Great Screen Teams That Never Were

Today, I'm going to jump into my What If Machine and ask the Matchmaker's Question: What are the great screen teams that never happened? Two talented actors who never paired up, two great tastes that seem like they would have tasted great together, but were never given a real chance. I know that acting chemistry is hard to predict (Who would have guessed that a nervous nineteen-year-old model would become Humphrey Bogart's perfect match?), but it's still fun to speculate. And so, I present to you, a list of Eight Great What Ifs.

1. William Powell and Claudette Colbert


When you think about it, these two had a lot in common. Both of them hit their peak in 1934 (Colbert with It Happened One Night, Powell with The Thin Man). They had two of the most knowing glances in all of '30s cinema, Powell with his arched brows, and Colbert with her sidelong smile. They wore their elegance like it was some grand joke on themselves and the audience. They were clever, they were amazingly classy, but nobody could ever resent them for it; it was just too much fun to be around them. While it's impossible to beat the team of William Powell and Myrna Loy, it's a real shame that Claudette Colbert never got the chance to try.

2. James Cagney and Barbara Stanwyck

These were two of the toughest customers in cinema. While Cagney was pumping his enemies full of lead, Stanwyck was lying and cheating her way to the top. Watch the moment in Baby Face when Stanwyck hits a guy with a beer bottle before casually taking a swig from it; no way would Cagney get away with pushing grapefruit into her face. But Stanwyck and Cagney had more in common than onscreen violence. Both of them had made their way into show business as vaudeville hoofers, dancing in clubs and revues. They were sharp, strong New Yorkers who'd been working their whole lives. And yet Hollywood ignored this potential partnering right up until 1956. Cagney and Stanwyck were finally teamed up for These Wilder Years, which was...a sentimental drama about a millionaire and an adoption agency worker. Way to miss your big chance, casting directors. For what it's worth, Stanwyck and Cagney got along well offscreen and even entertained the film crew with an impromptu dance number.

3. Clifton Webb and Thelma Ritter


Like the previous pair, Ritter and Webb did share time in one film, the 1953 version of Titanic.  But their interaction wasn't played for its full comic potential and I think that's a crying shame. I've always wanted to see these two square off. Could Webb's talent for the poisonous one-liner compete with Ritter's homespun put downs? I don't know, but I think it would be one hell of a match. A true collision of matter and antimatter.

4. Lena Horne and Paul Robeson


It's always a shock to me to look back and realize just how few films Paul Robeson and Lena Horne made. The extreme racial strictures of Hollywood meant that these two enormously talented performers had to find most of their applause off, rather than on, the screen. But just imagine if these two had ever gotten a chance to be together in a film. Their star power, their confidence, and their tremendous musical gifts would have made them into one hell of a pairing. Unfortunately for us, it never happened. In real life though, the two were great friends and Lena Horne credited Paul Robeson with being a mentor to her. In an interview, she said, "Paul taught me about being proud because I was Negro ... he sat down for hours, and he told me about Negro people…. And he didn’t talk to me as a symbol of a pretty Negro chick singing in a club. He talked to me about my heritage. And that’s why I always loved him."

5. Carole Lombard and Myrna Loy


Hollywood has a painfully long history of ignoring female friendship. The very fact that Thelma and Louise is still cited as the female buddy movie, twenty years after its release...yeah, that pretty much sums it up. But let's ignore Hollywood's bad record on this subject and imagine an alternate universe where Loy and Lombard were paired together.  Loy had the dry-humored poise, Lombard had the dizzy energy; together they would have been unstoppable. They would have been like Redford and Newman, except in satin gowns and heels. We may have missed our chance to see these ladies together, but I'm sure they're up there in Heaven, making the joint a whole lot more fun.

