全文1：
The Golden Age
by Robert Taylor
Originally published January 5, 1966 byVariety Magazine. Later published in Film Fan Monthly. Quoted in full in Jane Ellen Wayne, Robert Taylor, New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1973, 1987.
No matter how old one is, the Golden Age of Hollywood was long ago. I hope I’m not talking tired because I refer to change. Many of the major people are still working today but they have all been transformed.
If today is still the twentieth century, the Hollywood of the 1930”s and early 1940′s was 200 years ago. In a sense it was baroque. There was a style of living and making motion pictures which no longer exists. It has been coldly modernized into something very factual, very efficient—and, I’m afraid, not very much fun.
Robert Taylor and Vivien Leigh on the set of “Waterloo Bridge,” 1940.
The creative and artistic management and the fabulous “showmen” still exist—there are a few—but they’re largely working for themselves on a one-picture-every-two-years basis.
Their great talent isn’t directed a “program” of pictures—toward the management and betterment of a studio.
For some of us who were fortunate enough to have been a part of the Golden Age, however, the memory lingers on.
In my own case, I was part of the MGM “Stable.” We called Metro the campus—and even the seasons were semesters. Camaraderie was shared at work and at play, up and down the line, and the aspect of jealousy was virtually nonexistent—at least among the male stars.
There was nothing predictable, except perhaps sunrises and L.B. Mayer—and not necessarily in that order.
L.B. was the most important person in my career, as he was in hundreds of others. He was not a “desk jockey.” He was constantly on the move around the lot—he knew every department—he knew the heads of every department—and he knew everyone’s problems.
Gable was legend, he set the style and the pace. His cars, especially, drove the lesser
Louis B. Mayer and Robert Taylor ca. 1936.
lights, like myself, mad with envy. I remember two very distinctly—one a green Deusenberg convertible and the other a Darrin Packard Twelve which Carole Lombard had had built for him.
We associated with each other in those days for fun—not just publicity. The Trocadero was the clubhouse—and on Sunday nights, some outstanding wit was master of ceremonies, introducing for the first time on the West Coast such people as Martha Raye or Joe E. Lewis. Owner Billy Wilkerson would wander around accepting compliments on the wonderful food, wonderful entertainment and wonderful service. And it was just that—wonderful!

People pop up in my memory. Many of them are gone. Wallace Beery was special. Lionel Barrymore had forgotten more about acting than most of us would ever know. Yet he was always—and strangely—shy–about voicing his opinions. However, if you asked him he could sketch a lesson on portrayal that was complete and perfect in a matter of seconds.
I recall visiting him in his stateroom on the Queen Mary after we finished A Yank at Oxford
I found him asleep in his chair—the ashes of his cigarette all over his chest, the butt extinguished by his own lips. He was a very tired man—and unwell—but none of us ever thought that such a marvelous warm moment would ever leave us.
Gary Cooper and Robert Taylor. Probably early 1940s.
And good old Gary Cooper–”Coop” to just about everyone, whether they knew him or not. In my way of thinking, Coop was the handsomest man—certainly one of the two or three best actors—ever to honor the ranks of the motion picture business. And one of the most beautiful and talented ladies ever to grace a motion picture screen—Vivien Leigh.
The closeness and the pace never did create the terrible dose of imitation current today. Perhaps television is at fault—perhaps not, I honestly don’t know. But at least in that long ago decade we had both poles.
Robert Taylor and Irene Dunne in “Magnificent Obsession,” 1935.
I recall making Magnificent Obsession with Irene Dunne. John Stahl was directing. He approached the responsibility of a director in very much the same manner as I assume an atomic physicist approaches the handling of a bomb—with infinite care and painstaking slowness. It was not uncommon for us to do 30, 40, 50 takes on a relatively simple scene. At the time I was doing retakes on one of the Broadway Melodies and Woody Van Dyke was directing. Woody cut as he shot. He used his camera as though it were a six-shooter and he was the fastest gun in Hollywood. Actors rarely got more than one take on any scene, then the camera was moved rapidly to another set-up. It was, of course, going from the sublime to the ridiculous, but it seemed normal. It was the age.
It ended in the late 1940′s with the unexplained and seemingly premeditated murder of glamour. Television, taxes, actors pricing themselves to the skies—are all part causes, but not the definite ones. I don’t know really.
I can’t explain the demise. Perhaps if someone would correctly explain the phenomenon of rock ‘n’ roll, Beatle haircuts and the beatnik wardrobe, we will start to understand. In any case, it was 200 years ago.

