Gray Pride

No, this is not our most recent Mystery Guest (we promise the reveal tomorrow, darlings!), but today, we just had to recognize one of our very favorite performers on their birthday: Miss Dolores Gray!


Extravagant, opulent, campy, vampy, glamorous: all of these adjectives could accurately describe Dolores Gray's outsized persona. She was singing in nightclubs by the age of 14, encouraged by a formidable stage mother who, as Gray later recalled, "...once said to me, 'It's not a very happy life unless you make it very big.'"


Gray's first major triumph was being chosen to star in the London production of Irving Berlin's Annie Get Your Gun in 1947, after the Broadway star, Ethel Merman, declined to reprise the role. Gray made her West End debut on her 21st birthday, and was an immediate smash, staying with the production for two years and 1,304 performances.


With this triumph under her belt, Gray was wooed back to Broadway, where she had previously co-starred in two ill-fated shows: the Cole Porter flop Seven Lively Arts, and Are You with It? -- the answer to which was "no." This time, Gray was co-starred with Bert "the Cowardly Lion" Lahr in a slick musical revue, Two on the Aisle.


The show opened on July 19, 1951, and was a modest hit, running for 276 performances. However, it marked the beginning of a series of contretemps between Gray and her leading men: she and Lahr detested each other, and each would pull all the stops out to upstage the other during the performance. Given the showy nature of the songs by Jule Styne, Betty Comden and Adolph Green, one can easily imagine that this one-upmanship merely served to entertain the audience; Gray's showstopper was the deliciously wordy "If You Hadn't (But You Did)," which further crystallized her wink-and-nod maneater image.


It was inevitable that such an explosive performer, described as being "a sexy Ethel Merman" and "the Esther Williams of the stage when it comes to shapliness," with "more sudden curves than Niagara Falls," would eventually turn her attention to films. Gray caught the eye of Arthur Freed, head of production for MGM's fabled musicals, when she performed out-of-town previews of the Broadway-bound Carnival in Flanders in Hollywood and San Francisco. When the show finally opened in New York on September 8, 1953, it lasted a mere six performances; but Gray, as had become custom, won rave reviews, introducing the standard "Here's That Rainy Day," and even won a Tony as Best Actress in a Musical -- going down in the history books as having performed the briefest run in a production to still win a Tony.

Audrey Hepburn, Dolores Gray and Jo Van Fleet at the 1954 Tony Awards

Gray signed her contract with MGM in 1955; had she arrived at Metro even just five years earlier, lightning might have struck, but the timing was all off. Musicals in general were on the wane, and the new, no-nonsense head of MGM, Dore Schary, had little interest in maintaining the glamorous images of MGM's veteran superstars or creating any new ones. Gray's first film, It's Always Fair Weather (1955), could have been a hit, pedigreed as it was with star/director Gene Kelly, co-director Stanley Donen, and writers Betty Comden and Adolph Green, who had worked so well with Gray on Two on the Aisle. The film itself had a darker, more cynical edge than audiences expected of a glossy Metro product; but even if the movie may have caught 1955 audiences off guard with its satirical bite, what really sank it at the box office was MGM's complete lack of promotional support: it was quietly released on a double bill with the bleak noir-Western, Bad Day at Black Rock, of all things.

Dolores Gray and Gene Kelly on the set of It's Always Fair Weather (1955, MGM)

For her part, Gray decried her role as uber-glamorous television hostess Madeline Bradville as "an ageless, sexless caricature"; but it's undeniably her most enduring performance for latter-day audiences. Despite the lack of success of It's Always Fair Weather, Gray might have ridden out the storm if she hadn't immediately found herself in two complete clunkers: Vincente Minnelli's Kismet (1955) and The Opposite Sex (1956), the infamous musical reimagining of Clare Booth Luce's classic catfight, The Women. Once again, Gray was superb, even with the formidable shoes of Marlene Dietrich (who played Gray's role of Lalume in the 1944, non-musical Kismet) and Rosalind Russell (the definitive Sylvia Fowler in the 1939 version of The Women) to fill -- but the scripts and productions were stacked against her.

