The Fabulous Forties: Paulette Goddard

In the opening credits of The Women (1939), the stars of the all-female cast are introduced with various members of the animal kingdom representing their respective characters. As the sly golddigger, Miriam Aarons, Paulette Goddard is symbolized by a fox. It couldn't have been a more apropos parallel, both for the character and the actress.

Paulette Goddard was smart, sexy, clever, crafty -- and foxy. She was also a major contract star at Paramount for nearly all of the 1940's, although even at the height of her movie fame, Goddard was perhaps better known (as she is now) for her off-screen exploits, romances and scandals. When, more than 40 years after her greatest stardom, Paulette Goddard left a multi-million dollar estate, including priceless art, fabulous jewels and magnificent properties, it was the culmination of years of not only hard work, but also canny opportunism and a healthy dose of feminine wiles.

Born Marion Pauline Levy on June 10, 1910, the future Paulette Goddard was extraordinarily beautiful from the start, working as a child model, and becoming a Ziegfeld Girl at the tender age of 13. By 16, she had married a wealthy New York businessman, shedding him a few years later for a substantial cash settlement, which Goddard used to subsidize her move to Hollywood with her mother.

Paulette Goddard in the Ziegfeld Follies production of Rio Rita (1927)

Along with other future luminaries Lucille Ball, Betty Grable and Ann Sothern, the newly minted starlet became a "Goldwyn Girl," appearing in such Sam Goldwyn productions as Roman Scandals (1933) and Kid Millions (1934). It was during this period that Goddard met Charlie Chaplin, and the two began a romance which would both help and hinder Goddard's ambitions for stardom.

Paulette Goddard as a Goldwyn Girl, circa 1933

Claiming to have been married in China, Chaplin and Goddard brazenly lived together in his Beverly Hills mansion, shocking the public and raising the eyebrows of even decadent Hollywoodites. By refusing to comment on the matter publicly, the couple stoked the fires of speculation -- all good for publicity and name value, in Goddard's case, but not beneficial for her reputation in the long run.

Husband and wife? Paulette Goddard and Charlie Chaplin, 1938

After her acclaimed appearance in Chaplin's Modern Times (1936), Goddard's career stalled -- Chaplin planned future projects for his was-she-or-wasn't-she-wife, but these never came to fruition. Frustrated, Goddard signed a contract with producer David O. Selznick, appearing first in The Young in Heart (1938), third-billed above the title with Janet Gaynor and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.

Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and Paulette Goddard in The Young in Heart (1938, United Artists)

Selznick then loaned Goddard out to MGM for their all-star production of Clare Boothe Luce's cat-fest, The Women (1939). In her flashy role as a street-smart showgirl who marries into high society, Goddard was in her element, and more than held her own against the likes of Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford and Rosalind Russell, having a memorable on-screen brawl with the latter.

Louis B. Mayer, Paulette Goddard and George Cukor at the premiere of The Women (1939, MGM)

It was a reunion of sorts for Goddard and director George Cukor; she had been David O. Selznick's front-runner choice for the hotly coveted role of Scarlett O'Hara in his production of Gone with the Wind. Cukor was the initial director on the project, and it was he who guided Goddard through her series of screen tests, including the only Technicolor screen test given to any of the multitude of potential Scarletts; many considered her a shoe-in. What may have ultimately cost Goddard the part, however, was the stigma of scandal which still clung to her unorthodox relationship with Chaplin; Selznick, in spite of his friendship with the couple, delayed in officially offering Goddard the role of Scarlett because of his concerns about the public's response to her private life. In the interim, the relatively unknown British actress Vivien Leigh arrived in Hollywood, determined to throw her hat into the ring. The die was cast. Selznick had found his perfect Scarlett, and it wasn't Paulette Goddard.

However, all of the publicity surrounding Gone with the Wind, combined with her strong showing in The Women, did result in a surge of interest in Goddard's career. She signed directly with Paramount, and was teamed with comedian Bob Hope in the hit comic thriller, The Cat and the Canary (1939). It signaled the beginning of major stardom for both players, and they were paired in two further films, The Ghost Breakers (1940) and Nothing But the Truth (1941).

Bob Hope and Paulette Goddard in The Cat and the Canary (1939, Paramount)

1940 was truly a banner year for Goddard, as she appeared with Chaplin once again in The Great Dictator, acquitted herself respectably alongside Fred Astaire in Second Chorus, and appeared in the first of three epic films she would make for Cecil B. DeMille, North West Mounted Police. But as her popularity and profile soared, Goddard continued to court scandal. Even as questions still lingered about her "marriage," she carried on torrid romances with the likes of composer George Gershwin, writer H.G. Wells and director Anatole Litvak. The latter was dining with Goddard at Ciro's in Hollywood when her diamond shoulder strap fell off and under the table. Litvak went down to retrieve it, and by the next morning, tongues were wagging across town that Litvak had been performing oral sex on Goddard at Ciro's. The story was repeated so often, embellished each time, that it would dog Goddard for the rest of her life, and derailed Litvak's career for several years.

