Try to imagine, if you can, what the motion picture
industry was like a century ago. Color film was decades away, and even talkies
hadn’t arrived yet.
But the studio system had come into being, and, most
important of all, the star system. Two stars in particular, married to each
other, burned especially brightly, not only headlining their own movies but
producing their own projects. And film fans couldn’t get enough of their love
story.
The pair I’m talking about, Douglas Fairbanks
and Mary Pickford, are the subject of an exhibit running through
December at the Barrymore Film Center in Fort Lee, NJ.
Readers of this blog know that I’ve made it a point to
catch several vintage movies in the theater at this relatively recent addition
to the Bergen County cultural scene. But the museum space is also a must for
movie aficionados.
Although the museum’s first exhibit, on John, Lionel,
and Ethel Barrymore, featured a family with Bergen County connections, this
current exhibit, “Power Couple: Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford in
Hollywood," is remarkable in its own way.
Unlike the Barrymores, Fairbanks and Pickford never
lived in Fort Lee. But they worked in the borough during the early days of the
silent film industry.
A forerunner of Errol Flynn, Harrison Ford, Arnold Schwarzenegger,
and Tom Cruise, Fairbanks was Hollywood’s first great swashbuckling action
hero, an actor who endowed costume dramas like The Thief of Baghdad, Robin
Hood, and The Mark of Zorro with his enormous charisma and athletic
ability, even performing his own stunts, in independent films he produced.
Pickford was, like Fairbanks, a producer in her own
right—in fact, as the first woman to own her own movie company, as well as
theaters themselves and a studio lot, the most powerful female in Hollywood.
That clout derived from her box-office success as
“America’s Sweetheart,” with audiences flocking to see this actress in her
twenties playing innocent, virginal, but spunky girls (an illusion enhanced by
her 5-foot-tall frame, bashful glance, and blond curls).
The two stars met not long after Fairbanks came out to
Hollywood in 1915. At first, because they had other spouses at the time, they
tried to conceal their attraction from each other and, more important, the
public.
But, while spearheading the drive for Liberty Bonds
during WWI, the two not only found a way to cement Hollywood’s relationship to
Washington decision-makers for the next century, but their own liaison. Married
at last in 1920, they lived and threw parties in one of the most lavish estates
in Beverly Hills, “Pickfair.”
Together with friends Charlie Chaplin and D.W.
Griffith, Fairbanks and Pickford formed their own film studio in 1919, United
Artists—a venture meant to ensure that the creative talent—directors and
stars—rather than moguls or banks, would control the distribution network of
films.
Although their popularity as the king and queen of
Hollywood lasted for more than a decade, they became two of the casualties of
the transition from silents to sound pictures. Both Fairbanks and Pickford chafed
at the restrictions placed by limited microphone mobility on camera movements
in the new era.
Additionally, they had trouble adjusting their old personas
for audiences. Years of chain smoking left Fairbanks unable to exhibit the
daredevil stunt work that had been his stock in trade. The aging Pickford found
the ingenue roles that had made her the highest-paid actress in Hollywood to be
golden handcuffs as she tried to transition to more adult roles. (Her decision to
cut her trademark hair was not only front-page news but inspired an outpouring
of protests from fans.)
The two would make only one film together—a 1929
adaptation of The Taming of the Shrew, the first time that the talkies had
put Shakespeare onscreen—but it did little to recalibrate audience expectations
of their onetime idols. With each facing disappointment, they became less
active onscreen, with Pickford even retiring from screen acting (though not
producing) in the early 1930s.
Inevitably the marriage crumbled, with the two
divorcing and remarrying to different partners in the mid-1930s. Fairbanks died
of a heart attack in 1939.
Pickford, though living four decades longer than her
ex-husband, was not necessarily luckier in her passage into history. In 1976, millions
of Oscar watchers (including me) were aghast when the producers of the shot
presented the ailing, 83-year-old Pickford with a lifetime achievement award at
Pickford.
The sight of the venerable star, outfitted with wig of
blonde curls, false eyelashes, and gaudy lipstick, was shocking enough that
columnist Mike Royko wrote, “"Mary Pickford, the one-time screen darling
of America, has managed to offend people. She did it by growing old.”
I could not close this post without considering the
two stars in their heyday—what they meant to each other and to the overall
Hollywood dream factory. More than 200 items in the Fort Lee museum exhibit help
in this regard.
They trace the evolution of the Fairbanks-Pickford
relationship, including stills, posters, window cards, set and costume designs,
boots and practice swords used by Fairbanks in career highlights like Robin
Hood, and Pickford’s hairbrush set.
Most poignantly, there is a small sample of the many
love letters that Fairbanks sent Pickford throughout their relationship—which,
despite their eventual divorce, she kept in a box in Pickfair until the day she
died.