"Whoever Heard Of An Ounce Of Brandy?" Or The Life And Career Of Mary Astor By Ecce Homo!

She was born Lucile Vasconcellos Langhanke, daughter of Otto Ludwig Wilhelm Langhanke (sounds like she was as German-American, as I am) in 1906. Her childhood was not happy; her parents figured out very early that she could be a money-maker for them, so they pushed her into acting and basically kept her prisoner while she was funding their lavish lifestyle. Yet all she ever wanted was to be was a classical pianist. She practiced daily and she was very talented.

In 1926 she was named one of the WAMPAS (Western Association of Motion Picture Advertisers) baby stars. She was in good company. Among her fellow awardees were Fay Wray (Mrs. King Kong), Dolores Del Rio, Janet Gaynor and some little nobody named Lucille LeSueur, who'd just been given a new name by MGM, Joan Crawford. Mary was professional and popular with filmgoers, well on her way to a very successful career. 

Young Mary Astor (via Getty Images)

In fact, when she was earning $2,500 a week, her parents graciously gave her an allowance of $5.00 a week. When that old rogue, John Barrymore, took a shine to her, she was just 17 - and she was certainly willing, but her parents nipped that in the bud, worried that a scandal might destroy her career and tank their income. Barrymore moved on quickly, marrying the kind-hearted, disgustingly beautiful Dolores Costello, whom he proceeded to treat like shit.

Mary was the center of two big scandals in the 1930s. The first was when her worthless parents took her to court because she cut them off financially. This is what Mary writes in "My Story" about the palatial, amazing estate, "Moorcrest," she bought for her parents: "I must have been making a good deal of money by then, for it was in the early months of 1925 that Daddy bought the home on Temple Hill Drive..."

Moorcrest in the late 1920s

"I think it was about [1934] that the break with Mother and Daddy came. The fact was that we were living in a mansion with two cars and three servants. Whenever we spent anything, we had an argument with Mother and Daddy. I finally screwed up my courage and went to Daddy to have a talk with him. I told him that I would give up my one-third right to the property, and they could have free and clear title to it—it was worth about seventy-five thousand dollars then. They could sell it, fund a little business of some sort, live modestly, or do whatever they wished. But from now on they would receive no more money from me. Daddy was tragedy itself. It was out of the question for him to think of selling “his” home. Surely I would pay for the projects that he had started; the grading had been begun for another driveway at the side, and what about the swimming pool that he had planned? I simply repeated my declaration: 'No more money.' Daddy mournfully put the house up for public auction, possibly under the delusion that he could get more for it that way, and it went down at twenty-five thousand dollars."

Moorcrest today (owned by Andy Samberg and Joanna Newsom) (via Getty Images)

She'd married Kenneth Hawks (brother of legendary director, Howard Hawks) a few years earlier. She loved him and also just wanted to get the hell away from her parents. He adored her, but alas, he wasn't interested in women sexually, though he treated her very well and insisted on paying all the bills (since the majority of her income still went to her parents). I've wondered if she ever had conversations with Judy Garland about their shared propensity for falling for gay men when they worked together in 1944's "Meet Me In Saint Louis (Garland's husband, Vincente Minnelli, was gay, but closeted; for Hawks, there are no widely known or credible rumors with respect to him being gay or bi). Maybe it was just a relief for them to know that there were men who cared about them, and didn't want anything from them? Hell, La Crawford and definitely Tallulah Bankhead felt the same at times!

Sadly, Kenneth died in a plane accident in 1930. In her grief, she became a "libertine" (her word) and made lots of mistakes and the following year she married her doctor Franklyn Thorpe: 

(via AP Photos)

