Thursday, 26 September 2013

Iain Dale: The Boot Is Now On The Other Foot


Last year, when I was accused of something I had not done, Iain Dale, who runs Biteback (Jeremy Robson published my Garbo book with them) instructed one of his minions to inform me that everyone who worked for his company did not believe the accusations made against me, and that they were on my side 100%. Futhermore, they were looking forward to the next book, and to Garbo coming out in America.

James, the head of sales, and Jeremy Robson--who has never been less than a gentleman--supported me, for which I was and still am grateful. 

When there was a discrepancy of just £500 in my royalty statement and I queried this, Iain Dale wrote that I was the most difficult author he had ever worked with, and that I was "a sandwich short of a picnic". All for the sake of £500, a fraction of what his company have made out of me. He added that my "behaviour" had given his company bad publicity, when there had been NO behaviour.

The police made a profound apology for what I had been accused of, I was completely exonerated, and action was taken against the person who had wrongfully accused me.

Today, Iain Dale was given a police caution for a "scuffle" incident in Brighton. He's removed most of the comments people had left on his Blog. Clearly, he is disliked by many, who believe that he should be relieved of his position of radio presenter. I'm not going to insult him, though I feel that it's the least he deserves. I just find him a reprehensible hypocrite.

IAIN DALE CLEARLY DOES NOT PRACTICE WHAT HE PREACHES.

He has apologised for his behaviour, but I fear it may be too late. Measures have certainly been taken, regarding a contract recently signed by me, that his company will not make one penny out of a project which would have made them a great deal of money. He wished me well and didn't mean it. I wish him bad luck and certainly do mean it.

I hope that his radio station DOES sack him. I hope that would-be clients DO avoid publishing with his company, though I have to stress that I have NO problems with his staff, who are all been found by me to have been professionals of the very highest order. Such is their professionalism that, if Biteback folds--which I hope it does--they will easily find work elsewhere, and I am sure with a better person at the helm. As for those who have worked with me--if they want character references, they can come to me.



Anna Magnani: 40 Years Today


It's incredible to believe that it's been forty years since this great lady left us.
Anna Magnani was Italy's greatest ever actress.
Okay, so we have the likes of Sophia and a few others, but much of the time they were all tits and pouts.
Magnani was the real deal--a raw, unadulterated talent whiles likes we will never see again.
In "Rome, Open City" she became a symbol for her country, of bravery, patriotism and suffering.
There'll never be another like her. She even made "What's My Line?" dramatic!

Friday, 20 September 2013

Dietrich On The Subject Of Suicide


Marlene and I talked about several notorious suicides, including Dalida, and attempted suicides including Judy Garland and one or two others it would be imprudent to mention.
Dalida took pills. "Her greatest performance," Marlene said.
Betty Mars and Mike Brant jumped out of windows. "Stupid and dangerous--they could have landed on top of somebody and killed them as well," she said.
"People who keep attempting suicide only bore me," she said. "If you're going to do it, do it properly and don't keep botching it up or saying that you almost did it, or that you're thinking of doing it just to get pity or attention!"
Wise words from a wise woman!
There will be three very prominent suicides by the end of this year--by next summer at the latest--and one suicide which will not be prominent, but welcomed by some.
I give you my word. Just don't ask me to elaborate!

Thursday, 19 September 2013

Ingrid Caven - Ich weiss genau 1983



[For more on the Hedda and Louella of Homophobialand (aka Hala Pickford and cohort Evelyn Zumaya) see [ http://exposekatielynnbirchard.blogspot.com ] and [http://malignantnarcissism.blogspot.com ]

Tuesday, 17 September 2013

Why I Find Jody Latham & James Argent Offensive


Okay, so "Celebrity Super Spa" is arguably the worst reality TV show I have ever seen, and I know how to use the OFF button. There was such a fuss about last night's episode, however, that I watched it.

