Mary Astor, born Lucile Vasconcellos Langhanke in 1906 in Illinois, had a pretty wild ride to stardom. Her folks were super ambitious—like, pushy stage parents before it was even a thing. They saw her good looks and basically shoved her into every beauty contest they could find, hoping to score something big. And hey, it worked: one of those contests caught the eye of Hollywood big shots, and suddenly, teenage Mary had a ticket to Tinseltown. Her first movie gig? A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it bit in The Scarecrow (1920). Not exactly glamorous, but it cracked the door open. She kept hustling through the early ‘20s, snagging small roles until 1924 hit. That’s when she landed a juicy part opposite John Barrymore in Beau Brummel. Boom—career launched. And yeah, she and Barrymore had a thing, but that fizzled out before they could light up the screen together again. Astor wasn’t just another pretty face who faded when the talkies rolled in. Her voice and screen presence kept her in the game. Through the ‘30s, she racked up hits—Red Dust, Convention City, Man of Iron, The Prisoner of Zenda, you name it. By 1941, she snagged an Oscar for The Great Lie and showed up in The Maltese Falcon. But life got rocky: divorces, losing her first husband in a plane crash, struggles with booze and health issues. Her star faded, roles slowed down, and after her last film in 1964, she’d knocked out 123 movies. She spent her later years at the Motion Picture Country Home, passing away in 1987 at 81.
referencennWild story—she actually brought her daughter Marylyn into the world two months early, right on her yacht, floating out in Honolulu. Like, not in a hospital, not even on dry land. Just the Pacific rolling under her and a whole lot of panic, I’d imagine. Both of them, teetering on the edge. People say it was touch and go for hours—nobody was sure if either would pull through. It’s one of those jaw-dropping moments that almost sounds made up, but nope, it’s real. Think about it: in the middle of paradise, just you, the ocean, and the craziest emergency imaginable. No fancy doctors or hospital gear, just adrenaline and luck (and probably some screaming). It’s the kind of thing that sticks with you—trauma and miracle all rolled into one. They both made it, though. Against the odds, honestly. And people never really forgot about that day.
Movies are this weird mix of art and chaos, right? Painters got their brushes, musicians got their instruments, and writers just need a keyboard or a notebook. But actors? Oh man, actors have to wait—wait for the right role, the right director, the right script, and sometimes just for someone to yell “action!” It’s like living in a constant state of anticipation, hoping your next big moment is right around the corner. There’s this whole world behind the scenes where actors are stuck in limbo, while everyone else seems to be creating non-stop. It's kinda wild if you think about it. The painter and musician, they can make something whenever inspiration strikes. But movie actors? They’re always waiting for permission to start, and that can drive a person nuts. It’s both the beauty and the curse of the film world—your talent’s ready, but you can’t just go; you gotta wait for the green light. Welcome to Hollywood, baby.
May 3, 1906
5′ 6″ (1.68 m)
Konidela Ram Charan
Quincy, Illinois, USA
Yes, Marylyn Hauoli Thorpe (Roh)
Otto Ludwig Wilhelm Langhanke and Surekha
119 years old