Although one great thing came from the marriage, her daughter Marylyn, it was a case of out of the frying pan, into the fire, because (like mom and dad) 'ol Franklyn expected her to pay all the bills. He also had a short temper and a habit of listing her faults (as well as screwing around on her). Fed up, she went to NYC to get a break from him, and there she met George S. Kaufman. Kaufman was a morose, self-centered asshole, but a hell of a playwright, theatrical director and producer, critic and humorist. He called himself "Public Lover Number One." I hope he had a lot going on below the waistline, 'cause he was no prize to look at, but they had an intense brief affair, and that seemed to be just what she needed at the time, after the constant denigration she'd received from her husband. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of detailing their relationship in her diary: 

via AP Photos

Thorpe found her diary and sued for divorce in 1935 and a custody battle for 4 year old Marylyn got very ugly - and very public. Although her diary wasn't entered into evidence, Thorpe and his lawyer mentioned it in and out of court constantly and it became one of the great scandals in Hollywood history. Astor was massacred in the tabloids, with lots of supposed entries from the diary leaked to reporters. Some of the excerpts seem likely to have been factual, but I have a feeling a lot of the more lascivious entries were fictitious, but we'll never know because the diary was impounded and ultimately destroyed. Some of it was reported in Hollywood Babylon (which is often entertaining, occasionally disgusting and basically bullshit, with a few bits of truth interspersed with all the smuttiness). This picture of Kaufman appears in her chapter of the book along with her alleged description "He had staying power."

Regardless, she got primary custody, so fuck off, Franklyn! Right before the scandal broke she'd been cast in a big-budget adaptation of "Dodsworth, "based on the classic, best-selling book by Sinclair Lewis, and (swiping from Wikipedia) "producer Goldwyn was urged to fire her, as her contract included a morals clause, but Goldwyn refused. With Walter Huston in the title role, Dodsworth received rave reviews on release, and the public's acceptance assured the studios that casting Astor remained a viable proposition. Ultimately, the scandal caused minimal harm to Astor's career, which was actually revitalized because of the custody fight and the publicity it generated." 

It is an absolute classic, maybe not too well known today, but it's mature and intelligent and there's no "bad guys." All the main characters, imperfect though they are, are decent people. Dodsworth's wife Fran (played by Ruth Chatterton in her finest performance) could easily have been played as a shrewish, self-centered social climber but she's instead a woman who sublimated her own youthful ambitions to support her husband as he became a millionaire and a titan of industry. She was a devoted wife and mother, the perfect hostess and now finally, she just wants to see the rest of the world. The entire film is on Youtube. 

And so...she's weathered a few scandals and her career's going stronger than ever, what's next? Well, the year after her divorce, she married Manuel del Campo, a dashing, sexy, irresponsible son of a gun who joined the Royal Canadian Air Force during WWII. She gave birth to a son, Tono del Campo, and as odd as their marriage was, Mary and Manuel enjoyed each other (although they ultimately divorced, very amicably). Daughter Marylyn remembered him: "When he was with us, I dearly loved Manuel. He was always good to me in his own way, if and when I saw him. He was also a playboy and a womanizer, a handsome ‘continental’ type who spoke a few languages and English with a British accent. He also drank way too much. He was definitely a ‘lady killer’ and flirted right in front of mom. Maybe it was a Mexican/Spanish custom to have ‘other women.’ I have to admit, he was gorgeous to look at, dressed well, smelled of aftershave. I loved the part of him that was kind and gentle."

All through this tumultuousness, Mary was doing fine work in classic films. Her most famous performance is 1941's "The Maltese Falcon," playing Brigid O'Shaughnessy, possibly the most completely devoid-of-decency, rotten-to-the-core character she ever portrayed, and she nailed it, and it was a massive hit. 

In "The Maltese Falcon" (via Warner Bros)

Then she appeared in "The Great Lie" (watch it here), the most gloriously over-wrought, melodramatic film of her career. Mary was Bette Davis' 1st choice to play the co-lead role of Sandra, a brilliant, bitchy ,self-absorbed classical pianist with whom she vies for the love of...uh, George Brent. 'Ol George was a capable leading man, but he's never done much for me. He's able, but not particularly charismatic on film (his personal life was far more exciting than any of his performances). Bette wasn't too thrilled with the script but she felt that between the two of them they could make it something special. In fact, during pre-production she hollered from her dressing room: "Astor, get over here!" When she got there, Bette said "This script's shit, it's pure soap opera! We've got to find a way to make these people real." So they got to work and discovered nuances that made the picture better. It turned out to be a huge success, and Mary Astor won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress. Her acceptance speech was short and sweet: "I owe this award to Tchaikovsky and Bette Davis."