I find Jody Latham and TOWIES's James Argent an utter disgrace. They were paid to do the show--nowadays, like Helen Flanagan no one seems to want them other than for cheap tosh like this. They knew they would have to "back-sack-crack", yet they treated those clients like something they had scraped off their shoes. All the old "I'm-straighter-than-straight-can-be" cliches about not wishing to be near another man's nether regions. Latham was on "Shameless", and that's what he is. A disgrace. And the other one, asking for gloves as if he is handling someone with a disease. The man on the bunk seemed humiliated. Smug, greasy git!

Saturday, 14 September 2013

Louis B Mayer: I Would Have Put Nothing Past This Despot


The man was a creep, of this there is no doubting. Each time I research a Hollywood star--Garbo being the latest--Louis B Mayer does not come out of it very well. In his day, everyone was terrified of this tyrant, and anyone who tried to defend themselves against him soon found themselves propelled towards the exit, often never to grace the silver screen again. Garbo and Tallulah were exceptions. He treated everyone else like something he had stepped in.

Today, few would wish to defend him. There is a "grand-niece" who calls herself "The Real Alicia Mayer" and who is as much related to him as I am. Her quest in life is to defend this monster, while her only achievement so far is to make herself look like a prize tit. Just another Twitter Twit with a mouth like a mussel, whose current aim in life is to denounce the author of the above book. So far she has failed majestically. She claims to be writing a book about her "great-uncle". It will never see the light of day.

There is nothing I would not have put past Louis B Mayer. The man had neither heart nor soul. Take for instance his abhorrent treatment of Marie Dressler:

Within a year of finishing Anna Christie, Dressler would be hailed Hollywood's number one box-office draw after Garbo, a position she retained until her death, winning an Oscar for Min & Bill (1931) in which she starred with Wallace Beery, and scored further hits with him inTugboat Annie and Dinner At Eight (both 1933). While working on the latter she was taken ill, and Mayer had her examined by his personal physician. Uncurable cancer was diagnosed, but the news was kept from from her to keep her working. When Dressler finally found out, Mayer offered fake sympathy by imposing a three-hour working day so as not to tire her, and promised her a $100,000 bonus--so long as she promised to "hang on" and complete the three films he had earmarked for her. She did, only to have Mayer go back on his word and pay her just $10,000 shortly before her death in July 1934. Because of this, Garbo is said to have loathed him more than any man on earth.
             
Mayer was also well aware that Francis Spielman, the Archbishop of New York, liked having sex with under-aged boys: 

...in particular Francis Spellman (1889-1967), the Roman Catholic Archbishop (later Cardinal) of New York....A close confidant of President Roosevelt, he was also a hypocrite and a phoney moralist—referred to as “Franny” by intimates—who enjoyed liasons with dozens of young men, mostly altar boys. The journalist Michelangelo Signorile denounced him as, “One of the most notorious, powerful and sexually voracious homosexuals in the American Catholic Church’s history.” His biographer, John Cooney, gleaned much evidence of his secret life from the priests Spellman worked with—one revealing his long term relationship with a chorus boy from the Broadway review, One Touch of Venus.

In the wake of Pearl Harbour, Spellman was more interested in covering his tracks and denouncing the latest Garbo film than he was in comforting his flock--and one person helped him, the horrendously bigoted Mayer, who was different from Spellman only in that HE loved having sex with under-aged girls.


The next day, a Sunday and one of the blackest days of the war, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour, with a loss of 2,350 lives. Archbishop Spellman was less concerned with this than he was attacking Garbo, and this "ninety minutes of filth". Despite his fear of flying, he flew to New York and demanded a meeting with the MGM executives and scriptwriters. The first thing Spellman saw when he marched into Louis B Mayer's office was a huge portrait of himself hanging on the wall--Mayer's way of proving to the outside world that he was on the side of the righteous. Later, he bequeathed Spellman $10 million in his will--for now, the cleric received a hefty pay-off to desist from making any more of a fuss,

So, there you have it. Of all the creeps in Hollywood, Louis B Mayer was the worst. He was the first to step on anyone else for stepping out of line, but did not practise what he preached. The kind of man who would have sold his mother to be a sex-slave if he could have made an easy buck.

