by Lorna Luft
A wardrobe test photograph of Mama for the “Swanee” sequence in “Born in a Trunk.”
Mama, from the “Born in a Trunk” sequence.
Night shooting began June 30, 1954, with “Swanee.” The twelve-minute “Born in a Trunk” kicks off with that number, set before a depiction of the French Quarter in New Orleans, moving on to a modest vaudeville stage, then backstage. A satire of big-time corporate entertainment is next, in business gray, soulless and rat-racy. A bit of burlesque dances in with a chorus line; a seedy bar gives way to a club of little renown, which disappears to reveal a chic supper club, for a sophisticated rendition of “Melancholy Baby.” Broadway calls next, the big finale returning, which opened the whole sequence. Mama is the girl singer at the center of this travelogue, progressing to her dream of the Great White Way, as a star. Along the way are parallels to her real-life journey: the family, the small child brought on to “milk the applause,” the child, now a young girl, sent out to sing solo, then the death of a parent, here the mother (which was later cut from the sequence). The narrative takes its own course at this point, but the references are noteworthy. One last moment of Mama’s art imitating life would be the famous Broadway producer who discovers the star-to-be, a stand-in for Louis B. Mayer.
Irene Sharaff cleverly used a single basic pattern for all of Mama’s “Trunk” dresses, a tightly corseted sweetheart bodice with a drop-waist and crinoline full skirt. Depending on the scene, the dress has various sleeve lengths, and is collared uptight or strapless, again in a variety of blues. Sharaff succeeded in giving the leading lady that which she was not naturally endowed with: an elegant long torso and a tiny waist. The last gown is a John Singer Sargent–like minor masterwork—Mama’s opera-gloved arm and hand resting on the piano in a pose fit for a canvas—strapless but topped with an asymmetrical bolero, beautifully framing her neck and face. In the number that opens and closes the sequence, Mama is in a variation of one of her signature looks: a man’s tailcoat and plaid trousers, with white gloves and spats, finished off with a top hat and cane. Her makeup is heavy and distinct for these scenes and for the “Black Bottom” number. Here, my mother’s black eyeliner, faux lashes, and cropped dark wig presage my sister Liza’s look, fifteen years ahead. I still marvel at how fresh, natural, and young Mama appears in this showbiz pastiche.
A wide shot depicting the length of the CinemaScope image during production of “Swanee,” the final song in the “Born in a Trunk” medley. The Al Jolson standard became closely identified with my mother’s later concerts.
For “Born in a Trunk,” Gene Allen’s scenic design is painterly, abstracted, suggestive rather than explicit. Every number is a mini-musical, each with its own esthetic. Allen’s lines are soft—the warren of agency offices in high perspective the exception—the palette colorful but washed, the opening and closing explosion of red another exception. When the deep red curtain closes on our girl’s Broadway debut, the setting becomes red on red as banks of roses and anemones, scarlet and vermillion, bloom in the background. In front of this floral expanse, she begins to sing her story. The supper club near the end is its opposite, grayed and blued, with monumental “frescos” peering over the singer forming the cumulative effect of an antique mural.
The inclusion of “Born in a Trunk” has its detractors. It has been derided as overproduced, a distraction, and out of key with the rest of the film. It has been criticized as unnecessary, since Esther’s talent has already been established, memorably, with “The Man That Got Away.” The counter opinion is that “Born in a Trunk” provides the ideal platform for Esther’s comic skills and timing—as well as her vocal flexibility—to shine. At no other point in the film are Mama/Esther’s wit, showmanship, and indomitable spirit allowed such free rein. She is able to enact her connections to, and affection for, the grand traditions of live American entertainment. At the time, the number may have smacked of self-indulgence. Today, this twelve-minute sample of the Garland touch is hailed as a classic high point in my mother’s lengthy career. In the summer of 2017, “Born in a Trunk” was met with a thundering reception when screened at the Hollywood Bowl as part of a Los Angeles Philharmonic concert. But, George Cukor voiced the majority opinion, “It fits in quite well, but it seems to me to tell another story—or, at least, a story within a story. The main flow of the narrative was very powerful and well developed, and anything which interferes with that flow seems to me wrong.”21 The A Star is Born company wrapped for the second time in the early morning hours of July 29, 1954. “The Peanut Vendor” retakes were the final scenes filmed; a traditional wrap party followed.
