She Always Knew How: Mae West, A Personal Biography - Hardcover

Chandler, Charlotte

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1416579095 ISBN 13: 9781416579090

Publisher: Simon & Schuster, 2009

Synopsis

Biographer Charlotte Chandler draws on a series of interviews she conducted with the star just months before her death in 1980, as well as interviews with people who worked or lived with her. Actress, playwright, screenwriter, and iconic sex symbol Mae West created a scandal--and a sensation--on Broadway with her play Sex in 1926. Sentenced to ten days in prison for obscenity, she went in a convict and emerged a star. Her next play, Diamond Lil, was a smash, and she would play variations on Diamond Lil for virtually her entire career. In 1930s Hollywood she saved Paramount Studios from bankruptcy. Her screenplays included some notorious one-liners that have become part of Hollywood lore, but behind the clever quips was Mae's deep desire to see women treated equally with men. She fought the double standard of the time that permitted men things that women would be ruined for doing.--From publisher description.

About this title

About the Author:

Charlotte Chandler is the author of several biographies of actors and directors, including Groucho Marx, Federico Fellini, Billy Wilder, Alfred Hitchcock, Bette Davis, Ingrid Bergman, Joan Crawford, and Mae West, all of whom she interviewed extensively. She is a member of the board of the Film Society of Lincoln Center and lives in New York City.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Introduction

On my arrival the afternoon that Mae and I met, she held out her hand to me. As I took it, I scratched my palm on one of her diamond rings. Noticing what had happened, she commented in a matter-of-fact tone, "They're old-cut, very sharp. That's the best kind."

All of her fingers were covered with diamonds. She wore a diamond necklace, a diamond bracelet, and a diamond anklet. These, she explained, were just her "daytime diamonds." Holding out her hands so I could examine the stones, she said, "Look, they're all real. They were given to me by admirers." Her gaze settled on my own unadorned hands.

"Oh, my, you poor kid! You don't have any!"

For a moment she regarded me silently with amazement and pity. Then she brightened. "But you have some at home?"

I shook my head.

Her look of deep sympathy returned. She studied me for a moment, then said encouragingly, "You could, honey. You could. But you've gotta try, and you've gotta know how to try. There's nothing better in life than diamonds."

"Maybe that's what one has to believe in order to get them," I said.

"You're right," she said. "You put your finger on it. Everything's in the mind." She touched her forehead. "That's where it all starts. Knowing what you want is the first step toward getting it." She held out her hands for both of us to admire. "These diamonds here -- they're my friends. Aren't they beautiful? The only thing more important is health."

I found myself aware of a distracting sound, something like the fluttering of the wings of little birds. Trying not to appear inattentive to what Mae West was saying, I could not resist glancing around the living room of her Hollywood apartment. But I saw no birdcages.

The sound continued at frequent intervals. Only after Mae had been speaking for a while did I realize that it was the sound of her heavily mascaraed, multilayered false eyelashes brushing her cheeks whenever she blinked.

Our meeting had been arranged by director George Cukor, who had known Mae since the mid-1920s, when they were both working on the stage in New York. She told me when we first met, "You can call me Mae, dear, because you're George's friend, and that's what he calls me."

Mae West was not anxious to give any interviews, especially to a woman. "I don't have anything I want to sell, so I don't like to give it away free.

"If you set your own price on yourself as free, you don't deserve to get anything. If you don't put a high value on yourself, why would you expect anyone else to put a high value on you?

"That's why I was leery of doing any television appearances, which I didn't get paid for. I didn't believe in giving away Mae West and downgradin' her value.

"I'm like fine wine. I get better with age. Now, I'm more me than I ever was, so you get a bonus."

But she could not say no to George Cukor. She was still hoping that she would write and star in a film that he would direct. He was the director she most wanted. The only problem that concerned Mae was that Cukor was "getting up there in age." That she was eighty-six at the time, Mae didn't consider a problem.

Cukor told me that the film he had in mind for Mae would have coâ??starred her with Natalie Wood, who was also a great favorite of his. It was to be the story of a young woman who goes to a clairvoyant. The young woman is Natalie Wood, and the clairvoyant, Mae West.

"The idea was really inspired by Mae's own belief in the extrasensory powers of certain individuals and what Mae liked to call 'The Forces,' " Cukor said. "She tells me she's had dozens of experiences with them and met all kinds of spirits, but none of them particularly interesting. Oh, well.

"Mae has some other ideas, and she wants to do the script, but she isn't working quickly enough for either one of us.

"If you'll pardon the triteness of it, I told her, 'Time doesn't stand still, Mae,' and you know what she said to me?

" 'Not for you, George.' "

Mae said, "When I talked about it with George, I told him that I didn't want to be the young woman. I insisted on the part of the clairvoyant. He said, 'That's fine, Mae.'

