I Do and I Don't: A History of Marriage in the Movies

ISBN 978-0-307-26916-4

Jeanine Basinger's I Do and I Don't is clearly the work of extensive, passionate research. The film historian explains that marriage is rarely the main subject of films and certainly never advertised as such. In order to give the marriage movie a face, she viewed hundreds of films in search of plots where "the state of being married" was the sole focus (xvi). Basinger divided her findings into three sections: The Silent Era (20 pages), The Studio System (280+ pages), and The Modern Era (50+ pages). Each is peppered with photographs (on the back inside flap, the book boasts 139 illustrations), which give visual support to Basinger's assertions.

It is supreme irony that moviegoers could be conned into believing in romance that led to happy endings in one kind of movie, and then be shown that what came after the happily-ever-after was pretty awful...yet still be conned all over again into believing that the awfulness could be fixed, made new, and restored to the point of the original happy ending. (Basinger 3)

Arbuckle & Normand, comedic marriage movie team

From a cinematic standpoint, marriage must be plagued with problems because conflict is fundamental to good storytelling. If there is no conflict in the marriage, there is no story to tell. Basinger examines how Hollywood packaged these marital problems. During the silent era, filmmakers presented marriage and its problems in two extremes: either “raucous comedy or stark tragedy” (7). Assuming viewers were married and miserable, the comedy invited them to laugh at their joint misery. On the other hand, the drama told a cautionary tale upholding societal values, but not before letting the audience view plenty of sin and, as Basinger puts it, “Participate without consequences” (16). The films also allowed their viewers to escape to an exotic location and vicariously share in a luxurious lifestyle with grand bathrooms, furniture, and clothes. The historian notes these last elements can still be seen in today’s films with their large homes and elaborate kitchens.

In the next section, Basinger describes a shift from the exaggerated to the more familiar under the studio system. She details all aspects of the studio system formula—the purpose, patterns, couples, problems, and situations—making the book an ideal read for students of film studies. Movies made during this period reassured married viewers that all ends well for those who stick with it through hard times. According to Basinger, two patterns emerged: the “I Do” pattern of affirm-question-reaffirm-resolve and the “I Don’t” divorce pattern (told in flashback) of question-affirm-resolve-reaffirm. The latter movie discussed divorce, but the event never actually occurred due to the Production Code, hence the reaffirm portion of the pattern. Basinger also covers variations of the marriage movie: “without love” and “oops, we’re not married!” marriages. In these films, tension is built because the chase continues despite the couple being married.

Basinger identifies seven recurring problems in the studio system marriage movie: money, infidelity and/or adultery, in-laws and children, incompatibility, social class, addiction, and murder. She cites numerous examples of each type of problem, noting that most movies have a combination of forces at work. In case some might think the issues are strictly American, Basinger also delves into foreign films demonstrating that “marriage films transcend cultural differences. […] Croissants, smorgasbords, or green tea, marriage is just marriage” (252).

Before moving into the final portion of her book, Basinger looks at the one external problem that can overrule the other seven: “when a movie married couple faced a large, historical situation outside their control, such as the war (and later the Sexual Revolution), their problems were subjugated to the situation” (254). This part of the book would be especially appealing to anyone who enjoys learning about World War II as Basigner spends much time analyzing WWII films. Through research of memoirs, newspaper and magazine articles, she verifies the authenticity of the events portrayed in such films, finding the circumstances on the home front not far from what was projected onscreen. To further prove her point that the situation "trumps" all other problems, she shows that the absence of war (the situation) results in the return of the seven prewar problems in films. 

The final section encompasses movies from the 1960s forward. While the section appears small, it is important to note that Basinger incorporates modern movie examples throughout the book whenever appropriate. With social change, marriage was no longer an expected state of the human experience. Women, the primary target of the marriage movie, were not interested in the institution. The genre declined as filmmakers avoided the financially unsound subject. When a marriage movie was made, the characters often debated or discussed the institution--an ongoing trend which Basinger coins "the therapy session." There are movies, however, that continue to follow the old formulas. Analyzing one of the examples, Mr. and Mrs. Smith (2005), Basinger observes, "As is always the case, marriage is destroyed and restored, shown to be unworkable, and then worked out" (343). On the flip side, the author takes note of an emerging theme in current movies, one in which there is "no resolution, no closure, no reassurance, and finally, no explanation" (358). She predicts that this will be the future of the marriage movie.

