It's Getting Harder to Pronounce Them
By HENRY P. RALEIGH
ART TIMES Jun, 2004
THE LAST ACADEMY Awards have faded into history yet the feverish publicity that had preceded them has certainly left behind a string of actor’s names that are pretty hard to deal with, I can tell you. I mean, try to keep in mind a Shohreh Aghdashloo from "Home of Sand and Fog" or Chiaki Kuriyama from "Kill Bill" — not to mention Ludivine Sagner ("Swimming Pool") and Chiwetel Ejiofor ("Dirty Pretty Things"). You see, I not only lack the wherewithal to venture an audible pronunciation, I nervously linger long, sometimes for days, before attempting to write them down. Even then I suffer from anxiety, not at all sure I’ve gotten them down cold. I think this all began with Arnold Schwarzenegger (does that look right?) — a surname that I still stumble over. Figuring this was a momentary anomaly in film actor’s names, he seemed quickly followed by Renee Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones. This last wasn’t that difficult but somehow I couldn’t keep it straight in memory. Efforts at recall left me with either a Zeta or a Jones; never both looked nicely together. As for Benecio del Toro — well, I’ve had to settle for, "you know, that guy."
Now when you reach a certain age level it becomes critical to check out the old memory banks to see if you’re still operating at full power. A blank here or there can really drive you up the wall or maybe into a rocking chair to stare vacantly at the wall. To some extent the apparent similarity of a few contemporary actors adds to my confusion. Trying to sort out the right names for Julianne Moore and Renee Russo does me in every time. It isn't so much their names; it’s the ‘Renee’ that leads me hopelessly to Zellweger, which I dare utter in only a low whisper. Practice helps, of course. I’m working on Charlize Theron and think I’ve got that down fairly well and I’m told I can now say Kate Winslet with confidence — whoever she is.
It wasn’t always this way. In the old studio days there was a lot of helpful name changes that would keep an actor’s name sticking in even the most flighty of brains. In that simpler and politically incorrect time any ethnic-sounding name was usually dumped. This appeared particularly true if the actor was destined by the studio for leading romantic roles in its films. Hence Lucille le Seur became Joan Crawford, Edythe Marrener turned into Susan Hayward, Hedwig Kiesler to Hedy Lamarr, Constance Ockleman to Veronica Lake. Sometimes a bit of jiggering with an actor’s last name could serve — Garfinkle became Garfield (as in John), Baumgarner became Garner (as in James). At other times it’s a puzzle as to why a name change was thought necessary. Why did Myrna Williams become Myrna Loy? Henry Montgomery became Robert Montgomery and Norma Jean Baker became Marilyn Monroe? Not hard to guess the reason Frances Gumm emerged as Judy Garland. Anne Sheridan probably found it easy enough to jettison Clara, her given forename, yet how did Bogart manage to hang onto his? Once in a while the trade-off didn’t seem to be of any benefit — look at Freddie Bartholomew born Frederick Llewellyn, Rudy Vallee from Hubert Vallee.
Character actors of foreign origin were generally left alone in the name game played by agents and studios, mostly, one supposes, because they were invariably type-cast — sinister, mysterious, of nameless ethnic identities, or plainly comic. Maria Ouspenskaya, remembered for her gypsy warnings inthe wolf man films, was one of these. So was Akim Tamiroff, alternately Spanish, Balkan, Arab, Russian — whatever was needed. Oddly though, Mischa Ounskowsky, always the excitable, goggle-eyed Russian, became Mischa Auer.
Original British names always passed muster. Maybe this was thought to play as basic all-around American. Irish sounding names had an edge over all others. If born with one, it remained — studio line-ups showed a fair number of O’Briens, Fitzgeralds, O’Connors, Smiths and Sullivans. Should the actor not be so blessed, he soon was awarded a piece of the old sod — Joe Yule Jr. became Mickey Rooney, Hugh Kramke to Hugh O’Brian, Ann Steely to Cathy O’Donnell. And apparently you could never be Irish enough — Edward Flanagan became Dennis O’Keefe, Maureen Fitzsimmons turned into Maureen O’Hara, Irene Riordan to Irene Ryan. Studio and production heads rarely went in for name changes — after, all, you didn’t read about them in film magazines — however, Sam Goldwyn went from Goldfish — and who can blame him?
