Which is where the myth of Marie Prevost begins. Police noted at the time that there were small bite marks on her legs, which the coroner suggested came from her dog nipping its owner to try and wake her up. In his book Hollywood Babylon, controversial writer Kenneth Anger suggested the dog made "mincemeat out of his mistress" in order to survive, though this has since been proved a fabrication.
All of which brings us to Nick Lowe, and his Anger-influenced retelling (and re-spelling) of Marie Prevost's life, a song which manages to fall somewhere between a touching examination of the fickleness of fame... and a rather sensationalised tabloid joke. I've got a lot of respect for Nick Lowe as a songwriter, but Marie Provost is very much the work of a young songwriter, influenced by the outrage of punk, looking to make his mark. Subtlety only comes with age, I guess...
Marie Provost was a movie queen
Mysterious angel of the silent screen
And run like the wind
The nation's young men steam
When Marie crossed the silent screen
Oh she came out west from New York
But when the talkies came
Mary just couldn't cope
Her public said Mary take a walk
All the way back to New York
As her nights grew long
And her days grew bleak
It's all downhill
Once you've passed your peak
Mary got ready for that last big sleep
The cops came in
And they looked around
Throwing up everywhere over
What they found
The handywork of Marie's little dachshund
That hungry little dachshund