The decision to shoot and insert Mama’s showbiz tribute into a movie of already-epic length resulted in a challenging running time of well over three hours. The first preview of A Star Is Born, held in Huntington Park, California, on August 2, 1954, was an unqualified success. The second preview, held the following evening in Encino, California, was just as encouraging. Cukor noted in a letter to Moss Hart his surprise that small cuts had been attempted at Warner’s behest. “He succeeded in muddying things up, making scenes pointless and incomprehensible—all this without losing any footage to speak of.…” Many of the cuts were restored at Cukor’s behest. Cukor also noted that after the preview, my parents heard such comments as “Don’t cut a single inch of it.” Yet Cukor himself wished the film was shorter, “Neither the human mind nor the human ass can stand three and a half hours of concentration.”22
Though Warner Bros. was still concerned about the film’s length, Jack L. Warner encouraged my parents to indulge in a European holiday. He would join them and partially pay for their tour out of the anticipated profits, a reward for completing what every indication showed to be a hit film. Mama, however, had reservations about traveling to the French Riviera. As producer, she believed my father should have remained at his post in Burbank, overseeing the delicate editing process of a difficult movie, especially since Cukor had left the production. The gambling Lufts were still gambling, after the fact, with the picture’s financial success. Clearly, my parents played a role in the movie’s failure. My father and mother always felt the victim on this particular project, yet it seems obvious that their lack of involvement at this key moment shows their culpability in hindering what was supposed to be the major comeback vehicle of Mama’s career. It’s a shame they didn’t stay in Hollywood and nurture their project just a little while longer, fight for it just a little bit harder. They should have. It shows they weren’t equipped as producers.
As they celebrated the movie’s completion, another celebration was taking place: my parents were expecting again. (The baby-to-be would be my younger brother, Joe, whose birth would play a part in the Oscar race in 1955.) Aiding the festive mood was my mother’s face on the cover of Life magazine’s September 13, 1954, issue in a photograph by Bob Willoughby. Beneath the headline “Judy Garland Takes Off After an Oscar” was Mama’s freckle-painted face in her “ragamuffin newsboy” costume (for the number “Lose That Long Face”); beneath that was the tag “Judy as a Gamin.” The cover story inside heralded a “New Day for Judy: Garland’s energy and talent create then overcome obstacles in Star Is Born.” Photographer Sanford Roth visited the set for the magazine, documenting a few days in the life of a big Hollywood movie that was also a big-deal return for its star. The text accompanying the photo essay attributed the long shooting process to the star’s perfectionism, frequent fatigue, “demands for new musical numbers,” and “fiery temperament.” The candid shots of Mama in motion and repose were combined with production stills, creating a superficially accurate portrait of an “imaginative, tireless, talented” star.23
Everything about this film seemed to demand special attention: first-class treatment, careful handling, and ramped-up hyperbole.
Everything about this film seemed to demand special attention: first-class treatment, careful handling, and ramped-up hyperbole. It had taken ten months to shoot; it encompassed the return of a beloved star;
it was a hometown tale, an inside peek at the film industry. It was an epic of sorts, an intimate one, and a nontraditional musical in which every song had only one singer. At 196 minutes, it was the lengthiest major Hollywood movie since Gone With the Wind (1939), and the longest ever for Warner Bros. (Gone With the Wind had been successfully reissued that year, proving audiences were still willing to sit for lengthy films.) Late in the game, Cukor returned, and with his editor, Folmar Blangsted, worked diligently to trim fifteen minutes of running time. Believing Jack Warner had mismanaged the cutting, they smoothed out a few rough edges and cut the following brief scenes: a montage of Maine’s big hit movies; Maine circling back to the Shrine in search of Esther; at the boardinghouse, Esther washing her hair; Maine’s pirate movie being shot; Esther and Norman planning their beach house; and from “Born in a Trunk,” the mother’s death that was accompanied by “When My Sugar Walks Down the Street.” This version, running 181 minutes, was the one that premiered and was shown in Hollywood, New York City, Chicago, and elsewhere until the middle of October.