Dolores Gray and Howard Keel in Kismet (1955, MGM)

Dolores Gray, June Allyson and Joan Collins in The Opposite Sex (1956, MGM)

In 1956, Gray was also strongly in the running for the Diana Vreeland-inspired role of magazine editor Maggie Prescott in Funny Face, starring Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire. She turned the role down, feeling that it was yet another "sexless caricature" -- but it would have been a showcased role in a wildly successful, ultimately classic film. Instead, Gray wound up her all-too-brief MGM tenure as "the other woman" in the stylish, non-musical comedy, Designing Woman (1957). She looked splendid in her Helen Rose costumes, and sparred nicely with Gregory Peck and Lauren Bacall, but it was too little, too late to save her floundering film career.

Dolores Gray and Gregory Peck in Designing Woman (1957, MGM)

Once again taking on a Marlene Dietrich role, Gray returned to Broadway in 1959 with a musical production of Destry Rides Again, which had been Dietrich's 1939 film comeback. She was paired with Andy Griffith, with whom she reportedly did not get along. The show was directed and choreographed by Michael Kidd, who had co-starred with Gray in It's Always Fair Weather; but if either expected a happy reunion, all hopes were dashed when Kidd called Gray "a slut" in front of the entire company, and his leading lady hauled off and slapped him, then stormed off the set. In spite of the backstage tensions, the show did well, running for 476 performances.

Gray kept busy for the first half of the 1960's with numerous television appearances, her celebrated nightclub act, and regional theater performances. In 1966, the 42-year-old married for the first time, to Andrew Crevolin, described in newspaper reports as a multimillionaire horsebreeder and landowner. Although their marriage legally lasted until his death in 1992, and they remained lifelong friends, Gray and Crevolin's actual union only lasted a few years. In 1967, she made another splashy return to Broadway in Sherry!, a musical version of The Man Who Came to Dinner. Despite high hopes, the show was a failure.


The 1970's saw Gray perform more frequently in her beloved London, both in her cabaret act, and succeeding Angela Lansbury in the 1973 revival of Gypsy. Throughout the years, she remained an outrageous, glamorous, larger-than-life personality, delighting the press with her penchant for carrying no less than 36 pieces of luggage (packed with 120 pairs of shoes and 25 evening gowns); booking a private cabin on the Queen Elizabeth solely for her Persian cat; and, on one trip to England, traveling with a dozen full-length mink coats -- and two full-time bodyguards to protect them.


Gray enjoyed one last major London hurrah when Stephen Sondheim personally asked her to come out of retirement to appear in the 1987 revival of Follies. She agreed, and once again, brought down the house as Carlotta, putting her own stamp on the done-to-death "I'm Still Here."

Dolores Gray in the 1987 London production of Follies

Flamboyant and outspoken to the end, Gray continued to be a glamorous addition to Manhattan nightlife, squired about town by friends and fans like John Epperson, a.k.a. Lypsinka, and holding court in her plush Upper East Side apartment (described by Epperson as being decorated in gold, purple and leopard skin!). Dolores Gray passed away in 2002 of a heart attack at the age of 78; but, here at SSUWAT, she is still a living, breathing icon -- no gray area there.

DOLORES GRAY
June 7, 1924 - June 20, 2002

Hello, Kitty!

L-R: Ann Miller, June Allyson, Dolores Gray, Joan Collins, Ann Sheridan and Joan Blondell in The Opposite Sex (1956, MGM)

If only they had started a whispering campaign to get Helen Rose removed from the film.

J.C. vs. J.C.

