The Double Life of Vivien Leigh

Tops Magazine
February, 1955

The London audience that jammed the theatre to see Vivien Leigh enact the role of Blanche in the sizzling play version of A Streetcar Named Desire will never forget her starkly realistic portrayal of a sex-ridden woman.

Playgoers sat silently in rapt attention as she went through the uninhibited sexual gyrations of a nymphomaniac.

"Miss Leigh's lust," wrote one critic, "rolls off the stage like a tropical storm cloud, causing vague stirrings in old codgers far past their prime."

But it was the closing minutes of the play that would later be regarded with such deep significance-- when the sex-mad heroine, unable to satisfy her craving for more and more lascivious adventures, suffers a complete mental breakdown. Vivien Leigh's real-life breakdown, years later, seems to parallel her Streetcar role in more ways than one.

On the London stage as Blanche Dubois

Even at the height of her success in this play, close friends of the actress were already noting how fervently she was throwing herself into the part. In gesture, in voice, in other ways, Vivien was even acting out the role of a tormented woman off the stage.

That Vivien Leigh was leading a strange double life first came to public notice a few months ago, when it was learned that the actress had made a trip to Paris in the company of playwright Terence Rattigan.

But Vivien's Parisian adventure was not the only incident that has kept London's West End tattlers gossiping about the actress' dual personality.

Actually, it all began when she landed a part in a new play co-starring with one of England's most rapidly rising young stars, Laurence Olivier.

Although Vivien was already married and the mother of a beautiful little girl, she was unable to resist the attentions of Olivier. During the successful run of the play, Fire Over London [Fire Over England], the most torrid love scenes undoubtedly took place backstage.

Friends of Vivien, aware of what was going on, were worried about her. They already knew that for her, love was an all-embracing and overpowering emotion. If sufficiently aroused, she could kick over the traces of her past life.

She did. She divorced her husband, bade her daughter a tearful farewell, and ended the first act of her real-life drama by throwing herself into Olivier's eager arms.

For a while, all was serene. Olivier rapidly became England's greatest actor, culminating in his remarkable production of Hamlet. For his superb artistry, he was knighted. And Vivien automatically became Lady Olivier.

But by now there were ugly rumours in Piccadilly that she was not conducting herself in a lady-like manner.

There were more rumours to the effect that Sir Laurence was keeping a tight rein on his lady-love in a desperate attempt to hold her on the straight-and-narrow.

The public got its first inkling that storm clouds were raging within the Olivier household when Paramount Pictures wired the couple an offer to co-star in Elephant Walk, which would be filmed in Ceylon.

Olivier glanced at the script and instantly turned it down. There was nothing unusual in this -- Olivier had always made the decisions about what plays or scripts they would do.

But then Vivien rebelled -- and accepted the female lead in the film!

Did her action stem from a genuine desire to play the part? Or was it a ruse to place herself beyond the watchful eye of her husband?

Olivier himself was the one who gave credence to this suspicion by insisting that a mutual friend, Peter Finch, be assigned to the picture-- to keep an eye on Vivien.

Vivien Leigh, Peter Finch & Laurence Olivier

Finch obviously took his extracurricular job with a large grain of salt. Dana Andrews, who replaced Olivier in the co-starring role, was seen everywhere with her. And Vivien acted like a changed woman-- happy, carefree, bent on having fun.

Then, something happened. The exact details may never be known, but it is reported that Andrews, her constant companion, was deeply concerned about her behaviour. He urged her to see a psychiatrist. Vivien turned up her beautiful nose at the idea.

"Psychiatrists cause more trouble than any other people in the world. I don't believe in them," she snapped.

At this stage, Peter Finch apparently decided matters had gone too far. He finally told the facts to Sir Laurence, who wasted no time in flying to Ceylon.

What transpired in the privacy of the room where Sir Laurence and his Lady conferred is another aspect of this drama that may forever be shrouded in mystery. The end result was that Vivien, Dana Andrews, and the rest of the company went off to finish the film in Hollywood. Sir Laurence took a plane back to England alone.

And now the scandal-sheets and rumour mongers really had something to go to work on.

One peep-hole artist literally crowed his discovery that, although Vivien was supposed to be living alone in a rented home, actually she was spending most of her time in the apartment of none other than Olivier's trusted pal, Peter Finch!

Another discovered that Vivien was also seeing quite a lot of John Buckmaster, an English actor who was once married to Jan Sterling. Buckmaster and Vivien, so the story went, spent hours together while he taught her the mysteries of Yoga.

It was obvious even tot he technicians at the studio that Vivien's real-life drama was fast nearing its climax.

