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Introduction
As George Bailey sits at Nick’s bar completely distraught and trembling with fear, he
quietly prays, “Dear Father in heaven, I’m not a praying man, but if you’re up there and you can
hear me, show me the way. I’m at the end of my rope, show me the way God.”1 In this
memorable one-take scene from It’s a Wonderful Life (Capra, 1946), which was also his first
postwar picture, James Stewart’s real tears exemplify all of the bottled-up feelings felt by
soldiers who had recently returned home from war in 1945. Beyond his visibly aged face,
compared with his appearance and demeanor in his prewar films like Mr. Smith Goes to
Washington (Capra, 1939), and The Philadelphia Story (Cukor, 1940), Stewart’s costar Donna
Reed later said, “Jimmy Stewart was clearly affected by what he went through, and it’s a change
we didn’t understand.”2 Stewart was by no means alone; this total war impacted individuals, both
soldiers and civilians, worldwide. However, he is part of a very specific group of veterans:
Hollywood talent.
Many famous actors served in World War II, but most of these men served as soldiers
unknown to the public before becoming celebrities in the 1950s and 60s. While these actors’
stories are respectable and important, they had quite different experiences from actors like
Stewart, who enlisted in early 1941, before Pearl Harbor. He was part of a special group of A-list
Hollywood actors who voluntarily chose to leave their lives of fame, wealth, and luxury to serve
and support the war effort, only to survive and come back home permanently affected by their
1 It’s a Wonderful Life, directed by Frank Capra (Liberty Films, 1946), 1:35:33.
https://www.amazon.com/Wonderful-Life-Black-White-
Version/dp/B001M432XA/ref=sr_1_1?crid=28EGEZMRH3TSM&keywords=it%27s+a+wonderful+life&qid=1671
220478&s=instant-video&sprefix=it%27s+%2Cinstant-video%2C149&sr=1-1.
2 Dave Kindy, “The Dark Place: World War II left its mark on a renowned actor and transformed his postwar
performances,” World War II 35, no. 4 (December 2020), 48.
2
wartime experiences and forced to navigate a postwar Hollywood that necessitated a major shift
in their star image.
An abundance of research and scholarship has been published regarding World War II
and the film industry in general, mainly focusing on the films made during the war years, how
Hollywood’s economy was affected, and how filmmaking forged ahead in such uncertain times.3
In a similar vein, Hollywood directors who served have been highlighted in Mark Harris’s book,
Five Came Back (2014), which has also been made into a docuseries on Netflix. Even J.E.
Smyth’s book, Nobody’s Girl Friday: The Women who Ran Hollywood (2018), includes a
mention of Bette Davis’s work with the Hollywood Canteen during World War II. Beyond these
types of sources, however, very little scholarship has been written about A-list actors who
served. According to a 1945 annual report of the War Activities Committee, about 7,000 men, or
roughly one-third of those who were normally employed by the Motion Picture Industry in
Hollywood entered the services, but only a select few were A-list actors widely known by the
American public.4 As a result, there is a clear gap in the research about these actors’ service,
postwar careers, and star image, specifically those who were already well-established in
Hollywood. While these other areas of focus are important and crucial to the overall discourse on
Hollywood and the Second World War, this thesis contributes a new perspective to the field of
film studies that focuses on the stars themselves and the complex repercussions of their service.
As actors become increasingly prominent and famous within the film industry, they
acquire a certain star image with which Hollywood and the public associate them. According to
3 For further reference, see One World, Big Screen: Hollywood, the Allies, and World War II (Bennett, 2012),
Projections of War: Hollywood, American Culture, and World War II (Doherty, 1999), and The Moguls and the
Dictators: Hollywood and the Coming of World War II (Welky, 2008).
4 Movies at War: The Annual Report of the War Activities Committee, Volume 4, dated 1945, Association of Motion
Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP) Records, file 219, Margaret Herrick Library (MHL), Academy of
Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS), 28.
3
famed British academic, Richard Dyer, star image consists of “everything that is publicly
available about stars.”5 Furthermore, “stars embody social categories through which people
make sense of their lives.”6 These star images are formed by actors’ personalities, age, gender,
usual film roles, and audience input. As Dyer’s definition implies, one’s star image is partially
true based on what is made public but is simultaneously fabricated as it operates as a façade.
Nevertheless, these star images help establish actors’ personas and identities within the film
industry and among viewers.
Four popular but under-theorized A-list Hollywood actors who had a solidified star image
and left the industry to serve in World War II include James Stewart, Robert Montgomery,
Marlene Dietrich, and Myrna Loy. It is important to note that these four actors were not the only
Hollywood stars who served; many individuals, including Stewart’s close friend Henry Fonda,
Clark Gable, and Gable’s wife and Hollywood’s first WWII casualty, Carole Lombard, also
served and aided the war effort, among others. However, Stewart, Montgomery, Dietrich, and
Loy have varied yet prominent service experiences, some of which merit further scholarly
attention. Stewart flew bombing missions over Germany, Montgomery served aboard a destroyer
during D-Day, Dietrich visited soldiers on the front lines, and Loy aided the U.S. war effort with
the Red Cross; while their service looked different, each of these actors were forced to reshape
their star images upon their return.
Before the war, Stewart’s image was characterized by the awkward, unassuming, “aw
shucks,” yet lovable leading young man. This image remained relatively intact throughout the
rest of Stewart’s career as he was considered a “personality actor,” meaning that he “imbues
5 Richard Dyer, Heavenly Bodies: Film Stars and Society, 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2004), 2.
6 Zachary M. Mann, “Nora Charles goes to rehab: making over Myrna Loy in The Best Years of Our Lives.”
Celebrity Studies 14, no. 3 (2023), 250.
4
everything he does with a certain essence,” rather than disappearing into a role.7 However, in his
first postwar picture, It’s a Wonderful Life, his image darkened with age and the effects of PTSD.
Similarly, Montgomery’s prewar image was centered around being the masculine love interest
for MGM’s leading ladies of the 1930s, but as seen in his first postwar film, for which he also
received his first directing credit, They Were Expendable (Ford & Montgomery, 1945), his image
is hardened by real war experience and a reservedness that is clear evidence of withheld feelings.
Dietrich gained fame by being a “glamour girl,” a sexy, foreign seductress who is effortlessly
beautiful; as such, she has received scholarly attention mainly for her onscreen work, rather than
her personal life. Dietrich’s return to Hollywood in A Foreign Affair (Wilder, 1948) provided a
similar image, yet it was heavily layered with a clear undertone of sadness and numbness over
the destruction of her native country and the personal effects of her service on the Western front.
Loy was originally characterized as an exotic, and later as a youthful, and fun wife epitomized in
her turn as Nora Charles from The Thin Man series, but in her first postwar film, The Best Years
of Our Lives (Wyler, 1946), she is older, restrained, and enshrined in domesticity and
motherhood. These actors’ first postwar pictures are just a glimpse into their altered postwar
careers as a result of their evolving star image.
