It was with considerable enthusiasm that I procured my copy of William Mann’s Bogie and Bacall: The Surprising True Story of Hollywood’s Greatest Love Affair the day it became available. Although Bogie has been written about more than extensively – efforts that include the magisterial, definitive, must-read Bogart, by A. M. Sperber and Eric Lax – and Bacall penned a winning memoir, By Myself, I was all in. Bogart remains a complex, fascinating figure of enormous interest and enduring legacy; Mann is the author of an excellent biography of John Schlesinger and a very good one on Marlon Brando. The prospect of a new study by an accomplished author, the hook of telling the tale through the lens of an enmeshed dual biography, and the fact that Bacall still lacks her definitive treatment positioned Bogie & Bacall as an immediate must read.
And Mann, in a promising seven-page preface, is disarming and tantalizing. It is time, he explains, “to turn a fresh eye on their story—not to tear their legend down . . . but to understand how Bogie and Bacall happened, what their story meant, and how in many ways it’s still relevant and reflective for today.” Moreover, there is the promise of a “true mother lode” of new information available only now, as various previously inaccessible archives have been unsealed. Unfortunately, the 550 turgid and mean-spirited pages that follow have nothing new to offer, and are a chore to read. So committed to debunking the most gentle and obvious myths, if the phrase “contrary to the legend, in fact” were dropped from this tome (along with the tellingly insecure, generally toothless asides chastising earlier biographers) one almost imagines a third of the text could have been shed.
What will the reader “learn” from this book? Let’s see, um, that Bogie drank a lot, and, in the early days, was a brawler; that despite his well-tailored devil-may-care disposition he took the craft of acting quite seriously; and that he was very ambitious. More shockers: in the studio era, when stars misspoke or were caught up in (or instigated) donnybrooks, Hollywood publicists would swoop down to engage in damage control; also, it turns out that in the middle of the last century men commonly held attitudes about women that today most of us find retrograde. As for Bacall, she, too, was (gasp) very ambitious, disappointed when faced with various professional setbacks, and, despite her charming and charismatic public persona, she could be snippy in private, and at times even difficult. If this is all news to you, well, now you know—no need to crack these covers.
It is an unpleasant and tiresome biography that suggests not a scintilla of sympathy for its subjects. And Bogie & Bacall, without ever giving the reader a sense of what made these complex figures so stimulating to so many, and with an indifferent grasp of their extraordinary professional work and accomplishments, does little more than lurch from one generally overblown “gotcha” moment to another. Consider the description of a dispute between Bogart and the legendarily combative and obstinate studio boss Jack Warner. Mann considers “their telephone conversation, taped and transcribed, is extraordinary evidence of Bogart’s anger.” I hope you’re sitting down—here’s what Bogie sounds like when he’s furious in private: “This is personal between you and me Jack,” Bogart explained, continuing, “I am more serious than I have ever been in my life.”
Mann also traffics in the worst forms of insinuation. Failing to provide evidence of purported missteps and rumored infidelities, apparently extensive investigations into such matters commonly conclude, even in exoneration (“there’s no evidence, not even anecdotal”), with leering phrases along the lines of “but of course we can never know what really happened.” And even the most neutral moments are presented in the least flattering way possible. Regarding one Academy Award disappointment: “He would later insist that he hadn’t expected to win that night. Even if that was true, there was likely some tiny hope in the back of his mind.” Ya think?
As for Betty (that’s Lauren to you, but with friends she went by Betty)—she gets it much worse, which is especially disappointing, as her life-story remains relatively under-told. Again, however, what the book mostly reflects is a visceral dislike of its subject, mostly for misdemeanors small and smaller. Indefatigable legend-buster, Mann takes Bacall to task for the accuracy and embellishment of some ancient anecdotes, such as her initial encounter with legendary director Howard Hawks: “At least, that was how Betty told the story. Hawks had a different memory of that first meeting.” Regarding her relationship with presidential aspirant Adlai Stevenson, Mann muses, “had she been prepared to begin an extramarital affair with the governor that night? It’s impossible to know for sure, but her memoir gives the impression that’s what she wanted.” (Your mileage may vary on that call—mine certainly did.) Or consider this searing indictment: “That might explain, though hardly excuse, what happened next.” What happened next was that a distressed Betty called Rex Reed on the phone and berated him.
Throughout, Mann picks strange fights and chooses questionable allies. Dwelling on a trivial kerfuffle that does not even rise to the level of minor historical footnote, four times on one page (465), Bacall is carpet-bombed: “As Betty would tell it,” “at least to Betty’s telling,” “According to Betty’s account” and “this was the story as Betty would tell it.” Turn the page to learn that notorious Hearst gossip columnist Louella Parsons “told a different version of the story.” Mann admits that the true version of events “will remain a mystery.” Still, he concludes with a (less than compelling) nudge for the reader: “For all her reputation for skullduggery, Parsons was usually scrupulous about confirming stories, at least the ones she presented as fact and not rumors.”
Those interested in Bogie should stick with the essential, perceptive, and unflinching Sperber and Lax biography. For Bacall, By Myself remains the best we have until a definitive treatment comes along. Bogie & Bacall is not that—not remotely. A silver lining to all this is that after 550 pages of dedicated trashing, if these are the worst things that can be said about its subjects (and surely if there was worse to say, it would have been said here), Bogie and Bacall come out the other side looking pretty, pretty good.
