Goodbye to Another Glorious Gal: Deanna Durbin

Actress and coloratura soprano Deanna Durbin, who died recently at the age of 91, became a movie star at the age of 15 in a picture, Three Smart Girls (1936), in which she was meant to be billed ninth (she sparkled so in the rushes that she was made the picture’s star). Durbin remained immensely popular until she turned her back on Hollywood in 1949, moving to a small village in France with her third husband, movie director Charles David.

As Aljean Harmetz wrote in the New York Times, “In 1946, Ms. Durbin’s salary of $323,477 from Universal made her the second-highest-paid woman in America, just $5,000 behind Bette Davis.”

Durbin’s first appearance came opposite the then-13-year-old Judy Garland. It was swing vs. opera, and who came out ahead depends entirely upon the listener’s inclinations.

We always find it a bit sad when performers who achieved such heights reveal later, as did Durbin, that they found no joy in their Hollywood success, but we admire Ms. Durbin for doing what made her happy. She managed to enjoy more than six decades out of the spotlight she disdained, and we figure that in itself merits a tip o’ the hat.

Rest in peace, Ms. Durbin.

Goodbye to Another Glorious Gal: Patty Andrews

For those of us with a fondness for the popular culture of the Cladrite Era, the loss of a beloved star is especially painful. There just aren’t all that many performers still with us who entertained audiences in the 1920s, ’30s, and ’40s.

And let’s face it, whether or not she was still performing, the world was simply a better place with an Andrews sister still among us. But alas, the last living member of that storied vocal trio, Ms. Patty Andrews, passed away on Wednesday at the age of 94.

Patty, the youngest of the three sisters, was a soprano and the trio’s lead singer. Maxene, the middle sister, handled the high end of the harmonies, and LaVerne, the eldest, sang the low end.

They were signed to Decca records in 1937, and their second record gave them their first hit, “Bei Mir Bist Du Schön (Means That You’re Grand)” (it was the flip side of “Nice Work If You Can Get It,” which the record company expected to be the hit).

The Andrews Sisters went on to sell 75 million records before they broke up in 1953 (Patty wanted to pursue a solo career). They reunited in 1956, but the sound of popular music had changed and their moment had passed. LaVerne died in 1967, breaking up the act for good.

They were the children of immigrant parents, a Greek father (whose family name, Andreos, he changed to Andrews) and a Norwegian mother.

What great joy Patty and her sisters brought to the world over a 19-year period. The list of their hits is a long one, and choosing a few to share with you below wasn’t easy. But we urge you to give these few hits a listen and then perhaps track down a greatest hits collection or two. There’s no better way to remember Patty Andrews than to set your toe a-tapping to the delightful music she and her sisters made more than 60 years ago.

Rest in peace, Ms. Andrews, and thanks.

Bei Mir Bist Du Schön

Rum and Coca-Cola

Beat Me, Daddy, Eight to the Bar

Rancho Pillow (by special request of Ms. Cladrite)

Goodbye to Another Glorious Gal: Phyllis Diller

We were sorry to hear of the passing of Phyllis Diller yesterday (though she did live to be 95, which is a nice, long run). Diller was a groundbreaking performer who helped to open doors for so many funny women who followed her.

We thought we’d pay tribute to Ms. Diller by sharing her national television debut; it came in 1958 with an appearance as a contestant on Groucho Marx‘s You Bet Your Life. Enjoy.

Goodbye to Another Glorious Gal: Isuzu Yamada

We’re a little late in noting the passing of the great Japanese actress Isuzu Yamada, who died at the age of 95 on July 9th.

Ms. Yamada’s career was an impressive one, spanning more than seventy years over eight decades and including work in classical and contemporary theatre, motion pictures and television.

In the cinema, Ms. Yamada worked with the greatest directors Japanese cinema has produced, including Mikio Naruse, Yasujiro Ozu, Akira Kurosawa, and Kenji Mizoguchi.