Each of these actors began with different star images and had to modify them in their
postwar careers. The author of the same 1945 WAC annual report wrote, “Your heroes of the
screen who dashed madly into make-believe battle, fought off rehearsed assailants, in film
shows, look the same after battle service for their country. They are not the same.”8 Their varied
experiences during the war and throughout their postwar careers will be explored in detail in this
thesis, with special attention given to the change in star image. Due to their war service, absence
7 Gary Fishgall, Pieces of Time: The Life of James Stewart (New York: Scribner, 1997), 133.
8 Movies at War, 28.
5
from Hollywood, core issues that included trauma, silence, and ageism, and a world hardened by
war, these actors’ youthful and vibrant pre-war star images could no longer resonate in post-
WWII Hollywood. As a result of these actors’ absence from the screen, younger Hollywood stars
filled their places onscreen, leaving these veterans without the level of economic and cultural
prominence they had accrued before their years-long departure.
This thesis will discuss each of the four actors in their own sections; within each section,
the thesis will analyze the actor’s prewar image, war service, re-entry into Hollywood with their
first postwar picture, individual respective struggles with trauma, silence, and ageism, and
evolved star image in postwar Hollywood. The paradox of patriotism between being honored for
their service and arguably being cast aside due to their outdated star images was clear. Thus, this
thesis argues that these actors’ experiences represent an original critique of the machine-like
nature of the Hollywood star system after the end of World War II, and as such, I contend that
these individuals’ incredibly personal decisions to leave Hollywood and serve the war effort
ultimately did their film careers a disservice.
“America’s Everyman” – James Stewart
In a 1973 interview with British talk show host Michael Parkinson, James Stewart
described what he believed his star image to be throughout his career; he said, “I’m the plodder,
I’m the inarticulate man […], I’m a pretty good example of true, human frailty. I don’t really
have all the answers, I have very few of the answers, but for some reason, somehow, I make it. I
get through. When I’m with the head of the wagon train, for some reason, we get across the
Rockies.”9 This humble, gentle, “aw shucks” underdog persona was heavily influenced by
Stewart’s actual personality; the late actor John Saxon once spoke about Stewart’s genuineness,
9 FilmKunst, “James Stewart – Interview w/ Michael Parkinson,” YouTube, May 13, 2015, 29:30-30:10,
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=970nWlbT1Bc.
6
saying, “He was one of the first to that kind of halting delivery that was so natural. Searching for
words and ‘um, um, um, well, you know’ kind of thing.”10 Stewart himself once said, “I couldn’t
mess around doing great characterizations. I play versions of myself.”11 For this reason, Stewart
was termed “America’s Everyman,” a name that can be found in countless fan magazines during
the 1930s-40s. He and his characters were unlikely heroes that the ordinary filmgoer could relate
to and root for. Stewart’s Oscar-nominated breakout role as Jefferson Smith in Mr. Smith Goes to
Washington is a telling example of this; though the film has a somewhat fantastical plotline of a
boys’ club leader-turned U.S. senator performing a 24-hour filibuster, Stewart’s performance of
genuineness translates to the audience and endears him to the viewer, especially given his blatant
patriotism and love for his country at the onset of World War II.
However, as the war grew more intense in the early 40s, Stewart’s star image became
more established but a bit stale. The endearing, awkward guy image had run its course, but
luckily, Stewart was on the brink of a temporary new career. Biographer Gary Fishgall writes,
“[…] his military service was imminent, which, in a way, was fortunate, because the majority of
his remaining prewar pictures—with a few notable exceptions—were so mundane that his star
might have faded rather quickly if he’d stayed in Hollywood. In 1940 and 1941, there are
definite hints pointing to the limits of that boy-next-door image,” likely seen in the romantic
comedies No Time for Comedy (Keighley, 1940), Come Live with Me (Brown, 1941), and Pot o’
Gold (Marshall, 1941).12 Stewart’s “everyman” image would continue after the war, but with a
grittier, newfound depth.
10 Fishgall, 133.
11 Ibid.
12 Ibid., 134.
7
A great amount of scholarship exists regarding Stewart’s military service, some of which
is included in this thesis, because he was known as the first major American movie star to enlist
in the U.S. Army to fight in World War II. However, he was actually drafted on October 29,
1940, only to be rejected for being underweight. He received an appeal, and in February 1941,
just a few days after winning his only Oscar and while still five pounds under the weight
requirement, he convinced the draft board to forge his weight and accept him anyway. Though
he joined the military because he was drafted, Stewart wanted to serve and fought to be accepted;
he said in 1961, “the only lottery I’ve ever come close to winning was the drawing for the first
draft before Pearl Harbor.”13 This spontaneous spirit was not new for Stewart; in a Motion
Picture article from 1940, Stewart is quoted, saying, “[…] I never plan anything, not from one
hour to the next. I don’t want to know what I’m going to be doing an hour from now.”14 He
continued, “Flying, for instance, […] that’s very important to me. It’s fascinating, it’s exciting
and altogether different from what I do for a living.”15 In just a few months, Stewart would thrust
himself into a new journey as a pilot; over the course of the war, he became a colonel in the
Army Air Corps, flying over twenty combat missions over Germany.
Stewart also received multiple notable awards, including the Distinguished Flying Cross,
but ever the quiet, humble “everyman,” Stewart sent it home to his family rather than wearing it
proudly on his chest.16 Stewart came from a military family, with multiple generations serving in
various American wars, so his desire to serve was purely personal. In an Aviation History article
titled, “Hollywood Hero,” he was quoted, saying, “‘It might sound corny, but what’s wrong with
13 Ibid., 149.
14 Faith Service, “Will You, James, Take This Woman?,” Motion Picture (Aug 1940-Jan1941), Media History
Digital Library (MHDL), 60.
15 Ibid.
16 Leslie MacGregor, “Colonel Jimmy,” Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1945), MHDL, 120.
8
wanting to fight for your country? Why are people reluctant to use the word ‘patriotism?’”17
Stewart’s patriotism meant so much to him that he wanted it distinguished from his Hollywood
persona; he strongly disliked being filmed for propaganda purposes, he had to fight to be allowed
to go on bombing missions because the studios didn’t want to put him in real danger, and he
created a legal clause that didn’t allow any mentions of his war service in advertising or publicity
for his postwar films.18 His service clearly meant a great deal to him, but the weight he attributed
to it was likely due in part to the trauma he experienced.
According to French author and psychoanalyst Jean Laplanche, trauma is “an event in the
subject’s life defined by its intensity, by the subject’s incapacity to respond adequately to it, and
by the upheaval and long-lasting effects that it brings about in the psychical organization.”19 By
this definition, Stewart absolutely encountered trauma during the war and was forced to deal
with its effects on camera. Stewart’s service was unlike other Hollywood stars who would go up
in planes just to get footage for propaganda films or war documentaries. Sportswriter Jim Murray
once wrote, “Movie stars didn’t have to go to war. He did. They sold bonds to build bombers. He
flew the bombers. They flew over USO camp shows. He flew over Schweinfurt. They supported
the war effort. He was the war effort. When he made general, it was in effect a battlefield
commission.”20As a result of his front-line service, Stewart suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress
Disorder (PTSD), known as Combat Stress Reaction (CSR) or “battle fatigue” in the WWII era,
something he rarely spoke about but which heavily bled into his postwar career. Stewart refused
to make any films set in modern combat, but he “enacted the symptoms of combat fatigue—
17 “Hollywood Hero,” Aviation History 21, no. 4 (March 2011): 21.
18 Pete Martin, “The Shyest Guy in Hollywood,” Saturday Evening Post 224, no. 11 (1951): 42.
19 Janet Walker, Trauma Cinema: Documenting Incest and the Holocaust (Berkeley: University of California Press,
2005): 3.
