Having Fun With Olivia

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Olivia de Havilland, who marked her 100th birthday about three weeks ago, was an astonishingly fortunate woman in her youth.

She was one of those women who always looks younger than she is. Now, that is one of those things that most people attempt but few achieve. The ones who manage it seem to do so effortlessly. Perhaps some do. Perhaps others achieve it only after spending several hours working on it every day.

From what I have heard, de Havilland was one of those people who achieved it with no special effort. As a youth, I guess she was a natural beauty. It isn't necessary to guess, though. You can see it for yourself. She was in her early 20s when she made "Gone With the Wind."

She put that trait to good use in "The Ambassador's Daughter," which premiered on this day in 1956. In reality, de Havilland was 39 when the movie was being made — and turned 40 just before its theatrical premiere — but her character was probably in her 20s and, as the title suggested, the daughter of an ambassador (played by Edward Arnold), the ambassador to France to be specific.

A senator from America (Adolphe Menjou) declared Paris off limits to servicemen due to their misbehavior, and de Havilland's character took it upon herself to prove that U.S. servicemen could be gentlemen. She decided to do this by dating a serviceman who would not know her true identity. The serviceman (John Forsythe) was under the impression that she was a model, and he took her to nightclubs and on a humorous excursion to the Eiffel Tower.

There were some moments of deception on both sides.

Forsythe's character offered to buy de Havilland's character an airplane ticket to America when news of an emergency back in the States reached her, and she was suitably impressed — until she learned that counterfeit airplane tickets were a commonplace scam used by U.S. servicemen to score points with girls.

Forsythe, on the other hand, had been told that de Havilland was a Christian Dior fashion model, but when he went looking for her at a Dior fashion show, he discovered that Dior's staff had never heard of her. Then he saw de Havilland watching the show with the senator — and assumed they had some kind of relationship.

Everything got cleared up at the end when the two attended a performance of "Swan Lake."

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Myrna Loy as the senator's wife, in a rather understated role for her, joined forces with de Havilland to persuade the senator to lift his ban. Thus, all was well that ended well.

Director Norman Krasna built his reputation in screwball comedies — which would, understandably, make potential viewers think they would be in for an off–the–wall experience with "The Ambassador's Daughter." But they would be wrong. It was a romantic comedy, but that really isn't the same thing. The dynamics of a romantic comedy and a screwball comedy are different — in often subtle ways but still different.

The cast seemed to have a good time, but as for the audience ... I can only guess.

Well, it would be hard not to have a good time watching de Havilland have a good time.

Not Exactly the Santa Fe Trail

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"I have given you fair warning. You can keep your heads or lose 'em as you wish."

John Brown (Raymond Massey)

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If you have never seen "Santa Fe Trail," which made its debut 75 years ago today, I guess it is important to know something before you do see it.

The movie has nothing whatsoever to do with the real Santa Fe Trail, which was a 19th–century transportation route that ran from Franklin in western Missouri to Santa Fe in northern New Mexico.

Rather, it was a pretty basic account of the events surrounding John Brown's raid at Harpers Ferry, Virginia (now West Virginia) — about 800 miles east of Franklin — less than two years before the start of the Civil War.

(Well, I suppose a rather tenuous connection could made from the fact that the trail started in Missouri and the railroad that would replace the Santa Fe Trail as a commercial route couldn't be built until Brown was driven from neighboring Kansas, an event that was re–created in "Santa Fe Trail," but making that mental connection would require the viewer to know certain details about American history that were never explored in "Santa Fe Trail" and a garden–variety moviegoer in 1940 was no more likely to know than one in 2015.)

It wasn't entirely literal history, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a rousing good story, and it had a great cast.

It had Errol Flynn in it so audiences knew it would have lots of action and romance.

It had Olivia de Havilland in it so audiences knew they would be treated to a top–notch performance from an actress who, although her movie career was only a few years old at the time, was already regarded as being an actress in the classical mold.

It had Raymond Massey, who had been established as a classical actor for at least a decade and lent some of his personal credibility to the role of John Brown — even though, as I say, the movie is not the definitive word on the history of either the mid–19th century or John Brown.

And it had Ronald Reagan. No one knew at the time, of course, that Reagan would be elected president 40 years later. In the role of George Armstrong Custer, Reagan had a bit of a rivalry with Flynn's character, Jeb Stuart, that supposedly went back to their days at West Point.

