeed, Berkeley is America’s answer to Eisenstein - the master of montage for the masses. But his ideology is pure Hollywood: glamour, spectacle, scale, romance and fun. And though Berkeley’s films didn’t share the self-conscious Socialist desire to uplift an impoverished proletariat, that’s exactly what they wound up doing. Gold Diggers of 1933 was made near the end of the Pre-Code era, when censorship was beginning to hold sway. Warner prepared for censorship boards by preparing two versions of the film - the normal one and one that was considerably “toned down” for more conservative states. Polly (the good girl) and Dick Powell (the shy composer/crooner) come alive in the fabulous  number "Pettin' in the Park". This number is maybe the peak of the whole movie. It makes us enjoy the titillating yet innocent nature of Polly and Brad's relationship—how the montage seems to tout the winking to its audience. And of course, it all ends with the somber "Remember my Forgotten Man" number, which is in no doubt referencing Franklin Roosevelt's 1932 radio speech. In 2003, Gold Diggers of 1933  was selected for the National Film Registry. —MGM’s Stairway to Paradise (2019) by Michael Koresky

"His death at fifty-eight was a tremendous loss to the industry, both as a creator and as a backbone," former director Busby Berkeley lamented when Dick Powell passed away. The loss shook June Allyson deeply, and she descended into a period of self destruction. Four Star Productions was weakened without Powell's business sense. It is tantalizing to wonder what Powell would have done with more time, but his boundless energy and generosity left us with a unique legacy to remember him by. It was typical for movie stars in the 1930s to be sent on promotional tours around the country after a film was finished. After 42nd Street, Dick Powell and others of the main cast from the film were sent to theaters showing the film. They would perform little skits and introduce the film, and then take their bows afterward. 

For 42nd Street, there was an entire 7-car train that went to 100 cities. Dick Powell was part of the many celebrities on the train. He was eager to please and he put a lot of energy into his performances at each stop, but such constant travel was draining. He jumped quickly into another film, to his detriment. Powell landed in the hospital with severe pneumonia and spent most of the money he had made touring on hospital bills. The pneumonia forced him to recover longer than the studio wanted. They recast his role in Footlight Parade with Stanley Smith, a young actor who has appeared in a few films, including the starring role in Love Among the Millionaires with Clara Bow. But the studio believed that the fans would prefer to see Dick Powell with Ruby Keeler, so when he became well, they replaced Stanley with Dick. 

Dick Powell plays “Billy Lawler” in 42nd Street, who describes himself as “one of Broadway’s better juveniles”. The cherubic Powell is immensely likable as “Billy” and his cheerful enthusiasm is infectious, even when crooning a ditty. As mentioned before, his chemistry with Keeler sparkles with a genuine affection, giving him (and her) a kind of dreamy quality. His solid performance made him a star of lighthearted musical comedies. Many people burst out into laughter at the end of the number when Powell and Keeler pull down a curtain marked ‘Asbestos’. Asbestos nowadays is pretty much solely associated with killing people, but back in the day it was used in, yes, stage curtains in case a fire got out of control. And, as another source noted, it also indicates that whatever is going on behind the curtain between the two stars must be pretty hot. “I Only Have Eyes For You” has a handful of my favorite shots in all of cinema. The many reveals of Ruby Keeler are breathtaking, and the way the film repeats and rearranges is nothing less than visual poetry. Keeler, who must have been a little weirded out seeing the final product, is nonetheless absolutely glowing throughout. Her character loves the adoration, and it sells the love affair along with all of the romantic lyrics tossed to her by Powell. 

