First, a bit of housekeeping.
Next week's diary was supposed to be called "A Million Little Exploitations," and would have concerned a certain very rich, very well known, and not precisely scrupulous author who wrote a memoir that wasn't, and then attempted to con graduate students into helping him for pay that would embarrass an e-publisher. This particular individual's career is an open invitation for mockery and snark, and I was very much looking forward to giving him the full Books So Bad They're Good treatment. However...between the car troubles, a flooded basement and the attendant chaos, the necessity of doing some yardwork before the entire house is swallowed by vines and saplings and invasive plants, and me running up against a couple of very, very hard deadlines, it ain't happening.
Therefore, next week will be a Rewind of some sort, hopefully funny, while I host several friends who are coming down from New Hampshire and up from West Springfield to sort things out. There will be rakes and tongs and implements of destruction (including chainsaws, which my friend Albertus LOVES and be wielding in a useful and entertaining manner), and at the end of it I will, God willing and the crick don't rise, have an actual yard instead of a tangled mess of pricker canes and multiflora roses.
So. "A Million Little Exploitations" will appear at some point, just not next weekend. I also may have to do a couple of more rewinds in the next month or so because I have a couple of book reviews due, but I'll do my best to avoid this.
Other than that, enjoy your Labor Day weekend - and now, on to the diary!
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My aunt had a crush on Rock Hudson.
She was not alone in this. Millions of women in the 1950’s and 1960’s were enchanted by the former his darkly handsome looks, chiseled physique, and air of easy, uncomplicated masculinity. Whether he played a rancher (in Giant, where he was almost as beautiful as leading lady Elizabeth Taylor), a junior executive (in Pillow Talk, opposite a preternaturally perky Doris Day), or a soldier (in Tobruk, which has an almost all-male cast), Hudson was eminently worthy of every drop of drool excreted by the women of America. Even in his lesser roles, like the dashing airman in Darling Lili who looks less than entranced with Julie Andrews’ duplicitous charms, the former Roy Harold Scherer, Jr, had star power to burn.
And burn it he did, as least as far as Betty was concerned. Oh, she had other crushes from time to time – she was particularly entranced by Telly “Kojak” Savalas and the masterful way he’d slam suspects up against the wall – but Rock Hudson was her eternal imaginary love bunny. Mum may have swooned over Nelson Eddy’s golden voice and gleaming locks, I might have burned for Leonard Nimoy’s saturnine face and rumbling basso, but for Betty the ideal man was always clean cut, handsome, all-American Rock Hudson.
That there were hints that Hudson might, just might have been less manly than the Hollywood publicity machine would imply, simply did not register. No girlfriends meant simply that he was waiting for Miss Right, nothing more, and his lack of affairs with his leading ladies were merely evidence that he was a professional. Even the rumors that he was such a great and good friend to Gomer Pyle star Jim Nabors that the two of them were considerably more than friends flew right over her head. He was too handsome, too dashing, too male for such ugly talk to be true.
Betty was mildly disappointed when Hudson’s career segued from film to television in the late 1960’s, but then again he was getting a bit long in the tooth compared to young pretty boys like Robert Redford, a bit bland when pitted against intense youngsters like Dustin Hoffman. He did a fine job on MacMillan and Wife, though, and if his hair was longer and he sported more facial hair than was seemly back in the day, Betty was willing to forgive much to see him in living color on Sunday nights. The only thing he didn’t do was slam people up against the wall during arrests, and that wasn’t so bad as long as Telly Savalas put down his Tootsie Pop and dented the plaster with the back of a bad guy’s noggin once in a while.
Betty was quietly thrilled in 1984 when Hudson, who had confined himself to TV movies and the occasional guest starring role on variety shows, joined the cast of Dynasty as a possible romantic partner for Linda Evans. Betty had always had a sneaking fondness for the soaps – she particularly loved The Edge of Night and General Hospital - and the prospect of her favorite actor on a glossy primetime example set her heart a-flutter. He was a bit thinner than before, and for the first time he looked his age and maybe a bit more, but even the greatest star cannot make time stand still.