The breakdown occurred on the set, where she collapsed in hysterics. A psychoanalyst was summoned. And Vivien Leigh's condition became public knowledge. She was forced to withdraw from her role in Elephant Walk, and was replaced by Elizabeth Taylor.

Arriving back in England

What the public did not know was that Vivien's derangement had the effect of erasing her identity as Vivien Leigh. She had become the nymphomaniac in A Streetcar Named Desire -- right down to the sultry southern accent.

The double life of Vivien Leigh merged into a nightmare single entity --that of sex-ridden Blanche of the play.

Fortunately, the real-life drama of Vivien Leigh has a typical Hollywood ending. The actress is now completely well --thanks, mostly, to the devoted love and affection given her in her darkest moments by her husband, Laurence Olivier.

But it is unlikely that Vivien Leigh will ever forget the horrible weeks she spent living a fantastic double life.

Back cover of Tops Magazine

The Loves of Clark Gable

From Modern Screen, 1931
by Walter Ramsey

Almost since the day Clark Gable's first picture was shown in Hollywood, he has been asked to give his views on women, love, marriage and divorce. His answer has always been "No!" But in this statement, exclusive to Modern Screen, he tells for the first time all of his thoughts, ideals and illusions with regard to the many women he has known — a few of whom he has learned to love.

"Right at the outset," he said, "I want it understood by those who read this magazine that I have been married twice — not four times, as an erroneous report has it. Nor have I a son — as another report stated. I would have absolutely no reason to be untruthful about the subject in any way . . . many persons have been married a number of times and in most instances married people have children. But I haven't ... so far."

I was quite impressed with this opening statement of Clark Gable's for the reason that it proved him the type of man who likes to put "his cards on the table" . . . and that is the type of man I have learned to believe. The sincerity with which he portrays a character on the screen isn't lost one whit in his off-screen attitude. He has the same tone, of conviction over a luncheon table that you have learned to enjoy over the microphone. He is a splendid fellow, personally, and a real gentleman. I asked him, rather hesitantly, to tell me of all the women he had known in his life . . . right from the beginning. He had promised me the story and he came through. But the manner in which Clark Gable tells of the women he has known, stamps him all the deeper as a gentleman. You be the judge!

The first woman I ever knew," he began with a smile, "made a new man of me! She was seven and I was eight. She was short . . . dark . . . beautiful . . . and brown-eyed. Her name was Treela . . . and since she is now happily married I shall keep her other name a secret. Why it was that I suddenly found myself thinking about her during every waking hour . . . and dreaming about her at night, I don't know. Up until the time I first saw her I always had utter disdain for 'gurls' and had laughed at any of the boys in the gang who gave the opposite sex the slightest glance or thought. 

"Two weeks after I met Treela, however, I found myself in a church pew listening with one ear to the Sunday school sermon . . . and watching Treela with both eyes. It rather startled me, I remember, to find myself in church . . . mostly, I suppose, because I had always gone fishing instead. Sunday school had been another thing the gang had always avoided . . . religiously! So, as I said, the first woman I ever knew made a new man of me. 

"And believe me, ours was more than a puppy love affair. We swore undying love to each other. Appeared haughty when asked to play Post Office or any of the other games that all the kids went in for. We told each other than it would 'cheapen our love.' And I really believe it was more sincere than most youngsters' love affairs . . . it lasted five years . . . and I still call that more than a passing acquaintance! It was Treela who set the styles — as far as women have been concerned in my life. She was distinctly feminine . . . quite short . . . dark brown hair and the same shade of eyes. She has always remained in my mind as a little old-fashioned girl. 

"To show you how much she impressed me, I can truthfully say that until a short time ago I thought of her every day of my life! In fact, so often did my mind wander back over the memories of the five years that Treela and I 'went steady' as kid sweethearts, that I decided at one time that I would have to go back to the small town in Ohio and see if she still remembered me. 

"I went back to the little place where I had been born and brought up — and I found Treela! Not the same little girl I had been carrying in my memory for all the years. . . but a grown woman. A woman who had been married for quite some time and who introduced me to her husband and two of the cutest little kiddies I've ever seen. But I lost something by going back. I replaced the beautiful memory of a little girl . . . with a vivid recollection of a mature woman. The little girl had belonged to me — in memory — but the woman belonged to another man! I'm sorry now that I no longer have that picture in my mind . . . somehow I've always given it a great deal of credit for the little happiness I've been able to glean from some very lonesome hours. 

"I've often wondered what would have happened to that romance if I had stayed in Hopedale. But I moved to Akron . . . and Akron to me is quite famous for a tall, willowy, golden-haired girl with bright blue eyes. Her name was Norma . . . and we were both fifteen. My memory of Norma is very vivid. But it isn't the memory of a beautiful face or figure. It may sound silly when I say it, but the thing I remember about Norma was her voice! No, she wasn't a singer . . and she had never had her voice trained. 