6. Robert Mitchum and Veronica Lake


Ladd and Lake may be tops but the temptation to pair the sleepy talents of Lake and Mitchum is just irresistible. It would be like a contest to see who could act more unconcerned and detached (Mitchum would win of course, Lake never could stay on her pedestal for long).  They were like the two opposing sides of film noir. Mitchum embodied the rough-hewn masculinity and stoic silence of the noir genre, while Lake was the most playful and stylized of femme fatales. Neither of them seemed very real. But when they were onscreen, it was hard to look away.

7. Laird Cregar and Dan Duryea


I love villainous team-ups. Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre, Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing-- these were men who combined vile deeds with effortless panache. I thought for a while about pairing Laird Cregar with Vincent Price but quickly decided those two were too similar. What better match for the looming, beautifully-spoken Cregar than the rail-bodied, nasally Duryea? Cregar had the courtly manners, Duryea had the streetwise sneer. Their unusual looks and sinister talents relegated them to the ranks of villainy (Cregar would eventually destroy himself in his quest to become a romantic leading man), but few actors could make it all look so enjoyable.

8. Barbara Stanwyck and James Stewart


As I've said before on this site, Barbara Stanwyck is my favorite actress and Jimmy Stewart is my favorite actor. They were two of the most talented and versatile performers of all time and anyone who wants to argue with me on that point can just go home and collect their dueling pistols. So why oh why didn't these two ever make a movie together? Barbara Stanwyck spent half her career seducing good guys (Gary Cooper and Henry Fonda seemed particularly susceptible) so the omission of Stewart is really baffling. They could have done a comedy, they could have done drama, they could have done romance. In the end, they did it all but not together.

Actress Spotlight: Veronica Lake

Actress Spotlight: Veronica Lake

So I was watching I Married a Witch last weekend and trying unsuccessfully for the past few days to write a review before I realized that what I really wanted to do was talk about Veronica Lake. 

I have a fondness for Veronica Lake that goes well beyond her merits as an actress.  It's always a pleasure to see her. Even when you know that offscreen her costars were gnashing their teeth over working with "Moronica Lake," as Raymond Chandler called her, Lake always seems to be having a lot of fun, playing hide-and-seek behind her famous hair, smiling knowingly, and pouting when things don't go her way.

In my Hollywood alternate universe, Howard Hawks takes Lake on as he did that other husky-voiced blonde Lauren Bacall and injects a little more wit and maturity into the Veronica Lake persona. The difference between Bacall and Lake is that Bacall, given the right role, seemed like someone who'd been round the block and had the smarts to prove it. Lake didn't; there was always something a little unreal about her vamping. 

In Preston Sturges' Sullivan's Travels, in a role that was purportedly intended for Barbara Stanwyck, Veronica Lake's pose of being the street-smart girl, far more experienced than Joel McCrea's pretentious director, is obviously just that, a pose. In Stanwyck's case, we would have believed it. It doesn't hurt the film, though; it just shifts the dimensions. Sturges seems to take a mischievous pleasure in pitting the 4'11'' Lake against the 6'3" McCrea; she's perpetually clambering into his lap or leaning into him or pushing him into pools. McCrea's grumpiness is in fine contrast to her girlishness. His attraction to her is played like a guy falling for a friend's annoying kid sister.

Veronica Lake's pairing with Alan Ladd was famously because she was the only actress on the Paramount lot that could make him look tall. But their personas matched well too. Ladd, the gruff and rough guy with the face of an "aging choirboy," was like a teenage boy playing at being the tough guy and the sulky Lake was a teenage girl's idea of the femme fatale. She strikes the poses, she looks and talks like a bad girl, but she never feels truly dangerous.

Veronica Lake has earned a legacy as a style icon, but her popularity as an actress burned itself out at an amazing rate. Lake couldn't even last out her decade; she was truly "in" by 1941, skidding by 1944 (after a disastrous turn as a Nazi spy in The Hour Before the Dawn), and completely totaled by 1949, at the ripe old age of 27.  Time is rarely kind to "It Girls" and Lake's particular brand of pouty, girlish charm probably wouldn't have aged very well even if her career had been better handled and her personal problems not gotten in the way. 