Film critic Pauline Kael wrote of Yamada’s work in Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood, an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, “There may never been a more chilling Lady Macbeth.”

Peter M. Grilli, president of the Japan Society of Boston, told The Washington Post, “[Yamada] was always the tough girl in movies. If I had to compare her to an American actress, I’d say she was a combination of Bette Davis and Joan Crawford—a very tough, self-aware, aggressive personality.”

For Cladrite readers who may not be familiar with Ms. Yamada’s work, Netflix offers seven of Ms. Yamada’s pictures, spanning a 48-year period.

For more on Ms. Yamada’s life and career, check out the obits at the Washington Post and the New York Times.

Goodbye to another glorious gal: Barbara Kent

Some years ago, we had the pleasure of viewing Lonesome, a silent-talkie hybrid that was released in 1928. It’s not an easy movie to catch; as far as we know, the George Eastman House in Rochester, New York, has one of the few extant prints. (Someone seems to have loaded Lonesome up on YouTube, and we suppose that’s better than not seeing it at all, but just barely.)

Lonesome could not be more charming. Its appeal is based in large part on the fact that much of it was filmed on Coney Island, and any glimpse of that magical setting as it was in the 1920s is to be treasured.

But the plot of the picture is engaging, too. It tells the tale of two lonely Manhattanites who experience a chance meeting at Coney Island and go on to spend a magical day together before getting separated that evening, with neither having learned the other’s last name. In a city of millions, will they ever manage to find each other? (If you think we’re going to tell you how it turns out, you can think again. No blabbermouths, we.)

Lonesome was originally released as a silent picture, but with all the fuss over the new sound technology, it was decided to bring back all involved parties to film three scenes with synchronized music and dialogue. So it’s not quite a silent and not quite a talkie.

But it’s certainly delightful, in our opinion, and we encourage you, if you ever have the opportunity, to see it (in a theatre and not streaming online, if at all possible).

But you might well be wondering why we’re mentioning what is today a rather obscure picture now? Well, we’re sad to report that it’s because the movie’s leading lady, Barbara Kent, one of Universal Studios’ original contract stars and the final surviving WAMPAS Baby Star of 1927, died a week ago yesterday at the age of 103.

The Canadian-born Kent (her birthname was Barbara Cloutman) was not, admittedly, the biggest of names, even at the height of her career, but she made her mark, making eight or nine silents before successfully navigating the switch to talking pictures. She made 25 sound movies following her appearance in Lonesome, but retired from acting in 1935.

Among Kent’s most notable films were her screen debut in Flesh and the Devil (1926), with John Gilbert and Greta Garbo; a pair of starring roles opposite Harold Lloyd, in 1929’s Welcome Danger and Feet First a year later; a supporting role in Indiscreet (1931), which starred Gloria Swanson; and Emma, which featured Myrna Loy and Marie Dressler.

In the course of her nine-year career, Kent also worked alongside Douglas Fairbanks Jr., Richard Barthelmess, Edward G. Robinson, Charles “Buddy” Rogers, Andy Devine, James Gleason, Ben Lyon, Gilbert Roland, Noah Beery, Victor Jory, Dickie Moore, Monte Blue, Wallace Ford, Ward Bond, Arthur Lake, and Rex the Wonder Horse. That may not qualify as a Hall of Fame roster of co-stars, but many an actress has done worse.

After retiring, Kent refused virtually all interviews about her years in Hollywood—one notable exception was the time she afforded author Michael G. Ankerich, who profiled Kent in The Sound of Silence: Conversations with 16 Film and Stage Personalities Who Bridged the Gap Between Silents and Talkies—as she settled into a successive pair of happy marriages—first to Harry Edington, a Hollywood agent, whom she wed in 1932, and then, some years after Edington’s death in 1949, she married Jack Monroe, a Lockheed engineer. Aside from evading would-be interviewers, Kent reportedly spent her free time in her golden years as a golfer and a pilot.

For more on Kent’s life and career, give this New York Times obit a look.