Robert Taylor: The Life Story Behind Hollywood's Handsome Star
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Robert Taylor was the prettiest man in Hollywood, and for twenty years, he was also one of its biggest stars. He had dark hair, a strong jaw, and a smile that made audiences sigh, and the great studio of MGM built him into the perfect romantic leading man. He played lovers and soldiers, princes and cowboys, and he did it with a grace that few actors could match. But Taylor was not only a pretty face. He was a serious, hard-working actor who wanted to be more than the studio’s handsome hero, and he spent his career trying to prove it, in films that were often better than the ones the studio gave him credit for.
He was born Spangler Arlington Brugh on 5 August 1911, in Filley, Nebraska, a small farming town where life was quiet and hard. His father was a doctor, and his mother was a homemaker, and the family lived a modest, respectable life in the middle of America. Young Spangler was a handsome boy, and a good student, and he loved music, playing the cello and dreaming of a life in the arts. He was not a boy who dreamed of Hollywood. He dreamed of other things, and Hollywood found him by chance, as it found so many young men in those years, and it changed his name, his life, and his future in a single stroke.
What makes Taylor’s story worth telling is the long, steady arc of his career. He was not a flash of fame who burned out quickly. He was a star for more than thirty years, from the mid-1930s to the late 1960s, and he worked through the golden age of Hollywood, through a war, and into the age of television. He was a man who adapted, who worked, and who kept his dignity, even when the studio system that had made him began to fade. This is the story of a Nebraska farm boy who became the handsomest man in Hollywood, and who tried, all his life, to be more than handsome.
A Nebraska Farm Boy with a Cello
Spangler Arlington Brugh grew up in Filley, Nebraska, a small town on the plains, where his father, Spangler Sr., worked as a doctor, and his mother, Ruth, looked after the home. It was a quiet, orderly life, and young Spangler was a good boy, a good student, and a talented musician. He played the cello, and he played it well, and for a time, it seemed that music might be his future. He went to Doane College in Nebraska, where he studied and played music, and he was a young man with a future in the arts, though not yet in the theatre. He was handsome, he was polite, and he was the kind of young man that people in a small town were proud of.
He moved to California to study at Pomona College, where he continued his music and began to act in plays. It was there that he was noticed by a talent scout from MGM, the greatest studio in Hollywood, who saw his looks and his natural ease and offered him a screen test. He passed it, and the studio signed him, and they gave him a new name: Robert Taylor. The name was chosen because it sounded strong and simple, and because it suited the young man from Nebraska. He was twenty-three years old, and he had never made a film before, and suddenly he was under contract to the biggest studio in the world. It was a sudden and dizzying change, and he took it with a calm that would become his trademark.
His first films were small, and he played small parts, learning his craft on the job, as so many young actors did in those years. He was handsome, and the camera loved him, but he was not yet a good actor, and he knew it. He worked hard, he studied, and he got better with each film. He played in westerns, in dramas, and in comedies, and he began to build a name for himself as a reliable and charming leading man. The studio liked him, because he was handsome, because he was easy to work with, and because he never caused trouble. He was a model studio actor, and he stayed that way for the rest of his career.
In 1935, he made A Tale of Two Cities, based on the novel by Charles Dickens, where he played Sydney Carton, a man who gives his life for the woman he loves. It was a serious, romantic part, and it showed that Taylor could do more than smile. He played Carton with a sadness and a nobility that audiences loved, and the film was a great success. It was his first great role, and it made him a star. He was no longer a young man from Nebraska learning his trade. He was Robert Taylor, and he was on his way to the top.
Camille, Waterloo Bridge, and the Great Romantic Roles
In 1936, Taylor made the film that would define him as a romantic star. Camille was based on a famous play and novel, and it starred Greta Garbo, the greatest actress of her time, as a beautiful woman who is dying of consumption and who loves a young man, played by Taylor. It was a sad, beautiful film, and Taylor played the lover with a tenderness and a sincerity that matched Garbo’s great performance. The film was a success, and it made Taylor one of the most famous romantic actors in the world. He was, by then, the man every woman wanted to marry, and every man wanted to be, and the studio built him into the perfect lover.
