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The supporting casts in Laurel & Hardy pictures of the 1930s were usually drawn from a resident stock company of comedians. In the 1940s, however, the larger studios assigned their own promising actors, who gained valuable experience and larger roles in these moderately budgeted films. A few went on to stardom (Alan Ladd, Robert Mitchum, Vivian Blaine, Stephen McNally). Perhaps the prime beneficiary of this showcasing was Arthur Space. His prominent role in The Big Noise was probably the largest of his career.
Arthur Space was born on October 12, 1908 in New Brunswick, New Jersey. In 1937 he became an actor on the legitimate stage, and played a gangster in the audience-participation courtroom drama The Night of January 16th. In 1941 Edward Finney, a veteran movie producer and director, took a chance on the slim, pencil-mustached actor. Arthur Space played a gangster’s henchman in Finney’s low-budget melodrama Riot Squad, released by Monogram. Space’s stage presence and confident voice got him noticed. He jumped from the humble Monogram to the plush M-G-M, where he worked as a contract player for the next two years. Comedy fans may remember seeing him in Abbott & Costello’s Rio Rita as a saboteur posing as an upstanding citizen. Space was frequently loaned out to other studios to play small-town professionals, shifty crooks, or both. The 20th Century-Fox crime drama Quiet Please, Murder cast Space as a hoodlum posing as a police detective. These dual roles showed casting directors how versatile Space could be, and he began playing larger character roles.
In 1943 he was given a role in Laurel & Hardy’s The Dancing Masters (as their boss), but all of his scenes were cut for time reasons. Meanwhile he continued to build “a reputation as one of the best bit players in Hollywood,” to quote Fox publicists. In 1944 he was assigned to the studio’s next Laurel & Hardy comedy, The Big Noise, in which he gives a memorable performance. His “inventor” characterization has some eccentric qualities and even some light romantic overtones, unlike many of the straightforward character parts Space usually had.
Arthur Space continued to play small roles in big pictures, and big roles in small pictures. He often worked without screen credit. In the late ’40s and early ’50s he could usually be found at M-G-M, Columbia, Monogram, or Republic, playing small-town citizens (Margaret O’Brien’s father in Her First Romance, a rural lawyer in The Bowery Boys’ Feudin’ Fools, a trucking-company official targeted for ruin in the serial Government Agents vs. Phantom Legion). His dignified bearing also landed him several military roles, and his performance in the Gene Autry western Last of the Pony Riders landed him frequent guest shots in Autry’s television productions.
As the Hollywood "B" movies began dying out, Space became increasingly busy in television, making guest appearances in other popular series (“Adventures of Superman,” “Perry Mason,” etc.). He also had a recurring role in the top-rated “Lassie” show (as a country doctor), and a leading role in the “National Velvet” series (appearing without his usual mustache, as Velvet’s father).
By the 1970s Arthur Space, now in his sixties, was still playing small roles in movies and television. His roles were limited in dramas of the ’70s, but he could play victimized senior citizens and grubby derelicts equally well. His last feature film was a personal project of actor-director Ralph Waite, star of “The Waltons.” Arthur Space was one of the very few veteran actors in the cast of On the Nickel, Waite’s 1980 portrait of skid row. Space became ill during his final months, and died of cancer in 1983. He was 74.
Arthur Space summed up his Laurel & Hardy assignments in a press release for The Big Noise: “Working with Babe and Stan is wonderful training for any actor, as an opportunity to watch the best timing and coordination in the business—but it’s plenty tough, too... The boys work together so well that one follows right along when the other throws in something new. As for me, I’m likely to plunge blindly into my next line and spoil the take.”
Copyright © 2024 by Scott MacGillivray.
The career of a Hollywood ingenue could be compared to that of an athlete. She may enjoy several years of prominence, but she may not remain at the top of her profession for more than a decade or so. One of Laurel & Hardy’s co-stars not only outlasted many of her contemporaries, but she had two flourishing screen careers (and even dabbled in a third!) over three decades. She appeared as a damsel in distress in Any Old Port, and in the title role of The Bohemian Girl. Laurel & Hardy fans know her as Jacqueline Wells.
