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From Under My Hat
Hedda Hopper came into this world screaming, and she liked to say that she never stopped. Decades after, she could still out-shout any producer in Hollywood, and she wasn’t afraid to do whatever it took to get her way. One of the most glamorous stars of the silent era, Hopper became one of the most notorious gossip columnists in the country, whose acid wit and razor-sharp pen fearlessly attacked the biggest names in Hollywood. In From Under My Hat, she tells her story as only she can. From her birth in the suburbs of Pennsylvania, to her early days as a Broadway understudy to her rise and fall as a Hollywood starlet, Hopper tells the story of the golden age of the movie business with candor and grace. At the height of her popularity, 20,000,000 read Hopper’s column. Reading her searing autobiography, it’s easy to see why. Hedda Hopper is portrayed by Judy Davis in the Ryan Murphy TV series Feud about Joan Crawford and Bette Davis.
376 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1952
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October 4, 2021By choosing 1952 as the moment to publish her first book of memoirs, Hollywood gossip-columnist Hedda Hopper had certainly struck while the iron was hot. Her profile had never been higher than in that emotive time of the Hollywood Blacklist (drawn up by Hedda), her excoriating of Ingrid Bergman for getting pregnant by a married catholic, and her lobbying for Charlie Chaplin’s long exile on grounds of communist sympathies. Having divided America so sharply, she could command a captive readership on both political wings, eager to hear Hedda advocating her cause.
But in this, they will have been disappointed. The memoirs end with Hedda’s sentimental farewell to her mother, who had died in 1941. So although not strictly chronological, the story seems to come to its natural conclusion at that point, with virtually no mention of any of those three controversies. The book is essentially a string of anecdotes of old Hollywood, rather like a poor man’s David Niven, only dating back earlier, to the beginnings of the studio system - complicated further by Hedda’s eternal concealment of her age. But it is known that she married, just once in 1913, to a much older actor called DeWolf Hopper, now quite forgotten, but who had been celebrated as the great voice of the Nineties.
Also virtually absent is any reference to Hedda’s fierce rivalry with Louella Parsons, Hollywood’s only other gossip-columnist to speak of. We only note that Louella refused to write a word about Sunset Boulevard because Hedda had a walk-on part in it. More surprising is that Hedda gets on well with William Randolph Hearst, who was Louella’s patron for so long (supposedly because she printed his version of what happened on board his yacht when the brilliant film-director Thomas Ince was suddenly carried off on a stretcher.)
Hedda seems to be surprisingly frank about her own shortcomings, admitting freely that she failed to break into showbusiness via the chorus line, since the Shubert Brothers called her a clumsy cow. For years, she survived on small film-parts, usually playing a guest at a cocktail party, until she became a radio-gossip, turning to print as late as 1937. It was now, past fifty, that she became famous for her trademark hats, supposedly to support her image as a helpless little frilly female in whom men would (unwisely) confide their secrets. Yet the secrets we never hear are her own. Hedda’s private life in the thirty years since her divorce remains a closed book indeed.
Interesting to know that it was Hedda who talent-spotted Jimmy Stewart, and that she and her husband lived at the Algonquin Hotel, before the famous round table made it public property. And just one inaccuracy: she says Joan Crawford was not welcome in Douglas Fairbanks’ house when she married 19-year old Douglas junior, and wasn’t accepted until the Mountbattens spent their honeymoon there. Actually that was seven years earlier.
But in this, they will have been disappointed. The memoirs end with Hedda’s sentimental farewell to her mother, who had died in 1941. So although not strictly chronological, the story seems to come to its natural conclusion at that point, with virtually no mention of any of those three controversies. The book is essentially a string of anecdotes of old Hollywood, rather like a poor man’s David Niven, only dating back earlier, to the beginnings of the studio system - complicated further by Hedda’s eternal concealment of her age. But it is known that she married, just once in 1913, to a much older actor called DeWolf Hopper, now quite forgotten, but who had been celebrated as the great voice of the Nineties.
Also virtually absent is any reference to Hedda’s fierce rivalry with Louella Parsons, Hollywood’s only other gossip-columnist to speak of. We only note that Louella refused to write a word about Sunset Boulevard because Hedda had a walk-on part in it. More surprising is that Hedda gets on well with William Randolph Hearst, who was Louella’s patron for so long (supposedly because she printed his version of what happened on board his yacht when the brilliant film-director Thomas Ince was suddenly carried off on a stretcher.)
