The Deltas huddle off-screen around Verna Bloom, who played Mrs. Wormer—the dean's alcoholic, lecherous wife, Marion, in the film. Photos from Fat, Drunk, and Stupid by Matty Simmons. Copyright © 2012 by the author. Reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Press, LLC.

Like Tiger Woods for golf or Elvis Presley for rock ‘n’ roll, National Lampoon’s Animal House single-handedly redefined the art of comedy and provided a quintessential model for future Hollywood projects. Following its release in 1978, Animal House spent eight weeks at box-office No. 1 and emerged as one of the highest grossing, most successful movie productions in the history of the entertainment business.

Today—and $600 million later—it remains one of the funniest movies to ever hit the big screen.

Fat, Drunk, and Stupid: The Inside Story Behind the Making of Animal House by producer Matty Simmons, recounts the film’s imperishable legacy.

“I wrote Fat, Drunk, and Stupid because I have constantly been amazed at the continued popularity of Animal House,” Simmons says. “People talk to me about it all the time, and I’ve always found it hard to believe that a movie released in 1978 would still be quoted and copied [today].”

Years before Animal House was even so much as a thought, Matty Simmons was living in New York City working as a press agent for local nightclubs and restaurants. However, as he details in the opening chapters of Fat, Drunk, and Stupid, it took but a few strokes of luck for his occupation to change and his career to flourish. From local press agent to company executive, he escalated up the professional hierarchy and eventually founded National Lampoon Inc., earning the title of CEO and propelling him ever closer to Animal House.

(From left) Animal House screenwriter Douglas Kenney, producers Matty Simmons and Ivan Reitman, and screenwriter Chris Miller on the last day of the 32-day shoot. Founder and CEO of National Lampoon, Matty Simmons shares the movie’s outrageous story in Fat, Drunk, and Stupid.

By 1975, Simmons had proven himself as a magazine, television, and Broadway musical producer. Despite Hollywood’s cruel and unpredictable reputation, he decided to embrace the challenges of the film industry, thus vowing never to allow the thought of failure to inhibit his vocational pursuit.

“Hollywood has a way of deflating egos. [However], it never entered my mind that I would remain a New York press agent forever,” Simmons remarked. “All my life, I’ve tried to reach up.”

Humorously appealing and utterly revealing, Fat, Drunk, and Stupid traipses through the development of Animal House and depicts how an unplanned trip through Hollywood resulted in one of the greatest American comedies of all time. Through personal stories and direct testimonies, Simmons reflects upon the days of production and engages his readers with on- and off-set humor from the Animal House undertaking. Complete with behind-the-scenes reports and exclusive cast and crew interviews, Fat, Drunk, and Stupid celebrates the success of Animal House with the unveiling of its incredible Hollywood saga.

For four weeks in 1977, the cast and crew of Animal House invaded the town of Eugene, Ore., home to the University of Oregon. Shooting on the grounds of an actual college campus in a fictional fraternity —Delta Tau Chi House (background)—gave the film a sense of authenticity.

Like all breakthroughs in filmmaking, Animal House experienced its share of difficulties and took time to evolve. In fact, as Simmons openly admits, the initial idea for Animal House received negative feedback and overwhelming disapproval from practiced Hollywood agents. Several networks and multiple Hollywood directors passed on the film’s script, and even when Universal Studios President Ned Tanen agreed to fund Animal House, he prefaced his proposal by saying, “I hate this treatment. … I’d never make this movie—except you’re the National Lampoon.” Thus, according to Simmons, the green light for production was offered somewhat unenthusiastically with Universal confining the crew to 32 filming days and $3 million in finances. However, with stories about luggage requirements and costume efficiency, Fat, Drunk, and Stupid explains how the Animal House team managed to overcome its financial concerns and turn a harshly criticized initial film script into an icon of the American cinema.

Saturday Night Live star John Belushi played the unforgettable character Bluto in the film, directed by newcomer John Landis who went on to direct such hits as The Blues Brother and Coming to America.