Is "Celebrity Super Spa" The Worst Reality Show Of All Time?


This unadulterated crock of shite almost completely ruined the Celebrity Big Brother finale last night. What on earth were the programme planners thinking about, splitting the programmed in two and broadcasting this trash in between?
Herbert Howe--the question being "howe" on earth did anyone involved with this programme tolerate this fourth-rate Liberace's grandfather without cracking up. He says he's been in hairdressing for 54 years, and looks like he's been on the planet for two centuries. And the Irish presenter who loves himself to the extent that he grins like he's got his own willy wedged up his bum? 
As for the celebrities--Under The Arches brat Helen Flanagan, throwing a strop as she always does and swearing like a trooper, begging for a cake of soap in the mouth moment. Rusty Lee, whose enforced laugh must be the most annoying sound on television--we even got a double dose of this horror when she cropped up big brother, her excuse that she was singing though Charlotte's and Carol's farts sounded much better. Jodie Latham, the spotty one from "Shameless" with the personality of a dead grasshopper. The chubby one from TOWIE trying to prove that whatever the drop-dead gorgeous Mario can do, Arg cannot. I can't even remember the names of the other duds who delighted us with massaging a pensioner's feet, causing a 70-year-old man to get a hard-on, and waxing the bum-crack of a boxer. "Pot-holing", Rusty Lee called it, making one wish this lot might take up the sport in question and never return.
They will, of course--to appear in the next celebrity reality crock of shite. All that some of them see to do since leaving whatever crock of shite they were in before. 

Friday, 13 September 2013

Greta Garbo: Divine Star

Robson £20

Greta Garbo: Divine Star, By David Bret

At last, she's ready for a close-up

Suggested Topics
In a time when leaping on a sofa is counted as bizarrely independent behaviour for a movie star such as Tom Cruise, what hope would there have been for a modern-day Greta Garbo? Refusing a fabricated biography or a preassembled studio image, she handled interviews truthfully or not at all, and stood up to Louis B Mayer, the belligerent, duplicitous head of MGM, fighting him until she won. But she could get away with such behaviour because audiences were on her side. She was strange and exotic, certainly, but always highly professional. What she demanded was not unreasonable: to be respected as a human being and not regarded as a stage prop. Better still, her attitude was in accordance with her image. By being mysterious and secretive she increased her publicity. Understanding that public appearances destroy screen illusions, she felt that "the creative artist should be a rare and solitary spirit".
Garbo's outsider status was confirmed by her liaisons and by her largely gay social circle. She only ever signed one autograph in public, for a little girl who had approached her car and promptly fainted in her arms, and there was just one, self-penned magazine article, in which she asked: "Why are people so interested in the matrimonial status of film stars? It is damaging to have the intimate details of their domestic life broadcast far and wide. Imagine a man being known as 'Mr Garbo' – just that and nothing more!"
After a brief reign as the Queen of Hollywood, Garbo vanished from view at the age of 36. The conclusion at the time was that the relative failure of her controversial film Two-faced Woman for George Cukor affected her adversely, but it seems more likely that she simply grew tired of adopting a public role about which she had only ever been ambivalent.
This is not news, of course – Garbo biographies are virtually an industry in themselves. But David Bret is after something more. Digging into previously unsourced material and collating fresh stories from friends and fellow studio employees, he tries to close the two major gaps in his subject's life. The first was a mysterious period in the late 1920s when she almost certainly fell pregnant, and the studio employed a lookalike to bury rumours. The second was during the Second World War, when she became a hunter of Nazi sympathisers for British Intelligence. Hiring someone so secretive made brilliant sense, but accounts of her assignments for MI6 still feel opaque and contradictory.
Paradox lies at the core of the Garbo myth: a woman whose male friends were happy to suggest they were sleeping with her when, in fact, most were gay or bisexual; a legend whose fame rested on a mere handful of roles; an outsider at the centre of the Hollywood system; a public figure who not only professed a need for solitude but took it at the first opportunity. Bret's biography is rightly partisan and fully prepared to name enemies, which makes it a bracingly pleasurable read in these anodyne times.