Hedda seems to be surprisingly frank about her own shortcomings, admitting freely that she failed to break into showbusiness via the chorus line, since the Shubert Brothers called her a clumsy cow. For years, she survived on small film-parts, usually playing a guest at a cocktail party, until she became a radio-gossip, turning to print as late as 1937. It was now, past fifty, that she became famous for her trademark hats, supposedly to support her image as a helpless little frilly female in whom men would (unwisely) confide their secrets. Yet the secrets we never hear are her own. Hedda’s private life in the thirty years since her divorce remains a closed book indeed.
Interesting to know that it was Hedda who talent-spotted Jimmy Stewart, and that she and her husband lived at the Algonquin Hotel, before the famous round table made it public property. And just one inaccuracy: she says Joan Crawford was not welcome in Douglas Fairbanks’ house when she married 19-year old Douglas junior, and wasn’t accepted until the Mountbattens spent their honeymoon there. Actually that was seven years earlier.
March 24, 2016
Hopper certainly has selective memory. Not much about her strained relationship with her son, her red-baiting and fiercely anti-Communist stance. On the other hand, you get some great stories and she was certainly a delicious storytelling style. And when it comes to Hedda, she herself is always the best source for understanding her crisp, delighted writing style. In a world where her writing is no longer well-known, this remains a great source for understanding her appeal and huge popularity.
August 26, 2008
Mostly tired recitations of Hedda's version of Hollywood history. Write she couldn't.
April 25, 2018
It's a self-serving memoir by a vicious Hollywood insider from the beginning of motion pictures. She never writes about how she named names for the McCarthy Commission on Un-American Activities. She was a cruel 'Red hunter' and got lots of people blacklisted. Nasty bit of work, making herself and life for her friends to be oh, so wonderful.
Here's just a tiny one: "We even went to the studio on Sundays when Larry (Tibbett) did his numbers. One number had a choral group of eighty Negroes. I am a push-over for the melting lilt of their voices, and the day that number was done, fifty of us spent the whole day listening."
No mention that those eighty voices worked all day, probably for no pay, no consideration that the Sabbath was not only sacred to them, but probably the only day that they had off from working, and who knows if they were fed. They certainly weren't treated as equals. (No, I'm not black. I'm almost albino, and old.)
I read on, waiting for some truth. There's more in what's not written here.
Here's just a tiny one: "We even went to the studio on Sundays when Larry (Tibbett) did his numbers. One number had a choral group of eighty Negroes. I am a push-over for the melting lilt of their voices, and the day that number was done, fifty of us spent the whole day listening."
No mention that those eighty voices worked all day, probably for no pay, no consideration that the Sabbath was not only sacred to them, but probably the only day that they had off from working, and who knows if they were fed. They certainly weren't treated as equals. (No, I'm not black. I'm almost albino, and old.)
I read on, waiting for some truth. There's more in what's not written here.
April 26, 2014
Quite a collection of short stories around witches. Most of them were interesting, although there a couple in the collection that I didn't like. Still, short stories are always a good choice for a quick read, when you don't want to get so involved it's difficult to put down the book. I will be checking out some of the authors for their full-length books.
December 14, 2017
Hedda Hopper's reminiscences
What a wonderful, intimate look at old Hollywood and its golden age told by a true insider. Fun and funny, touching and just glorious. Hated it to end.
What a wonderful, intimate look at old Hollywood and its golden age told by a true insider. Fun and funny, touching and just glorious. Hated it to end.
May 11, 2020
Kind of uneven and rambling, but insightful into Miss Hopper's self serving mind. The accusations she reveals about Charlie Chaplin are pretty explosive and sad in this era of #metoo, and Hollywood pedophilia. I enjoyed her experience of working with Elizabeth Arden in building her world famous salon in NYC.
March 31, 2022
read it because of her son, stayed for the party stories
July 19, 2022
Loved it didn’t want it to end…
September 23, 2025
Not as good as I had hoped. But worth reading if, like me, you're a film buff. Ms Hopper wasn't anywhere near as scathing or bitchy as I was expecting.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews