A Star Is Born is a 1937 film produced by David O Selznick, directed by William A Wellman, and written by Wellman, Robert Carson, Dorothy Parker, and Alan Campbell. The movie stars Janet Gaynor and Frederic March, with Adolphe Menjou, May Robson, Andy Devine, Lionel Stander, and Owen Moore. It was the first colour film (done in Technicolor) to be nominated for a Best Picture Oscar.

A Star Is Born based its plot extensively on 1932’s What Price Hollywood?, a film that wasn’t as widely known; but the success of the 1937 movie would spawn three remakes–one in 1954, one in 1976, and one in 2018…all three of these being musicals, unlike the original. The 1954 remake parallels the 1937 film much more than the other two, so I’ll be comparing the first two.

Apart from the Best Picture Oscar nomination, A Star Is Born also got nominated for Best Director (Wellman), Best Actor (March), Best Actress (Gaynor), and Best Original Score (which it won), among others. It also won an Academy Honorary Award for cinematographer W Howard Greene.

The film entered the public domain in 1965.

Here is a link to quotes from the movie, and here are links to the full movie.

One could argue that, in a peculiar sense, there is something of the ‘hour of the wolf’ in A Star Is Born, in that it involves a time, according to Ingmar Bergman‘s film (which I analyzed here), when most deaths and births begin. I say this because this film could be just as legitimately called A Star Is Dying as it is called A Star Is Born.

Indeed, just as we see the rise of new movie star Esther Victoria Blodgett (Gaynor), who is renamed Vicki Lester, so do we also see the decline and fall of the alcoholic movie star Norman Maine (March). The movie is far more of a tragedy for him than it is a hurrah for her.

The film begins and ends with an interesting framing device: we see pages of movie scripts indicating descriptions of the opening and closing scenes. Since neither scene indicated is from a film being made with Maine, Lester, or any other movie star in the story, but is rather just a scene from ‘real life,’ we can see in this framing device a sense of when Jacques, in As You Like It, said, “All the world’s a stage…” (or in this case, all the world’s a film set).

In other words, if “all the men and women [are] merely players” of the play or movie of life, then we can see the fakery of all of the posing and posturing that people do, even if they aren’t actors. Indeed, we’ll see much of that fakery in the transformation of naïve farm girl Esther Blodgett into screen siren Vicki Lester, all made up and glamorized. On the other side of the coin, Norman Maine’s descent into alcoholism and resulting fading star are his giving-up of the illusion of glamour and return to dull, vulgar reality.

She begins in the film on her family’s farm in North Dakota. Here, her life corresponds to the earliest of Jacques’s ‘Seven Ages of Man.’ She’s going through equivalents of “the infant” and “the whining schoolboy,” that is, the naïve child who has studied the movies she sees, worships, and dreams of being a part of, while complaining that no one takes her dreams seriously. The naysayers in her life include her Aunt Mattie (played by Clara Blandick, who the viewer may recognize as also having played Auntie Em in the 1939 film adaptation of The Wizard of Oz) and a bratty little brother who mocks her fantasied ‘stardom.’

At the other end is Norman Maine, who in his self-destructive alcoholism is comparable to being in the “last scene of all…second childishness and mere oblivion…sans everything.” Of course, in the middle of the film, both Vicki and Norman are “the lover[s], sighing like furnace,” when they fall in love and get married.

Esther will get some needed encouragement from her Grandmother Lettie (Robson), who gives her some money to go to Hollywood. Of course, her rise to stardom won’t be easy. She can’t even find extra work when she gets to Hollywood and asks around. Equally obvious, though, is that it’s not what you know, but who you know, that determines whether or not you’ll become a star.

In this sense, Esther’s lucky break comes from meeting two important people: first, at her boarding house, she meets assistant director Danny McGuire (Devine), who will get her acquainted with the second important person, Maine, first at a concert (where he demonstrates his drunken loutishness for the first time in front of her), then at a fancy Hollywood party.