N

Joan Regan RIP

Such sad news. Joan Regan was my very first crush, the icon of my chikdhood and youth. I only saw her twice, but she left a lasting impression on me. The first record I bought was "Take Me In Your Arms", the English version of Damia's "Tu n'es plus rien". She will be most remembered of course for "May You Always", which some years later was revived by my old mate, Dot Squires. I'd just finished writing about Joan in my autobiography, due out at the end of next year. She was a great lady. May she sleep in peace. XXX

Joan Regan

Joan Regan , who has died aged 85, was a leading light of the 1950s variety performance circuit whose popular singing style drew on the sunny delivery of her American contemporaries and belied her Essex roots and personal dramas.

Joan Regan
Joan Regan Photo: ALAMY
During the difficult post-war years, Joan Regan’s uplifting vocal approach had a comforting echo of Vera Lynn’s croon although, with her blonde hair and broad smile her looks mirrored the matinee glamour of the actress Anna Neagle, one of a number of stars she would later impersonate on stage. Success swiftly followed her signing to Decca Records in 1953 when her debut single, Ricochet, found her backed by the Squadronaires, the RAF orchestra. It reached No 8 in the charts and set her on a path that would result in four albums, her own television programme and international touring engagements.
Her first live performance ended prematurely when the curtain came down on her head, knocking her out. She was, however, to become a regular at the London Palladium during the late 1950s and early 1960s, appearing alongside such artists as Max Bygraves, Cliff Richard and Billy Dainty.
In 1946, when she was 18, Joan Regan had married Dick Howell, with whom she had two sons. The marriage was dissolved in 1951, and six years later she married the Palladium’s Box Office Manager, Harry Claff.
One of her frequent collaborators during her early performing years was the pianist Russ Conway. The pair became close friends. Conway declared that “three women taught me about stagecraft: Joan Regan, Gracie Fields and Dorothy Squires.” It proved to be an ideal professional partnership. “Somehow, he and I completely gelled musically,” she explained in 2004. “He took my music away and then we came back and rehearsed. And it was fantastic. It all seemed like different music.”
The variety life was indeed varied for Joan Regan. She entertained Christmas audiences in pantomime with Frankie Vaughan, shared star billing with Beryl Reid, Tommy Cooper and Morecambe and Wise and, in 1955, was called to perform before the Queen for a Royal Command Performance.
Her onstage smile, however, often hid serious distress. Her marriage to Claff ended when her husband was jailed for fraud, a crisis which led to her suffering a nervous breakdown. And in 1984 a brain haemorrhage left her temporarily paralysed and speechless. Miming to her favourite numbers aided her therapy.
Joan Regan was born on January 19 1928, at Romford, Essex. She was talent spotted by the impresario Bernard Delfont, brother of Lew and Leslie Grade, who helped her get signed by Decca (where she recorded two albums, The Girl Next Door and Just Joan). The label shaped her trademark renditions of stateside standards by Doris Day and Teresa Brewer. She later moved to EMI and then to Pye Records.
She sang on the hit television music show 6.5 Special leading to her own programme, Be My Guest. This ran for four series and attempted to expand her act, and her audience, by combining songs with impressions of stars like Gracie Fields and Judy Garland.
Further television work took her to America and across Europe, where she often sang alongside home-grown stars such as Maurice Chevalier, Eddie Fisher, Perry Como and Johnnie Ray.
After her convalescence from neurosurgery in the 1980s, she was encouraged back onto the stage by her old friend Russ Conway. Her late career on the nostalgia tours of Britain’s regional theatres drew fans that had remained with her for over four decades.
These concerts saw her expand her setlist to include numbers by many of her old friends. In particular, her vocal similarity to Vera Lynn allowed her to step into the shoes of the “Forces sweetheart” for celebratory medleys on anniversaries of V-E Day with the support of the Glenn Miller Orchestra. She performed many of her concerts towards the end of her career in aid of various charities.
Joan Regan remarried in 1968, to Martin Cowan, a doctor, and moved to Florida. The couple later returned to Britain and settled in Kent. Her husband predeceased her, and she is survived by her two sons and by a daughter of her second marriage. 