I think you can imagine Betty’s reaction at the news that Hudson was not merely old, but desperately ill. And I sincerely hope that you can’t imagine her shock when she learned that her beloved multi-decade crush was not only sick, but dying of what Reagan’s America called “the gay plague.” She had had a traumatic experience thirty years earlier when a female friend fell in love with her and then committed suicide when Betty rejected her, so the mere idea that someone as muscular and masculine as Rock Hudson might have been a "man's man" in the most literal sense filled her with horror.
She was almost relieved when Hudson's publicists claimed that he'd contracted the disease from a tainted blood transfusion, and she sincerely mourned when he died a few months later. That regardless of how he became ill, Hudson was not only gay but had had several long-term relationships with men plus a marriage to a lesbian in the mid-1950's, did eventually register, but in the long run Betty simply put the whole question of Rock Hudson's sexual orientation and personal life out of her mind.
I never asked her about this in any detail - Betty was never entirely rational on the subject of sex for a variety of reasons, most of which are long since lost in the mists of time - but I can confirm that one of the reasons Betty's favorite cable channels were American Movie Classics (now AMC) and Turner Classic Movies (TCM) was because they showed several of her favorite Rock Hudson films on an almost continuous basis in the early 2000's. She rarely left the house except for doctor's visits, and being able to enjoy Rock in all his early career beauty was one of her few remaining pleasures.
AMC is best known today for Mad Men and other scripted series, but twenty years ago its bread and butter was old movies. Some were indeed classics, introduced by Bob Dorian and George Clooney's cousin Ned, and were more than worth the time and trouble. Others were simply entertaining in a polished way that spoke of Old Hollywood, with handsome leading men, perfectly turned out women, flawless cinematography, and costumes that are still the epitome of class and good taste. The station was popular enough that a decade later it was joined by Turner Classic Movies after CNN mogul Ted Turner bought the MGM catalog and started airing the best productions of Hollywood’s best studio.
Betty and I watched both stations and would occasionally chat about the films we saw. For Betty, it was a chance to relive her youth, when the world was renewed after the horrors of depression and war, and the future seemed limitless. For me, films like Mildred Pierce, Singing in the Rain, Black Narcissus, The Third Man, and Imitation of Life were a true revelation. I’d been born long after their theatrical run or even their appearance on the revival circuit, so actually getting to watch the likes of Gene Kelly, Lana Turner, Joan Crawford, John Gavin, Deborah Kerr, and Thelma Ritter go through their paces was a treat indeed.
I also finally got to see why Betty liked Rock Hudson so much.
For me, it was his appearance in George Stevens’ masterpiece Giant, where he co-starred with Elizabeth Taylor, James Dean, Mercedes McCambridge, and a young and drug-free Dennis Hopper. Stagy it might have been, with some of the worst age-makeup in history on James Dean, but the sweep and scale of the film were glorious to behold. Hudson was quieter than Dean, not quite as gorgeous as Taylor, but his quiet, steady performance as Bick anchored the film. It was easy to see why he’d been a matinee idol, and why Betty had swooned over him for so many years.
For my aunt, it was two films that brought back all the reasons why she’d first crushed on the beautiful young man. Glossily photographed, their soundtracks a-quiver with mellifluous strings, every object and location and actor lit to best effect, every performance carefully modulated, these movies managed to be both innocent and ripely erotic in a way that modern films cannot hope to rival. No one said or behaved in any but the most proper way, but oh the tension underlying every single frame, every line of dialogue –
It shouldn’t surprise anyone that these two films were directed by Austrian kitsch-master Douglas Sirk.
Let me tell you about them, and the literary properties that inspired them.
