Nuanced Terror: Jack Clayton's The Innocents

Light and shadow flicker across the screen. Sobs are heard as a pair of praying hands, clasping and unclasping, appear. The sobbing continues.

A woman’s suffering face appears above the tortured hands. Birds twitter…her distraught voice whispers…

All I want to do is save the children not destroy them. More than anything I love children. More than anything they need affection, love, someone who will belong to them and to whom they will belong.

And then, as a man’s voice asks, “Do you have an imagination?,” the screen suddenly focuses on a well-appointed office, an elegant gentleman and the woman whose face we have already seen…who now sits in a chair and speaks animatedly with this man as he continues to ask questions and explain the situation he offers.

Director Jack Clayton

These first moments of Jack Clayton’s masterful 1961 film, The Innocents, set the stage for a chilling and absorbing tale of bewitchment. Deborah Kerr stars as Miss Giddens, an anxious, fragile-seeming young woman who begins her first assignment as a governess for two orphaned children on a remote estate. Michael Redgrave briefly portrays the gentleman, Miss Giddens’ employer, whose questions and revelations prime and subtly spook her before she sets foot in the stately home where events will unfold.

The story intensifies when Miss Giddens arrives at Bly, a magnificent manor that far exceeds her expectations in its grandeur and beauty. She is “very excited, indeed” to be there and her two “angelic” and precocious charges easily charm her. An earthy housekeeper, Mrs. Grose (Megs Jenkins), serves to ground the excitable governess whose journey proceeds from enchantment to confusion, to torment and disintegration.

American novelist Henry James wrote The Turn of the Screw, the basis for this film, in 1898 while living in England in a large rambling mansion. James has recorded that the story was suggested to him by an anecdote he heard from the Archbishop of Canterbury. This scrap of a tale concerned young children haunted by the malevolent ghosts of a pair of servants who tried, again and again, to lure them to their deaths.

Novelist Henry James

The James novella depicts a young governess on her first assignment, the care of two children living in a grand mansion on a sprawling estate. The plot deepens when the young woman, daughter of a vicar, begins to suspect the presence of the evil spirits of two deceased servants.

It was several years after James’ book was published before critics began to wrangle in earnest over the interpretation of the story. By the 1920s several had proposed that The Turn of the Screw was less a ghost story and more the tale of inexperienced and high-strung governess who succumbed to hallucinations and madness. A 1934 essay by prominent critic Edmund Wilson dramatically advanced this view.  Henry James himself was equivocal about his intentions, and statements he made on the subject have been cited to support both apparitionist and non-apparitionist views. 

Fascination with The Turn of the Screw failed to wane over the years and it has been adapted from the page to other mediums including opera, the stage and TV as well as film. In February 1950, Peter Cookson’s production of William Archibald’s stage adaption of the James novella debuted on Broadway as The Innocents; Oscar-winner Beatrice Straight (Network) starred as the governess.

Eleven years later the play was adapted to film by British director, Jack Clayton (Room at the Top). Though William Archibald was involved, it was Truman Capote who was primarily responsible for the polished screenplay. Capote endeavored to maintain the story’s ambiguity as he felt Henry James had originally conceived it by artfully dodging the central question: Are the ghosts real or are they the fantasies of a governess gone mad? 

Taking the modern view, it’s not difficult to interpret The Innocents as an intricately staged reflection on an unstable woman’s descent into madness: the film closely follows the increasingly erratic behavior and visible deterioration of the omnipresent governess; no one but the governess actually “sees” the ghosts she claims are present; by the film’s end, even the sensible and supportive housekeeper is at odds with the hysterical young woman…and there are many visual clues that the governess may be projecting her own imaginings onto her surroundings. It is no stretch these days to believe that a deranged governess would be capable of terrifying a frightened child to death.

But, viewed from another perspective, the tale can also be read as the story of an inexperienced but well-meaning young woman confronted with the supernatural in the form of malicious spirits. Her fervid determination to save the children from possession could explain her unorthodox behavior. And that is what most people believed when The Turn of the Screw was first published. 

