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Barbara Stanwyck |
Sad end for orphan who rose to cinematic stardom
The Life and Loves of Barbara Stanwyck.
By Jane Ellen Wayne.
JR Books £17.99
THE name Barbara Stanwyck might not mean much to my generation, for whom hell raising Hollywood actresses are two a penny.
But to someone my parent’s age she was not only a star known for her roles in films such as Double Indemnity and nominated for four Oscars, but had an interesting private life.
She was at the height of her powers in the 1930s and 40s. It was film’s golden age, and the stars who dragged the punters in with their sheer class and threw super-decadent parties in splendid Californian locations had no fear of exposure in newspapers.
Stanwyck’s life has now been laid bare for the first time, 19 years after her death, by film writer Jane Ellen Wayne. As well as an enthralling story of how an orphan came to be one of Hollywood’s hottest tickets, it reveals how, while we assume today’s badly behaved celebrities have fallen from some graceful state, it is not always the case that screen sirens of the 20th century were quite as pure as their soft-focus publicity photos suggested.
“Stanwyck swore like a sailor, chain-smoked and was an alcoholic,” says Wayne. “Yet she was one of Hollywood’s biggest stars.”
In this biography, we learn how Stanwyck’s childhood was spent on the streets. Yet she used her poor background to her advantage: she had an inner determination and, after marrying comic Frank Fay, auditioned for the film director Frank Capra, but was so rude to him he called her “porcupine”. Despite disliking her at first, Capra saw something special – they had an affair and he helped turn her into a leading lady.
The clues to Stanwyck’s demise lay in her childhood, but what really strikes you is her unquenchable love for her second husband, actor Robert Taylor. They were introduced by Zeppo Marx of Marx Brothers fame, who knew she had split from Fay and thought he could help. “When she arrived there was no one sitting at the reserved table other than Robert Taylor,” writes Wayne. “They chatted politely, but each time the door opened, she looked around.” He asked her to dance. “I can’t,” replied Stanwyck, “I am waiting for someone, a Mr Artique.”
It was a Marx Brothers joke – Artique was actually RT, as in Robert Taylor, and so began a tempestuous love affair, followed by marriage and messy divorce.
But Stanwyck never stopped loving him. She caused a scene at his funeral, and said she believed he was standing next to her as she lay on her own death bed. It was a sad end to a gloriously glamorous life. I can’t help thinking stars of the golden era were more fun and classy than the majority making films today.
DAN CARRIER |
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