Age and sex appeal are timeless things. Look at me! I'm living proof...
No prize for guessing which screen superstar said that! The life and career of Mae West, sometime in the early to mid-50s, became an existential thing. The last time I saw Miss West, as I always called her, was the spring of 1978, at which time she was beginning to fall into a state of increasing bewilderment, which today we would term dementia or Alzheimer's. During our visit, she told me I reminded her of her nephew (her brother John's son). That evening, as I departed, I affectionately called her Aunt Mae.
To visit Mae was an unforgettable experience, especially if you were aware of her films, her controversy, her legend, her myth. She certainly didn't disappoint. Among her vast real estate holdings, which she began to purchase when she was the highest-paid female star in Hollywood, was a ranch and a Santa Monica beach house, which she often frequented (but never went out into the sun). She could have afforded a Raj palace that would have completely overshadowed Pickfair [the now-destroyed home of Mary Pickford], however, home was an apartment, which remained unchanged - like Mae - for as long as I can remember. It was on the sixth floor of a doorman building, in a pleasant residential neighborhood, called Ravenswood.
Even the last time I visited, she stood regally in the hallway in the satin gown she wore in "Myra Breckinridge." And even under the special lighting conditions that were de rigueur (and just a little reminiscent of the moment in "Sunset Boulevard" when Joe meets Norma for the first time), it was obvious the dress, like the furnishings, was a bit faded. But, and this was the biggest kick, she flipped the tresses of her long blonde wig and swiveled the hips of her no longer svelte body. It was a living movie, and I could vividly see her in an earlier film sidling up to Cary Grant, whom she always claimed she discovered (she really didn't) and saying, "Why don't you come up and see me sometime?" Gone were the days when sister Beverly, her absolute alter ego, or her very proper butler Grayson would boom as you arrived, "And now here's Miss Mae." Seriously.
In later visits, you were received by a man many found cold and intimidating, but whom I thought was a prince of the earth. He was Paul Novak, a former wrestler and muscleman in Mae's club and stage shows. For the last 25 years of her life, he was her absolutely devoted confidant and factotum. Paul received you at the elevator and brought you to the small, darkened living room with its special overhead lighting and the famed nude alabaster statue of Mae West (by Gladys Lewis Bush) on the grand piano. He would serve you water and then talk to you while you waited.
Mae still loved to make an entrance. There was a signal when she was ready for her close-up, because suddenly Paul would excuse himself and go to Mae's bedroom. Then, on his arms, she would saunter in - all 5'2" of her, a fact she always obscured by wearing five-inch platform shoes draped by a long gown. It's impossible to forget her greeting of "Hi ya," a throwback to her Brooklyn days. Of course, you stood. She was a lady and you were in the presence of royalty. Her handshake was ever firm and you were mesmerized by her sparkling baby blue eyes (I never figured out how she made them do that!) [Bette Davis and Miss Rader said they knew, but they would never reveal the secret.] She smiled widely to assure you that the teeth were all hers. "Sit down, dear," she uttered in a gentle, loud whisper, as she glided to her armchair. Paul pointed to the end of the brocaded couch, right next to her. Another fascinating conversation followed.
The "Sex Empress of the Silver Screen" was only seven going on eight when she made her first public stage appearance, billed as Baby Mae, and vamped her way to First Prize in an Elks Club show at Brooklyn's Fulton Street Royal Theater. That was the beginning of the career of the scintillating, flamboyant Mae West that only continued to grow and become exaggerated over the years - exaggerated mainly by Mae herself.
To Mae West, Age Was An Undefined Thing
By the time she made her film debut in 1932 at the age of 45 (she said 40) in "Night After Night" - delivering her famous "Goodness had nothing to do with it, dearie" line as a retort to a compliment from a hat check girl about her diamonds, her experiences and P.T. Barnumish showmanship were fabled. She was the woman who introduced the shimmy, in Chicago, during the 1918 pre-Broadway run of Rudolf Friml's Sometime, after she saw South-Side blacks doing the dance in a club; the author/star of Sex, which created an uproar in New York over tastelessness (an incident that resulted in a brief jail sentence for "corrupting the morals of youth"); and the author of a seriocomic "psychological" study, "The Drag."