Tonight I bring you the two films that truly spurred my aunt's obsession with Rock Hudson, whom she lusted for to the day she died, never mind that he batted for the other team. One is based on a book by a minister who attempted to illustrate Gospel principles through his best sellers, the other based on a story by Edna Ferber that never quite made it into book form. Each has their charms and are well worth a couple of hours of your time if you feel the need for melodramas about pretty people suffering very prettily as they wear pretty clothes on pretty sets photographed to make them even prettier than they actually were:
Magnificent Obsession (1954), based on the novel by Lloyd C. Douglas and starring Rock Hudson and Jane Wyman (not to be confused with Magnificent Obsession (1935), starring Robert Taylor and Irene Dunne, or Dr. Hudson’s Secret Journal (1955-1957), starring John Howard and Cheryl Calloway) – I’ve written about Lloyd C. Douglas before, all the way back in 2012, and I must say that in some ways his life is more interesting than any of his novels. A second-generation pastor, Douglas turned to literature in his 50’s as a way to impart the lessons of his faith in an entertaining yet didactic way. Among his numerous works were one genuine classic, The Robe, which was filmed very well with Jean Simmons and Richard Burton, then inspired the Movie So Bad It’s Good Demetrius and the Gladiators with Victor Mature and a wig that appears to have been soaked in rancid yak butter.
Magnificent Obsession, originally written in 1929, was intended to illustrate this passage from Matthew 6:1-4:
Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven…that thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly
by telling the story of Robert Merrick and how he learned mercy and charity. Merrick, a spoiled youngster given to high speed boat crashes, is saved after an accident at the cost of the life of a beloved local physician, Dr. Hudson, who suffers a heart attack and cannot be revived because the rescue crew is saving Merrick instead. Merrick, stricken by guilt, decides to become a doctor himself after decoding a journal that Dr. Hudson kept detailing the secret of his great success. He succeeds in both, becomes very successful in his turn, and ends up saving the life of Dr. Hudson’s widow, Helen, whom he has loved from afar despite their age difference and the inconvenient fact that he’s responsible for her being a widow in the first place.
This story, as silly as it sounds, was an instant hit. Douglas had drawn not only on the gospels but on the story of Midwestern neurosurgeon Edgar Kahn, a kind and generous man who had become something of a legend. Kahn, who had rejected a lucrative career in the family architectural firm, mentored generations of young brain surgeons, pioneered surgical techniques that led to drastic reductions in the mortality rate for his patients, and worked for only $1.00 a year. Kahn’s altruistic personality was so well known in medical circles that even during his lifetime it was an open secret that he’d inspired Dr. Hudson and Dr. Merrick.
If the biographical aspect to the story weren’t enough, Dr. Hudson’s secret – that doing good deeds without revealing one’s identity will result in a better person and ultimate success thanks to a loving God – struck a chord in a time when so many Americans had to rely on the generosity of others. It was made into a hit film in 1935 with Robert Taylor and Irene Dunne and adapted as a radio play no fewer than four times (with Taylor and Dunne in 1937, Myrna Loy and Don Ameche in 1941, Claudette Colbert and Ameche in 1944, and once more with Dunne in 1949 opposite Willard Waterman).
So many fans wrote to Douglas asking about Dr. Hudson’s secret journal that he wrote a prequel called, no surprise, Dr. Hudson’s Secret Journal. This book, which is both preachier and less melodramatic than the original novel, reiterates the message of Magnificent Obsession: that doing good deeds with no publicity and no thought of reward would lead to spiritual gifts that would in turn lead to success in life.
Given all this, it’s no surprise that Universal-International decided to remake Magnificent Obsession in 1954 as a vehicle for both their rising matinee idol (guess who?) and established star Jane Wyman (formerly Mrs. Ronald Reagan). That Wyman might be an odd choice for the widowed Helen since she was only eight years older than Rock Hudson wasn’t really an issue; age and time in Hollywood are nearly as screwed up as they are in soap operas and comic books, so as long as Wyman acted older than Hudson it was all good.
