One of the best known and least understood celebrities of the 1920s was Rudolph Valentino. A complex, well balanced, and multitalented man, he is best remembered today from film clips of his least refined acting (often made to seem downright bad by being shown out of context), and slurs on his personal character dreamed up by critics trying to be witty. Many people have seen love scenes from The Sheik or read that he was shallow, untalented, or unmanly. But the truth is that:
He excelled in playing comedy.
He spoke at least four languages
(maybe more) fluently.
He was a talented amateur painter.
He was an expert mechanic.
He was an authority on European
antiques.
He was a skilled horseman.
He was a darn-good cook.
He was a serious amateur boxer,
trained by Jack Dempsey.
He wrote deep and touching religious
poetry.
And that just begins to scratch
the surface ....
Belittling Valentino's acting on
the basis of a clip from The Sheik or an over-the-edge love scene
from one of his other movies is like judging Leonard Nimoy by a clip from
the "Spock's Brain" episode of Star Trek.
Valentino's great talent is obvious
to anyone who has carefully watched several of his better films in their
entirety. He had an especially delightful comic style -- fresh, light,
carefree, and natural. His timing was excellent. A good example is his
portrayal of Juan Gallardo as a mischievous teenager in the opening scenes
of Blood and Sand. In Moran of the Lady Letty, The Eagle,
and the tavern brawl in The Son of the Sheik he shows his abilities
as an action hero. But he was also capable of serious dramatic acting.
In both The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and Blood and Sand
his character is shown to mature greatly over the course of the film.
In The Son of the Sheik, he plays both the impetuous son and the
more age-mellowed father. Another good example of his subtle use of body
language in characterization is seen in the differences between Count Torriani
in Cobra and Ramon Laredo in Moran of the Lady Letty. The
count is thoroughly Italian while Ramon is a 100% all-American boy.
There are several theories as to
why his acting becomes forced and extreme in certain love scenes. Some
authors believe that he developed certain mannerisms and used them simply
because, in spite of looking ridiculous, he had found that they worked
(and how!) on women. Other people believe the movie makers may have had
in mind a sort of male Theda Bara, and Valentino was merely following the
instructions of the director. With no need for quiet on the set of silent
films, a director could coach an actor movement by movement. Still others
have suggested that his style changed to match that of his leading lady,
becoming more intense when in a scene with an actress whose own acting
style was intense. I wonder whether part of the answer might be found in
his dancing background. In the early years of the twentieth century there
was a craze in France for an exhibition dance called the "Apache" (pronounced
"apahsh"), which told a story of underworld violence and lust. Descriptions
of this dance sound very much like the pattern found in Valentino's more
violent love scenes. That, and the fact that his acting becomes very stylized
in these scenes makes me wonder whether he might have been drawing on his
dance experience. There is a continuum from the natural movements of modern
acting through the stylized movements of mime, to the symbolic movements
of dance. Most silent movie acting seems to fall somewhere between natural
acting and mime. Valentino appears to have been experimenting with more
dance-like movements in certain love scenes, and even more so in Monsieur
Beaucaire. It borders on being silly until one realizes that he was actually
dancing throughout the entire film.
[Lisette Rice, 2000]
His sexuality:
This seems to be a major area of
concern for many people. I have read that he was 1) exclusively heterosexual,
2) exclusively homosexual, 3) bisexual at various points along the Kinsey
scale, 4) promiscuous with just about everybody, 5) impotent with everybody.
Those theories can't all be true.
Several serious biographers
believe
him to have been completely heterosexual, citing his deep devotion to
his
second wife, Natacha Rambova. Others think that there may be some
reason
to believe he may have had romantic or sexual feelings for some men.
The
books and articles I have read which claim he was promiscuous,
impotent, or exclusively gay either cite no sources or cite sources
known to be unreliable
or downright false. The attachments
that stand up to close scrutiny are few and female -- Mae Murray
(possibly), Jean Acker, Natacha Rambova, and Pola Negri (although the depth
of this relationship can't be known for sure).
A closely related question is how
masculine he was in his behavior, interests, and attitudes. Allegations
of effeteness from before the late 1960s or 1970s need to be treated with
caution. Sometimes effeminacy was seen as more closely tied to the characteristic
of cowardice and/or improper gender behavior than to homosexuality per
se.
The image of Valentino as any kind
of a sissy in any way is ludicrous. The charges that were actually brought
against him by the press were that 1) he had slinky, European manners,
2) he chickened out of World War I (then called "The Great War"), 3) he
wore a wristwatch, 4) he wore a slave bracelet, 5) he was somehow responsible
for powder machines in men's restrooms in Chicago, 6) all the masculine,
athletic things he was ever shown doing were just ruses for publicity.