"I have the recollection of sitting for hours and just listening. It used to worry me that I should have to interrupt — to ask her an occasional question so that she would continue talking to me. And even now, I think a beautiful voice is one of the most arresting and really rare attributes to be found. To me, a woman is automatically interesting if she speaks in a beautiful voice. 

Then, after two years in Akron, I started out on "the high road to Broadway. It was a long road . . . one that led me into little towns you have probably never heard of ... a road strewn with one-night stands . . . twenty-five dollars a week . . . when I worked and when I didn't, there were many times that I was hungry. 

'All during those years from the time I was seventeen until I was twenty-four were spent in day coaches and on the stage. During all this time I met many women. Many of them have become a part of the past. Only a few remain. 

"Elsa ... a wistful little girl — blue eyes and raven-black hair — five feet tall and quaint as a Dresden doll. She lived in a town in Mississippi. I remember her particularly because she seemed so anxious to prove her sincerity. She was the only woman I met in all those years who seemed to believe that I would amount to something as an actor. She recognized and was quick to forgive the light way in which I looked upon our romance. She showed, in a hundred insignificant ways, that she thought continually of my happiness. I didn't realize this until long after — but it isn't easy to forget now. 

"Alice . . . another very small girl. She was from the South and her accent intrigued me from the very start. One little mannerism that I recall was the way she had of puckering up her nose when she smiled. It made her appear so much happier than any other person I had ever seen smile that I couldn't get her out of my mind. She had huge dimples in her cheeks . . . and the corners of her mouth always turned up. And I shall never forget the last waltz we had. It was in a small dance pavilion near a lake . . . there was a colored orchestra playing . . . all the lanterns around the walls had been turned low.  I'll always remember that . . . that smile . . . and those dimples. 

Yes, there were many others. Some I have tried to forget . . . with just as much difficulty as trying to remember others. Some were friendships. A few reached the point of romance. And then, after I had finally got to playing some of the larger cities, I found myself occasionally with women whose only appeal lay in a rather dubious physical attraction. I've known the cheap little romances of the actor on a one-night stand. I found that it is very easy for a man who displays emotions on the stage for hours every day to allow himself to do the same off the stage during other hours. I have done it myself . . . and somehow I don't regret it. I think the women I've known have taught me a great deal about life. 

"But all of that comes to an end . . . sooner or later. I mean that sort of hit-and-miss romance. It finally comes time to take life and love very seriously. It came to me at the age of twenty-four. It was then that I met and married my first wife . . . Josephine Dillon. She wasn't on the stage when I met her, but her life had been the stage until a year or so previous. She gave me something that I had never had before ... a constant love and inspiration. Our married life wasn't of very long duration. . . and I will take most of the blame for that. After a separation of a few years, my wife obtained a divorce. Some are quick to say that it was the difference in our ages that made the marriage impossible. I am not sure whether they mean to imply that I was too young ... or that Josephine was older than I. I don't think age has anything to do with the duration of marriage. It has a much deeper foundation. 

Since I've come to Hollywood, I've married for the second time. My present wife had been married before just as I had . . . she is everything I could possibly desire in a wife and I am sure that this marriage will be the last for both of us." (In this case, as in the case of his first marriage, the woman is much older than Gable.) 

"I have nothing to say concerning either of the two women who have done me the honor to become my wife, except to say that in both cases I married women who come up to the standards I have set for what I call my ideal woman. In just one respect do they differ from the types I always liked as a kid: they are both taller than average. But as far as coloring . . . hair . . . eyes and personality — both are exactly the same as I have always admired. 

"That just about finishes what I have to say on the subject of women. I hope, very sincerely, that in answering this call to talk on this delicate topic (so dear to the hearts of the fans) that I have in no way over-stepped the bounds of decent conduct. I like to play the game fairly. I hope I have. This is the first and last time I shall ever talk on this subject for publication. I consider women a real and vital part of my life — but not a part of my career." 

Clark Gable Takes a Selfie

Article by Harrison Carroll, 1948

This week I walk along the row of portable dressing rooms on the "Command Decision" set. Signs upon the doors proclaim the names of famous occupants: Clark Gable, Walter Pidgeon, Brian Donlevy, Charles Bickford and so on.

There are few sounds of life from within the dressing rooms. Only Walter Pidgeon is standing outside. He is talking in desultory fashion to some other men.

Clark Gable's door is ajar. I peer in. Clark is sitting in a chair pointing a small German camera at a mirror. He sees me and grins. "How conceited can you get," he says, "taking your own picture?"

