Before the boulevards were lined with parades of balloons and marching bands, and long before televised football became a Thanksgiving tradition, Hollywood found its own way to give thanks. In the 1930s and ’40s, amid the klieg lights and commissary chatter, the studios of Los Angeles transformed the humble American holiday into something uniquely their own — a feast of glamour, gratitude, and carefully staged sincerity.
By Allan R. Ellenberger for The Hollywoodland Revue
HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO YOU AND YOURS FROM
THE HOLLYWOODLAND REVUE
Thanksgiving in the Golden Age wasn’t about pilgrims or pumpkins. It was about performance — both for the cameras and for the heart.
A Holiday the Studios Could Stage
Hollywood had always been a dream factory, and nothing delighted its architects more than turning everyday life into spectacle. Publicists knew that Thanksgiving offered the perfect tableau for wholesome publicity: beautiful actresses carving turkeys, dashing leading men serving pumpkin pie, and grateful studio families gathering under the benevolent gaze of their moguls.
Throughout the 1930s, fan magazines like Photoplay and Modern Screen printed spreads of stars smiling over golden-brown birds and heaping tables of mashed potatoes. Jean Harlow was photographed lifting a silver platter with theatrical poise; Claudette Colbert arranged cranberries in her satin gown; Shirley Temple, all curls and innocence, beamed beside an impossibly large turkey.
These images weren’t spontaneous — they were as carefully staged as any scene on a soundstage. But behind their glossy perfection lay something genuine: the studios understood that their audiences, mired in Depression-era hardship, wanted to believe their favorite stars were as grateful — and as human — as they were.
Feasts on the Lot
For many actors and crew members, the studios were not just workplaces — they were families. Thanksgiving Day was often spent not at home, but at the studio commissary, where long tables were lined with turkey, dressing, and champagne, and the hum of laughter echoed beneath the painted ceilings.
At MGM, Louis B. Mayer presided like a benevolent patriarch, inviting contract players who had nowhere else to go. Judy Garland, Mickey Rooney, and the studio chorus girls joined cameramen, carpenters, and writers in a single, glittering family of make-believe.
At Warner Bros., stars such as Errol Flynn and Bette Davis sat elbow-to-elbow with extras and crew. “No one dined alone,” a columnist once wrote, describing the scene as “part dinner, part pep rally for the dream factory.”
Over at Paramount, Cecil B. DeMille would often lead a brief prayer before the meal, giving thanks, as he put it, “for the privilege of creating beauty for the screen.”
It was, perhaps, the one day of the year when the machinery of Hollywood paused — not for profit, but for pride.
Serving Those Who Served
When World War II broke out, Thanksgiving in Hollywood took on a new tone — one of patriotism and purpose. The stars who once posed beside roasted turkeys now donned aprons and uniforms, serving dinners to soldiers and sailors.
At the Hollywood Canteen, co-founded by Bette Davis and John Garfield, servicemen ate turkey and cranberry sauce served by the same hands that once graced movie posters. Marlene Dietrich, Lana Turner, and Lucille Ball volunteered as hostesses; Bing Crosby crooned “I’ve Got Plenty to Be Thankful For” between courses.
Meanwhile, abroad, Bob Hope and Marlene Dietrich spent Thanksgivings on makeshift stages, performing for troops in muddy camps from North Africa to Italy. Clark Gable, serving as an Air Force officer, shared his rations with airmen far from home — a simple meal of turkey loaf and canned peaches.
Hollywood had found a new kind of stage — one defined not by artifice, but by service.
The Thanksgiving Tables of the Stars
For those who stayed home, Thanksgiving in the Hollywood Hills or the San Fernando Valley could be as grand as any film premiere.
At Pickfair, the estate of Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, Thanksgiving was a regal affair. Guests — often Chaplin, Lillian Gish, and Rudolph Valentino in earlier years — dined beneath chandeliers while Pickford, ever the gracious hostess, made sure the turkey was carved perfectly.
In contrast, Carole Lombard and Clark Gable preferred a rustic celebration at their Encino ranch. Lombard, who loved to cook, served pheasant, sweet corn pudding, and homemade pies. Guests recalled that her laughter carried through the house louder than any orchestra.
Joan Crawford, ever the perfectionist, insisted on immaculate linen, crystal glasses, and white roses for her Thanksgiving table — even when she dined alone. “Tradition,” she once said, “is something you do beautifully or not at all.”
In every household — from mansions to studio apartments — the holiday revealed something essential about its host: beneath the façades of fame, the yearning for family, order, and gratitude remained constant.
A Holiday of Quiet Gratitude
Though Christmas drew the headlines and New Year’s threw the parties, Thanksgiving in classic Hollywood held a quieter, more reflective charm. For a town built on reinvention, it was one of the few days when stars looked backward — to the towns they’d left, the families they’d outgrown, and the luck that had carried them west.
In a 1931 interview, silent star Colleen Moore captured it best when she told Modern Screen:
“We’re all pilgrims here, really — only our Mayflower was a train to California.”
For many, Thanksgiving was a moment of homesickness wrapped in gratitude. The studios gave them fame, but they often missed the warmth of small-town kitchens and snow-covered porches.
Yet, under the palms of Los Angeles, they created new traditions — dinners on studio lots, laughter in canteens, candlelight in Beverly Hills dining rooms. And in doing so, they turned Thanksgiving into a uniquely Hollywood blend of sentiment and spectacle.
Epilogue: The Glow After the Feast
As the last dishes were cleared and the spotlights dimmed, a hush fell over the city. In hillside homes and empty studios, the stars retreated to quiet corners — some alone, some surrounded by friends.
A radio played softly: Bing Crosby’s voice drifting through the November night —
“I’ve got plenty to be thankful for…”
And for a brief, shimmering moment, Hollywood — the city of make-believe — truly meant it.
Share you Thanksgiving memories below:
Add comment
Comments