全文2：
Robert Taylor on “The Actresses I Can’t Forget”Posted on May 1, 2013by giraffe44
The Actresses I Can’t Forget!
Chicago Daily Tribune Nov. 24, 1956
by Robert Taylor
as told to Freida Zylstra
Garbo, “Camille,” 1936.
A scant dozen names are on the starry roster of motion picture actresses who work unfailing magic year after year at the world’s box offices. Why do they last, when others, younger and far more beautiful, fade away after sparkling in the movie sky only briefly?
Katharine Hepburn, “Undercurrent,” 1946.
The feminine stars who have stayed at the peak of their profession while a parade of comets streaked up and down, share several attributes.
Vivien Leigh, “Waterloo Bridge,” 1940.
Each has distinctive individuality. All have impact. Presence. When any one of them walks into a room you know it. They have temperament. Not old-fashioned temper. None of that going into tantrums over every minor annoyance. They have great vitality and the physical and mental stamina essential to achievement. They scorn the too-easily-come-by-the next best thing. Their enduring careers are not accidents.
Aside from the fact that all the great stars of today have talent and work incessantly to keep themselves on top, I think each one of them has her own specific appeal.
Irene Dunne, “Magnificent Obsession,” 1935.
Myrna Loy, “Lucky Night,” 1939.
Greta Garbo, alone, personifies the ages-old mystery of the eternal female—will o’ the wisp—tantalizing. Her performances had the smoldering quality, the flow and warmth, of banked fires. Whenever you thought you’d caught the secret of her art, she was off again, leaving you with a handful of shadow. You could never feel you knew Garbo. You did know you had been touched by greatness.
Lana Turner, “Johnny Eager,” 1941.
Irene Dunne, a big star, gave me my first real break when she OK’s my playing opposite her in “Magnificent Obsession.” At that time she had (and still has) a gentility that set her apart. Irene is the epitome of poise and refinement: quiet, gentle. She projects these qualities on he screen. Too see her and to know her is an uplifting experience.
To explain the phrase “movie star,” just look at Joan Crawford. She’s it! She treats her fans with respect and honestly appreciates their loyalty. The fact that she never runs down to the corner market in blue jeans is part of that respect—not vanity. Joan is, in my estimation, the perfect and complete exponent of glamor.
Joan Crawford, “Gorgeous Hussy,” 1936.
Lana Turner, as feminine as a pink parasol, is a glamor type too. She’s flexible and convincing in any role.
Ginger Rogers, ca. 1939.
Soap and water and sunshine make me think of Ginger Rogers. Ginger’s tremendous capacity for enjoyment, her infectious enthusiasm and her vitality are like a fresh salt breeze. She glows with health, has the grin of a happy, well-adjusted teen-ager, and there’s a kind of radiance about her.

补：
最令罗伯特泰勒动心的四个表演，包括费雯丽的魂断蓝桥
刊登于1956年的Good Housekeeping 杂志

补充魂断蓝桥导演 Mervyn Leroy关于Robert Taylor对于魂断蓝桥喜爱的描述：
Bob Taylor, in his later years, when he knew he was dying, grew sentimental. Most actors keep and cherish prints of their pictures, but Taylor had never had any. He told friends then that he would like a print of one picture he had made– Waterloo Bridge. The people at the Walt Disney Studio, where he was working at the time, got one for him, and he showed it often in his last few months.