The Books: “Ginger: My Story” (Ginger Rogers)

Daily Book Excerpt: Entertainment Biography/Memoir:

Ginger: My Story, by Ginger Rogers

This is my kind of celebrity memoir. It is juicy, gossipy, defensive, and full of sentences like, “I need to set the record straight”. In her Introduction, she uses the words “pernicious rumors”. She wants to tell her story from HER side, and she just babbles (entertainingly) on and on for almost 400 pages, and you just can’t put it down. There is an invisible audience of critics in her mind, reading it, and she writes to them. “Yes, I had a lot of marriages. So what? I loved being married.” You know, when you live in the public eye for your whole life, you probably get used to having people (that you know and don’t know) weigh in on your behavior – be it professional or personal – and she’s internalized that. She can’t help herself.

A lot of the book has a “I know what you’re going to say, but let me explain” tone. I happen to despise that kind of writing when it’s done by bloggers – I’ve written about it before. I despise it because I fell into that trap in my early days as a blogger, when I suddenly had a lot of readers, many of whom found my love of movies to be irritating. (Don’t ask. These people are now long gone – well, one or two hangers-on). But anyway, I found my writing to be going in that defensive direction – starting paragraphs with, “Now, I know what you’re going to say …” Everything needed to be qualified, adjusted. I was constantly acknowledging the people who found me irritating. Terrible writing!! It drove me crazy. And Beth emailed me at one point, mentioning that tendency of mine, and telling me it weakened my writing. She basically was like, “Just say what you want to say!” My first feeling when I read her email was defensive … but in the next moment, I realized: She is 100% right. I don’t like writing this way, anyway. So I consciously got rid of that tendency. Having been through that, I notice it in others, I suppose … and to me, at least with bloggers, it makes the blogger seem WAY too self-important. As though they have THRONGS of people weighing in at all times … and although that FEELS true, it really isn’t, come on, let’s be honest. (Reminds me of the funny cartoon Larry just posted on his site.) Just write your opinion, let people criticize – answer in the comments if you want – but don’t muddy up your writing with “Now I know that some of you out there feel …” caveats.

HOWEVER. When it comes to giants of the film industry – that kind of thing is just a joy to behold. I know it’s biased. That’s the whole point to reading memoirs of famous movie stars. I WANT bias. I WANT them to stick up for themselves, and tell their side, and set the record straight … That’s why I think Lana Turner’s autobiography is seriously one of the best out there. Try to put that book down. TRY. And if anyone had the “public” weighing in on her behavior – it was that one!!

So Ginger sets forth to dispel the “pernicious rumors”, to talk back to her critics, to tell it like it REALLY was – and all of that makes for a beautifully entertaining, sometimes funny read. She’s likable. I read this book years ago, when it first came out, and there was much about Ginger Rogers that I did not know. My bad!

I grew up poring over the pages of TV Guide for any sign that a Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers movie was playing. I ADORED them. It seemed to be from a different world. Still in the same century I was living in, but boy, nothing was recognizable to me. Where were those big nightclubs with shiny floors and flowing curtains? Even their voices sounded different. Nobody talked like Fred Astaire in MY world. They seemed ancient – not to mention in black and white – but also so exciting, and beautiful, and I never ever got sick of seeing those movies (it’s been almost 40 years now, and I’m STILL not sick of seeing them.)

When I was 11 years old, my drama teacher (Jan Grant, let’s give the props) had us all write a report on someone who inspired us from movies or theatre. I wrote my report on Fred Astaire. I remember how hard I worked on that thing. I must have taken books out of the library. I set about to write down Fred’s entire journey – with his sister Adele, etc. – and I remember my dad saying to me, gently, “I think what Jan is looking for is not the biography, Sheila – but what he means to you.” I have tears in my eyes. He was trying to help me focus. I don’t think I took it that way at the time, because I was really proud of my essay – with its “Fred Astaire was born on a cold dark day” details … but I did take his advice, and spent the last 10 pages of the thing talking about why he was so great, and which movies of his I loved, and why, etc. etc. Thank you, Dad.

My first experience of Ginger Rogers was those movies, and for years I had no idea – ZERO – NONE – NADA – that she was such a heavy-hitting actress as well. One of the big female stars of RKO. It was Rogers, Katharine Hepburn and Irene Dunne – there’s a documentary about those three and their competition included in the special features of my Bringing Up Baby DVD. It’s fascinating. They each had a niche, they dominated the industry, but they were also pitted against one another.