Enigmatic and haunting, The Innocents leaves the audience to its own conclusions. A luminous turn by Deborah Kerr (in her own favorite film performance), Freddie Francis’ atmospheric cinematography, the script of Archibald and Capote and Georges Auric’s original music all mesh under Jack Clayton’s sure hand to create the acknowledged masterpiece among the many adaptations of The Turn of the Screw. 

Waitin' on a Sunny Day is hosting a Deborah Kerr Blogathon in celebration of the 90th anniversary of the actress's birth...Click here for more on participating blogs.

The Innocents airs today (1:45pm Eastern/10:45am Pacific) on Turner Classic Movies as part of its morning/afternoon spotlight on the films of Deborah Kerr. Here's the full schedule (all times Eastern/Pacific):

6:00am/3:00am Count Your Blessings (1959), co-starring Rossano Brazzi

8:00am/5:00am If Winter Comes (1947), co-starring Walter Pidgeon

10:00am/7:00am Black Narcissus (1947), a masterwork from Powell & Pressburger

11:45am/8:45am The End of the Affair (1955), co-starring Van Johnson

1:45pm/10:45am The Innocents (1961), reviewed here...with Michael Redgrave

3:30pm/12:30pm The Journey (1959), co-starring Yul Brynner

5:45pm/2:45pm The Sundowners (1960), co-starring Robert Mitchum

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Book to Movie: In a Lonely Place

A few weeks ago I took another look at Nicholas Ray’s haunting film noir, In a Lonely Place (1950). As I watched, it slowly began to rankle that the central character, Dix Steele (Humphrey Bogart), a Hollywood screenwriter with an explosive temper, is consistently touted as a great guy by most who know him. Even the ex-girlfriend whose nose he once broke remains a friend (she never pressed charges), and it's well known that he's had scrapes with the law more than once for his loutish dust-ups. His friends remain staunch even after he is named prime suspect in the killing of a young hat-check girl who was last seen with him.

Dix's harsh treatment of his new girlfriend, Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame), is mostly excused because, as a murder suspect, he's under great stress. For example, there's the night...

Lovejoy, Donnell, Bogart, Grahame - this party is about to break up...

Steele becomes pointlessly enraged with Laurel at a cookout and gets behind the wheel of his car, taking her on a hair-raising ride. His recklessness causes an accident and when the other driver confronts him, Dix’s temper blows and he begins viciously beating the man. Even after Laurel intercedes (saving the other man’s life?), Dix seems to feel justified in his violent attack because the other driver called him names.

Dix refers to his own “artistic” temperament and, according to one supporting character, “…he’s a writer, people like that have a right to be temperamental.” A long-time associate comments, “…he has a right to explode sometimes, it’s as much a part of him as his eyes…” His former Army buddy (Frank Lovejoy) observes, “he’s an exciting guy” with “a superior mind.”  This is a man who challenges a stranger to a fist fight within the first five minutes of the film and punches out another man minutes later.

Because I had questions about a plot point that seemed incongruous, I became curious about the changes that may have occurred as the story made its way from page to screen and decided to read the novel on which In a Lonely Place was based.

I was in for a few surprises.

In a Lonely Place was first published in 1947, penned by prominent mystery/crime writer Dorothy B. Hughes. It was her eleventh novel and two of her previous books had already been made into films – The Fallen Sparrow and Ride the Pink Horse. Interestingly, the author’s first published work was a book of poetry; she was also a literary critic.

While many of the book's elements were retained, both  its plot and themes are significantly different from the film.

The book:

Dix Steele, not long back from WWII, is staying in Los Angeles in the swank but borrowed garden court apartment of an old Princeton chum. He contacts war buddy, Brub Nicolai, of the locally prominent Nicolai family, now married and a detective with the LAPD. Both men had dropped out of elite colleges to enlist in the war and flew together in Europe where they became close pals.

Dix has no profession, he’s been drifting since the war, but says he’s writing a mystery novel. He originally devised this story so the very wealthy uncle who raised him would subsidize him for a year or so while he wrote. Dix, unlike his uncle, has no interest in hard work but developed a taste for the good life at Princeton and as a high-living ace flyer during the war.

