Alice Faye

There's a temptation to call her a reluctant movie star and yet that doesn't quite capture the facts.  The truth is more like movies weren't everything to her as they are for so many who make them.  Hollywood history is bulging with stories of men and women who would do anything to hit the big time and most everything else was a distant second.  She was never a part of that crowd.  Her personal life, especially family and spending time with them, was far more important to her and she tended to think of being a performer as just a job.  She said she could take the movies or leave them and one day she would prove it. 

I can't recall when I first saw Alice Faye in a film but it is likely to have been a Shirley Temple movie since we were always watching them in our house when I was a kid and Faye made two movies with wee lil Shirl.  

There is no doubt whatsoever that my initial attraction to Faye was her incredible voice... it rather put me in a trance back then and it still does now.  It was so clear and husky and she knew her way around a ballad like no one at that time.  When she sang a love song, I not only flirted with trances but goosebumps and the hair standing on the back of my head, too.  She was everything I thought a female singer should be and with so much 20/20 available to me these days, she remains one of my favorite female movie singers of all.

When she first arrived at Fox Studios (she was there before it was 20th Century Fox), she came looking like Jean Harlow. Her hair was bleached platinum, her makeup was garish and in some of her early films, her manner was coarse.  It may have suited Harlow but I don't think it ever did much for Faye.  After Darryl F. Zanuck took over, he nixed the Harlow routine and softened her image and starred her in some of the studio's most expensively-mounted costume musicals.  She made a lot of money for Fox and went on to become one of the biggest stars of the 1930s and early 40s.

While one wouldn't think of her in the same breath as some of her dramatic contemporaries, she was all she needed to be to put over dramatic scenes.  What she was, however, is a singing actress.  I mentioned the same thing in my piece on Jeanette MacDonald.  There are actresses who sometimes sing and then there are singing actresses.  When singing roles dried up, many of these women could not make the transition to dramatic roles and their movie careers cooled or ended.  That may have happened to Faye or maybe not but it all took another turn.

What Alice Faye really had going for her, aside from an astonishing contralto voice, was sincerity.  There was a genuineness about her that was unmistakable.  It came through in her singing of those love songs.  Guys knew she was singing just to them or hoped she was.  In her acting she was never icy or exclusive but warm and welcoming.  Her great appeal was she seemed so real... she could be your girl or sister or friend.  And the thing is, that's who she was.  She didn't just appear sincere... she was sincere.  She may have been one of Hollywood's great, glamorous movie queens, but it was hard to convince her of that.

She couldn't have begun life any further away from Tinseltown than Hell's Kitchen, a part of New York City that, when Alice was born in 1915, was bastion of poor and working-class Irish-Americans with over-crowded tenements and crime.  Her father was a cop who walked the beat and her mother took whatever jobs she could to make ends meet.  There were also two brothers.

Alice was shy as a child and in some ways she never outgrew it.  Part of her shyness was related to her growing up poor.  She didn't think she had much to offer to anyone until she started paying closer attention to the neighboring Broadway area and some of the performers she saw.  She was impressed with their glamour and a sense of gaiety and she determined that was to be the life for her.  She came to worship actress Marilyn Miller, a protege of Broadway impresario Florenz Ziegfeld and likely channeled some of her into the older Alice.

Lying about her age when she was 13, she passed an audition to be in the chorus of the show Vanities but her true age was discovered and she was fired.  Still, she was inspired because she felt it had been so easy.  From then on she added three or four years to her age and into middle age it was still said that she was born in 1911 or 1912.  

By the time she was 15 she was working with a dance troupe and shortly thereafter did more hoofing at two nightclubs.  By 1931 she made it to Broadway, her goal, by appearing in George White's Scandals of 1931 with Ethel Merman, Ray Bolger and Rudy Vallee.  There was a less-than-professional recording she made that Vallee heard and he flipped over her voice, inviting her to join him on his radio show.  That same year, 1933, she made her first recording.

Later in the year the Fox Film Company bought George White's Scandals and with it came Vallee.  He got Faye a job in the chorus but when the leading lady suddenly quit, Vallee suggested that Fox give her the role and they did.   In just her first movie she decided she was going to like this better than stage work.  The problem was she suffered near-debilitating stage fright which was never an issue for her working before the cameras.  