It’s interesting, when considering that loutish behaviour of Norman’s when she first sees him in person, to compare March’s portrayal of Maine to James Mason‘s portrayal of him in the 1954 remake. March’s Maine is brusque and gruff, smashing the camera of a nosy paparazzo at the concert, while Mason’s Maine–though equally drunk–is much more charming and cordial. Indeed, the Mason portrayal is much more likable and sympathetic, despite him having the same faults and inadequacies as the March portrayal has.

Later, Danny helps Esther get a screen test from his longtime producer and friend, Oliver Niles (Menjou). Niles is impressed with her and gives her a contract, as well as her new name, derived from her middle name–Victoria shortened to Vicki–and an L added to Esther, making her “Vicki Lester.”

In the process of transforming Esther into “Vicki,” press agent Matt Libby (Stander) asks her a number of questions about herself, and being disappointed with her dull, prosaic answers, invents some romanticized ones to make her origins seem more interesting. She’s also given lessons in enunciation and improving her posture, walking with a book on her head. Among all of these changes and the glamorous makeup job she gets, we can see all of the fakery involved in transforming a humble farm girl into a starlet.

Norman helps Vicki by getting her the lead role, opposite him, in his new film, The Enchanted Hour. The film makes her an overnight star, eclipsing his fame.

Mason’s portrayal of Norman is all the more likable in how he encourages Esther (here played by Judy Garland) to abandon her small dream, of being just a successful singer with a #1 hit song on the Hit Parade, in favour of the big dream of being a successful singer/actress in Hollywood musicals. He is captivated by, and convinced of, her talent when she sings “The Man That Got Away” with her band.

Back to the 1937 movie, Norman proposes to Vicki, and they get married privately, to avoid all the nosy press attention, which annoys Libby; indeed, we see in this an example of how Libby is losing his patience with Norman, who has also promised Vicki to give up drinking. Libby, nonetheless, will make the marriage a publicity matter, and he’ll know that any promises from Norman to give up drinking will prove empty ones.

After Norman and Vicki return from their honeymoon, it becomes clear that as her star is rising, his is not only falling, but it has fallen. It is preferred to have photos taken of her alone over those of both her and Maine, whom nobody really likes anymore. In fact, Niles arrives at Maine’s palatial home to tell him, however reluctantly, the bad news: his last three performances have not pleased the critics, his fan mail, however much it may be, is so cheap to send him that it’s insignificant, and Niles plans to have Vicki star in a film of her own, opposite another rising actor named Pemberton, instead of with Maine. Norman offers to have his contract called off, but Niles still thinks there’s hope, however small, for him to make a comeback.

We can see in all of this an example of the dialectic at work in Vicki’s rise coinciding with Norman’s fall, of her star’s birth vs his star’s death. Indeed, the large ad poster for The Enchanted Hour is changed to say it stars Vicki Lester rather than Norman Maine. His fan mail dwindles, while hers piles up; and finally, his contract with Niles is cancelled after all, as it is reported in the entertainment news.

Norman finds himself idling about at home while his wife is busy working…and this is all at a time when traditional sex roles would have had it the other way around, so Norman can only feel ashamed. When the phone rings, it’s always to ask for her, never for him. To give the ‘househusband’ something to do, he’s learning to cook and prepare food, so he’s made some sandwiches for them to eat when she finally comes home after a busy day of acting. Still trying to leave the booze alone, he’s having a glass of milk with his sandwich.

Their brief moment of happiness together is interrupted by the doorbell. Norman answers it: a deliveryman has a package for Vicki, but he doesn’t recognize Norman, who tells him he’s her husband. He’s then asked to sign for the package, being addressed as “Mr. Lester.” With his depression returning, Norman gives her the package, relays the telephone messages for her (including a table offered at the Academy Award’s ceremony), and leaves their sandwiches and milk to go fix himself an alcoholic drink. There is an equivalent scene to this one in the 1954 film, as there is in the following scene.

At the Academy Awards, Vicki receives one for Best Actress. When she accepts it, a drunk Maine appears and interrupts, gruffly demanding that he receive an award for Worst Actor (he’s too early for the Razzies, which wouldn’t come to be until their first ceremony in 1981). Mason’s Maine, though equally drunk and awkward, is more sympathetic, with him simply asking for more work. The same goes for his accidental slap of Vicki, for which we especially see his pained remorse.

