Star Personas Gather Up Greatness

Where Gimmicks and Tricks Made Great Actors

Gary Cooper Appears As a Friendly Witness Before the House Un-American Activities Committee

Jeff Corey in the Foreground, with Jack Carson, Gary Cooper, and Lauren Bacall, in Bright Leaf

Clark Gable and Charles Lane in Teacher's Pet

From Alan Ladd, a quote: “Maybe I can’t act, but I know the gimmicks. I studied acting all my life and know what’s good for me.” There’s defensive tone here, as if Ladd saw the category critics and some of a public kept him in. He realized that sector was not what made or maintained his stardom. Ladd went chin out by admitting “gimmicks” that drove his performing. The humble hat was common to stars “just playing themselves,” which as often meant laughing at themselves wherever “real” acting was addressed. Gary Cooper got room-filling howls for a HUAC “friendly witness” turn where questioners asked his profession, and he tentatively replied “actor.” The stronger a star’s persona, the more doubt must be cast on ability, “true” ability as defined by those who saw versatility, preferably demonstrated on a stage, as barometer of an actor's skill. Cooper and Ladd both used “gimmicks.” Cooper said as much to colleague Jeff Corey (“I only have two or three tricks at best, and that’s not enough, is it?”) when both took thesp classes in the 50’s --- I said the 50’s, a point at which Coop could have stayed home fielding job offers reliable as sun-up. He knew he was doing something, plenty, right, but sought, always, to be better.

Alan Ladd Early On, at Right, in 1936's Pigskin Parade

Ladd So Big a Star That Frame Blow-Up Stills Of Him Were Used to Promote a Wartime Reissue of Captain Caution

Clark Gable was like that too. Character actor Charles Lane recalled one of their films together: “Clark … was a man of great insecurity in his work.” Lane had come back half-an-hour early from lunch. “There were three grips eating their sandwiches out of paper bags, and Gable --- rehearsing all by himself. I said, ‘What in God’s name are you doing?’ He said, ‘Oh Charlie, I stink so in this thing, I’ve got to do something about it.’” Lane characterized Gable as “a very hard worker” (this in 1959, a point at which Gable too could have rested on laurels). These quotes, by the way, are from Jordan R. Young’s outstanding collection of interviews, Reel Characters. Jeff Corey observations derive from Close-Ups, edited by Danny Peary, a classic book from 1978. Back to Alan Ladd and his quote: Yes, he studied, and bigger yes, did know what was good for him. That study meant trial/error. Look at Captain Caution and 1941’s The Black Cat to see Ladd feeling his way toward effective screen presence. He would try “acting” in both and learn that to try hard need not mean trying too hard. Others gave advice, Ladd wired to levels of talent in both motion pictures and radio, latter where he’d develop a richly expressive voice the equal of anybody’s. This Gun For Hire demonstrated that underplaying “was good for him,” and that lesson would not be forgot.

Ladd went all out for action, but tamped down for dialogue and quieter scenes. No one would catch him over-emoting again. He kept his audience guessing, which women in particular liked. Could a man so impenetrable be reached by anyone? Ladd left most of expression to his eyes, reporting after work one day that he had done a particularly good “look” for cameras, a kidding remark, but serious too because he knew that’s where his strength was. No, Ladd did not play himself, unless himself was a process needing years to shape and perfect. I think the reason Ladd slowed in the 50’s was circumstances of his offscreen life corroding the model developed in more-less youth. He didn’t look the same or move as before, the Ladd persona by this time inflexible. Withhold of emotion perhaps made him too rigid, more so in a decade where trends in lead men rewarded outburst and even tears where event called for it, or didn’t. But viewers wanted Ladd as they knew him best, or not at all. Less work near the end reflected choice of the latter. Through the 50’s at least, he had an audience, and Jack Warner for one said that Alan Ladd was a most bankable of stars then at work. Melancholy woven into the persona from early on continued to resonate. Teens even could be moved by it, as in Ladd as identification figure for isolated high schooler Sal Mineo in Rebel Without A Cause; his "Plato" keeps a photo of the star pasted inside his locker, one outsider living vicarious through another.