20 Joseph Corey, “When James Stewart led a bombing mission, some crewmen expected a ‘milk run’—but the target
was Berlin,” Military History 16, no. 2 (June 1999): 80.
9
restlessness, nightmares, irritability, sensitivity to noise, loss of appetite, insomnia, fits of crying,
and survivor’s guilt—over and over again in his roles after the war.”21 In fact, his postwar
characters were often war veterans, which was not a minor plot point, but rather a way for
Stewart to express his traumas and deliver an immensely naturalistic performance.
As is common with trauma, Stewart faced struggles that he chose to ignore, despite them
being prominent and recurrent in his mind. In a Screenland article from November 1945, he was
quoted after being discharged, saying, “I don’t believe in this readjustment business. I think
everything is just the same as it was when I went away. […] You know, I don’t really feel that I
need a psychologist.”22 When asked about his future plans, he said, “I want to get to work. I’d
like to be in a comedy. No war pictures for me.”23 The studios also wanted to move away from
war pictures, but “none of the veteran stars, including Jimmy, seemed especially predisposed or
well suited to return to prewar everything-is-wonderful, isolationist comedies about an age of
relative innocence that seemed lost now, forever.”24 A fine balance had to be struck; audiences
needed light-hearted comedies to escape the realities of the immediate postwar period, but they
also needed realistic war dramas to heal in community. The first year after his return to
Hollywood was challenging; Stewart quit MGM after his contract ended, he struggled to get
work, and temporarily debated leaving the film industry and working at the family hardware
store. He eventually signed a contract with Frank Capra’s new, independent production
company, Liberty Films, where he reignited his passion for acting.
21 Colleen Glenn, “The Traumatized Veteran: A New Look at Jimmy Stewart’s Post-WWII Vertigo,” Quarterly
Review of Film and Video 31, no. 1 (2014): 32.
22 Miriam Ottenberg, “Jimmy Stewart’s Future Plans,” Screenland (Nov 1945-Oct 1946), MHDL, 63.
23 Ibid.
24 Marc Eliot, Jimmy Stewart: A Biography (New York: The Crown Publishing Group, 2006): 196.
10
In 1982, at the American Film Institute’s tribute to Frank Capra, Stewart spoke about his
return to Hollywood and how much making his first postwar picture, It’s a Wonderful Life,
meant to him; he said,
Makin’ that picture sure was a wonderful thing for me. I’d been away from Hollywood
for four years, and I didn’t know whether I’d lost the things I’d learned, whether the
things would be completely different or not. But after a week or so of making It’s a
Wonderful Life with Frank, I knew it was gonna be alright. Acting still meant a lot to me,
I could’ve sworn I’d never been away. I got my confidence back again […].25
Despite Stewart’s pleasant experience working on the film, It’s a Wonderful Life did not do well
at the box office and failed to win any Academy Awards despite its five nominations. Fishgall
argues that the reason for the film’s failure was “Capra’s celebration of the common man and the
heavy swipe at big business in the person of Scrooge-like Potter.”26 He continues, “With
America enjoying an economic boom and feeling optimistic in the wake of its recent victory over
fascism, concerns about the little guy in the hands of unscrupulous tycoons seemed old-
fashioned, a throwback to the previous decade and the horrors of the Depression.”27 By this
argument, Stewart’s unassuming, underdog hero no longer resonated with audiences’ desires,
and in actuality, he was no longer that man anyway. He was now 38 years old and had visibly
aged; he lost hair, and what was left had steadily become gray, and “his face had tightened with
age and was marked by the tension and fear of war.”28 Audiences still enjoyed his performance
and generally wanted a light-hearted fare, but Stewart’s trauma-induced dark undertones as seen
in the prayer at Nick’s bar and his sudden blow-up at the Baileys’ home, which his real-life wife
and daughter later said was a normal occurrence, struck a new chord with the American public.29
25 American Film Institute, “Jimmy Stewart on Frank Capra’s War Service,” YouTube Video, 1:36, February 4,
2010, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S6Ku8MWrMow.
26 Fishgall, 189.
27 Ibid., 189-190.
28 Eliot, 196.
29 Kindy, 49.
11
This darker star image and audiences’ changing desires required Stewart to alter his
career path, one that largely abandoned the sweet, love stories of his youth. He did a few biopics
and some notable thrillers with Hitchcock, but the most logical option was to transition into the
Western genre; Stewart once said, “After the war, the things that I had done before the war just
weren’t going. […] I actually feel that if I hadn’t, at that point, done Westerns and got into that
part of the business, I don’t think I would’ve made it.”30 Not only did Stewart enjoy the unique,
Americana nature of Westerns, the genre allowed him to express his darker side while still
maintaining his innate heroism and likability. According to French critic André Bazin, the 1950s
saw the rise of a new kind of Westerns that “had to be innovative in ‘aesthetic, sociological,
moral, psychological, political, or erotic’ terms,” which was an ideal situation for Stewart to
infuse his new star image.31 Director Anthony Mann’s Westerns were famous for this, as he had
“launched his career with dark material,” including film noir.32 Rather than outside forces like
villains or Indians being the main problem facing a hero in the Western genre, Stewart and
Mann’s “psychological” Westerns were rooted in emotional baggage being his main foe; as a
result of his trauma, Stewart’s characters were psychologically wounded and straddling the edge
of hysteria.33 His characters literally ride off into the sunset but with their emotional uneasiness
still intact, much like Stewart walking away from the war physically unscathed, but in emotional
turmoil.
Stewart’s career was revived by his first Western film, Winchester ’73 (Mann, 1950), also
due in part to his financial deal with his then-agent Lew Wasserman that made Stewart a
millionaire after the film’s release, something that was extremely uncommon until that point in
30 FilmKunst, 16:00-17:05.
31 Peter Lev, The Fifties: Transforming the Screen: 1950-1959 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003): 54.
32 Fishgall, 213.
33 Glenn, 34.
12
Hollywood history. Over the 1950s, Stewart’s icon was cemented, and his career remained
steady in film, and eventually television, through the 1980s. Though he dealt with trauma from
his war experience, Stewart continued to serve in the reserves until 1968, for a total of 27 years.
Nine years earlier in 1959, he became brigadier general, which made him the highest-ranking
actor in American military history. In his own AFI tribute in the 1980s, host and Stewart’s good
friend, Henry Fonda, eloquently stated,
Yet through it all—through whatever trials, pain and disillusionment Stewart’s character
has undergone on screen—his basic idealism has never wavered. This is perhaps what
people love and admire most about Jimmy Stewart: though his characters share the same
weaknesses and vulnerability we all experience, he always manages to rise above them in
an inspiring and believable way.34
With this in mind, one can see that James Stewart’s war service “deepened and enriched" the
roles he played and how he played them, thereby impacting how audiences continue to admire
him as an actor and an individual.35
In comparison to his prewar star image as the awkward, youthful “everyman,” Stewart
could no longer be the same “everyman” after the war ended. However, he simply became a raw,
battle-tested version of “America’s Everyman” who remained relatable to other veterans and an
American audience that was also in the throes of recovering and navigating a postwar world. As
a result of the success of Stewart’s postwar image, he fared better than the other three actors
featured in this thesis, but the achievements of his postwar career do not discredit the unknown
future he faced in Hollywood immediately after his return from the war. While Stewart was
flying bombing missions in the flak-filled skies, Robert Montgomery was serving aboard a
destroyer on the rough seas below.