"A middle-aged, regal, but not terribly attractive woman in a sea-green silk dress embroidered with sequins in the fashionable ‘short in front and long in back’ style. With eyebrows as thick and dark as Groucho’s, lipstick and matching nail varnish obviously ‘Jungle Red’, and hair done in a curiously old-fashioned forties’ style, which was echoed in her ankle-strapped, platform-soled stilettos, she was a formidable sight. When each guest was brought over to greet her, she extended her hand graciously, giving a more than passable imitation of our own dear queen. When Jimmy introduced me as ‘one of England’s newest and brightest young stars’, Miss Crawford didn’t take my outstretched hand. Her eyes swept me dismissively from top to toe, her lip curling disdainfully at my low-cut white organza top and full black and white tulle skirt. She obviously didn’t like what she saw so she didn’t deign to speak to me, but chatted animatedly to Jimmy. I wanted to tell her that my mother, a great Crawford fan, had named me after her, but I didn’t think she would have the stomach for such trivia." - Joan Collins

Animal Magnetism

When Bombshells Meet...

Jayne Mansfield and Cleo Moore

Jayne Mansfield and Jane Russell

Jayne Mansfield and Marilyn Monroe

Jayne Mansfield and Eva Gabor

Jayne Mansfield and Diana Dors

Jayne Mansfield and Joan Collins

Jayne Mansfield and Sophia Loren

...it's usually a bust.

Speaking of Turkeys

More interesting than the story of the actual filming of the notorious 1963 version of Cleopatra (to us, anyway), is the twisted path that led to its final casting. Of course, the film itself is more memorable in retrospect for its gaudy spectacle, the scandalous off-screen romance of its stars, and the elevation (and downfall) of Elizabeth Taylor from mere movie star to the $1 million poster girl for wretched excess, than for any merits or flaws of its own.


To put Taylor's power and prestige into perspective, compare her then-shocking, unheard-of $1 million fee for Cleopatra to the salaries of, arguably, the three other most famous actresses of the day, Doris Day, Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe. For Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961), Hepburn made (a still-impressive) $750,000, while Monroe, incredibly, was still bound to a 20th Century Fox "slave contract" which netted her a total of $100,000 for the Something's Got to Give (1962) debacle. Details of Day's earning power eluded us, but reportedly, when My Fair Lady (1964) was made with Hepburn as Eliza Doolittle, Hepburn became only the second actress to receive $1 million for a film (after Liz); which means that Doris was making less than that, despite being ranked as the Number One Box Office Star in the world. Of course, Hollywood being the incestuous place that it is, all of these ladies had close and competitive connections: Monroe and Taylor had long been locked in a feud as the two most famous women in the world; with all of the Cleopatra hoopla in the press, Monroe gleefully predicted that her planned nude scene in Something's Got to Give would "push Liz off the magazine covers" once and for all.




MM probably had her bones to pick with the demure Miss Hepburn, too; although Audrey didn't engage in the kind of celebrity catfights upon which tabloids are built (at least, not until she took the Julie Andrews-originated role in Lady -- and even then, the Lady-like Hepburn and Andrews didn't raise their well-modulated voices, and let the gossip columnists concoct their own spins on the "rivalry"), it's a fairly open secret that the iconic role of Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's was written by Truman Capote expressly with Marilyn Monroe in mind. Certainly, on paper, Capote's sexy-but-shy, kooky-yet-sensitive pre-bohemian is far more Norma Jeane than Audrey. Reportedly, Capote fumed, "Paramount double-crossed me in every way and cast Audrey." Still, it appears that MM had no one but herself and her dependence on outside influence to blame for this loss: plans were set to go forward with La Monroe as Holly, but she turned the offer down on the advice of Actors' Studio guru Lee Strasberg, who warned MM against playing a thinly-disguised prostitute.



Of course, Doris Day would "inherit" MM's unfinished Something's Got to Give, revised, recast, and reshot to suit Day's altogether different talents. Whether or not the original would have been better than the eventual Move Over Darling (1963) is pure conjecture; but while Day's film received only mediocre reviews (and is far less-revered today than most of her other movies from the same time frame), it continued her box office juggernaut, ranking as the sixth highest grossing film of the year.