Born Jacqueline Brown on August 30, 1914 in Denver, Colorado, she was a promising juvenile actress who was featured in stage plays at the Pasadena Community Playhouse. This theater was regularly attended by movie talent scouts, and many actors at Pasadena received offers from the studios. Using the professional name of Jacqueline Wells, she worked in two-reel comedies at the Hal Roach studios during the 1931-32 season, with Laurel & Hardy, Charley Chase, and The Boy Friends.
Many novice screen actresses were first tried in westerns and serials as a practical screen test, to gauge their ability and appeal. Jacqueline Wells also went this route when Universal offered her a contract. She appeared in serials under the name of Diane Duval. This phase of her career didn’t last long, however, because casting directors began to take notice of Jacqueline Wells. One of her more prominent roles was in Monogram’s The Loud-Speaker (1934), as an actress trying to get along in New York. That same year she was named one of the “WAMPAS Baby Stars,” an annual selection of starlets considered by exhibitors as good bets for stardom.
The Bohemian Girl (1936), co-starring Jacqueline Wells, climaxed her freelance career. She then signed a contract with Columbia Pictures. Columbia made a few important films each year, but the backbone of its organization was a steady stream of “B” pictures and short subjects for neighborhood theaters. Wells was the ingenue in many of Columbia’s unpretentious but entertaining features like Paid to Dance and When G-Men Step In.
Most Columbia
contract players were called upon to appear in anything.
In order to gain valuable experience before the cameras,
they’d appear in a big feature film on Monday, a little
feature film on Tuesday, a serial on Wednesday, or a
two-reel comedy on Thursday. It was all in a day’s work for
Columbia’s stock company. The seasoned Jacqueline Wells
managed to steer clear of Columbia’s slapstick shorts but,
because she knew the ropes, she was sometimes recruited for
screen tests, to recite sample scenes opposite neophyte
actors. The hectic Columbia workplace kept her busy, but the
studio failed to promote her to bigger productions — while her Columbia
contemporary Rita Hayworth rose in prominence and got all
the attention. Wells finally left Columbia in 1939 to resume
freelancing. Jacqueline Wells’s last credit found her back
at Monogram in Her First Romance, starring
another former Columbia stalwart, Edith Fellows.
The actress, already concerned about her stagnating career, recognized that 10 years of hard work hadn’t made her a star. She left Hollywood and joined a repertory company in Wisconsin. “It was getting away from people who knew me that did it,” she recalled in a 1943 interview. “In the little stock company, I was a big shot because I hailed from Hollywood, and for the first time I was fussed over. My inferiority complex began to vanish and when I returned to Hollywood I had blood in my eye and fight in my heart.”
She auditioned for Warner Brothers with a new hairstyle and wardrobe, and claimed to be an actress from New York named Julie Bishop. Still in her twenties, she was young enough to play ingenues and was promoted as a new face. She was cast in Warner product for the next several years, and her more famous credits include Action in the North Atlantic and Rhapsody in Blue. During her vogue as a Warner star, her older films were reissued to cash in on her popularity, and her “Jacqueline Wells” billing was revised to read “Julie Bishop.”
“The girl I used to be is dead and buried,” she said. “Until I shed Jacqueline Wells, I was the girl Hollywood overlooked.”
In 1946 the major studios released many of their contract players, Julie Bishop among them. She found work almost immediately at the smaller, independent studios. In 1952 she landed the feminine lead in the Bob Cummings sitcom “My Hero,” and she continued to work in movies and TV through 1957. She also appeared in regional stage productions.
In private life the former Jacqueline Wells pursued a wide variety of personal interests in California. She was a prolific painter, a licensed pilot, and the president of a national scholarship association. On August 30, 2001 — her 87th birthday — she succumbed to pneumonia.
