While the Sidney Sheldon penned film “The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer” (1947) was a comedy, behind-the-scenes tensions and sometimes boiled over between its lead trio of stars, Cary Grant, Myrna Loy, and Shirley Temple. Loy and Temple played sisters; Grant played the bachelor of the title, an artist who often got himself into trouble because of his charms.
Temple and Loy first crossed paths professionally in 1934 as a result of the Oscar nominations. As Shirley told the story in her autobiography Child Star:
During the 1934 [Oscar] nominations for best actress, a vicious cat fight had erupted. My name was on the nomination list and odds-makers had me an almost certainty to win. Myrna Loy (“The Thin Man”) and Bette Davis (“Of Human Bondage”) had both been ignored in the nominations and write-in campaigns had been threatened. This quarrelsome affair had forced Academy officials to rescind both my nomination and the Academy rules against write-ins and devise a compromise. I would be excluded from the best actress category altogether. A diminutive Oscar would be awarded me in a special-award category, one whose only previous recipients had been Charlie Chaplin in 1927 for “The Circus,” Warner Brothers for revolutionizing movies with sound in “The Jazz Singer,” and Walt Disney for Mickey Mouse.
Shirley getting a best actress Oscar over Loy and Davis? It boggles the mind.
A publicity shot of Loy for “Bachelor,” showing the typical haughty and elegant demeanor of her onscreen character:
Below, Grant and Shirley between takes of the film for a scene where she fantasizes that Grant’s character is her knight in shining armor:
In one scene, Shirley attempts to seduce Grant’s character by dressing to look older. Her upswept hairdo required a form of glue to hold her ears back, as they protruded to far for the taste of the film crew.
As she recalled in Child Star:
Our scene was a close-up, with lights shining comfortably warm on my skin. We were slow getting started while director Irving Reis and Grant bickered about details of delivery and stage position. Their wrangles about words or stage direction were getting commonplace. Much of what Grant proposed was meritorious, mostly ad libs and little routines. However, for every added embellishment, Myrna Loy would excuse herself to the portable dressing room and bring back suggestions to enhance her own role. Grant was known as someone obsessively concerned with nuance and detail, and Loy as someone not easily finessed. In the middle was Reis, unwilling to be superseded by either of the two warring contestants.…In a huff Grant had disappeared into his portable dressing room. Little could be done about the personal animosity, so Reis again shut the set down. For a few minutes we all milled around aimlessly, chatting and drinking coffee, then Reis carefully rolled both his white shirt sleeves to the elbow and rapped sharply on Grant’s dressing-room door, ordering him to return. Grand did pop out at once, but not to work. Off he stormed without a backward glance. Going directly to producer Dore Schary, he threatened to quit unless Reis was fired. Buckling to the pressure, Schary replaced Reis with himself, releasing publicity that Reis had collapsed from physical exhaustion. Several days later Reis seemed to have recovered dramatically, for he hosted a reception for cast and crew members, Grant notably absent. The party was held at his home, one of those aeries clinging to the steep side of a Beverly Hills canyon, and the candlelight disclosed our host quite healthy and philosophical about his replacement.
Below, Reis directs Johnny Sands and Shirley in a scene:
Although some residual disharmony continued to plague the set, Schary coped with Grant’s perfectionist tendencies and tolerated his abrupt absences to count or rewrite lines. As was my custom during such intermissions, I hung around joshing with the crew, far preferring some activity to nothing. That’s how the trouble started. I started to mimic Grant. Egged on by the crew’s applause, I soon was doing an impromptu show. Taking center stage where the lights were ready for our next close-up, I tipped my head, put on a a quizzical smile, and started a soliloquy in a deep-throated, cockney accent. Swaggering across the set, I executed a typical Grant double-take, careful to point out that I was showing only my right profile, a well-known minor vanity. The crew had been laughing and cheering, but suddenly turned silent as tombstones. Beyond the edge of the lights glare, I detected Grant’s face. I was caught red-handed. Again he stalked away, this time directly to Selznick, who sent word for me to come at once. Grant was quitting the film unless I went, and Selznick was fuming at yet another personality clash on an already troubled set. Mimicry is immature, I was lectured, leaving a clear impression that if anyone left the film, it would be me. Never having been fired, to say I felt chastised would be a yawning understatement. Trembling with apprehension, I made my way back to the set. As had been the case with Lionel Barrymore in “The Little Colonel,” my only salvation lay in a personal apology, one fortunatley accepted by Grant.By the his annoyance level had subsided, and with a grave nod of his head he accepted my remorse, turned, started off, then stoped. “By the way,” he said, cocking his head in an exaggerated version of my mimicry, “it was a pretty good imitation.”