Rogers got her start in vaudeville as a teenager, did a couple of movies, and then appeared on Broadway in a musical called Girl Crazy. Fred Astaire didn’t do the choreography but he was hired to help out. This was how they met. Girl Crazy made Ginger Rogers a Broadway star. With the power of that success behind her, she signed a contract with Paramount, but then got out of it (I love all the contractual stuff – I’ve mentioned that before. I love to hear the business side of things) – and signed with RKO. It was under the auspices of RKO that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers made their many many films together. They were the biggest stars in the world. Those movies came at a time when America really needed them. And also – they were unlike the other musicals at the time … those two completely revolutionized that tired genre (it was already tired!) and made it something new and fresh. Not to mention the cinematography … If you watch the filming of those dance scenes, you can see that the camera glides and flows WITH the couple, at the same time that we always see both of them in the screen at the same time. I wish I wish I wish that musicals today would stop it with the jumpcuts and Flashdance-inspired fragmented filmmaking – and just let us see the dancing, dammit. Astaire said about Rogers: “Ginger had never danced with a partner before. She faked it an awful lot. She couldn’t tap and she couldn’t do this and that … but Ginger had style and talent and improved as she went along. She got so that after a while everyone else who danced with me looked wrong.”

Ginger was that she was primarily an actress. After a decade of musicals, she made the unpopular decision to stop for a while and do straight drama. It paid off. She won an Academy Award for Best Actress for her performance in Kitty Foyle. If you’ve seen the film (or any of her other straight dramas), you know how good she was. (And I’m sure De could speak to all of this far better than I could. She’s probably the biggest Ginger Rogers fan that I know!)

Ginger Rogers was one of those people who was known, primarily, for one thing. She was extremely fortunate – and also had a magic about her that came out when dancing with Astaire that still is money in the bank. Like, you can cash in that check for centuries. Actresses dream of “hitting” something like that – not just being successful – but tapping into something “magic” … and she did.

But my favorite stories in her chatty defensive funny book are about her struggles to either be taken seriously, or her lobbying for parts that nobody was thinking of her for, because of her reputation for being an actress for musicals.

Garson Kanin, in his chatty awesome book Hollywood tells the story of Ginger Rogers campaigning HARD to play Queen Elizabeth in John Ford’s Mary of Scotland … and it just really moves me, because she knew, in her heart, how good she would be, but she also knew she had to prove it. She was a gigantic star. Didn’t matter. Not everybody can play everything. You have to PROVE it to the powers-that-be and proving it takes a lot of guts. Because, more often than not, you are facing a group of people who basically don’t see you for the part, don’t want you for the part … it is an unwelcoming atmosphere from the get-go. I talked about this a bit when I mentioned Camryn Manheim’s journey as an actress and how she had to SHOW the client that she could be a mechanic, even though they had it in their heads that they wanted a man for the part. Guts. It is my belief that those who become most successful are not necessarily the most talented – but those who do not CAVE in moments such as that. Those who do not CHOKE but “show up”, 100%.

So although Ginger Rogers’ book is chock-full of great stuff, I chose the excerpt that had to do with her trying to get the part of Queen Elizabeth, because THAT is why Ginger Rogers’ career spanned 50 years, I am convinced. She didn’t even GET the part. Doesn’t matter in the slightest. It’s the attitude I am talking about.

30 years later, Ginger Rogers said to Garson Kanin, “They should have given me that part. I would have been sensational.”

I agree.

I’ve also included a clip below from Top Hat.

EXCERPT FROM Ginger: My Story, by Ginger Rogers

At a dinner party one evening, I cornered Pan Berman. “Pan,” I said, “I know you’re producing Maxwell Anderson’s Mary of Scotland and that Kate Hepburn is starring. I’ve also heard that John Ford is directing. Now, Pan, you have tested everybody under the sun but Shirley Temple or me for the role of Queen Elizabeth. Why not let me test for the role?”

“You?” interrupted Mr. Berman. “Why would you want to play the role of such an embittered woman?”

“Oh, come on, Pan, you know I want to get out of those soft chiffon dresses and play something that has some starch in it.”

“Dear Ginger,” he said, patiently patting me on the shoulder. “You should be glad you do what you do so well. Why don’t you just stick to your high-heeled slippers and be happy?”

With that, he gently brushed me off with a smile.

With that, I determined to devise a plan.