In Footlight Parade, Dick Powell says to his new darling (Ruby Keeler) on their upcoming tour, “We’ll make love in 40 cities!" Footlight Parade is one of the greats of the Pre-Code era, and an essential work for anyone who loves cinema. Though it was 42nd Street the film that really cemented Dick Powell's fame. Not only was it a highly successful movie, it featured Ruby Keeler again and sparked the beginning of a long film partnership with her. We first see Dick Powell in his underwear, but he is immediately shown to be non-threatening and very sweet. Throughout the film, he goes out of his way to help the girl he loves, but he is no pushover. There is no way he will let Edward Nugent get a shot at Ruby. Powell is a very confident and adept actor, even at this early stage in his career. In spite of this, it is his singing that is most impressive. He appears in "Young and Healthy" with the beautiful Toby Wing, attempting to woo her. Here we see his trademark outstretched arms and winning smile, a combination that would make him irresistible in musicals. According to Kevin Killian: "If they remade this film today they might dress Dick Powell up differently in the scene in which Peggy stumbles into Billy's dressing room, catching him in his underwear; but they couldn't cast a cuter guy or get a fresher, more vibrant sexual vibe. He's fantastic in the film, and he gives Ruby Keeler sex, just as she gives him back her adoration, a mirror of ours." Source: pre-code.com

Marion Davies was a famous mistress to a wealthy newspaper tycoon named William Randolph Hearst. Although her devotion to Hearst was strong, she was not above liaisons with actors, particularly co-stars. When Powell and Davies appeared in Page Miss Glory together, they hit it off, and soon Dick was making frequent late night phone calls to Marion's private number. At the same time, he was often seen having lunch with Joan Blondell in the studio commissary. Dick Powell was a logical man, and although he cared deeply for Marion, the relationship with Joan seemed more realistic. Joan was in the process of divorcing her first husband, whereas Marion had no intention of breaking off her relationship with Hearst. Powell made smart investments throughout his career, dabbling in real estate, and he spent some of his profits on his first boat. He liked to take his family out on the sea. However, large purchases were rare, and with his musical career waning, he knew how important it was that he provide for his family, so he accepted a few films that he otherwise wouldn't have. When Joan Blondell began seeing impresario Mike Todd, Powell knew that it wouldn't be long until they signed divorce papers. In the meantime, he began a relationship with upcoming actress June Allyson. 

June had been smitten with Dick's on-screen image for years, and he loved acting as her protector. He gave her advice on her career and took her out for dancing. Powell began making a string of tough-guy pictures for RKO while balancing his real estate hobby, his relationship with his children, and keeping a watchful eye on June's blooming career. June was told she could never have children due to a childhood accident, so the couple decided to adopt a baby. Pamela Powell was brought home in 1948. Two years later, the Powells planned to adopt a boy companion for Pamela, but then June was shocked to learn that she was pregnant. Richard Jr. was born on Christmas Day 1950. June remembered how ecstatically happy her husband was, "I can't believe it. I'm forty years old and my wife has given me a son." "Richard seldom used a real name," June said. "Pammy answered to My Special Girl or Special Girl; Ricky was plain Speedy." 

Mary Martin’s ninth and last picture for Paramount, True to Life (1943), begins with an omniscient narrator intoning, “Someone once said, ‘The movies should be more like life.’ And a wise man answered, ‘Life should be more like the movies.’” True to Life was the first Martin film to include any reference to the anxious reality that America was at war, albeit in a humorous, throwaway subplot. True to Life (1943) is a delightful George Marshall screwball comedy with Dick Powell and Franchot Tone as radio soap opera writers who have hit a dry spell and are facing an angry sponsor who want to cancel the continued adventures of Kitty Farmer. Powell goes out in the rain looking for inspiration and meets Mary Martin in a diner where she mistakes him for a pitiful guy out of work because he left his wallet at home. While not a musical, Martin sings “Mister Pollyanna,” and Powell does likewise for the memorable Johnny Mercer tune “The Old Music Master,” and “There She Was,” a more typical Powell tune. 