With the exception of John Belushi, Animal House cast members showed up on set with very little experience in the Hollywood spotlight. Many were struggling in the entertainment business, and some were even pursuing careers elsewhere. In Fat, Drunk, and Stupid, Simmons reveals the team’s recruiting tactics and explains the evaluation process he and director John Landis adopted to build their cast. He goes on to describe how well they interacted and how impressively they balanced work and fun, saying “It was Animal House during the day and a real-life animal house party room at night.” From fistfights to drunken romances and wild parties to harmless pranks, members of the Animal House team engaged in activities nearly as wild as those displayed in the movie, and Fat, Drunk, and Stupid recounts them all.

Because of the relationships that developed as a result of the Animal House production, many members of the cast and crew kept in touch and continue to meet at celebrations, awards ceremonies, and other social gatherings today. However, several members of the team have since passed away and Fat, Drunk, and Stupid honors them all, commemorating Belushi specifically with a special chapter tracing his illustrious career and recalling his wild, yet inspiring personality.

The cast of Animal House was made up almost completely of then-unknowns. However, the film earned more than $600 million, launched countless careers, and eventually became one of America’s most beloved comedy classics.

The legacy of Animal House extends far beyond Otter’s testimony or Bluto’s aggression against the guitarist, and despite an inauspicious start, sits perched atop the list of Bravo TV’s “100 Funniest Movies.” In what is Matty Simmons’ eighth book publication, Fat, Drunk, and Stupid rationalizes how a bunch of unknown actors came together to spearhead the movie production that will forever remain embedded in the culture of Hollywood and the roots of modern film comedy.

Book Review: Fat, Drunk, and Stupid The Saturday Evening Post

From Our Archives: Big Boom in Outdoor Movies The Saturday Evening Post

There are several hundred thousand, perhaps several million, moviegoers of all kinds and flavors in the United State who continue to protest in this late spring of 1929 that they do not like talking pictures and will not have them.

Though grousing and whining about the end of silence in movie theaters reminded Stout of a movie theater he visited as a boy. Each night, a small audience would gather, slump into the seats, and snooze through the night while the projectionist changed reels and showed the same movie over and over. “The only comment from the house was a contented snoring,” Stout said.

[I suspect] the outcry against talking pictures is being led by those patrons who have found the dim cathedral light, the overstuffed upholsteries and the easily ignored entertainment to be the perfect soporific. They resent having their sleep interrupted.

Technicians move a microphone boom closer to Renee Adoree.

A majority of whom, until recently, rarely have had a kind word to say of pictures… [Now they] look upon the least silent celluloid as the Ark of the Covenant about to be profaned by vulgar hands.

Not that long ago, Stout reminded readers, silent movies arrived with images of the world without sound.

When pictures first were shown, audiences felt this lack. Lips moved, traffic flowed, shots were fired, horses galloped, pies were thrown, and the Empire State Express flashed through Tarrytown in a world suddenly become stone deaf.

In the course of years we adjusted our ears to this unnatural silence and, creatures of habit that we are, it is the returning sound that now offends our senses.

Now, Stout declared, American audiences would adapt again.

Freed from the constraints of silent filming, studios began producing lavish musicals.

Here is a prediction:

The silent picture will be as dead as the souvenir teaspoon within a very short time, and none but professional adopters of lost causes will mourn at its tomb…

Talking pictures will produce better entertainment for considerably less money.

When the hisses and the catcalls have subsided, we shall proceed…
 
 
 
 
 

The addition of speech, music, and sound-effects to moving pictures has expanded their entertainment and artistic possibilities beyond anything the most farsighted can foresee today.

Talkies wouldn’t just offer talk, they’d bring along their own musical accompaniment— and not just a theater organ or piano, but full orchestras, famous singers, and choruses.

Millions have never seen a real musical comedy or revue. Such entertainment has been confined for years to the larger cities and played at prices prohibitive to John and Mary. Shortly they will be available at movie prices to any town large enough to support a wired movie house.

In Stout’s experience, the sound quality of movies already surpassed the best theatrical production. In 1927, he had seen “Show Boat” performed onstage at New York’s Ziegfield Theater. Even though he sat in the tenth row, “I distinguished no two consecutive words of Helen Morgan’s song “Bill.” Then he saw a film version of the play.