"I told him I didn't want to play a part any older than being in my thirties. He said, 'The ages of the characters will not be specified. They'll be of indeterminate age, so everyone can just see.'

"So that sounded fine to me. I started writing my part."

Mae paused. "I want you to know, this is the last interview I'm ever gonna give."

"Am I that terrible?" I asked.

"No, dear. It's not you. You're very nice. It's just that I was already in retirement as far as interviews are concerned when George asked me to do him this little favor. So, I came out of interview retirement.

"These days, I'm not interested in meeting a lotta new people. I've met so many people in my life, I'm saturated. I'm not promoting anything or selling anything, so I don't have any reason.

"I've only got one of me, and I don't want to get spread too thin."

Paul Novak, Mae's friend who lived with her had opened the door for me. He asked how I managed to get through the Ravenswood's protective lobby and up in the elevator without being announced. I said that George Cukor had suggested I ask for Paul, assuming that strangers gave Mae West's name. His name would be the password. Mae liked this.

She already knew all the people she wanted to know, especially in light of the many hours she felt compelled to spend on her hair, makeup, and dress before she could see anyone, because of the importance she gave to first impressions. Her face was nearly hidden by its mask of makeup, but her throat and décolletage revealed strikingly fair, soft, and youthful skin.

I had cost her three hours, I was told more than once, but it would have been double that if I had been a man. If she were going to see anyone at all, a man would have been preferable any day, and especially any night, she let me know.

"They always sent a man," not specifying who "they" were. "I considered spending my time with girls a waste of time, so I didn't mingle with any." The only exceptions were her beloved mother and her sister, Beverly. Men were the ones doing the interesting things, she said, and they were the ones who had the power to enable her to do them.

For Mae, Hollywood had real unreality, and that was the way she liked it. To the end, she nobly resisted any assault on her fairy-tale castle. Her Hollywood apartment in the Ravenswood building was truly an extension of Mae West, not only reflecting her, but also enhancing her and probably inspiring her. She had put a great deal of herself into it, and in return had received a great deal back. The furniture was upholstered in eggshell-white silk and satin, and appeared virginal, as if it had just been moved in for my visit. Actually, most of the white and gold furnishings had been there since Mae first arrived in Hollywood, with time out only for reupholstering or cleaning.

Although Mae had owned a great deal of property, including a Santa Monica beach house and a San Fernando Valley ranch, she preferred her Ravenswood apartment to everything else, having called it home since 1932. She said that was where she felt the most secure.

She hadn't chosen the apartment. That was done by Paramount before she arrived in California. Her only stipulation had been that it be near the studio. Paramount selected the furnishings from its prop department, not realizing that what they did would have to last for almost half a century. Mae liked the results and, over the years, made few changes.

There were none of the ubiquitous house plants. "Plants use up too much oxygen," Mae explained erroneously, but with certainty. The apartment was cool because, as she said, "It's good for the furniture and the complexion. I like the air filtered and moving."

I wondered how her apartment was maintained in such pristine condition, wishing that the answer would be something I could apply to my own, but knowing instinctively that the sorcery could not be transferred. It seemed somehow natural that Mae West's furniture would not get dirty. Magic has a certain fragility; any answer would only spoil the illusion.

Mae did not like change. "There are people who change just to be changing -- their hairstyles, their furnishings, even their faces. I'm not one of those people."

Once Mae had achieved perfection by her own standards, she avoided further change, because she had never forgotten the life of the stock company and vaudeville when she had no control over her environment. "I did enough traveling when I was very young, so I didn't need to do that anymore. I got it out of my system, and I'm too finicky. I have everything I want right here, I never want to have to move."

Mae West's apartment was a home for her and by her that reflected not some noted interior decorator, but Mae herself. The accumulation of memorabilia, gifts from fans she couldn't throw away, together with treasured family souvenirs, indicated that the private Mae West was a more sentimental person than her public character pretended to be.

The celebrations of herself on display throughout the apartment -- the nude marble statue and oil paintings of Mae West at the moment of her greatest success -- evinced no false modesty. They also signified that in her mid-eighties she was not afraid to be in competition with her younger self. She was still optimistic and had plans and ambitions for the future.

The nude statue of her, which was uninhibitedly displayed on the white grand piano, was one of Mae's prized possessions. It represented one of those rare instances when Mae cast modesty aside and allowed reality to triumph over imagination, especially over male imagination. It was done by a sculptress. "I wouldn't have posed for a man," she said. "He'd have never had time to finish the job. Besides, I think a lady is entitled to a few secrets.

"I had murals of naked men on the walls of my beach house. Great art. Nudity in art isn't sex, it's art.

"I wish I could've shown you my beach house. But I sold it. I miss it.

"About 1950, I boug...

About this edition

• Publisher: Simon & Schuster
• Publication date: 2009
• ISBN 10: 1416579095
• ISBN 13: 9781416579090
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 336