He followed it with more romantic films, and he became known as the handsomest man in Hollywood, a title that was both a blessing and a burden. He played in Waterloo Bridge in 1940, a sad love story about a soldier and a ballerina in London during the First World War, with Vivien Leigh as his co-star. It was a beautiful, heartbreaking film, and Taylor played the soldier with a warmth and a grief that moved audiences to tears. The film is still loved today, and it is one of the great romantic films of its time. It showed that Taylor could play a man who loved deeply, and who lost deeply, and who carried that loss with dignity.
He also played in westerns, in adventure films, and in dramas, and he worked with the greatest actresses of his time: Garbo, Leigh, Joan Crawford, and many others. He was a versatile actor, and he was willing to try any part the studio gave him, even when the part was not a good one. He was not a man who fought the studio. He was a man who did his work, and who did it well, and who trusted that the work would speak for itself. That trust was not always repaid, because the studio often gave him films that were less than his talent deserved, but he never complained in public, and he never stopped working.
In those years, he married the actress Barbara Stanwyck, one of the greatest actresses of her time, in 1939. It was a famous marriage, between two great stars, and it lasted for thirteen years, until they divorced in 1952. They were both strong, independent people, and their marriage was a partnership of equals, but it was also a difficult one, because both of them were busy, and both of them were famous, and the pressures of Hollywood were hard on any marriage. Taylor later married Ursula Thiess, a German actress, and they stayed together until his death. He had two children with her, and he was a devoted father and husband in his later years.
The War, the Navy, and the Return to Hollywood
When the Second World War came, Taylor joined the United States Naval Reserve, and he served as a flight instructor, teaching young men to fly. It was important work, and he did it with the same seriousness he brought to his films. He was not a combat pilot, but he served his country, and he came home with a deeper sense of duty and a wider view of the world. The war took years from his career, as it did for so many actors, but it also gave him a maturity that showed in his later films. He was no longer a young romantic hero. He was a man who had seen the world, and who understood what it cost to serve.
After the war, he came back to Hollywood, and he found that the film business had changed. The studios were still powerful, but television was beginning to take audiences away, and the old system was starting to fade. Taylor kept working, in films and in television, and he adapted to the changes with a calm that few stars managed. He made westerns, he made crime films, and he made dramas, and he played older, harder men, men who had lived and who had lost, and who carried their losses with dignity. It was a new phase of his career, and it suited him, because he was no longer a young man, and he did not pretend to be one.
In 1951, he made Quo Vadis, a great epic film about Rome in the time of Nero, where he played Marcus Vinicius, a Roman soldier who falls in love with a Christian woman and who must choose between his duty and his love. It was one of the biggest films ever made, with a cast of thousands, and it was a great success. Taylor played the soldier with a strength and a sincerity that made the audience believe in him, and the film showed that he could still carry a great epic, even in his forties. It was one of the last great epics of the studio era, and it was a fitting film for a man who had been a star since the 1930s.
He also made Ivanhoe in 1952, a film about the great English hero, and he played the title part with a grace and a courage that audiences loved. It was a swashbuckling film, full of knights and tournaments, and it showed that Taylor could still play a hero, even as he grew older. He was, by then, one of the last of the great MGM stars, a man who had survived the studio system, the war, and the coming of television, and who was still working, still respected, and still loved by the audience.
The Later Films, Television, and the End of an Era
In the late 1950s and 1960s, Taylor worked more in television than in films, as many older stars did. He starred in The Detectives, a television series about a police captain, and he played the part with the same calm and authority he had brought to his films. It was a new medium for him, and he adapted to it well, because television asked for the same qualities he had always had: a steady presence, a clear voice, and a face that the camera loved. He worked steadily, and he was respected by the younger actors who worked with him, who saw in him a man who had been a star for thirty years and who had never lost his professionalism.
He also made films in Europe, where directors still wanted him for his looks and his presence, and he played in westerns and in adventure films that took him far from Hollywood. He was no longer the young lover, but he was still a handsome man, and he still had the grace that had made him a star. He worked until the end of his life, because work was what he had always done, and because he did not know how to stop. He was a man of the old school, and he believed that an actor’s job was to work, to show up, and to give his best, no matter what the part was.
His health began to fail in the late 1960s. He was a heavy smoker for most of his life, and he developed lung cancer, a disease that took many men of his generation. He died on 8 June 1969, in Santa Monica, California, at the age of fifty-seven. It was a young age to die, and it was a loss for Hollywood, because it took away one of the last great stars of the studio era. He left behind a wife, two children, and a body of work that included some of the finest romantic films ever made. He was buried in California, and tributes came from the people who had worked with him, who remembered him as a kind, quiet, and professional man, a man who had never been loud, and who had never asked for more than the chance to do his work well.