34 AFI Salute to Jimmy Stewart Program, dated March 16, 1980, Dorothy McGuire Papers, file 121, MHL, AMPAS.
35 Robert Matzen, Mission: Jimmy Stewart and the Fight for Europe (Pittsburgh: GoodKnight Books, 2016),
Foreword.
13
“The Respectable Macho Man” – Robert Montgomery
Author and former naval aviator, James E. Wise, once described Robert Montgomery’s
early career and star image, writing, “His killer blue eyes, energy, clever talk, charm, and natural
sophistication had universal appeal, and he was cast repeatedly as a society playboy.”36 Similar
to James Stewart, Montgomery’s roles reflected his actual personality; he had an affluent
upbringing and education, and as such, was a respectable and inspiring figure in the worlds of
film, television, and politics. In the early 1930s, he was cast “as a suave, debonair type in the
vein of Cary Grant, [in which] his slicked-back hair and pillowy-faced boyishness allowed him
to move between frothy comedies and romantic dramas at his home studio of MGM.”37
Montgomery originally played the lead in multiple Broadway plays before signing with MGM,
where he often served as the love interest for multiple leading ladies, including Joan Crawford in
Untamed (Conway, 1929), Rosalind Russell in Night Must Fall (Thorpe, 1937), for which he
earned a Best Actor nomination, and Carole Lombard in Mr. and Mrs. Smith (Hitchcock, 1941).
However, he still maintained a well-established career with a variety of roles and a strong,
masculine, respectable presence in Hollywood, in addition to serving as the president of the
newly founded Screen Actors Guild and chairman of the Hollywood Republican Committee.
While James Stewart’s WWII service is widely known, significantly less scholarship
exists regarding Robert Montgomery’s service. Like his star image, Montgomery’s service is
equally respectable, so it is a mystery as to why not much has been written about him. At the
very beginning of the war in 1939, Montgomery was filming RKO’s Haunted Honeymoon
36 James E. Wise, Stars in Blue: Movie Actors in America’s Sea Services (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1997),
52.
37 Christina Newland, “Act Like a Man: Robert Montgomery, War Hero and Respectable Heel,” Mubi: Notebook,
March 26, 2020, https://mubi.com/en/notebook/posts/act-like-a-man-robert-montgomery-war-hero-and-respectable-
heel.
14
(Woods & Thorpe, 1940) in England, so he enlisted in the American Field Service in London,
where he drove ambulances until the Dunkirk evacuation in May 1940. Seeing the air raid
threats, rationing, and other effects of war firsthand led him to tell his wife, “I’ve got to get into
this. […] We’ve all got to help in any way we can. I’m not a soldier, but I can drive an
ambulance. I’m going to offer my services to the Red Cross.”38 After Dunkirk, he returned to
Hollywood before joining the U.S. Navy in April 1941.
Montgomery’s decision to initially volunteer and then enlist was very much in line with
his personality; he was a proud conservative and life-long Republican who had a well-to-do
upbringing, and as such, he “held himself with the carriage and moral righteousness of an
officer.”39 During his time in the Navy, Montgomery served as an intelligence officer for the
U.S. embassy, a commanding officer aboard a PT boat, and received a Bronze Star after serving
aboard a destroyer in the D-Day invasion in June 1944. He also got a glimpse of his future
political work when he was sent to the White House to set up a Naval Operations Room.
Technically, Stewart was enlisted before Montgomery, but Montgomery’s volunteer service in
England occurred long before Stewart’s involvement. This fact has been ignored, so
Montgomery deserves the title of the first Hollywood actor to serve in WWII instead of Stewart.
In between his time in the American Field Service and the Navy, Montgomery returned
to Hollywood where he held a rally for the American Red Cross on the MGM lot, made a few
films in quick succession, and shared insights from his experiences overseas. In a Hollywood
article from August 1940, Montgomery said,
It was a living hell! […] It was more horrible than any words can describe. Whole towns
in the beautiful, peaceful countryside of France were literally blown to pieces. A gallant
army was butchered in its retreat. No one was spared. Millions of homeless,
impoverished refugees pushed on, ever southward, like droves of frightened animals,
38 Wilbur Morse, Jr., “Actor at Armageddon,” Hollywood (August 1940), MHDL, 53.
39 Newland.
15
until they fell asleep, exhausted, by the roadside, or were bombed or strafed. Even
ambulances, with their cargoes of helpless, shattered souls, were a target for the death-
dealing Nazi planes.40
With this statement, there should be no doubt that Montgomery saw the front lines, thereby
creating a darker depth to his life experience and demeanor that would contribute to his postwar
star image as Philip Marlowe in noirs like Lady in the Lake (Montgomery, 1947) and a general
postwar shift away from a romantic leading man.
The fact that Montgomery directed Lady in the Lake is notable as well; he had the idea of
shooting a picture in a subjective manner in 1938 when it was rejected by the Head Office at
MGM before finally getting approved in 1947 only after the studio was exhausted by
Montgomery’s insistence that he would not provide yet another portrayal of Philip Marlowe
unless he was able to direct the entire film.41 He was able to maintain great control behind the
camera as well as in front of it, and by shooting with a point-of-view camera, his perspective is
on full display while he is still almost completely hidden. The article continues,
The seared, sober-minded man who quietly recited experiences in war-ravaged Europe
was a far different Bob Montgomery than the gay-minded, easy-mannered young actor
who had sailed to England a year ago. His eyes were the eyes of a man who has seen
death, destruction and despair.42
His words also reveal how open he was about his war service before being restricted to silence
by the military later on. Montgomery had to abide by strict military regulations and “defy
reporters’ tireless efforts to get him to spill war stories,” which “he remained reluctant to discuss
[…] even after the war.”43 This contrast poses an argument that Montgomery’s required silence
resulted in a postwar career largely behind the camera in which outward expression was stifled.
40 Morse, Jr., 19.
41 Fredda Dudley, “The Montgomery Method,” Screenland (February 1947), MHDL, 94.
42 Morse, Jr., 19.
43 Wise, 54.
16
After returning to Hollywood, Montgomery’s first postwar films oddly reflected his new,
sobering personality. Like Stewart, Montgomery had visually aged a great deal by the time he
returned to Hollywood. He was now in his early forties but looked much older, his large eyes
looked tired and melancholy, and his body was lanky and wiry. This is best seen in his first
postwar picture, a John Ford film about World War II PT boats called They Were Expendable
(1945), which he also helped to direct, and was filmed while Montgomery was still on active
duty. The film was a critical and box office hit, which is notable knowing that this was among
the last World War II films to be made before the genre went on a three-year hiatus; while it is
not a comedy or directly heartfelt, as most audiences wanted at the time, it was based on a true
story and presented the war in a realistic tone that resonated with audiences and their patriotism
in the immediate postwar period.44 It also has a noir feel, complete with an abundance of
shadows and chiaroscuro lighting, foreshadowing Montgomery’s short-lived postwar career in
the noir genre. The film revealed a new, more affirming perspective of Montgomery, still as a
respectable figure, but also as a macho American commander. As an actual veteran with
experience captaining a PT boat, Montgomery was allowed to direct the scenes shot on the boat,
giving him his uncredited directing debut, which he would continue in future films.
After enjoying his experience helping to direct They Were Expendable, his full directorial
debut was Lady in the Lake (1947), which became the first of multiple noirs Montgomery starred
in. This film was innovative for its point-of-view shooting style but received mixed reviews for
its odd Christmas-noir theme and a confusing plot that largely differed from the original novel.