There’s never doubting of Powell's attraction to Martin, that's the forte of the film. Powell was one of the few actors who could be smug and vulnerable at the same time. Mary Martin did far too few films, but had real presence on screen (not always true of stage stars). Here she is mindful of Jean Arthur—which is no small compliment—especially in a screwball comedy. Martin had previous co-starred with Bing Crosby in Rhythm on the River (1940), based on a story by Billy Wilder, In the end, Cherry sings their song, “Only Forever,” in a nightclub, and Courtney is compelled to divulge that it was written by his “collaborators.” That lilting melody is offset by Crosby’s “real hep cat” version of the title song and by Martin’s saucy “Ain’t It a Shame about Mame.” The original score was by Johnny Burke (Crosby’s principal Paramount composer), whose “Only Forever” earned an Academy Award nomination. Though Mary Martin received the same-size billing as her costar Bing Crosby, Martin was paid a paltry $20,416. 

Helpfully, her contract stipulated that she could leave the studio every Thursday to attend rehearsals and broadcasts of Dick Powell’s Good News radio program, for which she was earning $1,000 per show. Happy Go Lucky (1943), Martin’s eighth picture, is a Technicolor movie musical in which she plays Marjory Stewart, a Texan “cigarette girl” who poses as a millionaire and heads south in search of a rich man to marry. After the opening calypso number, as Marjory’s boat docks at an unnamed tropical island, she admits to Pete (Dick Powell), a local hustler, that she’s “a phony” who “came down here to find a rich husband.” Pete helps her plot to land his onetime friend, Alfred Monroe (Rudy Vallee). But even as all of their schemes are thwarted, the viewer knows from the outset that Marjory’s going to nab “Alfie,” only to reject him for Pete (Powell) in the end. Martin's chauffeur Ernest Adams, who had previously worked for journalist Adela Rogers St. Johns, recalled Jean Arthur paying a visit backstage after a matinee in San Francisco. "I was standing on the stage, and I see this little woman in very sensible shoes and a little plaid suit. And I see Miss Martin come out of her dressing room, and they ran to each other. They embraced in such a way that even I, still a virgin, knew this was not just two friends saying ‘hello.’ But then, of course, there was a lot of gossip swirling around the company about the two of them." 

Adams also hinted that Martin’s intense film chemistry with Dick Powell was based on real chemistry. Let's not forget that Powell was immersed in a painful process of separation from Joan Blondell in 1943, and Martin was always very friendly towards Powell, who was a very private man in real life. So the odds of an affair between Powell and Martin are a rather likely scenario. Theater critic Albert Goldberg went on to write one of the most definitive descriptions of Mary Martin’s artistry as a performer: “It is hard to define Miss Martin’s magic. Some of it may be because you are not only in love with her but because she is also in love with you—the audience. She takes you to her heart as you take her to yours.” 

In the New York Post, Clive Barnes claimed that “her special charm was an innocence that was never sugary, a voice that never cloyed and a personality that happily combined the indomitable with the vulnerable on a spectrum that made it possible for us all to identify with.” Theater critic Mel Gussow in his front-page obituary of Mary Martin for the New York Times, which appeared on November 5, 1990, wrote: “Her voice was never the strongest instrument. She was not beautiful (though she could be radiant). While Ethel Merman was an entire brass section and Carol Channing was a parade, Miss Martin remained natural and exactingly true to life—and her performance as Peter Pan was poetry." Elia Kazan, who had directed Martin in her first Broadway starring role, in One Touch of Venus (1943), said that she was “full of the love of being loved.” —Some Enchanted Evenings: The Glittering Life and Times of Mary Martin (2016) by David Kaufman

June Allyson and Lucille Ball (Similar Patterns)

The two women stood apart from the intermission crowd at the New York theater. Lucy was doing most of the talking. June, her hands nervously rolling and unrolling the program, listened carefully. From time to time, she’d nod, as if in agreement. She interrupted only twice, to ask a question. From the looks on both women’s faces, it’s certain they weren’t talking about the play. Later, at a restaurant, June still seemed edgy. Lucy whispered something to her and smiled, as if to reassure her. After a while, June seemed to relax a little. Those who saw the two women together were puzzled because they didn't know June Allyson and Lucille Ball were long time friends. 