And while Marilyn didn't live to offer any pointed observations about America's Oldest Virgin taking over a role from the reigning sex goddess of the world, Day had some unusually tart commentary on Elizabeth Taylor: "When I see Liz Taylor with those Harry Winston boulders hanging from her neck I get nauseated. Not figuratively, but nauseated! All I can think of are how many dog shelters those diamonds could buy."



But back to Cleopatra. In 1959, when the film was in still in the pre-production stages, 20th Century Fox compiled a preliminary list of potential actresses for the lead. Not surprisingly, Marilyn Monroe made the list -- and though the casting was far-fetched, to say the least, it made sense from a business standpoint: Monroe was a Fox contract player (and, as noted before, a ridiculously low-paid one), and was coming off the heels of her biggest box office hit yet, Some Like it Hot. Moreover, she owed Fox two more films under her contract, and as Hot had not been a Fox film, studio execs were eager to get Monroe back on the lot and take advantage of her drawing power themselves. And, given the proper setting, costuming and makeup, perhaps Marilyn as Cleopatra wasn't so far-fetched; after all, she had recreated the role as played by Theda Bara, in a 1957 Life spread photographed by Richard Avedon.


Straining credibility even more, Fox also considered Audrey Hepburn -- we're just thankful that Doris Day's status as the Number One Box Office attraction didn't automatically ensure her a place on the list! Other major stars of the time, such as Brigitte Bardot, Kim Novak, Sophia Loren and Gina Lollobrigida, were included. While we can't quite picture the very French Mam'selle Bardot as the scheming Queen of the Nile, Novak, although an admittedly offbeat choice, had a certain enigmatic quality which may have somehow worked; while the splendiferous Sophia had the requisite exotic looks, and had already essayed the role in a racy, pre-Hollywood film called Two Nights with Cleopatra (Due Notti con Cleopatra). Loren's arch rival, La Lollo, also could have carried off the Egyptian queen's legendary physical charms, and had recently made a splash in another historical epic, Solomon and Sheba (1959).




In a surprising turn of events, the forerunner seemed to be the 41-year-old, redheaded veteran Susan Hayward! In an October 8, 1959 letter, Cleopatra's producer, Walter Wanger, wrote, "[Fox president Spyro] Skouras has taken a poll of everyone at the New York office, and they all want Susan Hayward to play Cleopatra. He told me he is going to announce Susan for the role immediately." Apparently, Hayward was the second choice for the role; La Liz had already been courted by Wanger as early as 1958, but reputedly had no interest in the part. With Fox eager to jump on the "epic" bandwagon, Cleopatra needed to go forward, and Hayward, seemingly, was their best bet -- like Monroe, she was a relatively inexpensive contract player, and Fox was nervous that the film's projected production costs would be such that corners should be cut wherever possible: namely, the star's salary. Hayward was also a hot property at the time, coming off of an Oscar win for I Want to Live! (1958); plus, she had had experience in costume pictures.





Oddly, though, nearly as soon as Hayward was in, she was out; and Taylor was announced for the role. But it wouldn't be a smooth journey: between November 1958, when Liz was initially approached for the role, and September 25, 1961, when filming finally began in Rome on the already-beleagured production, the Widow Todd had, in short order, been made a public pariah after "stealing" Eddie Fisher from Debbie Reynolds; been seriously ill (forcing the initial filming at London's Pinewood Studios to shut down completely); had a tracheotomy; was reported as having died from pneumonia in the American news outlets; and then made a triumphant return to health, and a comeback into the public's good graces, culiminating in winning an Oscar for the MGM production of Butterfield 8 (1960). Shirley MacLaine, a fellow nominee that year for The Apartment -- and a name bandied about as a possible replacement for Taylor in Cleopatra in the wake of the London shutdown -- famously quipped, "I lost to a tracheotomy!" Perhaps, in the scene below from Gambit (1967), MacLaine was Method Acting, thinking of La Liz in her Cleopatra headdress finery while she was strangling that statue. Hell, for all we know, Shirl may have been Cleopatra in a former life!



