Hollywood Gays (33 page)

Ward felt, “Scott had a modest opinion of his ability on screen. Westerns require the least amount of acting ability, but that Randy wound up doing nothing else could be laid at the doorstep of his personal insecurities or the fact that by then he looked too outdoorsy to be very believable in a parlor or drawing room.”

Screenwriter Adele Buffington, who also penned westerns, including some with Ward (both were activists who helped found the Screen Writers Guild against high-handed and even illegal studio opposition), offered, “Randy aged prematurely. I’m not saying physically. His expression, the mouth, the eyes. First, there was life and sparkle, but as he went on, that dimmed, and he grew...distant. For all his money, he occasionally seemed a beaten or disappointed man.

“In his movies, he seemed increasingly remote, unreachable, until finally he removed himself from the scene.” Friend and final costar Joel McCrea admitted, surprisingly, “Randy’s sort of shy. He doesn’t take much to kissing scenes. Westerns have fewer love scenes than most pictures, so that’s fine by him.” Post-film, Scott took to the more virulent type of country club life. Negative publicity accrued when he sought to join a local country club that at the time banned Jews, not to mention racial minorities. Scott’s home bordered on the club, and he kept applying for admission until he was finally admitted under such conditions as agreeing never to act again and entering his profession on his application papers not as actor but “oil investor”!

(The Los Angeles Country Club—why not name it?—had turned down Bing Crosby and Bob Hope. Scott reputedly told the club’s board that he was a better golfer than either of the rejected actors. “We know you love golf, but unfortunately you are an actor.” He rejoined, “Oh, really? Have you seen my work?” Then he tried again. And again.)

During a telephone chat, James Coco informed me, “I heard Howard Hughes made Cary Grant a Republican.”

“Really?” I wasn’t sure if he was joking. “Out of what, knitting wool?”

Later I asked, “What did Randolph Scott make Cary Grant?”

Nothing,” he replied. “He just made him.”

When
Interview
magazine (it eventually dropped Andy Warhol’s name from its own) approached Scott for an interview for a western-themed issue, the first reaction editor Robert Hayes got was “no politics, no wives.” Both topics were off-limits; insiders said Scott himself wasn’t a bigot but had joined the club because he “liked its social status” and “preferred to mingle with non-actors.” Scott also wanted approval over a projected Andy Warhol portrait of him—a middle-aged version—which would have graced the cover. It was the early 1980s, and Hayes inquired whether Scott could comment on an ex-actor becoming president? No. On whether actors should enter politics? No. On whether actors should “be allowed” to voice their political opinions? No.

I’d campaigned for the assignment, and when I got it and then Scott suddenly cancelled, I suggested a phone interview if necessary. “He suffers from deafness,” said Hayes. We got it rescheduled, at the Beverly Hilton (not yet owned by ex-San Matean and gay right-wing closet case Merv Griffin), and I flew down from San Mateo for the interview—which never ran, along with most of the other western features.

Actually, Randolph Scott’s eyes did retain significant sparkle, and though he was much aged, there was a charm and boyish conviviality. It surged after we completed a shortish but specific list of assigned questions about his films and costars. I wanted to talk about Randolph Scott, not his mostly so-so movies, and I think he sensed and appreciated that.

Q: May we talk about your friend and costar Cary Grant?

A: Of course. I’m a fan of his too.

Q: I’m sure he was a fan of yours.

A: I don’t doubt it.

Q: I heard that in the mid 1930s he tried to decline doing a Jean Harlow movie,
Suzy
?

A: (Laughs.) That
is
specific! But you said it. As you said—”a Jean Harlow movie.” That’s what it was. And a good one.

Q: Grant wanted his own vehicles?

A: Yes. You have to remember he was English, which made for rougher going in Hollywood. Cary wasn’t yet assured of being or, rather, remaining a leading man. But I do remember that on
Suzy
, there was a lady scenarist (screenwriter) who promised to make his role more important.

Q: Is that where the imitator’s “Suzy, Suzy, Suzy” comes from?

A: (Laughs.) It would have to be, though I don’t think he was that repetitious.

Q: You were what they call all-American. Your looks, sound. Was it easier climbing the celluloid ladder for you than Cary Grant?

A: Hmm. Good question. It should have been. But we did okay...1930s. Went pretty high, pretty fast. It...we diverged after that, but Cary had some rather rude awakenings. I remember he was assigned to do a picture,
Kiss and Make Up
(1934). It should have been
three
words, you see? Makeup—he had to play a beautician in that. A Parisian one!

Q: Hard to imagine him sounding French.

A: It was all fantasy, though.

Q: It still is. Illusion on and off screen.

A: That’s partly why I got out, in time. That kind of thing’s okay for when you’re young, but eventually... (Pause.)

Q: We had to see your final film
Ride the High Country
for one of my movie classes at UCSB (the University of California at Santa Barbara).

A: That’s nice, I think. (Grins.)

Q: You do know that in Britain it was titled
Guns in the Afternoon
? (He laughs.) Why that title?

A: Ask Cary—he’s English, or was.

Q: Can you see Cary Grant in a Western?

A: (Chuckles.) I’d have liked to.

Q: Couldn’t you have teamed up in one?

A: Anything’s possible.... He could have been my cousin from the mother country.

Q: Kissing cousins....

A: Nowadays, anything’s possible.

Q: You both worked with Mae West. Who do you think enjoyed working with her more?