I come in at Clark's invitation and flop down in a red leather chair. One of the MGM photographers is giving Clark some pointers on the camera, which Gable will take along on his trip to Europe. [Clark will sail to England on July 9th aboard the Queen Mary, but his vacation will be cut short due to his father's death on August 4th].

Hanging on the wall, to Clark's right, is the best proof in the world of his lack of conceit. It is one of the most exaggerated caricatures of Gable and his ears that has ever been drawn. It's been hanging in Clark's dressing rooms since he made "Honky Tonk."

This is the first Gable picture with an all-male cast. "How does it feel?" I ask.
"Very strange," says Clark, "let's not have this happen again."
"Nobody to talk to between scenes, huh?"
Clark flashes that famous smile. "I'm not crippled, am I?" he asks. "I can visit the other stages."

An assistant pops his head in the door. "We're ready, Mr. Gable." We go out to the set, a command headquarters of an American bomber squadron in England, and I watch director Sam Wood rehearse a scene.

Almost everybody is in it except Marshall Thompson, one of the younger members of the cast. He sits beside me. On his coat is a string of ribbons. Marshall examines them curiously. "Gee," he says, "I've sure been around, haven't I?"

A scene from "Command Decision"

Out on the set, Gable and Pidgeon now are lighting up big, fat cigars. "I thought you had quit smoking," I yell to Walter. "That was cigarettes," he shouts back, "And I haven't had one in five days."

Gable is puffing gingerly. It strikes me that I have never seen him before with a cigar in his mouth. He wanders over toward us and I ask him about it. "Don't tell anybody," he says, "but I smoke a cigar about once every four years."

"Did you hear about Mickey Rooney?" I ask. "He got dizzy on [a cigar] the other day on the 'Words and Music' set."

"You're a big help," says Clark. Suddenly, he looks over my shoulder and his eyes snap with interest. I crane my neck. Four pretty visitors have come onto the set. You guessed it. That's the last I see of Gable.

Broadway's Billboard Signs

Part One
"Good Signs on Broadway Soon Junked"
November, 1946
by Saul Pett

Outside they were carving up 30 feet of Jane Russell and loading it into a truck. Inside, grey-haired, practical minded Jacob Starr observed, "In my business, you can't be sentimental. When we're through with 'em, we just throw 'em away."

Starr's business is signs. He is secretary of the Artkraft Strauss Sign Corp., which claims to be the birthplace and graveyard for 90 percent of the spectacular outdoor display signs blinking on Broadway --the ones that make the tourists stare.

Jacob Starr with a semi-demolished billboard sign of Vivien Leigh as Cleopatra, 1946

Elsewhere in the firm's plant at 57th Street, facing the Hudson river, were the grotesque remains of a 140 foot picture of Vivien Leigh as Cleopatra, a yard wide head of Paul Whiteman, man-sized letters and other ghosts of the White Way's synthetic glamour, all awaiting the scrap heap.

If you've got the room, here's the place to get huge pictures of your favorite movie star for nothing. As Starr explained, it costs more to remake an old sign than to build a new one. About all that's saved is some wiring, sockets and other metal.

"Gone With The Wind" New York premiere, December 1939

Starr's firm designs, manufactures, operates, sells and rents signs that idea men think up. Rentals range from $5,000 to $15,000 per month.

The company's biggest project is 75 by 250 feet, with one letter 40 feet high.

The most complex and most expensive sign in the Strauss stable hangs over the Palace Theatre on Broadway. It's worth a quarter of a million, uses 27,000 bulbs in four colors and can be changed completely every 20 seconds. The light bill for this averages about $500 per month.

The company's biggest new project destined for Broadway is a girl made out of plexiglass. She will stand four stories high and display a leg two and a half stories long. The lady will advertise slips.

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Part Two
Excerpt from "Daddy Dearest"
Inc Magazine, January 1991
by Edward O. Welles

The genius and force behind Artkraft was Jacob Starr, known by all who did business with him simply as Jake. Jake started out as an ironworker in the Ukraine, but his talents exceeded banging hot metal. He built some of the first electric signs in his native country, and after immigrating to the United States, in 1902, he developed the first electric automobile starter, which he sold to Pierce Arrow for $500 -- a business giveaway he would not soon repeat.

In New York City, Jake landed work for a small sign company on the Lower East Side. At night he went to school, earning a degree in engineering. He saw the advantages of adapting assembly-line techniques to the sign-making trade while preserving the craft component of the business. He also understood the value in adapting new technologies to signs. One such technology was neon lighting, invented in France, and Starr acquired the North American rights to it. By 1930 Jake had risen to control his own sign company. His fortunes soared in tandem with those of the burgeoning industries of motion pictures and advertising.