Grant and Schary between takes:
One of the on-set pranks made its way to the press. From the vintage caption that accompanied the photo below:
They say it’s an old Egyptian proverb that he who makes practical jokes one day is victim of ribbing. And so it came to pass recently. Shirley Temple, under cover of that sweet, innocent expression so well-known to thousands of movie goers, has been the instigator of many practical pranks. So it was inevitable that her fellow workers would one day turn the laughter on her. “Buddy” Barasch, production assistant of the film in which Shirley is working put over the gag. Donning Arabian robes and a beard, he posed as a royal visitor and beguiled her. Later when the disguise was removed, Shirley joined in the laughter. The two are shown here. 11/16/46
For the May 10, 1948 Screen Guild Theater radio version of the film, tensions between the three leads are clearly visible in the photo below:
Loy does not feign joy as Shirley points to a detail in the script. Grant at least seems attentive:
For some reason, the film was dramatized a second time, on June 13, 1949, as part of the Lux Radio Theatre series. Temple and Grant participated; Loy did not. Apparently, twice was enough for her.
Frances Robinson took over Loy’s role.
Producer William Keighley opened the program:
Greetings from Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we welcome back to THE LUX RADIO THEATRE a man whom I consider one of America's truly great screen stars, Cary Grant. With Cary is a young lady who long ago captured the heart of America and has held it ever since, Shirley Temple. Together, they bring us RKO's sparkling romantic comedy "The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer," with Cary as the gay man-about-town and Shirley as the adoring bobby-soxer -- the same delightful performances that made the picture a hit. You know, the bobby-soxer has introduced some fascinating additions to the American language and mode of dress, but I understand she's still old-fashioned enough to want a lovely Lux complexion. So she takes a lesson from her mother, and the screen stars, and lets Lux Toilet Soap help out on the beauty front.
Keighley (seen at left) directed Shirley in her previous film, “Honeymoon”:
The Lux program’s wrap-up banter:
KEIGHLEY: Tonight's play was enjoyed, I know, by all bachelors, all bobby-soxers, and all the rest of us, too. So here's all our thanks to Cary Grant and Shirley Temple. SOUND: APPLAUSE KEIGHLEY: Cary, when we first tried to reach you about tonight's show, you were in the middle of the Atlantic on a freighter. We're certainly glad you made it. GRANT: Well, thank you, Bill. So am I. I had a wonderful rest. TEMPLE: I suppose after a strenuous picture you need a rest when you're - over twenty-one. GRANT: Uh, Shirley, remember, you can vote now. ... TEMPLE: (LAUGHS) KEIGHLEY: (LAUGHS) I suppose you're pretty bored, Shirley, with people who say (CLICKS TONGUE) "My, how you've grown." TEMPLE: Well, after all, I'm a married woman with a little daughter. GRANT: You know, that's the trouble. Other girls get married; two days later, everybody's forgotten it. Except the groom, of course. TEMPLE: (LAUGHS) GRANT: But when Shirley Temple gets married, the whole world feels twenty years older. ... TEMPLE: Well, I think every girl should be married. GRANT: Ah, every girl should be married. ... I'm glad you brought that up. KEIGHLEY: Yes; you see, Shirley, two weeks from tonight, Cary will be back with us again, starring with Betsy Drake in their recent hit "Every Girl Should Be Married." TEMPLE: Oh, that's wonderful. I loved the picture. And I have a suggestion for every girl who thinks she should be married. Every girl should have a Lux complexion. KEIGHLEY: Yes, I recommend a Lux complexion exactly like yours. TEMPLE: Why, thank you, Mr. Keighley. I've always used Lux Soap. And, don't forget, you promised me one of those "Neptune's Daughter" scatter pins. In fact, I'd like to have two of them to wear on my new suit. KEIGHLEY: Well, it'll be a pleasure, Shirley. The "Neptune's Daughter" pin is sterling silver and something every woman will want. GRANT: Well, what's next week's play, Bill? KEIGHLEY: Well, it's a drama about Hollywood, Cary -- the famous hit of stage and screen, "Merton of the Movies." Starring in it, we'll have the one and only Mickey Rooney. And, with Mickey, lovely Arlene Dahl. There'll be laughs, drama and romance here next Monday with "Merton of the Movies." TEMPLE: We'll all be listening. Good night. GRANT: Good night. KEIGHLEY: Good night and we'll see you in two weeks, Cary.
Want to hear the entire program? Here you go:
The program for the Radio City Music Hall presentation of “The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer”:
See more “Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer” photos at my main website.
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