MY PARENTS RETURNED FROM THEIR THREE-WEEK EUROPEAN HOLIDAY JUST in time for the Hollywood premiere. As a result, advance publicity interviews with Mama were hard to come by. She was once again, unthinkingly, playing a game of roulette with the financial success of the picture as Dad stood by, enabling her. Still, the world premiere, held in Hollywood on September 29, 1954, was a smash. To label it a “gala” would have been an understatement—it was the social event of the year and makes a Star Wars premiere of today look like a simple industry gathering. At the RKO Pantages Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard, more than 20,000 fans collected through the day, eagerly awaiting Judy Garland and a Who’s-Who swarm of celebrities to arrive for the 8:30 p.m. screening. The klieg-lit affair was an unconscious reenactment of the traffic-jammed, boisterous, camera-flashing crush of the movie’s first moments at the “Night of the Stars” celebrity bash. The ABC radio network and its affiliate stations covered the proceedings all over the country. Local Los Angeles television station KTTV broadcast a “live” half-hour special statewide (with a portion of the live telecast airing simultaneously on NBC’s The Tonight Show in New York City) as the stars exited their limousines, tuxedoed and gowned, and made their way through the throng. The host of the show, radio personality George Fisher, amped up expectations, calling the night “the greatest in the history of motion pictures.” Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball—obviously having already been treated to a special screening—scooped the critics. “It’s the greatest!” Lucy shouted, over the noise.
Practically all of Hollywood turned out, from established stars like Clark Gable to hot young newcomers like James Dean. Over 250 celebrities parted the crowds, among them Lauren Bacall, Marlene Dietrich, Janet Leigh and Tony Curtis, Doris Day, Edward G. Robinson, Elizabeth Taylor and Michael Wilding, Elia Kazan, Greer Garson, Debbie Reynolds, and Andy Devine (from A Star Is Born, 1937). The VIPs continued to flow into the theater: Danny Thomas, Mitzi Gaynor, Sophie Tucker, Jerry Lewis, Dean and Jeanne Martin, Cesar Romero, Gloria Grahame, Shelley Winters, Ann Sheridan, Joan Crawford, Alan Ladd, and Liberace with his mother. All of the major gossip columnists were in attendance: Louella Parsons, Hedda Hopper, Sheilah Graham, Harrison Carroll, and Earl Wilson. The star power was as present and potent as a night at the Academy Awards. The Los Angeles Times, in the next day’s edition, described the evening: “There was never in modern days such mad, dizzying excitement in the forecourt of a theater, with such an array of glittering personalities.” On the broadcast platform, George Jessel—the man who had swapped Gumm for Garland—muscled in to introduce Jack L. Warner and the star, whom he called “the great talent of our generation.” Mama responded, “For me it’s the most thrilling… I hope the picture is that good.” Jessel pressed on, “Her husband and producer,” eliciting from my modest father, “I’m proud to be a very small part of it.” Warner joined in to hype: “Really the greatest opening in the history of my forty years in show business!” Assisting George Fisher when Jessel was otherwise engaged were three starlets, one of whom was Amanda Blake (best remembered as Miss Kitty on the television series Gunsmoke), who was a casualty of the cutting-room floor, playing in A Star Is Born someone called Susan Ettinger. The film’s Jack Carson also fielded the surge of celebrities.24
J. L. Warner, my mother, my father, George Cukor, and Warner Bros. distribution president Benjamin Kalmenson, attend the second “preview” of A Star Is Born, held at the Encino Theatre, Encino, California, August 1954.