I again saw Miss Morgan, just as on Sixth Avenue, New York, except that I saw her more clearly… And I heard every word of the lyrics of “Bill” — lyrics very well worth hearing.

She was in New York and I in Salt Lake, but, the illusion being complete, I forgot that at her first note.

The arrival of talkies, Stout continued, would let comedies move beyond the limits of sight gags. And in drama, the ability to speak lines would enable movies actors to add depth to their performances, and touch audiences as never before. A theater manager had recently told Stout,

Mary Brian prepares for her voice test. She was one of the actresses who successfully moved from silents to sound.

“[in silent movies] the story was unimportant because the real drama went on in [the viewers’] own imaginations.

“All they asked was a push to start them off, and the regulation clinch at the end… They identified themselves with the stars.

“The screen reached them only with images; the actors had no more reality than the watcher invested them with.

“But once an actress spoke, the real woman broke through. Her personality reaches out and shakes the audience out of its private dreams. They are forced to take note of character now.”
 
 
 
 

The added dimension of speech, according to this manager, would have a “profound effect on daily life.” Movie-makers would be forced to write intelligent dialogue. And youngsters would stop imitating the shallow characters they’d seen in movies because they would see true personalities in movies.

As a prediction, it contained a large dose of wishful thinking. Sound didn’t force movies to become more intelligent and youngsters didn’t stop mimicking insipid role models they saw in movie melodramas. But the potential for sound pictures was still immense— so immense that Stout himself was tempted into making a rash prediction.

Sound recording was soon moving out of the studio onto elaborate backlot stages like this one for "Hearts in Exile."

 

Very probably the stage —musical, vaudeville and legitimate—oh, yes, legitimate! —will not survive the new competition long.

No pencil can figure how the stage of Shakespeare and his successors can compete with them, even under the highly special conditions of Broadway.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Stout fell into the trap that has swallowed up many other prophets. He believed that the latest innovation in entertainment meant the extinction of any older style.  Radio was supposed to bring the death of newspapers. Television would kill radio. The internet would bury television. E-books will replace books in print. And ‘talkies’ meant the end of live theater.

Americans, however, are hungry for entertainment, and never fully abandon any diversion. In a culture where long-playing records continue to survive amid CDs, no medium ever disappears.

Speaking Up For the Talkies in 1929: ‘Silent Movies Are History’ The Saturday Evening Post

The first time a 32-year-old Scottish actor uttered those words was in a small film that opened in London 50 years ago. Based on a popular pulp novel by Ian Fleming, Dr. No cost slightly over $1 million and featured a group of not-yet stars including Sean Connery, Jack Lord (“Hawaii Five-O”), and Ursula Andress alongside an established character actor, Joseph Wiseman, as the movie’s villain.

It was a film that debuted with no expectations whatsoever. Months later, when Dr. No opened in the U.S., The New York Times called it “lively” and “amusing,” a “spoof of science fiction and sex.” Translation: a cute, entertaining trifle.

Yet, lo and behold, Dr. No grossed nearly $60 million worldwide—fantastic box office for that time—and spawned a film franchise that has produced 22 feature films (the 23rd, Skyfall, is due out in October) with global earnings of more than $5 billion.

In an era when big budget extravaganzas such as Lawrence of Arabia and The Longest Day attracted the largest audiences, Dr. No’s success seemed to come out of nowhere. Yet the reasons why it succeeded were easily discernable. “The formula was simple,” says film critic and author Irv Slifkin of moviefanfare.com. “A good-looking guy who was lethal yet likable, gorgeous women, nasty villains, nifty gadgets, nice locations, and cool music—all presented in first class fashion with a dollop of violence and sex and, in some cases, politics.”

“Bond tapped into a full range of male fantasies and desires that were simultaneously being exploited by popular media and international advertising at the height of post-war consumerism,” adds Christoph Lindner, editor of The James Bond Phenomenon: A Critical Reader. “There is a great study of the interrelations—both commercial and artistic—between Bond and Playboy magazine in the early 1960s, showing that both developments shared many values and perspectives, not just on sex and women, but also on conspicuous consumption and the fetishism of technology.”