With this in mind, audiences seemingly did not immediately connect with the darker side of
Montgomery or his directing style. Further misfortune occurred when his fourth term as
44 Thomas Schatz, Boom and Bust: American Cinema in the 1940s (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999),
369.
17
president of the Screen Actors Guild was eroded by a studio workers’ strike of which he didn’t
approve.45 He only made seven films after the war, and instead transitioned into television where
he created his series, Robert Montgomery Presents (1950-1957), before shifting to the business
world and a prominent position in Republican politics and the House Un-American Activities
Committee. Despite his postwar sense of “earned macho authority,” his political stance did not
align with the majority of liberal Hollywood.46 In fact, Bette Davis once called him “pompous
and ridiculously right-wing;” he eventually gained a reputation “as a stoical, even humorless
type, with a smug attitude to match.”47 As a result of his polarizing personality and image,
Montgomery’s gradual exit from the film industry and entrance into the world of politics were
likely synchronous.
Perhaps Montgomery’s most impactful postwar job was serving as an unpaid media
consultant for President Eisenhower for seven years, starting in 1954.48 Montgomery was
recruited to help coach Eisenhower with his televised speeches and overall image before the
American public; the two men became close friends and his work was highly respected by
Eisenhower and his advisors, but Montgomery’s efforts were often publicly unrecognized,
leaving him on the periphery. He was seldom written about by reporters at the time and is only
mentioned once in Eisenhower’s 1400-page, two-volume memoir.49 His film and TV career
effectively ended after the 1950s, especially in the shadow of his daughter Elizabeth
Montgomery’s success with Bewitched (1964-1972).
45 Craig Allen, “Robert Montgomery Presents: Hollywood Debut in the Eisenhower White House,” Journal of
Broadcasting & Electronic Media 35, no. 4 (Fall 1991): 431.
46 Newland.
47 Ibid.
48 Allen, 431.
49 Ibid.
18
As a result of being required by the military not to speak about his war service, his
political stance being strongly disliked by some members of the Hollywood community, and his
political work being important yet not recognized, silence was a constant theme in
Montgomery’s life and a strong reason for the shift in his postwar career. His star image
remained very much the same, but with a more honorable, macho element; however, his career
was unable to recover. Montgomery’s struggles were not for lack of trying; he was able to
become a director, engage in politics, and enact change through his work with Eisenhower, but
his efforts were often simply dismissed by various men in Eisenhower’s cabinet and multiple
media outlets. While Stewart capitalized on his service and its effects on his star image,
Montgomery continuously collided with barriers to his self-expression, and as such, the silence
forced upon him was an ultimate detriment to his postwar career.
Despite the unceremonious end to Montgomery’s career, a quote from a 1940 fan
magazine offers a strong sense of hope and solace; the author writes, “Whatever his next
Hollywood assignment, […] regardless of what his screen characterization may be, Robert
Montgomery has proved on the blood-drenched fields of France that, for the rest of his life, he
has earned the right to the label of hero.”50 There has not been any concrete reason given for the
lack of scholarship surrounding Montgomery’s war service or frequent dismissal by Hollywood
and politics alike. However, there is clear evidence that even though some actors and politicians
disagreed with, silenced, or failed to fully recognize Montgomery, his star image as a respectable
actor, director, politician, and human being was left intact and acquired a macho characteristic
after his valiant service in World War II.
50 Morse, Jr., 55.
19
“The World’s Most Glamorous Grandmother” – Marlene Dietrich
In addition to these male actors, female actors also aided the war effort, including major
star Marlene Dietrich. One of the most recognizable actresses of the twentieth century, Dietrich’s
star image of a glamorous, sexual, mysterious European woman was originally just that: an
image. She kept her personal life extremely private, often fabricating the truth. For example, she
once stated that she was discovered by Josef von Sternberg in the Max Reinhardt drama school;
however, she failed her audition for the school, and Reinhardt denied her acceptance. Ultimately,
Dietrich had “a classic Cinderella story, of a shy but pretty girl who was transformed by von
Sternberg and Hollywood into the supremely glamorous figure who first conquered the world in
the 1930s and who did not relinquish her control.”51 Dietrich once gave von Sternberg a
photograph with the inscription, “To my creator, from his creation.”52 What started as a persona
created to establish her stardom eventually became Dietrich’s reality.
During the 1920s, Dietrich’s career grew in Germany, but by 1930, she essentially erased
these films from her mind, as she no longer wanted to remember herself “as the plump, jazzy,
gemütlich figure” for which she had become known, and was much closer to her actual
personality.53 After she came to Hollywood and fully accepted who von Sternberg created her to
be, Dietrich established a new screen personality that was different from other leading ladies of
the time; instead, Dietrich was “a cool, assured woman,” who “was at once desirable and elusive,
seemingly soft but actually hard as nails. She symbolized the free urban woman who chose her
own men, earned her own living, and saw sex not as a consolation but as a challenge.”54 Her
“cool detachment, insolent wit, sexual frankness, and overtly erotic appeal” became legendary,
51 Charles Higham, Marlene: The Life of Marlene Dietrich (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1977), 12.
52 Claudia Roth Pierpont, “Bombshells,” The New Yorker 91, no. 32 (October 2015): 81.
53 Higham.
54 Ibid., 13.
20
set her apart, and continued after World War II, but with some complications largely due to
ageism in Hollywood, as she was in her mid-40s at this time.55
Even before the war began, Dietrich strongly opposed Hitler and the Third Reich. In the
late 1930s, she mortgaged her home and created a fund to help Jews and other refugees escape
Germany, frequently recorded anti-Nazi albums and radio broadcasts, renounced her German
citizenship, and became an official U.S. citizen after refusing an offer to become a major film
star in Nazi Germany. During the war, Dietrich was a major figure on the Actors’ branch of the
Hollywood Victory Committee, which was an organization that established bond drives and
tours for professional performers to take part. President Herbert Hoover admired these tours and
once said, “Here is the only business in the country that gives away the only thing it has to
sell.”56 Marlene Dietrich greatly exemplified this selfless spirit; after effectively putting her film
career on hold, she served two tours performing for Allied troops across Europe and selling war
bonds, and also served troops at the Hollywood Canteen, which was a temporary wartime club
that offered food and entertainment for servicemen, founded by fellow powerful stars Bette
Davis and John Garfield.
In addition to this work, Dietrich was widely known for visiting injured soldiers in field
hospitals and troops on the front lines while she was in Europe. In fact, she was the first
entertainer to reach rescued Allied soldiers in Italy.57 Her extraordinary work entertaining troops
granted her the Medal of Freedom in 1947, notably as the first woman to ever receive the award;
in an article from the Second Annual Report of the Hollywood Victory Committee, a sailor named
55 Ibid.
56 Public Information Committee of the Motion Picture Industry, Second Annual Report of the Hollywood Victory
Committee, AMPTP Records, file 219, MHL, AMPAS.
57 Danielle DeSimone, “Why Marlene Dietrich Was One of the Most Patriotic Women in World War II,” USO,
March 5, 2020, https://www.uso.org/stories/2414-marlene-dietrich-most-patriotic-women-in-world-war-ii.