There were whispers of Goddard's dalliances with women, as well. She reportedly had an affiar with the Mexican painter, Frida Kahlo ("If only one of them had been blonde," mused Salvador Dali, "they'd have made a perfectly beautiful couple!"); and in the late 1940's, Goddard's close friendship with actress Evelyn Keyes (who, ironically, had played Scarlett O'Hara's sister Suellen in Gone with the Wind) gave gossip-mongers something to talk about, especially when Goddard briefly moved into the home Keyes was sharing with then-boyfriend Peter Lawford, prompting rumors of a ménage à trois. As David Selznick's chief of publicity, Russell Birdwell, had warned years earlier, when considering Goddard for Gone with the Wind: "I have never known a woman, intent on a career dependent upon her popularity with the masses, to hold and live such an insane and absurd attitude towards the press and her fellow man as does Paulette Goddard."

A way with the ladies: Paulette Goddard as a cross-dressing caballero in Pot o' Gold (1941, United Artists)

Living well is the best revenge, though, and if some quarters clucked in disapproval, Goddard probably just laughed and eyed the growing collection of jewelry lavished upon her by smitten admirers; one of her most infamous pieces was a dazzling diamond necklace comprised of 570 stones, made possible, she said, by keeping all of her engagement rings. And, for a while, Goddard's star continued to rise. She obtained a Mexican divorce from Chaplin in 1942, the same year that she starred in her second DeMille epic, Reap the Wild Wind, in which she portrayed a very Scarlett O'Hara-esque Southern belle. Continuing her hot streak, Goddard was nominated for a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her role in So Proudly We Hail (1943), and two years later, had her career peak with the lavish star vehicle, Kitty (1945).

Paulette Goddard and Ray Milland in Kitty (1945, Paramount)

It was the beginning of the end, however. Her next film, Diary of a Chambermaid (1946), was an expensive failure largely viewed as a vanity project, filmed under the newly-formed production company Goddard had launched with her third husband, actor Burgess Meredith. Goddard's capricious nature and temperamental behavior, though, were what finally spelled the end to her movie stardom: co-workers and directors certainly didn't hold her in affectionate regard (even the famously diplomatic Edith Head recalled Goddard as one of only a handful of actresses she disliked), and when her career fortunes began to slide, not many were willing to step in to help.

Diary of a Chambermaid (1946, United Artists)

For instance, Goddard clashed badly with Cecil B. DeMille during the filming of their third picture together, Unconquered (1947), walking off the set and requiring the use of her stand-in for certain scenes. She never worked with the legendary director again, and when DeMille was casting The Greatest Show on Earth (1952), at a time when Goddard was desperately in need of a hit, she begged for the role ultimately played by Gloria Grahame. He refused.

Unconquered (1947, Paramount)

Two more disastrous vanity projects finished off Goddard's career as a major star. In Bride of Vengeance (1949), she played a heavily fictionalized Lucretia Borgia while decked out in some strange makeup and hairstyle choices; her longtime cosmetician tried to dissuade her, which only resulted in their dismissal. The film was crucified by the critics, with many commenting unfavorably about Goddard's appearance. Its follow up, Anna Lucasta (1949), cast Goddard as a wanton floozy surrounded by even more sordid characters; the general consensus was that the germ of a good idea was lost amid heavy-handed direction and overheated acting.

The infamous makeup job on the set of Bride of Vengeance (1949, Paramount)

Practically overnight, Goddard slipped from studio contract star to making cheapies like the infamous Babes from Bagdad (1952) and Sins of Jezebel (1953), the titles of which pretty much say it all. She turned to summer stock and television, and was reputedly down to her jewels and a few hundred dollars in cash when she married husband number four, author Erich Maria Remarque, in 1958. Goddard was now able to indulge fully in the life of a wealthy socialite, amassing a remarkable collection of art with her husband as they divided their time between Europe and New York.

Paulette Goddard, circa 1954

During her final marriage, Goddard only made one minor film; after Remarque's death in 1970, she made one last television appearance on an episode of The Snoop Sisters (1972), a 90 minute mystery-comedy series starring Helen Hayes and Mildred Natwick. She continued to make the rounds of New York society, still svelte, beautiful and bejeweled, often in the unlikely company of Andy Warhol. But age and illness were taking their toll, and Goddard, who had always been known for her prickly personality, was beginning to exhibit bizarre, sometimes outlandishly cruel behavior.

Richard Avedon photo used for Blackglama's What Becomes a Legend Most? campaign, 1971

In 1975, amid great secrecy, Goddard had a radical mastectomy; for a woman who had spent nearly her entire life parlaying her good looks into material wealth, the after effects were devastating: physical deterioration, depression and a series of suicide attempts. Goddard retreated to her lakeside Swiss villa, where she finally died of heart failure in 1990.