Brub, along with most of the LAPD, is focused on a sensational case involving the rape/strangulations of young women in West L.A. Brub is afraid for his own lovely blonde wife, Sylvia; the couple lives in Santa Monica near the beach.

Dix, who is handsome, charming and polished, is attractive to women and knows it. When he catches sight of one of his garden court neighbors, a knockout named Laurel Gray, he is dazzled and pursues her on the spot. Young but savvy, Laurel is a fledgling actress just out of a miserable marriage to a wealthy man. She and Dix soon become involved.

Grahame (then Mrs. Ray), Bogart and Ray on the set

The movie:

Dix Steele, a screenwriter who “hasn’t had a hit in ten years,” is known for his intransigence about the writing assignments he will accept - as well as his violent temper. He comes under police scrutiny when a young hat-check girl is murdered after a visit to his apartment. Dix’s old Army buddy, strictly middle-class Brub Nicolai (Frank Lovejoy), an LAPD detective, takes Dix in to the station for questioning the morning after the girl’s murder.

Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame), Dix’s new neighbor, steps in as a witness on his behalf, but Dix remains the #1 suspect. Laurel and Dix become romantically involved. Meanwhile, Dix’s peculiar behavior one evening at the Nicolai home disturbs Brub’s wife Sylvia (Jeff Donnell). Brub scoffs.

Dix has other friends, all Hollywood types, who attest that he’s a stand-up guy, albeit one with an erratic temper. Dix explodes several times in the course of the film and even those close to him (Brub, Sylvia, Laurel) become suspicious of his connection to the murder.  But Dix is innocent; the slain young woman’s boyfriend eventually confesses.

The novel takes a less circuitous route in identifying the murderer, in this case a serial killer:

Written as a third person narrative, the book presents the story entirely from the viewpoint of Dix Steele. And from its early pages, there is no doubt that Dix is a killer. By the end of the book, it develops that he has not only raped and strangled women in Los Angeles but also on the East Coast and in Europe...and that he has also killed a wealthy college pal and appropriated his home, his belongings and his charge accounts.

These facts emerge slowly as the story unfolds and Dix, a stealthy character (though not nearly as clever as he thinks) but lacking an overtly nasty temperament, does not become a suspect until toward the end of the book. It is Brub’s wife, Sylvia, quiet and perceptive, who notices that something is awry in the man. Later, Laurel, who observes Dix’s inconsistencies and mood swings, comes to believe that Dix is the killer and confides her suspicions to Brub and Sylvia. Dix finally begins to unravel, certain from one moment to the next that either the police are closing in on him or that he’s outsmarted everyone again.

As with the movie, the book does not depict murder, though Dix’s stalking of his victims is detailed. In a Lonely Place is a well-written and well-plotted page-turner. Hughes’ description of Dix through his internal dialogue is thoroughly absorbing. The writer provides no explanation for Dix’s deeper motives though, through his agitated thoughts, it comes out that he profoundly resented being raised by a wealthy but stingy uncle who insisted his nephew adopt his own intense work ethic. We know from his behavior that Dix has no desire to work but has a sense of entitlement. We discover that, at Princeton, Dix attached himself, as a toady, to a rich crowd so that he could pass as one of them. From Dix’s reactions to certain intrusive sounds it seems that though he enjoyed the excitement of flying in combat, something of the experience rattled him.  And finally, it develops that he continues to be a fixated on “Brucie,” the woman he loved during the war.

It’s fair to say that the story of a rapist/murderer told from the killer's point of view might not have appealed to filmmakers (not to mention censors) in 1950. And, though he was not an actor afraid of playing flawed characters, it’s doubtful Bogart, whose own company produced, was inclined to portray a serial killer/rapist at age 51. So, it's understandable that changes were made. But what of Dix’s onscreen character? Though he does offer jaded charm and dry wit, he is just barely sympathetic. Perhaps emphasis on the devotion of his friends was meant to cue audience acceptance. And perhaps the mores of mid-century America allowed the brutish acts of a man otherwise labeled 'good' to be tolerated.

I was born when she kissed me, I died when she left me...