21
Walter Walezuk commented on his gratefulness for the Hollywood Victory Committee’s tours;
he wrote,
At an undisclosed port today, I saw an actor and his little troupe do their stuff…he made
us roar with laughter and still made me stop and think…giving up a job in Hollywood to
come out here to a place nobody that had any sense would come to, just to put a little
cheer into some blue servicemen’s hearts.58
Dietrich’s image as a cool, confident, headstrong woman translated into her actions on the front
lines as well; a fellow USO tour member once recalled,
We went very close to the front lines. She made us go to places where we weren’t
supposed to be; we saw buildings cut in half, a half of a bathtub, a half of a horse—
horrible! I kept saying, ‘Miss Dietrich, where are you taking us?’ Sergeants came up to us
and said, ‘What are you doing here? This place is mined.’ She’d say, ‘Never mind. I am
Marlene. I can do anything I like.’ She didn’t mind. If she were captured she would have
been executed. But she had no fear […].59
While Dietrich voluntarily traded glamor for a single GI uniform, complete with trousers, boots,
and a helmet, her star image remained intact, but with an element of androgyny and lesbianism
that was introduced by her famous tuxedo in Morocco (von Sternberg, 1930); in fact, her image
and overall reputation arguably became even more solidified, as her no-nonsense attitude
paralleled the grittiness of war.
After the war ended, Dietrich maintained her staunch anti-Nazi sentiments, even to the
degree of disowning her family members who had stayed in Germany. With a newfound depth of
range, she returned to the film industry, but her stardom never reached the magnitude it had
before the war. Even her first major prewar film, Billy Wilder’s 1948 romantic comedy-drama,
and his most personal film, A Foreign Affair, was largely forgotten amongst Wilder’s other
successes. Nevertheless, this film was an unexpected yet fascinating choice for Dietrich’s return
58 Public Information Committee of the Motion Picture Industry, “From a Sailor…,” Second Annual Report of the
Hollywood Victory Committee, AMPTP Records, file 219, MHL, AMPAS.
59 Higham, 211.
22
to the screen in America. Wilder’s films all have a theme of masquerade, and as an expert in
living up to a fabricated star image, Dietrich thrived as ex-Nazi Erika von Schlütow. While Erika
tries to hide her Nazi past, Dietrich strove to hide her aging, as she was now 47 years old in this
film, by continuing her glamor girl image; this time, however, audiences saw her unkempt as she
gets ready in the beginning of the film, and a visually evident sadness about the state of her
native country after the war. She was no longer the youthful, upbeat Lola Lola from The Blue
Angel (Von Sternberg, 1930).
Understandably, playing a Nazi was an initial impossibility for Dietrich. According to a
letter from writer William B. Dover to Wilder recounting Dover’s efforts to reassure Dietrich
that she would not be playing an ‘out-and-out’ Nazi, the character in A Foreign Affair
will have charm, warmth, an innate cunningness in her character, a sense of humor, a
sexual attractiveness, and will be depicted as one who has emerged from the war
unscathed only because she has been able to take advantage of every little opportunity
that has come her way. She has no political convictions, her only objective being to live,
and as well as she can under all circumstances.60
Despite the pure survivalist nature and subsequent redeeming quality of her character, Dietrich
still needed more convincing because other personal letters from Wilder said he wouldn’t take
‘no’ for an answer and that he would pay money out of his own pocket to get Dietrich for the
role. She ultimately complied after German composer Friedrich Holländer signed on to write a
few songs for her to sing in the film. Wilder’s take on the traditional rubble film was initially
banned from being shown to troops, but with this role, Dietrich provided audiences with a
glimpse into her past in the Berlin underground and future as a touring cabaret singer, which
would occupy the bulk of her postwar career.
60 Letter from William B. Dover to Billy Wilder, dated July 1, 1947, Charles Brackett Papers, file 33, MHL,
AMPAS.
23
Soon after A Foreign Affair, Dietrich struggled to find roles in Hollywood. This can
largely be attributed to ageism; male actors were still fully utilized despite their obvious signs of
age after the war, but actresses like Dietrich returned to Hollywood in their forties, and were no
longer seen as the young romantic leads they once were. French actor Daniel Gélin once noted,
“Marlene looked tired after her war experiences, and was constantly having arguments with the
cameraman […] because she did not feel he was doing justice to her. She would worry about her
appearance […].” 61 While male actors like Stewart and Montgomery could use their tired
appearances to their advantage, female actresses were quite literally not allowed to age or remain
romantic leads according to Hollywood’s standards.
Child actress Janette Scott affirms Gélin’s words, saying, “Marlene used to arrive at the
studio before anybody else. Nobody ever saw her without her makeup or without her wig—ever,
ever, ever.”62 In fact, Dietrich’s wigs were topped with gold dust to appear shiny and sparkly, yet
another example of how she tried to maintain her glamorous star image after the war. She pushed
herself on stage in her seventies to maintain the image, and wouldn’t let industry friends see her
without her hair, makeup, and glamorous dresses.63 However, according to a 1947 Photoplay
article, Dietrich offers a counterpoint and rejects her glamorous persona. The article states,
[…] back in Hollywood after her matchless work as an overseas entertainer for the armed
forces, she has raised the red flag of rebellion. She wants no more of that glamor girl tag.
From now on it’s to be Marlene Dietrich, actress, and glamor can take a good long walk.
‘They put that glamor girl tag on an actress and almost automatically she is deprived of
opportunities to act,’ she insists. ‘Myself, I’ve had enough of it. Now, before I sign up for
a picture, I want to see the script.64
61 Higham, 225.
62 Ibid., 242.
63 Pierpont.
64 Robbin Coons, “Glamor, Good-by!,” Photoplay (February 1947), MHDL, 52.
24
She enjoyed acting, and believed that being restricted to “glamor girl” parts kept her from
Academy Award-worthy roles. The true depth of acting skill Dietrich possessed remains
unknown, but as long as she was in Hollywood or the public eye in general, Dietrich evidently
strived to maintain her image despite her personal distaste for her glamorous façade.
Even as she entered her later years, Dietrich’s comments about glamor contradicted her
eternal glamor girl tendencies. In a 1969 interview, when asked if she begrudges growing older
in comparison to other aging actresses who try to retain their youth, Dietrich responded,
No, God, no, why should I? I think irrevocable things you can not begrudge, if you have
any bit of intelligence. […] America has a youth complex. In particular with me, they
adore to make me older, and I don’t see why they should do that because it’s bad enough
as it is, but maybe it looks better in print if I’m 102 and I still walk on the stage and I’m
not on crutches. It becomes rather thick but youth cult is quite bad. You don’t have that in
Europe at all because I think America still thinks that it’s a young nation. I don’t think it
is, it should stop that. I think they have been young long enough. They should grow up.65
Dietrich’s comments are compelling, as they go against the temperature in Hollywood against
aging women at the time. Psychologist Simon Biggs writes, “[…] old age encompasses a double
absence, that of being ‘not male’ and of being ‘not young.’ From being only too-visible, one
becomes invisible, as the attention of a masculinized and youth-obsessed society ebbs away.”66
Dietrich was increasingly facing this ‘double absence,’ where she was effectively pushed out of
Hollywood onto the stage as a singer, and her comments reveal her truly dismissive feelings on
the issue of ageism. However, her continuous effort to remain glamorous and young even after
she left Hollywood shows that she still took great care to maintain her star image.
65 Blank on Blank, “Marlene Dietrich on Sex Symbols,” YouTube, July 26, 2016, 0:53-1:39,
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrNeTjVvRdA.