When, suddenly, June picked herself up and flew to New York, the last person anyone expected her to look up was Lucy. And yet now it seemed that this was the very reason June had come three thousand miles—to see Lucy. Why? What was going on? In a matter of weeks, the answer was obvious. Right after her meeting with Lucy, June suddenly stopped squashing the rumors that all was not well with her marriage to Dick Powell. And early in January, when a sick and openly weeping June told reporters outright that she and Dick had separated and would seek a divorce, the mystery seemed to be solved. 

June Allyson was faced with the breakup of her marriage. There was only one other woman in the world who had ever been faced with just her unique and difficult position-and that was Lucille Ball. Lucy seemed to be the only person June could turn to for the understanding and advice she needed. Neither woman was willing to comment on what they talked about. But there were no denials either. After their meeting, people were quick to point out that Lucy, having been through the division of Desilu Studios, might well give June some financial advice. After all, June and Dick also shared an entertainment empire, Four Star Productions. At first look, June and Lucy seemed two such different types. June was shy. cuddly, with an appealing little-girl quality. Lucy was open and hearty, the typical redhead. And yet their lives have been oddly alike. June Allyson and Lucille Ball were born, a few years apart, in New York. As children they dreamed of show business careers. Each girl underwent a tragic experience that almost crippled her for life. For June it was an accident. She was on the wrong street at the wrong time; a tree, struck by lightning shortly before, dropped a huge branch on her. Her spine had been injured. Her legs hung useless, immobile. She could scarcely move her arms. And her face, bloodied and torn, was destined to a network of red scars.

For Lucille, it was an illness; she contracted pneumonia. Whether through improper treatment, or simply because of the violence of the attack, it left her paralyzed. For eight months she lay in bed, struggling to move a toe, an ankle, a knee. She had planned to begin her show business career as a chorus girl. Now she was told she might never walk again. Yet neither girl would consider giving up. Shy, delicate-boned, tiny June Allyson, and raucous, wide-mouthed, tall Lucille Ball—they shared an incredible determination. By effort, by sheer will power, they set about restoring themselves to health. For June there were long hours in a swimming pool, to help move her stiff and aching legs. And then there were the movies to help forget. She loved Fred Astaire’s “The Gay Divorcee,” which she watched eighteen times. She knew every step of the dance routines. Stubbornly, before a mirror, she made her agonized legs repeat the steps over and over. Stubbornly, she kept her eyes away from the scars that seamed her face. 

For Lucille, there were exercises that were much the same—and scars that were very different. For three long years she struggled to regain control of her legs. She spent hours listening to the radio, studying the great comedians, their tricks, their timing. The one thing she wanted was to make people laugh. At one point, some relative brought a drama coach to see her, to encourage her gallant fight. At the end of the session the man rose, bit his lip, and told her that she did not have a chance. Sick or well, the man said with pity she simply had no talent. As stubbornly as June Allyson kept her eyes from her face in the mirror, so Lucille Ball kept her thoughts from that man, his condescension and his judgment. Despite him, despite her unwilling legs, she would be a dancer and a famous comedienne. Both women went to the West, to Hollywood, where they would meet each other for the first time during the production of Best Foot Forward. 

Best Foot Forward was a 1943 American musical film adapted from the 1941 Broadway musical comedy of the same title, based on an unpublished play by John Cecil Holm. The film was released by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, directed by Edward Buzzell, and starred Lucille Ball, William Gaxton, Virginia Weidler, June Allyson, Gloria DeHaven, and Nancy Walker. Produced by George Abbott, after an out-of-town tryout, the production opened on Broadway on October 1, 1941 at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre, where it ran for 326 performances. It was directed by Abbott, with choreography by Gene Kelly, and starred Rosemary Lane. The show was Nancy Walker's Broadway debut and also launched June Allyson to fame. Brooks Atkinson of The New York Times liked the "good humored" show, especially praising the score and choreography, singling out June Allyson and Nancy Walker. 