By the last act of Nick Ray’s film, Laurel has become convinced of Dix’s guilt and is terrified of him. As the murder investigation wears on, Dix has grown more unpredictable and paranoid; when he discovers that Laurel has plans to slip away, he snaps. He very nearly does kill her - she is virtually saved by the bell, a ringing telephone that brings news of Dix's exoneration. The relationship has, of course, just been demolished. It's worth noting that Laurel's lament that had the call come a day earlier it would've "meant the world" to the two of them, implies that their romance would've survived had Dix kept his abusive antics just short of attempted murder...

The back story on In a Lonely Place is that the film was originally going to end with Dix, not yet a killer, actually murdering Laurel in that scene. However, Ray, who was involved with the script (along with Andrew Solt), wasn't satisfied with this ending and changed it.

Today Nicholas Ray's rendering of In a Lonely Place stands as classic noir, noteworthy for its intimations on Hollywood during the blacklist era. The performances of Bogart and Grahame are regarded as among their finest. Meanwhile, the reputation of Dorothy B. Hughes was revived early in the 21st century with the reissue of some of her best work. She has been compared to the icons of mystery/crime fiction and one contemporary writer of the genre has claimed that Hughes "puts Chandler to shame."    

 

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Guilty Pleasures Movie Blogathon: "No down payment is the secret of prosperity..."

It’s Los Angeles in the 1950s and the GI Bill-fueled migration from city to suburb is in high gear. An opening shot of a vast (but shockingly empty) freeway system sets the scene. A gorgeous young couple in a late-model Chrysler cruises out of town. They smile as they pass billboard after billboard trumpeting newly minted middle-class subdivisions: Fairview Ranchos, Enchanted Homes, Dutch Haven, Park Village Estates and, finally, Sunrise Hills (“a better place for better living”). They exit to the hills.

The Flaggs: Sheree North and Tony Randall

So begins Martin Ritt’s second feature film, No Down Payment (1957), a slice of suburban realism generously spiced with melodrama. An ensemble cast portrays four neighboring couples who’ve staked their claim to the American Dream in Sunrise Hills. Pat Hingle and Barbara Rush are the Kreitzers (Herm and Betty), an easygoing pair, he manages the local appliance store, she’s a housewife. Tony Randall and Sheree North are the Flaggs (Jerry and Isabelle), he’s a boozy car salesman with get-rich-quick fantasies and she’s a housewife. Cameron Mitchell and Joanne Woodward are the Boones (Troy and Leola), he runs a service station and aspires to be police chief – and she’s a housewife. Jeffrey Hunter and Patricia Owens are the Martins (David and Jean), the couple in the Chrysler, newlywed and new in Sunrise Hills, he’s an electronics engineer and, yes, she is a housewife.

Mid-century Southern California, a better home and garden

Ben Maddow’s adaptation (fronted by Philip Yordan) of John McPartland’s breakthrough 1957 novel is, under Ritt’s  direction, a combination of grit and soap that mostly works, sometimes doesn’t, but has always intrigued me. It’s a high-drama trip into a particular era in a place close to home. 

No Down Payment takes place north of my hometown, most certainly in that part of L.A. known as “The Valley,” aka/the San Fernando Valley, the city’s now enormous bedroom community.  On the heels of World War II production and the post-war boom with its VA/FHA home loans, The Valley experienced a population explosion so powerful that by 1960 its citizenry numbered more than a million.

As the Martins make their way through the streets of Sunrise Hills to their new home, we get a glimpse of the housing development. From the curb, the houses and yards appear identical. As the plot advances, we see that they are the same inside and out – stucco, wood, glass and brick ranch homes with high windows facing the street and floor-to-ceiling glass and sliding doors facing backyard and patio. Standard issue includes a fireplace, kitchen nook, bar - and a console TV with a young tot or two rooted in front of it.

The Kreitzers & the Martins: Rush, Hingle, Owens and Hunter

Once the Martins step into their house for the first time they kiss happily, then passionately. Surveying their patio and backyard they meet the Kreitzers, whose yard abuts theirs. “Hi...welcome to Sunrise Hills,” calls Betty. David and Jean are quickly invited to a backyard barbecue that night at the Kreitzers.