66 Deborah Jermyn, “Introduction: ‘Get a life, ladies. Your old one is not coming back’: ageing, ageism and the
lifespan of female celebrity,” in Female Celebrity and Ageing: Back in the Spotlight, ed. Deborah Jermyn (London:
Routledge, 2014), 4.
25
Dietrich’s war service had a pivotal effect on her, in that it broadened her perspective on
the film industry and her future within it. Her biggest realization was that she “despised movies
more than ever,” and that “her best future lay in solo entertainment, in becoming an abstraction
of the Feminine.”67 Dietrich viewed Hollywood as a machine, and she longed for individuality
and control, which was only possible on the stage in her one-woman show. For the next twenty
years, Dietrich largely shifted her career to theaters, performing as a cabaret artist, and furthering
her status as an androgynous fashion icon. She released albums, had a show on the Las Vegas
Strip, received an incredibly mixed reception on a German tour, performed on Broadway, and
received a Special Tony Award in 1968. Even though Marlene was now in her sixties and had a
strong dislike for the glamor girl tag, she remained beautiful. At a time when other stage shows
reflected the tumultuous society of the late 1960s, Dietrich
was the epitome of taste. She was elegance addressing itself insolently towards brutality.
She was the image of pre-Hitler Berlin, with an American touch: the epitome of
efficiency and self-mocking wit, tinged with cool affection. She was at once forgiving,
accusing, adoring—a reminder of what had been lost and a promise of what could be
attained.68
Evidently, Dietrich was eternally tied to her glamorous star image. However, perhaps the most
crucial element to her postwar star image and the issue of ageism was her daughter Maria.
Born in 1925, Maria Riva was a part of Dietrich’s career in Germany and during her
entry into Hollywood stardom. Dietrich was around thirty-years-old with a five-year-old child
when she started in America, which was extremely unusual at the time. However, Hollywood
eventually embraced Dietrich’s reality as a mother; a photo of her and Maria was especially
circulated, as it portrayed Dietrich as ‘the Eternal Madonna” and a “Luminous Woman with
67 Higham, 227.
68 Ibid., 248.
26
Luminous Child.”69 Dietrich’s career was clearly not diminished by her being a mother, and
when Riva gave birth to a son in 1948, the same year that A Foreign Affair was released, the
press dubbed Dietrich as “the world’s most glamorous grandmother;” Dietrich was still in her
forties, but in Hollywood’s standards, she was past her prime and being considered a
grandmother certainly did not help the situation. Nevertheless, the “glamorous” description was
still prominent. Perhaps Dietrich’s postwar career is a telling example of how time spent serving
the war effort and Hollywood’s ageism issue negatively affected her stardom and place in the
film industry, but the glamorous core of her star image, whether it was still a façade or not,
followed her long after WWII. Dietrich was not the only established actress who served the war
effort and faced the effects of ageism; Myrna Loy also stepped away from the screen and had to
navigate a star image that was forced upon her by Hollywood executives and audiences alike.
“The Perfect Wife” – Myrna Loy
While Dietrich was an actual grandmother but didn’t especially act as a grandmother in
her acting or public life, Myrna Loy was not always a perfect wife, yet she had to live up to the
image of one. Like Dietrich, Loy also left her well-established career in Hollywood to support
the war effort and had to face a changing star image upon her return. Even before the start of the
war, Loy’s persona went through various iterations. During the 1920s, Loy’s initial image was
exotic. Her wide-set, heavy-lidded, almond-shaped eyes gave her a unique look that, at the time,
cast her in a variety of exotic and “yellow face” roles from across the globe in films like Across
the Pacific (Del Ruth, 1926), The Desert Song (Del Ruth, 1929), and most notably, The Mask of
Fu Manchu (Brabin, 1932). Her roles in these films were often the “seductively sinister other
69 Alexander Doty, “Marlene Dietrich and Greta Garbo: The Sexy Hausfrau versus the Swedish Sphinx,” in
Glamour in a Golden Age: Movie Stars of the 1930s, ed. Adrienne L. McLean (New Brunswick: Rutgers University
Press, 2010): 11.
27
woman,” making the characters’ appearance and personality a complete façade that Loy longed
to escape.70
Loy was a wholesome woman who excelled in comedy, not the exotic, ominous persona
with which she began her career. However, playing dangerous women gave her traditionally
masculine characteristics that she used in future roles. This is most prominently seen in her
extremely successful partnership with William Powell in The Thin Man series (Van Dyke, 1934-
1947). These films, specifically the first one, showcase Loy’s actual personality and next star
image: a fun, witty, sexually confident, glamorous housewife who drinks, throws parties, lives
luxuriously, asserts herself, cracks jokes, and has a romantic marriage in which she is her
husband’s equal. Her performance in these films led her to be “the poster girl for the
companionate wife, the woman who not only supported her husband but was his best friend,
too.”71 Her partnership with Powell also showcased her collaborative skills as an actor;
biographer Emily W. Leider writes, “Never a stand-alone pillar of female power onscreen, [Loy]
excelled at sharing the frame and reacting […]. Here she differed from her dynamo friend Joan
Crawford and from such dominating female screen icons of her generation as Bette Davis,
Katharine Hepburn, and Mae West.”72 Loy was absolutely strong and beautiful enough to be a
leading lady, but she had a subtlety and traditional classiness, even as Nora Charles, that kept her
from being too boisterous and allowed her to thrive alongside her costars.
During and after World War II, comedic styles changed, and Loy’s Nora Charles became
ensconced in societal family values, especially after a son was written into the story; she stops
drinking, cares for her son, and takes care of her husband’s drunkenness. Loy was already
70 Emily W. Leider, Myrna Loy: The Only Good Girl in Hollywood (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011),
4.
71 Mann, 249.
72 Leider, 2.
28
viewed as an ideal wife who could provide witty banter and have fun with her husband, but now
as a mother in The Thin Man series, and as a result of her “good girl” image and relaxed, genteel
manner, she would become known as “The Perfect Wife,” a term she grew to despise. Not only
did this tagline clash with her four failed marriages and inability to have children, but it also
made her feel as though she had to live up to impossible expectations. This star image was
arguably further enforced by Loy’s volunteer service during World War II; while Dietrich was
overseas hanging out with the men on the front lines and singing on stage, Loy dedicated
practically all of her time to serving with the Red Cross at home.
Loy had an unsalaried full-time job with the Red Cross where she did multiple tasks,
most importantly visiting injured soldiers in hospitals. She once said of her experiences,
“Talking to men who were under great stress was all new to me. They seemed to know me,
called me Myrna casually, and I felt that was a genuine compliment. They said I reminded them
of someone from the house on the next street at home. I liked that.”73 Loy’s presence clearly
brought a friendly warmth that aligned with her “perfect wife” image. Loy also helped run a
Naval Auxiliary canteen, toured the country to raise funds, and became close friends with
President Roosevelt and his wife after working for his re-election campaign in 1940. Loy was
also immensely vocal about her hatred for Hitler, and as a result, she was featured on Hitler’s
blacklist and her films were banned in Germany. A 1947 Screenland article spoke with Loy
about her Red Cross service, and she raved about her experience. She said,
I learned from my Red Cross work (she deliberately avoided all personal publicity while
with the Red Cross) that I’d not only deceived myself, but Hollywood had pampered me.