We applaud the
professionalism of this talented actress, “a rose by any other
name.”
Copyright © 2023 by Scott
MacGillivray.
Henry Armetta always played the same part in movies: a stocky, frustrated Neapolitan who tries to curb his temper. Imagine Edgar Kennedy with an Italian accent and you get the idea.
Born in Palermo, Italy on July 4, 1888, Enrico Armetta (later Americanized to Henry) came to America at 14, as a stowaway on a ship. He worked at various odd jobs, including a stint at New York's actors' fraternity, The Lambs Club. Stage and screen comedian Raymond Hitchcock gave Armetta his first acting job.
Many familiar movie character actors held conventional jobs in “real life.” Armetta was a barber. His outspoken, gregarious personality made an impression on filmmakers, and soon Henry the barber was in the movies. He cited his first movie appearance as Lady of the Pavement (1929), but he had appeared in silent films for years. When talkies arrived he became a prolific character player. His contribution to the Laurel & Hardy library is found in The Devil’s Brother: Armetta appears as an innkeeper continually exasperated by Stan’s finger games.
Armetta, in the words of film historian Don Miller, had a “peculiar walk like the Leaning Tower of Pisa in motion.” Between the walk and the heavily accented voice, Armetta became an adept scene-stealer, usually playing a comic foil, or comedy relief in melodramas. He was so familiar to movie fans that he was caricatured in a Walt Disney cartoon, and in 1935 Henry Armetta ranked #4 (out of 9000 actors) in the number of hours performing for the cameras.
Twentieth Century-Fox, experimenting with new series, made a handful of sports/action comedies. Henry Armetta appeared in the first one as the flustered owner of a restaurant. He was so well received that Fox used Armetta for the follow-up films. Family sitcoms were popular at the time (the Hardy family, the Jones family, the Bumstead family, etc.), and the presence of Armetta gave the format an ethnic twist. Three “Gambini family” misadventures were filmed by Fox’’s “B” unit in 1938–39. They were enjoyable fillers on double-feature nights at the local moviehouse, much as a weekly TV comedy viewed at random is pleasantly diverting today. The series stopped after three entries; the hot-headed Italian was refreshing in featured appearances but not as effective when he was the center of attention.
Armetta could also be hot-headed off-screen. Producer Jules White, always on the lookout for talent for his Columbia short subjects, liked Armetta’s work and invited him to the studio to discuss a series of two-reelers. According to White (quoted in “The Columbia Comedy Shorts” by Ted Okuda and Ed Watz), Henry Armetta the friendly barber had turned into Henry Armetta the temperamental movie star, and was unreasonably insistent about working conditions. His imperious manner cost him a movie contract and another chance at stardom.
Apparently the word got around about Armetta’s artistic temperament, because he wasn’t given the opportunity to star until 1941, and then it was for the poverty-row PRC studio. PRC could seldom afford star names, and had to rely on less expensive featured players. The studio leaned heavily on audience familiarity for Caught in the Act, which reunited him with Inez Palange (“Mama Gambini” in Armetta’s Fox films). The starring vehicle wasn’t strong enough to warrant a series.
Armetta was off the screen for more than a year until his cameo in the independent, all-star feature Stage Door Canteen attracted attention. Soon he was popping in and out of wartime musical revues on a regular basis. He also worked in local stage productions; on October 21, 1945, while starring in "Opening Night," Armetta suffered a heart attack and collapsed backstage at San Diego’s Russ Auditorium. He died that evening, at the age of 57.
Henry Armetta was certainly noticeable in The Devil’s Brother. One wonders what he could have brought to Laurel & Hardy’s other musical comedies. Imagine Armetta as the master toymaker in Babes in Toyland, or the bartender in The Bohemian Girl, or the owner of the cheese shop in Swiss Miss. Anyway, we’re fortunate to have his single appearance with Laurel & Hardy.