In other words, gorgeous women and cool gadgets—not to mention Cold War paranoia and wackadoodle plot lines far removed from the dour and more realistic spy flicks of the era—were some of the keys to the films’ success. And if you were female, well, you might not have liked the casual sexism of the Bond series, but there was always Sean Connery, about as studly as they come, to satisfy your fantasies. As Slifkin puts it: “The women came for James, and the men came for everything else.” [Not everyone was buying 007. For a contemporary, critical view of Bond and his movies, read William K. Zinsser's 1965 article "The Big Bond Bonanza" —ed.]

Sean Connery graces the cover of The Saturday Evening Post.

And they kept coming back for more. When Sean Connery bowed out of the series, they came for George Lazenby, and then Roger Moore, Timothy Dalton, Pierce Brosnan, and now Daniel Craig. The villains changed, the women came and went, the plots sometimes became utterly ridiculous—like in 1979’s Moonraker, which involved a master race, a plot to exterminate all human life, and a battle on a space station—but none of that seemed to matter. Bond was part of the culture. Which meant it became hard to find people who didn’t know who Q, M, and Miss Moneypenny were; who weren’t familiar with Odd Job and Jaws; and who didn’t know that Bond liked his martinis “shaken, not stirred.”

In fact, this familiarity worked in the series’ favor. One of the reasons 007 managed to survive from the Cold War era into the post-9/11 world is that the more things changed, the more Bond tended to stay the same. According to Glenn Yeffeth, editor of James Bond in the 21st Century, Bond is “good at what he does, and he is an openly heterosexual male, unashamed of his own manhood. Those characteristics seem to be as relevant as they ever were. If you look at Jack Bauer in the TV show “24,” I think what people like about that character are the same characteristics.”

There’s also Bond’s relationship with his bosses, which remains highly volatile. 007 is an insider who acts like an outsider, and that tension has been constant throughout the series. “At one level he represents a fantasy of government control in a geopolitical world that has lost its grip on western security,” says Lindner, “but at another level he also represents a fantasy of escape from the excessive authority and surveillance of government. This tension between control and escape is an important part of Bond’s success over the decades.”

And then there’s the most obvious way in which the series stays current—when it comes to enemies, Bond is always after the villain du jour. “The films have always reflected the times in which they were made,” says Yefeth. “In the ’60s, it was Cold War espionage and the beginnings of the sexual revolution. In the ’70s and ’80s, they became more comedic and fantastical in the era of overindulgence. But the fundamental principles of Bond haven’t changed. He is intent on trying to preserve world order. For each era, Bond has found his way.”

Which means that in the latest reboot of the series, Daniel Craig’s 007 has been fighting a gaggle of very contemporary bad seeds who finance international terrorism (Casino Royale) or are out to control an entire nation’s water supply (Quantum of Solace).

And there is one more significant way in which Bond has kept up with the times. Even though he’s as tough as ever, he has become more emotionally open. “Fleming’s original Bond from the novels was a deeply flawed and emotionally damaged character,” says Lindner. “Over the years, the films gradually turned Bond into a teflon spy. But now, in the post-9/11 era—and thanks in part to other spy franchises like the Jason Bourne trilogy—Bond has rediscovered his emotions and his imperfections.”

So what’s not to like? He’s macho. He’s emotional. He’s even become, if the most recent films are any indication, almost—but not quite—monogamous. And in a world that seems even more chaotic and dangerous than the one in which he first appeared, we all know that when evil rears its ugly head, there’s one secret agent we can always count on.

Bond. James Bond.

Best of Bond

There have been 22 Bond films so far. In chronological order, here are my picks for the five best. —L.B.

