Category: Goodbye to another glorious gal

Goodbye to another glorious gal

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Dolores and Bob HopeThe lovely and talented Dolores Reade Hope, longtime wife to comedian Bob Hope and a talented singer in her own right, died yesterday at the tender age of 102. We thought we’d pay our respects by rerunning the following post, which first appeared here at Cladrite Radio on March 19, 2010.

Rest well, Dolores.

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Yesterday, we shared with you one of the spring-themed songs we’re playing these days on Cladrite Radio, and we’ve decided to follow that up today with one of the recordings of Irving Berlin‘s “Easter Parade” that we’ll be sprinkling throughout our broadcasts for the next two weeks or so.

Our library boasts several renditions of the song, fine performances by the likes of the Jimmie Lunceford Orchestra, Bing Crosby, Djano Reinhardt, Gene Austin, and Leo Reisman and His Orchestra (with none other than Clifton Webb on vocals).

But our favorite is a 1933 recording by violinest Joe Venuti and his orchestra. And while Venuti and his cohorts acquit themselves admirably, it’s the vocalist who most made our ears perk up.

We did a little digging to ascertain which nightingale it was who delivered the lovely, languid vocals on this recording, and as it turned out, it was Dolores Reade. If that name rings a bell, it’s likely because Ms. Reade gave it up (along with, for the most part, her singing career) to marry comedian Bob Hope.

A native New Yorker, Reade was born Dolores DeFina in the Bronx (or Harlem—there’s conflicting info out there), and in the 1930s, she changed her name and began singing on the NYC nightclub circuit. One night in 1933, Hope accompanied a pal to the Vogue Club, promised only that he would get to “hear a pretty girl sing.”

Hope made it a nightly practice to be at the Vogue Club when Dolores performed, and his devotion soon paid off, as the two were married a few months later. She then joined his vaudeville act, but eventually gave up performing (except when she toured with Hope to entertain the troops) to be a mother and homemaker.

Encouraged by Rosemary Clooney and others, Dolores would eventually record four or five CDs in the 1990s, sounding much younger than a woman in her eighties, but it’s painful to think of the remarkable work she might have done had she been recording all along, from the 1930s forward.

Joe Venuti and His Orchestra, feat. Dolores Reade — “Easter Parade”

Goodbye to another glorious gal

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If you’ve ever seen Ed Wood Jr.‘s Glen or Glenda (1953), you’ll understand how cool it was that we once got to pose for a picture with Dolores Fuller while wearing an angora sweater (we were wearing the sweater, that is—not Ms. Fuller).

Fuller, who died yesterday at the age of 88, led an interesting life well worth celebrating. Not only did was she once an “item” with the man some consider the most inept (but hardly the least interesting) movie director of all time, but she co-wrote songs for several Elvis Presley movies, among them “Do the Clam.”

Allow us to repeat that, so that it properly sinks in: Dolores Fuller was once Ed Wood’s paramour, appearing in two of his most (in)famous directorial efforts, the aforementioned Glen or Glenda and Jail Bait (1954) (not to mention her smaller role in Wood’s Bride of the Monster (1955), and she co-wrote “Do the Clam.”

Fuller also studied acting with Stella Adler in New York City, was a child extra in Frank Capra‘s It Happened One Night, a model on TV’s Queen for a Day and Dinah Shore‘s stand-in on Shore’s early-’50s television show.

Fuller also started a record company and served as a talent manager, even playing an instrumental role in Johnny Rivers‘ early recording career.

She even penned a memoir in 2008, A Fuller Life: Hollywood, Ed Wood, and Me.

Fuller was truly a glorious gal, one to whom we’re sad to be saying goodbye. Rest in peace, Ms. Fuller; here’s hoping you are, even as we write this, joyfully doing the Clam in a far, far better place.

Goodbye to another glorious gal

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Popular recording artist Margaret Whiting, the daughter of songwriter Richard Whiting (“Hooray for Hollywood,” “She’s Funny That Way,” “On the Good Ship Lollipop,” and many, many more), has passed at age 86. Whiting, who was mentored early in her career by the great Johnny Mercer, recorded more than 700 songs and earned a dozen gold records.

Whiting led an interesting later life as well, as she would cohabitate with and eventually wed John Robert Stillman, a prominent porn star whose stage name was Jack Wrangler; the two were married for 15 years until his death in 2009.

We encountered Ms. Whiting a few times some years back, over the course of our employment as a waiter and bartender at a popular Central Park South eatery. Ms. Whiting, as we understood it, lived upstairs in the building that housed the restaurant, so she was a fairly frequent patron. Though a pleasant enough sort, she wasn’t terribly outgoing, so we have no memorable tales to tell, but she was accompanied on occasion by Mr. Stillman.

Whiting’s greatest success came in the late 1940s and 1950s, as the big bands gave way to a focus on individual singers, in advance of the rise of rock ‘n’ roll.