I've been a student of American history most of my life. I will readily concede that I am not an authority on military history or military school history, and I don't know enough about Custer's individual relationships with his fellow cadets to pass judgment — but I do know that Custer had one of the worst personal conduct records in the school's history and was nearly expelled several times. Many of his demerits were received for pulling tricks on classmates so such a rivalry would not be inconceivable.

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But Jeb Stuart must have been a stand–in for all those who were pranked by Custer. Stuart and Custer were never classmates. Stuart was born six years before Custer and graduated three years before Custer enrolled at West Point.

For that matter, Stuart was a West Point classmate of several people who had noteworthy military careers, according to the movie, but it played fast and loose with the facts, just as it did in its account of John Brown.

If you believed the movie, Stuart was a classmate of James Longstreet, George Pickett, Phil Sheridan and John Bell "Sam" Hood as well as Custer, but Stuart was a teenager when Longstreet and Pickett graduated from West Point, and Stuart, as I say, had been gone for three years when Custer enrolled there. Stuart was at West Point when Sheridan and Hood were there, but they graduated a year before he did. I have seen no evidence that Stuart knew either one.

Also, I have heard nothing of a romance between Stuart and the woman known as Kit Carson Holliday, the name of de Havilland's character. Stuart was married to a woman named Flora and was reportedly devoted to her until his death during the Civil War.

The only Kit Carsons I ever heard of were men. I can only assume that Kit Carson Holliday was entirely fictional.

Another inconvenient fact. When you look at pictures of John Brown in history books, he always has a long beard, but he didn't grow his beard until after he left Kansas. Nevertheless, in "Santa Fe Trail," he is portrayed with a long beard.

But Hollywood never let the facts get in the way of a good story. (Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?)

And, as I say, it was a good story.

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It just wasn't literal history.

So if you are a student and you want to write a paper about John Brown or any of the other famous folks who were portrayed in "Santa Fe Trail," I implore you — don't use this movie as one of your sources.

Watch it and enjoy it. It's very entertaining.

But please don't treat it as a reputable factual source.

Burning Down the House

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"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

Rhett Butler (Clark Gable)

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(1939 is widely regarded as the greatest year ever for the motion picture. Ten movies were nominated for Best Picture that year, and today I take a look at the ninth of those 10 movies to hit the theaters.)

That is the greatest movie quote of all time, according to the American Film Institute, and it is hard to argue with that conclusion.

AFI had some great quotes on that list — "I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse," "I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," "Go ahead, make my day" — but Clark Gable got the nod for the greatest quote.

As I say, it's hard to argue with. But it isn't the only memorable line in "Gone With the Wind," which premiered on this day in 1939. Of course, that almost goes without saying. The movie is darn near four hours long. There had to be at least one more memorable line in there, right? In fact, Scarlett (Vivien Leigh) had several. I'll bet one or two leap to mind with virtually no effort.

Overall, AFI ranked "Gone With the Wind" sixth — behind some other movies with memorable quotes.

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But, in the history of movies, few could match "Gone With the Wind" for both memorable lines and iconic images.

Like the burning of Atlanta.

I remember an episode of M*A*S*H in which Hawkeye had been trying unsuccessfully to seduce a nurse with whom he had, apparently, had a previous relationship, and the nurse was taking a "been there, done that" approach.

"'Gone With the Wind' is a great movie, Hawkeye," I remember her saying to him, "but after you've seen 'em burn Atlanta several times, it's not so hot anymore."

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See, I disagree with that. Great line for a sitcom, but, in reality, it doesn't hold up. At least, not for me. I think "Gone With the Wind" is great moviemaking, especially given the technological constraints of that time, and it never gets old for me.

"Gone With the Wind" is great storytelling, too, even if there are some historical inaccuracies. In the realm of fiction, one is permitted certain liberties, and "Gone With the Wind" has never, to my knowledge, been marketed as nonfiction.

No one ever pretended that Rhett and Scarlett really existed. But people who were like them — or mostly like them — did exist in the Old South, and Rhett and Scarlett represented them. Good fiction makes it possible to do that plausibly, and much of "Gone With the Wind" was, indeed, good fiction. But some of it was not.