Anyway, to get back to March’s Norman, the juxtaposition of Vicki’s Best Actress Oscar with his wished-for “Worst Actor Oscar” is another example of the dialectic of her rise and his fall. His drunk, frank bluntness as against the sober graciousness and artificiality of the ceremony is another example of that dialectic. Hollywood fakery has been taken to such an extent that, earlier, when Norman was taking phone messages for Vicki, a gossip columnist named Artie Carver said he’d make up a figure for how much Norman supposedly received as a settlement when ending his contract with Niles, after he told Artie he didn’t want any money.

So though winning the Oscar should be the happiest moment of Vicki’s life, the dialectic returns when Norman’s public disgrace can’t make her any sadder. Niles later visits her at her dressing room to congratulate her on her continuing success, but he can see that her grin is meant to conceal her tears. Norman is in a sanitarium, and he really wants to stop drinking, but all she can do is fear for him and his self-destructive nature. (Here’s the equivalent scene from the 1954 film; after her tears, we see her do a number in which she, grinning, sings, “Go and get your long face lost!”.) Niles offers to get another role for Norman.

At the sanitarium, Niles visits Norman and offers him a small, supporting role that Niles insists will have the audience all thinking about Norman throughout the picture, in spite of the role’s brevity. Norman tries to show a positive attitude during the visit, even referring the white-uniformed man–ever so solicitously watching him in case he tries to sneak an alcoholic drink–as “Cuddles.” Too proud to accept such a small film role from Niles, Norman lies to him about being too tied up with other major offers in movies. There’s an equivalent scene to this one in the 1954 film.

At the Santa Anita Park race track, after he’s been let out of the sanitarium and can be trusted not to drink anymore (or so it is assumed), Norman orders a mere ginger ale at the bar. Libby shows up there, too, and now that Norman’s a has-been, Libby can express his dislike and contempt of him all he likes. The altercation leads to an exchange of punches, with Libby flattening Norman. The surrounding crowd assumes he’s on the floor from being drunk again, so in his shame he orders a double scotch. Again, there’s an equivalent scene in the 1954 film.

His drinking binge has gone on for four days, and Vicki and Niles are worried sick about him. They learn he’s been arrested on a drunk driving charge. The court gives him ninety days in jail, but Vicki intervenes, promising she’ll keep a close watch over him if his sentence is suspended. Of course, the gossipy newspapers make a huge drama of the incident.

Back at home, Vicki tells Niles that she plans to give up her acting career to help Norman, who is in bed in the other room. He hears her words and knows he can’t let her sacrifice her talent just for him. Again, there’s an equivalent scene in the 1954 remake that shows a powerful emotional reaction in Mason’s Norman, showing how much more sympathetic his version of the character is. He comes to the conclusion that he must commit suicide (by drowning himself in the ocean) in order to stop her from sacrificing her career; he’ll instead sacrifice his life for her.

But before he does this, he must show her a happy face to cheer her up, if only for the moment. This is especially well done in the 1954 version, once again showing how much more likable and sympathetic Mason’s Maine is. In all four versions, though (in one sense or another), there is Maine‘s touching wish to take another look at her. With his death, she is shattered: “There is nothing sadder than/A one-man woman/Looking for the man/That got away.” Once again, she’s thinking of ending her acting career, now out of grief.

Specific to the 1937 version is Esther’s grandmother intervening to stop her from quitting acting. Lettie tells her of a letter Norman sent her when they got married, stating how proud he was of her and how much he loved her.

So at the end of the movie, with Vicki continuing as Vicki, she announces herself (as she does also in the 1954 version) as “Mrs. Norman Maine,” obviously not to be understood in the traditional patriarchal sense of deference to a woman’s husband, but as a loving tribute to him, a dialectical contrast to when he had been called “Mr. Lester.” As I said above, the film ends with the last page from the script, reminding us that all the world’s a stage.