A: I’ll tell you who got a lot more mileage out of her pictures—he did. The two, they did help his career quite a bit, though he was kind of a boy-about-town in them. By the time I worked with her, the luster had faded some from her star.

Q: You were incredibly appealing, and quite shy, in that movie.

A: Think so?

Q: A crush, one would have.

A:
You
did?

Q: I did. Which I never did, much, on Cary Grant. And only when he was new to movies.

A: Really? (Impressed tone.) Hmm. That’s very nice.

Q: Cary Grant was, and is, celebrated for being suave and elegant. For “charm.” I hope you don’t mind my—

A: Of course not. He’s all that and more.

Q: I hope you don’t mind my comparing you two. What would you describe as Randolph Scott’s talent or stock in trade?

A: I...what?

Q: Your image?

A: You know, I had no real, abiding talent. I suppose I was good-looking—not spectacular. I wasn’t Errol Flynn or—

Q: Thank goodness.

A: Thank you! Buttering me up....I suppose I had a certain presence.

Q: Did you eschew heavy dramas for westerns?

A: Kind of. I like westerns. I liked comedy too, but didn’t think I was up to those actor’s actor parts. The things Paul Muni did, or some of the heavier stuff like Freddie March did.

Q: What was it like working with Cary Grant?

A: Best friends. It was fun.

Q: You complemented each other. You wouldn’t have been up for the same roles.

A: True. Anyhow, I wasn’t very competitive.

Q: Less than him, right? (No reply.) And less ego, I’ve heard.

A: He’s entitled to some ego. Look who he became.

Q: Who did he become?

A: A legend.

Q: But is anyone really Cary Grant?

A: I getcha.... You know; I always liked the outdoors. I was always a pretty simple body. I was less of an actor—my westerns—than just a working performer. More like a personality....I’m not expressing it the way I should.

Q: Do you mean that with you, what one saw was closer to the real man than with Cary Grant?

A: Oh. You want to
dig
.

Q: Scratch beneath the surface?

A: I can only try and analyze myself. But...I’ve never said that much about myself. There isn’t so much to say. I’d rather be out there with nature, in a warm climate, contented. I’m not very complex, I’m no mystery man.

Q: Did you ever worry about the sun’s effects on your skin in those days?

A: (Laughs.) Not me! Cary did. I don’t know if you mean the, uh, complexion, or the harm sunshine can do—the c-word (cancer).

Q: Both. You say you’re not a man of mystery, yet in your ‘30s heyday, your off-camera life was fascinating, and continues to tantalize....

A: (Pause.) I’m flattered. But I have nothing to add, really.

Q: Do you recall which was Cary Grant’s last movie?

A: Yes. That Elvis Presley documentary (
Elvis: That’s the Way It Is
, 1970).

Q: Oh, that’s right. (I knew Grant’s final film as an actor was
Walk, Don’t Run
in 1966.) He was a big fan of Presley’s, right?

A: He took to him right away.

Q: Back when Elvis was “controversial”?

A: Yes. I knew a whole bunch of folks who thought Presley was a dangerous new phenomenon.

Q: “A communist plot to undermine America’s youth”—I read that somewhere.

A: Absolutely. Some strange theories out there....

Q: Even yet. What did you think of Elvis?

A: He’s all right. Good-looking. Until later. I wasn’t wild about his music. You couldn’t say I’m a fan.

Q: May I ask an odd question?

A: You already have (chuckles).

Q: Now, now. You did a movie with Forrest Tucker in it called
Rage at Dawn
(1955). Was it known at the time that he was...how does one say it?

A:
Very
well-hung?

Q: Yes. (No reply.) Was it known at all?

A: Very much so. Things like that don’t stay hidden.

Q: Literally? (Both laugh.) Especially in Hollywood, where the business is show.

A: I heard that he was, and that it was extremely impressive.

Q: Did you see for yourself?

A: (Chuckles.) We should compare notes some time.

Q: Love to. Should we not talk about Cary Grant anymore?

A: I don’t mind. I’d rather talk about him, within evident limits, than myself. I’m not overly interesting (chuckles).

Q: I wouldn’t say that. The films I’ve seen you in, you suggested a lot beneath the attractive surface.

A: That’s very pleasant to hear.

Q: Most of your films were westerns, and I’ve not seen most, but people seem to have forgotten how big a western star you were. That is, most of yours were in color and high-budgeted.

A: True. The majority (of other westerns) were black and white.

Q: Westerns were typically in the B-movie category, and while John Wayne, Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and such were usually in black-and-white ones, you weren’t.

A: Neither was Gary Cooper.

Q: Most of his films weren’t westerns. Did you deliberately choose to do so many westerns?

A: Yup. (Chuckles.) But...that’s how it worked out, anyhow.

Q: Don’t you think by sort of sidetracking into that genre, perhaps you unnecessarily limited yourself?

A: I might have. But they were color, like you said.

Q: You showed your flair for comedy in
Go West, Young Man
.

A: Thanks. (Pause.) I have nothing to add to that.

Q: That was 1936. You know what I noticed? Your upper arms were muscular. You obviously worked out, and most actors didn’t.

A: (Laughs.) You noticed that? Then the effort paid off. You’re right. Most guys, even actors, didn’t work out with weights.

Q: Only those closer to their good looks....

A: I getcha. It’s a whole different ball game now.

Q: The peacock revolution.

A: Also the sexual revolution, and...whatever.

Q: Most actors, the sex symbols too, when one rarely got to see them minus a shirt, had great faces but were often very pale and not toned, or sometimes even flabby.