Along with being Thanksgiving (see post immediately below, Gratitude Imparting Day, for Thanksgiving.), today is also November 23, which is the 119th birthday of William Henry Pratt, who, under the self-imposed name Boris Karloff, was not only the greatest actor the cinema has ever known until Huge Jackman, he was also my fourth husband, a fact the Karloff Family denies to this day. Apparently they fear a loss of his posthumous prestige when people remember that he was briefly married to a far greater star.
The full story of our brief, all-consuming romance can be found in Chapter 15, The Bride of Frankenstein, in my better-selling autobography, My Lush Life , still available merely by clicking on it's title. For those of you still waiting for your copy to arrive, I'll just say that our blissful union ended in a misunderstanding, when Boris failed to understand that the phalluses filling the shelves of my locked cupboard weren't actually real, and had almost-never been used. I'm afraid that, in the end, Boris was just another stupid Pratt. But I loved him.
Happy Birthday Boris.
(Oh, and it's Harpo Marx's birthday too. I was never married to him, but his fingers could pluck my brains out! I blew his horn more than once, and while not much of a conversationalist, Man oh man, could that man Honk! Happy Birthday Adolf darling.)
(It was his name, honest!)
Cheers darlings.
5 comments:
Honk! Honk!
I am Alpo Marx, the illegitimate son of Harpo, named for his favorite dog's food.
Harpo honked because he was horny, I honk because of hay fever.
Yes, Dad's name was Adolf, but he changed it to Arthur, and then spent his career pretending he couldn't speak.
Some say he really couldn't, but it's a mute point.
You are a great star, Miss Tallulah. If you think about it, my Dad was a great silent film star, too.
Here they are,
in a rare color clip,
Dad's in plaid.
Honk! Honk!
Alpo darling,
I adore your dog food, and kept my rotten old mother on a strict diet of it in her Golden Years in the lovely rustic cabin (Actually, the deed describes it as a "Shack") up in the mountains, far from noise, utilities, water, or roads, that I selflessly bought for her, despite her lifelong treatment of me.
Please refresh my memory; Am I your mother? I lose track of these things. How typically madcap of Dear Harpo, to never publically acknowledge a biological son, while adopting four cildren, including dear, handsome Bill Marx, whose acquaintence I have "Made".
Harpo was never that silent when he was with me. Oh the noises he made! But he was a silent star in every sense, including that of having been in silent movies. I am not referring to the unreleased, long-lost silent movie that the Marx Brothers made, but rather to TOO MANY KISSES, the 1925 silent movie Harpo appeared briefly in without his tagalong brothers, which Harpo omits any mention of in his autobiography, a book almost as wonderful as my own. Frankly, the title makes no sense to me, as one can never have too many kisses. But then, I am not telling you anything you don't already know. This is for the edification of my disciple-like readers.
Thank you for sharing that FABULOUS color clip with my devoted readers. How wonderful to see all the gang from ANIMAL CRACKERS in color once again. I haven't seen it in color since my visit to the set, over 70 years ago. You know, I used to eat Animal Crackers in bed, and then have a snack. The chance to see Harpo not only in color, but without his red wig, is a real treat. How well I remember him without his wig, or the bathrobe. There was nothing like a five-way with the Marx Brothers for laugh-packed ecstasy.
And there's lovely Margaret Dumont. Such a great actress, but all hands! She could not keep her jewel-bedecked paws off of me, and I never objected.
And that incorrigable flirt Victor Heerman, who directed ANIMAL CRACKERS. What a scamp! The last time I spoke to him, when ANIMAL CRACKERS repremiered in Westwood in 1974, he was old but still a charmer. (Sounds like ME!) I'd have been all over Groucho that night, like Thunderbird on a wino's coat, except that that bitch Erin Fleming was there, watching him like an astronomer downsizing Pluto.
Thanks so much for visiting and sharing.
Cheers darling!
Honk! Honk!
Gosh, Miss Tallulah, I don't know if you could be my Mom. Dad had so many girls, it's just too difficult to tell, but I suppose it's possible.
You're obviously qualified, as you certainly have made your Marx. Were you ever a short brunette chorus girl?
You are so nice not to look down on me, with my social standing, working as I do in pet food manufacturing.
Dad and the 4 Marx Uncles had several natural children, and thanks to the internet, we've been able to stay in touch.
There are several other "Marx of Distinction" (as we call ourselves.) I've met some of them.
There's Speedo Marx, the swimmer. They often call him "Speedo," (but his real name is Mr. Earl).
I know Brillo Marx, whose life story was made into an NBC show, "Scrubs."
There was Scripto Marx, the writer, but that was just his pen name.
There are also Blotto Marx the drunk, and Sleezo, the pimp.
I've not met them.
You can be proud to feed your mom my dog food. It's delicious, nourishing, and character-building, made with only quality horsemeat. (And here and there a horsefeather.)
Honk! Honk!
Dear Dr. Ross,
First off, and you need to absorb this into the marrow of your bones and never forget it again, I was NEVER a chorus girl, EVER!!! I made my screen debut at the age of 18, in the silent masterpiece HEAT CRAZED as the STAR of the film! Prior to that, I was Baby Tallulah, the World's Youngest Bartender, a headliner act in vaudeville. I was ALWAYS and ONLY a STAR! Everyone who has read my autobiography, MY LUSH LIFE, (Available from Amazon.com or direct from Kensington Books. Click on the "Douglas McEwan, Writer Guy link in my "Social Drinking" section) knows this.
For Heaven's sake, I listened when my personal assistant read the summary of HARPO SPEAKS I had him prepare for me, and I fed your dog slop to my evil mother, when she deserved no better than dry cat food, back during the food shortages of World War II, yet you insult me by even floating the remote possibility that I could ever have been some common little chorus girl trollop! How Rude! I was a STAR trollop!
And, as every moviegoer since 1915 knows, I am and have always been a platinum blonde, although I did wear a brunette wig when I played Cleopatra in my epic sequel "The Revenge of Cleopatra" back in 1934.
However, I was shorter for a few years a century ago, when I was a child STAR in vaudeville.
I never look down on my inferiors, since, except for other stars, everyone is my inferior, and if I looked down on all of them, I'd never get laid.
Me, a chorus girl! I need a drink!
Thanks for commenting.
Cheers darling.
Honk! Honk!
Dear Miss Tallulah,
I am so sorry to have caused your tizzy. I didn't mean to insult you by my question.
I'm going by Dad's comment of years ago, "Your mother was a short, brunette chorus girl, and there are lots of those, that's all I remember, your mother could be almost anybody in show business standing next to the backdrop, now go find her and good luck."
I hope I didn't make you too upset, and that your rage subsides before your next blackout.
Also, I don't know any Dr. Ross.
Just Dr. Hackenbush, Dr. Longoria, Drs. Howard and Dr. Fine, who help me compound my dog food, here in my compound.
Dogs love it, incidentally, flavored as it is with the rich taste of meaty goodness.
Occasionally, some big dogs refuse to eat it. We call that the boxer rebellion.
If your dog should refuse to eat my dog food, or your mother for that matter, simply withhold all food for twenty-four hours, and that should get the old appetite back up.
Here is a fellow eating my dog food with relish, no I guess it's soy sauce.
Or you can watch Dad, as I like to remember him.
Honk! Honk!
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