He is remembered today as the handsomest man in Hollywood, as the lover in Camille and Waterloo Bridge, and as the soldier in Quo Vadis, and as a star who worked for more than thirty years without ever losing his dignity. His films are still watched, and his face is still known, and his story is a reminder of a time when Hollywood made stars, and when a star could be both beautiful and serious, both romantic and real.
Johnny Eager, Bataan, and the War Years
In 1941, Taylor made Johnny Eager, a crime film where he played a gangster who falls in love with a young woman and who tries, in his own way, to be a better man. It was a dark, hard part, very different from the romantic heroes he had played before, and Taylor played it with a toughness and a vulnerability that surprised audiences. He was not the handsome lover in this film. He was a criminal, a man who lies, who cheats, and who loves, and who pays a price for his love. The film was a success, and it showed that Taylor could play a villain, or at least a man who was not good, and make the audience care about him. It was a brave choice, and it proved that his range was wider than the studio had allowed him to see.
Two years later, in 1943, he made Bataan, a war film about American soldiers who fight a hopeless battle against the Japanese in the Philippines. Taylor played a sergeant, a tough, steady man who leads his men through a terrible fight, and who dies at the end, as they all do. It was a sad, powerful film, made during the war, when the outcome of the war was still uncertain, and it showed the courage of ordinary soldiers in a way that audiences recognised. Taylor played the sergeant with a quiet, moral force, a man who does his duty, who does not complain, and who dies as he lived: with dignity. It was a fitting part for a man who would soon join the Navy himself, and who understood what duty meant.
These war years were a turning point in Taylor’s career, because they showed a harder, more serious side of him, and because they came just before he left Hollywood to serve. He was no longer only the romantic hero. He was a man who could play a gangster, a soldier, and a leader, and who could make each one feel true. The studio had built him as a lover, but the war, and the films he made before it, showed that he was more than that. He was an actor, and a serious one, and he was ready for the next phase of his career, even if the studio did not always see it.
The Law and Jake Wade and the Later Westerns
In the late 1950s, Taylor made westerns that showed him as an older, harder man. In 1958, he made The Law and Jake Wade, a western about two men who were once partners in crime and who meet again, years later, on opposite sides of the law. Taylor played Jake Wade, a former outlaw who has become a marshal, a man who tries to live an honest life but who is pulled back into his past. It was a tense, intelligent film, and Taylor played Wade with a weariness and a moral force that suited the story. He was a man who had lived, who had made mistakes, and who was trying to make things right, and the audience believed him, because Taylor himself was a man who had lived, and who understood what it was to try to be better.
He also made Cattle King in 1963, a western about a rancher who fights against a group of men who want to take his land. It was a solid, honest film, and Taylor played the rancher with a strength and a dignity that audiences loved. He was, by then, in his fifties, and he was playing older men, men who had built a life and who were fighting to keep it, and he did it with a grace that few actors manage. These westerns were not as famous as his romantic films, but they were good films, and they showed that Taylor could still carry a picture, even as he grew older, and that his gift had not faded with age. It had deepened, and it had become wiser, and it showed a man who understood life better than he had when he was young.
He also worked in television in these years, starring in The Detectives, a series about a police captain, where he played the part with the same calm and authority he had brought to his films. It was a new medium for him, and he adapted to it well, because television asked for the same qualities he had always had: a steady presence, a clear voice, and a face that the camera loved. He worked steadily, and he was respected by the younger actors who worked with him, who saw in him a man who had been a star for thirty years and who had never lost his professionalism. It was a fitting late career for a man who had always been a worker, and who had never stopped trying to be better.
My Take:
I think Robert Taylor is the star I find hardest to judge fairly, because his greatest gift was also his greatest problem. He was so handsome that people could not see past his face, and that must have been frustrating for a man who wanted to be taken seriously. When I watch his films, I see a man who is trying very hard to be more than a pretty face, and I see a studio that often would not let him. Camille is a beautiful film, and Taylor is beautiful in it, but I also see a man who is acting with real feeling, who is not only standing there looking handsome. He is listening, he is loving, and he is grieving, and that is not easy to do. I think we should give him more credit for it than history has given him.