A contract designer at RKO, Michael Woulfe, designed Mama’s premiere ensemble. Months before, she had asked to borrow a suit from Jean Simmons that had caught her eye; the piece was one of Woulfe’s, made for Simmons. The designer instead came up with a black velvet dress with a beaded white stand-up bateau collar encircling her neck. A small pillbox hat of beaded white satin almost completed the picture. Mama also requested a black fur muff large enough to conceal a handy flask of vodka—her nerve-steadier of choice, just as it had been on the set of the movie. Extravagant accolades passed all around as the film concluded at the Pantages Theatre. Mama was in Hollywood heaven, with more revelry to follow at the Cocoanut Grove at the Ambassador Hotel, where Jack Warner hosted a soiree for eight hundred guests titled “Night of Stars,” with a menu of poached eggs benedict, chicken à la king (with pecan waffle), sirloin steak, ice cream, cake, coffee, and cocktails. My mother wasn’t dieting that night. It was a time of happy celebration. Mama was in a state of rapture, and all the stars in attendance were lavishing praise on her and Dad. They were so happy to have successfully crossed the finish line. Enjoying the film with their peers, followed by the lavish Cocoanut Grove supper party, was one of the happiest nights of their lives.
My mother—looking jubilant—with my father arrive at the premiere of A Star Is Born. Jack L. Warner, who is facing my parents, is at left.
The theater marquee of the RKO Pantages Theatre, 6233 Hollywood Boulevard, Hollywood, September 1954. The film boasted both Technicolor and CinemaScope.
My father gives my mother a kiss at the premiere party at the Cocoanut Grove.
Mama dances with Frank Sinatra at the premiere party at the Cocoanut Grove. Uncle Frank had recently enjoyed his own movie comeback with From Here to Eternity (1953).
Jack Carson, George Jessel, my mother, my father, and Jack Warner at the world premiere of A Star Is Born at the RKO Pantages Theatre, Hollywood, September 1954.
The New York City premiere of A Star Is Born was held simultaneously at the Paramount Theatre and the Victoria Theatre, October 1954. My father puffs on a cigarette at left while my mother beams at the throng gathered upon her arrival at the Paramount in Times Square.
The double-venue premiere in Manhattan, on October 11, was another frenzied affair. Amid the chaos, Mama was surrounded by mounted police. At one point, she found herself standing next to a horse that lifted its tail and relieved itself right on the pavement. Not missing a beat, my mother did a double take and remarked, “Everyone’s a critic.”25 She turned and marched into the theater in her stunning crimson gown with mink collar. New York City had been put in a receptive mood by Ed Sullivan, who had featured clips from the film (not standard practice in those days) on his variety show the night before. ABC television and NBC radio covered the arrivals, and scored the interviews. The ubiquitous George Jessel emceed the screening at the Paramount Theatre while announcer Martin Block served as emcee at the Victoria; the post-premiere party was held at the Waldorf Astoria. A few days later, there was another effusive premiere in Chicago. To my mother, the most important and touching outpouring of affection was the Hollywood event, where the elite had appeared in huge numbers, in her “hometown.”
The initial reviews were ecstatic. Mama had hit her mark. Time was enthusiastic: “An expert vaudeville performance was to be expected from Judy; to find her a dramatic actress, as well, is the real surprise.” The magazine considered the film “a stunning comeback” and “just about the greate
st one-woman show in modern movie history.”26 In a mixed review, Edwin Schallert of the Los Angeles Times described Mama’s performance as “overstressed,” and “potentially a target for strong critical resistance,” presumably because the film was too long and “overburdened” with trying to prove itself, and he felt its emotional scenes were forced. But Schallert was still swept into the razzle-dazzle, admitting the musical “put a brilliantly shining crown upon the dark-tressed head of Judy Garland.… Here was her super-picture.”27 Critics could not deny the picture’s grandeur. In the New York Times, Bosley Crowther gushed, “It is something to see, this Star Is Born.”28 The editor-in-chief of Variety, Abel Green, predicted, “Boffola box office,” and went on to note the early grosses in various markets (in 1950s Variety vernacular): “terrif, whopping, sockeroo.” Bravos went to George Cukor (“No one surpasses Mr. Cukor at handling this sort of thing”); James Mason (a fine “portrait of a tormented ego”); Moss Hart (“has smoothly modernized… the sweet and touching love story”); and all who fashioned “one of the grandest heartbreak dramas that has drenched the screen in years.”29 And, they set it to music.
