Lady of the Night
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Lady of the Night: Encyclopedia Page M
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Encyclopedia Page M
She had a wonderful sincerity and poise, and she was deeply emotional but she knew how to filter that emotion with discipline so that it came off the screen as deeply felt rather than merely sentimental. She had some very strong scenes with me in Smilin’ Through; I especially recall one in which we were to part as I went to war; she got across her agony in truly eloquent terms. I heard how perfectionist she was supposed to be, but if she gave her best, she expected everyone else around her to give theirs along with her, and I have always tried to set the highest standards for myself, I could hardly fault her for that. Yes, she did fuss around with Lee Garmes about “white” lighting and all that, but there was a reason for it as she had a peculiar face, beautiful as it could be, with eyes smaller than normal, and it took a combination of the right lighting and the right eye makeup to get her looking her best. I don’t think vanity had a thing to do with it- she just wanted to give- and look- her absolute best, and how can one fault an entertainer for that. Excellent Fredric March Fan site
Work began on the script as early as 1933, when Norma read the Marie Antoinette biography by Stefan Zweig, and despite the fact that Irving Thalberg had died two years before filming began, to Norma it was "still his," and she regarded it as her favorite until her death. The legal battle between Norma and Louis B. Mayer may have affected Norma’s chances at winning a second Oscar for Best Actress, but she was nominated. Bette Davis won that year for Jezebel, but even to most Davis fans, Norma’s Marie Antoinette ranks as the superior performance. Reginald Gardiner, a supporting player in the film, remembered. “Norma’s voice had matured tremendously since Romeo and Juliet. I think it was because she had grown up a lot during her widowhood and the studio struggles, and those voice lesions from excerpts during Juliet; her diction was impeccable, her whole approach to her acting deeper, stronger.” (SNS) Sandy McClendon's article, discusses the final scenes in which Norma is lead to her execution. Jack Dawn did the costume makeup for that scene. Hollywood’s most notorious tyrant, Mayer and Thalberg’s friendship deteriorated in the early 30s, but it was a result of events dating back to as early as 1925. They disagreed over Irving’s expenses on the 1925 religious epic, Ben-Hur. Irving was also offended when it was clear Mayer was going to drop Norma from MGM. (Note: This was before the Thalbergs married, and Mayer’s reasons for wanted to drop Norma are still unknown. The reason that makes most sense is that around 1926, Norma began to make outrageous salary demands.) With the split of Mayer and Thalberg, MGM also was divided into two camps: Thalberg’s supporters and Mayer’s. The breaking point came in 1933 after Irving suffered a massive heart attack. Norma made plans to sail to Europe with Mr. and Mrs. Charles MacArthur. The following excerpt is from Bob Thomas’ Thalberg: Life and Legend: The Thalbergs and MacArthurs were reunited at Eden Roc, where Irving puzzled over the violence he had seen at Bad Nauheim. Then one night at an hour past midnight, the MacArthurs heard a pounding at their hotel-room door. It was Norma. “Charlie, come quick,” she said, “Irving’s sick." Both MacArthus rushed down the hall to the Thalberg suite, and they found Irving in bed, his face waxen and translucent. He held in his hand a cable from Louis Mayer. It told the news that he had been relieved of his duties as head of MGM production. “I did this for you,” said Mayer. When Irving and Norma returned to Hollywood in late 1933, and for Thalberg’s remaining two years, Irving was given permission to remain at the studio as an independent producer. His first vehicle was Norma’s 1934 film, Riptide, which was poorly received by critics and made only a tidy profit. But much to Mayer’s annoyance, Thalberg proved that he was still the greatest with The Barretts of Wimpole Street (1934), China Seas (1935), and Mutiny On the Bounty (1935; winner of the Best Picture Oscar). In 1936, Irving decided to make Romeo and Juliet for Norma, Mayer warned him that the budget would not exceed one million dollars. Thalberg doubled the expense with a final cost of $2,066,000, and the film lost close to a million dollars at the box office. Just weeks after the premiere of the film, Irving Thalberg died on September 14, 1936. Norma informed with Mayer with the news, and when he arrived at 707 Ocean Front, they both broke down together. But Mayer’s tears were supposedly all an act. It was reported that he, that very same night, went to a local club, danced the rumba and said, “God is good to me.” Back in 1929, Irving worked out a deal with Mayer which gave him a percentage of the profits made from all Thalberg movies. Whenever, Grand Hotel (1932) for instance, was rereleased, a percentage of the film grosses went straight to Irving’s pocket. When Thalberg died, Mayer planned to pocket the money from the deal until Norma got her attorneys involved. She refused to sell back the stock to the studio, and the stocks kept Norma a very wealthy woman until her death. (Even when television came along, Norma still received money from the cable networks when they purchased the rights to air Thalberg’s movies.) After the issues over the stock were behind them, Norma and Mayer remained somewhat close. They attended premieres and plays together, and Mayer still made a great effort to continue Norma’s reign as the studio’s Queen. (He urged her to make Mrs. Miniver -MGM’s prestige assignment of 1942, but he failed to convince her.) In 1952, at a ceremony given in Mayer’s honor, Norma sat next to him and thanked him for what she referred to as “the best years of my life.”
