This past weekend, many headlines lamented the passing of Olivia de Havilland, the last living star of Gone With the Wind. Indeed, de Havilland, who celebrated her 104th birthday just a few weeks ago on July 1st, represented the final lingering glory of the Golden Age of Hollywood.
I have to admit that I was heartbroken to learn of her death. By many accounts, she was kind, classy, and fun. She had been politically active in the 1940s and ‘50s, having campaigned for Democratic candidates like Franklin Roosevelt. She later resigned from a public advocacy committee for the arts when she discovered it was being run by Hollywood Communists. She reportedly was quite active at her church in Paris even into her later years, and her body of work both on and off screen leaves behind a stunning legacy.
While many will certainly remember her for her warm performance as Melanie in the aforementioned controversial classic of the antebellum south, I’d like to spend a few moments focusing on two of de Havilland’s other roles – two that I think perfectly encapsulate her transformation from young starlet to full blown legend. And frankly, “legend” may not be a big enough term to describe Dame Olivia. I hope you’ll soon see why.
My first encounter with de Havilland came early in my life. I remember watching “The Adventures of Robin Hood” with my dad when I was quite young. The bright Technicolor cinematography enchanted me, and the witty script would only become more rousing as I grew older. There’s romance and adventure to spare in this 1938 swashbuckler. It’s the kind of heightened storybook movie that could never be made today. It’s still in my top ten.
De Havilland plays Lady Marian opposite the dashing Errol Flynn’s titular Robin of Locksley. Every role is perfectly cast. Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s music broke new ground in movie scoring. But there’s something marvelous about de Havilland’s performance that I’ve only noticed in recent years. You see, in the 1930s and early ‘40s, de Havilland was frequently cast in love interest type roles – including a total of eight pairings with Flynn, starting with “Captain Blood” in 1935. But Lady Marian isn’t just another damsel in distress. Indeed, de Havilland never plays her as a victim, even for a second. She’s fierce and passionate and headstrong. She takes matters into her own hands when Robin is captured by the dastardly Sir Guy of Gisbourne (a wonderfully cruel Basil Rathbone). She proactively seeks the Merry Men and lays out a plan for saving her beau. Sure, Marian must later be rescued by Robin in the picture’s finale, but it’s only because she took action in the first place. Like de Havilland herself, Marian can’t help but be proactive in the face of injustice.
Wait a second, you might be thinking. What injustice did de Havilland battle in real life? Well, here’s a little history lesson: In the old days, movie studios were incredibly powerful organizations. Actors, writers, directors, etc. were typically contracted to a particular studio for seven years at a stretch. The studios controlled most aspects of their contractors' lives. In 1942, de Havilland's sister (and rival) Joan Fontaine won an Oscar for her performance in Alfred Hitchcock's Suspicion. Inspired by her sister's success (or perhaps not wanting to be upstaged by it), de Havilland asked her boss Jack Warner for more substantial roles. Warner responded by suspending de Havilland.
What you have to understand about those 7-year contracts is this: the studios interpreted that duration by the actual number of days worked. So holidays, weekends, and days off didn't count. As such, a 7-year contract could actually keep an actor handcuffed to a studio for considerably longer than seven calendar years. The studio moguls used this contract interpretation to maintain dominance over their stars and other employees. In other words, de Havilland's suspension would add even more time to her contract with Warner Bros.
She was furious, so she did something absolutely unprecedented at that time. Olivia de Havilland sued Warner Bros. She took on one of the biggest and most powerful studios in Hollywood. And you know what? She won. Because of Olivia de Havilland, the duration of motion picture contracts now has to be counted by calendar years, not by the number of days worked. This is still known as the de Havilland Law.
After that, she went on to win two Oscars – the first for To Each His Own (1946) and the second for “The Heiress” (1949). Both films were produced at Paramount after de Havilland left Warner Bros. The Heiress, in particular, is a marvelous reflection of de Havilland’s maturation as a performer. In the film, which was adapted from a Broadway play that had itself been adapted from a novel by Henry James, de Havilland plays Catherine, a painfully shy young woman living with her wealthy, emotionally distant father (Ralph Richardson) in New York in the 1840s. Catherine’s loyalty is torn between a charming suitor (Montgomery Clift) and her father, who rejects the suitor on the grounds that he may only be after Catherine’s inheritance.
By the end of the picture, timid Catherine emerges from her naïve shell and mercilessly liberates herself from the oppressive men who have been making all her decisions for her. No wonder de Havilland was drawn to this role just a few years after her battle with Warner Bros. And if you’ve seen the film, you know why she won an Oscar. It’s a truly remarkable performance. During my first viewing, I audibly gasped at several points during the second half. The way de Havilland uses her voice and her eyes is extraordinary. If there was any doubt left in 1949, The Heiress proved unequivocally that she was far more than just a beautiful ingenue.
Olivia de Havilland was a warrior and a hero. Her story is a stirring reminder that one person can make a difference in the fight against an unjust system. Her roles in The Adventures of Robin Hood and The Heiress wonderfully demonstrate her range and her power as a performer. As I watched both of these films over the weekend, I was again reminded of why I’ve always been such a fan of de Havilland’s. She was the rare icon who lived up to her legend.
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