Just as Herm promised, there are “steaks on the fire” and, over stiff drinks, the new couple meets their other nearby neighbors, the Flaggs and the Boones. Isabelle Flagg is enthusiastic about the area, “Sunrise Hills is just the living end,” she chirps. Troy Boone mentions “saving green stamps.” But Jerry Flagg, several drinks ahead of the others and bursting with irony, observes that everyone in the subdivision is “only 25 years in debt.”  The men talk about the contrast between Depression era life and the present. Having endured World War II, the post-war age seems secure and comfortable and David Martin crows, “I think we were born at the right time…we’re here now and everybody’s doing great!” David served at Los Alamos during the war. Music drifts from the stereo and soon dancing begins. Lecherous Jerry makes moves on refined Jean as they dance, and David watches uneasily from the sidelines. Troy, a proud war hero, cuts in and saves her - after which Isabelle and Jerry argue and, as the group looks on, she slaps him across the face.

Coping, '50s-style

A night or so later the Flaggs, reconciled once more, throw a neighborhood cocktail party; Jerry has made a sale and insists on celebrating. It’s the same four couples, together again. By now we know that Troy and Leola are hicks from the Deep South (Jerry calls them “Daisy Mae and Li’l Abner”). Troy is ambitious and quick to anger, Leola is sweet but erratic. We’ve learned that Herm is the rock of the community and that he and Betty are a simpatico pair.  We’ve seen Jerry drink in nearly every scene – as Isabelle worries and frets either in a corner or in his face. David and Jean are deeply in honeymoon love – but she is pressing him to move into a better paying job.

Troy and Leola Boone: Cameron Mitchell and Joanne Woodward

The tension in this microcosmic enclave continues to build. Herm and Betty grapple with confronting discrimination; one of Herm’s key employees, a Japanese-American man, has asked him to challenge the whites-only imperative of the Sunrise Hills developers. Jerry, who bent the rules to make a sale, is out of a job and on the verge of being thrown out of his house by fed-up Isabelle (classic lines: Isabelle in a frustrating heart-to-heart with Jerry: “You’re the man, you’re supposed to know what to do!”; Jerry’s view, “All our troubles boil down to one thing – money – how to get a bundle of it!”). Troy and Leola have had a volatile life together from the start and things only gets worse when she drinks - and then, worse still, he doesn't get the job he's been counting on. David, responding to an implied ultimatum from Jean, goes on a sales trip; his timing couldn’t be worse. While he’s away, one neighbor’s bout with a bottle and a belly full of resentment turns ugly and violent.

'Leola Boone'

In 1957, Tony Randall wasn't yet completely typed as a comedic actor. His energetic turn as desperate Jerry Flagg, a man of extreme moods and desires, is an eye-opener. Cameron Mitchell oozes barely contained fury as Troy who yearns for the glory and respect that was his during the war. Pat Hingle is engaging as an honorable everyman, self-possessed but not immune to the pressure to march in step. Though top-billed Joanne Woodward offers tender and thoughtful moments of subtlety, she also overindulges in occasional histrionics (bringing to mind the high-strung heroines of Tennessee Williams).

Even with its excesses, No Down Payment is potent commentary on the suburban culture it dramatically depicts. To be honest, I'm not sure my pleasure in it is all that "guilty" anymore.

Anxiety in suburbia

Click here for a link to the full list of blogs participating in the Classic Movie Blog Association's Guilty Pleasures Movie Blogathon. 

Click here to learn more about forgotten writer John McPartland, the author of No Down Payment.

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One Year Ago Today...

The Lady Eve's Reel Life is one year old today...and no one is more surprised by this anniversary than the lady herself. When I nervously posted my first piece on TCM's Classic Film Union blog pages about 2-1/2 years ago I didn't imagine I'd soon be contributing to a collaborative blog (The Classic Film & TV Cafe) and would, not too much later, begin a blog of my own. I never would have believed that along the way I'd get to know and interview two amazing women, one a former child actress who'd been featured in a Hitchcock classic, and the other the daughter of an iconic star of the silent era. As fulfilling as all of this has been, equally rewarding is getting to know the many classic film fans and bloggers I've met in the past few years. I received a lot of help from these new friends as I set off on my blogging adventures and want to particularly thank Rick Armstrong, who couldn't be more supportive, helpful - and patient!

