Subtitles section Play video Print subtitles Hedy Lamarr led a pretty nonconventional life for a Hollywood starlet. From fleeing a life in Nazi-occupied Austria and a Nazi-loving husband, to helping create technology for the US military, Hedy was more than just a pretty face. Hedy Lamarr, the Nazi-fighting bombshell who made cell phones possible. Today we're exploring the badass life of Hedy Lamarr. But before we do, why don't you click on that subscribe button? It's what Hedy Lamarr would have wanted. Now, let's get heavy on Hedy. Hedy Lamarr was born into an affluent family in Vienna, Austria during the heyday of Viennese intellectualism in 1914. Her father was a successful banker, and her mother was a gifted concert pianist. Vienna, in the early 20th century, was a real hotbed for geniuses, nurturing the brains of Sigmund Freud and artist Gustave Klimt, amongst many others. Hedy's education reflected her higher social standing. She was taught through private tutors before eventually attending a finishing school. She left school to pursue a life on the stage and screen, at only 16 years old. Lamarr was first married in 1933 at the young age of 18 years old, to an extremely wealthy man named Friedrich Fritz Mandel. Fritz was a rather controlling husband. Lamarr claimed that the stone cold charmer kept her as a prisoner in her own home. Fritz's wealth was made from that sweet, sweet arms manufacturing money, a lucrative business in Europe in the years leading up to World War II. Unfortunately, he was also on the wrong side of history. This bona fide catch was a big old fan of Benito Mussolini and Adolf Hitler. As she saw into the reality of her marriage to a Hitler sympathizer and the increasingly dangerous political climate of Europe, Lamarr knew it was time to get the hell out of there. But it wouldn't be easy. Lamarr executed an elaborate, dramatic escape from Fritz. Her plan sounded like something that was lifted right out of one of her movies. It involved drugging her husband, dressing up as one of the maids, fleeing to Paris, filing for divorce, and then moving to London, a place where Fritz couldn't follow her. Still, this is half as crazy as Katie Holmes trying to flee Tom Cruise. Hedy Lamarr walked, so Katie Holmes could run. Before she became Ms. Lamarr, well-known Hollywood actress, Hedy used her maiden name by birth, Hedy Kiesler, to light up the European big screen. She changed her name when she moved to the United States, setting her sights for Tinseltown as soon as she escaped her Nazi-loving husband. While in London, she met with Louis B. Mayer, one of the Ms in MGM. And as a co-founder of the famed MGM movie studio, he was one of the most powerful men in Hollywood. Mayer offered her a six-month contract on the spot in London, but lowballed her significantly at an insulting $150 a week. Even by 1930s standards, that's laughable. And Lamarr knew she was worth more. She booked passage on the same ship Mayer was taking back to America to convince him of this as well. She spent their many days on the ocean, laying on the charm to Mayer, and probably making for a ruined vacation for a man just trying to cross the sea in peace. It worked, however, and he agreed to a contract, almost three times the amount originally offered, at $500 a week. It was Mayer who suggested she change her name, using the last name Lamarr as an homage to the former starlet Barbara Lamarr, who tragically died young in 1926, but not by being thrown overboard by an annoyed studio executive. Hedy eventually made her way to America and Hollywood and grew into a star. Like many notable stars at the time, she enlisted herself in USO tours across the country to sell war bonds, just like Steve Rogers in the first Captain America movie. Her presence at these events was a big draw, attracting thousands of fans, who in turn would pay for autographs, and yes, even kisses. By signing her name on a photograph and kissing a bunch of strangers, Lamarr raised a reported $7 million in one night. Hollywood did its best to do what it could to support the war efforts during World War II, whether it was hocking war bonds or putting on killer USO shores. But besides kisses, Hedy Lamarr also contributed to defeating the Axis in other ways. In 1940, she enlisted the help of composer George Antheil, to help flesh out an idea she had for a new frequency-hopping system, capable of guiding and protecting American torpedoes underwater. She realized if radio signals traveled across constantly changing radio frequencies, it could sort of serpentine its way to avoid being jammed, making it easier to guide torpedoes through unfriendly waters. Though the Navy passed on their invention, they did file away the patent as top secret. Today, we can thank Lamarr and Antheil for our Netflix streaming capabilities, since their frequency-hopping technique would be essential for the development of cell phones, Wi-Fi, and Bluetooth. Before her technology was used to put a little computer in everybody's pocket to look at pictures of other people's food, it was useful more minor items, like preventing full-scale nuclear war. In 1962, with America playing a risky game of nuclear chicken with the Soviet Union via Cuba, otherwise known as the Cuban Missile Crisis, President John F. Kennedy set up a Naval blockade around the country of Cuba. Every ship was outfitted with Lamarr's invention. Unfortunately for Lamarr, the patent for her groundbreaking invention had expired by the time the Navy came around, and no credit or monetary compensation was awarded to her or Antheil a theme that would become unfortunately common in her life. It wasn't until the '90s when her second life as a whip-smart inventor was thrust into the spotlight. An article in Forbes, published in 1990, profiled Hedy Lamarr, and her scientific inventions were publicly acknowledged for the first time. By this time, Hedy was in her late '70s, but the recognition for accomplishments having nothing to do with her looks was satisfying-- not long delayed, nonetheless. When she was awarded the Electronic Frontier Foundation Award in 1997 for her contributions to scientific innovation, she reportedly said, "Well, it's about time." Damn right, Hedy. Hedy's most controversial film of her esteemed career was most definitely Ecstasy, a film she started when she was only 18 years old. Not only did she appear nude in this film, she also earned the distinction of being the first female on-screen to act out her climaxing, though hardly the first female to fake one. The movie premiered in 1933 to much controversy, with many countries banning the film altogether. Filming the scandalous scene itself was not exactly a trip to Disneyland for Lamarr either. The director of the film, Gustav Machaty, pressured the young 18-year-old actress into filming the nude scenes, despite her objections. He went as far as to poke Lamarr with a safety pin during the filming of the sex scene in order to capture shots of her face contorted in pain, which were passed off as pleasure. Ouch. Lamarr's look certainly gave her a leg up in an industry as famously surface level as Hollywood. But she ultimately saw it more as a curse than a blessing. Growing up, her mother, Gertrude wouldn't even allow her to look at her own reflection, discouraging her from looking in the mirrors as one would a vampire. Her looks might have helped her land roles and navigate that beautiful, vain landscape of Hollywood, but it didn't shield her completely from the pitfalls of being a natural beauty in show