Wednesday, 4 September 2013

French Actor Alain Delon Says Homosexuality is 'Against Nature'

French Actor Alain Delon Says Homosexuality is 'Against Nature'| Gay News | Towleroad

Speaking live on France 2, he was asked about his controversial stance on prohibiting same-sex couples from having children.

He responded: “Yes, it is against nature, I’m sorry.

“We are here to love a woman, to woo a woman, not to flirt with or get picked up by guys.”


I admired Alain Delon once. We share the same birthday--though not the same year, as promoted by one of those who shall be hereby referred to as one of "Carlos' fuckwits".
I could write a lot here about Monsieur Delon, if he was dead. When this time comes, many will.
He's 77 now, and coming towards the end of a brilliant career.
It would not have turned out so brilliantly, however, had he "done a Mel Gobson" and opened his trap few years ago when at the height of his popularity. They would soon have sent him back to Borsalino.
Those who know me--the "Carlos Fuckwits"--know that I take a very firm stance against homophobia, racism and anti-Semitism. The only good racist-homophoobe-anti-Semite is a dead one, and will always be so. Monsieur Delon does not like gays any more. In fact, he does not like a lot of people.
And a lot of us no longer like him.
Today, I have seen the word "con" bandied about rather a lot...

Monday, 2 September 2013

Clark Gable & William Haines




Clark Gable & Ben Maddox: Ben invited the stars to his home for lunch—and served himself as dessert!
Gable's daughter, Judy Lewis, called me a "bastard" because I quoted Joan Crawford when relating the infamous event in the men's room at the Beverly Hills Hotel where ex-silents star Bill Haines humped Gable over the sink and paid him for the privilege.
Ms Lewis, who was born on the wrong side of the blanket, never knew that Gable had been her "cherished father" until many years after his death. Her mother was Loretta Young. 
 
