Glamorous Karine Calvay was one of the earliest smart and ambitious French actresses of the post–World War II era to build a desirable Hollywood image. Coming from a legal background, this iconic figure became immersed in scandalous legal battles and an outrageous love life. Fans still debate whether certain events were acts of courage or pure rascality. And yes—what did Karine Calvay mean by, “I had his destiny between my legs”?

Corinne Calvet was irresistibly charming—magnetic at first glance, uncompromising up close. If it wasn’t on her terms, you didn’t get her. People often describe the “smart and ambitious” as compensating for a disadvantage; with Karine, the opposite was true. She was naturally gifted: beauty, brilliance, and commercial savvy. Yet within Hollywood’s machine, her allure was narrowed to sex appeal.

Even so, Karine stood among the few French performers with a robust Hollywood career and multiple American films to her credit. Her roles often came with glamour and juicy sensuality. Critics called her one of the most outlandish 1950s arrivals whose introduction was overwhelmed by scandal. She spent precious years battling to reclaim her true image from romantic shams. Her legal fights with three husbands and lovers became as famous as her films.

If she wasn’t indicting someone, she was being indicted. The media devoured the litigations—sometimes more than her performances. But Karine wasn’t a “dumb blonde.” She grew up among Parisian intellectuals and brought an existentialist edge onto Hollywood sets. You couldn’t take the academic luminosity from a woman who earned a spot at the Sorbonne. She studied criminal law before leaving bureaucracy for entertainment.

Most of her films arrived in the 1950s, when Hollywood wanted international stars for global markets. She came in high spirits—and collided with realities that infuriated her. She famously filed a million‑dollar slander suit against Zsa Zsa Gabor for saying she wasn’t French. Though dismissed, her French origins were affirmed. The case became just one chapter in a long romantic‑legal quagmire.

Karine knew how to switch on her seductive charm when it served her. She understood her spell and used it strategically. Did she spend on the best dresses to catch a director or producer’s eye? Likely yes—that was her play in an industry tuned to beauty. On arrival, studios touted her as a blend of Dietrich and Rita Hayworth.

But her eccentric image clashed with the publicity‑crafted persona. Analysts blamed not just her choices but the mediocre, uncreative vehicles she was given. Her sultry appearance and flashing gaze added a naughty humor to her public aura. In time, she became remembered less for a single classic and more for her sizzling private life. And for those sensational legal battles.

Born in 1925 as Corinne Dibot to a wealthy Parisian family, she had a scientist mother credited with developing Pyrex glass. She survived World War II, though her sisters were taken hostage by Germans. Corinne and her father fled to Paris. She dreamed of law and studied criminal justice, but her circle at Café de Flore–style haunts nudged her toward acting.

She trained at Charles Dullin’s school—alma mater of Simone Signoret and Gérard Philipe—then at L’École de Cinéma. Adapting to performance came naturally. “A lawyer needs exactly what an actor needs—strong personality, persuasion, and a good voice,” she quipped. She started on French radio, stage, and cinema in the 1940s, with an early uncredited role in Blind Desire.

Her French dubbing of Rita Hayworth signaled Hollywood interest. Her father asked her not to use the family name, so she rebranded as “Calvet,” borrowed from a wine bottle. Post‑war studios were importing European women to rival Garbo, Dietrich, and Bergman. Paramount noticed and eyed her for Sealed Verdict as a suspected traitor. Too young, they decided—Florence Marley got the part.

Paramount parked her for nearly a year, while she trained and sharpened her English. Some whispered she spent more time in nightclubs than in lessons. Her U.S. entry permit was nearly lost due to suspected links to French existentialist circles and HUAC scrutiny. Paramount ended the contract, but MGM offered a six‑month deal after a screen test. Then came John Bromfield.

Those were trial‑by‑fire months—she even survived a car accident. Critics say her “method” for avoiding repatriation was a U.S. marriage. She met and fell for actor John Bromfield. When Hal B. Wallis saw her test, he steered her back to Paramount for Rope of Sand. Directed by William Dieterle, she played opposite Burt Lancaster and Paul Henreid—her Hollywood debut.

Rope of Sand was second‑tier, but it launched her. She married Bromfield, a handsome 27‑year‑old in the film, over his mother’s objections. They wed in Boulder City and honeymooned at the Flamingo in Vegas. Wallis, however, was romantically interested in Karine. Her marriage didn’t deter him. He allegedly leveraged Bromfield’s career against her refusals.

Calvet said Wallis promised to help Bromfield if she agreed to his advances. That’s what she meant by “I had his destiny between my legs.” One afternoon, while Bromfield was on location, Wallis came to their apartment. She locked herself in the bathroom, shouting she was married. He insisted he’d orchestrated the marriage for studio convenience. She refused—and Bromfield’s contract was terminated.

Wallis then cast her in My Friend Irma Goes West with Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis. “I couldn’t believe he’d put me in such a script,” she fumed. Rope of Sand had made her feel valuable, but she feared this comedy would kill her dramatic prospects. She balked at a scene with an infatuated chimp. Then came Sailor Beware—another Martin & Lewis vehicle she didn’t want.

It was one humiliation after another. She described a Paramount questionnaire as invasive—pajamas or nightgown, and preferred “type” of men. “It felt like a brothel madam’s intake form,” she said. She tore it up and stormed out—yet still got the contract. On arrival in New York, she realized the press and studio wanted a sex symbol, not a thinker.

She blamed American stereotypes about French women—raised eyebrows and sidelong leers. She’d been warned to watch for “American wolves.” The head of talent, William Meiklejohn, gave her “special treatment” in an exotic car; she declined. In 1952, she sued Zsa Zsa Gabor for calling her a Cockney English girl who couldn’t speak French. The suit went nowhere—Gabor called it meritless, and the court agreed.

Sixteen years later, her name hit headlines again—this time as defendant. Donald Scott, her beau of six years, sought $878,000 in assets he’d hidden under her name during his divorce. He claimed she cast a spell—voodoo, even—to lure him into it. The tabloids feasted. In the end, Calvet reportedly settled for $200,000.

Beyond the boyfriends, she believed in marriage—three times over. Even with a son from her second husband, none survived the pressures. She once observed that American men make wonderful husbands—if you don’t love them. If you do, don’t marry them. In her view, they were “lousy lovers” and “little boys who don’t know what they want.”

Her advice to romantics in America: think twice. “In America you don’t have romances—you have affairs,” she said. “And these affairs lack class.” Karine Calvet died in 2001 at 76 from a cerebral hemorrhage. If you want to keep exploring classic Hollywood, don’t miss our next video on Elsa Martinelli. You’ll see the photo shoots that made her famous—and how she dared to bare when it was considered taboo.