From Russia With Love (1963)

Daniela Bianchi and Sean Connery. © Bettmann/CORBIS

Why It’s Great: A Cold War spy caper with superbad villains intent on world domination. Bonus: A top-notch supporting cast including Robert Shaw and Lotte Lenya.
Main Villain: Ernst Stavro Blofeld, the consummately evil head of SPECTRE shown only from the neck down as he strokes his white cat. Equally freaky and fearsome—Rosa Klebb (Lenya), the killer with poison-tipped blades concealed in the toes of her shoes.
Bond Babe: Tatiana Romanova (Daniela Bianchi), Russian agent turned Bond ally.
Cool Gadget: A special briefcase including a rifle and ammunition plus 50 gold sovereigns, a knife, and a tear gas cartridge disguised as talcum powder.
Memorable Dialogue: Tatiana, trying on dresses – “I will wear this one in Picadilly.” Bond – “You won’t. They’ve just passed some new laws there. ”

Goldfinger (1964)

Shirley Eaton and Sean Connery. © Sunset Boulevard/Corbis

Why It’s Great: A daring robbery plan, nasty supervillain, and that smiling henchman Oddjob (Harold Sakata). Mix that with a female flying corps, one of the best Bond title songs (sung by Shirley Bassey), and a terrific final action sequence and you get perhaps the greatest Bond ever.
Main Villain: Auric Goldfinger (Gert Fröbe), master criminal who wants to rob Fort Knox.
Bond Babe: Pussy Galore (Honor Blackman), Bond enemy turned ally.
Cool Gadget: Awesome Aston Martin with passenger ejection seat, forward machine guns, hubcaps doubling as tire slashers, and other goodies.
Memorable Dialogue: Stewardess – “Can I do anything for you?” Bond – “Just a drink. A martini, shaken, not stirred.”

On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)

Diana Rigg and George Lazenby. MGM.

Why It’s Great: George Lazenby is no Sean Connery, but he’s okay as Bond, and the film is tight, smart, and extremely well directed with killer action sequences. Bonus: We find 007 in love.
Main Villain: Ernst Stavro Blofeld (Telly Savalas), doing some strange allergy research involving beautiful women.
Bond Babe: Teresa di Vicenzo (Diana Rigg), who marries Bond, but is murdered on their wedding day.
Cool Gadget: Radioactive lint, which acts as a homing device.
Memorable Dialogue: Draco (Gabriele Ferzetti) – “My apologies for the way you were brought here. I wasn’t sure you’d accept a ‘formal’ invitation.” Bond – “There’s always something formal about the point of a pistol.”

Licence To Kill (1989)

Timothy Dalton and Carey Lowell. Columbia Pictures.

Why It’s Great: Criminally underrated at the time, this is an exciting action film with Timothy Dalton as a nasty, driven Bond out to stop a drug lord and avenge a near-fatal attack on his friend Felix Leiter (David Hedison).
Main Villain: Franz Sanchez (Robert Davi), South American drug kingpin based on Pablo Escobar.
Bond Babe: Pam Bouvier (Carey Lowell), CIA informant posing as a drug courier who falls for Bond.
Cool Gadget: A camera that can be converted into a rifle and programmed so only one person can fire it.
Memorable Dialogue: Bond, when asked to cut a wedding cake – “I’ll do anything for a woman with a knife.”

Casino Royale (2006)

Why It’s Great:Grade A reboot of the series featuring a macho but sensitive Daniel Craig as 007 and smashing action sequences.

Eva Green and Daniel Craig. PhotoFest.

Main Villain: Le Chiffre (Mads Mikkelsen), a banker for terrorist organizations.
Bond Babe: Vesper Lynd (Eva Green), double agent supposedly monitoring Bond’s expenses but also working for a terrorist organization. She soon falls for our hero.
Cool Gadgets: Film is low on futuristic gadgetry because it is about the start of Bond’s career as a “00.” Still, his Aston Martin has a glove compartment with antidotes to various poisons and a portable defibrillator. Most laughable is his Sony Ericsson cellphone with (get this!) GPS and a 3.2 megapixel digital camera!
Memorable Dialogue: Lynd – “It doesn’t bother you? Killing all those people?” Bond – “Well, I wouldn’t be very good at my job if it did.”

What’s your favorite Bond movie?

James Bond Turns 50 The Saturday Evening Post

Of course, she’s had work done—expert work. Because no one would trust Gone with the Wind to anyone but the best cinematic plastic surgeons.