The Bay Area Reporter

Gable and willing

Books

Hollywood icon’s bisexuality thoroughly vetted


imageimage

ClarkGableTormented Star by David Bret; Da Capo Press, $16.
Any movie fan worth their Gay Card knows the famous tidbit about George Cukor being fired from directing Gone With the Wind because he was gay and Clark Gable was antigay. But that’s hardly the full picture, not by a two-shot. With Clark Gable: Tormented Star, David Bret, author of numerous celebrity biographies (Rock Hudson, Joan Crawford), weaves encyclopedic research about nearly all the films in which Gable starred, or even had a bit part, and the surprisingly difficult life he led.
Written in a brisk tone that’s only occasionally slowed by his overly descriptive plot summaries, Bret delves into the private life of the archetypal “King of Hollywood,” from his jug ears, dental problems and other ailments, to his myriad affairs with wealthy women, fellow stars Joan Crawford and Carole Lombard, and several men.
Yes, folks, Clark Gable had sex with several men, which is the point of Bret’s book, to posthumously out Gable as bisexual. Bret endeavors not only to name names, but find locations and dates of many of Gable’s affairs.
Moving from his tough, working-class background in small towns like Akron, Ohio, and Meadville, Pennsylvania, including his mother’s death shortly after his birth, and difficult jobs as a lumberjack, Bret details Gable’s desire to leave his angry, hateful father, and his travel to Kansas City, then Portland, where he joined up with a roving acting troupe. It’s on that route that Bret finds Gable’s first possible homosexual relationship, with actor Earle Larimore.
To build on his suspicions, Bret notes how through his career, Gable “dated” or is said to have had relationships with the likes of Josephine Dillon, “a woman of ambiguous sexuality.” She also served as his first Svengali of sorts, cleaning Gable up and presenting him to Hollywood agents in the early 1920s. Although Gable and Dillon were married shortly after their arrival in Hollywood, Bret frames it as a marriage of convenience, in which Dillon ignored Gable’s affairs while serving as his sugar momma.
Bret implies a second gay affair in the close friendship between Gable and macho actor Rod La Roque on the set of Ernst Lubitsch’s Forbidden Paradise. La Roque was later outed and forced into a “lavender marriage” with actress Vilma Banky.
Bret provides brief sidebar biographical information like the La Roque gossip on nearly all of Gable’s friends and conquests, providing a fascinating tour through Hollywood lore as he traces Gable’s deliberate remaking, by himself and others, into what became the iconic star. Disbelievers need to recall the pre-Hayes Code era of Hollywood, where sexual affairs of all kinds were common among the newly rich stars and their entourages.
"In these formative years Clark Gable was an opportunist who would sleep with anyone. ‘Anything that had a hole and the promise of a couple of dollars,’" Marlene Dietrich told the author.
Among Gable’s most verifiable gay affairs at that time, Bret writes, is that with actor William Haines. In his personal life, Haines was openly gay, and a great pal of Joan Crawford. Included in Gable’s young erotic adventures were trips to cruisy parks with Haines, where they both cruised working-class men, Gable being more orally passive and occasionally charging money.
Throughout the 1920s and early 30s, Gable acted in theatre touring companies as well as films. It wasn’t until It Happened One Night that Gable became big box-office success. That film’s moment of manliness – Gable stripping off his shirt without an undershirt – catapulted him further into the manly hall of film fame.
Later on, and for decades of his career, the syndicated (yellow) journalist Ben Maddox remained a close confidante, and a sexual pal for Gable, including being his companion on numerous vacations. Maddox’s interfering confidant status, however, led to some stupid decisions on Gable’s part, including nearly turning down the film Mutiny on the Bounty. Maddox’s pernicious role as a double-talking gossip-trader resulted in other people’s heterosexual adultery being traded as fodder for the tabloids, in exchange for his, Gable’s, and other gay men’s affairs being kept secret.
As Gable continued to gain in popularity, his work and frequent affairs with female co-stars continued, with frequent return engagements with Crawford, who narrowly missed becoming one of his wives.
The harrowing ordeal of Gone With the Wind is given due detail, and the subsequent films, great and forgettable, are given a brief yet illuminating sketch, particularly with details of Gable’s decreasing health, frequent injuries, pay scale, and whether or not Gable succeeded or failed in bedding his female co-star.
Gable’s short-lived happiness with actress Carole Lombard is told in detail. They married and shared a California ranch before her death in a plane crash. The notoriously foulmouthed Lombard often publicly ridiculed Gable about his sexual shortcomings, despite multiple other accounts of his being aptly nicknamed “The King.”
Gable’s subsequent affairs included a marriage to “Lady” Sylvia Ashley, “little more than a prostitute,” Bret says, who wooed British wealthy men and landed an elderly Lord’s hand in a previous marriage.
Bret’s account of Gable’s final film, The Misfits, includes the odd juxtaposition of the elder Gable befriending gay co-star Montgomery Clift while barely enduring the by-then drugged and unreliable costar Marilyn Monroe.
With a complete filmography, bibliography and index, Bret has produced another biography that combines the scathing scandals of a Kenneth Anger book with the serious research of a scholarly tome.
Woven in with Gable’s difficulties on location at dozens of subsequent film shoots is the background of Hollywood’s rise and fall, from the silent era through the classics, from Communist blacklisting and the old studios collapse to the uneasy independent production of the 60s. Gable’s life, embedded in each Hollywood era, is a fascinating and flawed reflection of the harsh pain and excess of movie glamour, and the toll it took on one man’s life.