But when Taylor's fate, as well as the fate of Cleopatra, was more tenuous, another actress was offered the role. Joan Collins had come to Fox from England in 1955 as a double-edged competitor to Metro's Liz, and a warning shot to Fox's own recalcitrant Miss Monroe (Collins's first starring role was in a film MM had refused to do, The Girl in the Red Velvet Swing). In 1960, she was given costume tests and, if memory serves us correctly (from reading her Past Imperfect memoirs many moons ago), was even photographed amid the Cleopatra sets sitting still and unused at Pinewood Studios in London. With Collins in the lead, the film would be drastically rebudgeted to just around $2 million, total. Collins seemed a logical choice, if the film were to be reimagined on a smaller level: she was another Fox contract player, and not even a top-tier one, at that; she could have been hired for far less than even Monroe. She had long toiled in Taylor's shadow, as both were British beauties with similar features, voices and physiques; so taking over a Taylor-made role was no far stretch. Also, Collins had made an early splash in another Egyptian-themed Fox extravaganza, Land of the Pharoahs (1955, with Jack Hawkins).


According to Collins herself, any hopes she may have had of playing Cleopatra were dashed when she refused to "be nice" to unnamed Fox producers and execs -- presumably, Walter Wanger and Spyro Skouras. At any rate, Collins's involvement was rendered moot when Elizabeth Taylor emerged from her illnesses with the full support of a forgiving public behind her -- and armed with an Oscar, to boot. In spite of the expense of having Taylor on the payroll, to say nothing of the problematic filming itself, Fox was no doubt betting that Taylor's superstar status alone could carry the film into the profit zone. As Marilyn Monroe had complained, Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra stared out from the covers of magazines worldwide, long before the film was ever close to being complete -- although, the illustrator of the first example below apparently still wanted Sophia Loren to have the role.




Filming would drag on for another year, with no shortage of travails and scandals: Taylor's continuing bad luck with physical maladies; the Egyptian government's initial refusal to allow her entry into the country because of her Jewish faith; the Burton affair, which led to the pair being condemned by the Vatican; to say nothing of the calamities the bloated production trickled down to the rest of Fox -- nearly all of their contract players were terminated (Monroe, Hayward and Collins among them) in the face of Cleopatra's ballooning costs, and at one point, the Fox lot was a virtual ghost town: no other movie could afford to be in production. Hopefully, while Marilyn, Susan and Joanie were collecting their pink slips, they weren't aware of Liz living la dolce vita in Rome, while having Chasen's famous chili flown in at a cost of $100 per day. "The chili is so good. All gone now. Please send me ten quarts of your wonderful chili in dry ice to 448 Via Appia Pignatelli. - Love and kisses, Elizabeth Taylor."


Not surprisingly, the finished product could never live up to the hype; and after virtually three years of a non-stop barrage of publicity, critics and public alike were oversaturated with Liz, Dick, Cleo, Caesar, and the rest of them. Full disclosure: we have never been able to sit through Cleopatra in its entirety. Oh, we try, periodically; but somewhere along the way, our minds and our butts grow far too numb to muddle through the other three hours of it. Frankly, we're more intrigued by the backstory, and tantalized by what might have been: imagine Julius Caesar getting the dressing down of his life by Susan Hayward's Brooklyn baritone. Or Joan Collins prepping for a second career of catfights on Dynasty by rolling around the barge with hapless handmaidens. But honestly, looking ahead to the vanity project that is the 1974 version of Mame, we can only breathe a sigh of relief that Lucille Ball Productions never got their hands on this property.