At first I thought I might celebrate here by sharing links to some of my early TCM and Cafe blogs, but reconsidered. I'd rather nod in the direction of the film that inspired my online moniker, the scintillating work of brilliant and meteoric writer/director Preston Sturges -The Lady Eve (1941)...

Thanks to all who visit Reel Life, with deepest gratitude to my loyal followers!

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Take 2: Irene Mayer Selznick, a Life in Three Acts

Classic Film Boy and The Lady Eve Discuss the Fascinating Irene Mayer Selznick

Welcome to Take 2, a conversation about Irene Mayer Selznick, the daughter of MGM studio head Louis B. Mayer and first wife of famed producer David O. Selznick. Both Classic Film Boy (CFB) and I (TLE) recently read A Private View, Mayer Selznick’s 1983 autobiography.We were impressed by the story of this strong woman who grew up and lived in Hollywood during its golden age and went on to become an esteemed Broadway producer in her own right. CFB invited me to discuss her life with him and, over the past month or so, we did:

CFB: It is great to find another fan of Irene Mayer Selznick’s autobiography. I knew very little about her until I read Scott Berg’s Kate Remembered, his biography of Katharine Hepburn, with whom he became great friends. He was also friends with Irene, and she really intrigued me. By this time it was later in her life, after her autobiography had been published, and I wanted to know more about this woman.

TLE: Over the past few years I’ve had an experience that could be called “all roads

lead to Irene Mayer Selznick” – I kept coming upon interesting references to her as I

read about or researched other subjects. Eventually, I knew I had to get my hands

on her autobiography. This led me to also peruse biographies of her father as well as

David Thomson’s bio of David O. Selznick - primarily to learn more about Irene in

relation to the two key men in her life.

CFB: I’ll need to read the David Thomson book. I’ve read a few others on David O. Selznick. It interests me that several books infer that Irene had an iron will and you didn’t want to cross her. Yet I didn’t get that feel from her autobiography. I guess the truth lies somewhere in between. Still, I very much wish I could have met this woman.

The Mayers: Edie, Louis B., wife Margaret and Irene in the 1920s

You would expect that someone who was brought up in Hollywood during the 1920s would have been part of the jazz age/flapper set. Yet I was amazed at the quiet life Irene and her sister Edie lived. It wasn’t sheltered, but it wasn’t flamboyant, either.

TLE: My impression was that Irene and Edie’s lives under their father’s roof were intensely scrutinized and fairly insulated. Louis B. was vigilant and protective to the point of warning his girls not to become smitten with #1 Hollywood bachelor Irving Thalberg (before he married Norma Shearer) because of his ill health. Irene wrote that they were allowed to socialize with him but were never seated next to him at dinners or events.

Irene seems to me to have been a stifled child. She behaved very self-protectively, careful not to reveal much about her thoughts or feelings to her parents. She had a stammer, something that developed in childhood and apparently lasted most of her life.  Probably the most telling statement she made about her early life was that her parents had given her everything but a sense of her own worth.

Irene and David O. Selznick on the town

Irene grew up to be more her father’s daughter than her mother’s. She was very bright, discerning and determined. And she was a good-looking woman, stylish and modern in her day. I have the impression that David O. Selznick counted on her for quite a bit during their 19-year marriage – which may be why he could never completely let her go. She had been his foundation and sounding board during those years when he achieved the heights.

CFB: Great impressions, and you are on target. I do think Louis B. was overly protective, yet Irene never seemed to shy away from more intellectual pursuits. Where her older sister, Edie, definitely focused on the clothes and societal aspects of life as she came of age, she preferred people whose minds she admired. I enjoyed her fond recollections of William Randolph Hearst (and not-too-fond memories of Marion Davies, who also had a stammer). He treated Irene as a woman with a brain, and she treasured their conversations together. David did the same thing – he recognized that she was his equal in that regard.