With no previous professional experience, Maureen Cannon debuted on Broadway portraying Helen Schlessinger in Best Foot Forward (1941). An Associated Press article about Cannon noted that she sang two hit songs in the musical and she was "overshadowed only by Rosemary Lane in the importance of her role". Theater critic Burns Mantle wrote that Cannon "sings 'Shady Lady Bird' to many encores". Following the Broadway production, Cannon performed on the road in Best Foot Forward including a run in Chicago. According to the Lucille Ball & Desi Arnaz: They Weren’t Lucy & Ricky memoir, Cannon was friendly with Rosemary Lane and June Allyson, and she witnessed in the summer of 1942 the introduction of June Allyson to Dick Powell by mutual friend Rosemary Lane. This clearly would contradict Joan Blondell's madcap account of the meeting in her memoir Center Door Fancy, where she writes about an unlikely hysterical approach by June to her husband Dick Powell. And her fantastic tale doesn't sound like an innocuous memory lapse by Blondell, just more like a convenient and deliberate distortion of June's real personality and actions. 

While shooting Meet the People (1944), co-starring Dick Powell, Lucille Ball also observed Joan Blondell's erratic conduct and her tendency to spread false rumors about June's reputation. Blondell's official divorce from Powell would happen a year later, in July 1945. In August, 19, 1945, Dick Powell would marry her third and last wife, June Allyson. 

From Los Angeles Times article "Film Actor Dick Powell Marries June Allyson" (20 August, 1945): "Actor/singer Dick Powell and his bride actress June Allyson cut their wedding cake. The small ceremony was held at the house of Mr. Johnny Green and Mrs. Bonnie Green in Cheviot Hills, Los Angeles. It was conducted by Superior Judge Edward Brand and Louis B. Mayer gave the bride away." After getting nervous in her first wedding night with Powell, Allyson felt more on ease the next day, explaining: "The next morning he took me to the Santana, and there we had our second wedding night in broad daylight. What had I been afraid of? This was truly the gold at the end of the rainbow. I didn't want to get off the boat, ever." This would also contradict or at least reflect a change in Powell's bedroom customs that Joan Blondell mentioned in Center Door Fancy, complaining of a prudish Powell wanting to make love only in the darkness. 

Joan Blondell seemed eager to convince herself that Dick Powell was cheating on her with June Allyson, but all the evidence points to the contrary, it was Blondell who first started a clandestine sexual relationship with Mike Todd in early 1943. Blondell also alleges, in the most libelous passage of Center Door Fancy, that Allyson's reputation was in the public domain and she had been a call-girl in NYC, according to Mike Todd. Blondell mustn't have figured that future biographers of Allyson would confirm or debunk these awful allegations. And multiples sources deny these off-base accusations. First, Mike Todd was a shady, sexist, and manipulative fabulist who only could know about Allyson through third-party sources. 

As a youngster, June Allyson lived on 3rd Avenue Elevated, also known as Bronx El, on a clanking street of tenements, bars, and hock shops. To help her family, at 16 she was working as a nightclub singer and dancer. It was typical of the era tongue wagging about a young woman in such an environment. Whilst, Lucille Ball studied dance under Martha Graham Dance Company  before Graham asked her to drop the class. “You’re hopeless as a dancer,” Graham told her. “You’re like a quarterback taking up ballet. Perhaps you could find work as a soda jerk.” Reportedly, at 14, Ball wound up in a relationship with 23-year-old Johnny DaVita, who, some authors speculated, ran illegal booze from Canada. Ball's step-grandparents were a puritanical Swedish couple who banished all mirrors from the house except one over the bathroom sink. When Lucy was caught admiring herself in it, she was severely chastised for being vain. She later said that this period of time affected her so deeply, it lasted eight years to overcome. In 1928, Lucy began working for Hattie Carnegie as an in-house model. Later Lucy Ball was hired by theatre impresario Earl Carroll for his Vanities Broadway revue, and by Florenz Ziegfeld Jr. for the Rio Rita stage musical. After a stint in Roman Scandals (1933), Lucille Ball moved permanently to Hollywood as a contract player for RKO. 