I have always been impressed with the way "Gone With the Wind" presented the pre–war arrogance of the South juxtaposed against the post–war South, humbled by loss. Wow, what a contrast.

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For the Southerners who survived the war, it must have been astonishing to experience the reversal of fortune at every level of Southern society. Not every Southerner was a slave owner, of course. That was something that only those with land and money could afford; then as now, not everyone had land and money.

So, while, yes, it is true that "Gone With the Wind" was historically inaccurate at times, it was spot–on accurate at others. Some historians may tell you that does a disservice to the story of the Civil War.

I don't agree with that. To teach, it is often necessary to put a little jam on the bread.

Living and Learning From Experience

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Catherine Sloper (Olivia de Havilland): Don't be kind to me, Father. It doesn't become you.

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Try as I might, I just can't think of Olivia de Havilland as plain.

I say that having seen "The Heiress," which premiered 65 years ago today. She won the Best Actress Oscar for her performance as Catherine Sloper (the title character of an adaptation of a play based on a Henry James novella that supposedly was inspired by a true story) and that character was very plain and very shy.

But I would never call Olivia de Havilland plain. She considered herself a classical actress when she was appearing regularly in the movies, and she paid a professional price for refusing to play bimbo roles. A skilled makeup/hair person could make her look plain, I suppose, but she wasn't naturally plain.

Nor would I call her particularly shy, either. She sued Warner Bros. for extending her contract at a time when studios virtually enslaved their talent through unfair contract extensions. She paid a price for that, too, but, in the end, she won, and "the de Havilland Law," as it is known, shifted the balance of power in Hollywood from the studios to the performers.

I've never read James' novella, but if plain and shy is an accurate description of its heroine, I imagine that de Havilland really must have done a superb job of portraying her because she was clearly playing against type.

The only thing that her father (Ralph Richardson) thought she had going for her was her wealth, and he was determined that de Havilland's handsome, young suitor Morris (Montgomery Clift) wouldn't get his hands on it. Catherine saw her father as emotionally abusive. I think a pretty good case could be made for protective. I've known many fathers who didn't approve of their daughters' choices for husbands.

But as Lysander said in Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream"...

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

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It wasn't really true love, though. Turned out Catherine's father was right. Her suitor was after her money, and he disappeared the minute it seemed her dowry would be cut off.

Richardson's relationship with de Havilland was devastating to watch. He was well–meaning and wanted to protect his daughter, but he also felt disdain for her. The scene where she realized that was painful to watch — and remains so even after several viewings.

Morris surfaced again several years later, after Catherine's father had died, and insisted he left because he wanted to spare her the "grief" of being disinherited. Her words told him he was back in her good graces, but the audience could see facial expressions he didn't see and body language he failed to pick up.

She told him to pick her up that night and they would be married, but she had no intention of going away with him.

"He's grown greedier over the years," she told her aunt. "Before he only wanted my money; now he wants my love as well. Well, he came to the wrong house — and he came twice. I shall see that he does not come a third time."

"Can you be so cruel?" her shocked aunt asked.

"Yes, I can be very cruel," replied Catherine. "I have been taught by masters."

And when he returned, the door was bolted. He kept knocking, but there was no answer.

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One of the things I liked best about "The Heiress" — but I never hear it mentioned — was how director William Wyler made parts of the set silent characters.

Take, for example, the tall, narrow stairway in her father's home. When Catherine was anticipating Morris' arrival to take her away from her old life, one could imagine her bounding down the stairs in excitement. The audience didn't actually see that part, just the glowing Catherine with her bags all packed waiting by the front door.

But when she made the long, arduous climb back up those stairs after reaching the agonizing conclusion that Morris wasn't coming after all, each step was more painful than the last.

The acting in "The Heiress" was spellbinding, and de Havilland, as I mentioned, did win the Best Actress Oscar, but Richardson lost Best Supporting Actor to Dean Jagger ("Twelve O'Clock High"); "The Heiress" also won Oscars for Best Dramatic or Comedy Score, Best Black and White Art Direction and Best Black and White Costume Design.

It was recognized with Oscar nominations for Best Picture, Best Director and Best Black and White Cinematography. The movie's eight Oscar nominations and four victories outperformed every other motion picture that year, even the Best Picture winner, "All the King's Men."