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March 14, 2008

Colleen Moore's Wedding Night

Moore's image of carefree flapper was at odds with reality.

Flaming Youth was a huge hit and propelled Colleen Moore to international stardom—as she knew it would.

Colleen was smart about her career, but like so many young, inexperienced Hollywood actresses, when it came to men her choices were based on on gauzy, romantic notions that were limited to idealized Hollywood images. The hard work of marriage, and the importance of shared values were distant shores that for too many never entered the calculus of love and marriage.

In 1923, Moore, 22, married John Emmett McCormick, 29, a brilliant but highly unstable studio executive who was obsessed with Moore's image and career. Moore was a staunch Catholic who believed in the sanctity of marriage.

During their engagement, McCormick would, without a word, disappear for days at a time, then show up, gaunt, hollow-eyed, shaking, reeking of liquor, begging forgiveness, and pledging his undying love.

Moore's mother counseled Colleen to break the engagement. A wise mother, she warned her vulnerable daughter that marrying McCormick would ruin Colleen's life. But Colleen, like so many young and innocent women was convinced that with time, love and proper nurturing she would change her husband.

Colleen and John were married while Flaming Youth was in production.

In her superb autobiography, Silent Star, Colleen describes the wedding supper. In screenplays we call this foreshadowing:

John proposed a toast to my dad and mother for having given me to him—a funny, sentimental, beautiful toast. Then he downed his champagne in one gulp. Downed a second glass the same way. I remember watching him and thinking what bad table manners.

After the wedding party, Colleen and John drove to their new house where John carried his bride across the threshold.

Ah, romance.

Colleen Moore, studio portrait before she bobbed her hair.

Inside their home, John cracked open a bottle of champagne:

I took only a sip or two, afraid it would make me sick. John drained the entire bottle. His voice got louder. He became glassy-eyed. His mouth hung loose. He no longer looked like himself, but like some caricature of him.

Seeing the bewilderment on my face, he said to me, “It's our wedding night, and I am drunk.”

Then he started to cry—a sloppy, maudlin, drunken berating of self. I stared at him, shocked beyond words at this unknown creature groveling there.

I burst into tears and ran upstairs to our room. Sitting there crying, I wondered if I should go home. I shook my head. How could I face running home to mother on my wedding night?

I went out to the hall to the top of the stairs and, looking down, saw that the living room was dark. A light shone from the guest room. I went down the hall to it and looked in. There was John in his pajamas sprawled on the rug with a nearly empty bottle of Scotch beside him, a large stain on the rug where some of the liquor had run out of the bottle.

I stood there for a moment staring at him. Then I ran back to our room and locked the door and crawled into the big double bed and buried my face in the pillow, sobbing my heart out.

The next morning, Moore unlocked her bedroom door and discovered that John was gone. Moore drove to the studio where everyone crowded round and offered congratulations on her marriage. The crew and actors asked where her husband was—for McCormick had been on location every day, making sure that the studio PR machine was functioning smoothly, promoting Colleen Moore as the next great Hollywood star.

Moore, a thorough professional and a disciplined actress, told cast and crew that her husband had gone to the train station to see his parents off.

Then she went to her director and asked to start the day's shooting.

In Hollywood, then and now, it's all about illusion.

Colleen Moore, Photoplay Magazine.

Seraphic Secret Hollywood Profiles

One Hairstyle, Three Memoirs: Alma Rubens, Colleen Moore, Louise Brooks

Theda Bara: The Vamp Adopts the Troops

Movie Magazines: They Don't Print 'em Like They Used To

Alma Rubens: Dope Fiend, But Not a Jewess

Wallace Reid: Hollywood Shooting Star

Olive Thomas: Hollywood's First Suicide

Mary Pickford: The Greatest Movie Star

Seraphic Secret Chats with Actress Coleen Gray about John Wayne, Howard Hawks, and Stanley Kubrick

Louis B. Mayer Goes to Shul

Susan Peters: The Great Unknown and Tragic Actress

The Blond Machine Gun: Jean Harlow

Peg Entwistle & The Hollywood Sign

Brigitte Bardot & Sean Connery in Shalako—Sorta

Michael Kidd: The Last Dance

Karen and I wish all our friends a lovely and meaningful Rest in Shabbat.

This Jewish movie star from the silent screen also wishes you
a good Shabbos. Can you identify her? Hint: Her father was a
Rabbi. Answer on Sunday.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at March 14, 2008 10:57 AM

Comments

Seraphic Secret is private property, that's right, it's an extension of our home, and as such, Karen and I have instituted two Seraphic Rules and we ask commentors to act respectfully.

1. No profanity.

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That's it. Break either of these rules and you will be banned.

Posted by: Pearl at March 15, 2008 10:12 PM

Posted by: kishke at March 16, 2008 10:02 AM

Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at March 16, 2008 10:35 AM

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