[…] Everything I did had to be a production I fancied, because the studio said so. Do you
know what that had done to me? It had multiplied my self-consciousness so I was even
afraid to stop and look at people. The Red Cross job broke down the barrier Hollywood
puts around us out here, unless we get away for a perspective.74
73 Ben Maddox, “The Best Years of her Life Right Now!,” Screenland (Jul-Dec 1947), MHDL, 84.
74 Ibid.
29
Similar to Dietrich, serving the war effort significantly impacted Loy’s personal life and overall
view of Hollywood. Loy was now able to see that the film industry trapped her into behaving in
a way that Hollywood wanted, and did not allow for true freedom or the ability to look outside
and see beyond their small world of luxury, performance, and façade.
After the war, Loy continued her service and became involved with the United Nations
and throughout the 1950s, served as co-chairman of the Advisory Council of the National
Committee Against Discrimination in Housing. In addition to her political work, she continued
her work on screen, including the final two films in The Thin Man series, the box-office hit
Cheaper by the Dozen, in which she played the matriarch of the blended family, and her only
postwar film about World War II, William Wyler’s Oscar-winning The Best Years of Our Lives,
where her personally undesired “Perfect Wife” image was fully realized.
When Loy’s Milly Stephenson is overcome with emotion as her husband Al comes home
from the war and walks in the door, American audiences empathized with her and saw
themselves on screen. This relatability was a major reason why Best Years was a massive box
office success and won seven Academy Awards, beating It’s a Wonderful Life in each category;
while postwar audiences would quickly gravitate toward comedies and technicolor musicals, the
plotline of soldiers coming home and struggling with the various side effects of war in 1946
deeply resonated with the American public and offered a sense of unity and feeling seen that was
desperately needed. Loy, now in her forties, was the most well-known actor in the cast and
received top billing; despite her supporting role, her calm, warm, steadiness establishes her as the
central foundation of the film, much like a “perfect wife” for a family.
Even though Best Years was a bonafide success and cultural phenomenon, Loy still
wasn’t satisfied with her star image. Compared to her iconic role as Nora Charles, Best Years’
30
Milly Stephenson is still her husband’s equal, most prominently shown in the scene where Milly
mentions how many times she and Al had to fall in love with each other all over again, but rather
than drinking and having fun alongside Al, she has to care for him in his alcohol addiction,
literally taking off his clothes and putting him to bed like a child. Put succinctly, “Milly might be
read as Loy’s star image recalibrated for a new gender paradigm: Nora, still ‘perfect,’ revised for
1946.”75 Milly is a strong woman with an evident sense of humor and lightheartedness, but she is
far tamer and more homebound.
As a result of her dissatisfaction, in 1947, Loy said, “I want to go on acting in pictures
indefinitely. I’ve had no regrets because of the career I chose. It led me to a full life. But from
now on I want to free-lance, so I can do two excellent films a year—of my own selection.”76 She
did exactly that, making only sixteen films over the next thirty years. However, she plays a wife,
mother, or aging matriarch on the periphery of each film. When asked in a 1980 interview with
Dick Cavett if there was only a narrow range of roles she wanted to play in her later years, Loy
responded, “Well it isn’t necessarily that I want to do, but so many of them are these ‘gone in the
head’ types or they’re broken down old ladies, and they’re all crazy, and I’ve avoided them if I
can.”77 Like Dietrich, Loy fell victim to the ‘double absence’ of being ‘not male’ and ‘not
young,’ but she was able to successfully transition through the stages of perfect siren, perfect
sweetheart, perfect wife, and perfect mother as she aged.78 As other actresses were aging and
“turning to spectacular and alcohol-drenched expressions of their fading careers […], Loy aged
‘perfectly.’”79 Unlike Dietrich, Loy was able to remain in Hollywood and successfully transition
75 Mann, 257.
76 Maddox, 85.
77 Flicks, “Myrna Loy on The Dick Cavett Show (1980) Pt. 1 & 2,” YouTube, June 10, 2017, 4:12-4:33.
78 Mann, 262.
79 Ibid., 249.
31
with age, though her roles lessened in number and popularity, but only because she was never
able to escape “The Perfect Wife” star image.
Like her contemporaries, Loy didn’t share much about her war experience or her personal
life in general. In her biography about Loy, Leider explains,
By temperament, Myrna was shy, reserved, and reticent. A good listener who always had
just a few close friends, she remained a decidedly private person. […] The record she left
is full of gaps. […] Myrna Loy wanted to die with many of her secrets intact, and to some
extent she achieved that goal.80
The Screenland article further discussed Loy’s privacy, but related it to her self-growth during
the war. The article states,
[…] she shuns the blaring kind of publicity blasts. Her behavior, like her heart and mind,
is as far from the superficial as you can reach. During the war Myrna found all the
answers she’d been so long seeking, found her real self and the right method of
expression. Her career has hit a new high because she’s now at the helm herself—and in
her private life she’s started again, too, with wonderful results.81
Loy achieved great success throughout her career and became one of Hollywood’s most famous
actresses during the Golden Age, especially by capitalizing on her unique personality, one that
was full of wit and humor as well as grace and class. Her war service gave her a new outlook on
the future of her postwar career, and as a result she was able to successfully balance a film career
with political involvement. Loy had a subtle, nuanced nature that was evident in both her films
and in her private personal life. However, this genuine personality is what fit so well with “The
Perfect Wife” image, and caused this image to feel immensely real and inescapable. Loy, along
with the three other Hollywood veterans mentioned were personally impacted by their service
but as a result, their careers were temporarily, if not permanently, disadvantaged in the
Hollywood star system.
80Leider, 18.
81 Maddox, 41.
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Conclusion
Each of these four actors, James Stewart, Robert Montgomery, Marlene Dietrich, and
Myrna Loy, lived individual World War II experiences, yet they all felt a strong personal desire
to fight for their country and the values they strongly upheld. While many other Hollywood stars
stayed at home, and countless soldiers would become famous actors a couple of decades later,
these four individuals made the voluntary decision to leave their wealthy, luxurious lifestyles to
serve. Despite their varied service, each actor returned to a postwar Hollywood that was no
longer the same, and as a result, their careers were permanently altered as well.
These actors had established careers in Hollywood and each shared a strong passion to
serve their country, and as such, their individual war service personally meant a great deal to
each of them. However, this incredibly personal decision to serve and leave the industry during
the war was at odds with the machine of the Hollywood star system. These stars were the cultural
currency by which Hollywood sold their films to the general public, and by being almost
completely absent from the screen for nearly five years, they no longer occupied the same
economic and cultural role in the star system as they had before World War II. As a result,
younger stars filled these vacancies during the war and through the 1940s and 50s, including
Gregory Peck, Montgomery Clift, Ingrid Bergman, and Audrey Hepburn.
Upon their return, some actors, like Stewart and Loy were able to acclimate to a different,
postwar Hollywood, while others, like Montgomery and Dietrich, greatly struggled and
practically left the film industry altogether. Despite their differences, each of them experienced
the double standard of not only being encouraged by Hollywood to embrace the war effort but
also being praised for their service while simultaneously being cast aside unless they could find
their place in another genre or archetype in cinema. As a result of a whole world hardened by
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war, changing audience desires, and the effects of trauma, silence, and ageism, these actors’
youthful, vibrant, and light-hearted star images could no longer remain the same in a postwar
Hollywood world. These actors’ service and subsequent absence from Hollywood did not
enhance their screen careers, but there is abundant evidence that their service greatly enriched
their personal lives.
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