(All images are from Norma's Divas Gallery.)
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Norma was undoubtedly Queen of the MGM Lot, as a number of stars recalled. Anita Page later referred to Norma as, “Someone not just anyone could walk up to and say hello.” However, photographer George Hurrell remembered that Norma “never flaunted her power.” Of course, there were a number of Norma haters on the studio lot, most notably Joan Crawford and Myrna Loy. However, Norma was also close with studio alumni’s such as Jeanette MacDonald, Jean Harlow, and had the respect of Greta Garbo. Shearer was a top moneymaker for the studio as early as 1925, but throughout the 1930s she reigned as their most important asset, she remained their from her signing in 1924 until her last film in 1942.
My Hollywood legends page for Robert Montgomery.
Motion Picture Country Hospital: Upon entering in 1980, an emaciated Norma Shearer weighed just less than eighty pounds. Blinding, grey haired, and mentally losing her grip on reality, the nurses didn’t know how to help Norma, who was often found lying in bed in a fetal position, waiting for death. The world Norma was most familiar with had completely changed: -Joan Crawford, Louis B. Mayer, Marion Davies, Tyrone Power, Spencer Tracey, Clark Gable, and Robert Taylor were all dead. George Raft was about to die in November of the year Norma entered the clinic. Chester Morris had killed himself. Ramon Novarro had been beaten to death. -Hollywood had become home to prostitutes, teen runaways, porn stars, drug dealers, hustlers, etc. -The locations in Hollywood where Norma and her contemporaries frequented had been mostly torn down, with strip joints, bars, and parking lots taking their place. In the hospital, the nurses often had to guide Norma back to her room, finding her wandering around the hallways searching for Irving Thalberg. (Irving had been dead for forty five years by this point.) Norma soon began having violent outbursts, hitting anyone who tried to help her, and she often would run out of her room screaming; Doctors would have to tranquilize her to calm her down. Sitting in her room one day, a fan burst into Norma’s room pulling out a camera, and before getting a picture, the nurses heard Norma screaming and removed the trespasser. Most visitors described Norma at this point as resembling Marie Antoinette, and found it almost impossible to communicate with her. Whenever someone would walk into her room to talk to her, she would ask them, “Are you Irving? Were we married?”* The last year of Norma’s life was spent in bed with no idea of who she was, or where she was, but was often heard mumbling, “Irving.” Finally on June 10, 1983, bronchial pneumonia ended what had become a sad, tragic life. *It seems as if Norma was stuck in her past, believing she was still Mrs. Irving Thalberg. While her memory had all but diminished, it is not uncommon to go into a nursing home and find elderly people, with no recollection of what is happening in the present, believing they are still living a certain point of their past. She wanted to do those soufflé light comedy things because they kept up her spirits, made her feel youthful and expectant about future life possibilities. The things they offered her, like Mrs. Miniver and even Madame Curie seemed too somber, too heavy. It was a sad world out there, that second year of the American engagement in the warm and Norma, I’m sure, felt she had had enough sadness and conformity and staidness and responsibility in her personal life to last her a lifetime. Sure, the kids were of cardinal importance in her scheme, but she had nannies and governesses for them- she felt her prime responsibility was herself; after all, she had spent years of living for others, while stifling her own impulses, to say nothing of her real needs. The real embarrassment came to Norma when Her Cardboard Lover tanked miserably, and audiences voted Mrs. Miniver as the greatest movie ever made. (It also grossed over four million at the box office, and won Greer Garson the Academy Award for Best Actress.)
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Lady of the Night