Copyright © 2021 by Scott MacGillivray.Scott MacGillivray’s Laurel & Hardy: From the Forties Forward was the first book to fully chronicle the later careers of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, and everything that followed, from theatrical reissues to home videos. If you enjoyed the book the first time, you’ll like this new edition even more. The author has expanded the original text by more than 50 percent, to include new insights, new information, and new discoveries in Laurel & Hardy history, never before published. (Which Laurel & Hardy comedy of the 1940s was withheld from release for almost four years? Which “forties” movie was their all-time biggest hit? Which movie was almost shut down by federal intervention?) You’ll read much more about Stan and Ollie’s unrealized projects, including five more feature films, two TV series, and two Broadway shows. A must-read for Stan and Ollie’s fans everywhere, Laurel & Hardy: From the Forties Forward is better than ever!
“What
a marvelous book! I read it straight through, getting happier by
the minute to think that more and more material is being set
into history about the boys. The writing is so lucid — and that
in this day of film books that aren’t is high praise. Really
wonderful!” — JOHN McCABE, Laurel & Hardy’s authorized
biographer
“Scott MacGillivray has accomplished something that most historians can only dream of doing: overturning the conventional wisdom… he rewrites the book on the movie-comedy team.” — BOSTON HERALD
“All the world’s admirers of Laurel & Hardy will now forever be indebted to Scott MacGillivray for providing so much new information about two of the world’s most beloved figures.” — STEVE ALLEN
“Displays a knowledge and affection for its subject that one would be hard pressed to find in most academic texts.” — CLASSIC IMAGES
“To write a book about screen performers as well covered as these two and still present a wealth of heretofore unpublished information is quite an accomplishment.” — FILM QUARTERLY
“MacGillivray takes great pains to provide the context necessary to reassess these films after so many years of knee-jerk dismissal and neglect… His book will remain the definitive study of the late years of the Laurel and Hardy phenomenon.” — ARNE FOGEL, Minnesota Public RadioOrder the paperback from Amazon.com
Order the hardcover
from Amazon.com
You don’t think of “leading men in a Laurel & Hardy movie. With Stan and Ollie as the center of attention, the male leads consisted of either a traditional “juvenile” role or an incidental romantic presence.
Only rarely did we see an actor who shared equally in Laurel & Hardy’s dialogue, plot situations, and comic routines. In the 1930s, it was Dennis King (The Devil’s Brother). In the 1940s, it was Bob Bailey (Jitterbugs and The Dancing Masters).
Robert Bainter Bailey was born on
Bob Bailey answered the call from
Bailey worked so well with Laurel & Hardy that he was hired for their next film, The Dancing Masters. His role of “Grant Lawrence,” boy inventor, was neither as demanding nor as prominent as his work in Jitterbugs, but he tried his best with low comedy. In the aftermath of a ginger-ale-spraying sequence, Bailey ’s half-sheepish, half-snarling “I got my pants wet!” is a comic highlight.
Bob Bailey had superb dialogue skills
but limited visual
“business”; his few moments of facial
mugging in The Dancing Masters are amusing but
mechanical, as though he was uncomfortable in broad comedy. 20th
Century-Fox took the hint and turned him into
“Robert Bailey,” promising
young dramatic actor. Throughout 1944 Bailey had moderate to
minor roles in five 20th Century-Fox features. He lacked the
chiseled profile and rugged physique of the typical
In 1955 CBS Radio revived one of its
popular detective series,
“Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar,” and cast Bob
Bailey in the lead. The role had been played in the hard-boiled
gumshoe tradition by
In late 1960, CBS moved production of
“Johnny Dollar” to
After this film, Bailey suddenly
withdrew from show business and settled into a solitary private
life, apart from family and friends for many years. In the
1970s, reunited with his daughter Roberta Goodwin, he lived
comfortably in a
Bob Bailey was a skilled dramatic actor who made two funny movies almost by accident. We salute his contributions to the world of Laurel & Hardy.
Copyright © 1998 by Scott MacGillivray. Acknowledgment is made to John Gassman and Roberta Goodwin for background information.
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