~ ~ ~

Basinger's book is conversational in tone. As such, there are quick asides throughout, often humorous in nature. For example, regarding the perfect "older" husband during the studio system: 

He was rich, he gave you everything, he solved all your problems--and then he died and got out of your way so you could marry a really hot guy. (115 in footnote) 

Describing the plot of The Egg and I:

They set out in his car, and as they drive farther and farther up into the thickly wooded hills on their way to their new home, the goat they are bringing with them eats her new hat. (Every woman in the audience immediately knows that this hat thing is a terrible omen.) (124)

These comments do not take away from the book as she does not veer off the path for long. In fact her quips are often located in parentheses or footnotes. If the reader prefers a more straightforward read, the comments can be avoided altogether. However, in my opinion, they add flavor, a personal touch to her book.

On her quest to document the history of marriage in movies, Basinger describes hundreds of films from the silents to modern day. Everyone who reads her book should walk away with a few new films to view. (As I write, I have two films waiting on my DVR--one new and one I wish to revisit after reading her take on it.) Basinger also includes a brief analysis of TV marriage sitcoms in her book, so readers might come away with a new sitcom to check out as well.

~ ~ ~

In addition to reading I Do and I Don't, individuals may be able to take a free course on the subject from Basinger via Coursera (the class has been offered the past two years, no information on when it will be offered in the future). Those who have taken the course will most likely be bored by the book as much of the lecture follows the text word for word. If you read the book first, the bonus of taking the course would be the opportunity to hear and see Basinger (lectures are prerecorded), view clips of a few movies she describes in the book, and discuss the films with other students who are taking the course. The course is not graded, so it is a low pressure environment.

Work Cited

Basinger, Jeanine. I Do and I Don't: A History of Marriage in the Movies. New York: Alfred A. Knoff, 2012. Print. 

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Hope: Entertainer of the Century

ISBN 978-1-4391-4027-7

Last November I was fortunate enough to win a copy of Hope by Richard Zoglin from Aurora at Once Upon a Screen. I spent the next six months slowly consuming the book. (This has nothing to do with the writing, which is superb. I'm just a busy gal during the school year.) I was hoping the biography would grant a peek behind Hope's comedic mask, perhaps uncovering what made him tick, what dreams may have gone unrealized, what inner demons plagued him, and what served as his daily inspiration. None of this was revealed, but not through the author's fault. If Hope had deeper aspects of his persona, he kept them well hidden from his closest friends and family. With Hope, what you saw is what you got: an entertainer through and through. He was on the go 24/7, the poster child of workalcoholics.

But oh what a poster child! Hope worked hard to achieve success, and successful he was--in every medium he touched. Therefore, Zoglin's biography becomes a study on the evolution of entertainment over the last century. Hope worked his way up through vaudeville, landing on Broadway. While on stage, he began dabbling in radio where his show would eventually reach first place in the Hooper ratings. On the silver screen, his movies were box-office hits regardless of the strength of the material. He wrote several books, finding himself on the bestseller list multiple times. In television, his specials would garner record-breaking Nielsen ratings year after year.

Part of Hope's success can be attributed to his revolutionary vision, which Zoglin details throughout the biography. Hope was the first to hire a team of writers devoted to developing his material--a common practice now but unheard of in the 1930s.  He had the foresight to research the locale of upcoming venues (via his writers, whom he would send ahead of time), so his jokes would be relatable to the audience. He took "Thanks for the Memories," the song he performed in The Big Broadcast of 1938, and turned it into a "branding tool" by reworking the lyrics to fit his radio and USO appearances, forever bonding his name with the tune. He pioneered breaking the fourth wall in films, a comedic device that made the audience feel a special connection with the comedian--like they were in on the joke with him. And this was the other part of Hope's success: his ability to create a pseudo intimate relationship with his viewers and listeners (and I'm not talking about his many extra-martial dalliances which Zoglin also objectively covers).

At the cost of his family life--he likened his stays at home to "doing another personal appearance, only with meals" (198)--Hope remained accessible to the public. If someone requested his presence at a charity event, he was there regardless of the organization's prestige. (Zoglin reports that Hope entertained at 562 benefits during two years in the early 1940s. Age did not slow Hope down: he made 174 appearances in 1983.) If a fan wrote him a letter, more than likely he answered it. Per Zoglin, "He replied to an amazingly high proportion of his fan letters--with the help of a battery of assistants, to be sure, but with the kind of care and personal detail that only he could have supplied" (10). He entertained the troops through numerous wars--from World War II to the Persian Gulf, in an attempt to raise the soldiers' morale and bring them a slice of home. His success during the early wars led to a loyal fan base. (Vietnam was not a shining moment for Hope, who was on the wrong side of the generation gap.)  All this took time, but Hope valued his fans. Zoglin quotes Hope:

Never make 'em think you don't care. Your time's not your own. You owe 'em. (486)

Entertainment was not just a job for Hope. Entertainment was his life.