So far, so good. Hudson was beautiful, Wyman was dignified, and with a little updating the old story would make a perfectly acceptable film. What catapults this film into a classic of kitsch, and the vehicle that launched Rock Hudson straight into the hearts of millions of women who had no idea he batted for the other team, is the choice of director.
Douglas Sirk, born in 1897 as Hans Detief Sierck to Danish parents in Germany, had been a leading stage director in Europe in the 1920’s and 1930’s. He moved to America just before war, partly for creative freedom, partly to protect his Jewish wife, and began making movies for Universal by the early 1950’s. These films ranged wildly in quality and subject - Taza, Son of Cochise, was of course a Western, while The Tarnished Angels was about pilots and Written on the Wind semi-noir – were characterized by a meticulous attention to detail, careful use of lighting and color to heighten the emotional effect, fine performances, glossy cinematography, melodramatic scripts, and most often the same leading man: Rock Hudson.
Just why Sirk used Hudson so often is not clear – he was handsome in a darkly wholesome way, yes, and talented, but the 1950’s were awash in dark, good looking actors who were as good or better. Some critics have speculated that it might have been Hudson’s emotional vulnerability, which in turn sprang from him being almost deep enough in the closet to vacation in Caer Paradel. I personally think that’s a bit much – directors glom onto favorite actors and cast them regardless of suitability, as anyone who’s followed the careers of Tim Burton and Johnny Depp well knows – but there’s no disputing that Sirk and Hudson worked very well together for nearly a decade.
So did Rock Hudson and Jane Wyman. They clicked almost immediately in this film, and despite Hudson being nervous at carrying a big budget drama (he needed thirty or forty takes for some scenes), their chemistry is strong enough that his obsession with both carrying on the good work of Dr. Hudson (here called Dr. Phillips) and with his widow makes sense. The plot is still creaky, with the long arm of coincidence getting a primo workout, but somehow Hudson and Wyman manage to sell the goods.
The actors are aided by several Douglas Sirk trademarks, including beautiful locations (Lake Tahoe and Lake Arrowhead), stunning photography, soaring music by Frank Skinner, and able support from the likes of Agnes Moorehead and Barbara Rush. Highbrow critics might have sneered – Howard Thompson called the film “unquestionably a handsome one [with] a moist text that may seem inspiration to some, pure corn to others” – but the public flocked to Magnificent Obsession with the same fervor that they’d flocked to the Taylor/Dunne version twenty years earlier. Rock Hudson became a star, Jane Wyman received an Oscar nomination, and the studio executives were well satisfied.
So was my aunt. Although I never thought to ask, this might well have been the film that led to the great infatuation of her life. It had all the elements she liked – beautiful clothing, fine acting, thickly orchestrated music, and of course Rock Hudson – so it wouldn’t surprise me if Magnificent Obsession was indeed The Film for my aunt.
Then again, it might well have been a 1955 film that manages to combine a scathing indictment of classism and ageism with an even more ridiculous plot and an overall look of such perfection that it would not be out of place in a Barbizon School painting suitable for reproduction on a box of fine French chocolates….
All That Heaven Allows, based on the novel by Edna L. Lee and Harry Lee, starring Rock Hudson, Jane Wyman, Gloria Talbott, and Agnes Moorehead - Magnificent Obsession was enough of a hit that Universal decided that a follow up was in order. Since Lloyd Douglas’ own follow up, Dr. Hudson’s Secret Journal, was not only a prequel but in the pipeline for a television series, the studio had to look elsewhere for a way to reunite Hudson, Wyman, and Sirk (not to mention Agnes Moorehead).
This they did with All That Heaven Allows, a fevered novel about small town snobbery and a May/December romance that had first appeared in the Women’s Home Companion along with the usual articles about housewifery, childcare, and fashion. That this property was not really in the same class as Lloyd Douglas’ earnest plea for generosity and good works was not the point. The point was finding a vehicle that would once again allow Douglas Sirk, composer Frank Skinner, and cinematographer Russell Metty to work their magic.