The last fifteen years of her life were one slow decline into alcoholism, mental illness, and poverty and she died at age fifty, looking (based on her appearance in the 1970 exploitation film Flesh Feast) twenty years older. Lake was self-deprecating in interviews ("You could put all the talent I had into your left eye and still not suffer from impaired vision"), but she still had her pride. During Lake's latter-day stint as a cocktail waitress, her former lover Marlon Brando sent her a check for one thousand dollars. Lake had it framed.

 

Part of my fascination with Veronica Lake comes from hearing story after story by her frustrated costars; she seemed to have an incredible ability to spark the dislike of even the most easygoing costars. After Sullivan's Travels, McCrea refused to work with her again, saying that "Life is too short for two films with Veronica Lake." During the filming of I Married a Witch, she and March openly despised each other. March on Lake: "a brainless little blonde sexpot." Lake on March: "a pompous poseur." Lake would play pranks against her costar like hiding a weight under her dress for a scene where March had to carry her. She would also take revenge on Brian Donlevy, another disparager of her talent, in The Glass Key. When it came time for her to punch him in one scene, she almost knocked him out. In her autobiography, Lake would attribute this burst of pugilism to growing up in Brooklyn.  Eddie Bracken, her costar for Star-Spangled Rhythm, said once that "She was known as 'The Bitch' and she deserved the title." Even her screen partner Ladd reportedly never warmed up to her, though I can't find any quotes from him on the subject. 

It's hard not to feel some sympathy for someone so miserably unpopular. Marilyn Monroe drove her costars up the wall too, but they forgave her because well, she was Marilyn Monroe. Maybe Lake was as bitchy as her costars gave her credit for; it's difficult to tell where bitchiness left off and real mental illness began. Unlike other stars who died the slow, painful death of the addict, like Montgomery Clift and Judy Garland, Veronica Lake didn't seem to inspire the same feelings of protectiveness and affection. It's a fair bet to say that she made others as miserable as she made herself. However, she did not deserve her eventual fate: alcoholic, forgotten, estranged from her children and loved only by her nurses. 

Whatever she was offscreen, onscreen she radiated warmth and charm. There was an iciness to her beauty and to the world-weariness her characters often affected, but Lake herself didn't play it cold. Some femme fatales could maneuver men via lust or manipulation. Lake melted them. One of the pleasures of her movies with Alan Ladd is waiting for the moment when the grim Ladd suddenly breaks out in a boyish smile, dropping his cool persona under the influence of Lake. Fredric March may have hated Lake on the set of I Married a Witch, but it sure doesn't show in the film. The more his character, the stuffy Wallace Wooley, tries to tell Lake's witch that he doesn't love her, the more he finds himself stroking her hair and gazing into her eyes. In the aforementioned Sullivan's Travels, McCrea learns affection for her as he learns tolerance for other people. The image of McCrea's arm stealing around Lake is as tender as anything ever directed by Preston Sturges.

Back in 1998, Kim Basinger won her only Oscar for her supporting turn as Lynn Bracken, the Veronica Lake look-alike prostitute in Curtis Hanson's L.A. Confidential. I saw that film for the first time only a few months ago and I liked it, but not nearly as much as others liked it. Some parts were great, some parts felt silly to me. Basinger's role was one of the lesser parts to me. Her entrance is great, an extended tease of the mysterious woman under the hood, like a true homage to old-style Hollywood glamor. But the character disappoints. In spite of Basinger's attempts to give Lynn Bracken some depth, she doesn't really rise beyond the hooker with the heart of gold type."You're better than Veronica Lake," her lover Bud White tells her at one point, trying to assure of her own worth. She is a real woman, not fantasy, not Hollywood.

In retrospect though, it's Basinger and Bracken that feel fake to me and Veronica Lake, stealing aboard a train, casting spells over Fredric March, kissing Alan Ladd before he goes off to risk death, the same Veronica Lake that would die young and alone, that haunts me.