(via Getty Images)

It's a lot of fun, and also took advantage of her skill as a pianist; although she played on a mute piano, and Max Rabinovitch played a real piano, they were both following the conductor and her movements perfectly matched his playing.

The rest of her career continued as it did for most actresses back then. Having reached "a certain age" (as it euphemistically used to be called), she was increasingly relegated to playing mothers or wives or secondary characters (no shame for playing mothers or wives, but these were usually supporting roles who weren't the focus, who didn't drive the action). Yet like all the great actresses among her peers, if a good role came her way, she took it and ran with it! Like her delightfully wicked turn on "Alfred Hitchcock Presents: Mrs. Herman and Mrs. Fenimore" (watch it here). There's no one to root for here, all the characters are awful, but Astor (playing a turn-of-the-century stage actress whose career is faltering as she ages) is witty and charming, and smarter than anyone realizes.

Her personal life continued hectically, and after having sat by her father's bedside when he passed, she did the same when her mother was dying. Her mother didn't recognize her and ranted incoherently to anyone who'd listen about what an awful, monstrous daughter she had. Mary sank into severe alcoholism and it was only with the help of a priest who befriended her that she came to grips with her drinking and emotional problems. In gratitude to him, she converted to Catholicism and turned to creative activities that kept her engaged and busy and happy, including touring on stage in various successful plays, and trying her hand at writing. Her autobiography. "My Story," was very successful. I haven't read that one, but I did read the follow-up, "A Life On Film," and her candor is extraordinary (she goes into detail about some of the people she was exposed to, and to my junior high self at the time it was all rather startling).

After 1961's "Return To Peyton Place" (a truly awful movie but her own reviews were glowing; I've seen it and she OWNS that film), she effectively retired. She'd been working for over 40 years, and it was time to slow down and enjoy life. But there was one final chapter in her career as an actress.

In 1964 she was coaxed out of retirement by her old friend Bette Davis to play the small but pivotal role of Jewel Mayhew in "Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte." Jewel is the widow of philanderer John Mayhew, who was brutally murdered in 1927 in the summerhouse of Hollis plantation, Charlotte Hollis (Bette) having been the one he was cheating on Jewel with. 

In "Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte" (via Warner Bros.)

As Steven Hayes (AKA "Tired old Queen At The Movies") says "Basically this is just a field day for actresses 'of a certain age' scene-chewing, and it's fabulous!" Bette's fine in the role, Agnes "Endora" Moorehead almost steals the film as Velma, Charlotte's maid, housekeeper and sarcastic companion, and Olivia de Havilland is as lovely, serene and soignée as ever as Miriam Deering (in the role Joan Crawford was originally cast in), the poor cousin who left Hollisport and returns after having become a successful, accomplished businesswoman (and incidentally, both Mary Astor and Joseph Cotten thought Crawford was spectacular as Miriam Deering in the scenes they filmed with her).

But Mary gives the best performance in the film. Her Jewel is not histrionic, she's soft and sad and has a lifetime's worth of regret, but she's made of steel, and ironically, has the last laugh in a sense.

In 1971, suffering from heart problems, she went to the old actor's home in Hollywood and died in 1987. After everything she went through, I'm happy she finally attained some peace and happiness. She always found new avenues to express herself and was proud of her achievements. Like I said at the beginning "When we think of the great female stars of the 30s and 40s, certain actresses are repeatedly mentioned: La Crawford, Bette, Stanwyck and a few others. But there is one lady who's not well known anymore and in my opnion, she was often a better actress than any of those others." I think the very reason she was such a great actress is this: she never wanted to be one. 

Thwarted by her parents from her one dream (to be a classical concert pianist) and shoved into acting, she never had any desire to be a star ,so she read the scripts, made her decisions and then just did the work. When she played a bitch, she never peeked from behind the character to say "I'm just acting, I'm not this awful person I'm playing!" (that's paraphrasing a comment George Cukor said about Crawford, BTW). She didn't care, but in a way she did-- she played her roles the way she felt, and more often than not, she was absolutely true.

Maybe her greatest tribute is that, as unhappy as her life often was, and as uncertain she felt as a mother, her children had happy lives and they loved her and were proud of her.

(via Getty Images)