One day, in preparing for Universal's big do, I brought up age, saying that though she looked 50ish, some said she was in her 60s. Yes, I was being foolish, but she honestly did look like was in her late 60s. "Honey, what do ya mean?" she quickly reprimanded. "Fifty? I look like I'm in my thirties. A lot of people think I'm still in my late twenties. I've got letters from twelve and thirteen-year-olds who tell me I look young enough to be their mother. There's not a line on my face! And look at my hands! They're as smooth as a baby's behind." My remark got her supercharged. "It's the body and mind," she continued. "Keep your mind thinking young and your insides have to be healthy and youthful. If I can do it, anyone can. I've had an easy, successful and happy life. The happiness part is an important part. I do pamper myself, but why shouldn't I? I love myself! If you can't do that, how can you expect to love someone else? I like Mae West best - all of me. Look! Show me anyone who, at my age, can do what I'm doing (she was about to make the film "Sextette," which was fraught with difficulties for her) and look the way I do."
Mae went on to say that most women, when they reach 40, start having to play character parts, but she only played leads. She stated that when she looked into the mirror, "I realize that I've given others hope."
Yes, you're sitting there listening to all this with all sorts of crazy thoughts running through your head, but she's speaking very matter-of-fact. It was because she believed what she was saying. The teeth could have been real. For a woman who became outraged at such stars as Bette Midler, Streisand (in the film "Hello, Dolly!") and Madonna for "copying me," she could be guilty of at least one instance. Her blonde tresses, which she claimed to be her natural hair and may have been - if they were used to craft the obvious wig she was wearing [she wore wigs her entire career, carefully hiding the scalp line] was done in the style that Brigette Bardot made famous in the 60s. However, on this occasion, sitting so close, I could see Mae hadn't taped down the wig netting. Mae's skin was like a baby's, at least the parts she exposed. As far as lines on her face, there were no really discernible ones. She swore she never had plastic surgery. I always imagined she probably spent the better part of her days on personal ritual, such as rubbing on ointments and creams, for she had an unwavering dedication to preserving the illusion and not the reality.
One of her closest friends, after her 1980 death (from complications following a fall and stroke), put it best: "For decades, like Narcissus, kneeling by his pool lost in self-adoration, Mae reclined on her satin-sheeted bed, gazing rapturously at her misty image reflected in her mirrored canopy. Self-hypnotized, she believed so deeply in her youthful luminosity that she felt the public accepted her unchanged and unchangeable."
We spoke of the legends she knew: Al Jolson, Greta Garbo, even W.C. Fields. What makes a legend, I wanted to know. "To be a legend, you got to be different - have a special look, or walk, or aura. In my case, I had it all. And knew how to use it. These aren't gestures you learn in high school, dear. They come natural. And my basic style, I never changed. Half the women in the world - and quite a few men - have imitated me. They only imitate you if you're unique. I am."
Who came closest in the imitation department? "Marilyn Monroe. She had magnetism and sex appeal. The masses loved her. She couldn't talk or dominate a picture the way I did, though. Chaplin's the only other person who could star in and write his films."
In the male department, Mae said she liked Elvis. "He was raw and the sexiest actor around. He could sing, too. When he started and caused so much of a ruckus swiveling his hips, I thought, 'He's takin' what I did and settin' it to music.' And, like me, he brought freedom and independence to the public."
Mae West Gave The Public What They Wanted
She was always flattered by her popularity among homosexuals. "They're good people and I always stand up for them. I like some of the impersonations the gay boys do. I had flamboyance and style. They liked that. I've had wonderful gay friends since my days in vaudeville. I used to bring the chorus boys home with me. Mama loved 'em. We'd cook for them and they'd fix our hair."
Did she predict her stardom? "No, but it didn't come as a surprise. It just happened. I never gave it much thought. I never knew anything but show business. As a child in stock companies, and later in vaudeville, I'd sing in front of the olio. I had a child's voice, but it was natural and people made a fuss. The booking agents used to smile and pat me, so, you see, I knew I wasn't having a normal childhood compared to what I saw other kids doing."