What I admire most about him is the steadiness. Taylor was a star for more than thirty years, and he never had a great scandal, never had a public breakdown, and never stopped working. He showed up, he did his job, and he went home. That sounds simple, but it is not simple in Hollywood, where so many stars burn out, or break down, or lose their way. Taylor did not. He was a professional, in the best sense of the word, and he kept his dignity through the golden age, through a war, and into the age of television, when the world he had known was fading away. I respect that, because it is a kind of strength that does not make headlines, but that is real all the same.
Camille is the film I think about most, because it is a film about love and death, and because Taylor plays opposite Greta Garbo, who was the greatest actress of her time. To act with Garbo and not disappear is a great achievement, and Taylor did it. He played Armand as a young man who loves deeply, who is betrayed, and who forgives, and he did it with a sincerity that matched Garbo’s great performance. I think that is a measure of his talent: that he could stand beside the greatest actress in the world and hold his own, not by being louder, but by being true. That is a quiet kind of greatness, and it is one that Taylor had in abundance.
Waterloo Bridge is another film that stays with me, because it is a sad love story, and because Taylor plays a soldier who loves a ballerina, and who loses her, and who carries that loss with a dignity that is heartbreaking. Vivien Leigh was his co-star, and she was a great actress, and together they made a film that still makes audiences cry. I think about that film when I think about Taylor, because it shows what he could do when he was given a good story and a good partner: he could be tender, he could be sad, and he could make the audience feel what his character felt. That is not the work of a man who is only handsome. It is the work of an actor.
I also think about his service in the war, because it tells me something about his character. He joined the Naval Reserve, he taught young men to fly, and he did it without making a fuss. He did not use the war to make himself look good. He simply served, and he came home, and he went back to work. That is a quiet kind of duty, and it is one that I admire. Many stars served in the war, and they all deserve respect, but Taylor’s service was real, and it was important, and it showed that he was a man who understood that fame was not the most important thing in life. Duty was, and he did his duty.
But I also think Taylor’s story is a sad one, in a quiet way, because he was never quite given the parts he deserved. The studio saw him as a romantic hero, and they gave him romantic films, again and again, even when he was capable of more. He played in westerns, in epics, and in dramas, and he did them all well, but he was never given the kind of dark, difficult part that would have shown the world what he could really do. I think that is a waste, and I think it is a reminder that Hollywood often wastes its best actors by putting them in a box and refusing to let them out. Taylor stayed in his box, and he did his work, and he never complained, but I wonder what he could have done if he had been given the chance to play a villain, or a broken man, or a man who was not handsome at all. We will never know, and that is a loss.
If I had to choose one Taylor film to show to someone who had never seen him, I would choose Waterloo Bridge, because it is the film that shows everything he could do: the romance, the sadness, and the dignity. But I would also ask that person to watch Quo Vadis, because it shows him in a great epic, as a Roman soldier who must choose between love and duty, and because it shows the strength and the sincerity that he brought to every part. Together, those two films show a man who could be tender and strong, romantic and serious, and who could carry a great film without ever seeming to try. That is a rare gift, and it is one that Taylor had.
I also think about his marriage to Barbara Stanwyck, because it was a marriage between two great stars, and because it lasted for thirteen years, and because it ended in divorce. They were both strong, independent people, and their marriage was a partnership of equals, but it was also a difficult one, because both of them were busy, and both of them were famous. I do not know the details of their marriage, and I would not pretend to, but I think it tells me that even two great stars, who love each other, can find it hard to live together in a world that is always watching. Taylor later married Ursula Thiess, and they stayed together until his death, and they had two children, and he was a devoted husband and father in his later years. That second marriage, quiet and lasting, is a happier part of his story, and it shows that he found peace in the end.
In the end, I think Robert Taylor’s story teaches me that a person can be beautiful and serious at the same time, and that the world is often too quick to judge a person by their face. Taylor was handsome, and the world saw only the handsomeness, and it missed the actor underneath. He was a good actor, a steady worker, and a decent man, and he gave the audience thirty years of fine work, from A Tale of Two Cities to Quo Vadis, from Camille to Waterloo Bridge. He died too young, at fifty-seven, of lung cancer, a disease that took so many men of his time, and he left behind a body of work that deserves to be seen by new audiences. I hope people will watch his films, and see past the face, and find the actor, and the man, who was there all along.