To many, Jake was a quick-tempered tyrant, far tougher on his family than on his other workers. His nephew Philip Marshall, who has worked off and on for the company since 1954, recalls Jake as "a self-made man of the school that the only way to succeed is if things are not made easy for you; he went out of his way not to make things easy -- particularly for his relatives."

Jake's toughness toward his family was the flip side of the affection he showed his workers. A bare-knuckled manager and driven businessman, Jake nonetheless helped found the sheet-metal union local at Artkraft. "He felt very strongly about people who put themselves out for him," says Marshall. "Since we were so involved with the theater business, deadlines were extremely important. Many times, to meet a deadline, guys would work around the clock. It was not unheard of for them to work until 12:00 or 1:00 in the morning, then crawl up on the workbench and sleep a couple of hours before waking up and going back to work."

Jacob Starr died in 1976.

"Fire Over England" Billboard sign in Times Square, New York City

Gone With The Wind, Indeed!

Photoplay, March 1937
by Kirtley Baskette

Call out the riot squad! A new Civil War is raging! Who will play the principals in the world's best seller?

Time was when you could call a man a rat in Hollywood and get yourself a stiff poke in the nose. But now what you get is— "Rhett? Rhett Butler? Well— I don't know about that 'profile like an old coin' stuff, but I've been told I am rather masterful, and— "

Yes, and there was a day when you could call a woman scarlet in this town and find yourself looking into the business end of a male relative's shotgun. But now it's—"Scarlett? Scarlett O'Hara? Oh, do you really think so? Well, I wish you'd say that around Mr. Selznick. Of course, my eyes aren't exactly green, but unless they use Technicolor—”

Ever since that very small but very un-Reconstructed Rebel, Mistress Peggy Mitchell, of the Atlanta Mitchells, wrote a book called "Gone With the Wind," which went like a seventy mile gale over the country and whipped up a grade-A tornado, a civil war, the like of which Jeff Davis never dreamed, has been raging uncontrolled way out in Hollywood.

Houses are divided, brother against brother, husband against wife, butler versus pantry maid.

"Why, Judge," a woman told the court the other day, "this bum says the only man to play Rhett Butler is Warren William. How can I go on living with a cretin like that?"

"Yeah," countered the defendant, "and, Your Honor, she embarrassed me before my friends plugging for Ronald Colman. Ronald Colman—imagine! My business dropped off."

"Divorce granted," murmured the court, "although personally I've always thought Gary Cooper would be a natural for the part."

What is considerably worse, actors and actresses who have never been South of the Slot in San Francisco or below Twenty-third Street in Manhattan, whose closest tie to Dixie in fact, is a faint resemblance to Virginia ham, wander around calling people "Honey" in a languid, molasses manner. Mugs who always thought Pickett's charge was a labor demonstration, now demand real mint in their grog. Even the high yellows down on Central Avenue are brushing up on their southern accents.

It's really pretty awful. Of course if you haven't read the astounding book that has leaped clear out of the ordinary fiction league to become the marvel of modern American literature, all this may leave you as dizzy as a six-day bicycle rider. In that case, all I can say is that if you're around number sixty-seven on the waiting list and sound of wind and limb there is still hope.

But if you have, you'll understand why nerves are snapping from Burbank to Brentwood as the two juiciest parts in the history of Hollywood dangle like ripe luscious cherries just above tiptoe reach. For "Gone With the Wind" is all set to be made into the greatest moving picture of all time (they admit it). Only there isn't any Scarlett O'Hara. There isn't any Rhett Butler. The suspense is terrific.

Furthermore, the curious effect of this book, which now hovers around the million sales mark, is that the minute a gentle reader closes the back cover with the wistful hope that Scarlett will get another crack at Rhett someday, a crusading, militant, in fact belligerent one-man casting department is born. Yes Ma'am, and with a lusty squall.

So look what happens. Sixty thousand letters, wires, communications of all sorts, sent direct or forwarded by critics, columnists and radio commentators have poured in and keep pouring in to sweep the excitement higher and higher. The result is the biggest screen sweepstakes of modern movie history. The prize: fame, fortune and the greatest eager, ready-made audience any star ever dreamed about.

Who will win? Well— here are the favorites, complete with clockings, handicaps, and pole positions.

You pays your money and you takes your choice:

Ladies first, which means Rhett Butler—

Clark Gable is the odds on favorite. He probably will play the part. If he doesn't there may be a Revolution. The nation-wide choice, by a wide margin, he runs neck-and neck with Warner Baxter in the South, which, incidentally, will have plenty to say about the casting of this picture. Gable is also the big Hollywood favorite, although if you can't see him you can't see him at all. It's that way. Letters have poured in threatening boycotts and reprisals (honest) if he's cast as Rhett. The same if he isn't.

