I’ll risk showing my age by saying that I had serious crushes on Humphrey Bogart, Charles Boyer and Joseph Cotton.
As for movies I’ve watched over and over, Gaslight, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and Casablanca come in first.
Once, I faked being sick so that I could stay home from school to watch The Inn of the Sixth Happiness, scheduled to air on the Morning Movie slot on old Channel 9 in Los Angeles.
My mother returned unexpectedly from her errands. She stood in the doorway, shaking her head, then walked over and snapped off the Hoffman Easy-Vision television set.
“You should know something about Ingrid Bergman,” she said.
All I knew of the actress was she had a strange way of captivating any scene, and her nose looked real. Mother then told me the chilling tale of how Ingrid Bergman has cheated on her husband and chased after a wild Italian man and been banned in Hollywood.
Heady stuff for my ten-year old romantic imagination.
Today, August 29, is Ingrid Bergman’s birthday. It is also the day she died, in London, UK, in 1982.