It was Hollywood. The men were strong, manly, macho. They showed muscles, drew faster than their shadow. The women did not seem to complain. The ones that Kirk Douglas hugged were to die for: Gene Tierney, Rita Hayworth, Marlene Dietrich, Joan Crawford; without forgetting his first accomplice in the theater, to whom he had to be released from anonymity: Lauren Bacall.
Behind the blue eyes and the dimple of this seducer, the seventh art resembled seventh heaven. He was a boxer, a badass, a strong mouth. Not like "be beautiful and shut up". Son of a Jewish immigrant from Russia, born Issur Danielovitch Demsky, he made his way into the street and to the cinema with his fists. He had married the American dream under a pseudonym of western. He was dripping with anger.
On the big screen, he had been a frantic wrestler, a laconic cowboy, a committed lawyer. Doc Holliday, Spartacus or Van Gogh. In dark rooms, spectators
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