Clark is the right age, the perfect build, the effective sex quotient. On a very touchy point— whether or not he can put on a southern accent and wear it becomingly— he is doubtful. He would give a year of his life to play Rhett— why not? It would be the biggest monkey gland his career could conceivably manage.

But— Gable is among the most jealously hoarded of M-G-M stars. And Selznick International, not
M-G-M, copped this prize story of the century. M-G-M turned it down! Selznick International means John Hay Whitney and David Oliver Selznick. But again— David Oliver Selznick is married to Louis B. Mayer's daughter. Would Gable be available? What do you think?

Fredric March is the only actor so far officially tested for Rhett. Was the early choice, but seems to have faded in the back stretch. Would be available, eager and willing to play Rhett on a moment's notice. Runs about third in the terrific straw balloting which increases every day. Is regarded by millions as a great actor— many others do not agree. Played the other great sensational best seller title part, "Anthony Adverse." Consensus of opinion is that Fredric would be an adequate Rhett but that's all. Lacks the sinister sex considered absolutely essential to a great performance.

Warner Baxter has surprising support from Atlanta and the deep South. Is the best "sympathy" actor in the race. His recent sock hit in "To Mary—With Love" is considered an apt build-up. Warner has the strong support of all who picture Rhett Butler as a man who suffered and suffered. Is keeping his fingers crossed day and night because if he landed it would be "In Old Arizona" all over again for him. His contract, of course, is with Twentieth Century-Fox, which makes him eligible. Darryl Zanuck, who is a borrower of stars in the talent market, wouldn't dare bite the hand that feeds him and keep him locked up in the closet. Warner, too, is about the right age, a little on the oldish side. His weakness, too, is no powerful sex appeal.

Ronald Colman popped into the running through an erroneous press dispatch. But once in has remained a strong contender. Chief advantage is his spot as long term contract star with Selznick International, his decided romantic charm, suavity, age and sympathetic personality. Chief disadvantage his ever-lovin' britishness, hard for the folks down South to swallow when the story is almost a sectional issue.

Those are the favorites. But Cary Grant, Basil Rathbone, Edward Arnold haven't given up yet.

Now gents—it's your turn. For Scarlett O'Hara—

Tallulah Bankhead—shared the same bum steer announcement that brought Ronald Colman in. Was tested by Selznick twice, once in Hollywood while on the stage in "Reflected Glory." It was a simple color test but it gave the news-hawks ideas. Tested again in New York by Director George Cukor. Is a professional choice, being considered the best actress of all the candidates. Would satisfy Dixie, hailing originally from Alabama. Her pappy represents that state as Speaker of the House of Representatives in Washington. Talu could probably recapture a sugar-lipped drawl, all right, but the years and an aura of sophistication are against her. The part would be like long delayed manna from Heaven for her, bestowing the great screen break her rooters have long wailed has been denied a great artiste. Only a luke warm choice in the popular response. But vigorously opposed by an opinionated minority.

Miriam Hopkins is the red hot choice of Atlanta and the South. Leads other actresses by a nice margin in the letter deluge. One reason, she hails from Bainbridge, Georgia, right close to home. Is a good subject for color, if it is used, except that she'll have to wear a wig. Played Becky Sharp, the character generally compared with Scarlett O'Hara, but that might work against her.

BETTE DAVIS is the number one Hollywood selection. Just missed cinching the part by a matter of minutes. On her way to England, Bette was told by Warner's New York story board they were buying a great story for her, "Gone With the Wind." But by the time they wired Hollywood for an okay, the hammer had dropped. The day His Majesty's courts decided that Bette was a "naughty girl" and "must go back to jail" her low spirits were lifted by a columnist's clipping calling her the ideal Miss O'Hara. Answers to Scarlett now around the Warner lot. Bette is the only Yankee girl to score below that well-known line. Ranks third in the Cotton Belt. Is considered to be just the right age to handle the assignment and blessed with the right amount of— er— nastiness. No complaints from the home folks on her southern accent in "Cabin in the Cotton" or as Alabama Follansbee in "The Solid South" (stage).

But— Bette is in the doghouse, chained and collared, and one of the main issues of her legal whipping was her loan out demand. Warner’s can- probably would- keep her in the cooler. Selznick, in fact, is supposed to have said, "Bette Davis? Great— but could we get her?"

Margaret Sullavan holds second spot in returns from down yonder. Is a Virginia girl, and knows what to do when a lady meets a gentleman down South. Handled brilliantly the lead in "So Red the Rose," another Civil War picture. Fractious and fiery enough to make Scarlett a vivid character. Tagged next to Bette Davis in Hollywood.