On March 3, 1960, (one day after filming the final episode of The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour), Lucille Ball filed papers in Santa Monica Superior Court, claiming married life with Desi Arnaz was "a nightmare" and nothing at all as it appeared on I Love Lucy. On May 4, 1960, they were officially divorced. Both the show and the couple’s marriage ended in 1960. However, until his death in 1986, Arnaz and Ball remained friends and often spoke fondly of each other. Lucille’s marriage had taken place in 1940. June’s in 1945. Lucille chose a temperamental Cuban bandleader, Desi Arnaz, five years younger than herself. June had married a respected, long-established movie star, Dick Powell—thirteen years her senior. But the truth is both women had unerringly chosen a man who would, as the years went on, almost dominate them completely. Lucy, big-boned, tall, strong-willed, longed for a man who would restore her to gentle femininity; June, tiny, delicate, shy, was accustomed to being guided and tutored by others. 

At the beginning, there was the strain of being apart. For June and Dick, enforced separations were not really long or frequent. They were apart only when location shooting was required for either of them, and this seldom meant more than a few weeks. But for Lucy and Desi Arnaz, enforced separations were far more severe. Lucy once estimated that in the early years of their marriage they spent far less than half their time together. In each marriage, the result was one of increased tension. For as the wives’ careers soared, those of the husbands slipped or changed drastically. Their marriages staggered on—and faltered. Lucy and Desi’s broke down first in 1944. For June and Dick the first serious split came in 1957, when Dick moved out of their Mandeville Canyon home. In both cases the decision was made by the woman. And in both cases the women changed their minds and decided to reconcile. Money rolled in. Both men had a shrewd business sense. Before long they were working not for others but for themselves. Four Star Productions and Desilu became names to be reckoned within the world of TV. But just as strains had emerged from the success of the two women, new tensions appeared born of their husbands’ triumphs.

Both men were soon working eighteen hours a day. Desi rarely left the RKO studios he had purchased for Desilu. At home, keyed up beyond exhaustion by his accomplishments, he would pace the house restlessly. Dick, less bound to a single location, flew back and forth to New York, to Europe, from chore to chore, gave interviews, bought scripts, cast, directed and produced. Older than Desi, Dick showed the wear and tear more conventionally—at home he simply collapsed. Lucy was no businesswoman; she was willing to be, on paper, a vice-president of Desilu, but violently opposed to letting it dominate her life. June, working less now than Dick, was restless. Still young, poised, beautiful in a more mature way, she wanted a little of the glamor and excitement she had been too awkward to enjoy years before. 

For June and Dick there were new notions—a house closer to fashionable Hollywood than their Mandeville Canyon estate, trips to New York and stunning new wardrobes for June. In late winter of 1960, June Allyson, after her long talk with Lucille Ball, announced that she had split with Dick Powell, and her lawyer confirmed that either a legal separation or a divorce would shortly take place. Dick Powell stepped off an airplane in Los Angeles and walked into the outstretched arms of his wife, June, on January 18, 1961. Dick Powell’s statement was: “I still love June and I believe she still loves me. If people will only leave us alone, maybe we can work out our situation.” Lucille Ball would marry her last husband Gary Morton, a Borscht Belt comic 13 years her junior, on November 19, 1961. According to Ball, Morton claimed he had never seen an episode of I Love Lucy due to his hectic work schedule. On January 3, 1962, Allyson’s interlocutory divorce decree was declared void since the Powells had reconciled. —Sources: "June Allyson: Her Life and Career" (2023) by Peter Shelley and "If Lucy Ball saw June Allyson, what would she tell her now?" article by Charlotte Dinter for Photoplay magazine (April 1961).