TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/caps/85/85capmst.2

Text File | 1992-09-25 | 5.6 KB | 122 lines

                                                                                January 6, 1986

SHOW BUSINESS

MOST OF '85


Rin-Tin-Tin Doesn't Talk


A treasure chest of Hollywood lore in Inside Warner Bros.

At the bottom of every Warner Bros. memo sheet was a routine
injunction that said, "Verbal messages cause misunderstanding
and delays (please put them in writing)."  And put them in
writing they did, the most star-studded list of memo writers in
movie history: the Warner brothers themselves; producers,
directors and writers; and a roster of stars that included Bette
Davis, Humphrey Bogart, Errol Flynn and George Raft. The best
of those tens of thousands of messages have now been collected
by Film Historian Rudy Behlmer, whose Inside Warner Bros.
(1935-1951) (Viking; $19.95) is, to any fan of film, an open
sesame into Aladdin's Cave.

The first memo, which actually dates from 1929, before the
avalanche begins, brusquely dismisses Rin-Tin-Tin. The
introduction of talking pictures, argues one Warner executive,
has turned their canine star into just another unemployed hound,
"very obviously, of course, because dogs don't talk."  To the
regret of Jack Warner, who ran the studios (Brother Harry was
president and Albert was treasurer), his other stars could talk
and often did. When Davis objects to being cast in something
called Hollywood Hotel (1937), her withering look can be seen
between her lines to him:  "I have worked very hard to become
known as a dramatic actress," she wrote. "For you to want me
to become a slap-stick comedy actress...I cannot understand."
The part was recast.

Sometimes the stars should have remained as silent as
Rin-Tin-Tin. Raft, reminding Jack that he had been promised
nothing but big pictures, demanded release from a thriller set
in San Francisco:  "I strongly feel that The Maltese Falcon,
which you want me to do, is not an important picture."  That
role was also recast, and The Maltese Falcon made a big star of
Humphrey Bogart.

Nearly 30 pages are devoted to one of Bogart's most famous
pictures, Everybody Comes to Rick's--or Casablanca, as it was
soon retitled. Although Ronald Reagan, of all people, was
suggested for the part in one studio press release, Bogie was
the obvious choice. "This guy Rick is two-parts Hemingway,
one-part Scott Fitzgerald, and a dash of cafe Christ," said one
screenwriter. Various actresses, including Hedy Lamarr, Michele
Morgan and Ann Sheridan, were proposed for the role that Ingrid
Bergman played so indelibly well. What may surprise readers in
these days of superstar supersalaries is the piddling sums paid
the cast. Bogie got the most, $36,667, while Sydney
Greenstreet took home only $7,500. Dooley Wilson, who has made
several generations cry to the words of As Time Goes By,
received a measly $3,500. The picture's success led to
consideration of a sequel in which Bergman, after the death of
her husband, returns and tries to regain Rick's affections from
his new mistress. Nothing, of course, came of the idea. There
was only one Casablanca.

One of the strongest characters in the book is Jack Warner
himself. A brilliant egomaniac, he became angry when top
producers received all the credit for Warner pictures, and he
had a habit of suspending uncooperative stars. Finally, during
World War II, Brother Harry had to step in. "You must bear in
mind," he wrote, "that everyone is preaching liberty and freedom
and the actors are getting to believe it. When the war is over
and all the actors and help have come back, you can at that time
suspend anyone you want."

--By Gerald Clarke

--------------------------------------------------------- MOST
OF '85

THE LONGEST-RUNNING SHOW (AGAIN). The British monarchy, which
proved with the Charles & Di Global Vaudeville Team ("Have
crown, will travel") that audiences still love a class act and
that Britannia still rules the waves--the airwaves, that is.

THE MOST MATERIAL GIRL. Madonna, who proved with nude spreads
in Playboy and Penthouse that audiences still love a classless
act. Her bridegroom Sean Penn seemed determined to show the
same thing, beating up photographers in Nashville and Manhattan.

THE MOST INVISIBLE STAR. Michael Jackson, who, after causing
the biggest hoopla since the Beatles, virtually disappeared for
most of the year, white glove, dark glasses and all.

THE BIGGEST MUSCLE. The mighty biceps of Sylvester Stallone,
whose Rambo and Rocky IV won the combined box-office title,
pulling in more than $225 million domestically.

THE LONELIEST PRAIRIE. The one inhabited by movie cowboys, who
failed to round up big audiences with Silverado, Pale Rider and
Rustlers' Rhapsody. The old-time western may have found a home
on Boot Hill.

THE SNAPPIEST FEET. Those belonging to the 15 dancers of Tango
Argentino, easily Broadway's most unusual hit.

THE YOUNGEST FEET. Those belonging to Don Ameche, 77, whose
break- dancing scene was one of the highlights of the movie
Cocoon, and who proved that even Father Time cannot stop a
really high-stepper.

THE MOST TIRED FEET. Those on view in the dreadful movie
version of A Chorus Line, which ought to send a whole new
generation to Broadway, where the original still touches hearts
and minds after more than ten years.

THE BEST REASON TO AVOID BREAKFAST. The beaming face of Mary
Lou Retton, who jumped from Olympic gymnast to Wheaties
pitchgirl faster than her agent could yell, "Come and get it!"

THE ODDEST COUPLE. Joan Rivers and her chief target, Elizabeth
Taylor ("She has more chins than a Chinese phone book"), who
kissed, made up and were co-hosts of a benefit for a group that
supports battered children.