Ladd and Co-Star Edward G. Robinson Welcomed By Jack L. Warner for Hell On Frisco Bay

Odd thing was, Ladd’s offscreen image differed utterly from the closed shop of his film persona, as if to say latter was all pretend just like movies and everyone who performed in them. The dissent was too ingrained however, so that lone wolf Ladd of the screen became our concept of the “real” Alan Ladd, rather than uneasy exemplar of perfect family life as put forth by a mainstream press and fan magazines. As told before, I had an elementary school band teacher named Priscilla Call, formerly Priscilla Lyon, and once a child actress in movies and radio. She was represented by Hollywood agent Sue Carol, a prime architect of the Ladd image, and married to him as well. The Ladds would host Sunday cookouts for Sue’s clients, so Priscilla was invited often. She told me that Alan Ladd was polite but withdrawn, joining the party for a while, then retiring to the pool where he’d swim laps alone. Any witness to this, Priscilla for sure, might say, “Yes, here is Alan Ladd as he really is,” a figure in keeping with what we saw of him in movies.

Ladd’s persona was at once steadfast and variable. Each time, it seemed we might break through and understand him better. Shane was a truest reflection of this because George Stevens knew the acting instrument he had in Ladd. A brilliant enough director did wonders with an established image, for he could find and reveal subtleties others would not see. It was no coincidence when Ladd said he learned more about acting from Stevens than any director he ever worked with. An outstanding film actor, and Ladd was certainly that, accrues much over years of honing a screen image. Each part adds layers to a deepening mosaic. A star who’s been around long enough is known to us as well as family members. It is why loyalty to them was so acute, especially during the Studio Era when the most capable of them emerged. A Ronald Colman anecdote: He was invited to do a cameo in Around The World In 80 Days, for which he got a bucket of cash, or a Cadillac, or some such windfall, I forget which and it doesn’t matter, but someone asked him how it was that he should be paid so exorbitantly for a single day’s work, to which Colman replied, “This is not for one day’s work … it is for a lifetime of work.”

Hell On Frisco Bay is primo Ladd, and great to have back in circulation after years gone begging for decent prints. Warner’s Blu-Ray is Cinemascope-wide and a mile high for fans who have waited so long. There is reward for seeing a star exactly as we want him, Ladd in modern dress, just sprung from Alcatraz for a killing he didn’t commit, bitter toward a wife that has not stayed faithful for five years he was in the jug, to that add fact “Steve Rollins” is an ex-cop, and there is corruption in the force he must root out. Who needs favorite stars to be “versatile”? The best personas were fixed, and happily so. Smart players like Ladd protected them. Lead men too eager to widen range often as not stumbled. Hell On Frisco Bay was 2018’s comfort disc for me. Ladd’s accumulation of “self” by 1955 lends even his physical decline a grandeur. The Ladd history, fed by continuity of an image congenial to us, lends depth to “Steve,” who does what we expect of Alan Ladd, the persona larger than any individual part he would play. Was it producer Ladd (his “Jaguar” company) who suggested Edward G. Robinson for lead nemesis, because the idea was inspired. The two crackle singly, and together (AL to Eddie, “I’d like to kill you so much, I can taste it”). Of course, Robinson brings freight of his own to Hell On Frisco Bay. Was it sour aftertaste of the war that made his crime lords so much crueler than before? Dialogue here is really nasty, especially the way E.G. abuses Fay Wray, an unexpected and welcome supporting presence. Ladd as Jaguar head knew how to cast his vehicles, never hogging the frame where others had opportunity to shine. I could go on, but it’s enough to say that Hell On Frisco Bay is a viewing must, and Warners’ Blu-Ray looks terrific.