I also think about Johnny Eager, because it shows a different Taylor, a man who is not a hero at all. He plays a gangster who falls in love, and who tries to be better, and who fails, and he plays him with a toughness that surprises people who only know him as a romantic hero. I like that film, because it shows that Taylor could be dark, and hard, and flawed, and that he was not afraid to play a man the audience would not love. That is a brave choice for a star who was built on being loved, and it tells me that Taylor wanted more from his career than the studio would give him. He wanted to be an actor, not only a face, and Johnny Eager is proof that he was one.
I also think about Bataan, because it is a film about soldiers who fight a hopeless battle, and who die, and who do their duty anyway. Taylor played the sergeant with a quiet force, a man who leads his men and who dies with them, and he did it with a dignity that feels real. I think about that film when I think about the war, because it was made during the war, when the outcome was uncertain, and when the audience needed to see men who would stand and fight, even when there was no hope. Taylor gave them that, and he did it without boasting, without shouting, and without asking for praise. He simply stood, and did his duty, and died, as the sergeant did. That is a kind of acting that does not need a speech. It only needs a face, and a pause, and the audience will do the rest.
If I had to choose one more Taylor film to show to someone who had never seen him, I would choose A Tale of Two Cities, because it is the film that made him a star, and because it shows him as Sydney Carton, a man who gives his life for the woman he loves. It is a sad, beautiful film, and Taylor played Carton with a nobility that audiences loved. But I would also ask that person to watch The Law and Jake Wade, because it shows him as an older man, playing a former outlaw who tries to live an honest life, and who is pulled back into his past. Together, those two films show a man who could be young and old, romantic and hard, and who could make the audience believe in him, in every phase of his life.
In the end, I keep coming back to the face, and to the man behind it. Taylor was handsome, and the world saw only the handsomeness, and it missed the actor underneath. He was a good actor, a steady worker, and a decent man, and he gave the audience thirty years of fine work, from A Tale of Two Cities to Quo Vadis, from Camille to Waterloo Bridge, from Johnny Eager to The Law and Jake Wade. He died too young, at fifty-seven, of lung cancer, a disease that took so many men of his time, and he left behind a body of work that deserves to be seen by new audiences. I hope people will watch his films, and see past the face, and find the actor, and the man, who was there all along.
I also think about his second marriage, to Ursula Thiess, because it was a quiet, lasting marriage, and because it shows a happier part of his story. They married in 1954, and they stayed together until his death in 1969, and they had two children, and Taylor was a devoted husband and father in his later years. I like that, because it shows that a man who had a famous, difficult first marriage could find peace in a second one, and that a quiet life, away from the cameras, could be a happy one. It is a reminder that fame is not the most important thing in life, and that a family, a home, and a person who loves you are worth more than any film, or any award, or any applause.
I also want to say something about the way his films are watched today, because it is different from the way they were watched in his lifetime. Young people who have never seen a romantic film from the 1930s watch Camille in film classes, and they see a film that is sad, beautiful, and full of love, and they argue about it, and that is a good thing. A film that can still start an argument ninety years after it was made is a film that matters, and Taylor’s best films still matter, not because they are perfect, but because they are honest about love, about loss, and about a man who tried to be more than handsome. I hope people keep watching them, and keep seeing past the face, to the actor underneath.
Frequently Asked Questions
What was Robert Taylor’s real name and where was he born?
He was born Spangler Arlington Brugh on 5 August 1911 in Filley, Nebraska. His father was a doctor, and he played the cello as a boy before he was discovered by MGM while studying in California.
Which Robert Taylor film is his most famous romantic role?
Camille from 1936, where he played Armand opposite Greta Garbo, is his most famous romantic role. Waterloo Bridge from 1940, with Vivien Leigh, is also one of the great romantic films of its time.
Did Robert Taylor serve in the Second World War?
Yes, he joined the United States Naval Reserve and served as a flight instructor, teaching young men to fly. He came home after the war and returned to his film career with a deeper maturity.
Was Robert Taylor married to Barbara Stanwyck?
Yes, they married in 1939 and stayed together for thirteen years until their divorce in 1952. He later married the actress Ursula Thiess, and they stayed together until his death, with two children.
What epic film did Robert Taylor star in after the war?
He starred in Quo Vadis in 1951, a great epic about Rome in the time of Nero, where he played Marcus Vinicius, a Roman soldier who falls in love with a Christian woman.
How did Robert Taylor die?
He died of lung cancer on 8 June 1969 in Santa Monica, California, at the age of fifty-seven. He had been a heavy smoker for most of his life.