We hope Ms. Whiting’s final years were peacerul and happy ones, may she rest in peace, and we’re happy to be able to pay tribute to her by sharing a pair of our favorites among her recordings and a video of a live television performance from 1952.

Margaret Whiting — “It Might as Well Be Spring”

Margaret Whiting — “Moonlight in Vermont”

Goodbye to another glorious gal

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The lovely and talented Hideko Takamine passed away last week at the age of 86. She worked with such well-regarded directors as Akira Kurosawa and Yasujiro Ozu, but she is best remembered for the work she did with another of our favorite directors, Mikio Naruse.

We were saddened to learn of her passing. We had always intended to send her a fan letter (though a response would not likely have been forthcomng), and we regret not having done so.

If you’re not familiar with her work, some of it is available on DVD. Criterion has two of her pictures in their catalog — When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (directed by the aforementioned Naruse) and Twenty-Four Eyes, directed by Keisuke Kinoshita.

Some years ago, NYC’s Film Forum held a four-week retrospective featuring 31 of Naruse’s pictures. We approached the festival’s first film with low expectations, simply because we knew nothing of Naruse’s work, though we have an affinity and affection for classic Japanese cinema.

We were immediately won over, however, and ended up attending all but one of the 31 screenings. We found Naruse’s elegant tales of average people struggling to get by both moving and heartening. Naruse was a man who saw the sadness in the world and wasn’t afraid to depict it, but there’s a resolve in his work and in his characters that is also hopeful.

In immersing ourselves in Naruse’s oeuvre, we gained an appreciation for many of the actors who made repeat appearances in his pictures, and it was Ms. Takamine, along with Setsuko Hara and Kinuyo Tanaka, who most impressed us. Takemine appeared in at least twelve of Naruse’s films over the years, generally portraying, as Ron Holloway once wrote, “one from the underprivileged classes and usually a tragic figure who endures despite the whims of fate.”

Takamine’s first screen appearance came in 1929 at age 5, and she continued working until 1979, certainly a impressive and admirable run for any actor. She was a beloved figure in Japan, leading some to compare her status there to that of Mary Pickford in the United States, but others have suggested that Katherine Hepburn is a better comparison, given that Ms. Takamine proved to be just as self-sufficient and independent in her handling of her career and personal life as the plucky and iconic Hepburn. She first defied convention by eschewing a studio contract and going independent in 1950 and then, after she married screenwriter Zenzo Matsuyama in 1955, she followed her own path by, as Dave Kehr wrote in his New York Times obit of the actress, “continuing to work as an actress rather than withdraw into domestic life.”

Shirley Temple might also be a worthy comparison, given Ms. Takamine’s popularity as a child star in Japan.

Ms. Takemine, who also authored a number of published essays and books, led a more private life upon retiring. She and Matsuyama divided their time between Tokyo, where she no doubt was recognized everywhere she went, and Hawai’i, where she enjoyed a bit more anonymity.

A marvelous actress, gone but not forgotten.

Marie Osborne: Goodbye to Another Glorious Gal

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It’s a sign of the fleeting nature of fame that her name probably doesn’t ring a bell with many people today, but “Baby” Marie Osborne, the first child star in the history of American movies, died on November 11 at the age of 99.

“Baby” Marie was very popular indeed during the First World War—her movies were so successful that her adoptive parents started their own production company to produce her pictures, and she had a merchandising deal with a toy company in New York that produced Baby Marie dolls—but her stardom, which began when she was just three years old, was at end before she reached the age of ten.

Not that she stopped working in Hollywood. Though she retired for a while, in the 1930s, she returned to work as a stand-in for such stars as Ginger Rogers and Betty Hutton.

She later moved into costume work, first for the Western Costume Company and later at Twentieth Century Fox, where she worked her way up to the position of costume supervisor, a job she held until 1976. Osborne’s costume work found her working with an impressive range of performers, from Marlon Brando to John Wayne, Rita Hayworth and Robert Redford.

This was a woman who experienced Hollywood history firsthand.

Osborne, who once described herself as “the first of Hollywood’s washed-up child stars” not only experienced the highs of Hollywood stardom, she knew the lows: She never saw any of the money she’d earned as a huge star in her childhood. “I was earning $300 a week when the average American was making less than $1,000 per year,” Osborne once said, but her parents saw to it that she never saw the money.

“There was a trust fund, but I never seemed to have received anything from it,” Osborne recalled. “My foster parents lived a gilded life.”

But Osborne’s second marriage was a long happy one, she had a daughter she loved dearly, and she was content with her lot in life.

As Osborne’s friend, author Jean-Jacques Jura, wrote in a remembrance he wrote after her passing, “Baby Marie always savored the moment, exhibiting a kind and responsible tenderness toward those around her: family, friends, and all living things, including her special appreciation of the animal world. In order of importance, Marie was most grateful for her Roman Catholicism, for her excellent health throughout her full and interesting life, for her cherished daughter, Joan, and for the beauty of nature.”

Rest in peace, Baby Marie.