She drew none other than Spencer Tracy as her husband in 1934's Now I'll Tell.  I've never seen any of Faye's earliest films and it's unlikely her brassy look of the day would have appealed to me.  By 1936 Fox had joined forces with Twentieth Century Pictures and the new 20th Century Fox had Zanuck installed as the studio boss and he put her in the two Temple films that year, Poor Little Rich Girl and Stowaway.

That same year she had a success with Sing, Baby, Sing, the first of several pictures she made with singer Tony Martin.  In 1937 she married him.  Since both were young, talented and famous, they became the darlings of the press who reported on their every move.

Also in 1937 she starred in On the Avenue where she competed with beautiful Madeline Carroll for the attentions of Dick Powell.  It had an Irving Berlin score and Faye introduced the song I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm.  She starred in You Can't Have Everything and Wake Up and Live, both 1937 pleasant little trifles, and then her big break came.

Zanuck had been looking for something to top MGM's monster hit, San Francisco.  He reached back into history and came up with 
In Old Chicago (1937).  Studio glamour boy Tyrone Power was given the lead and Zanuck planned to borrow none other than Jean Harlow for the part of the feisty saloon singer, Belle Fawcett. but she died before shooting commenced.  Oddly, Zanuck originally didn't think Faye was a suitable replacement because her dramatic chops had not been sufficiently gleaned.  Power, who liked Faye, thought she had what was needed and volunteered to test with her and Zanuck was impressed.  Faye admitted she had never wanted a part so badly.

The story of the battling O'Leary brothers (Don Ameche was the other one) and their cow who started the great Chicago fire was 99% hokum but the film became the huge hit that Zanuck was hoping for.  Faye would work for the first time with director Henry King who became her favorite.  

Sally, Irene and Mary (1938) was sandwiched in between two enormous hits and is only notable because it was another one with her husband.  Zanuck thought touting the married couple in the same film would bring in the bucks.  Faye reunited with her In Old Chicago costars and director to make Alexander's Ragtime Band (1938).  Zanuck smelled another hit and he got it, as we outlined in our last post.

She was busy in 1939 with the release of four films, three of which are not particularly memorable in Faye's body of work.  Tail Spin centered on aviatrices.  Hollywood Cavalcade was her first color film and gave Faye a shot at slapstick in a plot about silent films.  Barricade is a dramatic role and although she played a singer, she did no singing.  She was feeling pretty down about these films and it didn't help that her marriage was in trouble.

Fox's favorite singing star was back to doing what she did best-- a big musical-- in Rose of Washington Square and audiences lapped it up.  Zanuck knew there would be trouble and it came in the form of lawsuits from singer-comedienne Fannie Brice and her man, Nicky Arnstein.  You see, while the characters weren't called Fanny and Nicky (as they would be in 1968's Funny Girl), the likenesses were all too familiar, right down to Faye's haunting rendition of Brice's famed My Man and they indeed sued.  Zanuck felt paying them off would be far below the box office receipts and he was right.

This is actually a classic Alice Faye role... looking glamorous if not sultry, gowned like a queen, singing lots of songs and costarring with Power for the third and final time.  They were such good friends and would remain so until his death.  He liked the film because he got to work with Faye and because he played a heel.  She, however, who was always known to be a dream to work with, loathed singer Al Jolson who played her husband.  Their lack of rapport dampened her overall feeling for the film. 

On the coattails of Rose came another biography, Lillian Russell, her first 1940 release. Playing the real-life 1890s New York entertainer provided Faye with one of her most glamorous roles and it was all about her and for those reasons diehard Faye fans have always liked it.  The truth is it's not much of a film.  It sanitized itself into choppy storytelling and it's overlong with monotonous glimpses into the performances of those who worked with Russell.  Nonetheless, to see her hair stacked high or tucked under a large, decorative hat or festooned with feathery fans and in gowns with glitter and shoulder pads and trains, all courtesy of Fox wizard designer, Travis Banton, was a sight to behold for her fans.  




The real Lillian entertained more than simply with a song but Fox sanitized the story for its star and the censors of the day.  Ameche played her first husband and Henry Fonda her last and burly, brusque Edward Arnold played Diamond Jim Brady, Russell's, um, benefactor.  Fonda, who had just finished the acclaimed Grapes of Wrath, disliked following it up with some fluffy musical.  It is that, of course, but shouldn't be missed by today's Alice Faye fans.  And I know you're out there.