Had she played by the rules, Paulette Goddard may have become a more enduring name in Hollywood, with a career that could have lasted far beyond the 10 year span of her greatest success. Certainly, she had the sparkle, talent and looks to become a superstar. But instead of international headlines and grief-stricken fans, upon her death the only mourners at her sparsely-attended funeral were her immediate household staff. In the end, the spirited, defiant, unapologetic Goddard probably wouldn't have cared. As her longtime housekeeper later reflected, “She always told me that she had three husbands and several fiances waiting for her in heaven.”

* For more on Paulette Goddard's later years, please visit our friend Brooks Peters at An Open Book

Two Different Worlds

Babe Paley, photographed by Richard Avedon, 1960

Bess Myerson, ca. 1950's

Two differing ideals of 1950's elegance -- one, the uncrowned queen of the social set; the other, a tiare-ed ruler of the television set.

Queen Joan

Was there every any real doubt as to who would ultimately wear SSUWAT's coveted crown? Joan Crawford's entire life was an upward struggle to succeed, and she fiercely protected and defended the image she had worked so hard to create and maintain. It's easy to make fun of Crawford: the exaggerated eyebrows, shoulders and lips; the overly coordinated ensembles (with plastic-covered handbags and f*ck-me pumps to match); the intensity she would bring to scenes and dialogue that sometimes cried out for a lighter touch; the endless spate of tacky Mommie Dearest jokes.


But, in the end, Joan Crawford deserves our respect for her unyielding devotion to the business of being a Movie Star. Whatever her talent was as an actress -- and we do think Crawford's abilities are often given short shrift -- it paled in comparison to the frighteningly focused way she managed her fame and her public. No one played the game better than Joan Crawford, and she rarely let the facade drop. If Joan's biggest failing as a human being was her complete lack of empathy for those who were less driven than she, it must be noted that she demanded no more of her children, co-workers or employees than she demanded of herself -- it's just that very few others possessed her superhuman capacity for self-discipline.


In compiling our list of the dozen most-frequently-posted divas (who actually comprise the Top 10; there were two "ties" with equal numbers of posts), Joan Crawford far outpaced the competition; we have featured her no less than 135 times! Her closest competition was, ironically, her old nemesis Marilyn Monroe, who logged 66 posts -- tying her with rival bombshell Jayne Mansfield. The "runners up" who didn't make the Top 10, but still have been featured over 20 times a piece are:

Arlene Dahl

Doris Day

Ann-Margret

Sophia Loren

Barbara Stanwyck

Arlene Francis

Susan Hayward

What sayeth thou, fair readers? Who do you think deserving of a place in the Top 10? Who should be edged out of the current crop? Discuss!

It's Delightful, It's Delicious, It's Delectable, It's Delirious

It's Dovima!

The Dolly Sisters

"I've enjoyed wonderful health. The only time I ever got sick was when I watched Barbra Streisand in Hello, Dolly! on an airplane." - Carol Channing

Like My Dress?

This is the back...

...and this is the front.

We should have known that you bitches would immediately realize that anyone sporting a lacquered Grecian curl bouffant; a mink-trimmed Pierre Cardin gown; and tons of Bulgari bling would have to be Dame Elizabeth Taylor, 1963 vintage.


A superstar since her childhood, La Liz really became a fascinating, over-the-top, train-wreck-slash-goddess during this period. Her hair, clothing and jewelry became ever more outrageous, and her always-voluptuous figure grew to increasingly zaftig proportions. She could look fabulous or horrendous, depending on the day (and how much bourbon and Chasen's chili she'd consumed the night before); but always interesting.


The movie from which our original Mystery Guest photo was taken is, of course, The V.I.P.s (1963), a superficial, all-star drama set in a London airport. The Taylor-Burton juggernaut, fresh from the Cleopatra hoopla (read about it here!), headed an impressive cast which also included Louis Jourdan, Margaret Rutherford, Orson Welles, Rod Taylor, Maggie Smith and Elsa Martinelli. Critical reception was largely negative, although Rutherford won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her role as the dotty, impoverished Duchess of Brighton -- foreshadowing Helen Hayes' win in the same category as the loveable stowaway in Airport (1970), another glossy, star-studded affair. The New York Times also singled Jourdan out as the "sleek but pathetic" gigolo, calling his performance "excellent" and full of "delicate feeling and grace." And, here at SSUWAT, we just love sleek but pathetic gigolos!


We're sure it's just a matter of time before The V.I.P.s receives full dress treatment over at Poseidon's Underworld, so we'll simply say, once again, thanks for playing, darlings! The eagle-eyed Billy D was the first to identity Mrs. Hilton Wilding Todd Fisher Burton Burton Warner Fortensky, based on her "danglers." Because we adore Billy so, we thought it appropriate that, as his prize, he receive a pair of her danglers for himself.

The Last Time We Saw Paris...

...it didn't look exactly like this. But we continue to dream.

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.