Work Cited

Zoglin, Richard. Hope: Entertainer of the Century. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2014. Print. 

Interested in learning more about Bob and Bing's relationship? Read my Dueling Divas post which cites info from Zoglin's biography. 

Frankly, My Dear: Gone with the Wind Revisited

ISBN 978-0-300-16437-4

The day Molly Haskell's Frankly, My Dear arrived, I was bursting with excitement. For one thing, it is written by Molly Haskell whom I admire for her candid analysis of movies while never losing sight of her love of films. Secondly, I have a very personal connection to Gone with the Wind (1939). My mom loved the movie--so much so that I am named after one of the characters. Watching Gone with the Wind was a momentous event in our household. To this day, I get shivers whenever I hear "Tara's Theme." In many ways, this emotional response is what Haskell's book is about: why the movie and corresponding novel have been embraced by the American public year after year and how the two have influenced society. 

Before purchasing the book, I researched the reviews. There were some complaints that this wasn't a book about the making of the film; however, knowing the author, I didn't expect it to be. That being said, Haskell does include interesting tidbits and anecdotes about the making of Gone with the Wind (hereafter referred to as GWTW) including the exhaustive search for the perfect Scarlett, Clark Gable and Leslie Howards's aversion to making the film (and what enticed them to do so), the amount of writers and directors the overzealous Selznick went through, and the final cost to produce the film ($4,250,000). I already knew most of these facts and suspect GWTW enthusiasts will as well. Point being that Frankly, My Dear is for someone who is looking for something beyond basic trivia.

After establishing the historical importance of GWTW--the first chapter is called "The American Bible"--Haskell discusses the similarity of the three principles: David Selznick (the producer), Vivien Leigh (the star), and Margaret Mitchell (the author of the novel). She describes their backgrounds, arguing that their ambition, internal conflicts, and intensity contribute to the success of the film.  Each had something to prove, to stoke the fire: Selznick to avenge a wrong against his father; Leigh to personify Scarlett in order to win the coveted role, then to complete the film and return to her beloved Olivier; and Mitchell to expose the hypocrisies of upper-crust Southern society. 

'20s flapper, '30s matron

Although Mitchell did not like the insincerity of high society, she was not willing to abandon her South for Hollywood. In the chapter, "Finding the Road to Ladyhood Hard," Haskell explores the conflicts which plagued the author and thereby shaped the novel and movie. Haskell describes Mitchell as an "outsider/insider" (123). She was both tomboy and Southern lady, a free-spirited flapper and settled society matron, a social butterfly and recluse. Mitchell resisted and then surrendered to the Southern ideal of womanhood. This tug-of-war on her identity is present in GWTW through the virtuous Melanie, who was Mitchell's intended herione, and the scandalous Scarlett, who is the embodiment of Mitchell's rebellious side, too strong to keep subdued on the sidelines. 

Under the guise of  demure Southern lady, Scarlett "gets away with [nonconformity] in a way that is rare, not to say unprecedented in movies, given a double standard that generally grants such immunity only to the male of the species" (98). New concepts of womanhood are allowed to emerge. Haskell points out that Scarlett lacks a maternal instinct (shown more completely in the book than on screen) and rebuffs the idealization of marriage: "'Marriage fun?' replies a disbelieving Scarlett. She's not buying" (102). Additionally, the backdrop of war and Reconstruction makes it possible for the genteel Southern woman to show strength and take on the 'masculine' qualities of leadership and self-preservation:

The woman who wanted nothing more than a shoulder to lean on has become, by default, the mainstay, the authority figure upon whom others must lean. (94)

Men's roles are also transformed in GWTW. Typically reserved for women, the categorization of virgin and whore can be applied to the leading men of GWTW. Female viewers are given the choice between Ashley, "the wan and perfect blonde" and Rhett, "the lustrous and passionate brunette" (185). Additionally, the idea of the handsome hero going off to war is called into question. Haskell argues that the manly heroes of D.W. Griffith's Birth of a Nation (1915) become weaklings in GWTW. They go off to play a game of war while women face the true hardships of home. From the mouth of Scarlett:

"Fighting is like champagne. It goes to the heads of cowards as quickly as of heroes. Any fool can be brave on the battle field when it's be brave or else be killed." (194)

Haskell contends GWTW "is genuinely antiwar"--once the battle field's "adrenaline rush of violence" is removed, the reality of war sets in (201).