As for her father, Irene paints a side of Louis B. in her autobiography that many may not be aware of. She recalls when he – notoriously fond of Americana and family-friendly fare – saw A Streetcar Named Desire, which Irene produced for the stage. Louis B. came to the tryouts in New Haven, and Irene was worried about his reaction. Others were respectful but weren't gushing, but it was Louis B. who pulled Irene into a room and told her, “You don’t have a hit, you’ve got a smash. You wait and see.” She was then shocked to see her father and Elia Kazan, the play’s director, deep in conversation and clearly enjoying each other’s company!

I also agree with you that Irene was a good-looking woman, although Edie didn’t think she put enough into how she looked. I love this from Irene’s book:

Irene and Edie Mayer in the 1920s

Edie to Irene: “Do me a favor, darling. While I want you to look beautiful for yourself, actually I’m being selfish. Everyone thinks I’m years younger than you, but there are some people from way back who remember. So take care of yourself for my sake, because you make me years older than I appear.”

Irene’s response when a friend asked how old Edie was: “She used to be two years older than me. Now she is younger than springtime.”

TLE: You touch on a significant aspect of Irene’s life, her disastrous relationship with her sister, Edie. Theirs was a sibling rivalry that eventually drove them completely apart. Edie had suffered ill-health when she was young and, as a result, received a lot of special parental care and attention. Because it was expected of her, Irene deferred to her “frail” sister’s every whim. As the two grew up, Irene became the more popular of the two and was part of Hollywood’s up-and-coming younger crowd. This didn’t escape Edie's notice.

Edie Mayer Goetz at home...with Van Gogh

Edie was a woman of great social ambition. Her husband, Bill Goetz, was a producer, though not a trailblazer in the way L. B. Mayer or David Selznick were. Mayer brokered Goetz’s partnership at 20^th Century Fox and it’s said that the snide inside-the-industry crack “the son-in-law also rises” was aimed as much at Goetz as it was Selznick. Goetz’s most significant film was Sayonara (1957), and it earned an Oscar nomination for Best Picture. He was a canny and forward-thinking businessman and enormously popular in Hollywood. Once the Selznick’s split up, he and Edie were at the heart of its social scene and remained so until his death in 1969. Edie quickly lost her social clout once Goetz died.

Irene’s ambition seems of an entirely different nature. Her inclination was to be in on the action, not a decorative accessory or hostess. Her diary from her teen years includes comments on films she saw at MGM previews. These journal entries reveal Irene to have been perceptive and frank in her observations – even at 17. Her take on Romola (1924): “…L. Gish good as always but didn’t make the most of her opportunities – leading male part should not have been the villain – not enough love interest.”

Irene with her sons Jeffrey and Daniel Selznick

In her book Irene writes that it amused her father to ask her opinion of a movie and then try to argue her out of her point of view. When she was dating Selznick, they went to a preview of a picture of his one night and afterward he asked what she thought of it. Irene replied with noncommittal remarks - and he challenged her, “…speak up; no one’s going to hold it against you. If you’re afraid, I promise you no one will ever know a word you’ve said.” Irene writes that she was afraid but over time she felt free enough to say anything she wanted to him. Selznick told her that he was undoing the damage her father had done.

David Selznick was the younger son of Lewis J. Selznick, L.B. Mayer’s one-time employer and long-time anathema. The Selznick boys were on Mayer’s “off-limits” list for his girls, but Irene and David, once committed, were not to be stopped. It seems to me that Irene may not yet have had a true sense of her own worth, but she was developing a mind and will of her own.

CFB: She clearly had a will of her own, and I like how you track it from those observations about film to her conversations with David. She really needed an iron will, considering the men in her life. She could stand up to her father and husband, so dealing with Edie probably was more frustrating than anything else.

Irene was great friends with Katharine Hepburn, and you know Hepburn was no pushover. Still, Irene spent years in analysis, and she was never afraid to admit it or discuss how it helped her. Perhaps that is what grounded her considering the characters around her.

Katharine Hepburn and Irene in Jamaica, asking directions...