The film, which catapulted Britain’s Vivien Leigh to icon status as Scarlett O’Hara and immortalized Clark Gable as the only possible Rhett Butler, will celebrate its 70th birthday this December. Thousands are planning pilgrimages to Georgia, the setting for the book and scene of the premiere. Marietta, Georgia, is even restaging the three-day GWTW gala of 1939, with spotlights criss-crossing the night sky and the remaining cast members walking the red carpet.

But what, really, is left after all this time—73 years after Margaret Mitchell unleashed the world’s best-selling novel?

Never underestimate the South’s love of tradition and, especially, its tenacious stewardship of all things GWTW.

From an original Scarlett gown to Mitchell’s Remington typewriter, there’s plenty to experience. Here are some of the milestones to help you map your own epic adventure.

Questing for Tara

Docent Ted Key greets visitors at Stately Oaks plantation in Jonesboro. Photo courtesy Betsa Marsh.

GWTW fans—called “Windies”—long for the towering white pillars of Tara, but the mansion we love was basically a confection whipped up by producer David O. Selznick.

The native Pittsburgher, who called GWTW “the American bible,” envisioned a plantation house like the antebellum mansions lining the Mississippi. Mitchell’s Tara, however, was modeled after her great-grandparents’ farmstead in Clayton County, a two-story frame house with a comfy porch. The family called it “Rural Home.”
In a tribute to her Irish ancestry, Mitchell named her fictional estate Tara for the hill of Tara, 30 miles outside Dublin, where Ireland’s first High King was declared.

“When Margaret Mitchell saw the film, she said, ‘That’s not the house I wrote about,’ ” said Ted Key, a costumed docent at Stately Oaks in Jonesboro, Clayton County.

Built in about 1831 by Mitchell’s Irish ancestor Philip Fitzgerald, Rural Home is now in ruins. Instead, head down Carriage Lane to Stately Oaks, an 1839 home in the Plantation Plain style of Rural Home.

“Windies always ask, ‘Is this Tara?’ ” Key said. “It’s as close to Tara as you’re going to get.”

During the Civil War, the Robert McCord family lived in the house, which was moved four miles in 1972. Mrs. McCord, her six children, and the cook were hiding alone
in the home when Union soldiers broke into the basement and found them.

An officer stationed a guard at the front and back doors to protect them, then asked a favor of the lady of the house. Would her cook make his officers home-cooked meals?

“That’s the way the house was saved,” Key said.

It was on the porch of her family farmhouse, similar to Stately Oaks, that young Mitchell heard tales of the war.

“I heard about fighting and wounds… how ladies nursed in the hospitals…the way gangrene smelled. …I heard about the burning and looting of Atlanta. I heard everything in the world except that the Confederates lost the war. When I was 10 years old,” Mitchell recalled, “it was a violent shock to learn that General Lee had been licked.”

Hollywood may not have gotten Rural Home right, but it did create an indelible illusion beloved around the world.

In 1979 Georgia’s First Lady, Betty Talmadge, bought the studio façade of Tara’s doorway, now located at Atlanta’s Margaret Mitchell House and Gone with the Wind Museum.

A photo of Mitchell surrounded by her papers is on display at the Margaret Mitchell House. Photo courtesy Betsa Marsh

Tracking the GWTW Manuscript

Travelers would love to see the original pages of the world’s best-selling novel, but Margaret Mitchell wouldn’t have it.

Her second husband, John Marsh, who encouraged Mitchell to write, said her will placed upon him “the duty of destroying her papers. … She believed that an author should stand or fall before the public on the basis of the author’s published work.”

Only 20 or so pages survive, and if you really want to see them, there’s only one thing to do.

Sue.

“There are a few pages in the SunTrust Bank, where they will remain unless someone challenges her authorship,” said Richard Cruce, the librarian who handles the Mitchell collection at the Atlanta-Fulton Public Library System.

But you won’t leave the library disappointed. Fans from 38 states and 13 countries came last year to see the Remington typewriter that Mitchell wrote GWTW on—last chapter first. She wrote out of chronology from 1926 on, eventually weaving the chapters together about 1935.