An analysis of GWTW would be incomplete without considering the portrayal of the African American experience. Haskell acknowledges Mitchell's guilt of painting "slavery with a happy face" (209). At the same time, though, the film challenged the prevailing thought that African Americans were aggressive and dangerous as was portrayed in Griffith's Birth of a Nation. Haskell explains that,

With Mitchell, the taint of slavery was transmogrified into harmonious cohabitation, a hierarchy [...] in which the white trash Slatterys were far more lazy, noxious, and parasitic than Negroes, especially the house 'darkies,' who look down on the field hands [...] (209) 

Haskell brings her own experience of being both Southern (born and raised) and Northerner (her current home) to explain the inability for people outside of the South to understand the interdependent relationship between blacks and whites, which is shown in the book and film, where they "complement and complete each other in important ways, their intimacy a fact of life" (210). The thought reminds me of the recent novel The Help (2009) in which the young white children, particularly the main character, have a special relationship with the black women who care for them. The author of The Help, also a Southerner, and Haskell seem to share a special understanding elusive to those not from the South.

Hattie McDaniel

Haskell points out that current film scholars agree that despite the obvious racism, there is much to applaud in "the strength of the black presence at a time when there were few roles of color at all" (211). Unfortunately for Hattie McDaniel, who played Mammy, the NAACP did not see the film in this light. Although she won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress--the first awarded to an African American, the head of the NAACP attacked McDaniel for betraying her race. She also faced racial discrimination when her invitation to the premiere in Atlanta was rescinded, and when she was not allowed to sit at the white cast members' table at the Oscars. Nonetheless, McDaniel's role was one of vital significance, and Haskell purports that GWTW "contains unusually finely drawn portraits of blacks who are given voices, humor, and importance" (209).

 ...

Frankly, My Dear was a light, quick read. Enjoyable. Definitely for those who love the film and/or the novel. Haskell explores the many messages put forth by the movie, but also provides insight into the effects of the various directors, writers, set designers, cinematographers, and actors.  She looks at why the American public is so enamored with the movie, and how the movie became the institution it currently is. I can't wait to read this book again.
 
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Doris Day: The Untold Story of the Girl Next Door

ISBN 978-0-7535-1809-0

In 2008, Virgin Books released David Kaufman's biography of the quintessential girl next door, Doris Day. The book is over 500 pages long (tiny print), but given the length of Doris Day's successful career--ranging from singing to acting to advocating and spanning over five decades--any book worth its salt would have to be biblical in proportion to other stars' biographies. Day not only recorded hundreds of hit songs and starred in dozens of films (appearing in 39 total), she was also a cultural icon, representative of the ideal American woman in the '40s, '50s, and early '60s. She retains the distinction of being the number one female box-office star of all time, faltering only when America's social mores evolved and her image did not.  

Kaufman's book delivers; it is a comprehensive account of Doris Day's life, which was much more complex than the sunny image she projected on screen. Although the world associated her with the virginal all-American good girl, she had already survived an abusive marriage, given birth, and divorced twice before she ever arrived in Hollywood.

Day singing for Les Brown's band

 She was also an established singer, who had found great success performing with Les Brown's band with such hits as "My Dreams Are Getting Better All the Time" (1944), "You Won't Be Satisfied" (1945), and most notably "Sentimental Journey" (1945). She was popular among soldiers--including a then unknown Rock Hudson--"join[ing] the ranks of Betty Grable, Rita Hayworth, and Dorothy Lamour as one of their favorite pin-ups" (39). Here was not the pristine Day that America would come to know. As Oscar Levant once remarked, "I knew Doris Day before she was a virgin" (399).