And the Field— Katharine Hepburn, Claudette Colbert and Jean Harlow.

Now as if puzzling about all this were not enough to set a body weaving baskets in the clink, Messrs. Selznick and Company announce that they want, for Scarlett and Rhett, not Hollywood stars at all. No— instead they have arranged to canvass all the finishing schools of Dixie, and ogle Junior Leaguers at very lovely teas and discover an "unknown"Scarlett. A similar search, minus the tea, is hoped to dig up an indigenous Rhett.

Thus, they say, everything will not only be peaches and cream for professional Southerners, but what is much more important, two brand new stars will be born. Why take other studio's stars and build 'em? Isn't this going to be the greatest picture of all time?

Well— as to the first idea— it's great if it works, is the opinion of the Hollywood wise ones. But it won't work, they say. Whom are you going to find in the sticks to handle parts like those? Whom could you dare gamble on?

And that "greatest picture of all time" stuff? It smacks strongly, I grant you, of the old mahoskus. It's press agent oil of the most ready' viscosity and has flowed freely around every epic from "The Great Train Robbery" to Shirley Temple's latest cutrick. But this time the answer that snaps right back out of your own skeptic brain is, "Why not?"

These gentlemen— Whitney and Selznick —  have, and they know they have, the greatest screen story of our day. If you don't think so, here's the cold cash proof: The day after they laid $50,000 on the line for the picture rights, another studio offered them $100,000. The next offer was boosted to $250,000. The last bid, not long ago, was $1,500,000 and an interest in the picture besides! Tie that.

They said "No" and they are still saying the same. Mr. Whitney and Mr. Selznick are not ribbon clerks. They shot $2,200,00 on "The Garden of Allah." They will pinch no pennies on "Gone With the Wind." If color will help it (and it probably will) they'll shoot an extra million. Sidney Howard is writing the script. George Cukor will direct. Walter Plunkett is designing costumes. These men are all top flight.

So you can be reasonably sure of this— when you finally you see "Gone With the Wind" you'll see a picture dressed in the best trappings of modern production, primed with meticulous preparation, artistic thoroughness and as many millions as it can comfortably stand.

But as for who will be Scarlett and who will be Rhett— well, the riot squads are doing a nice business, thank you. And good citizens of Hollywood scowl across Cahuenga Pass at North Hollywood muttering "Dam' Yanks!" While out in Beverly Hills the South Side of the Tracks is threatening to secede if somebody will only fire on the Brown Derby.

It looks as if we'll fight it out on this line if it takes all summer. Everybody's welcome, and usually it doesn't require a second invitation. Just casually mention the subject. You'll see. Matter of fact, the only person I can think of off-hand who doesn't seem to be at all upset about the matter is the lady who wrote the book.

Early in the fray, Margaret Mitchell allowed it would be nice if a Southern girl could play Scarlett. But the reaction was so violent that it must have surprised her. At any rate she announced the other day it was her one desire to remain only as the humble author, and to a close friend she confided:

"I don't care what they do to 'Gone With the Wind' in Hollywood. Just so they don't make General Lee win the war for a happy ending!"

Scarlett O'Hara and Sunny

Scarlett O’Hara and Sunny
by Grace Wilcox

Sunny Alexander knows Vivien Leigh better than Scarlett O’Hara knows herself. Vivien has been Scarlett so long and so intensely that she isn’t quite sure where she begins and the O’Hara girl leaves off.

However, Sunny unscrambles the two characters with little if any difficulty. She is a practical young woman who is not only Miss Leigh’s secretary but also her friend and confidante. She has been with her since her first day on “Gone With The Wind” and when Scarlett had to work all night, Sunny stayed right beside her.



Having read at least a dozen interviews with Vivien Leigh, each one raving about her beauty, her charm, her red-gold hair, green eyes and will-o’-the-wisp figure I thought it might be fun to find out what she looks like when she gets up in the morning. That’s where Miss Alexander comes in, for she for months has seen her a few moments after she wakes up. She insists she is gay, fresh and full of spirits at some awful hour like 8 am and that she is prettier than ever with her curly tousled hair.

Sunny Alexander is a very attractive young girl herself, with a heart warming smile, a naturally pleasing manner, a low, well modulated voice.

We had luncheon in Vivien Leigh’s bungalow dressing room at the Selznick International studios and we took plenty of time over it. The surroundings were agreeable and it was enlightening to listen to details of a Scarlett O’Hara who had become a flesh and blood personality.