The manuscript may be out of reach, but the Margaret Mitchell House has the clipboard she corrected it on. And the suitcase that Harold Latham of Macmillan Publishing bought to carry away the manuscript.

He’d come from New York to scout for new writers. When he met Mitchell at a writers’ conference and asked if she had work to show, Mitchell said, “No, I have nothing.”

A friend urged her on, and Mitchell finally went to the Georgia Terrace Hotel just as Latham was leaving. She handed over 70 bulging envelopes and said, “Take the damn thing before I change my mind.”

Searching for the Loew’s Grand

Seats 101, 103, and 105 at the Road to Tara Museum were saved from the Loew's Grand, which burned in 1978. Photo courtesy Betsa Marsh

Gone with the Wind was a publishing sensation, even at an astronomical $3 each. It sold more than 28 million copies worldwide.

Barely was the ink dry before movie buzz started. Clark Gable, “King of Hollywood,” would play Rhett, everyone decided. The actor, however, resisted all the way. Finally, his studio, MGM, loaned him out for the role, and Selznick added $50,000 to the deal, enough for Gable to divorce Ria Langham and marry Carole Lombard. Lombard urged him to take the part, and now no one can imagine anyone else as Rhett Butler.

Scarlett was trickier. The search would take two years, cost more than $92,000, and involve 1,400 actresses, from Lana Turner to Lucille Ball.

Ninety candidates took screen tests, with four in full color: front-runner Joan Bennett, Jean Arthur, Paulette Goddard, and Vivien Leigh.

Selznick, of course, swooned for 25-year-old Leigh, who traveled from London to land the role.

“Better an English girl,” sniffed a Daughter of the Confederacy, “than a Yankee.”

Atlanta, of course, was determined to host the world premiere, and the lavish Loew’s Grand was the place.

“The premiere was like a snowflake in Atlanta,” said Beth Bailey of the Clayton County Convention and Visitors Bureau. “We shut down everything for one snowflake. People didn’t go to work, didn’t do anything but try to see actors from Gone with the Wind.”

The city dolled up the Grand, built in 1893, with faux Tara pillars and raked the night sky with searchlights on December 15, 1939. All the stars arrived, somehow dwarfed by the 4-foot-11-inch figure of Margaret Mitchell.

Sadly, the Grand burned in 1978, and only fragments remain. The Road to Tara Museum has three of its red plush seats, a playbill, a railing, and a scrap of art deco carpet.

Atlanta’s Fox Theatre, built in 1929 as a Masonic temple, has taken over the heritage role with classic movies, including GWTW. It even has a few of the Grand’s seats. Ironically, they’re up in the standing room only area of the top balcony, a section reserved for blacks during segregation.

Staying at the Stars’ Hotel

You can still book the Clark Gable suite at the Georgian Terrace Hotel. The ballroom, a white vision of Corinthian columns and chandeliers, was the setting for the film’s post-premiere party.

“Every day,” said Carl Dees, general manager of the hotel, “someone comes into this ballroom to take pictures.”

Unveiling the Costumes
Walter Plunkett created some of film’s most iconic costumes. Who can forget Scarlett’s green velvet drapery gown?

He took the costumes after filming and willed most of them to the University of Texas, where they remain in storage.

Only one of Scarlett’s original gowns is on display, and it draws Windies from around the world to Marietta’s Scarlett on the Square. It’s her ivory bengaline silk gown that Rhett bought her on their honeymoon in New Orleans.

At the Road to Tara Museum in Jonesboro, seamstresses have devoted thousands of hours replicating GWTW gowns. They had the green-sprig fabric for Scarlett’s barbecue dress specially milled and sent plumes to Las Vegas to be dyed just the right burgundy for the gown Scarlett wore to Ashley Wilkes’ birthday party.
And when they replicated the green drapery gown and hat, they added a real chicken’s foot to the cording on the hat, just as Scarlett wore it. For true Windies, no detail is too small.

In Search of Rhett and Scarlett The Saturday Evening Post