Publicity photo from
Romance on High Seas

 Once in Hollywood, she was a natural in front of the camera. Her first film performance in Romance on the High Seas (1948) scored predominately positive reviews. Marty Melcher, who worked with her agent at Century Artists, took note and soon after became both her manager and third husband. The result was more of a business partnership than marriage.  Kaufman quotes many people who observed that Melcher treated Day like a commodity, and several speculated that he wanted to hitch himself to her rising star. To be fair, Kaufman balances this information with Day's own comments which are confirmed with others' accounts that the relationship was mutually beneficial: "'Marty had no desire to be a celebrity, and Doris had no desire to sign the checks'" (283). Out of Melcher's managership emerged Day's carefully coiffed image of the wholesome all-American girl:

Day circa 1955 - Source

Kaufman provides brief descriptions of movie plots; i.e. doesn't go overboard as some biographers do, which allows him to focus on how Melcher created the Doris Day persona and how she, in turn, became a cultural icon. Melcher insisted on final approval of media (no approval = no interview with his famous wife), strategically selected Day's film roles, and arranged promotional activities to keep Day in front of the public. For an example of how specific Kaufman gets, consider this promotional detail: a $3.98 album featuring two songs from Lover Come Back "could be 'yours for only $1 and 2 larger crowns from the fronts of 2 Imperial [butter] packages'" (299).

Doris Day paper dolls - perfect
promotion of her films and fashion

He also includes information on movie budgets (Day's numerous costumes notwithstanding--after all, her beautiful clothes were a big part of her image), behind the scene decisions, and public opinion. By including such information, Kaufman transports the reader to another time when Day reigned. 

Day, a workaholic, became all product. She was the sunshine girl at all times. If she didn't like a hairdresser or camera man, Melcher would take care of it and she would smile on. If she didn't like a question or comment, she ignored it as though the words had never been spoken.

Top: Day as Ruth Etting
Bottom: Day as a terrified
wife in Midnight Lace

On occasion, glimpses of the real turmoil beneath the image-- the tip of a large iceberg hidden in the water--came through in the form of a film role.  Such was the case in the role Day herself believed to be her greatest performance: Ruth Etting in Love Me or Leave Me (1955).  There were several similarities between the real life Etting and Day: both were singers, both had husbands who beat them (Day's first husband), both had husbands who were managers and tirelessly "promoting and exploiting [their wive's] natural talents" (184). If Day was incredible as the made up girl next door, she was ten times as great playing a character who resembled herself. In Midnight Lace (1960), a film that Melcher insisted his wife undertake despite her apprehension, Day again tapped into fears she would have preferred to have kept bottled up. When Day becomes hysterical in the movie, "'[...] that isn't acting. She really means it'" the director, David Miller, observed (273). 

But for the most part the real Day remained submerged beneath the publicity, film roles, fancy outfits, and confident smile. She was plagued with insecurities,  unable to watch the film rushes or to perform in front of a live audience or orchestra after her initial band days. Everyone wanted something from her, and she had a history of misplacing trust: Day's first husband abused her; her third husband exploited her; her lawyer attempted to abscond with her fortune; and her fourth husband involved her in a pyramid pet food franchise scheme. While Day befriended and maintained  superficial relationships with many of her fans and the people with whom she worked, she found it difficult to truly get close to anyone. Her relationship with her son Terry--the one person with whom she should have been close--was in her words, more akin to a "brother and sister" (42). While she played the perfectly devoted and loving mother on her television show, her grown son wept backstage for "the love and attention she never gave him" (411). Day, who brought so much joy to the rest of the world, could not find happiness for herself--at least not by way of people. Instead, she preferred her pets: 

"I love people and animals--though not necessarily in that order," Day also told Stu Schreiberg for the article. "I've never met an animal I didn't like and I can't say the same thing about people." (514)  

Courtesy of DDAF

After divorcing her fourth husband, she moved to Carmel where, to this day, she happily houses dozens of dogs and cats. She returned to TV in the '80s only to promote pet health and care on Doris Day's Best Friends. She continues to be an advocate for animals through the Doris Day Animal Foundation.  

Kaufman is thorough in his research for this biography. He gathers information from a variety of sources, including interviews from a multitude of people who worked with Day over the years. He diligently presents both positive and negative perspectives of Day, her work, her husbands, and her relationships with colleagues and employees. He also includes Day's opinion, pulling from the biography on which she worked with A.R. Hotchner (Doris Day: Her Own Story - 1975) and her interviews with the media through the years. He is meticulous in giving the context of her statements, so one might consider the motivations behind them, and making corrections when her timeline is mistaken. 

There is so much more to the book than I can possibly include here. Kaufman sprinkles interesting tidbits throughout, bringing the reader into a bygone era. He includes quotes from fan magazines, gives the reader a glance at early product placements in That Touch of Mink (1962), and chronicles how the Manson murders where connected to Doris Day via her son (her son being a target, not a murderer). Because Day was such a significant figure in American culture, Kaufman's book essentially becomes a time capsule of Hollywood history.