Going back to Berg’s book, he was friends with Irene for nearly 20 years until she died, and it’s a nice companion piece to Irene’s autobiography. He describes her as such when they met in the 1970s:

“I don’t think she was more than five feet tall – with short dark hair in bangs and the shrewdest pair of eyes I have ever seen; and I know she was one of the most powerful presences I have ever beheld. … It would be less than precise to call Mrs. Selznick an extremely difficult person, but she was easily the most challenging I have ever met. One never let down one’s guard with Irene, unless looking to be knocked out or thrown out. Emotional, volatile and analytical, she took nothing at face value, probing layers beneath layers in even the simplest matters.”

Berg was very fond of Irene, and it’s interesting to have this insight when you read her autobiography. Her book was no frivolous undertaking to cash in on her fame, and I believe she took great care to analyze her life before setting it down on paper. 

Eve, I feel like we could talk about Irene for days, but perhaps we should wrap this up. Any final thoughts about this fascinating woman?

TLE: I’d like to talk a bit about Irene Mayer Selznick’s accomplishments after she departed Hollywood. Her family and friends are extremely interesting, of course, and her life was entwined with the history of movies in America, which is covered in her book, but there was more – she managed to reinvent herself and carve out a career of her own in New York.

Irene’s decision to leave Selznick and relocate on the East Coast was bold. She wasn’t sure what she might achieve, but turned to old friends for advice, friends like famed playwright/director Moss Hart who urged her to pursue her dream of becoming a theatrical producer. After a while, she rented an office, hired a general manager and got going. Her first production, an Arthur Laurents play starring Shirley Booth, didn’t get to Broadway but closed after an out of town tryout. Laurents later retooled the play, came up with a new title, but kept Shirley Booth  - who won a Tony for her role. David Lean later adapted it to film; this was Summertime (1955) starring Irene’s good friend Katharine Hepburn.

Final scenes: A Streetcar Named Desire on Broadway, 1947

It was on Irene’s 40^th birthday that she received the script for what became her second production and it was this play that established her – and everyone associated with it. The play was A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams; it debuted on Broadway in 1947 to a half-hour standing ovation. According to Irene, the play made director Elia Kazan “a king.” It also made Marlon Brando a star (he went straight to Hollywood after the play and never looked back), brought a Tony Award to Jessica Tandy, who played Blanche Dubois in New York, and a Pulitzer Prize to Williams. The film adaptation would win four Oscars.

Irene was certainly a powerhouse, she went toe-to-toe with the indomitable Kazan when they worked on Streetcar (perhaps second nature to her by now, after dealing with her father and husband). In fact, Tennessee Williams had a habit of referring to her as “Dame Selznick,” apparently acknowledging her pedigree and her demeanor.

Bell, Book and Candle on Broadway

Irene produced several more Broadway plays. Her production of Bell, Book and Candle in 1950 starred Rex Harrison and Lilli Palmer and was adapted to film in 1958 and became a hit starring James Stewart and Kim Novak. Irene’s production of The Chalk Garden in 1955 brought her a Tony nomination; the film adaptation starred Deborah Kerr.

In her memoirs Irene described her life as a play in three acts, the first as her father’s daughter, the second as wife to her husband, and the third act was her career in the theater. She wrote, “With perseverance I’ve gotten this far. Now, with a little more luck, I’d like to grow very old as slowly as possible.” She died in New York in 1990 at age 83.

I’ve really enjoyed this, CFB, and want to thank you for inviting me to discuss Irene Mayer Selznick's incredible story with you.

CFB: You're welcome. Detailing her amazing theater work – which many people may not know  of – is a wonderful way to wrap up a conversation about Irene. She wasn’t just the daughter of mogul Louis B. or the wife of wunderkind David O. She was a tough, sharp and respected Broadway producer, and her stage work alone represents a strong legacy. 

Irene Mayer Selznick

Following is an audio clip of a 1948 radio program that begins with Elia Kazan and Irene Mayer Selznick accepting the New York Drama Critics' "Best American Play" Award for Tennessee Williams. The program goes on to feature portions of the play itself, with narration by Kazan and scenes performed by the original Broadway cast - including Marlon Brando, Kim Hunter and Jessica Tandy:

Click here to visit Classicfilmboy's Movie Paradise. Click here to learn more about the evolution of A Streetcar Named Desire.

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