Something that was generally unknown to Faye fans at the time was that she was rather sickly.  She was one of those people who seemed to catch everything and then develop a very bad case of it.
Illnesses over the years may have contributed to weakness and frailty and a general case of malaise.  She always felt a great need to get her rest and she felt overworked (both in general with one film right after another but with Lillian Russell especially), so she turned down the lead in Down Argentine Way (1940).

Another trait that set Faye apart from many big stars was that she was cooperative.  Zanuck didn't take any crap from anyone, no matter who they were, so she was a decided favorite of his in that regard.  She was not, um, a personal favorite, such as the various actresses, starlets and wannabes who came to his office every afternoon at the appointed hour.  He was so annoyed, despite hearing she was going to have surgery (likely elective surgery that could have waited), that he put her on suspension, grumbling to his minions that she was not who he thought she was.  It's likely he never forgot the incident.

What is most important is that Faye's decision gave rise to a new singing and dancing blonde who would succeed Faye (and then some) as Fox's most popular leading lady, Betty Grable.  Faye didn't care all that much.  She could have had no idea how her life would be changing, but she was one to roll with the punches.

The movie press of the day made much of this development and of course one thing that came with the territory was that Faye and Grable had their manicured claws out for one another.  The truth is that the two became life-long friends and saw one another occasionally after both were no longer making films.

Zanuck, ever the kidder, thought the public would lap it up and the studio would benefit if he were to pair his blondes together in a film, which resulted in Tin Pan Alley (1940).  It's in a tie as my favorite Faye film and they both co-star John Payne, an actor I loved during his Fox years, and the one I regard as Faye's most arresting screen partner.  They were sensational together in three films and I got to see them perform live together in the 70s.


In Tin Pan Alley, the ladies were sisters who want to be singing stars and two songwriters (Payne and Jack Oakie) who hope to help them especially after Faye and Payne are clicking romantically.  Of course the entertainment value of the piece was increased by countless songs sung by the four leads.  My favorite, The Sheik of Araby, featuring the ladies with Billy Gilbert, is now your musical interlude:

She divorced Martin in 1941.  Though both professed to be crazy about one another, their short marriage was fraught with problems.  Their primary issue concerned her being more famous than he was and that she worked more and made more money during their time together.  He was mainly a nightclub performer and was therefore gone a lot, which certainly didn't help matters.  But ultimately it boiled down to infidelity.  He claimed he was involved in no serious relationships while married which, as others at the time crowed, he didn't mention casual ones.

I don't know how she did it, given California's divorce laws requiring a one-year wait before remarrying but a mere two months later she married radio performer Phil Harris.  I've found it fascinating that Faye was married to Harris for 54 years and Martin was married to dancer Cyd Charisse for 60 years and yet Faye and Martin only lasted for two years.

She was busier than ever as she combined movie acting with doing radio gigs with her husband and some without him.  I always thought they were an odd pair.  She was beautiful and quiet and a big star and he was not so beautiful, loud and bombastic and not as big of a star but at 54 years married, they must have done something right.  Frankly, in most of their performances together, despite the slight insults, it was obvious there was great love.

With husband Phil Harris on their radio show

After the success of Tin Pan Alley, of course Fox planned to pair Faye and Payne again with the result being Weekend in Havana (1941).  I think it's the weakest of their three films, possibly because the focus that might have been just on them was shared by newcomer Carmen Miranda, who had created a sensation in her first film the year before, the aforementioned Down Argentine Way.  Nothing against Carmen, by the way... she was always a hoot.

Before she began shooting Hello Frisco, Hello (1943), Faye gave birth to a daughter, which, of course, thrilled her beyond words.  But she returned to the studio and began shooting the film that, along with Tin Pan Alley, is one of my two favorite Faye films.  It was her final movie outing with Payne.  She is back on San Francisco's Barbary Coast, in another familiar plot as one of four performers out to hit the big time.  

As all Faye fans know, what makes Hello Frisco, Hello especially shine is Faye's singing of the haunting You'll Never Know, which would win the Oscar and become indelibly linked with Faye more than any song she ever sang, in or out of the movies. We were still at war and the lyrics seemed to speak to an entire generation:

You went away and my heart went with you.
I speak your name in my every prayer.
If there is some other way to prove that I love you, I swear I don't know how.
You'll never know if you don't know now.