This they proceeded to do in a film that is some sort of epitome of the so-called “women’s picture” thanks to the following:
- Rock Hudson as a gentle tree farmer/war veteran who wears pressed flannel shirts and has friends who do excitingly unconventional things like dance to folk music, cook Italian food, and restore old houses and barns.
- Jane Wyman as a lonely widow with college-age children who chooses Hudson over a suitably middle aged but boring suitor, never mind that Wyman was only thirty-eight and looked nearly as young as screen daughter Gloria Talbott.
- Talbott’s annoyingly overeducated little snob of a college student, who not only guilts her mother into breaking up with her tree farmer (he’s so young their family’s reputation will be ruined, ruined I tell you!) but then buys her a TV set so she won’t be lonely after she announces her own plans to marry soon after.
- A broken Wedgwood teapot that Wyman finds in her boyish young boyfriend’s barn, then fixes in a shamelessly blatant metaphor for her putting her broken heart back together after her husband’s death.
- An ending that involves, in no particular order, Wyman deciding to tell her kids to stuff it, Hudson falling off a cliff and nearly bashing in his brains, his miraculous recovery in the restored barn (not a hospital, which would make too much sense), and the appearance of a wild deer outside the barn just as Hudson wakes up in an even more shameless metaphor for following one’s natural instincts.
- A speedboat that looks like a precursor to a Gerry Anderson Puppetoons program about International Rescue.
- A lush soundtractk that sounds like the bastard offspring of Percy Faith's Orchestra and the 101 Strings after an epic mating season.
The result received critical sneers from Variety (“guaranteed to tug at the heartstrings of all middle aged women,” which must have pissed off my aunt since she was only 31 when it came out), Time (“The moviegoer often has the senation that he is drowning in a sea of melted butter, with nothing to hang on to but the cliches that float past”), and The Saturday Review (thanks to critical Hollis Alpert's open letter allegedly by “Aunt Henrietta” that thanked Sirk for “the kind of heartfelt emotional experience…rarely [gotten] from movies these days”).
None of this mattered to the studio - All That Heaven Allows was a big hit – nor the stars – Hudson cemented his status as a heart throb, while Moorehead and Wyman continued their very solid careers. Neither did it matter much to Rock Hudson’s fans, who adored him as a soft spoken yet rugged “nature boy.” My aunt and her fellow moviegoers knew what they liked, and both All That Heaven Allows and its male lead more than delivered the goods.
Alas for the critics, their opprobrium didn't matter in the end. Cliched and fervid plot, ludicrously young “middle aged” leading lady, trembling soundtrack, and glaceéd cinematography notwithstanding, All That Heaven Allows has somehow survived and thrived despite cheap shots about melted butter and Aunt Henrietta. It’s now considered a masterpiece of 1950’s filmmaking, was selected for preservation by the Library of Congress in 1995, and has influenced directors such as Rainer Werner Fassbinder, John Waters, François Orzon, and Todd Haynes.
More significant for film history, Rock Hudson’s performance in All That Heaven Allows was a major factor in his status as one of the the stars of the 1950’s and early 1960’s. He never lacked for work again, whether in a Sirk melodrama, a “prestige” picture like Giant, or a fluffy comedy with Doris Day. He ranks alongside Cary Grant and Gregory Peck as the epitome of the “tall, dark, and handsome” Hollywood ideal of the waning studio system, even if he never quite attained the critical acclaim of Grant and Peck.
Not that this ultimately mattered to my aunt. She would have liked him just fine whether All That Heaven Allows and Magnificent Obsession had received critical acclaim or not. There are some loves that persist no matter what.
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Have you ever seen a Douglas Sirk film? Crushed on Rock Hudson? Jane Wyman? Read either Magnificent Obsession or All That Heaven Allows? Laughed or cried at the films? My basement’s a mess right now so we’ll have to repair to your knotty pine rumpus room tonight….
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