“Previous to coming to Miss Leigh, I never knew anyone could work so hard and so conscientiously as she did,” said Sunny. “Nothing was too difficult or tedious for her to do in order to make Scarlett O’Hara a living, breathing person. She was the character 24 hours out of the 24. I’m sure she dreamed of her the few hours she had a chance to sleep. She loved every minute of the strenuous day and read innumerable books about the South, as well as ‘Gone With The Wind’ two or three times and the script over and over. When she had to stay late at night while they got shots of her by lamplight and in the battle scenes, she never complained, never lost her temper, never forgot to be considerate of those about her. She is a real person, not just an actress.”

Praise from one’s coworkers is rare in Hollywood. The give and take of a professional life too often becomes just take where the actress is concerned. No one listening to Sunny Alexander could doubt her sincerity or her devotion to Vivien Leigh.



“While we were on the picture, I bought whatever Miss Leigh needed,” continued Miss Alexander. “At first I didn’t know her simple tastes and my purchases were all wrong. She never complained, just suggested we send them back and I try something else. Gradually, I got used to her likes and dislikes.

“Although she had many lovely dresses and suits when she came here, Miss Leigh seemed to like American styles. She enjoys wearing good tailored suits, wool jersey or creped dresses and very elegant dinner and evening gowns. She is so slight, with the traditional 16 inch waist of Scarlett, so colorful with her red-gold hair, green eyes and clear white skin, that she prefers clothes that do not make her too conspicuous in the daytime. Dark suits, furs and dresses become her more than pastel shades, although she is very partial to gray.”

Sunny Alexander becomes very vivacious and enthusiastic when describing some of Vivien Leigh’s characteristics. “She is one of the most loyal persons I have ever known,” she declares. “Also she is very considerate of other people’s feelings and tries never to hurt them. Her friends have been her friends for several years, most of them in the English colony here. She has decided viewpoints about things, makes a decision and sticks with it; she is kind to everyone, including her servants, who adore her. She sent for her cook and brought her from London.

“Unlike Scarlett, she is neither a spitfire nor a scold. Yet, she is not wishy-washy either. She has a level head and while she doesn’t pretend to be a businesswoman, she insists on getting her money’s worth for things.”

Sunny tells an interesting story about their visit to New York after their picture was finished. “Miss Leigh was so tired that all she wanted to do was to stay in the hotel and rest,” she explained. “She didn’t try to get up at all for the first few days, then she began taking an interest in plays, art exhibitions, etc. Nobody recognized her, of course, as the picture had not been released, so we ran around freely. She is terribly shy and afraid of crowds. I don’t know what she will do when she becomes known to the public, I’m sure it will be a terrific ordeal for her.

“One night we went to the theater to see Katharine Cornell. During intermission someone recognized Miss Leigh and instantly she was surrounded by crowds of people. She went numbly back to her seat, shaking and trembling like a leaf. When the curtain went down on the last act, she asked me what she should do. I suggested we wait a while, then go backstage and see the stars. Guthrie McClintic was with us and he took us back to Miss Cornell’s dressing room. We were going down to their place for supper and I shall never forget the horror of getting her into a car. We were mobbed. It took Miss Leigh the rest of the night to get over that experience.”



Sunny took charge of the household when Miss Leigh first moved into her new home. Besides her cook, there is John, the butler. an indispensable person of great cleverness; the parlor maid and the chauffer. “She does not believe in running too elaborate a place,: Sunny observed as we sipped our coffee. “She likes to entertain her friends and when she does, the flowers, the table, everything, must be nearly as perfect as possible. She is very artistic and everything she touches seems to glow with an added luster. When she arranges flowers, they look lovelier than when I do. She adores flowers, especially delphinium and tube roses.

“She prefers French food to any other kind of cooking and her cook follows French recipes almost exclusively.”

“If I have been too lavish in my praise of Vivien Leigh,” concluded Sunny Alexander, “It’s because she’s like that. I don’t see how anyone could know her at all well and not love her. Of course, her complete sincerity, simplicity and naturalness are her greatest charms. She has had a background of education and culture; she has a mind stored with all sorts of knowledge. If interesting thoughts make a person interesting, then Vivien Leigh is bound to be interesting, for I have been with her enough to know some of those thoughts. It has been a pleasure and a privilege.”

So, I leave you Vivien Leigh through the eyes of Sunny Alexander, her secretary, friend and confidante. Meanwhile, Vivien is planning a New York stage appearance next spring, according to a Broadway rumor. Her admirer and fellow Englishman, Laurence Olivier, is to be costarred with her. The two are planning to wed after obtaining their respective divorces. Olivier is married to Jill Esmond Moore; Miss Leigh’s husband, Herbert Leigh Holman, filed suit for divorce in London Jan. 5, naming Olivier as co-respondent.