The Gang's All Here (1943) was an unabashedly patriotic movie about a soldier caught between a Manhattan socialite (Faye) and a fiery Broadway entertainer (Miranda).  There were lots of songs but I don't recall Faye singing anything particularly memorable.  Miranda, on the other hand, had audiences clapping and stomping with Brazil and The Lady in the Tutti Fruitti Hat.

Tyrone Power visiting his pal while on leave 

She turned down parts in State Fair and The Dolly Sisters, both released in 1945.  Henry King delicately told her that as she was growing older, she might want to leave musicals to younger women.  The advice resonated with Faye mainly because musicals took a lot longer to make than dramas and were more grueling.  And besides, now that she had a second daughter, she wanted to stay home more than ever.

She begged Zanuck to let her do some dramas but her pleas largely fell on deaf ears.  She was cheered immensely when she began hearing chatter about her costarring with Maureen O'Hara and Gregory Peck in The Razor's Edge but it didn't happen (for any of them).  One day Zanuck announced a new film for her... at long last a drama.

Faye had great expectations for Fallen Angel (1945) because it came with a pedigree of sort.  Laura had been a huge film for Fox the year before. Its director, Otto Preminger, and leading man, Dana Andrews, and much of the crew would be a part of Angel.  Also both films are film noirs, a popular genre in the 1940s.  Angel concerns a drifter (Andrews) who arrives in a small town and falls in love with a seductive waitress (Linda Darnell) who won't marry him until he has money.  In order to win her, he marries the nice girl (Faye), a middle-aged spinster with some loot.  He plans to bilk her out of her stash and then marry the waitress who is, in the meantime, murdered.

From Fallen Angel

I liked it because of the cast, the noir angle, of course, and the whodunit aspect, but the fact is it isn't a very good movie, highly implausible and, except for Faye and Anne Revere as her protective sister, full of unlikable characters.  Andrews hated making it and thought it was a piece of trash, but Faye remained hopeful as she went to a screening on the Fox lot.

Sitting there she thought she been hit by a train and her rage was volcanic.  Zanuck had obviously had the movie cut in such a way as to highly diminish the size of Faye's role (she's barely in the first third) while enlarging Darnell's part.  She knew that it was personal... he was out to destroy her as far as she was concerned and not telling her, allowing her to wait to see it on the screen, was most hurtful.  She always knew that Darnell was one of those actresses who showed up for those afternoon sessions with the boss.  

Sitting there, seething, she knew it was over.  She wrote a hateful, profane note to Zanuck, didn't bother collecting her personal things and drove away from Penitentiary Fox, as she called it.  She would not make another movie for 16 years.

Her life was still very full... just not as a movie star.  She continued working with her husband a great deal, made some recordings, did some television.  Of course, she loved raising her daughters and was always grateful that she had the time to do it.  She became a national spokeswoman for Pfizer Pharmaceuticals.

How funny that she turned down the 1945 version of State Fair but returned to the screen in the 1962 version, playing the mother of Pat Boone and Pamela Tiffin.  The producer had been begging her to take the part and Harris encouraged her so she accepted.  And where was it being filmed?  Yep, Penitentiary Fox.  I liked it, mainly due to seeing Faye again (I'd never seen one of her films in a theater) and the energetic performance of Ann-Margret.  However, 1962 audiences weren't up for the corn and it didn't do so well.

I wished she'd done more movies after State Fair (and she did make three horrible, utterly forgettable ones... well, 1978's The Magic of Lassie with Jimmy Stewart was so-so).  I had to settle for television shows such as The Hollywood Palace, Perry Como, Andy Williams and Dean Martin for my Faye fix.

Sometime in 1974 or 1975, I thought I would lose it when I heard that she and John Payne were going to be in Los Angeles in the play Good News.  I got third-row seats and was beside myself watching both of them from start to finish but I thought the play itself stunk.

I don't think the public heard much of her in the last 10 or so years of her life but I was happy to hear of her occasionally from a lady friend in Palm Springs who knew her.  Harris died in 1995 and Faye followed three years later of stomach cancer in Rancho Mirage, California.

Clearly her films generally looked like her other films.  Not a great deal was demanded by audiences except to sit back and be entertained, allowing troubles to wash away.  Her pictures had a lot of heart, as I see it, like the lady herself.  To me she was a beloved star.


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