She knew she was different because, from the time she was 12, boys hung around her "six and seven at a time." She said, "We'd mostly talk or sing and dance, but sometime we'd hug and kiss. They wanted to play around, but I came from a proper family, so I never let them go too far. I knew I had something, but then I didn't know it was called sex appeal. Even later, I didn't know what made men brawl over me." She admitted it was the public that made her a star. "They responded to me because I had something they liked. And I gave them what they wanted. The men liked me, but the women came to see me, too. The women really supported me. Men could do everything, when I was starting in pictures, but women felt frustrated. This was nonsense! I decided why shouldn't women be able to do what they wanted even if it was of a sexual nature."
Mae observed that before she came along, you couldn't print the word "sex." "I'm flattered when people say I invented it. I didn't. Now it's on billboards, all over the movies. People shout it. It's not special anymore. It's been so exploited, it's not fun anymore. What's missing is a respect for sex."
She explained that sex in films was going through a rough period. "It's being misused and mishandled." As far as language was concerned, "I would never want censorship, but writers and directors ought to learn four-letter words aren't the full extent of the English language. I never used a four-letter word. I didn't have to rely on that for laughs. We've gained full freedom to say and see everything, but we've lost something, too."
She didn't find making "Myra Breckinridge" a pleasant experience. "I forgot it as soon as it was over! I wipe out what I don't like immediately. You talk about disjointed efforts. We all learned on that one! No one but me knew what they were doing, but I don't regret making it. There was some tension when we said things in the heat of the moment, but Raquel was okay. Just a bit envious of me. There were hassles over the budget, script and the director (Michael Sarne). I told (Twentieth Century) Fox, 'You got nothin' without me.' That turned out to be true."
Regarding her last effort, "Sextette," Mae said she was surrounded by wonderful leading men: Timothy Dalton, Tony Curtis, George Hamilton, Ringo Starr "and all those musclemen." And Dom DeLuise. "He's the closest anyone ever came to stealing a picture from me. He's very funny and a doll. Working with him was one of the great treats of my career."
She noted that of current films, she liked "Star Wars." "It made people laugh and have fun. I coulda been in that one. I'd like to do a science-fiction. I could have played the Moon Goddess."
Another time we spoke of her "feud" with W. C. Fields. "Bill was difficult, but I didn't hate him. There was no one quite like him. I always enjoyed his comedy. My only doubts about him came in bottles. I wrote `My Little Chickadee' and put in a terrific part for him. I had my ideas, he had his and the studio had theirs. I did my best to make Bill's part funny, but he became envious of me getting so many big laughs from the crew. He wanted to write a scene for himself, and demanded co-billing." Their real problem, Mae reported, was when Fields began drinking on the set. "I had a non-drinking clause in my contract and he was holding up the company. It got so bad, I told Lester (Cowan, the producer) and Eddie (Edward Cline, the director), 'Pour him outa here!' Somehow, we managed to finish it. Over the years, millions have seen it. It's probably his best-remembered picture. Universal kept saying what a great team we were, and wanted us to do another picture. But one was enough."
Mae said she was everything she ever wanted to be. "If there was something I wanted to do, and it wasn't there, I'd write a script or rewrite someone else's. I am not just a woman, but also a star, a thinker."
Does she ever grow tired of being Mae West? She looked at me with utter surprise. "No. You can't get enough of a good thing. My life and career have been fulfilling and satisfying. I have no regrets. I accomplished a lot and had fun. I always did things the right way - my way. I was always an individualist - a loner. As a kid, I never had much time to mix with other children, but I didn't miss that. Growing up in show business made me a lot smarter." She said that it was vital to know your worth, especially in a business as fickle as show business. "I can appreciate the fact that I always pushed. I never stood still. I called the shots. I never allowed myself to be treated as a second-class citizen because I was a woman. There are still people who resent me because I was nobody's fool. The thing I'm proudest of is that I broke a lot of ground."
[Author's note: Thanks to the Lydia Rader, the mother-in-law of a film director with my last name (that, since childhood, I said I was related to and, later, got to know well), I met Mae West. Miss Rader, an endearing film colony personality, was active in the Hollywood Mothers Club (which Mae supported). My first visit with Mae was courtesy of her. On three later occasions we sat at her apartment and, on the occasion I had to work with her, a Universal Studios soundstage (the launch party for an album of her famous movie lines) and reminisced. With the revival of interest in Mae, courtesy of the Broadway play Dirty Blonde, the recent first revival of her play Sex, and no less than three musicals about her in development, I thought it might be fun to dust off these memories and explore again the themes that preoccupied her lifetime.]
[END]