I called Leland Hayward. “You’re my agent, why don’t you talk to Berman about my playing the role of Elizabeth? He won’t listen to me.”

“Why don’t you corner John Ford?” suggested Leland. “Catch him at the commissary during lunch.”

I rarely went into the commissary while filming – unless I had to be there for a conference; I preferred to have lunch in my dressing room. Since I wasn’t filming, I decided to follow Leland’s suggestion. I found out the day and time that the tests were to be made and I went into the commissary. As Ford and some of his camera crew were leaving, I went up to him and told him what I wanted. I knew if I showed up as Ginger Rogers, I wouldn’t get to first base. However, if I appeared under a false name, all made up as Elizabeth, the test I made would be judged only on the basis of my performance. John Ford loved a practical joke, and the idea of fooling Pan Berman tickled his funny bone. “Sounds terrific. Call me at home and we’ll figure it out.”

I called Leland with the good news and told him I thought I should pretend to be British so I’d even have the right accent. Leland loved the idea, and we decided I would become “Lady Ainsley.” Listen, if I was going to be British, I might as well go all the way and be an aristocrat! Leland called Pan and told him he had a visiting British actress who might be talked into taking the role.

I got in touch with Mel Berns in makeup and Edward Stevenson in wardrobe. They were both sworn to secrecy. A lot of painstaking detail went into this charade; among other things, I had to get a studio pass under my pseudonym, Lady Ainsley.

The day of the test, I wore clothes different from any I had been seen in before, donned a brunette wig, and put a turban around my head. At the studio, I didn’t go through the automobile gate but headed for the Gower Street door. The Gower Street entrance was the first test of my disguise. Studio pass in hand and my British accent at the ready, it worked like a dream. I galloped to Mel Berns’s chair and he went to work. First, a plastic skull cap was put over my head. It reached down to my eyebrows, and created the appearance of a very high forehead. Later, a faithfully designed eighteenth-century wig was put over the skull cap. The period makeup for Elizabethan times was a ghostly white, for men as well as women. You can’t imagine how this white stuff changed my features. Mel gave my eyes a beady look by creating a narrowness around them and painted a slit-like mouth over my full lips. Eddie Stevenson found a period costume with the full regalia of queenly dress, including a huge stiff ruffle around my neck. If clothes make the woman, then I felt like the real Queen of England! As far as knowing that the queen was Ginger, I didn’t think even Lelee would have recognized me.

Leland played his part well, too; he phoned John Ford and gave him the lowdown on my character. Lady Ainsley had been playing Shakespearean roles for the past five years on the London stage where her name was well known. While her husband, Lord Ainsley, was on safari in Africa hunting lions, Lady Ainsley had accepted an invitation from Mary Pickford to stay at Pickfair for a fortnight. Though she was uninterested in making an American movie, Lady Ainsley was persuaded to do the test as a lark. She was a great admirer of John Ford’s films, and would enjoy meeting Katharine Hepburn.

John Ford ate it up. Leland then advised John to call Pan Berman and give him the story. “If he doesn’t buy it, tell him to call me, and I’ll convince him.”

When the time came for me to test, I casually strolled onto the stage in this fantastic regalia and felt ten feet tall! Hiding behind character makeup was a new experience for me. Three other women in courtly costumes stood on the set waiting for the camera test. One of them was Anita Colby, a very good friend of my mother’s and mine. Each of the ladies-in-waiting curtsied as the assistant director introduced them to “Lady Ainsley”. Even Anita bowed; I could hardly wait to tell Lela. I moved off to the test stage and made a grand entrance. No one recognized me. The entire crew stepped aside deferentially, giving me a wide berth. The rumor was that Lady Ainsley was doing this test as a favor to John Ford. I had a ball fooling all the folks I’d worked with month after month. There’s nothing Hollywood loves more than a bona fide title, and Lady Ainsley had one … or so they believed.

John Ford came onto the set and went right to me. He played it straight but I could see the twinkle in his eye.

“Lady Ainsley, we have never met. However, I have seen you perform. I was in London eighteen months ago.”

“Perhaps you saw me with Maurice Evans in As You Like It,” I answered in my high-toned British accent.

“Yes, that must be it. My, that’s wonderful makeup you’re wearing. No one could possibly recognize you,” he said audibly, and then, lowering his voice so only I could hear, whispered, “I had to tell Hepburn who you are. She’d kill me if she found out later, and I’ve got to make this film with her.”