Let me address these point by point.
1) Of course he had European manners
-- he was European! Actually, he seems to have taken to the mannerisms
of his adopted country quite well. Relaxed, casual photos and home movies
show him looking very much like the "guy next door."
2) At the time of World War I, he
didn't fight in his native country because
he was living in the United States. He didn't serve with the U.S. armed
forces because he wasn't a U.S. citizen. While he was still in Italy, he
had tried to join the Italian army, but was rejected because because of
poor eyesight and because his chest measurement was too small. This doesn't
make sense when one sees later pictures, but he probably had not reached
his full growth at the time. Children matured later in those days, and
even today it's not unnatural for a boy to have a final growth spurt in
late high school or in college. It's true that Valentino himself seems
to be the originator of this explanation, but one would think that he would've
found a less embarrassing excuse if he were making something up.
3) It's ironic that the reason he
got a wristwatch may well have been because he had the typical "guy thing"
for gadgets.
4) Another irony -- the slave bracelet
was symbol of his love for a woman; his wife gave it to him.
5) Make-up was part of his profession
and he only wore it on the screen, as did all actors back in those days
when bad film and uncertain lighting could render an actor's features difficult
to see. Anyway, his main stomping grounds were in New York and Hollywood;
he rarely went to Chicago.
6) A man doesn't get muscles like
he had by just talking about working out. As for his boxing skills, he
once fought an exhibition match with Frank O'Neil, a man thirty pounds
heavier than he was, and absolutely clobbered him.
[Lisette Rice, 2000]
His emotional maturity and other aspects of his personal character:
Much of what [Rudolph Valentino]
did could be construed as good or bad depending on how you look at it,
and I tend to view him in a positive light. For instance, he loved Natacha
and stayed with her when others felt she was walking all over him and ruining
his career. You might view him as a weak-willed, co-dependent person that
could not break from his dysfunctional relationship, or you could view
him as a man who loved his wife more than he valued the opinion of the
outside world. I like to think of their saga as a tragic love story, not
as a "sick" relationship. Likewise, his leaving home with no money in pocket
and no clear goal in mind -- one could say he was a reckless, wandering
fool that got lucky. I like to think of him as an adventurous guy with
the pluck to throw caution to the wind and venture out into the world to
see what he could find (not unlike Leonardo DiCaprio's character in Titanic.)
[Celia Strother, 2000]
There is an alternative
explanation to the accusation that he smashed up cars because he was
suicidally depressed after his wife left him. He had been smashing up
vehicles for years, even when life was going great for him. The first
known accident was when he ran a motorcycle into a tree in 1914,
shortly after he had gotten his first good job in America. It seems
that his problem was not with his mind or "heart," but with his eyes.
There are references to a vison problem both in context of his service
rejection in WWI and his mysterious, sexy, screen stare. And in
California in the early 1920s, one didn't need to pass a vision test to
be able to drive. The simplest explanation for Valentino's frequent
auto accidents was that he couldn't see well enough to drive safely.
[Lisette Rice, 2000]
Day Dreams (1923), a collection of his poetry, while not a source of facts, can give insight into his thoughts and feelings.
Official records.
Some facts from news reports. (Use caution before assuming that quotes are accurate on the part of the reporter or truthful on the part of the speaker.)
Recorded and videotaped interviews with his brother, Alberto.
Interviews with some of the people who knew him, including Paul Ivano and Viola Dana. (Caution is advised for incidents which seem sensationalist or otherwise self-serving for the interviewee, unless confirmed by independent sources.)
Valentino as I Knew Him by S. George Ullman (1926 & 1927). (But he seems to have been gullible about Valentino's stories of his family history. Any story Valentino told that sounds like it would've made a good adventure movie should be viewed with suspicion.)
Rudy: An Intimate Portrait by His Wife by Natacha Rambova (1926). (The first part of the book, about his life on earth.)
Rudolph Valentino Recollections by Natacha Rambova (1927). (A shorter edition of the above.)
Dark Lover: The Life and Death of Rudolph Valentino by Emily Leider (2003). (The best-researched, most scholarly Valentino biography yet, IMHO.)
Madame Valentino by Michael Morris (1991).
The Intimate Life of Rudolph Valentino by Jack Scagnetti (1975).
Rudolph Valentino by Alexander Walker (1976).
The Legend of Rudolph Valentino (1983 / 1986) (film / video).