Doris Day in the 1960s - Source

One final thought. Day came to regret and wanted to distance herself from her virginal image. It is humorous that this definitive biography of her life is published by a company with 'virgin' in the title: Virgin Books. She just can't escape the association. But you know what? I kind of enjoy that image--even if it is make believe.

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Ava Gardner: The Secret Conversations

Nobody knows what is true and what is false about me anymore. I'm not sure that I know myself anymore. (105-106)

I admit that when I asked for Ava Gardner: The Secret Conversations last Christmas I was enticed by the advertising lure that these were secret conversations, so secret that they couldn't be printed until after Ava's death. After finally getting around to reading the book, I'm not so sure this marketing maneuver is all that accurate. Ava was not exactly tight lipped when she had a few drinks in her, and the stories she told had the aura of being her standard party modus operandi, a hint of crude humor with the intent of shocking her listener. (Peter Evans, the co-author, notes when she repeats a line he has heard before that  "[s]he even made it sound like the first time she had said it" (85). In other words, the material she shares is not exclusively for him; rather it is a well-seasoned act.) I have a feeling that most of the info revealed could have been discovered through third party interviews. However, there is no substitute for witnessing firsthand Ava being Ava. 

"I drink to remember, honey" (111). - Source

The book captures the essence of Ava, a mixture of toughness and insecurity. She mixes expletives with "honey" and "baby." She is an old Hollywood dame with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, telling you like it is--the hell with it. But then again, not really how it was, how she wants to remember it to be:

I'd just rather not have to remember all the shitty things people have said and done to me. I'm happier not remembering, baby. Little of it seems pertinent now, anyway. Why can't we settle for what I pretend to remember? You can make it up, can't you? (59)

Throughout the "conversations" (so called because she did not like the idea of interviews), Evans and the reader must keep this quote in mind. Ava can be very convincing, but being a studio system actress at heart, she always has her image in mind. She doesn't want to appear to be a "nympho" when she and Mickey Rooney were still "doing it" while in the middle of their divorce (73). She is afraid that she will be seen "in a bad light" when the public learns that she was sleeping with both Rooney and Howard Hughes during the same period of time (259). She is also concerned about including too many expletives: "It makes me sound like a fucking fishwife" (88) and "Why does she have to swear all the goddamn time? It makes her sound like a goddamn tramp" (255 - Ava referring to herself in the third person). I find myself chuckling out loud at the irony of the two statements.

While Ava worries about disclosing information that will make herself and others look bad, what is really divulged is her struggle with inner demons, a kind of insecurity a la Sunset Boulevard (which Evans himself observed - 102). She desperately wants to be blissfully ignorant, to remember events in a way that is flattering to her, unwilling to give up the images that were created long ago. Yet she is conflicted because unlike Gloria Swanson's character, she knows that she is intentionally trying to deceive herself. She wants to be told she is beautiful while at the same time acknowledging it is no longer true; she describes her beauty in past tense (83-85). Evans describes it best when he tells of what he has learned about old movie actresses: 

Their vanities, and insecurities. The self-protective fibs they all tell. The delusions they have about themselves. (174)

The book is by no means a thorough biography. Ava stopped the project just as they were approaching the Frank Sinatra years. There are juicy tidbits about the seedier side of Hollywood: young actresses dating gangsters (Hollywood was full of them in those days per Ava), starlets who had to "put out" at the end of the month when the rent was due, publicists who could make dirt look clean, and a studio that "never missed a trick" (110, 152). 

The book also gives insight into the writing process and the lengths authors go to in order to get their readers that coveted story. Evans was essentially on-call 24/7 and had many late night/early morning phone calls with Ava, who did not sleep very well. He lived in the constant fear that all the work would be for not as she continually threatened to not go through with the book. Additionally, Ava preferred to talk about memories as they came to her, which meant quite a bit of piecing together on Evans' part. As a result, the book tries to, but is not always successful in maintaining continuity. Evans was also up against Ava's memory, which--as aforementioned--was not always accurate. For example, she claims to have never cheated on any of her husbands, but later reveals that she slept with a bullfighter while married to Sinatra (237).

In the end, the book is not so much a biography of Ava Gardner's life as it is a documentary on how an aging Hollywood goddess comes to terms with her past and present. It's the perfect reality companion to the fictional Sunset Boulevard.  

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