Katharine Hepburn came onto the stage dressed in her Mary costume. “Miss Hepburn, this is Lady Ainsley,” announced the director. Kate looked at me as one does at an adversary.

“Hello,” she managed. Kate looked at me again with an indescribably expression.

John placed us for the test and gave the signal, “All right. Camera, action. Don’t just sit there. Talk to each other.”

We were seated in high-backed oak chairs and a large mahogany table stood in front of us. I turned to Kate, and in my best British accent I said, “I’ve enjoyed watching your performances very much, Miss Hepburn.”

Although everything looked normal above the table, below decks Kate swung her leg back and kicked me in the shins. Her expression was unchanged as she muttered in a stage whisper, “You 0#%&*$!! Who do you think you’re fooling?”

I was surprised by her outburst and looked to see if the sound boom was in place. If her remarks had been recorded, that would spoil the whole deal. Luckily, it was a silent test. I bit my tongue to keep from answering back. My composure was slipping, but somehow I managed to offer another weak-tea type compliment. Her look was that of the cat ready to pounce on the canary, and I was the canary. History was reversing itself. “Mary” was going to behead “Elizabeth”!

Ford broke the spell. “Look to the left, then turn to the right. Just keep talking to each other.” I moved my mouth as though speaking, as Kate continued to glare at me.

“Thank you, Lady Ainsley,” said Ford. “As soon as the other tests are over, I’ll come into your dressing room.”

I got up slowly from my chair, and turned to Kate. “Thank you, Miss Hepburn,” I said through clenched teeth. “Thank you very much.”

As I headed for the portable dressing room, I ran smack into my old buddy Eddie Rubin. Eddie wasn’t in on this ruse as he hadn’t been around when this idea was hatched. He looked right at me as if I was a stranger and let me pass. I waited for the bomb to explode over my disguise. But nothing happened until John Ford burst into the room and said in a loud voice, “Lady Ainsley, thank you so much for your time and trouble. I knew we interrupted your holiday, but in a day or two, we’ll get back to you. Leland Hayward is representing you – correct?”

“Yes, that’s right, Mr. Ford.”

“Good. I will speak with Leland after we see the test. Your Shakespearean ability is known to us, but we needed to see how you photographed opposite Miss Hepburn. Mr. Berman and I will be seeing this footage sometime late tomorrow afternoon. Thank you again.” And he disappeared.

I returned to my dressing room, got out of the Renaissance clothing, and then went over to Mel Burns to get the makeup removed. I slipped out of the studio without being detected, and when I reached home, I called Leland to describe the events. He roared at hearing how Kate had kicked me.

A couple of days later Leland called and told me Pan had seen the tests and liked them. Now he wanted them reshot in sound. My ruse was really snowballing!

Alas, someone leaked the story, and the next day Louella Parsons’s column was devoted to the Lady Ainsley incident. Lolly sharply criticized me for spending the company’s money on a practical joke. Louella loved to give me the “raspberry” whenever she could. Hedda Hopper, on the other hand, seemed to like me, and I liked her. I think this was because she secretly thanked Lelee for not accepting a job offer with the Los Angeles Times. They then offered it to Hedda – and the rest is history. But Louella was another story. Unfortunately, I was not Carole Lombard, who could get away with anything. Louella called it a “practical joke”, but in my heart, it was serious. I wanted that part so much I could taste it. And I had no other way of getting a test for the role.

I raced to the telephone to call Berman’s house, and spoke with his wife, Vi. She told me Pan had not seen the morning paper because he had gone to the races at Santa Anita early that morning. Shortly thereafter, a friend called and asked me to the races … at Santa Anita. To go or not to go, that was my dilemma. What if I ran into Berman? I decided to take the risk of bumping into him. With twelve thousand people at the races, that wasn’t very likely.

So far, so good! I was standing near the betting window with my friend when I heard a familiar voice behind me. “You little devil! You know, young lady, you really had me going.” I turned to face Pan Berman. “That was the best trick ever pulled on me. I had no idea that you were that ‘lady’ I saw on the screen. I never would have guessed it was you!”

I laughed and suggested that I do a second test. To his great credit, Pan Berman wasn’t the least bit angry. His sense of humor about this was far better than anyone could have expected. But I didn’t get the second test and I didn’t get the part. The role of Elizabeth was given to Florence Eldridge. Maybe it was just as well, because the film wasn’t favorably reviewed by the public. And if I had played the role of Elizabeth, both the studio and the public would probably have laid their complaints at my door!