The death hoax that launched the first movie star | Little White Lies

The death hoax that launched the first movie star

14 Apr 2019

Words by Kristin Hunt

Close-up profile of a woman with wavy hair and a thoughtful expression.
Close-up profile of a woman with wavy hair and a thoughtful expression.
How a strange turn of events thrust Flo­rence Lawrence into the Hol­ly­wood spotlight.

On 19 Feb­ru­ary, 1910, Flo­rence Lawrence opened the news­pa­per and dis­cov­ered she was dead. The actress recalled see­ing her obit­u­ary on her way to work, writ­ing in a 1914 arti­cle for Pho­to­play, I… was star­tled to see sev­er­al like­ness­es of myself star­ing me in the face, topped by a flam­boy­ant head­line announc­ing my trag­ic end beneath the wheels of a speed­ing motor car.”

The sto­ry was obvi­ous­ly a lie, but it made Lawrence’s career. The ensu­ing pub­lic­i­ty fren­zy made the silent-era star a house­hold name, at a time when most film actors didn’t receive cred­its for their on-screen work. They were sim­ply name­less faces to their fans, which is why Lawrence is often called the first movie star” – and it was all thanks to a man­u­fac­tured crisis.

Pri­or to her death and res­ur­rec­tion, Lawrence had already starred in over a hun­dred short films. Fol­low­ing in the foot­steps of her stage actress moth­er, Lot­ta Lawrence, she had put in stints on the vaude­ville cir­cuit and at ear­ly Amer­i­can stu­dios like the Vita­graph Com­pa­ny, before land­ing at Bio­graph, the launch­ing pad for future indus­try heavy­weights DW Grif­fith and Mary Pickford.

Accord­ing to Lawrence’s biog­ra­ph­er Kel­ly R Brown, the actress had appeared in most of the shorts Grif­fith direct­ed for the Bio­graph Com­pa­ny in 1908, and built a brand on the studio’s Mr and Mrs Jones’ com­e­dy series. She was so pop­u­lar that fans called her the Bio­graph girl,” in absence of an actu­al name – Bio­graph, like all oth­er stu­dios of the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry, did not dis­close the names of its actors.

Lawrence knew she was worth some­thing to Bio­graph, and asked the stu­dio to increase her pay repeat­ed­ly. Her boss­es fired her instead, but she was soon snapped up by Carl Laemm­le at IMP, short­hand for the Inde­pen­dent Mov­ing Pic­tures Com­pa­ny. Although IMP was a much scrap­pi­er out­fit than Bio­graph or Vita­graph, Laemm­le had grand plans for his new star. He intend­ed to cap­i­talise on her pop­u­lar­i­ty with a strate­gic media blitz, all build­ing to an out­ra­geous finale.

The first pro­mo­tion ran in Motion Pic­ture World in Decem­ber 1909. It hyped the hol­i­day film Lest We For­get with a small por­trait of Lawrence. The text next to her pho­to announced her new stu­dio alle­giance: She’s an Imp!” Two months lat­er, the death rumours start­ed, though their ori­gins are some­what murky. Lawrence sup­pos­ed­ly saw the report in a New York paper, but many accounts cite St Louis as the source – and in that ver­sion, she was run over by a street­car. In any case, Laemm­le respond­ed with a now famous cor­rec­tion” that ran in trade papers with the head­line We Nail a Lie’. This ad includ­ed anoth­er pho­to of Lawrence, along with text insist­ing the actress was alive and well, and about to star in the new IMP fea­tures The Bro­ken Oath and Time-Lock Safe.

We nail a lie: Illustration of a woman nailing a poster that says "We nail a lie" to a wall.

Despite Laemmle’s sup­posed out­rage over this lie, his­to­ri­ans cred­it him with start­ing the rumour him­self. His cor­rec­tion, which most­ly func­tioned as adver­tise­ment, reeked of oppor­tunism, and so did the stunt he pulled next. To fur­ther dis­pel the death rumours, IMP sent Lawrence out to St. Louis with anoth­er stu­dio play­er, King Bag­gott, for pub­lic appear­ances. They host­ed recep­tions and deliv­ered short speech­es at var­i­ous venues across the city, but the true strength of Lawrence’s new­found star pow­er was man­i­fest­ed at Union Sta­tion. There, accord­ing to a Laemm­le biog­ra­ph­er John Drinkwa­ter, fans demon­strat­ed their affec­tion by tear­ing the but­tons from her coat, the trim­mings from her hat, and the hat from her head.”

Lawrence was offi­cial­ly a celebri­ty, with the mon­ey to match. At IMP, she was pulling a report­ed $1,000 a week. She would stay at the stu­dio for less than a year, how­ev­er, bounc­ing to Lubin Man­u­fac­tur­ing Com­pa­ny for anoth­er short stint before start­ing her own pro­duc­tion stu­dio, the Vic­tor Com­pa­ny, with her hus­band Har­ry Solter in 1912. She would also run a cos­met­ics store and invent a pre­cur­sor to the car turn sig­nal, when she wasn’t mak­ing movies.

But the death hoax pub­lic­i­ty bump was short-lived. Lawrence’s fame began to wane in the mid-1910s, at which point she split from Solter and their pro­duc­tion com­pa­ny was absorbed by Laemmle’s lat­est ven­ture, Uni­ver­sal Pic­tures. She strug­gled to find con­sis­tent work in the 1920s and 1930s, land­ing a few bit parts at MGM. In late Decem­ber 1938, the 52-year-old was found dead in her apart­ment with a note addressed to her room­mates: I am tired. Hope this works. Good-by, my dar­lings. They can’t cure me so let it go at that.” Lawrence was laid to rest in the Hol­ly­wood For­ev­er Ceme­tery, where her head­stone reads The First Movie Star’.

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